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gracieheartspedro · 3 months ago

Text

You Really Got Me Now

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5.2k words

description: your best friend and roommate eddie is pissing you off, per usual. his way of making you feel heard is not very conventional.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, roommate au, lowkey pwp, best friend!eddie, reader and eddie are both in their 30s, a bit of force proximity, reader is awkward as fuck (she just like me), reader hasn't gotten dick lately, mentions of voyeurism (eddie and reader have listened to each other having sex), kind of dom!eddie, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, lots and lots of dirty talk, eddie cums in reader.... annoying ass neighbors?

authors note: yeah i don't know. i'm just horny for this man. all of the time. thanks to lindsey @amanitacowboy who CONSISTENTLY feeds into my delusions. love u.

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

He pissed you off for the fourth time today.

You had spent most of your day doing yard work, trying to ensure the home you two shared did not look overgrown for your snooty neighbors. They already hated that there was an unmarried couple living next to them. Even worse they were not even a couple.

Eddie and you had been friends for over a decade. When you two could not find someone to settle down with once you both turned 30, you decided to rent a house together. You were sick of living at home with your parents and everyone else around you was in love. Steve had Kira, Robin had Vicki, and well… you had Eddie. Eddie had you. But not in a romantic sense.

That’s what you two told yourselves, at least.

Made crystal clear years ago, you and Eddie knew your friendship meant more than some knee jerk desires. You had kissed once, and you would be lying if you said you did not enjoy it. He was tentative, kissing you like he was trying to melt all your worries away. At the time, it was a desperate attempt to distract your mind from a shitty break up and Eddie had gotten a bit too high.

That next morning, you sat down with him and discussed boundaries. No kissing, no sex. That was the hard line, and for years, you two had kept that promise to yourselves.

There had been moments. An evening out with friends where you two would dance all night together and when you parted to go to your separate rooms, you would linger in the hallway just staring at each other. No one ever caved because you both knew you would regret it in the morning. Or the tense nights where one of you said something to rub the other person the wrong way. Sometimes it would turn into you two apologizing in the dimly lit kitchen, hugging and swaying near the flickering oven lightbulb.

Today was going to be one of those days for sure. Everything he did rubbed you the wrong way.

He had not done the dishes last night, deciding to stay up late and drink himself into a deep slumber. When you woke up, wrapped in your falling-apart-at-the-seams robe and saw the dishes, you wanted to throw an empty beer bottle at him. But you didn’t. You just did them and didn’t say a word.

Then there was leaving his wet clothes in the washing machine. The moment your nose got a whiff of the despicable scent of molding clothes, you slammed the top down and groaned his name. He was not even in the house, deciding as soon as he woke up that he needed to go get a pack of cigarettes from the gas station.

Then there was him being adamant about washing his van with the hose you were trying to use to water the dying plants in the flower beds surrounding your front door. You just grit your teeth, jerking your head into a nod when he asked for it.

Now here he is, making you mad again as you sweat all of your body weight over some weeds.

“I’m having some of the guys over tonight for some burgers-” “No.”

He narrows his eyes at you, swatting a gnat away from his face as you place your hands on your hips.

“Why not?”

You had a list. A big long list. The house was a disaster. The neighbors called a noise complaint last time. The grill needed propane.

This was the tipping point. “Eddie, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you in our front yard,” You blow up, throwing off your gardening gloves, “You haven’t done shit for this house in months. I am like your own little personal housewife. I am the only person in this house that keeps it nice and clean. I haven’t had a night out in months because I am using my weekends to keep up with this shithole. I haven’t had a guy over in over a year, for fucks sake! No guy wants to fuck a girl who lives with a shitty roommate who can’t even clean. I need… I need your help.”

His demeanor shifts, his shoulders slumping a bit. You did not mean for the word vomit to come out like that. You sounded vicious, but all of it needed to come out at sometime.

“Sweetheart-” But you do not want his excuses. You wave him off, storming towards the front door and swinging open the glass door, letting it shut behind you. You needed cold A/C on your face. You were about to pass out from anger and heatstroke. Damn Indiana summers.

Eddie launches the door open, practically chasing you down to the kitchen. You stand under a vent, tilting your face directly towards the line of air.

“What do you need my help with?” He asks, a slight arrogance in his tone.

You don’t even look at him. You just hum as the cold air caresses your face. “The dishes. The laundry. Fuckin’ clean a toilet-”

“And what about guys not coming over?”

You finally tilt your head over at him, confused. “Huh?”

He looks at you with this fire in his eyes that you have almost never seen before. Maybe once or twice when one of his ex girlfriend’s said something based. He did not seem angry, per se, but he seemed agitated.

He crosses his arms over his chest, covering the Metallica logo on the front of his black tank top. His arms are toned and sprawling with randomly harsh lined tattoos. You had to thank Steve for the toned muscles as he was forcing Eddie to lift weights with him twice a week. You are definitely seeing the results.

“You said no guy wants to fuck a girl who lives with a shitty roommate,” He states plainly, leaning against the kitchen island, “How am I supposed to help you with that?”

It’s like he’s trying to hint at something. Eddie was notorious for not saying what he really wanted to say, just simply talking around the subject.

“Let me have a night off where I’m not cleaning up after you. Maybe I can bring a guy home.”

He cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips as his eyes take you in your sweaty clothing. You had sweat dripping into places you never knew you even had. You felt better being in the air conditioning, but that did not disguise the already stained areas of the front of your oversized t-shirt and biker shorts.

“You don’t need me to… do anything else?”

Will this be fifth time Eddie Munson pisses you off today?

“Say what you need to say, Munson,” You warn, annoyed by the creeping smile on his face.

You watch as he uncrosses his arms, leaning forward towards you. “Do you need me to fuck you, princess? Is that what this is?”

Your jaw hits the floor at his offer.

“What? H-how are you getting that from this-” “You just need a good fuck to release all this tension. It’s written all over you.”

He has never been this bold before. It’s blowing your mind. He has never propositioned sex to you, ever. Maybe jokingly. Wait, last week he did suggest it to get rid of your period cramps-

“You have to be kiddin’ me, Munson.”

He shakes his head, dipping his head down to meet your eyes, “I’m deadly serious, princess.”

“You’re just sayin’ this to piss me off even more-”

He presses his pointer finger to your lips, shushing you immediately, “All this talk and I’m not hearing a no.”

You swat his hand away, groaning in annoyance. You gave Eddie props, he was very convincing when he wanted to be. But you knew better.

But then again, it had been a year since a guy pleased you.

“Eddie, you know the promise we made all those years ago. No kissing. No sex,” You lean further away, your back arching over the counter. “You can’t just propose this because I am angry at you and want you to take some accountability.”

“I’m not proposing this because I wanna weasel my way out of trouble. I’m doing it because you have been so tense these last couple months, I feel like I am walking on eggshells,” He explains, tossing his hands in the air dramatically, “Just let me get it out of your system. I know it’s been a year or so.”

“How do you know?”

You were trying to find a way out. The deepest darkest secret you held in the very depths of your heart was that you did have feelings for Eddie. You have since high school. But Eddie was occupied in every place in life and you got the permanent label as friend before you even had a chance. He dated around and you were stuck secretly obsessing over him, which- whatever. It was fine.

All his passes at you were just normal at this point. You never gave them a second thought. You were idle in the idea that it was just jokes and that he never meant it. Even when he said he would give you head to make you feel better when the last guy you dated broke up with you. Or when he told you that he liked the way your hands felt pressed against his bare chest when you helped him apply sunscreen. Or when-

Wait... Did friends usually say that to each other?

“How do I know what?” He asks, his voice wavering a bit.

You huff, “How do you know it’s been a year?”

A mischievous smile spreads across his lips, “Because the last time I heard you through the wall moaning and begging, was about March of last year. It’s currently June.”

The heat rises back to your cheeks as you stare at him wide eyed. You did not realize he was even home when you last had someone over, let alone knew he heard it all.

“Eddie! You sick bastard! You listened?!”

You go to smack his chest but he snatches your hand away, the darkness in his eyes only hinting at his intentions.

“How can I not? You were so loud for that guy,” He almost looks jealous. Almost.

“I-“

“Just begging for him to let you cum. Did you, sweetheart? Did you cum for that slimeball?”

Your mouth opens slightly, realizing his hand is still wrapped around your wrist. No ease in the tension around it, just white-knuckling it.

“I don’t remember-“

“Those moans sounded too good to be true, princess. But what do I know,” He sits back against the counter again, pulling your body closer as he does, “You’ve never cum for me. Maybe you actually do sound like that.”

You really should not. You should just yank your arm away from him and mark this down as Eddie just being a perv again. But something inside you, the tension, the annoyance, the desire, is starting to burn a pit in your stomach.

“I can.”

He raises his eyebrows, pulling your wrist and hand up to his shoulder so you rest it there. You grip onto his bare shoulder, while his arm snakes around your waist.

“You can what?”

Your mouth goes dry, unsure if you can actually mutter the words. You usually had no filter with Eddie, but right now you felt like your voice completely cut out. He looks down at you, his head tilted in curiosity. “Say it, sweetheart. You can what?”

You grit your teeth, finally submitting.

“I could cum for you.”

He arrogantly smirks, his fingers sneaking up under your shirt, “Yeah, princess? You wanna cum for me?”

Coming from his lips, it’s like melted butter. It seems so natural, his voice dropping as he speaks such absurd things to you. You smack your lips together, almost like you are contemplating giving in. But your mind is already made up.

Before you can even give him a taste of his own medicine, your mind slips.

“If only you make me scream like those other girls.”

Fuck. Why did you say that?

His mouth only widens, shocked at the statement. “So you were listening to me, huh? You called me a sick bastard mere moments ago when you were doing the same thing!”

Your fingers pinch his earlobe, making him flinch a bit. “Eddie, you cannot help but be loud! Neither can they!”

Your defense is weak, but you try to sound convincing.

“Well they are screaming for a reason, sweetheart.”

You dismiss the comment for a minute, really trying to mull this idea over. Would this cost you his friendship? Was it all really worth it?

Your nails trail down and dig into his shoulder blade, warningly. “Do you seriously want to do this?”

He shrugs, casually, like this is the most normal conversation you two have ever had. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get you in my bed for years. Seems like I just gotta get you all angry and hot for you to even think about it.”

The revelation deflates you a bit. You mentally slap yourself, thinking back to all the times Eddie has offered you ‘time’ with him in bed. You always took his passes as jokes, because that’s just Eddie. He’s never been serious a day in his life.

You press your body into him more, your nose getting closer to his, “You’ve wanted this for years?”

He nudges your nose with his, playfully, “Don’t act all surprised.”

The tension is at an all time high. The moment your eyes drop to his lips, you cannot peel them away from them. You have been close to him like this before, but never with explicit intentions. Maybe just to tease him or pester him. One time to inspect a possible bug that flew into his eye.

Eddie was your friend. Best friend.

Why was he looking different?

He notes the way you are silent, observing the way his lips curl upward into a toothless grin.

He shifts down, capturing your lips in a hesitant kiss, testing the waters. When the softness of his lips makes impact on your slightly dry lips, you feel self-conscious for a beat.

That was until you felt Eddie’s other hand sneak around your waist and pull you even closer. It’s the quiet reassurance you did not even know you needed.

You lean into it, practically falling into his chest completely. The kiss only progresses from there. Your hand cradles his neck as his hands sneak down from your waist to your ass. You had seen Eddie kiss before, but having it be done to you is a completely different experience. He’s hungry for it, but he’s also so tender and calculated with the movements.

The groping turns into him leveraging you upward onto the countertop. He slots himself between your legs, feeling up your thighs as his tongue slips past your lips. He’s good at stimulating you in every way, your body riddled with goosebumps. You cannot help the groans leaving your throat.

“God, you’re so hot,” He grumbles between kisses. You giggle into his mouth which makes him shake his head and pull away.

You hold his face close to yours, smiling up at his lust-blown eyes. “Never thought I’d hear you say that. Well… in this situation at least.”

“Can you just shush and let me make you feel good?” His lips trail down from your cheek peppering wet kisses to your neck, “Lemme make it up to you, sweetheart. Been a bad friend. Bad roommate.”

You roll your eyes for two reasons. One, he’s a dork. Two, his lips feel way too good on your throat.

“Make it up to me by being a good lover.”

He barks a laugh, almost too loud for the joke. “Oh, you want me to make love to you?”

“Can you just keep kissin’-”

His lips touch your collarbones and suddenly your body stiffens. You look down at his sinful expression, his lips dragging lower over your chest. His hand returns to the hem of your shirt, slowly tugging it over your head. Your ratty old sports bra was the least sexy thing you could be wearing, but Eddie eyes you like you are in lacey red lingerie with his name stitched into it. You take it upon yourself to peel the sweaty bra off, luckily the only scent you smell when you lift your arms is your antiperspirant.

“You are more perfect than I imagined,” Eddie mumbles, his hands reaching out to cup your boobs. His hands still adorned with his gaudy rings. Makes the sight even more breathtaking.

You roll your eyes, not believing him, “You’ve seen me in a bathing-”

His head dips down, catching your nipple in his mouth. The action silences you and instead of continuing your nervous babbling, you moan out his name. He rolls your pebbled nipple between his teeth while hissing in satisfaction. You can not stop yourself from raking your fingers through his curls.

He pulls away from your chest, pressing a quick kiss to your other tit, “I can’t do this if you continue to give me grief.”

The dig makes you blush. You were always awful when it came to dirty talk. Making it awkward was, unfortunately, your specialty. You nod sheepishly, untangling your fingers from his deep chocolate brown hair.

“I’ll shut up.”

He shakes his head, his lips finding the spot right below your ear. You can feel the smirk on his face, "No, don’t shut up. Just keep making those other pretty sounds for me, sweetheart.”

His thumbs hook around the elastic waistband of your shorts, tugging them down. You lift your hips, using his shoulders to balance yourself. You don’t expect him to have you completely naked on your kitchen counter, but the moment your underwear peel away from your cunt, you realize that the wetness between your legs is not just sweat.

He pulls away from your neck to look at your bare body before him and the groan he lets out makes your pussy clench around nothing. His hand skips down your body, eventually groping your hips.

“Eddie,” You hum, tilting his chin up so his eyes meet yours, “I’m very naked and you are not.”

He smiles wickedly, shaking his head, “‘Cause I ain’t fuckin’ you here, sweetheart. This is just a really good place for me to get on my knees and devour you.”

You swallow hard, watching him drop to one knee, making him eye level with your glistening cunt, “And look at how beautiful and wet she is for me. This all for me, sweet girl?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been wanting this for a while,” You admit, your eyes drooping to watch his mouth move across your inner thighs. You are a bit self-conscious, not having prepared your pussy for this kind of activity, but Eddie does not seem to mind. He admires you like a piece of art at a museum.

He flicks his tongue out of his mouth, unhurriedly moving up your slit. Once he has his first taste, that smile returns, “Mmm, there’s that confession I’ve been waiting for.”

Your mind draws a blank as he dives back in, pressing his tongue between your pussy lips. He has never looked so happy doing a task in his life, his beautifully straight teeth bared as his tongue swirls around your clit. His grip only tightens on your thighs ensuring you do not move them together. He needs you nice and wide open while he tongue fucks you.

He becomes more eager with his movements the moment you try to brace yourself on the edge of the counter. His fingers hook down into your flesh, dragging you to the edge of the surface. He does not miss a beat while he suckles on your clit, wrapping his plump pink lips around it and slurping it like a straw.

The knot in your stomach is tightening as you study his actions. Somehow it is like he knows your body better than you do.

The instant he sinks his pointer and middle finger into your soaked cunt, it is game over. Your body reacts before your mind does, vibrating against his mouth and fingers. He does not slow down when you clench around him, instead, he increases his speed and ministrations.

“Jesus, fuck, Eddie,” you whimper, surrendering to the climax. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting your mouth hang ajar as random moans escape you. Your nerve endings have never felt so electrified in your life.

Once you feel a slight come down, Eddie comes back up for air. His lips are shiny with his own saliva and whatever escaped you when you came.

You drop your head back, hitting the upper cabinet.

“You didn’t even have to beg for the first one,” He grunts, getting back to his feet. He locks his arm around your knees and drags your upper half into his other arm, “But the second one, you have to ask for permission, ‘kay?”

His lips are pressed to your temple, kissing you gingerly.

“You want me to beg, Eds?”

He chuckles darkly, carrying you princess-style across the house and to the living room. He could take you to bed, but he is not sure if that feels too intimate. You just want him inside you, not caring much where he decides to do it.

You bounce on the worn-down couch as he drops you down, your bare ass immediately sticking to the leather. His discards his tank top and practically jumps on top of you, his hips resting between your legs. You greedily tug at his basketball shorts, begging to reveal the length behind the tented fabric.

“Mmm, eager, are we?”

You had seen Eddie’s ass plenty of times. His shirtless frame. But never his dick. His tight pants left little to the imagination most times. But up close, pressed against your palm, you cannot help but gasp about how big he is.

He grabs your wrist firmly, his curls dropping down his shoulders as he shakes his head, “Wanna hear you beg.”

It spills right out of your desperate mouth. “Please, Eddie.”

“Please what?”

“Let me see your cock,” Your eyes reflecting faux innocence, “Please?”

He cannot help but giggle, assisting you in getting his shorts down his tattooed legs. You had been next to him for the big one on his right thigh, an ode to his favorite Metallica album. You did not completely understand the concept, but the black ink littering his body only added to his appeal.

His cock is even better than your mind had mocked up before. Long, slightly curved to the left, and not too thick that he may split you in half.

You truly cannot fathom the fact that this is happening. He is willingly showing you his dick and smiling at you while you gawk.

He is naked above you, and God is he breathtaking. The mop of curls, the broadness of his shoulders, his very slight tummy from all the beer he drinks, the works of art littering his pale skin.

Your eyes finally make their way back up to his, only to note the serious look he’s giving you.

“What?”

His lips twitch, “Just can’t believe I finally get to do this. And that it’s real and it’s not all in my head.”

Your heart stutters.

You lick your lips, searching every crevice of your mind for a response. He realizes that you are trying to muddle up a reply and that he has broken your brain temporarily. So instead of letting you counter his statement, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss.

He wastes no time after that, grabbing his dick and pushing it between your slick folds. You groan into his mouth, your pussy still very sensitive from the first orgasm he gave you. Your hand snakes around the back of his neck, holding his face close to yours.

“Eddie-“

He pushes into you before you can say anything else, a hiss whistling between his clenched teeth.

“God damn,” He throws his head back, shaking your hand away from his neck, “You’re fuckin’ tight, princess.”

The moan that leaves your throat is a whole octave lower than your actual voice. Eddie looks down at you, the widest smile painted across his face. You feel his hips inch closer and closer to you and you realize he is not fully inside you yet.

You take a breath, trying to relax your muscles, “Please, please, please.”

He snaps his hips forward, a dark guttural chuckle taunting you. “There she is. Beggin’.”

Eddie had changed into a completely different person. Sure, he was always picking on you, but this was a stark contrast from your silly best friend. The man above you, slowly rocking his hips inside you, was feral. His confidence only burning brighter the more you whimper for him.

“Please, faster.”

The wet squelching noise that emits between your bodies is borderline embarrassing. You had never heard such a sound with any other man. Eddie loves it, though. The idea that you were just gushing for him is enough to send him into overdrive.

“Yeah? You want me to go faster,” He pushes your thighs apart, spreading you wider. He wants to look at how beautiful your pussy looks stuffed full of him. “Look at that.”

You shift yourself up on your elbows, looking down at the sight he cannot peel his eyes away from. “Jesus, I cannot believe…”

You drift off, watching Eddie slowly retreat back only to sharply snap forward. Your jaw goes slack as he drives himself into you, disappearing over and over again.

Eddie‘s eyes are now on you, watching your tits jiggle every time his cock pierces your squishy walls.

“You really needed this, huh, princess?”

You watch as he reaches down between your bodies, swiping your clit with his thumb.

Your eyes roll back, unable to hold yourself together, “I really did, oh my god.”

Your legs stiffen and Eddie’s hands loosen up, letting you squirm and adjust yourself. Your hips burn and your mind is mush. Eddie’s erratic movements against your swollen bud and his rapidly moving hips are overstimulating, you cannot help but lock your legs around him.

“Yeah, I can fucking feel you clenching around me,” He babbles, licking his lips, “You just take my cock so well, don’t you? Just fuckin’ made for me.”

He does not stop talking as you grunt your response. You have never seen the man so driven to get something done in your life. He wants to cum, but he wants to feel you fall apart on him even more. His words are just pouring out of him.

“Yeah? You want me to make you mine, huh? Gonna make this pussy somethin’ only I can have.“

Your eyes fly open in shock, his words ringing in your ears. You feel his dick twitch inside you, hitting the same perfect spot over and over again. “Please, please.”

“Fuck, say it, baby. Say that you’re mine.”

He is so desperate, his usual calm, cool, collected voice faltering.

“I’m yours, Eddie.”

His thumb presses hard down on your clit, causing your hips to shift upward. The nerve endings that were ablaze before are now imploding.

The vibration of your body catches him off guard at first, so he locks his hands on your hips. You lurch your body into a crescent shape as he continues to chase his high. A final scream rips through your body, chanting his name.

Every snap forward was another word slipping from his practically drooling mouth. He fucked his cum deep inside you, his words bouncing off the walls.

“Yes.” “The.” “Fuck.” “You.” “Are.”

Your body goes completely limp under him the moment your high dissipates. He is panting like he just ran 10 miles as he slowly drifts to his side, positioning his nude body between your body and the back couch cushions. When his cock leaves your cunt, he dribbles cum over your mound and lower tummy. You glance down at your body, completely blissed out.

You have never felt more appreciated in your life.

He lays his head right on your shoulder, fanning your sweaty body with his warm breath. He does not say anything, just settles next you, throwing his arm over your midsection.

You swallow, trying to regain your composure. You thought after doing something like this with Eddie, you would feel some guilt. Regret, maybe. But none of those emotions spring up.

You felt relaxed and at peace. Like you walked off the edge of a cliff and instead of landing on a rocky bottom, you landed on a sea of fluffy pillows. It was a relief.

Your eyes fall onto his lazily smirking face, “I did really need that.”

He hums his response at first, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I could tell. I can read you pretty well, huh?”

That’s the understatement of the century. He can read you perfectly.

You start to reflect on every word that spilled from his lips during the entire interaction, and suddenly your stomach is in knots. You start to wonder if he really did feel those things, or if he was just lost in the moment. You almost don’t ask in fear that he will tell you something you didn’t want to hear.

“Did you mean everything you said,” You press, your hand absentmindedly tucking some of his hair behind of his ear. His fingers dance across your flesh, eventually swirling around your collarbones.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He says it so simply. You wanted to believe it was that easy, but there is logistical things that needed to be discussed. Feelings and thoughts that needed further explanation.

Eddie can see that your mind is racing. Your expression gives you away every time. His mouth slowly opens to further elaborate on his response, but before he can get out a word, there’s a pounding at your front door.

It is so sudden and loud, you both sit up from the couch.

“Mr. Munson! You left your hose on! There’s a drought-”

You tune out the rest of the rant from your elderly neighbor because Eddie starts chuckling and rubbing his eyes. He looks down at you as the rant starts to get louder, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips before grabbing his boxers off the floor.

“You stay there, beautiful. I’ll deal with this.”

You do as he says, the bliss he left you in after the kiss enough to hold you over until he comes crawling back on top of you. He stumbles back into his boxers, going to the front door and cracking it so he can get eyes on your neighbor.

“Yeah, my fault, Mr. O’Connell. Had to comfort my lady because she cut herself on the shovel. I’ll be right out to shut off that hose and save the rainforest or whatever.”

You hear a scoff from behind the door, the older gentleman taken off guard. “Oh, so she’s your lady now?”

You can hear the smile that spreads across his face. “Always has been, sir.”

#eddie munson you menace #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson au #stranger things fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #stranger things #roommate eddie munson #gracieheartspedro #fic: you really got me now

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dksfml · 2 months ago

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EIGHTEEN - YANG JUNGWON (PART II)

pairing: fboy!jungwon x reader summary: where on your 18th birthday, you receive a blessing that lets you see the future, only to find yourself married to jungwon, the college heartthrob you’ve barely spoken to, with a child calling you mom. genre: university / college au, soulmate au, fantasy, fluff, slight angst, love triangle, pining, slow burn word count: 4.8k playlist: 18 - one direction, stuck with u - ariana grande & justin bieber, you belong with me - ts, lavender haze - ts, wish that i could - umi, meddle about - chase atlantic A/N: forgive me if this part's a bit short. i promise to make it up to you in the next ones, hehe

masterlist.

This is a work of fiction. It does not represent real people, events, or systems. Any similarities are purely coincidental, and all elements are created for fantasy purposes only.

The drama club’s room smelled faintly of old velvet curtains and cheap perfume.

Jungwon was half-distracted, mind somewhere else entirely, when the girl he barely remembered the name of tugged at his collar, lips finding the side of his neck. Her fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, nails scraping lightly across his skin.

He let her.

Only because he wanted to get this over with.

The only reason he even agreed to meet her again today was to retrieve his wallet. The one he stupidly left at her dorm last night. He didn’t even plan on staying longer than necessary. Hell, he didn’t even plan on seeing her again. Jungwon didn’t do repeats.

But when she leaned in too close, smirking against his ear and said, "At least let me give you an advanced birthday treat, babe," he froze.

He should have walked away right then.

Instead, when she kept pushing, fingers pulling at his belt loops, mouth chasing his, he kissed her. Hard. Too hard.

Just to shut her up.

A mistake.

A fucking mistake.

Because that’s when the door creaked open.

And everything inside him seized up.

Through the tangled mess of limbs and desperation, his eyes locked onto a figure standing stiff at the door.

You.

Wide-eyed. Frozen. Like you’d just witnessed a car crash you couldn’t look away from.

Fuck.

He pulled back like he’d been electrocuted, his breath catching sharp in his throat.

“Y/N?” he blurted, voice rough and broken.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Just turned too fast and disappeared down the hallway, footsteps fading like a nightmare.

The girl beside him clicked her tongue, smoothing down her skirt, unfazed. She leaned against the desk casually, fixing her lipstick in the reflection of a trophy case.

“She’s pretty," she said, voice light, teasing. "Is that her?"

Jungwon stared at her, still breathing hard. “What?”

She tilted her head, smiling like she knew something he didn’t. “The girl who rejected you during freshmen year. Jake told me.”

His fists clenched at his sides. He stared at her, a million unsaid things clawing up his throat.

“I wasn’t rejected,” Jungwon snapped, sharper than he meant to. “And Jake doesn’t have the right to say shit. He’s in the same fucking position.”

The girl only chuckled, slipping her phone back into her bag like she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb and walked away.

Jungwon stood there for a long moment, the stale, suffocating air pressing down on him.

He had come here for a wallet.

He had stayed because he was stupid.

He kissed a girl he didn’t even like because he thought it didn’t matter.

But it mattered.

Because for the first time in a long time, something actually fucking mattered.

And he might have just ruined it before it even had the chance to start.

It started small.

The kind of thing you wouldn’t even notice unless you were paying attention.

There was a vending machine tucked beside the science hall. Old, humming, half-forgotten. Students barely used it unless they were desperate between classes. But Jungwon did. And he always bought the same thing: the yellow-pack gummy bears.

Soft, sweet, just the right chew.

Something about them tasted like how he imagined being a kid felt simple and untouched.

Except, lately, they were always gone.

He’d walk up between lectures, coins ready, tap the scratched glass — and nothing.

Every other snack untouched.

Every other candy still neatly stacked.

Just the yellow gummies, empty.

It pissed him off a little.

He even once smacked the side of the machine in frustration, earning a few weird glances from passing students. He ignored them, he had bigger problems.

One day, he was earlier than usual. The hallways were half-empty, the vending machine still blinking lazily in the corner. And there you were.

Crouched low, head tilted, tapping the glass thoughtfully like you were deep in negotiation with the machine. In your hand? Two packs of the yellow gummies.

And in your bag? He caught the flash of even more, at least three, four crammed into the front pocket like a guilty secret.

You turned, mid-stuffing the last pack into your bag. Eyes meeting. Both of you frozen.

He recognized you vaguely. Freshman orientation, Jake's friend, the girl who laughed at his jokes but never stuck around for long.

And now? Now you were the damn vending machine thief.

You blinked, the barest flicker of surprise crossing your face before you straightened up calmly, like you weren’t doing anything remotely suspicious. You were.

Jungwon crossed his arms, smirking before he could stop himself.

"Leave some for the rest of us, maybe?"

You shrugged, not even guilty. "Survival of the fittest."

He huffed out a laugh. "You're hoarding them."

"They're the best ones," you said simply, like it was obvious. "Supply and demand."

He shook his head, smiling despite himself. You were something else.

"I’ve been trying to buy those for a week," he said, mock offended.

"You should be faster," you replied, voice light, teasing, as you zipped your bag shut and slung it over your shoulder.

Before he could think of anything clever to say, you tossed one of the packs toward him. He caught it, stunned.

"Here," you said.

A peace offering.

Or maybe just a dare to keep up.

Then you walked away, steps light, disappearing down the hallway before he could ask your name.

He stood there for a second, the vending machine humming behind him, the yellow pack crinkling in his hand.

Slowly, he smiled.

He didn’t know much about you yet. Only that you liked the same gummy bears. And that you didn’t apologize for it.

But that tiny, stupid moment? It stuck. Burrowed somewhere he couldn't dig out later, no matter how many months passed.

And later, when people joked about how he must’ve had dozens of girls chasing after him, he just thought about you, walking away without a second glance, leaving him standing there like some idiot holding candy.

After that day at the vending machine, Jungwon started noticing you everywhere. At first, he told himself it was coincidence. The campus wasn’t that big. Maybe your paths just happened to cross. Maybe you just happened to sit two rows ahead of him in economics. Maybe you just happened to linger outside the drama clubroom, laughing too brightly with Sunoo.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He was looking for you now.

Tuning out the rest of the world, unconsciously drawn to the sound of your laugh, the flash of your bag stuffed with books and candy, the easy way you moved through life like you weren’t trying to impress anyone.

And you never noticed him.

Not really.

You barely even glanced his way.

He almost gave up then, almost let himself believe it was just a vending machine moment, a glitch in the universe that wasn’t meant to last.

Until rumors started.

Jake was courting you.

Jake, the golden boy with the easy smiles and a trail of admirers.

Jake, who was somehow close to you already.

Jake, who could make anyone fall for him if he really wanted to.

Jungwon told himself it didn’t matter. He lied.

It hurt.

More than it should have.

A stupid, sour sting every time he saw Jake walking next to you, tossing you candies or making you laugh in that easy, infuriating way of his.

So Jungwon, idiot that he was, joined the drama club. “I need the extracurricular points," he told everyone. Nobody believed him.

Mostly, he stuck to backstage work, fixing broken chairs, painting sets, running errands Sunoo barked at him with terrifying efficiency.

You were always around, helping, organizing, laughing. Sometimes you sat cross-legged on the stage sorting costume jewelry into plastic bins. Sometimes you passed him a bottle of water without looking. He said thank you quietly every time and you never noticed.

But he stayed anyway.

Because being near you, even if you didn’t see him, felt better than nothing at all.

Then one afternoon, everything shifted again.

He was fixing a crooked light rig when Sunoo’s voice rang out through the dusty club office.

"Y/N turned Jake down yesterday." Loud. Blunt. No room for misunderstanding.

The room went quiet. Someone gasped. Someone else whistled low.

Jungwon tightened his grip on the wrench. Heart slamming. Mind racing.

You turned Jake down?

"Yeah," another club member chimed in, dramatic as ever. "She said she's not ready for dating. Wants to focus on her studies first, plus she was thinking of running for the student council next year."

Sunoo laughed. "Classic Y/N. Always has her priorities straight."

Jungwon barely heard the rest.

All he could think was—

Maybe.

Maybe there was a chance.

Maybe he wasn’t as invisible as he thought.

He spent the whole night drafting letters he’d never send. Debating if he should say anything at all.

In the end, he didn’t write a love confession. He didn’t pour his heart out. He just kept it simple.

A bag of yellow gummy bears. And a note taped on it.

"I know this might not be the right time to give you something like this.

But I just wanted you to know, you're interesting in every possible way.

You're the kind of person someone could admire quietly for a long time, even if the tides never turn in their favor.

I hope you keep smiling the way you do when you win arguments.

I hope you keep picking the yellow gummy bears, even if you have to fight for the last one.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just... you deserve to know."

He left it in your locker early the next morning. Heart hammering. Hands shaking.

He thought maybe you’d know. Maybe the gummy bears would tip you off. Maybe you’d remember the stupid vending machine moment that never really left his mind.

Instead—

At lunch, he saw you. Marching across the courtyard. The bag of gummy bears clutched in your hand. Heading straight for Jake.

From where Jungwon sat on the stone steps by the library, he saw it unfold like a bad dream:

You smiling politely.

Talking softly.

Handing Jake the gummy bears back like they were some kind of apology.

And Jake—Jake just blinked, clearly confused, before awkwardly nodding and taking the bag.

You looked relieved.

Jake looked baffled.

Jungwon felt like something inside him cracked quietly open.

You thought Jake sent the gift.

You thought Jake wrote the letter.

And you turned it down.

Kindly. Gently.

And you never even knew it was him.

Later, Jake found him by the vending machines, tossing the crumpled bag onto Jungwon's lap.

"You’re a dumbass," Jake said, not unkindly.

"You should've put your name on it."

Then he left, leaving Jungwon alone with a silent, half-empty machine and a gummy bear pack that tasted a lot more bitter than sweet now.

Jungwon never said anything about it.

He just swallowed the rejection he was never even given the chance to earn.

And maybe that’s why now, standing years later in a messy drama room, when that girl tilted her head and said with a teasing smile—

"The girl who rejected you during freshmen year. Jake told me."

Because truth was… you never even knew it was him.

You never even saw him.

Not then.

Not yet.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Jungwon didn’t stop walking.

Down the hallway, past the bulletin boards, past the same scratched lockers he could’ve walked through blindfolded.

His fists curled tighter with every step.

Breath shallow. Mind buzzing.

He pushed outside, the night air slapping cold against his face. But the sick feeling in his gut didn’t go away.

He barely made it two steps across the courtyard when—

"Jungwon!"

He turned, shoulders stiff.

It was Sunoo, jogging up, frowning. "Dude, what happened? Why is Y/N storming out like she’s about to sue the entire drama club?"

Jungwon opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Rubbed a hand down his face.

"I messed up," he muttered finally, voice hoarse. "I didn’t mean for her to see... that."

Sunoo stared at him, mouth twitching like he wanted to ask a dozen questions but knew better.

Jungwon dug into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out the bright yellow pack, the gummy bears he'd bought earlier, before everything went to shit. Before he'd ruined it.

And then it hit him.

Today was your birthday.

You were supposed to have a good day.

You were supposed to laugh and smile and maybe — maybe — open your locker to find a stupid, cheesy pack of candy from someone who actually thought about you.

Instead, you found him like that.

Instead, he made you leave like your heart was breaking in real time.

A fresh wave of guilt slammed into him, sharp enough to make his stomach turn.

He shoved the pack into Sunoo’s hands, almost too rough.

"Give this to her," Jungwon said, jaw tight. "Tomorrow. Please."

Sunoo blinked down at it. "Uh. Okay? What is this, a bribe?"

Jungwon gave a humorless huff of air.

"Just... tell her I’m sorry. Tell her it’s from me."

Sunoo tucked the candy into his tote bag, still looking like he wanted to say more.

"I have to check our biochem lab results tomorrow," Jungwon added, half an excuse, half the truth. "I won’t see her before lunch."

Sunoo nodded slowly.

"You sure you don’t wanna just give it to her yourself?"

Jungwon shrugged helplessly.

"I don’t think she wants to see me right now."

A beat of silence.

The wind picked up, rattling the bare branches overhead.

Sunoo sighed, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Alright. I’ll make sure she gets it."

He started to turn away, then paused, glancing back with a small, lopsided smile.

"Oh—and, uh, advance happy birthday, Jungwon."

Jungwon managed the barest curve of a smile.

"Thanks."

And then he turned, hoodie pulled up against the cold, and disappeared into the night.

The morning Jungwon turned eighteen, the world stayed silent—for a moment.

The sun rose like it always did, pale and slow against the cracked skyline.

His apartment was still the same too: neat, spare, clean to the point of looking unlived-in. A couch, a low coffee table, a desk piled with textbooks he didn’t really touch anymore.

Nothing screamed special day.

Nothing at all.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the muted light seeping through his curtains.

In families like his, birthdays — eighteenth birthdays — were monumental.

Because here, you only got your blessing once.

It came exactly on your eighteenth birthday, and it never changed after that.

It was supposed to be a celebration. A doorway into the life you were meant to live. But in Jungwon’s family, it wasn’t magic. It wasn’t wonder.

It was a contract.

A cousin who awakened the ability to manipulate probability was immediately signed into risk management for the family's overseas holdings flown out within two weeks. An older sister who could predict crucial decisions before they happened became the sharpest negotiator in corporate mergers. An aunt who could sway opinions through subtle energy became a political lobbyist, shuffled from one continent to another, her life signed away to strategies and campaign wars.

The blessings were always bent, reshaped, weaponized.

Once your blessing appeared, you were sealed into it. Expected to serve it. Or get discarded quietly, like those who didn't "align" well enough.

Jungwon learned early not to hope. Hope made you vulnerable. Hope got you chained.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table.

🎉 Happy 18th Birthday, Jungwon 🎉

It's time to check your Blessing 💫

He stared at the screen but didn’t move.

Because once you checked it, there was no going back. Once the world saw what you were it would decide who you were.

The phone buzzed again.

A text from his mother.

[Mom]

Happy Birthday, my love. Remember, make today count. Everyone’s watching and waiting. We love you.

And then bleeding in like a crack through the wall he heard it.

He can’t afford to screw this up. We’ve invested too much already. If it’s not useful, we’ll need to reassess him for overseas placements.

Jungwon stiffened.

It wasn’t a message.

It wasn’t in the text.

It was her thoughts.

He wasn’t reading her words, he was hearing the parts she didn’t say.

He sat there, frozen, as realization sank in.

With a slow, almost reluctant movement, Jungwon finally tapped the blinking notification on his phone.

The screen flashed once, then displayed in clean, gold lettering:

Blessing Activated: The ability to hear the thoughts of those you are conversing with.

And if he could hear it through this simple text conversation...

What would happen when he spoke to people in real life?

A sour, heavy feeling settled into his chest.

This blessing wasn't something he could turn on and off.

It wasn’t something he asked for.

And it sure as hell wasn’t going to make his life easier.

He pushed himself to stand, grabbing his jacket in a stiff, mechanical motion. Then powered off his phone.

When he left the apartment, the air outside was cold against his skin.

As he made his way down the street, he avoided conversation like it was poison. He ignored the greetings of the security guard in his building. He nodded mutely to the woman who sold coffee on the corner without saying a word.

Because he knew what it meant now. Because he knew the moment he exchanged words, he would hear the real thing hiding underneath. Not their smiles. Not their words. The truth they kept locked away.

And Jungwon had spent his whole life surrounded by that kind of duplicity. Family members who said "I'm proud of you" but thought "You better not ruin our name." Cousins who laughed over family dinners but secretly wished for each other's failures. An uncle who clapped him on the back and said "You’re lucky" while thinking "It should have been my son instead."

He grew up seeing it already. The way blessings, were twisted into weapons, into currency, into burdens too heavy to carry.

And now?

Now he would never be able to unhear any of it, would he?

By the time he reached the university, his head was already aching.

He remembered, vaguely, how Sunoo had clapped him on the shoulder yesterday, laughing, "Advance happy birthday, Jungwon!" before running off to one of his club meetings.

How easy it had been to smile back then.

He wished he could freeze himself in that moment before the world tilted sideways.

Now, everything felt heavier.

He was grateful for the excuse to be alone today. Hidden away in the lab under the pretense of gathering data for his project. The thick walls, the stale scent of old paper and chemicals, the silent machines, it was a kind of peace he didn’t realize he needed so badly.

Here, there were no conversations.

No words exchanged.

No truths bleeding through.

Just silence.

Finally.

Jungwon leaned back in his chair, staring up at the cracked ceiling tiles.

Was this what blessings were supposed to feel like? Or was this just another leash, dressed up like a gift?

He closed his eyes and exhaled quietly.

Happy birthday.

What a joke.

Jungwon stayed frozen by the wall, watching you cross the quad like you were some mirage that might dissolve if he blinked too hard. The lab data crinkled faintly in his fingers, forgotten. His brain, usually so sharp, so careful, now felt like someone had jammed it into slow motion.

Because you were here.

Because you had actually replied.

And he had heard it—your thoughts, clear as day, slicing through the usual static of the world.

Sorry I just saw this. Where are you now?

He’d read the text with a stone face. And underneath it, he heard it—the rush of your guilt, the tiny pang of something warmer, something unbearably human.

Not calculation. Not politics. Not some angle to manipulate him, like everyone else he grew up around.

You.

Just you.

The moment your gaze locked with his across the quad, something in his chest tightened painfully. He stuffed his phone into his pocket, stood straighter, forced himself to smirk internally even though his throat felt dry.

"Hey. President," he called, casual, careful.

Because he remembered the look in your eyes that day outside the drama room—how you flinched when he tried to apologize, how you wouldn’t even look at him.

The last time he said your name out loud, you flinched like he was something rotten.

So now it was just "President." A shield between you and him.

You approached, steady, distant. Your voice clipped when you asked about the lab data. Jungwon handed it over, his fingers brushing yours—and he felt it, again, like a ripple of static under his skin.

Your thoughts cracked into him like sunlight through a stained glass window.

"His hand’s warm."

"Focus, Y/N. You’re being ridiculous."

"Just get through this. Don’t let him see you melt like some idiot."

Jungwon almost dropped the papers.

He bit the inside of his cheek instead, forcing himself to stay calm, to stay cool. Because if he lost it now—if he said anything wrong—you might shut him out completely.

You thanked him in that same clipped voice, turned to leave.

And then he heard it.

"God, why does he have to look at me like that? I hate feeling like this"

"Ugh, why he out of all people? Everything was fine until what I saw last night.”

“Just forget it, Y/N. Forget that stupid future your blessing showed you. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“He’s not going to be your husband. No way. Watch me prove fate wrong.”

Jungwon's world tilted.

Husband? Your husband?

His instincts scrambled for something, anything, to tether him back to earth, to slow the pounding in his chest. The words just slipped out, raw and unsteady, the first thing his brain could grab onto.

“…You saw the file?”

You paused. Nodded. Muttered, “It’s good.”

Then you walked away.

Jungwon stood there, rooted to the spot, heart hammering against his ribs so loud he thought someone might hear it.

Because for the first time since he woke up this morning, with the whole damn world feeling like it was pried open, every thought bleeding through the noise, didn’t feel suffocating.

That night, Jungwon’s dorm was too quiet, but his mind is completely the opposite.

Jungwon sat hunched on the edge of his bed, hoodie sleeves half-pulled over his knuckles, phone glowing dim in his hand. He’d read your message probably a hundred times.

"Sorry I just saw this. Where are you now?"

So casual. So harmless. But the memory of your voice, your clipped tone from earlier, the way your eyes didn’t quite meet his. All of it kept repeating in his head like a glitch in a dream he couldn’t wake up from.

And worse than the silence was the part he couldn’t shake.

Husband.

The word had lodged somewhere in his chest and refused to leave.

He didn’t even realize he was grinning like an idiot until his reflection caught in the dark window. Quickly, he sobered, scolding himself but it was useless. That voice—your voice—echoed in his head with too much heat.

She saw a future where I was her husband.

She thought about me. Dreamed about me.

She didn’t just push me away for no reason.

His thumb hovered over your contact.

He wasn’t supposed to use his blessing like this. He knew it. It was too intimate. Too invasive. But tonight, he needed to understand. Because your voice inside his head didn’t sound like hate. It sounded like fear. And want.

He opened the chat.

[9:47 PM]

hey.

it’s jungwon.

He hit send, then hesitated.

Don’t text her this late, idiot. You’ll just look desperate.

But what if she thinks you don’t care?

He sent another.

thanks for checking the file.

Still nothing.

He tapped his leg nervously, eyes locked on the screen. His thoughts were a mess with half apologies and half what-ifs.

are you still mad about yesterday.

it’s fine if you are. just wanted to say i wasn’t trying to... make you uncomfortable or anything.

didn’t know you’d walk in.

The reply came fast. Faster than he expected.

[Y/N]

Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.

I’ve seen worse.

But your thoughts betrayed you, spilling into him like sparks on skin.

Liar. I felt like my lungs collapsed when I saw him.

Because seeing him with someone else felt like a punch in the gut. Because it confirmed he’d never be mine. Even if the blessing said otherwise.

Jungwon’s heart thudded, warm and dizzy. You wanted him. Maybe not openly, maybe not consciously, but it was there. Real and raw.

His ears burned. He grinned against his knuckles.

He typed again.

you sure? you looked like you saw a ghost.

Because I did, okay? You were the ghost of that stupid dream. That version of you who held my hand and whispered all those sweet things.

And then I saw you tangled up with someone else like a slap of reality. God, maybe it wasn’t a vision at all. Maybe it was just a stupid delusion and I was the idiot who let it mean something.

His smile faded, just a bit. He wanted to explain. He wanted to reach into your thoughts and pull that version of him out, hand him to you like a promise.

Instead, you answered.

[Y/N]

I was just surprised. That’s all.

Another lie. Another flicker of your truth curled under it:

You make me nervous.

You make me mad.

But worse, you make me want to hope.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

A soft laugh bubbled from Jungwon’s throat. It felt... new. Not like the practiced chuckles he gave to classmates or the stiff polite ones he reserved for teachers. This one felt like sunshine cracking open in his chest.

sunoo said you looked pissed.

[Y/N]

Well, maybe tell Sunoo to mind his business.

That little traitor.

But... he’s not wrong.

I was pissed. Still am. But also, ugh. Why do I want him to keep texting me? NO, every text from him makes my head boil.

His chest ached in the sweetest, most unbearable way.

He barely realized what he was typing next.

you don’t like me much, do you.

The silence stretched just long enough to make him nervous. But your thoughts answered before your fingers did.

I don’t know how to not like you. I don’t know how I feel about you. That’s the problem.

You make me mad. But you also make my hands shake.

He sucked in a breath.

You were trying so hard to protect yourself. And yet, your walls had tiny cracks and through them, he could feel your heartbeat echoing like his.

[Y/N]

I don’t really know you.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Jungwon stared at those six words for a long time. And when he finally replied, it came from somewhere deeper.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

then maybe let me fix that.

The words were barely on the screen before your thoughts fluttered again.

What does that even mean?

Is this how he talks to the other girls? That easy, casual charm?

God, I hate this. I hate how I want it to be different with me.

Is it stupid… that a part of me wants to say yes?

Jungwon pressed the phone to his chest, eyes closing for a second.

For once, the world was quiet.

Except for the soft, dangerous hope blooming between your mind and his.

And god… he hoped you could feel it too.

That night, Jungwon thought maybe his blessing wasn’t so bad after all. Not loud. Not suffocating. Just... quiet enough to feel like something sacred.

He fell asleep on his birthday without telling anyone what he’d received. No big announcement, no family expectation, no performance. Just him, alone with the memory of your thoughts that are honest and vulnerable echoing softly in his chest.

It might’ve been his favorite birthday yet.

Because for the first time in a long time, he dreamed not of pressure, pleasure, or perfection, but of you.

And when morning came, groggy and golden through his window, the first thing that surfaced in his mind wasn’t the dread of responsibility.

It was you.

Now, hours later, that same girl—the one who’d occupied his mind all night, maybe even all these years—was clinging to the back of his shirt, arms wrapped around his waist as his motorbike hummed down the empty road.

And Jungwon smiled, wind in his hair, heart louder than the engine.

masterlist.

sorry for another cliffhanger hehe, notes and comments are very much appreciated :D

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solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Unstable Stable || Leona Kingscholar

You were an S-ranked Guide just trying to live your life, but now you're emotionally (and spiritually) babysitting SS-class menace Leona Kingscholar—who’s decided you're his personal charger and refuses to unplug.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

Life used to be normal.

You know, back when your biggest problem was whether to risk food poisoning for that suspiciously cheap sushi combo. Taxes were annoying, capitalism was soul-sucking, and people still thought “ghosting” only applied to dating. Cute times.

Then the gates showed up.

Like surprise holes in the fabric of reality. No warning. No gentle push notifications. Just BAM—mystical rift to MonsterLand™ opens in the middle of your grocery store and suddenly your choices are “fight or die with a half-priced avocado in hand.”

And that would’ve been it for humanity—extinct in a week if not for the emergence of Espers. Superpowered humans with the ability to close these gates and yeet the nightmare creatures back into the void.

Cool, right?

Except—Espers are dramatic. They're the “I’m fine” as they bleed out types. The “I didn’t sleep for three days, but I still went into a Class-A gate because I felt vibes” types. They save the world, but emotionally? Spiritually? Mentally? Absolutely not okay.

That’s where you come in.

You're a Guide. The human equivalent of emotional duct tape. Your job is to wrangle these unhinged battle gremlins post-gate before they disintegrate or cry themselves into a psychic nosebleed. Sometimes both.

It’s like babysitting, except your babysitter is also a licensed therapist, a soul mechanic, and sometimes a romantic interest depending on how "fanfic" things get.

Is the job dangerous? Constantly.

Are the Espers dramatic? Tragically so.

Is there a union? Not unless you count the Group Chat of Collective Suffering.

And does it pay well? HAHAHA.

Still, between dodging death and massaging the egos of glorified magical toddlers, you’ve somehow become really good at this.

Which is great, because your next assignment?

Is going to change your entire life. Probably ruin it. Possibly give you feelings. Definitely not covered by health insurance. (But then again, what is?)

It’s raining like the gods themselves are ugly crying, but you? You’re bone-dry and smug. Perched on your little foldable stool like a judgmental gremlin, your umbrella is perched just right. Stylish. Functional. Invincible.

Across the street, a cluster of fellow Guides are soaked to their very souls. One of them is trying to use a clipboard as shelter. Another’s shoes have absolutely given up on life. They glare at you like you personally invented weather.

You take a sip of your lukewarm vending machine coffee and shrug.

“Sorry losers,” you say cheerfully, “get on my level.”

Then the gate sputters, flickers, and folds in on itself like a haunted paper fan. The Espers return—bloodied, bruised, twitchy-eyed and definitely seconds away from fainting like overcooked noodles.

Chaos erupts.

Guides leap up, yelling names, waving emergency blankets, fumbling for their med kits. People are screaming things like, “Catch him, he’s falling—OH GOD, HIS ARM,” and “Who packed juice boxes in the trauma bag again?!”

You stay seated. Sip your coffee again. It's mostly rainwater now. Whatever.

Then someone stops in front of you. Tall, soaked, radiating the exact vibe of someone who has murdered for being woken up too early.

And he yanks your umbrella to cover himself.

“I am not getting soaked again,” he grumbles, shaking rainwater out of his hair like an angry golden retriever with a six-pack.

You blink.

“Uh. Hello?”

Leona Kingscholar. SS-Class Esper. Walking lawsuit. The man once growled at a government official for chewing too loudly.

And now he’s under your umbrella like this is some shoujo manga and he’s your tsundere warlord boyfriend.

He side-eyes you. “Aren’t you gonna guide me or whatever?”

You panic a little. “I—I’m not certified for SS-Class. I’m just S-Class.”

He snorts. “Didn't think you'd forget me, herbivore.”

What does that even mean??? Is this… Esper code for “I like you”? Or “I won’t kill you today”? Who knows. He’s already sinking to the ground like a dramatic cat, using your thigh as a pillow without even asking.

And just like that, you’re guiding Leona Kingscholar while sharing an umbrella in the pouring rain, your fellow guides still watching like you’ve been chosen by some eldritch force.

Welcome to your life now. Hope you brought snacks.

Leona is basically half-dead in your lap, but still manages to look like he owns both the rain and your dignity.

You sigh and set your coffee down, running your fingers through his wet hair. It’s soft, unfairly so, and smells like something expensive. His breathing starts to even out under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as your stabilizing energy pulses through him.

He doesn’t say anything. Just rests there with his head in your lap like this is a Tuesday afternoon nap spot and not the wet, cracked sidewalk outside a gate that just tried to eat reality.

You keep going. Until—

He grabs your wrist, eyes suddenly sharp. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You blink. “Uh. No? Pretty sure I stopped doing that in college. Why?”

He scowls. “You’ve been channeling too long. Idiot. Burn yourself out and you’ll fry your nerves. Can’t stabilize anyone if you’re unconscious in a puddle.”

You try to pull your hand back but he doesn’t let go. “I’m fine, Leona—”

“I need you alive, herbivore.”

You freeze.

Your brain does a little Windows error sound.

And then he’s standing, still holding your umbrella like it’s his now, yanking you up by the wrist like you’re the fragile one. You try to protest, but he ignores you entirely.

“Your car’s this way, right?”

“…How do you know where I parked—”

“Because you always park near the vending machine. Which is stupid, by the way. You don’t even lock it.”

You're still processing the fact that Leona Kingscholar, Mr. I-Hate-Everyone, has apparently been keeping track of your parking habits, when he tosses your keys back at you like a lazy monarch commanding his carriage.

And that’s how you end up being frog-marched to your own car in the rain by a grumpy, half-stabilized SS-Class Esper who refuses to let go of your umbrella.

You’ve barely had your morning caffeine and the email has the audacity to say: Transfer Notice – Effective Immediately. No warning. No prep. Just vibes and bureaucracy.

You're sent to the high-level West Sector Guidance Office. The same one with SSS-Class Guide Vil Schoenheit, the gold standard of grace, glamour, and glaring disapproval.

So naturally, you walk in clutching your sad little cardboard box of office plants and off-brand snacks, looking like a lost intern who accidentally wandered into a luxury spa for dangerous superhumans.

The receptionist is too busy having a breakdown over printer ink to help, so you start aimlessly wandering the halls, trying not to make eye contact with any Espers that could punch through concrete.

And then someone yanks your box out of your hands.

You flinch, ready to throw hands, until you realize it’s Leona. Hair still a mess. Hoodie on like he just rolled out of bed. He doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t ask how you are. Just nods his chin, “Keep up, herbivore.”

You scramble after him like a duckling with no sense of direction. “Leona—what the hell is this? Why am I here?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just strolls down the corridor with your office supplies like they belong to him now. “Told ‘em I only want you.”

You short-circuit. “What?!”

“They asked if I’d take Vil or the new SS-rank from Sector 4. I said no. Told ‘em to transfer you instead.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “You… requested me?”

He shrugs like this isn’t causing you a spiritual meltdown. “Whatever. You’re not annoying. You stabilize me fast. You don’t treat me like a bomb about to go off. You’re fine.”

And then—like this conversation hasn’t just rewritten the structure of your career—he dumps your box onto a random desk and starts walking off.

“Wait, that’s it?” you call after him. “You’re just—leaving me here?”

He lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “See you tomorrow.”

You stare at the desk. Then the hallway. Then the spot where your sanity used to be.

You don’t understand what’s going on. But let’s be honest—you’ve never understood anything and that’s never stopped you before. You graduated on sheer vibes and a terrifying ability to guess multiple choice answers with unearned confidence. You once guided a Class A Esper while half-asleep and running on a breakfast of sour candy and spite. You thrive in chaos.

So when you show up at your new desk (which may or may not have been assembled incorrectly), you take a deep breath, sip your mediocre vending machine coffee, and prepare yourself for another confusing day of “just wing it and hope no one dies.”

And then Leona walks in.

No knock. No warning. Just opens the door like he owns the place—which, considering the way your coworkers scurry out of his path, he might as well.

You’re ready to guide. You roll up your sleeves. You stretch your fingers. You mentally prepare for the usual Esper touch-their-hands routine.

Leona?

Leona lays down on the office couch like it’s a five-star hotel bed. Puts his head in your lap. And knocks out like a tranquilized jungle cat. No explanation. No shame.

You blink. “Um. Hello? Sir?”

No response.

You glance around to see if this is some prank. Nope. Just you, a couch, and a warm grumpy lion man making your lap his personal pillow.

So you do the only logical thing: sigh, roll with it, and start guiding like this is completely normal.

The stabilization process is smoother than usual. Leona’s energy calms fast, his breathing evens out, and it’s honestly the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t even twitch when you accidentally brush a hand through his hair mid-guidance.

When you're done, you gently nudge him. “Hey. Nap time’s over, sunshine.”

He grumbles like you’ve just committed a crime and blinks up at you with all the judgment of a cat disturbed mid-snooze. Then, with the reflexes of a seasoned villain, he sits up, grabs your coffee off the table, and chugs it like it’s his birthright.

“Hey!” you cry, scandalized. “That was mine! That was my life juice! That’s the only thing tethering me to this mortal realm!”

He hands you the empty cup with all the remorse of a man who steals from vending machines and sleeps through emergency drills. “You can get another.”

And then he leaves.

You stare after him. You stare at your empty cup. You stare at the void where your caffeine used to be.

This job is going to kill you.

But you’ll die confused and employed, and that’s the best you’ve got.

You’re at the farmer’s market. Living your best domestic fantasy. You’ve got your reusable tote bag, your overpriced jam, a bundle of fresh herbs like you’re the protagonist in a cottagecore fever dream, and a leek that you're weirdly proud of because it was the biggest one in the pile. Life is good.

Then a gate opens.

Right there.

Next to the cheese stall.

The sky splits like a broken lightbulb, the air warps, and BAM—there's a rift to monster hell spewing nightmare fuel in the middle of tomato season.

You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were asking about eggplant pricing, the next you were in a technicolor void smacking a drooling, three-eyed creature with your leek like your life depends on it. Because it does.

You’re cornered by something that looks like the illegitimate child of a bear and a blender, just about to accept that this might be it—death by demon at a farmer’s market—when a figure crashes in, trailing lightning and rage.

Leona.

He surveys the chaos with a look of supremely irritated confusion. “Why the hell are you here?”

You, still holding the leek like it’s a holy weapon: “I don’t know, man, you tell me! I was just buying root vegetables!”

He groans like you’re giving him a headache worse than the gate, and with a single swipe of power, the monsters start dissolving into nothing. He suppresses the gate like he’s swatting a fly, and before you can say “gluten-free honey loaf,” he’s grabbing you by the arm and dragging you back to solid, blessed, non-nightmare reality.

You’re trying to catch your breath. You’re covered in monster goo. Your leek is bent in half. And you’re shaking.

“Okay,” you say, trying for calm but sounding like you’ve just survived the apocalypse (because you kinda have), “let’s get you stabilized so I can go sit in a bathtub forever.”

You reach for him—but your hands are trembling too much. You’ve seen monsters before, sure. But not that close. Not nearly getting your face chewed off.

Leona notices. His brow furrows. “Tch.”

Then—softly, carefully—he pulls you into his chest.

You freeze. Not from fear this time, but from the sudden warmth of him, from the way he smells like dust and heat and something grounding. You feel his hand gently settle between your shoulder blades, like he’s not sure how to comfort but he’s trying anyway.

“You don’t go in the gates,” he murmurs. “I go in. I’ll suppress every last one of them, no matter how many pop up. You just stay out here, alright? You wait for me.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look at you like that—not annoyed, not smug, but serious. Protective. Like your safety matters more to him than anything else.

You nod into his shirt. “Okay.”

And he holds you a little longer. Just until you stop shaking.

You form a temporary bond with him after the whole gate-at-the-farmer's-market debacle because let’s be honest—your energy reserves were not built for stabilizing a lion in man’s clothing on a daily basis. You were running on fumes and instant noodles. One more session and you'd have crumpled like a used juice box with a sad little wheeze.

Leona didn’t even flinch at the idea of a temporary bond. Just looked at you like finally and said, “Took you long enough.”

Now, you’re guiding him and only him every day. Which sounds intense, but honestly? This is the freest you’ve been since graduating. No more being pinged at 3 AM to rush to a different gate across the city. No more sorting through esper tantrums or being asked if your hands are “certified emotionally soothing.”

You’ve got one glorified cat man to take care of, and he doesn’t even talk during sessions. He just shows up, flops onto your couch, puts his head in your lap like it’s routine, and is unconscious within minutes.

You're so free, you picked up a hobby. You, the overworked guide formerly known as Burnout in a Coat, now crochet lopsided scarves while waiting for Leona to show up. Sometimes you experiment with baking (badly). You’ve even started watching those long, slow documentaries about birds that people put on to fall asleep.

You are, shockingly, thriving.

Every now and then Leona’ll glance at your latest attempt at a potholder-turned-coaster-turned-abstract-art and grunt, “You’re getting better.”

Which, in Leona-speak, is basically high praise.

Life is weird. Life is monsters and gates and nap-hungry espers with bad attitudes.

But life is also calmer now. Just you, Leona, and the occasional crocheted disaster.

The rift today is the kind of thing news stations send helicopters for. It's so massive that your phone buzzes with emergency alerts and a “Good luck lol” from your supervisor. You’re standing just outside the barrier, watching chaos unfold like it’s a live-action anime, umbrella in one hand, your thermos of emergency caffeine in the other.

Then—bam—some random, shaky-looking esper stumbles out of the gate and straight into your arms like you’re the protagonist in a romance drama. You're mid-stabilization out of pure reflex, patting his back like “there, there, emotionally damaged soldier,” when a low growl cuts through the sound of the rift and monster screeching.

Leona storms out of the rift next, all raw power and pissy vibes, his coat half burned and dust clinging to his hair. He sees you cradling Random Esper #453 like he just walked in on something illegal. His expression goes from “I need a nap” to “I'm about to commit a felony” in zero-point-three seconds.

Without saying a word, he grabs the guy by the scruff of his tactical vest like a misbehaving kitten and just yeets him toward another approaching guide.

"Not yours," he growls, before quite literally collapsing into your arms with all the elegance of a sack of emotional bricks.

You don’t even get the chance to complain. He’s already out, breathing slow and heavy, head tucked against your neck like he belongs there.

And you? You’re stuck holding one of the most powerful espers in the world like a sleepy toddler while another guide screams in the background about how Leona threw someone at them.

Just another day in your life.

You are three seconds away from emotionally combusting in front of a full-length mirror, clutching two jackets like they personally offended you. One is sleek, black, mysteriously expensive-looking, the kind of jacket that says “I pay taxes and win arguments.” The other is fluffy, cozy, slightly ridiculous, and makes you look like a sentient marshmallow with excellent taste.

You’re weighing your options with the seriousness of someone deciding between saving the world and saving ten puppies. There are charts. Internal debates. You're about to do the unthinkable and consult the price tags when—

SWOOSH.

The jackets are gone.

You blink. Arms empty. Sanity shaken.

You whirl around and see Leona—yes, Leona Kingscholar, SS-class esper, noted napper, chaos incarnate—casually walking away with everything you were holding. That includes:

• The jackets

• The socks you forgot you picked up

• A weird little plush you were definitely only holding "ironically"

• A novelty mug that says #1 Guide, Certified Not Dead (Yet)

You trail after him, fast-walking with the energy of a startled mall pigeon. “Excuse me?! What the hell are you doing?!”

Leona doesn’t even slow down. He makes a beeline for the register like this is just a regular chore.

“You were taking too long,” he says over his shoulder, as if that explains anything.

“I was deciding! With purpose! With nuance!”

He pays. Effortlessly. Doesn’t flinch at the total. Just swipes his card with the bored grace of someone who buys entire coffee shops out of spite.

You arrive at the register breathless and confused. “I didn’t ask you to buy my—my impulse garments.”

He takes the bag, hands none of it to you, and starts walking out. “Didn’t say you had to ask.”

You make a strangled noise, flapping after him like a duckling trying to make sense of capitalism and emotional whiplash. “Are you—are you okay? Did you hit your head in the last gate? Why are you shopping for me?”

“Can’t have my Guide dying of hypothermia,” he mutters. “Especially not because they can’t pick a jacket.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, Leona!”

“Sure it does.” He turns, smirking slightly. “You’ll need it tomorrow.”

“For what?!”

“Come to the gate.”

And with that cryptic nonsense, he strolls off into the distance.

You stare after him, confused, and wonder how exactly you ended up in this weird half-domestic cold war with a man who solves problems by spending money and napping through consequences.

Dragging an unconscious SS-ranked esper to your car is not as easy as it sounds. Especially not when that esper is six feet of solid muscle, deadweight, and attitude—even while passed out.

It starts at the gate. After the monsters are suppressed and the chaos settles, Leona doesn’t get back up. You wait—he always gets up. Even when he’s cranky, bleeding, covered in soot and monster gunk, he always stands with that infuriating smirk, like he’s just taken a nap in a flower field. But this time? Nothing.

You run to him, heart slamming against your ribs, calling his name. No answer. Just the quiet rise and fall of his chest. Stable vitals, sure, but his magic signature is drained.

You can’t leave him there—not sprawled out in the dirt like a fallen war god. So you do what any sane, worried, emotionally-compromised Guide would do—you throw all logic out the window and start dragging.

Getting him into the car is a series of humiliating maneuvers that you’re certain would be classified as a war crime if recorded. He keeps slipping down. You have to brace your back against the seat and heave like your spine won’t sue you in the morning. At one point, his leg knocks the gear stick and almost sends the car rolling down the street. You cry a little.

Finally—somehow—you make it. You slam the door shut. Collapse in the driver’s seat, sweating like you’ve just run a marathon. And then—because fate is a comedic little gremlin—you have to carry him again. Up the stairs. To your apartment.

You consider leaving him in the hallway for a second. Just one second. But then he mumbles your name in his sleep, and your heart betrays you by going all soft and stupid.

Once inside, you get him on the couch, check his vitals again, and then begin your descent into spiraling anxiety.

Because he still isn’t waking up.

You pace. You hover. You poke. You even lightly slap his face once (he doesn’t react, but you apologize anyway). You check the clock. You make tea. You don’t drink it. You Google how long can espers sleep before it’s an emergency and get conflicting answers and a concerning ad for calming dog chews.

Two hours later, with your thumb hovering over the call button for emergency services, you’re just about to commit to panic when he stirs.

He stretches like a lion waking up from a particularly satisfying sun nap. Hair a mess, shirt rumpled, magic signature humming faintly back to life. You gasp like someone just turned the world back on and smack his arm with all the force of a mildly annoyed wet sock.

“You absolute menace!” you cry, voice cracking under the weight of emotional exhaustion. “You scared the life out of me! Do you want me to die first?! Because you are on a damn good track—”

He blinks up at you, unbothered. Like you’re background noise to the dream he just left. Then he raises his hand and—pat pat—smooths it over your head like you’re the one that needs comforting.

“‘m fine,” he mutters, which is frankly not the point, and then he drags you down onto the couch like you’re a weighted blanket.

The couch. The tiny two-seater couch that you got on sale and have never once regretted until this exact moment.

He adjusts slightly, making enough room for exactly one leg and half your soul, then shuts his eyes again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him, betrayed by the calm of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and the weight of everything you feel but haven’t said.

“Leona,” you whisper, voice too raw to be anything but honest.

“Sleeping,” he grumbles, completely unmoved. “You should too. You’re loud.”

So you stay. Your hand still buried in his hair, your heart still halfway out of your chest, your soul wrung out like a wet towel—but you stay.

And somehow, in that cramped, lumpy, too-small space, surrounded by exhaustion and emotion and quiet, you find the first real moment of peace that day.

It’s not supposed to happen like this. Gates break, yeah—but they’re not supposed to breach before the espers arrive.

You're still in your uniform, badge clipped on, hair barely brushed, breakfast halfway digested (a mistake), when you arrive at the scene, and—

You freeze.

It’s a remote town, or used to be. Right now it looks like a war zone someone dropped from the sky and left in ruins. Roads cracked and splattered. Buildings collapsed like toy blocks. Smoke curling into the sky like it’s auditioning for a post-apocalyptic music video.

And blood.

So much blood.

You see espers fighting—familiar ones, ones you’ve guided before, their faces hard and blank as they tear through monsters like paper. But the monsters got people first. You see the cleanup teams already moving in. You hear crying. Someone screaming names. And then you see bodies being carried out in bags.

You step forward and your stomach lurches.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. You’re a Guide. You have training. You are not allowed to cry. You are especially not allowed to cry in front of espers who just fought through hell. You breathe in, focus on your mantra: I am here to help. I am here to help. You swallow down the nausea like it owes you rent.

That’s when you feel it—warmth behind you, a solid presence—and then large, rough fingers gently slide over your eyes.

“Don’t look, herbivore.” Leona’s voice is low, soft, somehow more grounding than anything you’ve clung to today. You don’t even flinch at the touch—just close your eyes properly under his palm and let the sounds of chaos fade a little.

You breathe out, finally.

When he lets go, you turn your head, eyes shut, and nod once.

He doesn’t say anything else—just places a hand on your back and steers you gently toward the tents that have been set up nearby. Emergency stabilization camps. Medical supplies stacked up. Guides running back and forth. Your people. You should be helping.

Leona sits you down first.

You start working. Slowly. Mechanically. He leans against your side as you place your hands on him, guiding the storm in his mind back into stillness. He’s watching you the whole time, like he’s memorizing your breathing pattern, your expressions. You don’t say anything, not even when your hands shake slightly at first.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a smart remark. Just sits with you, quiet.

You lean your head against his shoulder for a second. Just one.

“Herbivore,” he mutters. “You okay?”

“No,” you say honestly. “But I’ll do my job.”

And he doesn’t argue. Just lets you rest before getting up and hauling a blanket off the supply pile and dropping it onto your lap with a grumble about “stupid guides forgetting they’re human too.”

You smile, small and tired, but real.

You lasted longer than most would’ve. That’s what you keep telling yourself.

But it doesn’t make it easier when you turn in your resignation. Doesn’t make it hurt less to watch your fellow Guides blink in stunned silence. Doesn’t make it easier when the manager doesn’t even try to talk you out of it—just looks at you with that tired, knowing gaze and signs the form like they’ve seen a thousand others do the same.

And it really doesn’t make it easier when you go home and cry into your instant noodles like a defeated anime protagonist.

It’s not that you don’t love your job. You do. Or you did. But after the last breach… after seeing what happens when you’re too late… something inside you cracked.

You can’t keep holding people together when you’re falling apart.

So you go home. You unplug your work tablet. You turn off your work phone. You decide, firmly, that for the foreseeable future, you are retired. You make a little ceremony out of it. You throw your Guide badge into the drawer, slap a cartoon band-aid on your mental wounds, and decide your new job is to be horizontal and useless.

You don’t expect the knocking.

Frantic. Panicked. Desperate.

You open the door and Leona’s there—disheveled, annoyed, and clearly having run through multiple “I don’t care” speeches in the hallway before deciding none of them applied.

“Why’d you leave?” he says, skipping greetings entirely. His voice is rough like he ran here. Or yelled at a few people on the way.

You look at him. And you break the news gently.

“I quit.”

He stares at you like you just said you decided to become a professional soap-eater.

You try to explain—how you can’t take another bloody battlefield, how the sound of someone sobbing over a friend’s body has made a permanent home in your ears, how the pressure of always needing to be stable is crushing your chest like a vice.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore, Leona. I need a break. I need to feel human again.”

You expect pushback. Some snide comment. Accusations of cowardice or weakness.

But all he does is stare at you a moment, eyes sharp but quiet. Then, finally, he asks, “You happier like this?”

You blink. “...Yeah.”

He nods once. Then pushes past you like this is his house, grabs the half-eaten bag of chips from your counter, flops onto your couch, and turns on your TV like nothing happened. The audacity.

You just watch as he scrolls past every serious movie and lands on the stupidest slapstick comedy you have saved. And then he’s lounging there, one arm slung across the back of your couch, chewing chips like he pays rent.

You don’t ask him to leave. You don’t even sit far.

You curl into his side, just a little. Just enough to feel someone warm, someone solid, someone who didn’t leave even when you quit the one thing tying you together. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t make a snide comment, just lets you sit there while two characters on-screen fall face-first into a giant wedding cake.

You snort softly. He huffs a laugh.

Maybe the world can wait a little longer.

You're not supposed to be here.

You're retired. Done. Free. You’ve been living a soft life, surrounded by overpriced lattes and therapy podcasts, learning to crochet ugly little hats for your houseplants. You’ve earned it. You deserve it.

But the moment the alert flashes across your screen—“Category Red Gate Breach”—your blood runs cold.

You tell yourself you’re just going to check. Just to make sure. You don’t bring your badge. You don’t bring your stabilizing gloves. You bring anxiety, a hoodie, and a tupperware of homemade cookies, because apparently trauma turns you into someone’s tired suburban mom.

When you arrive at the site, the street’s already cordoned off, flickering with damage and Gate residue. Monster ash drifts through the air like cursed snow. The temporary field hospital is chaos—Espers limping, bloody, barely upright, Guides running ragged trying to stabilize them before they keel over.

You’re not supposed to get involved. You’re not.

But then you see him.

Leona. Stumbling slightly as he walks, covered in dirt and blood and smoke. He bats away the hands of every Guide that comes near like they're flies. His expression is sharp, but his eyes are glazed. Too bright. Too wild. His coat’s half off his shoulder and his aura is fraying at the edges—like he’s running on fumes and sheer attitude.

You run to him.

“I told you to take care of yourself!” you shout, more out of panic than anything else. “You absolute menace—what the hell, Leona?! Have you not had a single guiding session since I left?! Are you trying to die?!”

He doesn’t answer. He just turns his head slowly, eyes locking on you like you’re a dream he’s too tired to question. His breath stutters.

And then he’s pulling you forward—no warning, no words—just grabbing you and kissing you like the world hasn’t ended yet because you showed up in time.

And you freeze for a heartbeat. Just one. Then your hands are on his shoulders, in his hair, your lips meeting his as the unstable storm of his aura crashes against yours.

You guide him—not with standard channels, not with gloves or focus crystals, but with your whole self. Through the kiss, through the desperation in your grip, through the way you’re pouring every unspoken emotion into him. Every “I missed you,” every “You idiot,” every “Please be okay.”

And slowly—slowly—his breathing evens. The twitch of his muscles fades. The trembling stops. He leans into you, forehead pressing against yours, and whispers, hoarse and raw, “Knew you’d come.”

You hold him tighter.

It happens on a normal, sunny day.

Leona’s in your apartment, lounging like he lives here—which he sort of does at this point, considering how often he shows up without knocking. He’s flicking at one of your crocheted cactus hats with a deeply unimpressed expression, like it's personally offended his sense of aesthetics.

“You’re wasting perfectly good yarn,” he mutters. “This thing looks like a limp sea anemone.”

You throw a cushion at him. “Shut up. It has character.”

He snorts and catches it easily. He looks too big for your space. Too dangerous for your IKEA throw pillows. Too important to be wearing a hoodie you accidentally shrank in the wash, but he is, and it’s riding up just a bit at his waist.

And you—you’re just watching him, feeling the weight of it. The Gate breach. The kiss. The way he let you in like you never left. The way you still know exactly how to guide him better than anyone.

You set your tea down a little too firmly and blurt, “I want to form a permanent bond.”

The room stills. Leona doesn’t move. His hand is frozen mid-poke, just inches from your succulents-in-hats lineup.

“What?”

You swallow. “I want to bond permanently. With you.”

He turns to look at you slowly, eyes sharp, reading every inch of your face. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You sure this isn’t the post-massacre adrenaline talking?” he says, voice flat. “People say weird shit after trauma.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, yes, I saw several eldritch nightmares and had to fight one with a leek, but I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’m not going back to guiding just anyone. I only want to guide you.”

Leona’s quiet for a long time. Then he sits up—really sits up—and leans forward, forearms on his knees, staring at the floor like it's hiding answers in the carpet pattern.

“You don’t get to change your mind after this,” he says, low. “It’s a one-way door.”

“I know.”

“You’ll feel what I feel,” he says. “You’ll know what I feel. Even the ugly stuff. Especially the ugly stuff.”

You smile. “Leona, I’ve seen you eat cold pizza at 7 a.m. while shirtless and complaining about filler episodes. I know ugly.”

He groans like you’ve physically injured him and slumps back again. “You’re gonna make me regret this with your dumb jokes.”

But there’s a warmth in his tone now, soft and fond and careful.

He stands up and walks to you, crowding into your space, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to back out. You don’t. You reach out and link your fingers through his.

And he exhales shakily. “Okay then.”

He presses you back into the couch—your stupid, lumpy, too-small couch with the blanket that smells like lavender detergent—and his hands are cupping your face, his forehead resting against yours.

He looks at you, eyes bright. “You’re stuck with me now, y’know.”

You grin. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, you’re not just a guide and an esper anymore.

You’re his. And he’s yours. Permanently.

Leona remembered the first time he met you like it was a fever dream—a chaotic, embarrassing, infuriating fever dream.

He’d been a rookie then. Raw, unstable, claws out at the world and not interested in anyone who thought they could leash him. He didn’t need a guide. Didn’t want a guide. Especially not in some packed training center with too many bodies and not enough air.

And then you happened.

He had just come out of an intense simulated Gate. Aura flaring wild, brain buzzing with static, teeth gritted like he could physically bite down on the overwhelming noise in his head. The instructors had already radioed for a Class A guide, probably even a Class S, someone who could deal with an untamable lion.

Instead, they got you.

You must’ve been nearby and operating on some unhinged kind of autopilot, because you stumbled into the fray like a grad student five espresso shots deep and grabbed him by the collar without even checking his ID tag.

And then—then—you had the audacity to guide him.

It wasn’t the gentle coaxing kind either. It was hands in his hair, forehead pressed to his temple, murmured words like a mantra while he struggled to get away. He’d cursed, snarled, told you to back off before he did something you’d regret.

And you? You pulled his ear.

Pulled his fucking ear like he was a naughty cat on a countertop.

“Sit still, I’m working,” you’d snapped at him, voice sharp and fed-up like this was your fourth Gate that day and you were not about to let some rookie cat-boy ruin your stats.

And then—

Then it all bled away.

The noise. The storm. The static. It melted under your touch, under that weird, grounding, relentless presence of yours. He remembered your aura—bright, strong, so confident in a way you clearly hadn’t earned yet, but hell, it worked.

By the time he came back to himself, panting and blinking in the too-bright light, you were already gone, off to stabilise the next idiot without even sparing him a backward glance.

He had to ask someone your name.

It pissed him off for weeks.

Because you hadn’t even realized who you’d grabbed. You hadn’t known he was a potential SS-class Esper. You hadn’t cared. You’d just seen a wild beast and told it to sit down while you fixed it.

And somehow… it had worked.

He remembered it like a film reel soaked in rain—gray skies cracked open, streets slick and flooding, people scrambling like wet rats to get to cover. And in the middle of that chaos, you.

The only dry, smug bastard in the entire goddamn city.

The rain hadn’t touched you. Not one drop. Umbrella balanced perfectly, a coffee in one hand, phone in the other, like the gates of hell hadn’t just burst three blocks over. You were humming. Humming, for crying out loud.

And Leona had frozen mid-step. Not because of the gate, or the suppression order blaring in his ear—he didn’t even hear it anymore.

It was you.

The same energy. Same aura. That same maddening calm like a slap to the face. He didn’t even need to reach for his senses to know it was you—the one who yanked his ear and made his soul stop screaming all those years ago.

He’d spent months trying to forget that moment. Or rather, trying not to remember it too fondly. That was the worst part: how easy it had been to just give in to your touch. No fights. No snarling. No claws. Just... quiet.

And now here you were, in his city, acting like the rain had never met you, walking through a Gate breach zone like it was your stupid, peaceful backyard.

You didn’t even flinch when he stepped up to you.

Didn’t bristle.

Didn’t bow like the others.

Just blinked at him and went, “I'm just an S class guide.”

And that—

That pissed him off.

Because you didn’t recognize him.

After all that? The ear-pulling? The spiritual mugging you gave his aura? The time you wrangled his chaos into submission with the annoyed grace of someone trying to fix a printer jam?

You didn’t even remember.

Leona’s eye twitched.

No. Fine. That was fine. He could work with this.

He’d just have to remind you.

He leaned in, voice low and lazy, that smile curling sharp and knowing. “Didn’t think you’d forget me, herbivore.”

Still blank.

“Oh?” you said, sipping your coffee like he wasn’t radiating enough energy to fry the sidewalk. “Should I have?”

Leona huffed a laugh through his nose.

Okay. You wanted to play this game? Cool. He’d just put himself on your schedule. He’d get stabilised. Regularly. By you. He’d show up with his whole chaos bleeding out and dare you not to remember what you did to him back then.

He’d make sure you remembered.

And by the time you did, he'd already be sleeping in your lap.

He remembered that day like a fever dream.

The burn of energy spent down to the marrow. The static buzz in his skull, everything blurred and muffled. He didn’t remember passing out. Only that when he cracked his eyes open again, he was on a couch that was too soft, under a blanket that smelled like you.

And you—

You were pacing.

Pacing like your heart was about to break through your chest. Muttering to yourself. Swearing quietly. Picking up your phone like you were about to call for help—and that was when it hit him.

You were scared.

For him.

You, who once yanked his ear like he was a brat in time-out. Who lectured monsters and officials alike with the same exhausted sigh. You were standing there, shoulders hunched, knuckles white, about to call an ambulance like he was something fragile.

Leona would never forget that look.

Wide-eyed. Raw. Like you’d just lost the world and were scrambling to piece it back together.

He stirred just to stop you from dialing, more out of instinct than anything, and your reaction—Sevens. You swatted him like he was the one who gave you heart failure, your voice wobbly as you whined about how close you’d come to losing your “life juice thief.”

And something in his chest broke a little.

He didn’t say anything. Just patted your head with a heavy hand, tugged you onto the couch like you weighed nothing, and pulled you close. Too tired to talk. Too overwhelmed to pretend.

You didn’t argue. You just curled against him, the two of you folded together on that stupid couch not built for two.

He fell asleep with your heartbeat right there, under his hand.

And later, when he pretended it was the proximity that calmed him and not you, he knew he was lying. Because that image of you—panicked, pacing, nearly in tears because of him—was burned into his brain like a brand.

He thought: No one’s ever looked at me like that.

And maybe that’s when it happened.

Maybe that’s when he stopped running from what you meant to him.

Leona remembers the gate break too clearly.

Not because it was the bloodiest he’d seen—though it was. Not because the air had smelled like ozone and rot, or because the monsters had crawled out of that rift like nightmares given shape. Not even because they lost people, though the weight of that had sunk deep into his spine.

No.

He remembers it because of you.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to be off somewhere doing idiot hobbies and yelling at your succulents. Not standing there, pale as ash, looking at the wreckage with wide, hollow eyes.

He’d spotted you across the chaos, just as another stretcher went past you, another guide screaming for medics. And you just stood there, frozen. Staring. Not blinking.

Leona moved before he even realized it, instincts kicking in harder than battle mode ever had.

You didn’t flinch when his hand covered your eyes from behind.

"Don’t look, herbivore," he muttered. Not like a command. Like a plea.

You made a small sound—shaky, half-choked—and he felt it. That tremble that ran through your body like a frayed wire.

And he knew, right then, that he’d never forget your expression. The look of someone who’d seen one horror too many. The kind that made you never sleep easy again.

He turned you around, tucked you under his arm like he could shield you from the world with just his presence alone, and walked you to the temporary camps.

You guided him there—your hands still trembling, voice quiet—but you guided him all the same.

He watched you carefully the whole time, like if he blinked, you’d disappear. Like if he wasn’t careful, you'd shatter.

And he swore—

If he could help it, he’d never let you wear that look again. Not for gates. Not for anyone. Not even for him.

Leona had felt fear before.

The kind that came with being outnumbered by monsters too big for even his claws to take down. The cold sweat of overusing his abilities to the point his bones felt like glass. The fury of watching comrades fall mid-battle.

But none of it—not once—had made his stomach drop the way it did when he opened your office door and saw the place getting cleared out.

Your desk was bare. The plant you used to scold for not thriving was gone. The mug that said “Espers are drama queens” was nowhere to be found. There was just a box, some paperwork, and a couple of Guides gossiping in the hallway.

“Transferred?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Nah,” someone said. “Resigned. Burnout, probably.”

His vision tunneled.

Burnout.

You’d burned out—and you hadn’t said a word.

Leona didn’t even remember leaving the office. He just remembered standing in front of your door, knuckles aching from how hard he knocked, heart rattling in his chest like something was trying to break free. You opened it after what felt like eternity, hair a mess, hoodie too big, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

And you smiled.

Small. Tired. But real.

It wrecked him.

You explained in soft words—words that he barely heard because he was watching the way your shoulders curled in, the way your voice wavered when you said “I needed a break.”

And Leona… he said nothing.

Because what could he say?

“Come back?”

“Let me fix it?”

“I need you?”

No. He wasn’t good with words like that. So he just walked past you, flopped on your couch, and turned on the dumbest show in your streaming queue. The one with the laugh track you always made fun of. The one you claimed made your brain smooth enough to nap.

And you came and curled next to him without saying a word.

Leona didn’t sleep that night. He watched you instead. Watched your face soften as the tension bled away. Watched your chest rise and fall. Watched the proof that you were still here, even if a little frayed at the edges.

He stayed until morning.

Because if you couldn’t carry the world for a while, he’d hold it up for you instead

Leona refused to let anyone guide him after you left.

They tried, of course. S-class guides who were calm and polished, eager to work with him. People with pristine records and delicate, careful hands. They hovered around him after every mission, offering stabilizing touches and soft-spoken reassurances, but he bared his teeth at every single one of them.

He didn’t want calm. He didn’t want pristine.

He wanted you.

And it wasn’t like he meant to be dramatic about it, either. He knew how it looked—how reckless it was to take on gate after gate without being stabilized. He could feel it in his bones, the exhaustion chewing at the edges of his mind. His temper frayed easier. His sleep was worse. But every time someone reached for him, he’d shrug them off like their hands burned.

Because letting someone else guide him after you?

It felt like cheating.

Even if you’d never been his. Even if you’d never called him yours. Even if you’d left the job entirely and moved on, arms full of groceries and that stupid smug grin on your face like you hadn’t just ripped something vital out of him.

He endured. And endured. And endured.

Until that gate. The breach that nearly turned into a disaster. His vision had been half-gone from the overload, his hands shaking from pushing himself too far. He was stumbling toward his car, snarling at the idiots trying to grab him, when you came out of nowhere, yelling at him.

Scolding him for not taking care of himself.

You, who had no reason to be there. You, with your arms full of cookies and your dumb little apron still dusted with flour. You, who looked so heartbreakingly angry and worried all at once, like he’d carved a hole in your chest and left it open.

He barely heard the words. He couldn’t think past the rush of your voice and the you-ness of it all.

So he kissed you.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. Just leaned forward, dizzy with the ache of needing you, and kissed you.

You didn’t pull away.

You kissed him back with a kind of fury that made his knees weak, like you’d been waiting just as long, like all your feelings were poured straight into your touch. You guided him with your hands on his face, your forehead pressed to his. And for the first time in weeks—months, maybe—he could breathe again.

You were his fate. You always had been.

And Leona Kingscholar had never once considered being free.

Now, you're permanently bonded.

Leona comes home, not to silence or tension or the eerie calm of an empty apartment—but to you. You, burning something in the kitchen again. You, curled up on the couch in those ridiculous socks that he secretly bought two more pairs of because you kept losing them. You, complaining about your houseplants like they personally offended you, even as you tuck a blanket around one because “she’s sensitive to cold.”

He walks through the door and something tight in his chest unwinds. Every time.

Sometimes he still expects it to go away. Like he’ll blink and wake up, stuck in some sterile recovery room with a lecture coming and a headache already forming.

But then you smile at him, bright and familiar, and you say, “Welcome home, dumbass,” with that soft tone you always save just for him.

And it hits him again: you’re his.

You bonded with him. Not temporarily. Not out of desperation. You chose him.

Leona doesn’t care for sentimentality. But he knows—knows—he’ll never forget the day you tugged on his ear and made him yours.

Because something about the way you touched him… the way your hands didn’t shake… the way your voice didn’t flinch…

He hadn’t felt fear. He hadn’t felt chaos. He’d just felt—settled.

Even now, when you steal his hoodies and press kisses to the corners of his mouth and scowl when he eats the last cookie, he still remembers that exact moment. The tug on his ear. Your hand in his hair. The audacity you had to treat him like a person before he’d ever earned it.

He comes home to that now.

To you.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Leona Kingscholar doesn’t feel like he’s enduring the world.

He feels like he’s living in it.

You’re both tangled up in the sheets, legs braided together, skin warm with the afterglow, when you roll onto your side and ask, “Hey… why me?”

Leona blinks at the ceiling, arms behind his head. “Why not you?”

You nudge his side, unconvinced. “No, seriously. You had your pick. So what made you want me?”

He’s quiet for a second. Then he says, almost casually, “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“Our first meeting. It wasn’t during that gate in the rain.” He shifts, turning to face you fully, voice low and quiet. “It was way before that. Back when we were both still rookies.”

You squint, thinking hard. “You mean—?”

“I was a mess,” he says, lips twitching at the memory. “Raw, half-feral. I’d just come off a surge and nobody could get near me.”

You stare at him. He stares back.

“You,” he says, tapping your forehead lightly, “stomped over, grabbed me by the ear like I was a misbehaving mutt, and told me to ‘stay put,’ like you weren’t terrified I’d snap your arm off.”

And then it clicks. It clicks.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “That was you?!”

He raises an eyebrow, almost smug.

You burst out laughing. Actual, full-body, face-hiding, breathless laughter.

Leona watches you lose it, and something deep in his chest tugs—gentle, powerful, unmistakably warm.

He thinks, this.

This right here. The sound of your laughter in his sheets, the crinkle of your nose, the disbelief in your eyes as if you couldn’t possibly have manhandled one of the most dangerous espers in the country—this is what he wants every damn day of his life.

You’re still giggling when you huddle closer to him, pressing your forehead to his.

“I pulled your ear,” you murmur, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “No wonder you’ve been so whipped since day one.”

“Watch it,” he warns, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness.

You grin, and he kisses it right off your mouth.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x you #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #guideverse x reader #guideverse #࣪ ִֶָ☾. guideverse

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bestarrachel · 25 days ago

Video

youtube

Bathroom Hardware Counting Packing Machine with Noise Insulation Cover

Bestar advanced triple-vibratory bowl counting machine packages mixed bathroom accessories with precision. With custom soundproof enclosure for the vibration bowls and the checkweigher part, to reduce operational noise. The enclosure with door, easy open to feed products and take out finished packages. Perfect for: ✔ Shower hooks ✔ Drain covers ✔ Cabinet knobs ✔ Towel ring screws ✔ Tile spacers Why factories choose this model: ✓ Protected product surfaces ✓ Office-friendly noise levels ✓ One-touch changeovers The discreet powerhouse for premium hardware packaging.

#youtube #packing machine #bathroom hardware #hardware packaging #hardware counting packaging machine #automatic packaging #counting packing machine #bestar packaging #bestar rachel

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petertingle-yipyip · 4 months ago

Text

MISS POSSESSIVE - JOAQUIN TORRES

Pairing: Joaquin x Reader // Word Count: 2,061

Summary: So what if you were a little possessive? No one got hurt. (fun fact: the biting story is a true story)

Your relationship with Joaquin was no secret.

You two didn’t necessarily shove it down everyone’s throats, but you didn’t hide anything either. You arrived at most trainings together, sat next to and against each other, went to lunch together, left together. The only time you were really apart was when he went on a mission with Sam and you went with your recon team.

You noticed the new set of eyes in the training center one day. You were doing your planned solidcore routine while Joaquin did weights on the other side of the center.

You saw her when you took a break between exercises. You sat flat on the machine’s pad and breathed deeply, glancing around the relatively empty center. You and Joaquin were there, as part of your usual schedule, along with Nat and Yelena sparring in the far corner. Kate was doing some yoga routine with the blonde that was actively staring at Joaquin, who was oblivious as he began a set of lat pulldowns.

You stared at your boyfriend for a moment as well. Admittedly, the blonde had a fair excuse to stare, and she was new. Or you hadn’t met her at least. Maybe she didn’t know.

You pushed a headphone aside, ready to snap at her, when Kate smacked her friend’s arm. You could barely hear her say to pay attention and that he was taken. Kate met your eyes a moment later and she offered you a thumbs up with a nod, a not-so-subtle confirmation that she had your back.

You smiled at her as you chuckled. Replacing your headphones, you went back to suffering through solidcore.

Later that week, in a more packed training center, Joaquin’s newest fan was watching him again. You two were jogging the track and conversating, and he decided to show off and jog backwards. You caught the woman over his shoulder and you fixed a glare in her direction. Her eyes met yours and she changed from basically undressing Joaquin in her head to daring you to stop her.

“Hello?” He waved a hand in front of your face and your attention slid back to him. “What was that?” He was smirking slightly.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gonna fall.”

“You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gon-“ He began before nearly tripping over his own feet.

His arms flailed slightly and you caught him, which caused you to stumble with him. You couldn’t help the laugh as he righted and you two resumed your easy pace.

“Don’t tell Sam.” He said quickly.

“I already saw!” Sam called from the other side of the track.

Joaquin groaned in embarrassment and you nudged him slightly with your elbow. He frowned dramatically at you and you giggled before jerking your chin, daring him to keep up as you increased your stride.

By the end of that week, his watcher had built up some courage.

You were at the cubbies near the door, rifling through your bag for your sparring gloves. Joaquin was leaning against the wall near the cubbies, casually mentioning how he had his already and you were putting your session behind. You mocked him quietly as you dumped the contents of your bag on the floor.

“You set me up.” You blamed him.

“Me?” He laughed. “I’d never do such a thing.”

“Yes you would, because you know I can kick your ass.”

He sighed dramatically and knelt beside you to help you look. You filtered through your scattered items while he checked the zippered pockets. He was the one to find them, which only added on to his guilt in your mind, and you shoved everything back away.

He offered you his hand to get up and you made a show of your reluctance as you took it. He laughed, pulled you to his chest, and kept you close with an arm over your shoulders.

She wasn’t there when you two began your session. You would’ve felt those baby blue eyes following. By the time you were taking a break, she was there, lingering at the edge of the sparring area. She pretended to be focused on her own workout when Joaquin glanced in her direction but she didn’t hide her blatant stare when you looked at her.

You didn’t give a warning before storming over. You knelt to be at her level and she propped herself up on her elbows. She opened her mouth but you cut her off.

“Funny how you think I don’t notice the way you undress him with your eyes almost everyday.” You said flatly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look at the floor. Or the ceiling. Or anyone else in this place. Just keep your eyes off him.” You forced a smile that was anything but friendly. “Got it?”

“I’m so scared.” She said sarcastically, craning her neck to see around you.

“Listen. I can only be nice about this for so long. Some fights you’re not gonna win. And him?” You nodded towards him once. “No way.”

“May the best woman win then.” She shrugged and returned to her sit ups.

You kicked her braced feet away before heading back to Joaquin, earning a muttered “bitch” as you left. His brows furrowed but you waved him off. With a new anger in your veins, you knew you’d hit someone you shouldn’t soon, which made the next portion of your sparring more intense than necessary.

You were both covered in sweat by the time you were done. You had also both removed your shirts by then. Your muscles were burning with the effort and you assumed Joaquin’s were too, but by the way he was talking your ear off you wouldn’t have guessed.

“You’re pretty chatty.” You teased with a grin.

“You wouldn’t let me get a word in over there!” He sounded offended as he threw a hand towards the sparring area. “Anytime I tried to talk, you pounced.”

“I pounced?” You laughed. “What am I, a cat?”

“A feral one.” He muttered and you smacked his arm before you both laughed. “Definitely feral.”

“If I was feral, I’d bite.”

“You do!”

“I do not!”

“Didn’t you bite a kid in second grade?”

You whirled to face him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You know good and well that I had a good reason!” You defended.

His hands went up in surrender but the grin was still plastered on his face.

“I felt threatened.”

“And biting was the only answer?” He tried and failed to keep his laughter contained.

“Yes! I was playing my own game, he tried to make me the prisoner in his war game with some other kid. You don’t put your arm-“

“Around someone’s neck and not expect to get bit.” He finished and you glared lightly at him. “At least you didn’t get suspended.”

“I cried in the principal’s office because I was scared of getting in trouble.” You deadpanned. “I don’t think I ever apologized to the kid, though.”

“And you still went on that field trip.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “I’m so disappointed in you, Y/N/N.”

“Oh no, whatever will I do now?” You dramatically put your hands to your heart.

“Just don’t bite me.” He shrugged, which earned another smack to his arm.

“I left my water. Grab my bag?” You began backing away towards the sparring corner.

“Yeah.” He nodded and went towards your cubby.

As you were grabbing your bottle, Kate and Yelena were stepping into the square. Kate waved enthusiastically at you and Yelena held a fist towards you. You bumped your own against hers and smiled towards Kate.

“How’s it going?” You asked. “Feeling stronger?”

“Today’s the day.” Kate nodded firmly.

“Ha!” Yelena responded loudly and you turned. “You think you’ll beat me?”

“Okay, you say that like it’s a joke.” Kate frowned.

“Was it not?” Yelena laughed. “C’mon, Kate Bishop.”

“Why do you still do that? Stop saying my name like that!” Kate urgently whispered.

“I don’t know, Lena. She might.” You added. You gave Kate a once over glance and then nodded slightly. “Yeah, I think she actually has biceps now.”

“See?” Kate threw an arm towards you. “Wait a second.” She furrowed her brows.

“Staying to find out?” Yelena asked, bouncing side to side on the balls of her feet.

“No, Joaquin and I are gonna try to catch a movie.” You nodded towards where you left your boyfriend. “Just came back for my water.”

“Oh!” Kate announced. “That reminds me…”

“You’re stalling.” Yelena complained.

“It’s important!” Kate insisted then turned to you again. “Sorry about before. I tried to tell her.”

“The new girl?”

She nodded, almost looking embarrassed, but you shrugged.

“I told her today in the nicest way I could to back off.” You waved a dismissive hand.

“What if she didn’t get the memo?” Yelena asked, focusing on something over your shoulder.

“Oh shit…” Kate looked at the same thing behind you.

“What are you two-“ You mumbled and turned to see for yourself. “Oh.”

You crossed your arms and watched for a moment. Joaquin was sitting on the floor with the new girl kneeling beside him. They were involved in some sort of conversation and you were just glad he had put his shirt back on. She exaggerated a laugh and he was confused for a second. Apparently, what he said hadn’t been that funny.

“I think you should start planning your friend’s funeral, Kate Bishop.” Yelena said flatly as the blonde reached out and put her hand on Joaquin’s forearm.

“No, it’s…” You began.

You knew Joaquin. You knew his mannerisms and body language better than anyone. He didn’t care to be talking to this girl, not in the way she was trying to talk to him. He had his phone in one hand and judging by the way he kept looking down at it, he would’ve rather been scrolling than talking to her.

“You’re better than me.” Kate offered. “Two warnings and she still acts like that? Friend or not, I’d slap the hell outta her.” She laughed slightly.

Her other hand landed on his forearm and her other moved to his upper arm. Your brows rose and as if that expression sent a signal, Joaquin looked over towards you with wide eyes.

“Pray for her.” Kate said simply as you took long strides to get back to Joaquin.

He stood as you got closer and she bounced up beside him. She stepped closer, one of her hands on his shoulder and the other reached for his hand.

“Ready to go?” You made a point of only speaking to and looking at Joaquin.

“Yeah.” He sighed in relief and shifted to get away from her touch. “We leave now, we’ll have enough time to shower first.”

“Did you get the tickets already?”

“I thought you were going to stick around and spot me.” The blonde pouted.

“I’ve got ‘em.” Joaquin answered. “And your bag, m’lady.” He bowed slightly as he offered you your bag.

You laughed slightly and slung the strap over your shoulder.

“But Joaquin!” She cried, grabbing his hand with both of hers. He immediately pulled away and she pursed her bottom lip in another pout.

“He already said he’s busy.” You snapped. “Go see if Kate or Yel have time to babysit.”

“I didn’t realize you were his mommy.” She said sarcastically.

You turned to face her fully but Joaquin pulled on your bag to force you back a step. He tapped his knuckles against your thigh and you shifted your weight closer to him.

“Seriously.” You threatened. “Get your hands off my man.”

“Scared?”

“I’m gonna kill her.” You ground your teeth and looked to Joaquin.

Quickly, he put his arm around your shoulders and guided you out the doors. She called after him but you lifted your hand to give her the middle finger. After a string of curses were directed at you, Joaquin closed his hand over yours with a laugh.

“Told you.” Joaquin said proudly as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Told me what?” You raised a brow.

“Feral.” He grinned.

You opened your mouth to argue then closed it. Maybe he was right, at least where he was concerned.

Feral. Possessive. Protective. Same thing, right?

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres tfatws #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #joaquin x you #joaquin torres marvel #joaquin x reader #joaquin torres #marvel fic #mcu fic #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #joaquin cabnw

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emiliaoleary · 2 years ago

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Hooking rugs that look like dogs

Here's how I do it:

The process I use is called rug hooking (not latch hook or punch needle or tufting, though it is the forerunner of the latter two techniques). Rugs are hooked by pulling loops of fabric strips or yarn through the holes of a base fabric with a coarse open weave, like burlap, or linen, or rug warp. The loops are pulled through the fabric with a squat-handled hook whose business end is shaped like a crochet hook. There are no knots and the loops aren't sewed down in any way. The whole thing stays put just by the tension of all those loops packed together in the weave of the foundation fabric.

This isn't a true detailed tutorial but a walk-through of my particular process. The same information is on my web page, emilyoleary.com .

I hook with yarn, rather than with cut strips of wool fabric, which is what many rug hookers use. I can get a looser, more organic distribution of loops with yarn than I could with wool strips, which are hooked in neat lines.

Mostly I use wool yarn. In terms of yarn weight, I can use DK, worsted, or Aran. If I'm using thicker yarn, I leave more holes un-hooked; if I'm using finer yarn, I hook more densely or double up lengths of it. I particularly like using single ply yarns (like Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride or Malabrigo Worsted). I don't keep count, but I think I usually use around two dozen types and colors of yarn per dog.

This is my yarn wall in my apartment. Mostly brown and gray yarn!

I start from a small drawing in my sketchbook, then I head to FedEx office to use a copy machine, blowing up the drawing repeatedly and experimenting with how big the dog rug should be.

After transferring the image onto my linen, I immediately go over it with Sharpie, because the Saral is really difficult to see and really easy to rub off.

The rug is held taut by a PVC quilting frame that I set on my lap.

I push my hook down through the fabric with my right hand and my left hand stays below the fabric and guides the yarn while I pull it up and through with the hook. Not every hole in the fabric is hooked. Hooking every hole would make the rug too dense. I do hook pretty densely, though-- If you pick up one of my rugs you’ll see they have a slight curl to them, which is because they’re hooked pretty tight. I'm using all different weights and types of yarn, so it's a challenge to keep the overall tension even.

I hook my loops at varying heights to create a very low relief. Sometimes I trim the loops to make them fluffier or wispier or to shape a particular part. I look at a reference photo while I work and pull out and redo sections a lot.

My q-snap frame can accommodate the growing dog rug. I have extenders to make it bigger and I can clamp around my hooking.

The back of a rug looks like lines of little stitches. The lines are little worm trails snaking around because lines of hooking are not supposed to cross over each other. It's important to start a new length of yarn rather than cross over a stitch you already made! I read this when I first started and took it to heart. It makes it much easier to undo and redo hooking if you have to (and I redo sections A Lot). It also keeps the back from getting too bulky and resulting in uneven wear on the back of a functional rug that gets floor use.

When I’m done hooking everything I turn the rug over and brush watered-down Sobo glue on the edges of the dog, making sure to get one or two of the outermost lines of hooking. I do a couple coats of this thinned out glue. I'm careful not to use so much that it seeps to the front of the rug. When the glue is dry I cut the rug out, but I don't cut so close that the loops don't have any linen to keep them in.

It generally takes me at least several months to finish one dog rug. My hooking frame and yarn bag are very portable (though bulky) so I can hook out and about at coffee shops or the library or a brewery if there's enough space and light.

Hooking in the wild makes me an ambassador for making things in general and rug hooking in particular. I answer people's questions and always emphasize how relatively easy it is to get started hooking. Sometimes I get anxious that other people will hook rugs that look like mine but better, but I think that working in a traditional medium means you should share your knowledge for the good of the craft.

#tutorial #rug hooking #rug tufting #rug art #dog #dog art #yarn

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 10 months ago

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pop that cherry

a/n: woop woop! here's the little slutty story that you guys voted for when i asked what you wanted to see happen next in this au ৎ୭

summary: “hey, I get it,” he flashed you a comforting smile, “I’m a complete stranger. You just shook my hand two seconds ago and now we’re expected to bang in front of a bunch of other people you also don’t know,” his broad thumb swept over your knuckles, “you just have to decide if you wanna pack up your things, go home and chalk this up to just a fun experience, a lesson learned about what corners your sexuality and such does and does not stretch to,” he uttered with sincerity, “or you can come back inside and we can make some magic happen. It’s up to you.”

warnings: camgirl!reader x various, pornstar!ari levinson, roommate!bucky barnes, porn director!bruce banner, smut, porn au, college au, reader’s porn name is cherry blossom (UrLittleCherry), filming pornography, reader's first time doing professional porn, kissing, masturbation, toys, oral, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, size kink (pornstar!ari is famous for his monster cock, you're welcome), belly bulge, manhandling, multiple orgasms, squirting, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, facial

word count: 3832

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

Curled up and melted on your mattress, you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone. Your puffy pussy, hidden between your still trembling thighs, clenched in dull soreness from the fuck machine frozen by your feet and still glistening from the show you’d put on only moments earlier.

“Hey, pretty girl,” a familiar voice emanated from your doorway, “I didn’t know you were done streaming.”

Lazily blinking up at Bucky as he leaned against the frame, “yeah, just signed off a few minutes ago,” you exhaled, “did you just get home?” the question flowed from your lips and he swiftly nodded in confirmation, “how was class?”

“Oh my god, don’t get me started,” your roommate let out a groan and pushed himself off the wall, his stride swiftly carrying him the short distance to where you laid and plopped himself down beside you.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you felt him press a slow peck to your exposed shoulder.

“Do you need help lifting the toy back in the closet or–,” Bucky’s kind offer was then cut short by the shuttering gasp that suddenly crawled out of your lungs.

“Oh my god,” your eyes grew to the size of saucers as you stared down at the message you’d opened on your phone, “oh my god!”

“What? What is it?” he propped himself up on a forearm to peek over your shoulder.

“I–…” your eyes scanned the email wildly, “this can’t be real, right?” you cast a glance back at your friend.

“Let me have a look,” and you swiftly handed him your phone before hearing him skim through it, “dear miss Cherry Blossom, bla, bla, bla… we here at Smash Studios really love your vibe and were wondering if you would ever consider doing professional pornography, because if so, then we would love to work with you,” his blue eyes flickered a moment longer over the screen before they fluttered up to meet yours, “no, I think it’s legit.”

“Holy shit…” you breathed, an airy giggle then bubbled out of you as this was quite the news to take in, even when one wasn’t still hazy from haven fucked one silly in front of hundreds of people.

“You think you wanna do it?”

“Beautiful, gorgeous! And look right here, up there, yeah, that’s it…”

Sharp clicks shuttered the camera and shot throughout the massive house as a photographer snapped the last of the stills for the shoot. You were posed perched and kneeling on a bed with your right hand buried in the already tiny crop top, you’d brought as one of the outfit options, and held up high to reveal your tits.

The groan of floorboards creaking then found your ears and your gaze swiftly fluttered towards the door where the salt-and-pepper-haired man, who you’d come to learn was the head of the little porn studio, crossed over the threshold.

“How are we doing in here?” Bruce adjusted his glasses before stepping further into the room.

“I think we’re about done,” the photographer lowered the camera from his eye and cast a glance to his boss, “think we got the shot.”

“Great,” Bruce clapped his shoulder as the other man passed by and exited the room. As you tugged the short t-shirt back down into place, you met Bruce’s gaze before he asked you, “how are you doing? You ready?”

Though your mind was way too preoccupied to offer him an answer and instead blurted, “has he arrived?” as you scooted off the bed and felt the tiny shorts you wore ride up enough for your grasp to float down to adjust.

“Not yet, I’m sorry,” he tilted his head, “trust me when I say that he isn’t usually this late. He wouldn’t have the stellar reputation he does if he was. But we can still begin without him and just fix it in post if you’re–”

Someone then poked their head and announced, “hey Banner? He’s here. I just spotted his bike roll up the driveway.”

Feeling your heart thump in your chest, you heard Bruce clap his palms together, “great!” before you followed him out of the bedroom and through the pristine halls of the rented modern mansion.

Just before your bare feet began to conquer the long staircase, your absentminded grip tightened on the glass railing as you looked down at the open living room, clearly visible from the wide balcony, and spotted the figure that then sauntered in.

“So sorry I’m late, traffic was literal hell.”

Ari Levinson.

With sun-kissed brunette locks flowing from his head and a motorcycle helmet nuzzled under his burly arm, the infamous pornstar was not only blessed with a smile that could make anyone swoon, but also a dick so huge that any sane person would be downright terrified by the idea of having it split them apart.

Though that wasn’t what had stopped you in your tracks, what had made your palms embarrassingly clammy when he soon shook one of them once you’d somehow made your way down the stairs.

Why did your very first partner have to be someone you’d obsessively been getting off to for years?

You were barely listening to what the people around you were saying as you couldn’t rip yourself out of the trance you’d snapped into.

“I’m sorry, what?” you soon blinked, trying to avert your gaze.

“I asked if you were ready,” Bruce patiently repeated.

“…for?” you breathed, feeling as if you were inside of a giant ethereal cheese bell, making the entire world around you seem blurry.

“For the shoot,” Bruce’s words still flew straight over your head, “I said that I was thinking that I’d do the filming myself, if that could make you more comfortable since you’ve already met me. That way it’ll just be me, the two of you and then Sam in the corner doing audio.”

“O-okay…” you said quietly, feeling your cheeks heat up as Ari let his gaze linger over you, an observant brow soon twitching as he spoke up.

“Wait, actually,” he placed a palm on Bruce’s forearm, halting him as he reached for the bulky camera resting on the white couch, “do you mind if I grab a quick smoke break first?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, “let’s just all take five before we begin.”

It caught you completely off guard when the object of your distraction walked by you and paused to murmur in your ear, “come with me outside for a second, will you?”

Shadowing him all the way out of the tall glass door and onto the terrace, you watched him lean his frame against the fence and tilt his body for you to slot in beside him.

“I don’t actually smoke,” you uttered softly as you let your fingers ghost over the railing.

“Oh, neither do I–, or well, that’s not completely true, I do, just didn’t need one right now.”

“So then why did you ask for a smoke break?” you cocked a brow.

Blowing out a swift breath, Ari then twisted to face you more and gazed directly down at you.

“You mind if I hold your hand?” he held out his own palm.

“Oh, uhm,” your glance flickered down to his upturned hand before you carefully placed your own atop of it, “okay.”

His warm fingers swiftly engulfed your own as his stare stayed fast upon you.

“So, this is your first time, huh?”

“Oh, no, I'm not a virgin, I–”

“I meant porn, sweetheart,” he tilted his head to be more at your level.

“Right,” you averted your gaze as butterflies soared in your stomach, “yeah, I haven’t really done this before… I mean, I’ve some stuff, I’ve cammed for a pretty long time now and even recorded custom videos for some people, but no, I haven’t really taken this step before…”

You were staring down at his large hand engulfing yours as he then said, “you know, it’s okay if you don’t wanna go through with it. This field isn’t for everyone, in fact, only very few thrive in this environment, and if it’s not for you, then it’s okay.”

“Oh, no,” your eyes flickered up to find his as you urged, “I wanna do this, I really do. I’m sorry, I guess I just kinda got a bit more nervous than I expected.”

“Hey, I get it,” he flashed you a comforting smile, “I’m a complete stranger. You just shook my hand two seconds ago and now we’re expected to bang in front of a bunch of other people you also don’t know,” his broad thumb swept over your knuckles, “you just have to decide if you wanna pack up your things, go home and chalk this up to just a fun experience, a lesson learned about what corners your sexuality and such does and does not stretch to,” he uttered with sincerity, “or you can come back inside and we can make some magic happen. It’s up to you.”

“So, Cherry,” Bruce purred behind the camera as he knelt on the floor beside where you sat at the foot of the bed, “I can’t believe we finally convinced you to come have some fun with us. I gotta tell you, you are just a fucking dream come true…”

“Oh, thank you,” you smiled, kicking your feet slightly as they dangled over the edge.

“But you must get that all the time, I mean, look at you.”

“It has been known to happen on occasion,” you chuckled, thinking back to all of the lewd compliments the viewers of your streams generously tossed at you.

“So, a little birdy told me that this is your very first time fucking on camera. Is that true?”

“Yeah, it is,” you bit down on your bottom lip, “I’m so ready to pop that cherry.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” he smirked, panning the bulky camera over your frame as you tilted your head in a nod, “you’re just ready to show the whole world what a perfect slut you are?”

“Think it’s about time,” you giggled in response.

“Well, then why don’t you do something for me and stand up?” he shifted back a bit as you got up from the bed, “and now, I’ve already seen it, but can you please turn around and show everyone how fucking perfect your ass is?” a grin stayed fast on your face as you slowly spun around. Your butt was barely covered in the tiny shorts that clung around your hips, so when you twisted and let the camera catch that part of you, Bruce quietly groaned, “wow…” and he shifted his grip to let one of his hands float up towards you, “can I touch you?”

“Sure,” you arched your back a bit to make his palm’s journey that much shorter.

“Damn… this has got to be one of the greatest booties I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he offered your softness a brief squeeze. His fingers first dented one cheek, then the next, before his grip caught your waistband and tugged your shorts up just a tad bit more, making the fabric momentarily rub against your covered pussy.

His flat palm then scooped around your hips and guided you back to face the camera.

“Do you wanna see my boobs?” you smiled as you blinked down at him with big doe eyes, your hands gently grazing over the hem of your crop top.

“Oh, yes, please,” he virtually begged as he let his warm palm stay glued to your waist.

Peeking down, you slowly lifted the shirt up and let your tits quite literally spill out as they jiggled slightly from the release of how fiercely you let the cotton graze over your skin.

“Jesus christ…” you heard him utter as your palms fluttered down to play with them, squeezing the soft peaks gently before Bruce’s fingers sneaked up to pinch one of your nipples.

Once you’d put on a show and pushed the tiny shorts down your legs, the crotch of which had been slightly soaked since you weren’t wearing any panties underneath, you rested back down on the bed and spread your legs wide for the camera, grinning as the older man asked you to play with yourself.

“Oh my god… I gotta tell you, I am so hard right now,” you watched how intently he stared at the small monitor, getting a closeup of how your fingers rubbed your little clit, “you have no idea how tough it is not to just fuck you right now, it’s crazy…”

“Oh yeah?” you giggled, the melody of your want echoing throughout the room at every teasing touch you offered yourself, “how bad do you wanna fuck me?”

“So fucking bad…” he uttered in a nearly hypnotise tone.

Continuing to circle your puffy pearl, your fingers briefly dipped down to tease your entrance, only shyly slipping inside before you swept back up.

“You know what?” Bruce said as he then began to twist a bit to get the open door to the room into frame, “I have a little surprise for you,” and perfectly on queue, Ari appeared at the threshold, burly chest on show with just a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips.

His stride was slow as he only stayed in the doorway a moment before sauntering over to where you sat, melted back and resting against the one forearm that propped you up.

“Hey,” he smiled and plucked up your face as soon as it was within reach.

“Hi,” you managed to utter just before he bent down and pressed his lips to yours in an unhurried and gentle kiss.

He kissed you as if he had all the time in the world, like some dude wasn’t pressing a bulky camera closer to the intimate act, but like he was the lead in a PG romcom.

When Ari withdrew, he let himself linger in your warmth, ever so slightly nuzzling his nose against your own as your fingers kept up the dizzying pattern you drew between your parted thighs. Tilting his head, his touch traced the length of your arm till his reach came down to aid your efforts, making you gasp from the way he caressed you.

“You,” he nudged his nose gently against your own, “look like you’re in need of some cock in that little mouth of yours.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you said, “you read my mind,” before popping the button of his jeans and tugging the zipper down. Even though you’d seen his famed cock numerous times on screen before, it truly was something else to witness it in person. A breathy, “holy shit,” left your lips as you tried to wrap your fingers around his girth, though he only let out a soft laugh at the way your eyes grew wide.

Ceasing the caress he drew between your thighs, he instead grabbed the base of his heavy length with his fingers still glossy from your arousal. As you stuck out your flat tongue, he tapped the weight against you for a second before you tilted your chin and wrapped your lips around the bulbous head.

As you disappeared into the meditative motion of slobbering all over his cock, gradually taking more and more of his intimidating length, your frame twisted to lay on your side and face him more.

Blinking up into his hooded eyes as the corners of your lips burned from the severe stretch, you felt his hips begin to move, rolling to meet your every bob, till his fingers tangled in your hair and he got to take over completely, fucking your face till slobber dribbled down your chest and rained down on your crop top, still tugged up and framing your tits.

His free hand then snaked its way back down your body and cracked your legs open wide for the camera to see as he plugged your pussy up with two of his fingers, making you moan around his girth as the tip of him bruised your throat.

When he yanked your mouth off of his cock, he did so with a gravelly growl, like he could have lived in your silky warmth and it pained him to say goodbye so soon.

“Come here,” he grabbed you and flipped you around for your frame to face him as his feet stayed planted on the side of the bed. Kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, you panted up at him as you scooted even closer, nearly letting your butt hang off the mattress’ edge as you laid already crumbled and folded before him, utterly bewitched by the anticipation of what his legendary size must feel like stretching your poor pussy out.

Shimmery spiderwebs of your nectar clung to him as he then let you feel the weight of him tap against your puffy pearl, briefly skimming through your folds before he found your eyes and tipped down, nudging to catch your weeping entrance.

“Oh my g-god…” you gasped, all of the air escaping your body to accommodate as he slowly pressed just the tip inside. Your cunt clung around his dick as he gave you a second to catch your breath. Your pulse throbbed in your pussy as your silky walls moulded around him and your thighs gently trembled from the intensity of it all.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he gave you another inch, “you feel so good,” gently stuffing more of his length inside.

His grip dented your trembling thighs as he held you open for the camera to see how you struggled to take his cock. Even when the tip of him kissed your cervix and made you feel as if he was all the way up in your fucking throat, when you hazily gazed down to see where he split you apart, there was still a generous inch of him that your little pussy just couldn’t take.

As your eyes lingered a little longer, you too caught sight of how a dull bulge formed in the lower part of your belly, perfectly timed with each of his mind-numbing thrusts.

When you then tumbled over the edge, nearly blind from the overwhelming pleasure, your pussy couldn’t help but accidentally gush around Ari’s girth, simply because of how mind-boggling he felt.

“Oh, shit,” you panted. Still in your orgasmic daze, you swiftly cast a worried glance up at Bruce steady behind the camera, “I’m sorry,” you briefly broke the scene as Ari too paused his movements as you breathlessly spoke, “I really tried not to squirt, I know that wasn’t part of today’s plan, but–, fuck…” your eyes fluttered up to find Ari’s, “your dick’s just so goddamn big,” you hazily giggled.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Bruce’s voice washed over you as you watched a smile tug at Ari’s lips, “that was just an unplanned bonus.”

“Wait, so you’re not mad?” your neck twisted to cast a glance at the director.

“No,” he swiftly shook his head and flashed you a reassuring smile to calm the obvious anxiety that had bubbled up inside of you.

“Oh, good,” you let out a sigh, “sorry, I just got nervous for a second. Okay, alright, we can keep going.”

“You good?” Ari checked before he cracked out of his frozen form.

“Yep, yep, I’m okay, I’m wonderful,” you chuckled and let the last bit of nerves wash away.

“Alright,” he dipped down to press a soft kiss to your lips, before his hands guided your arms around his neck, slinking them around him.

His grasp then scooped down under you and he effortlessly plucked you up off the bed, a shy yelp bubbling up from your lungs as he picked your frame up to cradle you in his arms, his massive cock still lodged inside of you, though when he settled you in his strong hold, it felt as if he found a mystical way to slide even deeper.

Moans flowed from your lips and vibrated against his skin as your neck soon gave up and lent your cheek to smoosh against his fuzzy chest.

“There you go,” he stood up tall and bounced you in his arms like you were a toy, just a cocksleeve for him to get off with, “there you fucking go…”

As he picked up the pace and truly gave you a taste of how a real pornstar pounded a pussy for the camera, your eyes screwed shut tight and you felt yourself float away on a cloud, curled up in Ari’s burly arms and surrounded in a storm of your collective moans. The existence of the video camera even faded from your reality as you peeled your eyes open and peeked up at Ari from the pillow of his pec, knowing full well that he too could feel how you began to clench around his cock once more.

“You gonna cum again?” he repeatedly lifted you up and down on his fat girth, “you gonna be a good girl and cream all over my cock, huh?”

Blinking up at him, your brows crinkled in pleasure as you nodded, “uh-huh.”

“You think you can squirt again for me?” his grip dug into the plush of your ass hard enough for it to leave marks.

“I-I don’t know–”

“Oh, I think you can,” he switched up his pattern, slowing down slightly and dragging you all the way up till his cock nearly slipped out of you, only to sink you back down in such a rough, yet intensely slow manner, that it made your eyes roll in your skull, “just listen to that,” he smirked at the soft sloshing sound that sinfully echoed as his fat girth repeatedly slid against your g-spot, virtually bullying it till you surrendered, “it’s like she’s begging me to just spend the rest of the day making her gush over and over again until you fucking pass out…”

A shrill cry escaped your form as you let go once more, shaking in Ari’s grasp as Bruce knelt down to capture your sinful drizzle.

You nearly felt drunk, like you were hours into the best party of your life, when you eventually found yourself planted on the floor, quaking legs unsteady beneath you as you blinked up at Ari, looming above you and furiously fucking his fist.

“You want me to cum all over that pretty little face?” he grunted as you hazily stuck out your tongue.

“Yes,” the corners of your lips blissfully curled up into a grin, “please–”

Even though your bones had turned into jelly and your pussy clenched in soreness, the drawn-out moan that rumbled in Ari’s chest as hot ropes of his cum then shot out and painted your features sent tingles throughout your body and filled you with a desire to just wrestle him back down onto the mattress, hit rewind and do it all over again.

#lea’s writing #sugar and spice au #ari levinson smut #bucky barnes smut #ari levinson x reader #chris evans smut #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #chris evans x reader #bruce banner smut #ari levinson au #ari levinson x you #ari levinson series #sebastian stan x reader #marvel smut #mcu smut

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dontpulltohardman · 13 days ago

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Nicknames

pairing: Thunderbolts*!Bucky x fem!Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

warnings: fluff, bucky being a softy only for reader, super fluffy, nicknames like petal babydoll doll love being used, barely any swearing

word count: 783

summary: Bucky has so many nicknames for you that the rest of the team just can’t keep up with them.

this is my first fic soo please bare with me😭 hope you all enjoy please like, comment and reblog love you lots and lots like jelly tots🥰❤️

You and Bob were never morning people, that’s one thing you had in common, so when you were both woken up at the ass crack of dawn the first thing you both beelined for was the coffee machine.

You silently stood waiting for your mug to fill as Bob shuffled into one of the island chairs when a familiar scent of oak, vanilla and musk filled your senses. “Morning Doll” the name rolled off his tongue so easily like it was your birth name, he had evidently just finished a morning run, sweat glistened his skin and his hair was slightly tousled from the wind. It was a sight for your extremely sleep deprived eyes.

He pressed a kiss to your temple and lightly squeezed your hip before giving Bob a tight nod. He then grabbed his own mug, ushering you to sit down so he could handle both your cups of coffee. You complied, as you were still waking up, sitting next to Bob whose head was practically inside his own cup.

••••••

The team had just finished a very pointless meeting with Val leaving you with not only a migraine but a very empty stomach. It was just you and Yelena in the conference room as you both were to tired to move when suddenly, as if some food god up above heard your stomach growling, Bucky walked in with 2 bags of food, “I brought you lunch baby” a small smile was plastered on his face as he placed the bag in front of you. You smiled and said your thanks as he placed a soft kiss on your cheek before claiming the empty seat next to you as his own.

“You two are not only disgustingly cute but also evil for eating in front of me like that” Yelena groan from beside you, earning a few snickers from you and a soft grunt from bucky, “Here you go Lena” you smiled as her face lit up when you offered her a forkful of your meal. She quickly had her full, a couple more forkfuls from you and a sneaky one from Bucky’s plate, before leaving to scavenge for her own meal, leaving you and Bucky alone.

You glanced over at Bucky, he was already staring at you and with a look of confusion you muttered , “What?” a smirk threatened he lips as he simply replied, “I love you babydoll” you looked down at your lap to hide your smile when Bucky grasped your chin in between his fingers, making you look at him, “I love you too Buck” you muttered back just as his lips met yours.

•••••

It was another one of Alexi’s “team bonding exercises.” This time involving everyone to gather in the living room to watch a movie you were yet to pick. Though you usually dislike these exercises, you were greatly fond of this one making you go all out on the snacks and drinks, much to Alexi’s enjoyment. Yelena, Ava, Bob, Alexi and John shared the couch while you sat on the love seat waiting for Bucky to join you from the kitchen.

“Petal!” you perked up at the name waiting to hear Bucky’s voice while the others glanced between the two of you, “You want popcorn? or some gummies?” just as you were about you reply, John’s voice filled the room, “How many pet names do you have for her, jeez man” he scoffed, “Doll, baby, petal, babydoll” he recited the words trying to impersonate Bucky and comically failing, pulling a laugh from everyone while Bucky just glared at him.

“Mind your business John” he grumbled walking over to the love seat carrying a bowl of popcorn big enough for you to share and a pack of gummy worms knowing you would have said both anyways, “Here you go love” you smile placing a quick kiss to his cheek as the others just groaned.

safe to say Bucky wasn’t choosing just one nickname for you anytime soon, not that you had a problem with that anyway.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #the thunderbolts #thunderbolts #marvel #fluff #established relationship #nicknames #james buchanan barnes #x reader #the avengers #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fluff

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coriihanniee · 15 days ago

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WHAT'S YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE? ༻°₊ ｡

۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : how boynextdoor express their love for you

۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x gn!reader۶ৎ GENRE(S) : established relationship, FLUFFNESS OVERLOAD!!! ~ ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : slight mention of stress/anxiety, excessive chessiness?? (secondhand blushing!!), uncontrollable smiling, Woonhak's failed basketball attempt (may cause emotional damage) ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 0.2k - 0.3k words

۶ৎ A/N : new headcanons!! I personally feel like all of them would express their love in such diverse and sweet ways~ likes/reblogs/comments = a fish doodled by Leehan and a kiss from Jaehyun 😉

SUNGHO ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ always walks on the street side of the sidewalk to protect you from traffic

۶ৎ remembers your coffee order down to the ice cube count and brings it to you without being asked :

“I passed the café and they had your favourite coffee!”

“You walked ten minutes in the opposite direction.”

“So what? Let me live babe.”

۶ৎ plans thoughtful dates based on your interests, not his

۶ৎ if you once mentioned liking stars? He's dragging you to an observatory at night (You said it one time. He remembered.)

۶ৎ if you once mentioned craving bunggeoppang at 1am during winter? He's showing up a week later asking :

“So, hypothetically, if I knew a place that sells it late... and hypothetically, if I was already outside your place… would you hypothetically want to come down or—?” (He already bought two. Yours has extra red bean. He remembered. AGAIN.)

۶ৎ adjusts your seatbelt for you when you get in his car with no complaints because he loves taking care of you

۶ৎ knows your go-to order at like five different restaurants and recites it like it’s a password to a secret base

۶ৎ will not let you carry anything heavy, no matter how small it is :

“Give me that.”

“It’s literally just a bottle of—”

“Give.”

۶ৎ knows your routines better than you do. If you forget something? He’s already packed it :

“Did you bring my charger?”

“Bottom left pocket.”

“Wait, seriously—”

“You forget it every time. This isn’t new.”

۶ৎ buys those mini heat packs and sneaks them into your pockets when it's cold

۶ৎ cooks your favourite comfort food when you've had a rough day without you having to ask

۶ৎ complains about your bad habits but always helps you through them anyway :

“Why are you like this? Also I reorganized your entire fridge and labelled the sauces. You’re welcome.”

۶ৎ overall the best boyfriend ever! ~ 🥹💕

RIWOO ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ unconsciously reaches for your hand when walking together

۶ৎ leaves you little handwritten encouraging notes around your house whenever possible, says it's his new daily morning routine

۶ৎ always making silly jokes that makes your stomach hurt from laughing :

“If that vending machine eats your dollar again I will fight it. I don’t care if it’s built like Jaehyun.”

۶ৎ gives the most comforting hugs when you're stressed, will wrap his arms around your waist and let you rest your head on his shoulders while tracing circles around your back

۶ৎ spins you around randomly just to hear you laugh :

“You looked bored.”

“I WAS COOKING.”

“Yeah, now we’re waltzing. Multitask!”

۶ৎ gives you forehead kisses before leaving, entering a room, or just because the lighting hits your face a certain way and he can’t resist

۶ৎ brings you little desserts when he goes out

۶ৎ plays with your hair when you're close

۶ৎ keeps his phone gallery full of blurry pics of you :

“Why do you have this? I look like a goblin.”

“Exactly. My goblin.”

۶ৎ man of a few words, but text? Oh he's going out of his way to make sure you know you're genuinely the most beautiful person he's met :

“Just remembered how pretty you looked this morning… ♡”

۶ৎ links arms with you in crowded places, he just doesn’t like the idea of losing you, even for a second! 😭🩷

۶ৎ randomly starts dance battles with you at home :

“ROUND ONE! LET’S GO LOSER.”

“I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS.”

“WINNER BUYS ICE CREAM. MOVE IT.”

۶ৎ also links arms with you everywhere you go, even just walking to the kitchen :

“Where are we headed?”

“Fridge.”

“Perfect. I love a good journey.”

JAEHYUN ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ dating Jaehyun is a 50/50 gamble between :

“My boyfriend just serenaded me with a ukulele at 2AM because he missed me”

AND

“My boyfriend ate my last snack and left a post-it that says ‘this is the price of loving me’”

۶ৎ wakes you up in the most dramatic way possible :

“WAKE UP, LOVE OF MY LIFE, WE’RE GETTING PANCAKES—”

“Jaehyun it’s 7am—”

“AND THE SUN IS SHINING AND I MISSED YOUR FACE!!!”

۶ৎ saves every picture you send him and makes them his wallpaper

۶ৎ plans elaborate surprise dates months in advance because he loves seeing your reaction

۶ৎ always brings you little gifts :

“Here. Saw this and it looked like you.”

“It’s a sparkly pink pen shaped like a cat?”

“Exactly. Sexy and sharp like my gorgeous girlfriend.”

۶ৎ teases you 24/7 but defends you the moment someone else tries

۶ৎ blows up your phone with memes and chaotic selfies, half of which are him doing something dumb like wearing five sunglasses indoors

۶ৎ calls you by the most ridiculous nicknames :

“You good, my little microwave-safe spaghetti?”

“...That’s not even—what?”

“Shhh. Just accept my love.”

۶ৎ texts you fake love letters in Shakespearean English :

“To mine dearest heartthrob, thy gaze doth slay me—also we’re out of milk.”

۶ৎ always has a hand on you. Thigh, waist, pinky, shoulder, doesn’t matter. Even if it’s just brushing against you on the train, he’s gonna make sure you feel he’s there :

“Do I have to let go?”

“You’re hugging my leg while I’m washing dishes.”

“So… no?”

۶ৎ never misses the opportunity to surprises you with back hugs with his arms around your waist whenever he feels like

۶ৎ dramatic as hell when you're affectionate first

۶ৎ genuinely hypes you up like you’re his celebrity crush :

“You’re telling me YOU chose to date me?? That’s so crazy. How did I pull such fine shyt??”

TAESAN ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ writes you lyrics when he can't express his feelings verbally

۶ৎ does your chores when you're overwhelmed without making a big deal out of it

۶ৎ sends you good morning/goodnight texts that are never the same or copy-paste

۶ৎ loves making you flustered, then pretending he’s innocent :

“You look cute when you’re mad. Should I annoy you more?”

“Dongmin.”

“Not a no.”

۶ৎ defends you in conversations when you're not around if anybody tries talking bad about you

۶ৎ slips your name into lyrics he's working on and pretends it's a coincidence :

“Dongmin, this is literally our inside joke in verse two.”

“Oh, weird, huh? ☺️”

۶ৎ hums your favourite songs when he thinks you can't hear him

۶ৎ remembers every important date and celebrates all milestones, big or small

۶ৎ knows when you’re lying and loves to call you out :

“I’m not jealous.”

“You changed the subject and flared your nostrils. That’s your tell, babe.”

“Do you study me or something?”

“24/7. Get with the program.”

۶ৎ this man teases you more than Jaehyun but that's just his way of showing his undying love for you ~

۶ৎ leaves you voice messages when he knows you’re too tired to talk :

“You don’t have to reply. I just wanted you to hear my voice. I love you.”

۶ৎ keeps one earbud in at all times just in case you send a voice note. If it’s a voice message, he’ll pause everything to listen, even if he’s mid-writing lyrics

LEEHAN ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ gives you his full attention when you speak, like you're the most fascinating person in the world

۶ৎ shares the most random thoughts :

“Do you think fish get jealous?”

“...Jealous of what?”

“Like… other fish with cooler scales. Or the ones that get fed first.”

“Donghyun what—”

“Anyway, if I were a fish, I’d be jealous of whoever got to swim next to you.”

۶ৎ gets pouty when you tease him, but lets you win anyway.

۶ৎ draws little doodles of you and him as corydoras fish :

“This one’s you.”

“Why do I look nervous?”

“Because you’re next to me and you just realized how much you like me.”

“...Donghyun.”

“Hang on, let me give you heart eyes. There. Fixed.”

۶ৎ shares his hobbies with you and gets genuinely excited when you show interest

۶ৎ teaches you about his interest (fishies! 🐠) with endless patience

۶ৎ starts learning your favourite hobbies too so you can do them together

۶ৎ Absentmindedly plays with your hands. Twirls your ring. Taps on your fingers like a keyboard. Draws little shapes on your palm :

“You have the cutest hands. Very holdable!”

۶ৎ wants to do everything together with you, even the boring stuff :

“Wanna go grocery shopping with me?”

“You just went yesterday.”

“Yeah but you weren’t with me, so it was lame.”

۶ৎ spoils you with food and loves watching you eat like it's his favourite hobby because he wants you to eat well

۶ৎ enjoys taking long walks with you just to have uninterrupted time together

۶ৎ shares weird animal facts as a way of showing affection :

"Did you know penguins propose with pebbles? I found you a cool rock today. It reminded me of you…kind of oddly shaped but very special.”

WOONHAK ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ randomly piggybacks you everywhere

۶ৎ gives you his hoodies and gets happy when he sees you wearing them

۶ৎ starts fake arguments just to get your attention :

“Why would you rank mint choco above cookies and cream???”

“Because it tastes good???”

“You can’t be trusted. Don’t talk to me.”

...10 seconds later

“Wanna try mine though?”

۶ৎ posts unflattering pics of you on social media with stupid captions

۶ৎ says random sweet things when you least expect it

۶ৎ the type to point directly at you and say "this one's for you" and try to shoot the ball into the hoop and miss miserably 💀

۶ৎ doesn't want to admit it but he's very big on physical touch, holding pinkies, resting his chin on your head, throwing an arm around you

۶ৎ if you sit on the floor, he will lie on you :

“Woonhak you’re heavy—”

“You’re soft.”

۶ৎ shares his food automatically with you, even his favourites

۶ৎ chaotic dates >>> romantic dates :

→ Arcade nights where he tries to win you a plushie and refuses to leave until he does

→ Supermarket speed runs where you split the list and compete

→ “Let’s cook dinner together!” (and by cook he means burn half the kitchen)

۶ৎ is weirdly obsessed with your laugh :

“Can you do that thing again?”

“What thing?”

“That sound you made when you snorted mid-laugh. That’s my new ringtone.”

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist: @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @beomev

492 notes · View notes

stylesonfilms · 4 months ago

Text

drippin' down your body like gold [h.s]

word count: 7.1k

when harry performs in lisbon, he gets an idea to chug a beer on stage. what he doesn't know, is that the sight of his chest dripping makes you feral.

or the one that is based off a post long ago made by @hesbunnies!

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, blowjobs, fingering, daddy kink, slight possessiveness, dressing room smut, concert smut! 18+ only.

Your fingers glided over the sequins of his suit, the fabric shifting beneath your touch like liquid light, catching and reflecting the warm glow of the dressing room bulbs. Each stroke sent a mesmerizing ripple across the dark material, a shimmer of silver and blue dancing under your fingertips. Your gaze trailed downward, drinking in the expanse of his exposed chest, where inked stories curled over golden skin, each tattoo etched into him like constellations against a dusky sky. The faint scent of his cologne—rich, woodsy, laced with something subtly sweet—mingled with the lingering notes of hairspray and fresh linen from his suit.

“Good luck,” you exhaled, the words floating between you like a prayer, your voice tinged with adoration as you tilted your head to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded against your ribs, swelling with something indescribable, eyes glossy with admiration. His responding chuckle was low, honeyed, and melted into the grin that spread across his face—dimples deep, eyes twinkling. His large, calloused hands rose to cup your jaw, warm and steady, thumbs brushing tenderly over your skin. Though he towered over you, nearly a foot taller, he always lowered himself to meet you, his lips finding yours with effortless devotion.

One kiss. Another. Then a longer one, deep and unhurried, the soft pressure igniting a heat in your chest. His lips were plush, intoxicating, leaving behind a warmth that lingered long after he pulled away. His hands dropped, curling around yours, anchoring you against the rapid heartbeat beneath his chest.

“Styles, two minutes! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Beyond the dressing room walls, the world pulsed with electric anticipation. The steady thrum of stomping feet vibrated through the floors, a bassline of excitement shaking the very air around you. Cheers and whistles spiraled through the venue, blending into a symphony of pure, unfiltered devotion. The scent of fog machines and stage lights filtered in, mingling with the adrenaline buzzing through your veins.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fondness as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then brought your bundled hands to his lips, the heat of his breath spreading across your skin. A shiver ran down your spine—not from cold, but from the quiet intensity in his touch.

“See you out there?”

You beamed up at him, eyes glimmering. “You know it. Now go, go!”

With a parting squeeze of your hands, he turned, broad shoulders disappearing through the door. His jog down the long corridor was brisk, purposeful, the last glimpse of his silhouette swallowed by the glowing stage lights as he vanished beneath the arena.

The moment Harry disappeared down the hallway, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still fluttering from the warmth of his lips on your skin. But there was no time to linger in the feeling—he was about to step onto the stage, and you needed to get to your spot.

Slipping out of the dressing room, you navigated through the backstage halls, passing crew members who moved with practiced efficiency. The faint hum of in-ear monitors crackled through radio headsets, and the distant strumming of the band tuning up leaked through the heavy walls. With familiar ease, you found the staircase leading up to the private balcony, a space reserved for family and special guests—a safe haven away from the packed, pulsating crowd below.

As you stepped onto the balcony, the stadium came into full view, and the sheer magnitude of it stole your breath. Lisbon’s fans were nothing short of electric. The entire arena was alive—thousands of bodies swayed, neon signs flickered, and confetti cannons stood at the ready. The stomping of feet vibrated through the air, the deafening roar of the crowd swelling in waves as anticipation thickened.

And then, the lights dropped.

A collective scream pierced the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet as the screen flashed his silhouette. The opening beat of his first song thundered through the speakers, and in an instant, Harry was launched onto the stage, his presence igniting the entire stadium like a bolt of lightning.

He moved effortlessly, energy radiating off him in golden bursts. His sequined suit glittered beneath the beams of colored lights, reflecting off his skin as he jumped, spun, and threw his arms up to hype the crowd. He belted out the first lines of the song, and the audience erupted, their voices merging with his in a harmony of pure devotion.

From your balcony, you watched, utterly mesmerized.

His voice was strong, unwavering, carrying through the vast space as if each note was stitched directly into the hearts of every person in attendance. He laughed between verses, flashing that devastatingly charming grin, occasionally reaching down to clasp the hands of fans pressed against the barricades.

Midway through a song, his eyes scanned the crowd, catching sight of a brightly colored sign that bounced excitedly in the air. Squinting, he leaned forward, trying to make out the words. Then, in between lyrics, he burst into laughter.

“Oh, hold on—what does that say?” he asked, pointing toward the sign, signaling for the camera to zoom in so the whole stadium could see.

The screen flickered, and suddenly, there it was: a massive sign scrawled in bold, glittery letters—

“HARRY, MY BOYFRIEND SAYS HE’LL PROPOSE IF YOU GIVE ME A THUMBS UP!!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in mock shock, his hand flying to his chest as he stumbled back dramatically. The band kept playing, but he milked the moment, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“Oh, this is serious,” he said, eyebrows raised. “I mean… the pressure is on, innit?”

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers.

“Alright, alright. We need to do this properly,” he continued, pacing theatrically across the stage. “What’s his name?”

The girl in the crowd shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos.

Harry cupped his ear. “Sorry, love, I can’t hear a thing—are we calling him Tom? He looks like a Tom, yeah?”

The camera quickly panned to the guy standing beside her, his face burning red as he hid behind his hands.

“Oh, it is Tom!” Harry cackled. “Tom, mate, you’re in deep now. You’ve got about… five thousand witnesses expecting a ring soon.”

The crowd went wild, chanting “TOM! TOM! TOM!” as Harry finally lifted his hand and gave the biggest, most exaggerated thumbs-up imaginable.

“There you go, Tom. It’s out of my hands now, mate. Best of luck!”

He winked at the camera before launching back into the chorus, the moment immortalized in the hearts of everyone watching.

From the balcony, you shook your head, laughing to yourself. He had always had that magic—the ability to make a stadium feel like a living room, to make each person feel like they were the only one in the crowd.

And as you watched him move, effortless and free, you couldn’t help but feel it all over again.

That warm, unshakable feeling that he was yours.

From the balcony, you swayed to the music, singing along, your voice drowned out by the thousands of others filling the stadium. The energy in the air was intoxicating, a tangible force that pulsed through the crowd, through you. Every time Harry twirled across the stage, every playful grin he threw into the audience, every time he leaned into the mic and let his voice soar, pride swelled so fiercely in your chest that it almost hurt.

He was magic.

Your eyes followed him as he bounced from one side of the stage to the other, engaging with the fans, twirling his microphone, pointing to signs, blowing kisses. He was in his element—electric, untouchable, radiating nothing but joy.

Then, the song faded into a bridge, and he took the brief moment to jog over to the back of the stage, grabbing his black bottle for a quick sip of water. He tilted his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before lowering the bottle and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

But just as he turned back to the crowd, a security guard approached the edge of the stage, holding out two plastic cups of beer.

You sat up straighter, watching as Harry’s eyes lit up with mischief. A slow smirk curled his lips before he took a knee near the stage’s edge, reaching out to accept one of the cups. The crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the foundation of the stadium as he stood, beer in hand.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he took two large gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The excess liquid spilled over, streaming down the corners of his mouth, tracing a slow, golden path down his chin and onto his bare chest. The sight did something to you—your stomach clenched, heat coiling low in your body as you watched, mesmerized. His skin glistened under the stage lights, damp with sweat and now streaked with droplets of beer, a sinful sheen against the inked canvas of his body.

Then, with a final gulp, he pulled the cup away, grinning devilishly before tilting his head back slightly. You knew what was coming before it even happened.

With perfect precision, he pursed his lips and spat the remaining beer into the air, misting it above him in a sparkling, golden arc—his signature ‘whale.’

The audience lost it. The screams were deafening, fists pumping, cameras flashing, the entire stadium roaring in approval.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Your grip tightened on the balcony railing, pulse hammering, unable to tear your gaze away from the sheer presence of him. He was completely in his element—wild, unrestrained, effortlessly captivating. The neon stage lights flickered in shifting hues of gold and blue, catching on the dampness of his skin, highlighting the defined planes of his chest where the beer had trickled down moments before.

Your breath hitched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning through the remnants of the stunt. His dimples popped, eyes alight with something wicked, something playful. He licked his lips, whether to rid himself of the lingering taste or just to tease the crowd, you didn’t know—but either way, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Didn’t expect that one, did ya?” he laughed into the mic, voice slightly hoarse from singing, but no less charming. The crowd’s response was deafening, a sea of voices screaming in admiration, chanting his name, some in thick Portuguese accents that made his smile widen.

You found yourself laughing softly, shaking your head in both amusement and sheer disbelief. God, you loved him.

As he turned to move back across the stage, his gaze flickered toward the balcony—the private guest area you were in.

His eyes found yours instantly. And for a split second, despite the thousands of people around him, despite the chaos, the music, the flashing lights, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room.

His smirk deepened, something knowing and burning behind his gaze, and he lifted the beer cup in your direction, sending you a subtle wink before tossing it carelessly to the side and diving straight into the next song.

Your heart plummeted. Plummeted so far you could feel a heartbeat between your thighs as your panties remained soaked just from watching the scene unfold.

Gripping the railing even tighter, you bit your lip, feeling everything all at once—love, pride, amusement, and an undeniable heat curling deep within you. Oh, you were so in trouble.

The moment the final notes rang out and Harry took his last bow, you were already on the move. The stadium lights dimmed as the crowd's roaring applause echoed behind you, but your sole focus was on getting back to him—on being the first person he saw after stepping off that stage.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you hurried through the dimly lit backstage corridors, your heels clicking against the polished floor. The distant cheers from fans still pulsed through the walls, mixing with the hurried chatter of crew members and the occasional bursts of laughter from passing bandmates. But none of it mattered.

Because the only thing on your mind was him.

The ache between your thighs had been building all night, your body tense with anticipation, wound tight from watching him move the way he did. The way his body swayed and pulsed to the rhythm, how he played with the audience, how he laughed and winked and commanded the entire stadium like it was his playground. The sweat glistening on his golden skin, the way his shirt clung to his damp chest, the audacity of him drinking that beer with such effortless sensuality—it had all set your body ablaze.

By the time you pushed through the door to his dressing room, your breathing was shallow, and your fingers trembled with the need to touch. The space was dimly lit, the air still carrying remnants of his cologne, the warmth from the performance lingering as if the very walls had absorbed the night’s electricity. You paced the floor, your boots barely making a sound over the plush carpet, each passing second stretching unbearably.

Then—footsteps. Heavy, hurried.

The door swung open, and before you could even think, you were moving.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal, and he caught you effortlessly, strong arms locking around your waist like it was second nature. Your legs wrapped around his torso, the firm press of his hands digging into your thighs as he held you up, and you wasted no time—your lips immediately peppering kisses all over his flushed face. His jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose—anywhere you could reach.

"You were incredible!" you gasped between kisses, feeling the warmth of his laughter vibrate against your lips. "You owned that stage, Harry—God!"

His chuckle was breathless, deep, still high on adrenaline. "That good, huh?"

"That good," you confirmed, pulling back just enough to look at him, to take him in—the damp curls sticking to his forehead, the glow of his skin, the way his eyes burned with something dark, something wanting.

Then, you kissed him.

Hard.

The kind of kiss that left no room for teasing, no room for patience. You pressed yourself into him, your fingers tangling into his damp curls, tugging him closer as his mouth opened beneath yours, eager and hungry. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that made your head spin, the heat between your bodies dizzying.

The sticky remnants of beer and sweat clung between you, his chest still damp, hot beneath your palms as they roamed, exploring, claiming. Your sequined top shimmered under the dressing room light, catching against the heat of his skin, the contrast of rough and soft making him groan into your mouth.

"Fuck," he exhaled, the sound barely audible between fevered kisses, his hands shifting to your ass, kneading, gripping. "This what had you running back here so fast?"

You whimpered against his lips, rolling your hips instinctively, needing more, needing him.

"You have no idea what you did to me out there," you admitted, voice breathless, lips grazing along the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw. "The beer—the sweat—Harry..."

He let out a deep, raspy chuckle, head tipping back slightly as your lips trailed down his throat. "Mm. So you liked that, then?"

"Liked it?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers dragging down his chest, feeling the hammering of his heartbeat beneath your touch. "It ruined me."

His eyes darkened, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "That so?"

Before you could answer, he was moving. Turning with you in his arms, his pace quick and determined as he pressed you up against the nearest wall. Your breath hitched as your back met the cool surface, your thighs tightening around his waist, your skirt riding up even further.

Harry’s lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath warm against your mouth. "Tell me, love," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement but laced with hunger. "What exactly did I do that got you so worked up?"

You let out a soft whine from the back of your throat, the tone of his voice shooting straight to your core. “You know what you did,” you huffed.

The man had only chuckled in amusement as his fingers readjusted their hold on your thighs, squeezing into the plush flesh. “I believe I told you to tell me, Y/N.”

Your hands found the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through as you puffed out another breath. God, he smelled so good. His cologne still lingered, mixed with the tart scent of beer and sweat. You drew in a deep breath, feeling your back press firm against the wall as he shifted.

“The beer…,” you murmured, eyes scanning over the features of his face. Deep green eyes, perfect red lips.

“What about the beer, hm?”

You swallowed. “The… the way you drank it. How it spilt down your chin, your chest..” Your words trailed off as a hand left your boyfriend’s shoulder to slide over the firm curve of his chest, your thumb brushing down his sternum.

You rolled your hips down to meet him and whined softly. The black mini skirt you wore hitched up over your thighs, bunching up just below your hips. Harry’s lips found yours in a flash. The groan he let out was quickly swallowed in your mouth and you couldn’t help but feel content. Feeling his bulge pressed up against you sent a thrill up your spine to know he felt this way, right now, too. That he needed you as much as you needed him.

Harry's kiss was all-consuming, his lips pressing firmly against yours, demanding more as his hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs. The heat between you two was palpable, thickening the air in the dressing room, mingling with the remnants of his cologne, sweat, and beer. Your fingers tangled in his damp curls, pulling just enough to elicit a low growl from his throat, the vibration traveling straight through your body.

His grip tightened on your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall, your chest molding against his as his vest gaped open, the sequins glimmering under the dim dressing room lights. The slight stickiness of his skin from the sweat and beer sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the intoxicating mixture of sensations.

His mouth left yours just long enough to ghost down the side of your jaw, lips brushing featherlight over your pulse before he licked a slow, deliberate path along the sensitive skin. The wet heat of his tongue, contrasted by the scrape of his stubble, sent a warm ache pooling in your lower stomach.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice husky, words fanning against your skin. His fingers slipped under the hem of your mini skirt, palms gliding over the bare expanse of your thighs before they gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, your hips instinctively rolling against his, chasing the friction that sent sparks dancing along your nerve endings. He groaned at the movement, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment as his fingers flexed into your skin, grounding himself.

"You drive me mad, darling," he rasped, before tilting his head back up, his darkened green eyes locking onto yours. The hunger in them made your breath hitch.

"Standing there in the balcony, looking like that. Wearing this—" his fingers tugged teasingly at the hem of your sparkly top, his knuckles grazing your stomach "—knowing I couldn’t touch you. And then you look at me like that when I’m on stage?"

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eyes as your hands smoothed down his chest, nails trailing lightly over his heated skin. "Couldn't help myself," you whispered.

"You looked so good, so in your element. The way you moved, how you drank that beer…" Your words trailed off as you slid your palms lower, fingers grazing over the faint definition of his abs.

Harry’s chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing uneven. He let out a shaky chuckle, his lips quirking up in a smirk even as his jaw clenched with restraint. “That did something to you, huh?”

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his collarbone. His skin tasted of salt and something uniquely him, a flavor you could never tire of.

Your lips traveled downward, slow and deliberate, as your hands splayed over his stomach, fingertips pressing just enough to feel the taut muscles beneath.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as you let your tongue flick out against his sternum, tasting the remnants of the beer that had trickled down earlier. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, your expression coy as you dragged a slow, flat tongue down the center of his chest, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your thighs before they slid further under your skirt, his grip possessive. “Fuck, love,” he exhaled, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, the green almost swallowed by blown-out pupils.

His hand came up to cup the back of your head, not to stop you, but to feel you, to remind himself that this was real.

As you slowly sank to your knees before him, his grip tightened in your hair, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. Your fingers smoothed over the front of his sequined vest, pushing it further apart, exposing more of the golden skin that shimmered under the dressing room lights.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire, his thumb tracing over your cheek before resting against your bottom lip. His eyes darkened as you let out a soft hum, hands sliding up his sparkly trousers to slip your fingers inside the band of his pants.

Your fingers slid inward under they worked the clasp undone, the sound of Harry’s zipper filling the air. Harry pressed his hands flat against the wall that held you between him and the surface while his green eyes pierced a look of need through you.

You let out a small, innocent giggle before tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fingers curling around the inside of his briefs and the outside of his slacks as she tugged both the materials down his toned legs.

The tattoos he had on his thighs were canvassed beautifully on his toned, tan legs. The tiger taunted her from its hold on his skin, a reminder from all the times she spent with her pussy attached to it. Your eyes, doe and tainted with something teasing, looked up at him as his cock sprang to life and slapped onto his lower abdomen. You giggled once more to yourself at the blissful sight.

Harry’s cock was big. Thick and wonderfully above the average that it took four sessions to fully get him inside of you. And the sex you two had that day? The bedroom was wrecked. You couldn’t stop begging for his ‘big, thick cock’ to rip you open, eyes rolling back at the feeling (finally) of his balls slapping against your clit with each giving thrust as you were bent over for him.

His tip was a roaring red, deep in color and a thick swole at the base of his tip. A cooler tone of that same color painted the rest of his dick. Your fingers fluttered down his toned thighs, your eyes too busy being wrapped around his beautiful cock to notice his stare. But you felt it.

After a few mutters of complaint from Harry from your featherlight teases, your dainty hand finally wrapped around the base of your cock. He was warm. Heavy in your hand as your thumb slipped along the underside of his cock to raise it to your lips. Your lips puckered and gave kitten-like kisses and licks from his fierce burnt tip down to his tightening balls.

“Baby, c’mon…” Harry spoke. His voice was tainted with rough edges, holding off using anything above a whisper since he had last spoken. The hand that remained in your hair carded through the soft locks, his nails slightly dragging along your scalp so he could get a soft hum from you when you tilted your head back.

You were under his control, the palms of his very hands. Anything he gave to you, you took like his good girl. “Good girl,” Harry then muttered as if on cue, fond but lust-filled eyes circling your face of content. His touch was always so welcoming, so soothing and it hit every right spot.

When you felt Harry’s hand tighten in your hair to form a proper grip, that's when your tongue gave a flat lick up the underside of his cock. You held his shaft upright, your eyes locked on his heavy green ones as your wet tongue glided over the vein and swirled around his tip.

When it came to sucking your boyfriend off, you got to work. It was pure bliss for you. You shifted on your knees and felt the wet squelch between your thighs. You were a soaking mess for him and had been since he got on that stage.

Lips engulfed around his cock, your jaw slacked as you pushed him further down. Once about halfway, you pulled up to wrap your hand around him, delivering strokes to his dick as your eyes scanned his face. Harry never really cared for head before. It was pish-posh to him, it wasn’t something he needed or wanted deeply with a woman.

But when you came along? When you took his cock so far down your throat that you both couldn’t breathe? Harry was whipped. He always voiced how lucky he was to have you on your knees for him, and you thrived on it. You thrived on being the only one he needed.

Your tongue found its place back over his tip, cradling the head of his shaft as your tongue swirled gracefully around. Harry’s brows were furrowed in pleasure, his plump lips wet with his spit from all the times he had licked over them.

“Y/n—”.

Your mouth fully engulfed him before another word left his lips. His dick was heavy on your tongue as it slid further back, hitting the back of your throat. His cock curved to slip down your throat and you moaned, the tip of your nose hitting the patch of hair Harry had kept.

With a deep inhale through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut. His musk mixed with his cologne made you let out a moan around him. He smelled so damn good.

“Fuck!” Harry groaned, pinching his brows together as he felt the way your throat molded to his cock with tight ease.

You continued to bob your head, tongue pressing along the vein on the underside of his cock while your hand worked the half that you didn’t take. Your eyes fluttered back up to him.

“Shit, baby,” The man moaned, shaking his head as his eyes shut in pleasure. His jaw was slack, you could tell by the way he tried to clench his teeth. His curls fell across his forehead and the hand at the back of your head encouraged you.

Removing your hand, your throat opened back up for Harry’s cock as he pushed your head further down. His hips stuttered slightly as a gasping moan left his mouth, jaw now completely slack as the tip of his cock felt your warm, fluttering throat.

Harry’s grip on your hair was firm as he yanked you off, pulling his hips back with a gasp. You let out a whine as your lips formed a pout.

“Fucking hell, Y/n,” The man licked his lips with a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Harry’s hand left your hair to card through his and push curls back, hissing slightly as you kissed and licked along his tip.

He was so wrong to deprive you of his cock in your mouth. You just loved it so much. Who wouldn't? Especially when it came to Harry.

“You… fuck,” He hummed low, eyes closing and head tipping back as your hand cradled his balls and began slow massaging motions. Your tongue slipped between the slit at his tip and under the crown of his dick along with your motions. And just when you think you had him again…

Harry had to pull himself together, snapping his eyes open as he straightened back up. “No,” He hissed, yanking your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. Your lips were glossed with spit, eyes the same from the pressure in your throat, though a huff passed your lips.

“If you keep doing that, ‘M going to cum. And the only place I want to cum right now,” He grunted, a hand wrapping around your arm to lightly pull you up. As you rose to your feet, you kept your doe eyes on check.

His green eyes scanned your features for a moment before he cursed under his breath, continuing what he was saying. “Is inside ‘f you. Understood?”

You nodded and bit back a smile as your thighs clenched. Fuck, please? “Yes sir.”

With that, Harry turned you around in a sharp motion, turning you both. Harry walked you both towards the leather sofa in the middle of the dressing room, his hand landing flat on your back as he gave you an encouraging push.

Your knees hit the leather seat before your hands hit the back, fingers curling around the ledge as you felt your boyfriend press up behind you.

You loved it when he was like this. The manhandling, the telling you what to do. It drove you crazy. Your pussy pulsed between your clenched thighs. You needed him, his thick cock pounding you, bad.

Harry’s large hands landed on the globes of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as he pressed his cock up against you over the material of your skirt. “Tell me, sugar,” his hands danced their way to your skirt’s hem around your hips and yanked them down to your thighs in one, swift motion. “You’re so wet.”

“Why?” You could feel Harry’s long fingers graze the inside of your thighs, feathering over where you needed them the most.

You swallowed, arching your back down against the sofa as you turned back to look at him. “You.”

Harry ‘tsk’ed, his green eyes looking up to meet yours as his pointer and middle finger slid between your folds. Thick and silky, wet and warm. You coated his fingers like your life depended on it. “Give me better than that, Peach.”

Peach. He tossed that nickname one random summer when you two went down to help your grandparents on their farm in Georgia. He held you on his shoulders almost the whole way until he collapsed (he says from the sun, you say it was from the two buckets of peaches in his hands) under a shady tree. You two spent the rest of the evening out there soaking in Georgia heat and feeding each other fruit until the sun went down. He carried you all the way back.

“Your cock,” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingers. “I love having your cock in my mouth and—.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, cutting you off as he dipped a finger slowly into you. “You do love having m’cock in your mouth, huh?”

You nodded between a split moan, pussy swallowing his finger with greed. “I do. I do. I do. I love the way it feels, I love the way it tastes, oh—!”

Another finger inside now, pumping at a teasing pace and curling as they stuffed inside of you. It was your turn to moan filth now. You could hear Harry’s fingers inside of you, pumping and curling. That’s how wet you had been for him.

“You’re so wet,” Harry cursed under his breath as he scissored his fingers, his eyes flickering between your blissed look and his fingers that worked between your wetness.

He always loved how wet you got. Not needing to buy lube was fantastic, but the way you tasted and smelled is what got Harry going. He loved watching your thighs string with slick substance, and he loved diving tongue first into your pussy to swallow down as much as he could.

“Is this what you needed? My attention? You’ve been wanting it, hm?”

You nodded with a whine. “Mhm, mhm. Please,” you whimpered, wiggling your ass against him as his fingers curled inside of you once more.

“Been such a good girl during m’show. Waited for me, and then surprised me with a soaked pussy,” Harry grinned, shaking his head to his own amusement as he slipped his long, thick digits out of you.

That same hand of Harry’s returned to your cunt, his fingers collecting the pool of arousal before he wrapped a slick hand around his cock. “Need t’be fucked? I think you do, don’t you? My sweet little girl,” he sighed dramatically, slicking his cock with your wet in careful strokes.

“Yes, yes, please, Harry, just please.” You whimpered in need, wiggling your ass back. You could almost cry at the emptiness inside of you, just wanted to be full of Harry.

You gasped high when a hand came down to smack against your ass. It jiggled from the collision and Harry’s rings left a burn in their place.

“Try again.” Harry’s green eyes looked up through his lashes. “Not my name, doll.”

You huffed softly, shifting on your knees to spread your legs as you felt Harry’s tip graze along your pussylips. “Please give me your cock, Daddy. Please. I need it.” You begged, soft whimpers in your words as you batted doe eyes at him.

With one swift thrust, Harry’s tip broke past your tight entrance and paved way for his cock to fill you up. You both let out simultaneous gasps as he bottomed out, your ass pressed flush against his hips.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Harry gritted through clenched cheeks while his large hands worked over your hips to get a firm grip.

He drew his hips back slowly, sinking back into you quickly. Your lips broke out in a moan as the burn of his cock melted into you. It took him three thrusts to balance out, pulling nearly all the way out of you before pounding back into you.

He was slow at first. Careful and deep. Your eyes couldn't help but flutter shut as your lips parted, his cock shooting thrills of pleasure to your body. Your clit ached with need under his grasp and cock.

Then his pace quickened. His head spun with thoughts of you, how tight you were and how perfect your pussy engulfed him. “Shit,” Harry groaned as he grinded his hips into you, allowing his cock to shift inside before he went back to his quick, even, and hard thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Take this fucking cock, jus’ like you were made for.”

You were over the moon. Behind your shut eyes were visions of Harry and that beer spilling down his chest over and over and over again.

“Oh,” you whined, your toes curling in your heels as his fingers connected with your clit. “Oh my god, fuck, please, please.”

His two fingers worked your clit at a fast matched pace to his thrusts. Your stomach coiled as each rub and thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Harry’s thrusts turned relentless. The moment he got you up and pressed against his chest, his other hand was reaching down to hook around the back of your knee and pull your leg up.

“Oh my fuck!,” you cried out in a moan, the new angle allowing his cock to reach deeper.

“Yeah? Jesus,” Harry grunted as he shifted his hips and replanted his feet. “So damn tight, so wet. Taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“It was,” you whined and nodded quickly, your hands placed over his arm that had you pulled flush against his chest. “Was made just for you,” you slurred, eyes drooping in pleasure as you broke into another whiny moan.

“That's right,” the man panted, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “Perfect fucking cunt, takes my cock so well— fuck!”

Harry’s jaw fell slack against your shoulder, curls brushing along the side of your neck when he felt your pussy contract around him. Harry’s fingers circled around your clit, pinching and rubbing in all of your wetness.

The both of you couldn’t stop the rush of moans. You weren’t even sure if the door was locked, but all you could think about right now was Harry.

His eyes broke open, staring down at your chest as your breasts spilled from your loose top. Harry’s hand slid from your waist to the bottom of your tit, cupping the fleshy mound in his hand. “The most perfect fucking body,” he groaned, squeezing your breast as he dug his fingers into your leg from the open hold.

Harry continued to pound your pussy until you were a screaming, soaked mess. Your chest rose and fell in quick and uneven breaths in between moans and begs. “Please let me cum, please, please, fuck. Please, Daddy,” you whimpered, swallowing thick as his fingers brushed along your nipple.

Harry groaned into your neck, biting down on the flesh as he continued his deep thrusts inside of you. You could tell he was getting close with the way his thrusts went uneven.

“Yeah? Need t’cum?” Harry taunted, squeezing at your nipple once again before his fingers mound your clit to rub at a quick pace. “Cum f’me, pretty girl.”

His permission was all you needed before your orgasm hit you. You cried out his name, nails digging into his forearm as your pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock. You squirted into the open air, the filthy sounds of your liquid splattering onto the brown leather beneath you two.

Harry choked out a moan at the sight, jaw falling slack and eyes pinching shut. His own orgasm hit him like a train three thrusts after, pumping you full of thick, hot ropes of his cum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!,” the man gasped, whimpering as his cock twitched inside of you as he pumped the final spurts of his release inside of you.

Your body trembled as aftershocks rippled through you, every nerve alight with pleasure and exhaustion. Harry's hands were slow and reverent as they traced over your skin, smoothing over your thighs before sliding up to your waist, fingertips pressing gently into your overheated flesh. His touch grounded you, brought you back from the blissful haze that had left you weak-limbed and breathless.

"Good girl," he murmured again, voice deep and rough with the remnants of pleasure, lips grazing the damp skin of your shoulder as he let his forehead rest against your back for a fleeting moment.

The warmth of his breath fanned across your spine, making you shiver despite the heat still radiating between you.

With a soft groan, Harry straightened, slipping away just long enough to grab a few tissues from the nearby table. He moved with that signature confidence, even in his post-high daze, but there was a new tenderness in his actions as he carefully cleaned you both up. His hands, so capable of bringing you to ruin, were equally skilled in their gentleness now—warm, patient, and familiar.

Once satisfied, he tossed the used tissues aside and reached for his duffel bag near the couch, unzipping it to pull out a pair of his soft, worn-in sweats and a shirt for you. The fabric was well-loved, carrying his scent—fresh cedarwood and the faintest trace of lingering cologne, something comforting and inherently him.

He passed them to you before grabbing his own spare clothes, rummaging until he found a plain black T-shirt and another pair of joggers.

Rolling his shoulders, he started removing the sequin suit still clinging to his skin, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “God, I’m sweaty as hell now,” he groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic grimace. “S’like I ran a bloody marathon.” (wink wink.)

You snorted, tugging his T-shirt over your head and shimmying into his sweatpants. They hung loose on your frame, but that only made them all the more comforting. “You were putting in some serious work there, Styles,” you teased, watching as he peeled off the glitzy fabric and tossed it onto the couch.

Harry scoffed but shot you a smug grin. “’Course I was. Can’t have my girl unsatisfied, now can I?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes to play off the effect he still had on you. “Yeah, yeah. Get dressed, loverboy.”

He huffed a small laugh but did as told, slipping into his fresh set of clothes before collapsing onto the couch with a content sigh. His curls were a mess, damp at the edges where sweat had gathered, and there was still a faint flush to his cheeks. He looked comfortable, utterly relaxed—and, as always, completely unfair in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

You stepped closer, nudging his thigh with your knee. “Scoot over.”

Harry cracked one eye open and grinned. “That’s not how you ask nicely.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Harry.”

Chuckling, he lifted his arm in invitation. “C’mere, then.”

That was all you needed. You climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against his chest as he pulled you in securely, arms looping around your waist with ease. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat filled your ears, a soothing rhythm beneath your cheek. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns along your back, the heat of his palm seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, wrapped in the afterglow of shared intimacy and the quiet understanding that neither of you wanted to move just yet. Outside the dressing room, the distant hum of activity from the crew still breaking down the concert setup could be heard, but it felt like another world entirely.

After a moment, Harry pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “Y’good?” he murmured, voice thick with lingering exhaustion.

You hummed, nuzzling further into his chest. “Mhm. Perfect.”

He smiled against your hair, holding you a little tighter. “Good.”

“Harry?” You spoke.

“Mhm?”

“When we get back to the hotel,” you started, your finger tracing little circles into his shirt, “I want to be the next thing dripping down your chest.”

“Fucking hell, babe.”

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g0dlyunsub · 9 months ago

Text

under pressure.

getting strapped up to a lie detector as part of a bet wasn’t exactly in your plans, nor was exposing your deepest secret to spencer reid.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: fluff! confessions, coworkers to lovers, cheesiness overload

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: three weeks since i last posted a fic?? absolutely unacceptable *presses post button*

accompanying song :: more than friends by aidan bissett

“there’s a reason why that thing’s admissible in court,” you murmur to derek, watching as the officer packs the polygraph back into a cabinet.

derek chuckles.

“you think you can beat it?”

“i know i can beat it.”

you cross your arms and look up with a challenging smirk.

“there’s actually a lot of skepticism surrounding the validity and accuracy of polygraph testing, especially since it’s only an instrument that measures physiological changes like heart activity and perspiration. people often mistakenly assume they’re trying to deceive a machine, when really it’s all about the polygrapher, who oversees and administers the examination.”

you don’t even have to turn your head to know it’s spencer who’s just made his way into the room, derek’s lifted brow a confirmation of his presence.

“ah, look who’s finally found us. i was starting to miss you a little, kid.”

“what are you guys up to?” spencer asks in return, his gaze shifting from you to derek, before slowly making way back to you.

“l/n thinks she’ll pass the test with flying colors.” derek points at the cabinet and looks at you with a winsome grin.

“i won’t even have to try.” you shrug, placing your hands on your hips confidently.

“wanna bet on it?”

“loser pays for dinner. reid, you in?”

“i uh, i think i’ll just watch,” spencer politely declines, his hands nervously burrowing deep into his pockets.

derek bursts into laughter. “oh come on, kid, it’s free dinner for the both of us.”

spencer chuckles quietly. “we’ll see.”

you make your way over to the cabinet, kneeling to retrieve the bulky device, and set it down on the table behind you.

taking a seat, you lift your arms to secure the straps above and below your chest, and attach the blood pressure cuffs to your right arm.

“nuh-uh.”

you hear derek tut a sequence of disapproving clicks.

“hey kid, check to see if it’s around her securely.” derek tilts his head at spencer before nodding in your direction, adding, “don’t want you deceiving us in other ways.”

you roll your eyes before raising your arms in surrender. “go ahead, i’ve got nothing to hide.”

spencer slowly approaches you, hesitant steps overtaking his stride as he moves to stand in front of you. positioning a hand on your back for support, spencer sticks a finger between the gaps of the sides of your chest and the straps.

the straps tighten ever so slightly, causing your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. almost like an unconscious reflex, you release a breathy exhale.

“is that too tight?”

it’s barely a whisper, and he’s close, so close — his lips hover practically right beside your ear that you can feel his breath tickle the hairs on your neck.

“no,” you let out, “it’s good.”

your heart’s pounding now, and you’re thankful that you’re not hooked up to the monitor rate, at least not yet.

“just slide your finger into the clamp,” spencer instructs, his hand guiding yours into the plate where the electrodes lightly pinch your fingertips.

“is that comfortable?” spencer asks once again, his furrowed brows an indicator of marked concern as he searches for any signs of discomfort.

“yup.”

you bite your bottom lip as spencer hooks the cords to the monitor. his attentive eyes gloss over your strapped arm and flick downwards, stopping once they take note of your bouncing legs. you still your legs almost immediately.

“alright l/n, here’s a tester.” derek approaches you and lays his hands on the table, leaning forward. “have you ever lied to get out of trouble?”

you don’t even need to think twice. with a daring grin, you respond, “yes.”

“it’s stable,” spencer nods.

a mischievous smirk plays on derek’s lips.

“have you ever lied to hotch before?”

you huff an amused chuckle, one laced with throaty disbelief. “no.”

derek rolls his eyes, but spencer nods in your direction. “steady.”

“oh come on, not even once?”

you raise an eyebrow as if to challenge him. “why… have you?”

“this is about you, remember?” derek wiggles a finger disapprovingly. “next one… have you ever had any romantic feelings for anyone on our team?”

it's a question you were most definitely not expecting.

it’s only a brief pause, but it’s long enough to have you doubting – are your eyes widening? are your parting lips betraying you? is it actual sweat that’s starting to coat the tips of your fingers or are you imagining it?

“no, i have not.”

you feel heat start to creep into your cheeks, but try your best to remain unfazed as you await spencer’s judgment.

“give me… one second.”

the air suddenly feels ten times heavier.

a nervous chuckle escapes from your lips as you glance around.

“try not to bounce your leg up and down,” spencer finally calls back, and you have to physically restrain yourself from sighing in relief.

“alright, let’s try again,” derek announces as he finally takes a seat across from you. “have you ever had feelings for… doctor spencer reid?”

your instantaneous scoff overlaps with spencer’s. before you can respond, however, spencer chirps up first.

“y/n, don’t – don’t answer that.”

you, too, try to dodge the question with a dismissive wave. “come on, derek.”

thankfully, he rests the question aside. “fine. have you ever passed your files to someone else without them knowing?”

“yes.”

“to who?”

“to you, actually,” you boldly assert, leaning back into your chair.

“oh, she’s a rebel,” derek slyly retorts back, his gaze unflinching as spencer affirms your claim.

“did you, at any point, lie during this test?”

“no.”

“alright,” derek continues, “last question.”

“bring it.”

“do you currently have any romantic feelings for spencer reid?”

“seriously?” you swivel your head back and forth between derek and spencer, your eyes widening in disbelief at the fact that he’s repeating a previous question, merely adjusting a couple words.

it’s a question that you can’t answer. no, that you shouldn’t answer.

but this time, spencer’s quiet.

“you’re kidding me,” you laugh, “we are not being for real right now.”

“oh i’m being very real right now.”

your heart thumps like a wild drumbeat, your pulse echoing through the veins marking the side of your neck.

you start to lace your fingers together nervously as a thin layer of sweat covers your palms. the more you think about your moist hands, though, the more you start to sweat. it’s a constant feedback loop, feeding off of your deeply-buried secret.

slowly, you take off the straps and set the electrode in front of you, on the table.

radio silence falls over the air disturbingly, like the entire room’s tuned to the wrong frequency.

then, “reid, did you get that?”

it takes another five seconds for sound to fill the room once again, but the gravity of the silence is almost too heavy for you to register – your wordless confession strikes the back of your mind like an unpleasant storm, raining down on your thoughts with regret and humiliation.

“y/n, um, there’s a lot of environmental factors that can impact physiological response-”

there’s no going back anymore.

if you don't say it now, it'll linger in the depths of your mind forever.

“i do like you.”

when there’s no response, you decide to fully commit to your confession. “you said so yourself, this isn’t about fooling the device, it’s all about the polygrapher. so, spencer, what’s your judgment?”

you swear you can hear your own pulse drumming against you and shaking your body. with the faintest whisper, spencer utters, “i think you’re telling the truth.”

after hearing his response, you shove your hands into your pockets and prepare to leave, but not without throwing a glance at derek, who’s guiltily tracing the edges of his beard.

as you approach the door, however, a hand hooks around your elbow, stopping you dead in your tracks.

spencer’s hand.

“that’s it? you’re not going to hear my response?”

you don’t look up. “no, i… fine, tell me.”

if only you knew about the collective swarm of thoughts swimming in his brain, the thoughts that are denaturing all his senses of rationality and self-control. he has so much to tell you, words that he’d spill almost instantly if he’d been better prepared.

his hand moves down to envelop your own.

you do nothing to stop him.

slowly, he drags your hand upwards, until it rests against his chest.

against his speeding heart.

“spencer?”

the glow in his eyes is unmistakable – his dewy orbs gaze into yours lovingly, the exchange almost a confession in itself.

“i don’t think that either of us can beat the test,” spencer softly murmurs, his breathy chuckle sounding like music to your ears.

you don’t know how to describe it – it’s a bittersweet concoction of emotions that continues to spread throughout your body the more spencer nuzzles up against you.

“no,” you voice after a pause, “i don’t think we can.”

“very cute guys, but i’m waiting on my victory dinner, so if you two can-”

“oh shush, derek, you’re ruining the moment,” you say as you break into laughter, and bury your head against spencer’s chest when you fail to recover your composure.

“and you’re gonna have to pay me extra if you want me to keep my mouth shut in front of all the others,” derek retaliates, his smug grin causing you to roll your eyes.

“i think i can wrap the straps around his mouth if you hold him against the door,” you start while looking up into spencer’s eyes, speaking loud enough to draw derek’s attention.

spencer returns with a wide smile, one that tugs at your throat to release another hearty laugh.

“yeah, i’ll grab his arms first.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you

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