#you’re really going for the throat here

[viiolyns]

cw / mean!cait sorta. strap-on usage. fingering. finger sucking. squirting. not proofread.

“keep going or you won’t cum at all," caitlyn warned, watching as you so desperately tried to get off on a too-small strap. it was on the thinner side, short too. a least favorite, specifically used for situations like these. offering little to no stimulation and you being fucking soaked didn't help at all.

it’s your fault, really—showing out earlier. you felt brave and was attention deprived; whispering the filthiest shit into cait’s ear when no one was watching when you were supposed to be patrolling. teasing her with small kisses and subtle groping here and there. asking for this basically.

such a fucking tease.

tears welled in your eyes, the frustration from needing to cum and not being able to catching up to you. you looked up at her with such a pitiful stare; she almost felt bad. almost. “cait. baby. come on, i'm sorry.” you'd apologize for the umpteenth time, only for it to fall on deaf ears.

and, unfortunately, with her ignoring your pleas of desparation still, you had no choice but to go on.

which you did. for another 20 minutes, but you’re pretty much over it by now. the dildo was still doing absolutely nothing, no matter how hard you’d bounce and grind. your movements slowed; legs aching and breathless from doing all the work, sweat beads building on your forehead. lips all pouty and swollen—looking so incredibly miserable.

a few tears slip down your cheeks. which makes cait crack, finally taking some pity on you.

with a sigh, her slender hands came down to rest on your hips, stopping your movements now, her accent thick as she spoke. “get up and lay back.”

she caught you off guard with the sudden command. but your body responds instantly, your muscles moving without a thought as you rise from her lap and lie down onto the bed. her movements are swift and deliberate as she removes the harness, leaving it discarded on the ground.

in an instant, she moves closer to you, positioning herself between your thighs and without any warning, she pushes three of her fingers into your mouth.

your eyebrows knit together in confusion and she just fucking laughs. it rings in your ears, a sound so mocking it made you want to shrink away. but her words cut through your thoughts, her intent clear. "you didn't think you were getting off that easily, did you? this is a punishment after all," she says, her voice firm. there’s a moment of shock when you feel her long, slender fingers delving deeper, pressing down on your tongue. her command cuts through your surprise, "suck."

almost immediately you do as she says, your mouth clenching around her fingers and sucking on them as she demands. you can feel saliva dripping from your mouth, flowing down your chin. god, you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t enjoying this so fucking much.

she reaches back even farther into your throat, making you gag as tears dripped down you cheeks. her hand comes down to your cheekbones, thumb rubbing up and down, wiping away a few stray tears.

though, the sweetness of her touch disappears abruptly, her fingers withdraw, leaving you feeling empty. a whine leaves your lips as you protest, "cait, what—"

she stuffs her now wet fingers into you, pumping in and out relentlessly.

your thighs snap shut at the abruptness of it all, forcing her to pin your left knee down with her own, free hand planted firm on your right thigh. giving her the perfect angle to just admire how your slick dribbles down her knuckles, swollen lips spread around her dexterous fingers as they curl inside you. hitting that spongey spot that just makes you scream in ecstasy.

“there’s a good fucking girl. just like that.”

you whimper, you whine, you squirm, you squeal, you cry. anything to make her slow down. you didn’t know she was gonna go this fucking fast and hard—she’s cruel, sometimes, sure. but, she knows how sensitive you are. how fast you could cum at this exact moment.

“cait, i can’t, please!”

mercy is not an option. you wanted her attention, so you got it. fucking deal with it.

“oh? like you weren’t just begging me to fuck you stupid in the middle of the council room?” she sneers, palm coming crashing down against your inner thigh. a lighter form of punishment in contrast to what you’re used to.

“you will take it. and you will do so with a ‘thank you’ on your tongue.”

you nod, your voice barely above a whisper as you respond, "th..thank you." you’re close now, so close. if you weren't so worried about further punishment, you'd cum right now.

“uhnn..'m close, baby. gonna..gonna cum—shit."

her pace speeds up at your words, her thumb now adding extra pressure onto your clit. the only sound filling the room being the squelch of your cunt and your pretty moans she loved so fucking much. “hm. go on, pretty. cum for me. soak my fucking fingers.”

you’re squirming beneath her touch, your moans growing louder and louder until you can't take it anymore. and before you can even warn her, hot spurts of your release cover everything, soaking the bed, her fingers, your lower half.

"holy shit," she chuckles, her voice low and sultry. “dirty girl." she brings her fingers up to her lips, licking them clean and savoring the taste. "you’re always so sweet.”

you chuckle, feeling yourself starting to come down from the high. you start to move, ready to get up and clean yourself and the sheets, but she stops you, her hands on your hip, holding you in place.

“darling…”

you’re a fool if you think she’s done for the night.

rushed ending again bc i hate endings ok sue me!!!!!!!

[millyphobic]

˙ . ꒷ 🍪 . 𖦹˙— LIL LOVE BUG

✮ getting a little treat from your girlfriend the morning after

fem!reader x girlfriend!sevika ‪‪❤︎‬ morning after sex ❤︎ reader is booty naked ❤︎ surprisly fluffy but a little suggestive towards the end ❤︎ not proofread (つ.と) | MDNI

“Wake up.”

No response. Sevika rolls her eyes as you simply keep snoring, wondering how the hell you’re still knocked out. She wasn’t that rough…right? Besides, you’re on your belly, one foot dangling off the edge of the mattress, and the blanket tangled around your waist. How the actual hell has your body not forced itself awake from the sheer amount of discomfort this sleeping position seems like? One wrong move and she doesn’t doubt you’d suffocate yourself in the pillows. Seriously, you have no self-preservation whatsoever. The lightbulb is on but no one is home.

At least she’s getting a nice view of your thighs and ass. Respectfully. Every bite mark, every hickey brings her a sense of giddiness. A little sense of possessive pride. That’s her girl lying in her bed and tangled up in her sheets and sporting love bites she made.

“Come on. Wake up, girly. I got you something.” Setting down her gift to you on your nightstand, she gently grasps your shoulder and flips you over, cold metallic fingers of her prosthetic ghosting over the span of your chest and throat until she’s very gently cupping your face. Thankfully you finally rouse from your sleep, an adorably miffed expression taking over you. Between your squinting eyes and wrinkled nose, you looked like a very upset bunny.

“Hand. It’s cold.”

“It’s metal. Of course it’s cold.”

“Oh my god, I know that! Let go!”

A lot of scoffs and eye rolls ensue but Sevika lets your face go, opting to plop down next your bare self. “Nice tits, by the way,” she muses. And because she’s such a good girlfriend she takes a fat squeeze of your tit with her real hand, hot and calloused palm and all.

And clearly you like that, snorting out a laugh as you stretch out your sore body. “Only for you, babes. Also-” you sit up with a groan, shifty hands snatching a little pastry bag on your nightstand. “You brought me goodies. Love you!”

She can’t help but smile, a real soft smile that she’d never give to another person, as you open up the bag. A little treat for being such a sweet girl and taking what she gives you every night.

“This is so cute! Aww, Vika. I love you so much, really!” You hold out a cookie in your palm, a huge grin on your face as you marvel at the treat. With red-and-pink frosting and fondant eyes, it looked like some sort of critter.

“The cookie’s called ‘Lil Love Bug’. Seems appropriate for my baby here.” You can tell she’s proud of herself here and it’s adorable, blowing her a quick kiss before taking a bite of your cupcake.

“Yum, it’s chocolate. And the frosting is good too. Want some?”

“Mhm. Get over here.” And you’re laughing again as she shamelessly leaned in for a kiss, licking at your frosting-covered lips. It’s not long until you’re laying down again and pulling Sevika with you, one hand curled around her neck while the other is carefully holding your treat from harm. “Either hurry up and eat that thing or put it down.”

“I have to enjoy this,” you counter, but do as she says by popping it in your mouth. Between chews you hum out, “well, you can always buy me another.”

“That I can,” she agrees. “You look real cute from here.” There’s a gentle lull in her voice as she swipes her thumb over your cheek, wiping away any stray crumbs.

Look at you. Making her all soft. Domestic. It should scare her how easily you’ve sanded down her rough edges, how you’ve easily soothed her into feather-light touches and honeyed whispers of devotion. But she doesn’t mind. As you lay bare before her and playfully skim your hands over your body in temptation, she doesn’t mind one bit being soft for you.

[carlosainzgf]

REVENGE

thanos x fem!reader (smut)

warnings: kind of noncon so read at your own risk

you were minding your own business, sitting at your bunk, eating the shitty meal you were given when you heard some yelling.

you turned your head to where the noises were coming from only to see your brother myung gi, who you didn’t even know was here until now, getting beaten up. instinctively, you storm over to stop them.

"not thinking of interfering, are you?"

the purple haired man asked as he tilted his head, his eyes widened sadistically.

you threw a punch in his face without even considering for a second, landing right on his nose, making him loose his balance and stumble back.

in an instant, he lunged at you. he gritted his teeth as blood ran down his nose, his eyes filled with a deadly rage. grabbing you by the collar and pinning you to the wall. "you think you can just hit me like that? huh!? you've got a lot of guts for someone so small." he spat, eyes narrowed as he glared at you.

some other players had turned their attention to the sight of the commotion, some had ceased their betting and others watched with intrigue and anticipation as they witnessed what would unfold.

player 001 stepped in, putting a swift end to the conflict before thanos could hurt you. he took it upon himself to discipline thanos and his friend by delivering a thorough beating, leaving both of them bruised and battered.

thanos stayed put on the ground, coughing and panting from exhaustion, his nose still stinging from your punch and the beating he just received.

“you’re gonna pay for this, you bitch!” he yelled after you between coughs when you and your brother headed to the bathroom to clean up.

he still had enough spunk left in him to send a threat your way even after his beating.

he was determined to get revenge.

after cleaning the blood of your brothers face and a small skirmish between the two of you for joining this game you heard that lights were out in 5 minutes so you head back to the dorm.

you could feel thanos’ eyes on you as you got ready for bed.

as the minutes ticked by, the lights slowly dimmed, signaling that it could only mean one thing - it was time to sleep. the dorm fell quiet, dimly lit by the faint glow of the piggy bank.

players were trying to find some level of rest, laying down on their beds with blankets or just simply sitting on their beds.

thanos' eyes stayed on you, watching you as you got into bed, his resentment still burning bright. he was waiting for a moment to catch you off guard and get his revenge.

after laying down with your eyes open, which felt like hours, you decided to go to the bathroom. to wash your face or just to get out of the dorm full of people to get your mind together. you didn’t really know.

you looked over to your brother to see him sound asleep before heading to the door. after convincing the guard you headed to the bathroom, not realizing thanos who left the dorm right after you.

you only took notice of him when the door to the ladies bathroom was kicked open. you, startled, look back to see who it is.

fuck.

“i told you you’d pay for what you did. now…how should i make you pay?” he talked like he was talking to himself.

“i could kill you. easily. but…it would be a shame if something happened to such a beautiful girl like you.”

your words were caught at your throat, not daring to come out.

“maybe i should teach you a lesson, huh?”

that’s how you ended up with your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping tightly at the flesh of your ass as he made you move on his dick, like a little sex toy. his own little fleshlight.

you didn’t know if you hated him for fucking you or yourself for liking it.

he held you up on the air as he thrusted himself into you like you were light as a feather. hands repeatedly landing on your ass, leaving big red hand marks on the surface, making you moan and yelp at the same time.

“fuck! you like this don’t you? you filthy little slut.”

you held onto his shoulders as his pace got faster and he fucked you harder. a knot growing in you, making you disgusted at yourself for liking this but too cock drunk out to care. your eyes closed, too lost in pleasure.

his hand moved from your ass to your stretched out pussy. you didn’t notice it until he pinched your clit, hard, making your eyes shot open with a little scream.

“you look at me when i fuck you.” he ordered. you could only nod.

“tell me who makes you feel this good, bitch. tell me!”

“you! you a-are thanos! fuck-fucking me so good!” you could barely form a sentence at your state.

“yeah i am! come on my cock, baby. make a big fucking mess.” that’s all it took. you fell apart. your walls spasming around him, brain foggy, nails digging at his back, head thrown back, yells and moans spilling from your lips as you came undone.

just when you were about to come down from your high thanos hit your sensitive and twitching clit repeatedly. the pain and pleasure of the act, and how sensitive your body was right after cumming you couldn’t stop yourself from gushing around his dick. your juices covered his lower stomach, his thighs, your thighs as well, and his dick.

that’s when he lost it. he came, hard, when he felt the warm wetness on himself. he held your face, harshly, making you look at him.

“if you even try to do anything to me ever again…you pussy won’t be the only thing i ruin.”

then he kissed you so sweetly. almost sweet enough to make you forget that he threatened to kill you and then fucked you dumb.

[sim0nril3y]

Nightmares

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: After finally moving in with Simon you are still dealing with the aftermath of having your flat broken into. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), mention of nightmares, anxiety, angst truama from previous event, comfort, canon-typical swearing.

A sudden shift came from beside Simon that startled him from his sleep, glancing in you direction you were sat upright. Leaning over he flicked on the lamp and then rubbed your back in a soothing way. “Y’okay?” His voice was nothing but a deep grog.

Ever since you’d moved in together there had been nights that you would be jolted away from a bad dream. You’d taken the time to explain to him that sometimes your usually sweet dreams had been plagued with nightmares of your old flat and even this new home together been broken into. There was some obvious trauma there, residual pain from having someone evading your private space.

“Mm, I’m okay.” You replied back, your voice equally as tired. “I’m just gonna make a warm milk or something.” You muttered, climbing from the sheets. “Go back to sleep.”

Simon watched as you trudged from the room with a frown present on his lips, watching you close the door soft and he faltered back onto the pillows. He hated the thought that you were so effected by this. Of course, his own brain was plagued with his own deeply traumatic moments that had filled in his life, but to think that you were suffering the same hurt him so deeply. He needed to fix this… if it could be fixed.

After a few moments Simon wandered downstairs himself to find you sat at the kitchen table, hands cupped around a warm mug of milk. “Babe.” He muttered seeing the tears present on your cheeks. “Bloody hell.” Muttering under his breath as he wrapped his arms around you, tugging you into the warmth of his chest. “Deep breaths now. C’mon.” He pressed a kiss to your hairline. “Shh... S’alright…”

The two of you stood in the sanctity of your kitchen, wrapped in one another’s arms whilst Simon muttered sweet sentiments to you. “Talk to me.” He requested, rubbing between your shoulder blades soothingly as he took a seat beside you. “It’s stupid.” You muttered out in a voice that you filled with emotion, drying your eyes with the back of your hand whilst you sniffled. “I kept having these stupid nightmares and I wasn’t even in the damn flat when it was broken into-”

Simon couldn't allow this attack on yourself. “Just stop for a second.” He requested. “Even if you weren’t inside it, doesn’t mean your personal space wasn’t violated, babe.” Simon said, shaking his head then. “You’re allowed to feel sad about that. You’re allowed to feel scared.” He said then. “I was fuckin’ scared.” The admission seemed to surprise you both. “When you called me that night, when I heard your voice... when I got there and saw the police… fuck, I was… fuckin’ terrified.”

You sniffled. “Really?” “Really.” His voice was practically stoic, squeezing your shoulder. “S’why I got this place set up like the Tower of London, babe.” A little sad laugh escaped your lips. “Locks on every door, cameras set up, alarms galore…” Listing all the reasons made you feel just that bit safer. “Then if anyone by some fluke was able to get through that then they’d have to get through me too…”

There was no one you trusted more to have your back than Simon. He was a unit. He was an impressive force, you felt it when he held you, when he lifted you, even when he made love to you... God, you could almost feel sorry for anyone who came up against him in combat.

Sniffling you asked. “What if you’re not here?” There were going to be times, many times when Simon would have to leave you alone, leave you to fend yourself… the thought of that seemed to bring him a great deal of discomfort, almost a sense of terror. Clearing his throat and shaking his head. “Mm, then how about we look into getting you into a self-defence class, eh?” It was a suggestion and actually it was a pretty good one, Simon watched the way your eyes seemed to fill with almost hope. “We can get you taught some things to you'll be able to protect yourself…”

A little nod was you reply as you asked in a small voice. “Yeah, can we do that?” “Course we can, babe.” Simon wrapped you into his arms again then, tugging you into his lap. “It’s gonna be alright… I promise.” He mentioned in a warm tone.

Masterlist | Ask | 27-01-2025

[elliee3e]

‘midnight heat’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‘x-men’ logan howlett x gn! reader fluff but sexual themes implied

specifically put ‘x-men’ in here because it’s when his two little kitty tufts are prominent:3 (ex: the gif). i love them sooo much waah i had to write smth about them y’all omfg. i thought of logan in x2 here but you can take anyone you want really, just keep in mind those are mentioned.

summary ;

logan’s ruts are coming early, making him feel feverish and unable to sleep. you try to help him ease back down.

author’s note ;

this is sooo short i’m sorry & it sucks guys but i need to post all my drafts😭 but i fear fluff isn’t my strong suit . . i should stick to smut

it’s the dead of night in the heart of winter. logan has you curled up to his body, a thick, meaty arm wrapped around your lower stomach through the t-shirt you’re wearing. however, it’s hard to stay peacefully asleep when all the man can do is toss and turn. you’re just trying to sleep, for christ’s sake, and he can’t stop being restless. eventually, you just give up and shift away from him, curling up to the pillows with a little grunt. he reached out for you, but groaned in response to not having your warm body against his anymore or in reach, the discomfort finally managing to stir him awake.

the realisation also made him grumble to himself and try to go back to sleep — but it was difficult; he was starting to burn up and even after removing his shirt and throwing the sheets to the side, he couldn’t seem to cool off at all, a sheen of sweat matting down the dark hair on his chest, and even starting to bead on his forehead.

that’s when he knew he had to get up, at least wash his face if not shower.

however, as he got up, he groaned again, feeling lightheaded and hazy.

this definitely wasn’t normal.

once he finally managed to walk and get his balance — using the wall as guidance — he entered the adjacent bathroom: grabbing a towel and dunking it under cold water as soon as he turned the sink on, wiping his forehead and taking a glance at himself in the mirror.

he looked awful. his hair was messy, face slick and shiny with sweat, as he wiped at the stickiness that began forming back on his face almost immediately again. it felt like a fever but then again, he rarely caught those, no, he basically never did.

it would have been too out of place, but it being anything else wouldn’t have made sense either. his thoughts however were interrupted as he heard your voice speak up, because in his absence, you had started to wake up too — turning around in an instant to look at you standing in the doorframe.

“lo? what’s going on?” you’d mumble tiredly, rubbing your sleepy eyes. a little growl bubbled up in logan’s throat at the sight of you, all sleepy and pretty like you always were, he tried to ignore the little tug he felt in his boxers.

“nothin’, bub. jus’ a fever.” he merely managed to grunt out, turning back to the sink to heavily sigh, his hands holding onto the sides of it tightly for balance, but it was clearly more than that.

“fever?” you asked, echoing his words. you didn’t believe that for a second, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion and instant worry as you walked over to him, taking advantage of the way he instinctively turned his head to look down at you: allowing you to press the back of your hand against his hot skin, which felt ice cold compared to him. “baby, you’re burning—we need to go to the medical lab.”

he immediately shook his head at your concerned words, shutting off the idea in an instant. “no, no. ‘m fine, trust me. besides, it’s too early to go now. don’t wanna wake anyone else up for this, ‘s stupid.” he huffed, pulling away from your hand. but to you it wasn’t stupid. his words made you sigh; you hated when he’d deny he needed any help.

“logan— no, come on, baby, this is serious. we gotta get you help.” you started arguing, trying to at least even get him to look back at you again as he was now just hunched over the sink. and his breath did hitch for a moment when you called him baby, which was unusual, it had him feeling tingly inside.

he finally turned his head to look at you, still sweaty, as he tried to stand up straighter. “darlin’, told you ‘s fine— nothing more than just a—“ he paused, his eyes almost squeezing back shut as suddenly a wave of dizziness overcame him again, a curse leaving his mouth as he gripped onto the sink tightly again, so as not to lose his balance. this didn’t help ease your concern at all, as you quickly tried to help him balance himself. “l-logan— listen to me-“ you said, trying to keep him conscious too as you noticed him start to lose it: but it was hard to focus on even keeping him upright, your body trying to hold his up had him feeling worse and hotter.

“baby, up, gotta stay up— let’s get you back to bed,” your words floated hazily around in his clouded mind, and you were starting to struggle with him as he didn’t want to cooperate still. you were trying your best and he groaned, leaning up against you, his hand still gripping the sink tightly.

“enough, listen, ‘m fine, just need to sit down, alright?” he grunted, his body so close to yours now you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. you huffed at his words and rolled your eyes, but sat him down on the closed toilet seat.

“okay, okay. just sit and stay there, i’m gonna get something. i’ll be right back.” you told him, hearing him grumble faintly as you left the bathroom — he hated it, hated how you told him to ‘sit’ and to ‘stay’ like he was some damn dog, but yet, the thought stirred something up in him, and made him burn up even more.

thankfully, it wasn’t long before you came back into the bathroom: with what looked like some ice cubes wrapped up in a cold rag. you walked back over to him, standing in between his spread thighs, his big hands instinctively going up to paw at your waist and hips as he tilted his head up at you so you could press the cold rag to his forehead — a low groan and sigh of relief leaving his lips as the coldness made contact with his burning skin.

“that’s it, feels better, doesn’t it?” you sighed, one hand keeping the coldness pressed to his forehead and the other starting to run through his hair, through the little tufts on his head.

“mmph.” he grumbled, feeling as you then moved it to press against his neck, hearing a slight wince from him before he eased into it — your little ‘shh’s’ shushing him too.

he leaned back against the toilet seat, only serving to make you giggle softly as you took the cold rag from his face and instead started to rake your fingers through his coarse hair, scratching gently at the little two tufts on them. “let’s get you back to bed now, lo. get some rest for the morning, hm?” you hummed, to which he grumbled again — but didn’t protest. you helped him up and to the bedroom, feeling him collapse onto the bed instantly; the mattress sinking down slightly with his weight. you chuckled and got into bed with him, not even bothering to pull the covers over you two as he was already hot enough.

“thanks for… takin’ care of me, darlin’..” he mumbled hoarsely, his throat slightly scratched up, as he glanced over at you: your eyes looking back at him softly, illuminated by the pale moonlight that highlighted your small smile at his words, as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, the scruff there grazing your lips, and slipped your bare thigh between his own.

“anytime.”

[elryuse]

Hi can I request for a wonyoung x reader fluff smut where reader confidently put the ring when wonyo was sleeping because they know she will like it, and accepted their proposal too 🥹 I hope this gets accepted thank you 🫶🏻

Unexpected Proposal

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Tags : Vanilla Sex, Fluffy Fluff, Marry, Proposal, Love, Romance, Lovey Dovey, Couple Words : 6,506 Words

I Hope You Enjoyed This Fic My Friend. Keep Those Plots up Everyone. I've Been Enjoying Reading Your Request So Far

The clinking of plates and the sizzling sound of hot oil fill the small fried chicken restaurant in the heart of Seoul. It’s a quiet afternoon, a lull between the lunch and dinner rushes, and you’re stationed at the counter, wiping it down for the third time in an hour. The uniform feels a little too tight, the visor a little too crooked, but it’s a job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.

The bell above the door jingles, signaling a new customer. You glance up, prepared to give the usual polite greeting, but the words catch in your throat.

She walks in like a scene from a movie, her long black hair flowing softly over her shoulders, her figure framed perfectly by the sunlight streaming through the windows. She’s wearing a light pink sweater and a pleated skirt, exuding a youthful elegance that somehow makes the dimly lit restaurant feel brighter. Her eyes sweep across the room, searching, and when they land on you, your heart stumbles over itself. You quickly look down, pretending to focus on the register, but it’s too late. She’s seen you.

“Excuse me,” she says, her voice soft and melodic. You look up again, this time meeting her eyes. They’re warm, with a glint of curiosity. “Do you have any recommendations?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak. The question hangs in the air until your brain kicks into gear.

“Uh, yes,” you manage, clearing your throat. “Our crispy fried chicken is really popular. You can’t go wrong with that.”

She smiles, and it’s like the world shifts slightly on its axis. “I’ll take your word for it. Can I get an order of that? And maybe a cola?”

“Coming right up.” You punch her order into the register, hands suddenly feeling too big and clumsy. She steps aside to wait, and you can’t help but steal glances at her as you prepare her drink. She pulls out her phone, scrolling through it absentmindedly, but there’s something about the way she holds herself that keeps drawing your attention. You’re not sure if it’s her confidence, her beauty, or the inexplicable sense that she’s meant to be here, in this moment, with you.

When her order is ready, you carry the tray to her table, even though it’s against protocol. “Here you go,” you say, setting it down carefully. “I hope you enjoy it.”

She looks up at you with a surprised smile. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

You nod, trying to play it cool, but inside, your heart is doing cartwheels. You retreat behind the counter, stealing glances at her as she eats. She seems to savor every bite, occasionally closing her eyes as if committing the taste to memory. You’re entranced, watching her in a way that’s probably borderline inappropriate for a customer-employee dynamic. But you can’t help it. There’s something magnetic about her.

When she finishes, she brings her tray back to the counter. “It was delicious,” she says, her smile lighting up the room again. “You were right about the crispy chicken.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” you reply, feeling a surge of pride as if you’d personally cooked it.

She hesitates for a moment, then says, “Do you work here every day?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It’s not the most exciting job, but it’s steady.”

She tilts her head, studying you. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s nice to see someone who takes their work seriously.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just nod. She seems to realize she’s lingering and steps back, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe you will,” you say, and before you can stop yourself, you add, “I’d like that.”

Her blush deepens, and she gives you a small wave before heading out the door. The bell jingles again, and just like that, she’s gone. But the memory of her lingers, her presence filling the small restaurant long after she’s left.

Over the next few weeks, she becomes a regular. Her name, you learn, is Wonyoung. She’s a university student studying fashion design, with a dream of one day launching her own clothing line. She’s passionate, driven, and unfailingly kind, always taking the time to chat with you when she stops by. It’s not long before you start looking forward to her visits, counting down the hours until she walks through the door again.

“You know,” she says one day, tapping her finger against the counter, “you’re always so focused when you’re working. But I don’t know much about you. What do you do when you’re not here?”

The question catches you off guard. No one ever asks about your life outside of work. “Oh, uh, not much,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m taking a few night classes. Trying to figure out what I want to do, you know?”

“That’s great,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “What are you studying?”

“Business,” you reply. “I’ve always thought about maybe starting my own thing someday. Like a café or a restaurant. Something small and cozy.”

Her face lights up. “That’s a wonderful idea. You should do it. I can already tell you’d make an amazing owner.”

Her words stay with you long after she leaves, planting a seed of determination in your heart. You find yourself working harder, saving more, and dreaming bigger. And every time Wonyoung comes in, it feels like she’s cheering you on, even if she doesn’t realize it.

It takes months of stolen glances, lingering conversations, and moments that feel like they’re straight out of a romantic drama before you finally work up the courage to ask her out. It’s a quiet evening, the restaurant nearly empty, and she’s sitting at her usual table, flipping through a magazine while waiting for her order.

“Wonyoung,” you say, approaching her with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Can I ask you something?”

She looks up, her eyes curious. “Of course. What is it?”

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “Would you… would you like to have dinner with me? Outside of work, I mean. Just the two of us.”

For a moment, she just stares at you, and you’re convinced you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then she smiles, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “I’d love to.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Really?”

She laughs, a soft, melodic sound that makes your heart flutter. “Yes, really. You’re sweet, and I’ve been hoping you’d ask me for a while now.”

The world feels like it’s spinning faster, the edges of reality blurring into a dreamlike haze. You manage to stammer out a response, promising to text her the details, and she gives you her number before leaving with a wave and a smile that you’re sure will haunt your dreams.

The night of your first date arrives faster than you expected, and you’re equal parts nervous and excited. You’ve chosen a small, cozy Italian restaurant not far from the fried chicken place—a spot you’ve heard good things about but never had the chance to visit. When you arrive, Wonyoung is already there, waiting by the entrance. She’s wearing a simple yet elegant dress, her hair styled loosely, and the sight of her takes your breath away.

“You look amazing,” you say as you approach, unable to hide the awe in your voice.

“Thank you,” she replies, her cheeks tinged with a soft pink. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

The evening goes better than you could have hoped. Over plates of pasta and glasses of sparkling water, you talk about everything and nothing, learning more about each other with every passing moment. You discover that Wonyoung has a playful sense of humor, a love for classic movies, and a soft spot for stray cats. She, in turn, learns about your dreams of owning a café, your favorite books, and the little quirks that make you who you are.

By the time the meal is over, it feels like you’ve known each other for years. Walking her home, you find yourself wishing the night would never end. When you finally reach her doorstep, she turns to you with a shy smile.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” she says softly.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart pounding as you muster the courage to add, “I’d love to see you again.”

“I’d like that,” she says, her smile widening. And before you can overthink it, she leans in and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, watching as she disappears inside, your hand absently brushing the spot where her lips touched your skin.

From that night on, your relationship blossoms. You and Wonyoung become inseparable, spending your days exploring the city, sharing your dreams, and supporting each other through life’s ups and downs. She becomes your biggest cheerleader, encouraging you to chase your dreams, and you become her rock, always there to listen and offer a shoulder to lean on.

As the months turn into years, your bond only grows stronger. You celebrate her successes in fashion school, marveling at her talent and determination. She, in turn, celebrates every milestone you achieve, no matter how small, always reminding you of how far you’ve come.

And through it all, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world, knowing that the girl who walked into that fried chicken restaurant years ago has become the most important person in your life.

It’s a quiet evening, and the buzz of the dinner rush has faded into a comfortable hum. You’re just finishing up your shift, untying your apron and stretching out your sore arms, when the door chimes. You look up to see Wonyoung walking in, a bright smile on her face and a neatly wrapped container in her hands.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice as warm as ever. “Perfect timing, huh? I caught you before you left.”

You smile back, feeling your heart skip a beat as always. “Yeah, just wrapped up. What brings you here?”

Instead of answering immediately, she holds up the container. “I made this for you,” she says, her cheeks dusted with the faintest blush. “Thought you might be hungry after a long day.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You cooked for me?”

“Of course,” she replies, a playful pout forming on her lips. “You work so hard; it’s the least I can do.”

The two of you settle at one of the tables, the restaurant now quiet and empty. She unwraps the container to reveal an array of delicious-looking dishes—kimchi fried rice, bulgogi, and some side dishes that look straight out of a home-cooked meal advertisement.

“Wow, Wonyoung, this looks amazing,” you say, genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she says with a giggle. “Now, try it! I want to know what you think.”

You pick up a pair of chopsticks, a little nervous under her expectant gaze. Taking a bite, you’re immediately hit with a burst of flavor that makes you hum in delight. “This is incredible,” you say honestly. “Seriously, you could open your own restaurant.”

She beams at your compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”

What happens next catches you completely off guard. She picks up a piece of bulgogi with her chopsticks and brings it close to your mouth. “Here,” she says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Say ‘ahh.’”

You hesitate, your cheeks heating up, but her teasing smile melts away any reluctance. You open your mouth, and she feeds you, laughing softly as you chew.

“Why are you blushing?” she teases, leaning her chin on her hand. “It’s just food.”

“Because it’s you,” you admit quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Her laughter dies down, and she looks at you with a softness that makes your heart ache. “You’re too sweet.”

As you finish the meal together, the conversation drifts to more personal topics. Wonyoung starts opening up in a way she hasn’t before, telling you about her childhood, her aspirations, and her life outside of these quiet evenings with you.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says after a moment of hesitation, her tone turning serious.

“What is it?” you ask, setting down your chopsticks.

She fidgets with the edge of her sleeve, as though unsure how to phrase it. “You know how I said I’m studying fashion design? That’s true, but… there’s more to it. I’m also… an idol.”

Your mind blanks for a moment. “An idol?” you repeat, trying to process her words. “Like, a K-pop idol?”

She nods, watching your reaction carefully. “I’m part of a group called IVE. We’re pretty well-known, I guess.”

You blink at her, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Wait, you mean that IVE? The one with all the hit songs and music videos? The one everyone’s talking about?”

“That’s the one,” she says with a sheepish laugh. “I didn’t mention it before because… well, I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

You take a moment to absorb this revelation. It’s a lot to take in, but as you look at her—this kind, talented, and humble person who’s shared so much of herself with you—you realize it doesn’t change how you feel about her.

“Wonyoung,” you say softly, reaching out to take her hand. “Thank you for telling me. And honestly? It doesn’t change anything. You’re still you—the amazing, thoughtful person who brings me homemade meals and makes me laugh. That’s all that matters to me.”

Her eyes glisten with emotion, and she squeezes your hand. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, your connection feeling deeper than ever. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, Wonyoung scoots closer to you, resting her head on your shoulder.

“You’re really something, you know that?” she murmurs.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “Takes one to know one.”

Later that evening, as you’re walking her home, she surprises you again.

“Hey,” she says, stopping in her tracks. “How would you feel about meeting my members?”

“Your members?” you echo, slightly startled.

“Yeah,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I think it’s time. They’ve been dying to know who’s been making me smile so much lately.”

You’re not sure whether to feel flattered or nervous. “Are you sure? I mean, what if they don’t like me?”

She laughs, her hand slipping into yours. “They’ll love you. Trust me.”

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of a sleek, modern dorm building. Wonyoung leads you inside, her hand still firmly holding yours, and your nerves spike as you approach the door to her unit. She punches in the code, and the door swings open to reveal a cozy living space filled with warmth and laughter.

“Guys, I’m back!” she calls out.

Within seconds, you’re greeted by a group of bright, smiling faces—her fellow IVE members. Each of them exudes a unique energy, but they all share the same curiosity as they look you over.

“So, this is him?” one of them asks with a grin. “The mystery guy?”

“Be nice,” Wonyoung warns, though there’s a playful tone in her voice. “Everyone, this is—” She pauses, glancing at you with a smile. “This is the person who makes my days brighter.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, and as her members pull you into their circle with welcoming smiles and lighthearted teasing, you realize something important: being part of Wonyoung’s world, as daunting as it might seem, feels exactly right.

And as the night unfolds—filled with laughter, stories, and the beginning of new friendships—you can’t help but feel that this is just the start of something even more beautiful.

One year had passed since you and Wonyoung officially started dating, and your relationship had flourished in ways you never thought possible. The two of you had grown even closer, and as a natural extension of your bond, you also became good friends with her group members. They were a lively and dynamic bunch, each with their unique quirks that made every hangout memorable.

Yujin, the leader of the group, was often the loudest cheerleader for your relationship. One day, as the six of you sat around a cozy café enjoying a rare day off together, she smirked and leaned forward.

“So, when are you going to marry Wonyoung?” she teased, her tone playful yet laced with genuine curiosity.

Both you and Wonyoung froze, the question hitting like a bolt of electricity. Your cheeks flushed crimson as Wonyoung let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. “Yujin!” she protested, swatting her playfully on the arm.

Yujin just grinned, clearly enjoying your flustered reactions. “What? It’s a valid question! You two are like, disgustingly perfect together.”

Rei, ever the foodie, giggled from her spot across the table. “I’m just saying, if you do get married, please let me help choose the menu. I have some amazing ideas. Think about it—wagyu, truffle pasta, and a dessert bar with endless options!”

Gaeul leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. “I think Rei’s more excited about the food than the actual wedding.”

“Obviously,” Rei shot back, sticking her tongue out.

The rest of the group erupted into laughter, and even Wonyoung couldn’t hold back a giggle. She glanced at you, her smile radiant, but her cheeks still tinged pink. “They’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head fondly.

“I think they just really like the idea of us being together,” you replied softly, and for a moment, your eyes met hers, and everything else seemed to fade away.

As time went on, the marriage jokes didn’t stop. If anything, they became a running gag within the group. Every time you joined them for a meal or an outing, someone—usually Yujin—would find a way to slip it into the conversation. Wonyoung, despite her initial embarrassment, started to play along, her giggles becoming a regular soundtrack to the banter.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you and Wonyoung found yourselves sitting on the rooftop of your apartment, a blanket wrapped around the two of you as you gazed at the twinkling lights of Seoul. She leaned her head on your shoulder, her hair soft against your cheek.

“Do you think they’re serious?” she asked quietly, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and thoughtfulness.

“About the marriage thing?” you replied, chuckling. “I think they’re just having fun with it. But…” You hesitated, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “What about you? What do you think?”

She lifted her head to look at you, her eyes searching yours. For a moment, the world felt still. Then she smiled, a smile so full of warmth and love that it made your heart ache in the best way.

“I think…” she began, her voice soft, “that I wouldn’t mind. Someday.” Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but she held your gaze, her sincerity shining through.

Your breath caught, and you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together. “Someday,” you echoed, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

And in that moment, with the city lights shimmering around you and Wonyoung by your side, you knew that someday couldn’t come soon enough.

The following months were filled with joy and quiet moments of contentment. Your relationship with Wonyoung continued to deepen, and the members of her group became like a second family to you. They were always there to tease, support, and celebrate the little milestones in your relationship, their love and enthusiasm infectious.

Yujin, true to form, kept dropping hints about marriage every chance she got. Rei started experimenting with wedding cake recipes, even going so far as to ask for your preferences in flavors. Gaeul and Liz would occasionally chime in with suggestions for venues, while Leeseo, the youngest, would giggle shyly and talk about what kind of dress Wonyoung might wear.

Wonyoung, for her part, took it all in stride. Her confidence and playfulness grew with every joke, and you could see how much she enjoyed the idea—even if she tried to play it cool. And as for you, every time the topic came up, you couldn’t help but imagine it: a future with Wonyoung, filled with love, laughter, and the unwavering support of the people who meant the most to both of you.

It wasn’t a question of if anymore. It was just a matter of when.

It has been 3 years, and Hearing those constant push up from the girls suddenly put a weight on your mind. You really wanted to marry her, right? The question kept appearing in your head, as slowly you started to think deeply of it. You indeed wants to marry her. You want to spend the rest of your life with her. Even in death and life, You'll be there, for her. With this newly found courage, You brace yourself and buy an expensive looking ring, as you wanted to give wonyoung your very best.

You wanted to suprise her, by coming to her dorm late night, and propose to her. You called Yujin, Asking if you can crash, When Yujin heard that you're proposing. She immediately cried, as she said yes. Of course you can come. Yujin also sternly asked you, To keep her safe, to always love her. You chuckled as You agree. The journey to her dorm was rough, Your heart was beating in an abnormally high rating. You've never experienced something like this. Was it the Thought of you and her maarying? Was it the fear of her rejecting your proposal. You didn't really know.

As Yujin opened the door, She immediately rushed in and hugged you. You were definitely suprised.but hearing her cry, means that she was proud of wonyoung, and proud of you. You immediately pat her back, as you thanked her and the rest of the members for being here for You and Wonyoung. Yujin giggles, as she wiped her tears slowly. She then thanked You, for always being there for Wonyoung, even through all the hardships that they've gone through. You cleared your throat, as you also realized, It was hard, to stick to her, It was never easy to date an Idol.But here you are, standing away from her bedroom door.Your heart began to beat uncontrollably,as you took a deep breath and gently knock on the door.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the gentle rhythm of Wonyoung’s breathing as she slept. Her dorm was familiar to you by now—the soft pink décor, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the way her bed was always slightly messy, as if she’d just rolled out of it. It felt like home, and so did she. You stood there for a moment, just watching her, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurt.

Her members had let you in with knowing smiles, their eyes twinkling with mischief. They’d been in on your plan for weeks, and now, as you stood there holding the small velvet box that contained the ring, your palms were clammy, your pulse racing. This was it. You’d been waiting for the perfect moment, and somehow, this one felt right—quiet, intimate, just the two of you.

You crept closer, the floorboards creaking softly under your weight. Wonyoung stirred slightly, her lips parting as she let out a soft sigh. You paused, holding your breath, but she didn’t wake. You knelt beside her bed, your fingers trembling as you opened the box. The ring caught the dim light, the diamond shimmering faintly. It was simple but elegant, just like her. You’d spent months saving for it, imagining what it would look like on her finger.

Carefully, you reached for her hand, gently lifting it from where it rested on the blanket. Her skin was warm, her fingers delicate as you slid the ring into place. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your heart pounding in your chest.

I did it.

But then, she stirred again, her eyelids fluttering open. Her gaze was hazy at first, confused, but then she looked down at her hand and froze. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in a soft gasp.

“Wha—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t give her a chance to finish. You leaned in, capturing her lips with yours in a kiss that was soft but full of everything you couldn’t put into words—how much you loved her, how much you wanted this, how much she meant to you. Her hands flew to your shoulders, her fingers gripping you tightly as she kissed you back, her lips warm and yielding.

When you finally pulled away, she was staring at you, her eyes shining with tears. “Is this…?” she began, her voice trembling.

You nodded, your own eyes stinging. “Do you like it?”

She let out a laugh that was half a sob, looking down at the ring again. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Then her eyes met yours, and she smiled, a smile so full of love and joy that it took your breath away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long, and I just… I couldn’t wait anymore. I want this. I want you.”

She threw her arms around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it almost hurt. You buried your face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her, your heart racing. She pulled back just enough to kiss you again, this time deeper, more urgent, her hands tangling in your hair.

“You’re really doing this?” she asked between kisses, her voice barely audible.

“Yes,” you breathed, your hands sliding down her back. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She let out a soft moan, her lips trailing down to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. “You’re crazy,” she whispered, but her tone was full of affection.

“Crazy for you,” you replied, your voice husky.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You cupped her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

She smiled, leaning into your touch. “Then yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Her words sent a jolt of electricity through you, and before you could think, you were kissing her again, your lips moving against hers with a hunger that took you both by surprise. Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a low groan, your body responding to her touch in ways that left you breathless.

She pulled away just enough to tug your shirt over your head, her eyes dark with desire. “I want you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“You have me,” you replied, your voice rough. “Always.”

You leaned in to kiss her again, your hands sliding down to the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms, letting you pull it over her head, leaving her in just her bra and pajama shorts. Your breath caught at the sight of her, her skin glowing in the dim light, her curves soft and inviting. You kissed her collarbone, your lips trailing down to her chest, and she let out a soft moan, her fingers tangling in your hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against her skin, your hands sliding down to her waist.

“So are you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You kissed her again, your hands moving to the clasp of her bra. She shivered as you unhooked it, letting it fall to the bed, and then your lips were on her again, exploring every inch of her. She arched into you, her breath hitching as you reached her breasts, your tongue flicking over her nipple. She let out a soft cry, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

“You make me feel so good,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I want to make you feel even better,” you replied, your voice husky.

You moved down her body, your lips trailing kisses over her stomach, until you reached the waistband of her shorts. She lifted her hips, letting you slide them off, and then she was completely naked, her body trembling beneath you. You kissed her thigh, your hands sliding up her legs, and she let out a soft moan, her hips shifting restlessly.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice urgent.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You kissed her again, your hands sliding between her legs, and she let out a soft gasp as you touched her. She was already wet, her body responding to you in ways that made your head spin. You kissed her thigh again, your tongue tracing patterns on her skin, and then you moved lower, your breath warm against her.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

And then your lips were on her, and she let out a soft cry, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

The room seemed to glow with the warmth of your love, the air thick with emotion. You couldn’t resist kissing her again, your lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made your heart ache. She responded eagerly, her hands roaming your body as if she couldn’t get enough of you.

“I want you,” she whispered against your lips, her voice husky with desire.

“You have me,” you replied, your hands sliding down her back to cup her hips. “Always.”

She let out a soft moan as you pulled her closer, your bodies pressing together in a way that made your head spin. You kissed her neck, your teeth grazing her skin, and she shivered beneath you. Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of your muscles, and you groaned, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Wonyoung,” you murmured, your lips trailing lower, “you’re so beautiful.”

She arched into your touch, her breath coming in short gasps. “I need you,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Please.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You kissed her again, your hands sliding between her legs, and she let out a soft cry as you touched her. She was already wet, her body responding to you in ways that made your head spin. You kissed her thigh again, your tongue tracing patterns on her skin, and then you moved lower, your breath warm against her.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

And then your lips were on her, and she let out a soft cry, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. You took your time, savoring every moment, every sound she made. She was so responsive, so sensitive, and it drove you wild. You could feel her trembling beneath you, her body arching as she got closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh god,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “I’m—I’m—”

She came undone beneath you, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over her. You held her through it, your lips pressing gentle kisses against her thigh as she rode out the aftermath.

When she finally caught her breath, she looked at you with a dazed smile, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “You’re too good at that,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

You chuckled, crawling back up to lie beside her. “I aim to please,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She rolled onto her side, facing you, her hand resting on your chest. Her fingers traced lazy patterns across your skin, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. There was only the two of you, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” she said, her voice soft and dreamy. “Getting married. It feels like a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” you replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s real. And it’s going to be perfect.”

She smiled, her eyes closing as she snuggled closer to you. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

“I love you too,” you replied, your arms wrapping around her. “More than anything.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Wonyoung’s room. She stirred beside you, her hand instinctively reaching for yours, her fingers brushing against the ring you’d slipped onto her finger the night before. A small, sleepy smile tugged at her lips as she stretched, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than ever,” you replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You?”

“Mmm, like a dream,” she said, her smile widening. She looked down at her hand, the ring catching the morning light. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you assured her, your heart swelling with love as you watched her admire the ring. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

She giggled, a sound so light and carefree it made your chest ache. “I feel like I’m floating,” she admitted, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I should probably get up and start the day, but I don’t want to move just yet.”

“Stay,” you said, pulling her back down into your arms. “We have all the time in the world.”

She sighed contentedly, nestling against you. “You’re right. We do.”

The two of you lay there for a while, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence. Eventually, Wonyoung sat up again, stretching her arms above her head. “I should probably go get ready,” she said, though there was a hint of reluctance in her voice.

“Need any help?” you teased, watching as she playfully rolled her eyes.

“I think I can manage,” she said, standing up and walking over to her dresser. As she opened the top drawer, something caught her eye. Her smile faltered for a moment, and she reached in, pulling out a small, leather-bound notebook.

“What’s that?” you asked, sitting up with interest.

She hesitated, her fingers tracing the cover. “It’s… something I’ve been working on,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to show you yet.”

Curiosity piqued, you stood up and walked over to her. “Can I see?”

She bit her lip, her eyes darting from the notebook to you and back again. Finally, she nodded, handing it to you. “Just… don’t laugh, okay?”

You took the notebook from her, flipping it open. Inside, you were greeted by pages filled with sketches, color swatches, and notes written in Wonyoung’s elegant handwriting. It was a wedding scrapbook—a detailed, lovingly crafted vision of the wedding she’d been dreaming of. There were sketches of dresses, ideas for bouquets, and even little notes about what kind of music she wanted to play.

Your heart swelled as you flipped through the pages, each one more beautiful than the last. “Wonyoung… this is amazing,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “When did you start working on this?”

She blushed, looking down at her hands. “A while ago,” she admitted. “I… I wanted to be ready, just in case you ever asked. I know it’s silly—”

“It’s not silly,” you interrupted, pulling her into a tight embrace. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

She buried her face in your chest, her arms wrapping around you. “I was so scared you’d think it was too much,” she confessed, her voice muffled. “But I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long.”

You kissed the top of her head, your heart aching with how much you loved her. “You don’t have to be scared,” you reassured her. “I love everything about you, and this? This just shows how much you care. It’s beautiful.”

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “In fact, I think we should start planning together. This is our wedding, after all.”

A smile broke across her face, brighter than the morning sun. “I’d love that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The two of you spent the rest of the morning flipping through the scrapbook, adding your own ideas and notes to her already detailed plans. The more you talked, the more excited you both became, the weight of the future settling comfortably around you.

As the day wore on, the conversation turned to more intimate topics, the excitement of the wedding giving way to the warmth of the present moment. Wonyoung leaned into you, her head resting on your shoulder as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” she said softly, her fingers intertwined with yours. “But I also don’t want to rush this. I just want to enjoy being with you.”

You smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Me too,” you said. “We have all the time in the world.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of love and longing. “I love you,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you and the love that bound you together.

The kiss deepened, their bodies pressing closer as the warmth between them grew. Wonyoung’s hands found their way to his shoulders, her fingers gripping tightly as if afraid to let go. His hands roamed her back, pulling her even closer until there was no space left between them.

Breaking the kiss, Wonyoung looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. “Promise me we’ll always be like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I promise,” he replied, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “No matter what, we’ll always have this.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with love and reassurance. “Then I’m ready,” she said, her voice firm. “For everything. With you.”

He kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that spoke volumes. “Together,” he murmured against her lips. “Always.”

As they held each other, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the warmth of their love and the promise of a future filled with endless possibilities.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Ski Trip

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.8K

❀ ━ warnings: i don’t think any actually

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i lowkey hate this chapter and i feel like i didn’t make it meaningful enough but im not rewriting it so here yall go BIG STUFF COMING NEXT CHAP THO

IT’S DECEMBER 20TH, and Paige has been procrastinating on packing all day, though she’s hyper-aware of her flight to Maryland tomorrow evening after their game. The plan was simple. She’d spend Christmas with her dad and Drew like she always did when her mom’s side of the family had something else going on. This year, it was a beach trip to the Bahamas—Ryan and Lauren had begged for it after they didn’t get a summer vacation, and even though her mom had hated the idea of leaving Paige out, she’d caved.

“It’s just this one year,” her mom had told her over the phone a couple of weeks ago, sounding guilty. “Next year, we’ll all do something together, I promise.”

Paige had told her it was fine, and it had been. It wasn’t like her mom had planned it that way, and besides, Paige had been looking forward to some quality time with her dad and Drew.

But now, as she sits at the small table in her and Jo’s apartment, her phone pressed to her ear, that plan is crumbling right in front of her.

Her dad coughs—again—and Paige frowns at the sound of it. “I’m telling you, P, it’s bad,” he says, his voice raspy and hoarse. “It’s not like Drew and I have a cold, it’s bronchitis. We’re super contagious, and the last thing I want is for you to get sick, too. You’d bring it back to the team, and…” He trails off, but Paige knows exactly what he’s thinking.

If she brought bronchitis back to Storrs, it would be a disaster. Paige knows how quickly that would spread through them, because they’re always around each other. One sick player turns into three, and suddenly half the roster is on the bench. Which would be bad—because half their roster already is on the bench.

Still, it doesn’t make her feel any better. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and forces her voice to sound steady, even though the frustration is bubbling underneath. “I get it, Dad. It’s just…” She sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “It’s Christmas. I wanted to see you guys.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” her dad says, and he really does sound it. “If there was any way to make it work, I’d tell you to come, but I can’t let you risk it. You’re not just my kid—you’re, like, a national treasure. Even with a busted knee. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than hanging out with your sick old man and your germy little brother.” He tries to laugh, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit.

When it finally passes, he speaks again, softer this time. “Look, I hate this. You know I do. But maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to get sick, and I don’t want you here with me and Drew, bored out of your mind while we sit around coughing our lungs out. You should spend Christmas somewhere fun. I’m sure at least one of the girls will still be around campus, right?”

Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone is going home for the holidays. Azzi’s flight to Virginia is tomorrow, and Caroline’s driving back to Massachusetts the next day. Ice is already gone, Geno allowing it since she can’t even play in tomorrow’s game. And it’s not like Paige can crash at the homes of her coaches or staff, either. She’ll be here. Alone.

“Yeah, maybe,” she lies instead. “Don’t worry about me, ’kay Just take care of yourself and Drew. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Her dad sighs, and for a second time, the line goes quiet. “I’m sorry, P,” he says again, and there’s a tiredness in his voice that makes her feel guilty for even being upset. “We’ll FaceTime you on Christmas morning. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she mumbles. “Tell Drew I said hi. And Merry Christmas.”

“I will.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before hanging up, and the moment the call disconnects, Paige puts her head in her hands, elbows resting on the table.

It’s not like she doesn’t understand. Her dad is right—going to Maryland would be a bad idea. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. She’s supposed to be with her family for Christmas.

But now? She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. It’s not like she can book a flight to the Bahamas to be with her mom’s family.

So what does that leave? Staying on campus by herself? Wandering around Storrs in the freezing cold while the rest of her teammates celebrate with their families?

The thought puts a pit in her stomach, and she presses her palms harder against her face, as if that’ll somehow stop the wave of sadness crashing against her. She knows it’s not the end of the world—she’s an adult; she’ll survive—but it’s been a hard year, and she wanted to end it with her family beside her.

Suddenly, pair of warm and familiar arms drape loosely around Paige’s neck, startling her. She exhales sharply, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. She can feel Jo’s chin resting lightly on her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s cheek. Jo doesn’t seem to notice the way Paige tenses under her touch or how Paige’s stomach twists itself into knots.

“What’s up? Why’re you all sad?” Jo asks, her voice soft but still edged with that usual playful lilt that makes it hard to tell if she’s being entirely serious.

Paige swallows hard and keeps her gaze forward. Her fingers drum nervously against the table. “My dad and Drew are sick, so they’re not letting me come home,” she admits quietly, her voice tighter than she means for it to be. “I’mma be here all alone for Christmas.”

Jo pulls away abruptly, and Paige instantly misses the warmth of her arms. When she looks up, Jo’s eyes are searching hers, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “Wait, you’re not going to Maryland?” Jo asks, like she hasn’t just heard Paige say it.

Paige shakes her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nope,” she confirms, a little bitterly, popping the p.

Jo stares at her, unblinking, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle in her head. Then something shifts in her expression, and Paige can see it—the exact moment Jo’s brain kicks into overdrive. A slow grin spreads across Jo’s face, and her eyes brighten like she’s just come up with the best idea in the world. Paige feels herself get curios, because she knows Jo well enough to know that this particular look means she’s about to be dragged into something.

“Wait, no,” Jo says, her voice rising in excitement as she straightens up. “It’s fine. You’re not gonna be here alone.”

Paige frowns, confused. “What?”

But Jo’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, her excitement infectious even though Paige has no idea what she’s getting at. “Oh my god, wait! This is perfect. Peyton’s fiancée is sick, too, so he’s not coming on our ski trip like he was supposed to. Come with my family! It’ll be fun! We can snowboard together!”

Paige blinks, her mind spinning as she tries to process what Jo just said. A ski trip? With Jo’s family? The idea sounds… nice, but also terrifying. Sure, she’s met most of Jo’s family before, but that was before she realized she was completely, helplessly in love with her. Being around them now, with Jo acting all warm and familiar, feels like it might be too much.

“Jo,” Paige says slowly, trying to let the younger girl down gently. “I can’t. I don’t wanna intrude—”

Jo cuts her off with an exaggerated deadpan look. “I love you.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the chest. Her brain freezes for a split second, and she knows she’s staring at Jo like an idiot. Of course, Jo doesn’t mean it like that—she never does—but it doesn’t stop Paige’s heart from stuttering in her chest.

“So my family loves you, too,” Jo continues like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be fun. You’re not intruding on anybody. Besides, if you wanna feel all guilty about it, then you can pay me back by driving us up there so I don’t have to.”

Paige narrows her eyes at that. “Wait. You were gonna drive up there?”

Jo shrugs casually, as if her driving isn’t an actual safety hazard. “Yeah.”

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “God, now I have to go,” she mutters, half to herself. Jo tilts her head in confusion, so Paige adds, “I can’t let you drive all the way up there. You’re, like, the worst driver I’ve ever met.”

Jo gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, I’ve only almost killed us, like, twice.”

“Three times,” Paige corrects, unable to stop the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Whatever,” Jo says, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re coming, and we’re gonna have the best time ever. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Paige sighs, knowing she’s already lost this battle. The truth is, the idea of spending Christmas with Jo doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, it sounds kind of amazing, even if the thought of being around her family makes her a little nervous. “Okay,” she says reluctantly, pretending to sound annoyed even though she’s not.

Jo grins triumphantly before squealing, planting a quick, friendly kiss on Paige’s temple.

Paige tries to ignore the way her heart skyrockets at that. This ski trip might be the death of her.

JO STRETCHES her legs out as much as she can in the passenger seat, knees knocking lightly against the glove compartment. Her fingers drum idly against the screen of her phone as she scrolls through her playlists, searching. It’s the 22nd, and they’re only about a half-hour into the three-hour trip to the ski resort in New York where she’ll spend Christmas with her family—and, now, with Paige too.

Paige is driving, looking entirely too focused on the road. Jo leans over just slightly, flipping through songs before finally landing on what feels like the obvious choice: Harry Styles. The opening notes of Golden start to play through the speakers, and Jo immediately starts singing along, drumming the rhythm against her thighs.

Paige groans from the driver’s seat, her tone exasperated. “Nooooo,” she complains like a child, scrunching her face at the sound of the music.

Jo rolls her eyes and lightly swats Paige’s arm. “Don’t disrespect him!” she scolds. “That’s my man.”

Paige glances over at her with one of those fond, half-annoyed smiles Jo’s grown so used to over the years. She rolls her eyes again, but at least she doesn’t change the song. Jo smirks to herself, victorious, as she turns up the volume a little.

The snow-covered scenery passes by in a blur, the outside world feeling far away and muted. It’s just her and Paige now, and Jo finds herself relaxing more and more as the car hums along the quiet highway. Eventually, Paige seems to stop pretending she hates the music. She starts humming softly under her breath—off-key, of course, but Jo thinks it’s charming.

As the minutes tick by, the conversation between them slows, and the silence stretches. But it’s not awkward—it rarely ever is with Paige. Jo lets herself sink into it, leaning her head against the window and watching the world go by. Snow blankets the ground and clings to the branches of trees, glittering under the pale sunlight. It’s all so pretty, and Jo feels a swell of contentment in her chest.

She’s excited about this trip, and not just because she loves Christmas or snowboarding or even the cozy cabin her family rents almost every year. No, this year is different. This year, Paige is coming, and that thought alone makes her feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Jo can’t quite explain it, but something about the idea of spending the holiday with Paige—and all of her favorite people at once—fills her with an almost overwhelming kind of joy.

She loves Paige. The words flash in her head so casually that it takes her a second to realize what she’s just thought. Jo blinks, staring out at the endless stretch of snow-covered ground, and suddenly feels… weird. Not in a bad way. Just weird.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought—or said—those words before. She’s told Paige she loves her plenty of times, always with that same casual confidence that comes with a close friendship. But for some reason, the words feel different now, like they’re tugging at something deeper inside her, a part of her brain she hadn’t noticed before. She frowns slightly, her breath fogging the window as she shifts in her seat.

Curious, almost cautious, Jo glances over at Paige. Paige looks good. The thought slips into Jo’s mind unbidden. Her gaze lingers—too long, maybe—on Paige’s profile. Her slicked-back bun reveals her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, and her skin glows softly under the light reflecting off the snow. Her blue eyes—they look so blue right now—stay locked on the road, narrowed ever so slightly in focus. Even her hands, gripping the steering wheel with casual ease, look… nice? The rings on her fingers catch the light, glinting softly, and Jo feels her stomach do this weird, fluttery thing she can’t quite explain.

Jesus, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her right now.

She’s staring, she knows she’s staring, but she can’t seem to stop herself. Paige shifts slightly in her seat, and Jo’s eyes dart back to the window like she’s been caught red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” Paige’s voice cuts through Jo’s thoughts, low and teasing, and Jo jerks her head back around.

Paige is smirking at her now, one brow raised as she steals a glance her way before refocusing on the road. Jo’s face flushes, heat prickling at the back of her neck, and she scrambles for something to say.

“Shut up,” Jo mutters instead, weakly, before lightly swatting Paige’s arm again. Paige just laughs, the sound low and easy and too pretty for Jo’s liking.

Jo turns back to the window, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest. She shouldn’t feel this weird. This is Paige. She’s never felt strange like this around her before. So why is it happening now?

Her reflection stares back at her in the window, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t have an answer, but the question lingers in her mind, gnawing at her as the scenery blurs by.

THE CAR creaks to a stop, tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and Paige cuts the engine. Her hands rest on the steering wheel for a second too long as she stares at the cabin in front of them. It’s huge, with rustic wooden beams and wide windows that glint in the soft afternoon sunlight. Against the backdrop of snow-covered trees and a looming mountain, the place looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Not for the first time, Paige wonders just how much money Jo’s family actually has. She exhales softly, glancing over at Jo, who’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and muttering something about how cold it looks outside.

“Ready?” Jo asks, grinning as she swings the passenger door open. She doesn’t wait for Paige to answer before stepping out, boots crunching in the snow.

Paige follows, shivering as the cold air hits her. They make their way to the trunk, pulling out their luggage and the carefully wrapped presents. Paige grabs her suitcase and Jo’s backpack, while Jo hefts a duffel bag and a stack of gifts precariously balanced in her arms.

As they start up the snow-dusted path to the cabin, Paige feels a knot of nerves twist low in her stomach. She’s been around Jo’s family before—met her parents briefly, spent an afternoon with her little sister Mia—but this is different. A whole four days with them, at Christmas no less, feels more a lot closer. It makes her jittery.

The knot tightens as they get closer to the door. Paige’s boots crunch loudly in the quiet, the sound almost distracting enough to drown out her thoughts. Almost. She glances at Jo, who seems completely at ease, her face lighting up as she takes in the cabin and the familiar setting. Jo doesn’t seem nervous at all. There’s no reason for her to be, really. Paige wishes she could say the same.

Before they even reach the porch, the front door bursts open.

“Mia—” comes a faint voice from inside, but it’s already too late.

Jo’s little sister Mia comes charging out of the cabin, her boots slipping slightly on the snow but her momentum unstoppable. “You guys took so long!” she yells, her voice high and dramatic in the way Paige remembers. “We thought you got into a car accident and died!”

Jo snorts, her face splitting into a grin. “That was your theory?” she asks incredulously.

“It’s not a theory, it’s a possibility!” Mia shouts back, skidding to a stop in front of them. She looks up at Paige, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hi, Paige,” she says, her tone immediately softening into something warmer. “Do you remember me?”

Paige crouches slightly, balancing Jo’s backpack on her knee as she smiles at Mia. “Of course I remember you, Mimi,” she says. “How could I forget?”

Mia beams, and Paige can’t help but smile back. She liked Mia the first time she met her, and apparently the feeling was mutual, because Mia immediately latches onto her hand like they’re best friends. Jo groans beside her.

“You’re not allowed to replace me with Paige,” Jo says, her voice dry. “I’m your sister, remember?”

Mia rolls her eyes, an action so similar to Jo’s that it makes Paige laugh. Before Jo can retaliate, another voice cuts through the chilly air.

“Mia, you are such a menace,” says a woman stepping out onto the porch, pulling a jacket on. She’s tall and thin, with sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Paige recognizes her immediately—Peyton, Jo’s older sister. The one who dances in New York.

Mia gives Peyton a look, saying, “No, you.”

Peyton doesn’t respond, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the porch railing. She smiles at Jo, saying, “Hey, Joey,” before her eyes land on Paige. She nods toward her, her smirk softening into something friendlier. “Hi, Paige. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s stomach flips slightly at the wording. “Nothing bad, I hope,” she says, sending Jo a look before turning back to Peyton. “Nice to meet you.”

Peyton raises an eyebrow, glancing at Jo like she’s amused by something. Jo pointedly ignores her, busying herself with readjusting the presents in her arms. Before Paige can think too much about it, Jo’s parents appear in the doorway, their voices warm and welcoming as they call out greetings.

The knot in Paige’s stomach starts to loosen as Jo’s mom pulls her into a quick, affectionate hug, and her dad shakes her hand firmly. They’re warm, easygoing, and clearly thrilled to have her here. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and by the time they’re all inside the cabin, surrounded by the crackle of a fire and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen, Paige feels the last of her nerves melt away.

She might have been nervous about intruding, but now, as Jo’s family laughs and chatters around her, Paige thinks this is exactly what Christmas is supposed to feel like.

IT’S LATE, and the house is quiet now. Jo likes it—the silent hum of her family settling into their rooms, the muffled crackle of the fireplace in the living room below. But mostly, she likes the way it feels to be here, with Paige.

The bathroom is small and warm, steam still lingering in the air from earlier showers. Jo leans over the counter, squeezing a dollop of black face mask onto her fingers. Paige mirrors her on the other side of the sink, her blonde hair still pulled back in its bun, loose strands framing her face. Jo’s been hyper-aware of her all day. It’s not like anything new has even happened, so she doesn’t know why things suddenly feel different. But it does. It’s like everything Paige does—the way she laughs, the way her blue eyes catch the light, the way her fingers brushed Jo’s earlier while stealing a cookie from the baking tray—feels sharper, louder, harder to ignore. Almost like a switch has been turned on in Jo’s head.

“Okay, hold still,” Jo says, stepping closer. Paige tilts her head downward slightly, her blue eyes locking on Jo’s, and Jo tries not to notice how close they are. She smears a stripe of the black mask across Paige’s cheekbone, biting back a grin when Paige wrinkles her nose.

“You’re being so aggressive about it,” Paige says, her voice teasing. She dips her fingers into her own little bowl of the mask and smears a line down Jo’s nose in retaliation.

Jo huffs, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitch into a grin. She swipes another streak across Paige’s forehead, her fingers lingering against her skin. It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it feels like electricity sparking up Jo’s arm. She pulls her hand back quickly, hoping Paige doesn’t notice how her breath catches.

Paige’s lips quirk, but she doesn’t say anything. She just smears another bit of the mask across Jo’s jaw, her hand steady and confident like she always is. “You’re a terrible client,” Paige mutters, her voice dry but soft, her blue eyes flicking briefly to Jo’s. And Jo, again, feels that strange, sharp awareness settle over her. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t new. It’s not like she hasn’t been this close to Paige before—hell, she and Paige cuddle in the same bed nearly every night.

But today, it’s like her brain has decided that Paige is a little too much. Too pretty. Too funny. Too… Paige. Jo doesn’t know what to do with it, so she keeps quiet, keeps working on the mask, hoping the feeling will pass. It doesn’t.

She steps back slightly, assessing her work, and Paige tilts her head again, clearly trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror behind Jo. Her smile is gummy, and Jo’s chest squeezes in a way that feels alarmingly foreign. It’s fine. This is fine.

“You look kinda funny,” Paige tells her.

Jo rolls her eyes. “No, you look funny.”

“You both look funny,” a new voice says.

Jo looks toward the bathroom door and nearly groans out loud. Mia is standing there, leaning against the frame with her hands on her hips. Her hair is braided, and she’s wearing pink pajamas with unicorns on them. Jo loves her sister, but Mia has the uncanny ability to show up at the exact wrong time. Every time.

Jo watches as Paige grins at Mia, her eyes sparkling under the harsh bathroom lights. Paige’s hand reaches out, steady and sure, wrapping easily around Mia’s small wrist as she pulls her closer. “Come look funny with us,” Paige says, her voice teasing but warm, and somehow, Mia lets her. Mia—who has never warmed up to anyone outside of their family as quickly as she has with Paige—lets her.

Jo leans against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, observing the way Paige lifts Mia effortlessly onto the counter. It shouldn’t be surprising by now—Paige’s knack for fitting in, for making herself comfortable in any room, any space. But it is surprising. Jo doesn’t understand how Paige has done it, how she’s managed to turn Mia into a giggling puddle of affection when Jo can barely get her little sister to listen most days.

It shouldn’t bug her. It shouldn’t make her chest ache the way it does, seeing Paige there, standing so close to her family, fitting into the picture like she belongs in it. Like she’s been in it all along. Jo feels something twist in her stomach as Paige dips her fingers into the little bowl of face mask and dabs some of the black paste onto Mia’s nose, grinning when Mia squeals. It’s like watching someone carve their name into a tree that’s already been there for years. Permanent. Unshakable.

Jo’s heart stutters, and she doesn’t know why.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” Paige says, laughing as Mia squirms. Jo’s still leaning against the counter, arms crossed a little too tight against her chest, trying to ignore how soft Paige’s voice is, how easy she makes it look—being good with kids, being good with Mia.

Paige looks over her shoulder at Jo and grins. “You gonna stand there the whole time, or are you gonna help me?”

Jo doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not with the way her throat feels tight all of a sudden. She pushes off the counter and grabs the bowl from Paige’s hand, stepping closer. The three of them are a little crowded now, Paige and Jo standing shoulder to shoulder, Mia giggling in the middle of it all. Jo’s hyper-aware of how Paige’s arm brushes against hers every time she moves, how Paige’s perfume—subtle and familiar—lingers in the small space between them.

Jo focuses on the task, smearing the face mask carefully across Mia’s cheeks. “Stay still, Mimi,” she mutters, but her voice is softer than usual, her irritation dulled. Mia grins at her, like she knows Jo can’t ever stay mad at her for long. Paige snickers next to her, and Jo doesn’t need to look to know there’s a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Aight, done,” Paige says, stepping back slightly to admire their work. Mia beams at her reflection in the mirror, her face covered in streaky black paste. Jo sets the bowl down, already turning back to the sink, when she catches it—the look Paige and Mia share. Mischievous. Almost conspiratorial.

“Don’t,” Jo says, narrowing her eyes at them, but it’s too late. Mia’s already scooping some of the mask onto her tiny fingers, and Paige follows suit, dipping her own hand back into the bowl. Before Jo can move, they both strike.

“Guys!” Jo exclaims as they swipe the cold, sticky paste across her lips, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. She wipes at her mouth furiously, glaring at them both. “It’s not supposed to go on the lips!”

“Sorry, Joey,” Mia giggles, and Jo groans at the sound of it. She hates when Mia calls her that, hates when most of her family does. Though, she has to admit, it is better than JoJo.

But then Paige says it. “Yeah, sorry, Joey,” Paige echoes, her tone dripping with mock sincerity, her lips curled into a grin. And it’s different. It hits Jo differently, like a warm gust of wind cutting through the chill. The way Paige says hasn’t ever made her cringe. It’s never annoyed her. Instead, it makes her heart trip over itself, stumbling into something that feels suspiciously like want.

Jo stills, her hand still pressed against her lips, her brain suddenly moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Paige’s grin softens slightly as she steps back, wiping her own fingers clean on a towel, completely oblivious to the way Jo’s entire world is starting to tilt off its axis.

Jo can’t stop the thought that rises, unbidden and unwelcome. I like the way she says my name.

And then, like a sudden slap to the face, the truth hits her. It doesn’t creep in. It doesn’t build slowly. It slams into her all at once, leaving no room for doubt or denial.

She likes Paige.

Her chest tightens, and she almost feels like she can’t breathe. Oh my God. She likes Paige. Not just as a friend. Not just as her teammate or her roommate. She likes her in a way she never, ever thought she would.

It’s the kind of realization that knocks everything out of focus, that makes her head spin. Because this isn’t just some fleeting, surface-level thing. It’s not a crush she can shrug off. It’s Paige. And it feels like the ground under her feet has cracked wide open.

It doesn’t make any sense to her. She’s always thought she’s straight. She’s never even entertained the idea of liking girls. She always had Asher, and even though they’re broken up now, that wound is still fresh.

But the realization is there, and it’s as real as anything else. She likes Paige.

Jo glances at Paige out of the corner of her eye, half hoping that maybe she’ll catch on, that she’ll notice something’s wrong and say something stupid or reassuring or Paige-like. But Paige is just there, wiping Mia’s hands with a towel, laughing softly at whatever Mia just said, completely unaware that Jo is facing one of the most startling realizations of her life.

And Jo? Jo is completely, utterly fucked.

[dulcescorderitas]

☾ 𝔖uper͡𝒏aturɑᥣ 𝜗𝜚 ྀི

new room

parings: dean winchester x reader

warnings: cussing, implied smut

you’re driving back from the diner with sam, and your phone buzzes in your lap. dean’s name flashes across the screen, and you pick it up on the first ring. his voice is already buzzing with excitement, like he’s a kid at christmas.

“baby, you’re not gonna fucking believe this,” he says, and you can practically hear the grin splitting his face. “the room—my room—it’s perfect. no motel mildew, no creaky-ass beds, none of that.”

you hum, half-amused, glancing at sam who’s giving you that subtle side-eye. “yeah? got your posters of pamela anderson up already?”

“fuck off,” dean laughs, but there’s no heat in it. “no, but i’ve got the bed made. a real bed, sweetheart. none of that lumpy, back-breaking crap. and guess what else? i’ve been scoping it out.”

“you’ve been scoping it out,” you echo, intrigued despite yourself. “scoping what out?”

sam’s looking suspicious now, probably picking up on the low, wicked edge creeping into dean’s voice.

“where we can fuck.” the words hit you like a sucker punch, blunt and unapologetic, and you choke on nothing, your grip tightening on the phone. sam lets out a faint noise of protest, already muttering something like “dean, seriously?” but you’re barely listening.

“i mean it,” dean continues, steamrolling right over his brother’s indignation. “first thing i thought when i saw this room? ‘goddamn, i’m gonna bend her over every fucking surface in here.’”

“you’re unbelievable,” you mutter, but your voice lacks any real bite.

“hear me out,” he says, his tone dipping into that low, rough drawl that always sets your nerves alight. “there’s the bed, obviously. big enough for anything we’ve got in mind. the desk? solid wood. no wobble, which—you know, very important. then there’s the wall, right by the bookshelf. you’re gonna look so fucking good there, baby, all spread out, my hand around your throat.”

“dean,” sam hisses, his ears practically glowing red, but dean doesn’t even pause.

“and the armchair? sturdy as hell. i checked. picture this: you, on your knees, my jeans around my ankles…” you’re halfway to throwing your phone out the window, face hot enough to melt glass. “you’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“fucking right i have,” dean replies, smug as sin. “this room? it’s ours. every corner of it, baby. and you’re gonna love it.”

sam is groaning, hand over his face like he’s trying to block out every word, but dean just keeps going. “wait till you see what i did with my gear. guns, knives, rosaries… it’s all laid out. and i’ve got plans for that too, you know.”

“nope,” sam snaps, louder this time. “i’m not hearing this. i’m out.” you can barely stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat as sam reaches over to roll down his window like he’s trying to physically escape the conversation.

“aw, don’t worry about sammy,” dean drawls, clearly enjoying every second of his brother’s suffering. “we’ll christen the place when it’s just you and me. properly.”

you shake your head, biting down on your grin, and hang up before he can get any more graphic. but you’re already itching to get back to that bunker, and the smug bastard knows it.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: when your car breaks down right as you need to pick up a friend in metropolis, clark offers to give you a ride (not the type you want) and you step up your game.

everyone thank my writer's block, because if not for that, this would never have been as out there as it is. like if i'd released this half a week ago, it would not be anywhere near this level. i still had writer's block while grinding this out, so every question of where to go next was answered with 'make it HORNIER'. and you're welcome.

WARNINGS: mentions of road head, brief palming, accidental crotch grab, innuendo, clark is perpetually horny and shameful (who isn't?), he's still so down bad and needs loving desperately. (someone let this boy get RAILED (that's my job, really, but i promise i've got one more chapter idea before he FUCKS))

part one! part two! part three!

You sigh frustratedly as you lift the hood of your car to try to gauge the problem. Perhaps the problem was that the car was old as hell, just repainted and spruced up a little to give the illusion that it was simply vintage, not a second hand metal bag of parts. 

“Everything okay?” 

You look up to find Clark coming over. Whether it's good luck or not, you've broken down in front of the Kents house. No family nicer than the Kents exist. It's entirely possible. They're endlessly helpful. The problem, as always, is their gorgeous son. 

It's hot out, he's been sweating enough to give him a particular entrancing sheen over his skin. And now you're frustrated for two very different reasons. 

“No. Stupid car broke down,” you muttered, chest heaving in a sigh. 

Clark’s gaze wanders, against his will. All of a sudden, he’s looking at your chest, the way your breasts have been pushed up by a combination of that gorgeous tank top and probably the bra beneath it. And now he’s thinking about your underwear. You in your underwear and nothing else. You standing in your underwear in front of him, begging for his help once again. 

He closes his eyes firmly and looks away, mentally smiting himself. He can’t think about you like that. You’re his neighbour, his friend, and you’re in trouble. 

He clears his throat, speaking in the hopes that he can distract himself from the sight of your cleavage and bare legs. “Okay, well, why don't we push it up to the house? We can take a look at it, see if we can get it started again. If not, at least it's not out in the road in the way.” 

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks.” 

And so the two of you manage to push your crappy car up to the front of the house, where Mr Kent joins you to take a look at it with Clark. 

“Good news is, it's totally fixable. Bad news is, you'd need a mechanic to do it. We'll call them and they can tow it from here.” 

You sigh, looking at your watch. “Damn it. I'm supposed to pick up my friend from the station in Metropolis in a couple of hours.” 

“Well, I can take you in our car,” Clark suggests. 

“You'd do that?” You ask, and he nods, charming smile still there. You grin, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug as his arms slide around your waist. “Thank you, Clark, you're a lifesaver.” 

Clark can feel as the blush begins to set in. “Yeah, of course. We can get going as soon as you're ready to.” 

“I'm ready now, if that's okay?” 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

It’s not until you’re in the passenger seat and on the road that either of you speak again. “So, who’s your friend?” 

“Just one of the girls from Central City. I told her she could visit once I was settled in. She’s fun, you’ll love her.” 

You play with your hair, and it sends a fresh whiff of your scent in Clark’s direction. He doesn’t know if it’s perfume or shampoo, but he knows he’s already addicted. You cross one leg over the other, and fold your arms. Clark glances over, a moment of weakness that he hates himself for. It’s like he wants to punish himself. Something in him that says that if he’s going to think like this, he can go unsatisfied and hurting. It’s not logical. In fact, he knows that looking is the one indulgence he’ll allow himself. A brief glance that he won’t let linger, thoughts he’ll bury as long as possible. 

“I’m sorry about your car,” he says, in an attempt to distract himself from your bare legs and accentuated cleavage. 

You smile a little. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for helping.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” 

“No, really, Clark, thank you,” you say, turning towards him and leaning over the console in the centre, hands resting on it and pushing your breasts up and together. “You’re always there whenever I need you. You’re so good, Clark.” He’s going to explode again. “Really. I can’t thank you enough.” 

Yet again, your attempts seem to have been either obliviously ignored or politely rejected, as Clark doesn’t respond to them. Granted, this was one of your more low-key comments, but he hasn’t even glanced at your tits, and they’re right there! 

So you decide to double down. Test to see if he’s just oblivious, awkward, or not interested. 

One of your hands lands on his thigh. He blinks, but doesn’t look at you. “You’re so helpful, Clark. Always happy to help when I need you. And I always need you. There has to be some way for me to repay you.” Your hand travels further up his thigh. In an ideal world, you’d be giving him road head right now, not halfway to it. 

Clark finally looks at you, his cheeks a little flushed, and as he turns his head, his gaze lands right on your chest. 

Immediately, though, a car horn sounds, and Clark’s eyes dart back onto the road in time to swerve back into his own lane. The road had been totally empty for a while now, it hadn’t even occurred to him that eventually they had to run into someone. 

He blinks heavily. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

You smile, eyes bright with mischief. “For the nearly dying? Or the other thing?” 

“Uh, both. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” 

You giggle. “It’s okay, Clark. Really, you’re fine. More than fine.” 

Your hand is still on his upper thigh, a dangerous place. A bump in the road underneath the right front wheel jolts you, and your hand accidentally slips onto Clark’s crotch, applying pressure. His eyes go wide as saucers, a strangled noise barely escaping him before he gets a hold of his vocal cords. 

“Oh!” You gasp. “I’m sorry, Clark!” 

You pull your hand off, returning to your side of the car. That had slightly ruined your entire plan. It was a total accident. You hadn’t meant to straight up grab the guy. Just tease him a little. Shit. 

When you get out of the car at the Metropolis station to go find your friend, Clark takes the opportunity to do some breathing exercises, and uses the cover of his jacket to his advantage, palming at himself to relieve the ache a little for now. He bites the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge to make some sort of sound. He doesn’t know what it’ll be, and he’s alone in the car, but whatever it is, it’ll be embarrassing enough even if he’s the only one to hear it. So instead he just breathes a little irregularly, head tilted back a little against the headrest. 

He sees your friend with you as you approach the car again, and he tears his hand away from himself begrudgingly. Your friend has a grin on her face, eyes wide with excitement as you both talk with equal enthusiasm. 

You join her in the back this time, probably for the best, but you’re still on the opposite side of the car to him, so he sees you easily in the mirror, and all he needs to do is turn his head a little and let his peripheral vision do the rest. 

“Oh, you’re so right,” your friend says, and you shush her despite your giggling. 

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[adviceformefromme]

When you don’t speak up and your words become choked in your throat, you’re blocking your natural flow. When you go to the birthday dinner of the friend (who’s not really your friend) even though your soul is screaming not to, you block your natural flow. When you accept the soul-destroying job for money, despite promising yourself to take a risk on your business idea… You block your natural flow. And when this becomes a lifestyle, this is how you become the healthy person who is suddenly struck down with a serious health issue, this is how you end up with anxiety and depression, and lethargy, feeling so beat down by the world. When the truth is you simply betrayed yourself, you live for the world instead of your heart. But here’s the hot take, being in your flow is your superpower. It’s how you collapse timelines and completely transform your life in 3-6 months, it’s how you position yourself to be in the right place at the right time, it’s how you live authentically no matter how crazy it looks to everyone around you. Your soul is speaking to you in little whispers throughout the day, practise listening and taking actions from that place, the little whispers are guiding you back to your natural flow and from this place, to your souls home, to your freedom. 

[fullsunstrawberry]

[Part 21: THEY SHOULD BE FUCKING]

synopsis: New year's resolution leads to you hitting the gym with your two muscle-head friends. But things get complicated when feelings and emotions are involved.

warnings: swearing, talks of balls, heavy make out session

word count: 1.9k

a/n: had the worst day, hopefuolly this helps ur day be a little better <3

taglist CLOSED (18+)

Getting ready for bed, you put on your favorite oversized shirt and settle under the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Just as you lean back against the pillows, ready to relax, a quiet knock at your door pulls you from your thoughts.

Curious, you slip out of bed and pad across the room, opening the door to find Jeno standing there. He looks hesitant, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his gaze flickering nervously between you and the floor.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice laced with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? I couldn’t stop worrying about you.”

You blink, momentarily surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He’d already checked on you earlier, but here he was again, just to make sure.

“Jen,” you say with a small, grateful smile, “I swear I’m okay. You made everything better like you always do.”

He seems to relax slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing, but a flicker of doubt remains in his eyes.

“Are you really sure?” he presses, shifting awkwardly on his feet, like he’s caught between wanting to believe you and staying just to make sure.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and warm as you shake your head at his persistence.

“I promise,” you say, stepping to the side and gesturing to let him in. A teasing smile tugs at your lips as you add, “But if you’re still worried… Do you want to stay over? Just in case?”

His head snaps up, his eyes widening slightly as a faint flush colors his cheeks. For a second, he looks like he might mutter out an excuse, but then he meets your gaze, something unspoken passing between you. Slowly, a small, smile curves his lips.

“If you don’t mind,” he murmurs, stepping inside.

You close the door softly behind him, the faint click sounding loud. Almost immediately, the air feels different—warmer. Jeno glances around, the tips of his ears pink, his hands nervously fiddling with his hoodie.

“Where should I—?” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual confidence faltering as his eyes dart around your room.

Before he could finish his sentence, you find yourself moving without really thinking. Rising up on your toes, you lean in and press a quick, light kiss to his lips. It’s short but the soft warmth of his mouth lingers as you pull back, suddenly hyper-aware of your own boldness.

Jeno freezes, his breath catching in his throat, his wide eyes locked on yours. For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, like his brain is still trying to process what just happened.

“I—uh,” you stammer, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Sorry, I don’t know why I—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts quickly, his voice low and steady, though his cheeks are still visibly flushed. His lips tug into the faintest smile, and his gaze softens as he steps closer.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper now, his face so close you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “But… if you’re going to do that, at least give me a chance to kiss you back.”

Before you can respond, his hand gently cups your cheek, and he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that’s tender yet slow, as though he’s savoring the moment. 

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, and he lets out a breathy laugh, his usual boyish smile returning. “I, uh… wasn’t expecting that when I came back,” he admits, his voice still soft. “But I’m not complaining.”

You can’t help but laugh, your nerves fading as you take in his shy expression. “It just kind of happened,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the two of just stood there, caught in the quiet, comfortable warmth of each other’s presence. Then Jeno tilts his head toward your room, his smile turning playful. “So… are you offering me the floor or am I upgraded to the couch?”

You shake your head with a smile. “You’ve been upgraded to the bed.” you said leading him down the hall to your bedroom.

“Wow, first a kiss, now this? You’re spoiling me tonight,” Jeno teases, though there’s a softness in his tone that betrays the weight of the moment.

Rolling your eyes and folded your arms. “Don’t let it go to your head. Remember I'm supposed to be really sad right now.”

He chuckles, ruffling his hair sheepishly. “Would cuddling help?.”

You barely take a second to think before blurting out, “Yes.”

Jeno blinks, clearly startled by your quick response. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Wow,” he says, leaning back slightly and crossing his arms. “That was fast. Like, not even a second of hesitation. Were you hoping I would ask?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you glare at him, grabbing a pillow from your bed and tossing it at him. “Don’t make it weird, Jeno!”

He laughs, easily catching the pillow and hugging it to his chest. “I think we are long past weird...”

Jeno’s laughter dies down as he studies you, his grin softening into something warmer, more intimate. He moves around the bed to take a step closer, closing the space between you two. The playful tension lingers in the air, but there’s something else now.

“You’re not as sad as I expected for someone who said they were upset,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Is this just an excuse to keep me here?”

You raise an eyebrow, faking irritation, but the blush in your cheeks betrays you. “Excuse me? You’re the one who showed up at my door all worried and adorable.”

“Adorable, huh?” he echoes, tilting his head slightly, his smile widening. “So you think I’m cute.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips gives you away. “Stop teasing me! You’ve been demoted to the couch.”

He chuckles, his hands sliding into his pockets as he leans casually against your dresser, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked on yours. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice dripping with mock fear. “So, how can I make it up to you?”

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at his words. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible to resist, maybe,” he quips, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between you. His tone is light, but his eyes search yours, his playful grin softening into something more vulnerable. “But seriously, if you need me… I’m here.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, all the teasing fades away. You look up at him, your breath hitching slightly as the weight of his words sinks in. He’s so close now, his presence warm and steady, his gaze unwavering.

“Jeno…” you start, but the rest of your sentence is lost as he reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist. The touch is gentle, almost hesitant, but it sends a spark through you, and suddenly, the air feels hot.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand lingers against your skin, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles that make it impossible to think straight.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing as you meet his gaze. “You’re really not making it easy to stay sad.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, and he steps even closer, his other hand resting lightly on your waist. “Good,” he says softly “Because I don’t want you to be sad.”

Before you can respond, he dips his head, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss. You respond without hesitation, your fingers tangling in his hoodie as you pull him closer, the warmth of his body grounding you in the moment.

When he finally pulls back leaning his head against your neck, his breath warm, he grins, his voice low and playful. “So… do I get to stay now? Or do I need to keep proving myself?”

Your head falls back, a soft, breathy laugh slipping past your lips. Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie before they trail downward, brushing against the hem. You toy with it for a moment, your touch deliberate, before slowly tugging it upward.

Jeno’s smirk deepens, his dark eyes watching you. Without missing a beat, he grabs the back of his hoodie and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, leaving him in just a fitted t-shirt that clings to his frame. The soft rustle of fabric and the sharp cut of his grin send a shiver down your spine as he leans in closer, his voice teasing.

"Getting impatient, are we?"

“No more talking,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm.

His smirk deepens. “Oh?”

You don’t give him the chance to say anything else. One hand slides up to the nape of his neck, pulling him back in, and he follows willingly—eagerly. His lips crash against yours, less measured this time, more desperate, more claiming. His hands trace the curve of your waist before gripping, pulling you even closer.

The kiss deepens, the warmth of his hands against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. Jeno moves instinctively, his grip tightening, as if afraid you might slip away. The air between you is thick and heavy.

You barely have time to register the way your heart pounds against your chest. His fingers trace slow, lingering patterns against your back, the touch gentle despite the urgency of his kiss. Your hands move of their own accord, sliding up his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your fingertips.

When you finally break apart, your breaths come in short, uneven pants. Jeno’s forehead rests against yours, his grip still firm on your waist. His eyes flicker open, dark and unreadable, but the ghost of a smirk lingers on his lips.

“I should probably let you sleep,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head, catching the way his fingers still flex against your hips, unwilling to let go. “Do you want to?”

His silence is telling. Instead of answering, he leans in again, but this time, his lips find your jaw, then just below your ear, where he presses a lingering kiss before murmuring, “Not really.”

A shiver courses through you, and you don’t fight it. Instead, you tip your head slightly, giving him more space, and inviting him to continue.

“Jeno…” His name leaves your lips in a whisper, barely audible, but he hears it—feels it. His hands tighten around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the ground just enough to guide you back toward the bed.

You let yourself fall back against the pillows, watching as he hovers over you, his expression shifting—fondness, adoring, but still teasing. “Still sad?” he asks, his voice soft yet playful, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

He shakes his head, dipping down to steal another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the moment. “Not when it comes to you.”

And as the night stretches on, filled with whispered words and lingering touches, you realize how stupid you were for trying to get over him before you could even get under him.

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[mandalhoerian]

[read on ao3]

caleb hates the way you look at him now. like you were sifting through sand, running your hands through his bones, his voice, his skin, as if you could excavate the boy you used to know from the body he wears now. And he lets you. he lets you watch him with those wide, aching eyes, lets you press your unspoken questions into the space between you like a knife you’re too afraid to drive in.

but he is still here. he has always been here.

even when you left. even when you let the world pull you out of his arms, away from the home you built together in the shadows of another woman's house. even when you looked at him like he was someone else, something else.

like the metal in his arm has replaced something soft, that the scars are signs of a man who has lost himself. that the violence in his wake is a symptom of something wrong with him, rather than something that has always been there, something rooted in him, as natural as breath, as old as hunger.

but caleb was never one thing. he was never just soft, never just sharp — he was always both.

he is the hound at your heels, the one who circles, watchful, ready to tear out throats in your name. loyal. devoted. a beast trained to heel at your feet, to follow wherever you go, to obey without question. and if you asked him, caleb, stay, he would. if you asked him, caleb, stop, he would. If you asked him, caleb, go away — it would kill him, but he would.

but there is another thing inside him, and it does not listen.

there is a wolf in the woods, and it knows you. it has followed your scent for as long as it has drawn breath, pacing the edges of your world, waiting, waiting. it does not wait for you to call its name, does not wait for your permission to exist. it is not tame, not obedient, not safe. It does not serve. It only wants.

and caleb — caleb is both.

the livestock guardian that is submissive to you and the wolf that hunts you. the thing that kneels at your feet and the thing that would tear out the throat of anyone who dares stand between you. he wants to shelter you, protect you, keep you warm and safe and untouched. and yet — yet. there is a part of him, the part with teeth, the part with claws, the part that sees the softness of you and wants to sink its fangs into your throat, not to kill, never to kill, only to mark, only to hold, only to have.

you were always his gravity.

not in the way that the moon tugs the tide, not in some vast celestial dance — no, it was smaller than that. closer. more inevitable. like breath in his lungs, like blood in his veins. something unseen but undeniable, something he could never be without.

he belongs to you. he always has.

you don’t see it, not really. maybe you never did before, and he would prefer that you didn't, too. you called it love, called it family, called it childhood closeness like there was ever a world where he could be anything but yours. like there was ever a version of himself that didn’t orbit you, didn’t shape himself to fit at your side, didn’t soften his edges just so you would never cut yourself on them.

but he was never soft. he just hid the worst parts so you wouldn’t have to see them.

it wasn’t a lie — he never lied to you — but it was something gentler than the truth. he thought it would be enough. he thought if he could keep you smiling, if he could be the one you trusted, the one you leaned on, the one you needed, then maybe he wouldn’t have to think about how much he needed you.

then the world reared its ugly head, and he realized something terrible:

there were things out there that could take you from him.

and just like that, all that softness he built for you — the patient, gentle kindness, the indulgence, the restraint — it all crumbled into dust.

you were hesitant when you saw him again. you don’t think he noticed, but he did. he always does. and oh, it killed him, the way you shrank back, the way your breath caught in your throat like he was someone you didn’t know. like he was someone you couldn't trust.

it didn’t matter that he had only done this for you. it didn’t matter that every fight, every cut, every broken piece of himself was just another offering to the people who would have destroyed you if he hadn’t proven he was useful. that every time he did their bidding, he did it with his mind turned toward you, his hands working only so yours would never be bloodied.

you don’t know. you’ll never know.

because the one thing he can’t survive is you looking at him with hate.

he could bear it if you ran. if you cut him out, if you refused to look at him, if you left him behind like a ghost of something you no longer wanted. it would tear him apart, but he would let you. because you have always been the only thing that matters.

but you don’t.

instead, you talk about the past. you reminisce. you say his name like it still belongs to the boy you used to know, and he — he clings to it.

he lets you drag him back into those memories because he wants to believe it’s still real. that you still trust him. that you still need him. that you still want him close, even if you don’t understand what he’s become.

(he wants to believe that if he just stays by your side, if he just waits, you’ll stop flinching when you catch glimpses of what’s underneath.)

so he smiles when you talk about childhood. he humors you, lets you search for him in the person he is now, even though he knows you won’t find what you’re looking for. you think he’s changed. you think you lost something.

but you didn’t.

he is still the boy who would do anything for you.

the difference is that now, he no longer has to pretend there is a line he wouldn’t cross, and that he didn't want to cage you if the day he fears the most were to come.

if you ran, he’d let you. he’d watch you go like he's always done, even as it tore him apart, even as it hollowed him out like something starved, something desperate. because you were always meant to be free, and he knows — he knows —that his hands weren’t made to hold birds, only to shelter them.

but that doesn’t mean he won’t clip the wings of anyone who tries to take you away from him.

he has never been possessive. never that. if you told him you wanted someone else, he wouldn’t stop you. he wouldn’t rage, wouldn’t break, wouldn’t hold onto you with trembling fingers. but he would carve apart the world if they ever became a threat. if they ever so much as made you cry.

because what you don’t understand, what you never understood, is that keeping you safe is the only thing he has ever been good for.

and maybe — maybe, if things were different, if he were someone else, if this aching thing inside him didn’t beat only for you, he wouldn’t feel the way he does now. wouldn’t watch the way your shoulders tense, wouldn’t track every tired breath you take, wouldn’t see the way exhaustion settles into your skin and think, You wouldn’t have to be like this if you just let me take care of you.

but you won’t. you don’t.

and he has spent his whole life indulging you, so what’s one more thing? What’s one more sacrifice?

he could take you away. he could lock the doors, cut the world off from you, tuck you somewhere safe where no one could ever hurt you, not even him.

but he doesn’t.

he knows that would be the one thing you would never forgive.

and it isn’t about him. It never has been. it’s about you. your safety, your happiness, your freedom that you would never go through that again. so if you don’t want to be locked away, if you want to keep running toward danger, then fine. he’ll let you.

he’ll just be right there, in the shadows, following you. watching. waiting. making sure that when the world bares its teeth at you, it won’t get the chance to bite.

childhood friends who became family, who blurred the lines of sibling-tight bonds and something softer, sharper, and more yearning — it's a trope that feels like sitting in the quiet hum of a summer evening when the sun lingers too long on the horizon. because the truth of it is: nothing lingers forever. and you both know that, but you’ll still talk about the old days like maybe you can bring them back. like maybe if you name the memories, you can summon them. like if you say, “remember when we built that fort in the back garden and swore to live there forever because i had a fight with gran,” it’ll mean something now that the garden has been bulldozed and forever has been whittled down to awkward meetings where you can't talk about the elephant in the room.

it’s the uneven ground of being the one who died and the one who was left behind, or the one who grew and the one who wanted to keep the other captured the way they used to be in a snowglobe — or maybe just the realization that you’re both standing on shifting sand now. you talk about the past like it’s a shared secret, but neither of you knows how to talk about the present. maybe you’ve started running out of things to say because the summer nights you used to fill with fun and games are quieter now, and you don’t know how to breach the distance between you that yawns exponentially bigger every single day.

because that’s the ache of it, isn’t it? thinking you’ve grown together, but ending up having grown apart in the blink of an eye. the ache of seeing his face and realizing you don’t know him the way you used to — not like when you could read the curl of his lips or the way he bit the inside of his cheek and know exactly what he was thinking. you still know the shape of caleb, the blueprint of who he was, but he's a house rebuilt in the same place, and you’re standing on the porch like a stranger.

and you miss the summers, the cicadas, sleeping on the floor together with the attic window wide open, sharing ice cream together and being carried because of a scraped knee. even being scolded you refused mosquito spray because you hated the smell. you miss the easy, endless days of being inseparable and being spoiled rotten because time didn’t mean anything then. now, every second feels like a countdown. you sit across from him at a diner, laughter ringing too alien because it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to, and you’re counting the minutes until he leaves for skyhaven. or maybe it’s until you leave, because isn’t that the worst realization? there's always a deadline. you tell yourself it’s enough that you were everything to each other once, and there's still something between you like the transition between summer to autumn. but there’s a kind of grief in knowing you’ll never be those kids again, barefoot in the grass, shouting at the stars.

grief. you thought you knew it well.

because you know how to grieve a death — you’ve rehearsed it in your head, folded it into something manageable. it’s a well-worn myth, a story you tell yourself when the silence gets too loud: he’s gone. he’s not coming back. you cried once, twice, a hundred times in the soft, gold-light glow of dusk, in the places you once knew together, and you thought that was the worst part.

but then caleb came back. and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.

because it’s him, isn’t it? same voice, same face, same hands that once shoved you playfully into the lake on a summer afternoon. he looks at you with eyes that are so painfully familiar you want to throw up, but something in them is off — like a song played just a fraction of a second too slow. like the ghost of a childhood home, walls the same but empty, the warmth gone.

you want to say, you’re different. you want to say, what happened to you? but all he says, over and over, with that too-smooth, too-homey certainty is, i’ve always been like this.

and that’s the part that burns. because no, he hasn’t. you would know, wouldn’t you? you spent summers mapping out the topography of his voice, the way it cracked when he laughed too hard, the way he whispered conspiratorial plans under the sheets when you were supposed to be sleeping. you knew his every restless fidget, every dream he had about taking you away to somewhete but never actually going through with it. you would know if this was always him. wouldn’t you?

but what if you’re the one who’s wrong?

the memories are there, but they feel like borrowed pages from someone else’s story now. he tells you, remember when we built a treehouse in the oak by the creek? and you nod, it's like he's trying to coax the sparks out. remember how you used to hum under your breath when you were nervous? and he smiles, but it’s an aching, tight thing.

so you sit there, across from him, trying to measure the distance between the boy you knew and the man wearing his face. he talks about the past like maybe he can drag you back to it. like maybe he can make you remember. but you're here, waiting for him to join you in the present.

but the worst part isn’t the change.

the worst part is the knowing that he’s still here. still breathing, still existing, still talking to you. and yet he’s light-years away with the you of the past.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You hate that feeling. The world moves around you as you wade up from the depths, a dizziness spirals behind your eyes, and you twitch as your come to. You’re head hangs back as Steve carries your limp body through the halls, footsteps steady and set to course. 

You grunt and spasm as you lift your head, further disoriented by the motion. You grab onto his shoulder as you feel as if you’ll fall. His cheek dimples as he smirks and lets out an amused snort. 

“Morning--” 

You don’t let him finish as you flick his throat and wriggle around in his arms. He coughs and drops your legs as he cradles his neck. You spin away from his other arm and barrel away from him. You don’t know what you’re doing, or why, it’s a really stupid thing, but you’re not really in a place where you can stop and think right now. 

You pump your arms as your footsteps echo around you down the airy halls. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You’ve seen what Steve can do and you know he won’t hesitate, especially after you’ve given him a reason. 

Why did you do that? Really? Why? You can’t outrun him. Your lungs are already burning. 

You need to hide. Somewhere... 

You skid to a halt and grab onto the closest door handle. You lean into it and fall through, crashing into the floor. You crawl away and kick the door, breathless as you splay on the carpet. 

You push yourself up and listen for him. You move carefully to the wall beside the door, keeping the light off so as not to give away your hiding spot. You close your eyes and focus. 

He’s coming. You hear him. You don’t like that. His steps are calm and even. Your heart pounds in your chest. You cover your mouth to smother any squeaks that might slip out. 

As he passes the door, you lean into the wall, hoping to disappear into it. His sole scuffs and he stops a few feet away. You wait until you’re sure he’s at the end of the hall. You deflate and place your palms on the floor. 

Shit. What the heck are you going to do now? You shake your head as another spell threatens to override your consciousness. You blink and try to figure out where to go from here. He’s your ride. You don’t even really know where you are. 

You reach for your phone but it’s not tucked into your waistband. Shoot. You must have dropped it in the gazebo. You’re a chump! 

You stand by the door, listening, rapt for a single pin drop. You push down the handle and gently urge it inward. If you go in the opposite direction-- 

Before you can take one step out, you’re thrown back into the darkness. You hit something and it scrapes over the floor. The door slams as you roll onto your stomach and push yourself up on your elbows. Your ribs rack as you fight to get a breath. 

“You think I’m that stupid?” Steve snarls as he comes toward you. 

You feel around and crawl around the piece of furniture beside you. He follows you, calmly. He knows you have nowhere to go. Just like he said, he’s playing with you. 

“Pl-ease,” you gulp as you put a hand down only for it to be crushed. You squeal as he grounds his heel into your hand then steps over you. “Ow, Steve—I didn’t-- I---” 

“Shhhh,” he falls down to his knees and straddles you, knocking you back to your stomach. “Look, I don’t wanna be mean, sweetheart.” He runs his hands around your jaw and along your cheeks. He bunches your hair in his hands and bends over you. “I really wanna be nice with you.” He yanks on his fistful.  

You put your hand on his and whine, “I’m sorry I hurt--” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he quiets you. “Sweetheart, don’t make me be the bad guy.” 

You whimper as he drags his hands from your hair and down your back. He retreats along your body, his hands grazing your sides and hips. He grips you and lifts your ass high. You slap your hands on the floor as he puts you on your knees. 

“You can speak when you’re ready to beg,” he snarls as he tickles along your skirt and tugs up the hem. 

You wince and your eyes round as the darkness speckles around you. What is he doing? He pushes the fabric above your ass and hums. He covers your ass with his hands and spreads it. You squeak as you feel his warm breath on your thighs. 

He pushes his face against you, nuzzling into your panties as you gasp. Your legs quiver and your arms shake. You lean on your elbows as you try to pull away from him. He squeezes your hips and moves his head back and forth as if to burrow into you. He growls and it unfurls through your body. 

You squeal and reach back to push on his head. Hello! He can’t just do that. 

“Steve!” You squall. 

He hushes you and it sends a ripple down your thighs. You whimper as your fingers weave into his hair. Oh, oh, that shouldn’t feel good. 

He pushes his tongue against your panties and you feel the moisture seeping through. You squeeze your legs together as you try to deter him and blink at floor. Stay awake! For just this one time! 

He flutters his fingers up your leg and traces the trim of your panties. He pulls them aside and without meaning to, you pull him closer. He purrs and flicks his tongue down your cunt as he tilts his head. His beard tickles you and sends another shiver through you. 

He rocks you as he laps you up, sucking and groaning, the noises stirring in your core. You gasp and gulp as he hooks his hand under your stomach and keeps you close. He shifts his hand down to your skirt and slides under the top of your panties. He rolls his pinky over your clit as he pokes his tongue along your entrance. 

“I-- I---” you sputter, no longer foggy but fully awake and aware of every nerves storming inside of you. 

He lifts you off your knees and you whine, your hand slipping from his hair. You slam it down on the floor as he angles your hips above your head, pushing your legs over his shoulders as he continues to drink you in. As you hang upside down, keeping yourself aloft on bent arms, you warble with the brewing delight of his tending. 

He glides down to your clit and toys with it between his teeth. He sucks until the pressure swells and you grasp onto one of his thighs. You quake as you chuff out your orgasm, legs clamped around his head as you spasm. 

“St-e-eve,” you exclaim. 

He growls and chuckles before he draws away, the cool air grazing your hot cunt. He drags his hand up your back and taps your ass. 

“You still with me, sweetheart?” He rasps. 

[mrsarnold]

kk angst where reader keeps getting told kk is cheating on her by a bunch of people and she starts to believe it and she confronts kk about it and kk is obviously denying it and they somehow make up and it ends in fluff or smut or both idk

that my heart stops beating when your leaving . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

syn : in the req

pair : kk arnold x fem!reader

warn : mentions of cheating, fluff to smut, one ususage of Y/n

note : yea

All you could hear were murmurs in your ears as you woke up and notifications coming from your phone. The only voices you could recognize were your roommates, Gabby and Maggie. You slowly woke up, feeling groggy as your roommates jumped at your sudden awakening.

“Finally,” Gabby said, exasperation clear in her voice. “We’ve been trying to wake you up for like, forever.”

Maggie, perched on the edge of your bed with a worried expression, gave you a small frown. “You need to check your phone. It’s… about KK.”

The mention of her name made your heart skip a beat. Still groggy, you sat up and reached for your phone, which wouldn’t stop buzzing with notifications. The screen lit up with an overwhelming amount of missed calls, texts, and Instagram DMs.

“What the hell is going on?” you mumbled, unlocking it. Gabby and Maggie exchanged an uneasy glance as you scrolled through your notifications.

Your stomach sank as you opened your texts and saw messages from friends asking if you were okay or saying they were sorry. Confused, you tapped on a link one of them had sent. It took you to a trending post on Twitter, a grainy photo of KK sitting way too close to another girl at what looked like a party. The caption read, “KK Arnold out here cheating on her girl? Guess being loyal’s not her thing.”

“What… what is this?” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

Gabby reached out to touch your arm gently. “We don’t think it’s true. It could be photoshopped or taken out of context.”

“But everyone’s talking about it,” Maggie added reluctantly, showing you her own feed filled with people speculating and commenting on the photo.

Your throat tightened, your thoughts spiraling as you stared at the picture. KK hadn’t mentioned going to a party last night—or being with anyone, for that matter. The doubt and hurt clawed at your chest, but deep down, a small voice reminded you that this wasn’t like her.

“I need to talk to her,” you muttered, standing up.

Gabby frowned. “You sure you want to call her right now? Maybe wait until you’re calmer?”

You shook your head, already dialing her number. The phone rang once, twice, and then she picked up.

“Hey, mama",KK’s familiar voice greeted you, though it sounded groggy—like she’d just woken up, too. “What’s up? You okay?”

Your grip tightened on the phone. “KK, what the hell is going on? There’s a picture of you all over the internet with some girl, and everyone’s saying you cheated on me.”

There was a pause on her end, and for a split second, your chest constricted with fear. Then KK’s voice came through, steady but firm.

“Wait, what? What picture? I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I swear I didn’t cheat on you. Where are you seeing this?”

You hesitated, the emotion in her voice throwing you off. “It’s all over Twitter. It looks like you’re at a party, sitting really close to some girl.”

KK sighed heavily. “That’s probably from last week at Tre’s party. I was talking to this girl about basketball—she wanted tips for her little sister. I swear, mama, that’s all it was. I didn’t even think twice about it.”

Your heart ached, torn between believing her and the doubts planted by the rumors. “KK, this is everywhere. People are saying things about you, about us…”

“Ma, look at me.” Her voice softened, and you could hear the desperation in her tone. “Well, I mean, if I were there, I’d tell you to look at me. But you know me. I wouldn’t do that to you—ever. You’re my everything.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you sat back on the bed, your voice shaking. “I want to believe you, but this is so overwhelming.”

“I get it,” KK said, her voice steady but full of emotion. “It’s crazy and unfair, but I’ll come over right now. We’ll talk, okay? I’ll explain everything, face-to-face. Just… please don’t believe this crap. I love you, Y/N. Only you.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding even though she couldn’t see you. “Okay. Come over.”

“Come over in ten,” KK said before hanging up.

Gabby and Maggie watched you silently as you set the phone down, tears slipping down your cheeks. Maggie handed you a tissue, offering a small smile. “She sounded sincere.”

“She did,” you murmured, clutching the tissue tightly. Deep down, you wanted to believe her, to trust her. You just hoped that when she got here, she’d make it all make sense.

And that your heart could handle it.

"mm- mhmmph", You moaned out as KK's tongue continued it's assault on your clit. You didn't understand how you got here. One minute y'all were apologizing to eachother then it turned into toecurling, mouth drowling sex.

"you taste so good baby", She said humming against your cunt making vibrations float through your body.

Childish Gambino softly played in the background, aligning with your moans. KK added 2 fingers to give you more pleasure making you buck your hips up. When she felt your hips buck up she lifted her free hand up to hold your hips down making you whine.

"mm KK i'm s'close", You practically whined out trying you get your hips out of her grasp. She giggled against your cunt when you tried to wiggle out of her grasp.

"Mhm cum f'me baby", she slurred out, pussy drunked out of her mind. Those words alone made you moan out before cumming on your fingers and face. KK removed herself from you after you rode out your high and got up, grabbing a towel.

she started to clean you up before putting the towel to the side.

"you accept my apology now?"

[mrsjellymunson]

Something Old, Something New

Written for the @steddiemicrofic January challenge prompt ‘new’ || WC target: 517 || Rating: M || CW: very brief and vague allusion to sex, self-doubt, sentiment, fluff || Tags: nervous!Eddie Munson, background Steve Harrington, Wayne Munson, very background Al Munson

OLD

Eddie reaches into the collar of his shirt and runs his fingertips along the tarnished chain. It’s his old guitar pick necklace, the one he was wearing the day they met. He remembers how Steve asked about it, nervously. How he fiddled with it when they first spent time alone. How it swung over his face and chest when they finally—

“How are you doing? Really?”

Eddie looks away from the hotel mirror to regard his uncle. He tries to sound confident, but his voice cracks a little.

“I’m fine, honestly. You’re here, my friends are all here. It doesn’t get much better than that, right?”

NEW

“You look good, son.”

Eddie turns.

“Thanks, Wayne. But honestly, I think this suit is doing most of the work.”

He fusses in front of the mirror again, smoothing the black fabric and adjusting his tie for the dozenth time.

“Steve insisted I go to the same tailor he used, but also get something that was really me. I dunno though, I feel like a penguin.”

Wayne tries to quash Eddie’s self-doubt, which is clearly about more than the suit.

“Listen, I know you’re not used to someone taking care of you like this. But he’s good for you. He’s helping you to see your worth. And you’re good for him too. You keep him grounded, and will always remind him of how much he’s loved.”

Eddie gives him a thin-lipped smile.

BORROWED

Wayne clears his throat as he reaches inside his jacket. Pulling out a worn velvet box, he murmurs,

“I wanted you to have this, for today.”

Eddie takes it, a confused look on his face. He’s seen it at the back of Wayne’s closet, but never asked what it was.

He lifts the lid to reveal a watch, clearly antique. Gold or brass, he neither knows nor cares; it’s beautiful.

“It was your grandfathers. I managed to hide it, keep it from, well, you know…”

Eddie frowns and nods. Had his father known about this he would’ve pawned it without a moment’s thought.

Eddie places it on his wrist as his uncle fastens the clasp.

“I got the strap altered for ya. Had to measure one of those darned leather bracelets one day when you were in the shower. I felt like a goddamned secret agent’r somethin’.”

Eddie snorts as his uncle shakes his head.

He regards himself in the mirror again. The suit, the watch. He stands a little taller, a little straighter. Maybe Wayne’s right? He can do this. He deserves this.

BLUE

He glances out the window to where Steve’s baby-blue pick-up truck sits gleaming in the parking lot.

The Party’s decorated it with white satin ribbons, soda cans on string, and ‘Just Wed’ on the rear window in chalk marker. Eddie makes out geometric shapes, and wonders who suggested drawing D&D dice instead of hearts.

Wayne checks in one more time.

”You sure you’re okay, son?”

Eddie looks at his uncle and nods assertively, smiling.

“Definitely. It’s a new beginning. I’m marrying the love of my life, and I couldn’t be happier.”

A/N: You could take this literally, where the Something Old is Eddie’s necklace and/or the heirloom watch, and the Something New is his new suit and/or Steve’s pick-up. Or, you might prefer that Something Old is Eddie’s lingering self-doubt, and Something New is his burgeoning self-confidence and self-worth, or their new beginning, as they step into their new life together. Or you might pick both, or something different, it's entirely up to you.

A/N2: I initially wrote this to imply Eddie was getting ready to read the eulogy at Steve’s funeral, only to pull an abrupt switcheroo near the end. But quite frankly I couldn’t bring myself to write anything sad right now, even if it did end happily, as I think we all need cheering up given current world events.

And in case anyone’s interested, here’s the meaning behind the old rhyme:

“The Old English [Victorian era] rhyme is all about good luck charms, "Something Olde (symbolizes continuity), Something New (offers optimism for the future), Something Borrowed (represents borrowed happiness), Something Blue (purity, love and fidelity), and a Sixpence (maybe a 5 cent piece) in your Shoe (prosperity).”

Tagging my general list (open, just ask): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @losingmygrasponreality @richter-raccoon @1deverland @evileyeandthecattywhumps @3rd-conchord @bellalillyrose

More Eddie & Steddie on my masterlist

[crimsonnsstuff]

Can you do inho x fem reader x gihum threesome, if you don’t mind !

The night was hot, the kind that made clothes stick to your skin. You were at Gi-hun's small apartment, the one he shared with In-ho, but tonight, it felt like just the three of you in the world.

You, Gi-hun, and In-ho have been messing around with eachother for a while. Now, you all 3 were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Gi-hun takes the knife that you were using to cut the food out of your hands.

"You're too young to be with old men like us," Gi-hun teased, his voice rough, but his hands gentle as they brushed against your arm.

"I don't care about age," you whispered back, feeling bold with the heat of the night and the thrill of their attention.

In-ho, silent until now, moved closer, his breath warm against your neck. "Then let's not talk about it," he murmured, his hands finding your waist, pulling you back against him.

The room was small, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire. Gi-hun stepped in front of you, his hands firm on your hips, guiding you onto the sofa. His lips found yours, hungry and demanding, while In-ho's hands roamed under your shirt, his fingers teasing your skin.

You moaned into Gi-hun's kiss, the sensation of being wanted by both overwhelming. In-ho's lips traced down your chest, his touch setting you on fire.

Gi-hun pulled back, his eyes dark with lust. "You like this, don't you?" he growled, his hands moving to unbutton your jeans.

"Yes," you gasped, your body arching as In-ho's tongue danced over your chest.

In-ho pulls back and pulls your jeans down. He gently rubs you through your panties. “Be lucky, cause we aren’t being gentle from here.” He says before looking at Gi-hun, who was desperately trying to take your panties off.

Gi-hun pushes you back onto the couch and crawls in between your legs on the floor, playing soft kisses in your inner thighs that make you squirm.

In-ho grabs your arm. “Nuh uh..stay still.”

Gi-hun sucks your clit into his mouth roughly, making you yelp. You feel Gi-hun let out a soft laugh against your pussy and In-ho smirks.

He starts to eat you out like a starved man, sucking on your clit, licking your hole, occasionally letting his tongue slip in.

He was groaning and moaning into your pussy, while you were just a big mess of whimpers. In-ho smirks, reaching down and moving Gi-Huns hair out of his face so you can see him more. You and him lock eyes and he sucks on your clit harder.

You finally cum with a whine, slumping back onto the couch as Gi-hun stands up, wiping his mouth.

In-ho unbuttons his pants and your eyes widen. “W-wait, we aren’t done?” You stammer. “Of course not.” In-ho says with a sadistic smile on his face.

“I just came really hard..I don’t think I can handle more-“ you get cut off my Gi-hun grabbing your throat.

“Just be a good little slut and let him fuck you. Yeah?” He growls. You nod. Gi-hun let’s go of your throat and pushes you back so you’re laying on the couch.

In-ho pushes his jeans down, and then his boxers. He roughly slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs. You slap at his chest, trying to get him off. “Take that dick..” gi-hun whispers in your ear.

In-ho groans and throws his head back. Gi-hun tears your shirt off. He leans down and bites your nipple, causing you to cry out. He moans softly as he takes your boob in his mouth.

“Look at him.. so pathetic for your tits..” In-ho growls. Gi-hun reaches over to hold your legs open so In-ho can pound into you more easily.

In-ho groans and you feel his cum paint your insides. You squeal and he grabs your throat, thrusting into you a few more times. He scoops some out of your pussy and sticks his fingers into your mouth.

The second In-ho pulls his fingers out of your mouth Gi-hun grabs your chin and kisses you. He groans and pulls back. “Tastes good..” he growls. In-ho stays there, panting. And Gi-hun nuzzles against your neck.

“Such a pretty slut for us.” Gi-hun whispers.