#Is there really nothing else to write about???

[rawme-price]

Thinkin' bout hybrid!141 x hybrid!reader (gator bc im a floridian!!) who grew up in a predominantly human community.

Sure, no one said they disliked hybrids, but you noticed that the less hybrid someone acted and looked, the more humans liked them. No one forced you to act like a human or hide ur hybrid parts, you just felt comfier doing that. (Surely that comfort had nothing to do with the silence you'd get for acting more animal). Then you join the 141 and its all so different and now you feel out of place because ur not hybrid enough.

Hyena!soap who barks a greeting at you, but tilts his head in confusion when you wave and say "uh- hello." Instead of bellowing back. He purses his lips, and you feel like you've done something wrong, but as soon as it comes the moment passes. He leads you through the base, chatting all the while and only occasionally gives you odd looks for no reason. (Its bc you haven't made any hybrid vocalization at all)

Sea otter!gaz who excitedly tells you about the private lake and river not far from base, only for u to give him a confused look. "Uh...okay? Thats cool?" You try, but he just stares at you too, eyes narrowed in assessment. He thought you would be excited about the lake, maybe show some more hybrid desires but you just...dont? Its like you dont even realize its a big deal for gator hybrids?

Rat!ghost who is shocked when he first spars with you. He has fought gator hybrids before and expected you to fight like them, but you fight exactly like a human, just with a tail. Hell, you hardly even use your tail for much more than balance, which is kind of mandatory given ur anatomy. It frustrates him, your limiting ur fighting style so much, but when he asks you bluntly "why the hell dont you fight proper?" You just raise a brow, frowning "the hell? I am fighting properly??"

Gila monster!price who literally never sees you outside sunbathing. Hell, hes tried to invite you subtly by casually keeping conversation while he walked to the nice flat rocks other reptile hybrids hung around. Except, you always seemed twitchy and anxious when he'd allow the silence to drag too far, as if you were worried about just...enjoying the heat. Its odd, and this combined with everything else is really making his team want to help you.

(May write a pt 2 where 141 help reader feel more hybrid🤔 who knows.)

[sabxynsweet]

Okay, hear me out….

Mattheo and sweetheart in the common room and she falls asleep on his shoulder and Mattheo threatens a bunch of first years or whatever who come in loud to stop them from waking her up.

OR OR OR

sweetheart falls asleep on someone ELSE’s shoulder and Mattheo gets mad and jealous, and purposely wakes her up

sweetheart!reader falls asleep on enzo’s shoulder, mattheo's not having it

both these ideas are so cute i think i'll write both <3 here’s your second idea, thank you for the request lovely ! the opening of this is SO dramatic because these boys really are terrified of mattheo it's so silly

They say that right before you're about to die, your life flashes before you like a montage.

Enzo's experiencing that now, memories coming to him like scenes in a film reel while he's frozen sitting at the dining table of the common room.

If it wasn't bad enough that the two of you were paired up for an assignment for a class that Mattheo wasn't in, it was real bad now because you were fast asleep on his shoulder and he couldn't move.

Theo walks past and stops when he see’s Enzo with a look of pure fear on his face, similar to a deer caught in headlights.

"What's up, Mate." Theo asks, Enzo glances over at him with "help me" eyes, unable to move more than his eyes with you hindering his movements.

"Oh." He laughs, "Mattheo's not going to like that."

"Don't you think I know that." Enzo hisses, glaring at Theo who was still laughing, "Let's hope she wakes up before Mattheo see's."

"Before Mattheo see's what?" Mattheo asks, voice cold and low.

Enzo flinches, making you stir a little but, much to his dismay, you're still fast asleep. Theo simply grins and moves back to watch.

"Listen, she was nodding off, I didn't mean to-" Mattheo ignores him, walking closer. Enzo thinks that today he might die.

Mattheo barely even glances at him, instead, he gently taps on your shoulder.

You stir awake - properly this time - and when your eyes meet his, his eyes soften and his annoyance dissolves into nothing.

"Mattheo?" You mumble, your head lifting off of Enzo's shoulder, he breathes a sigh of relief and moves quickly to stand next to Theo.

"Hey." He says, "you fell asleep there."

"Oh." You yawn, "what time is it?"

"5."

"Oh," You say, a little happier now, "it's not too late for a nap right?"

He shakes his head, "no."

You smile, eyes fluttering close again.

"No, baby, you're not sleeping in this position." He snorts.

"Why not." You whine, "M'tired, just let me die."

"You'll hurt your neck."

"You know, it's so totally not my fault that I fell asleep because your common room is so dark."

"I know, Sweetheart."

"Anyone would fall asleep here." You mumble before attempting to sleep again.

He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"Come on, you can sleep in my dorm."

"Really?" You murmur, one eye peeking open.

He nods.

"Will you wake me up for dinner?" He nods again, you smile.

"You're my favourite alarm clock." You coo jokingly.

He rolls his eyes but he's still smiling, he reaches out his hand and you let him lead you up the stairs. You lean your body weight on him.

"Unbelievable." He just barely hears Enzo mutter from below, "he was ready to murder me and then she wakes up and he's prince fucking charming."

Mattheo rolls his eyes and continues to guide you, careful not to let you fall.

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage @megzz-x

[dmitriene]

Maybe something with poor birdie having an anorgasmia (unable to cum or it taking a long time) and price (or whoever you want to write for) trying to fix it

i apologize it took me so long to finally write, but i do hope you'll see this and enjoy!

cw: anorgasmia, some stress and mentions of unhealthy relationships, john doesn't cures reader but they find a way to work, sex and comfort, strangers to lovers or something similar, my knowledge of the disorder comes from internet.

any disorder can make a person feel different, broken, wrong — not like everyone else, not as expected, and even if it is a trifle that can be cured, worked out, or just needs more effort, it will still make many people treat you with a kind of hostility, consider you as if you were an object of study under a microscope, and you are no exception.

anorgasmia shouldn't have been the problem that it really turned out to be, because there's nothing unusual or really terrible about having difficulty having an orgasm, you need a little more time, a little more attention, understanding, because the pleasure of sex doesn't go away, it's just that your body's reaction is slightly different.

or so you thought, but all your relationships collapsed like sand towers, washed away by the tide as soon as you failed to give your partner the expected reaction, sobbing moans, rolling, wet eyes and shaking from the spasms of a strong orgasm thighs, no, with most of them it either did not exist, or it was not so expectedly grandiose, a small splash, a little trembling all over the body, then silence and a dissatisfied grimace on the face, looming over you in anticipation.

dysfunctional, they spat bile and animalistic hisses, as if it was kind of an insult to them, although you never threw it on them, you know it's just your problem, let them know, looking at the sparkling eyes and proudly puffing chest — when they said that you slept with the wrong people, that they will definitely be able to make you drown in your climax and unearthly pleasure, but in the end, everything is the same.

you didn't let it parasitize your mental health, but you stopped looking for sex and turned away any attempts to start a relationship, preferring to therapy and numerous consultations, learning different techniques of self stimulation, erotic media and countless sex toys, and little by little, it became easier, but still, you were different, your pleasure more imperceptible, easy flowing, a short flicker, until you met john at another boredom night.

johathan price, as he introduced himself, is a charming man — a type that is found in romcoms, easy going, charming, a man big and strong, adorned with his age in the form of gray hair the color of cigarette ashes, neat beard and a mustache, deep wrinkles in the corners of his purest blue eyes, softness in the once steel strong muscles, which are now protected by a small weight, smoky laughter, scars on his arms and body that speak of the years spent on the battlefield, and yet he lost neither his beauty nor his sanity.

a natural, he communicates with a special ease that attracts the attention of everyone around him, as if a charm has been unleashed in the room, tactile, and his physical contact most likely confused more than one innocent young lamb, and you are no exception, not in front of him, not when he has already managed to see all your innermost secrets, seep through locked doors and rusty keyholes, undressing you layer by layer, sweet speech, warm drinks, a heavy and warm hand on your knee until you give in.

you promised, but john's kisses are as tart as whiskey and cigars, sweeter than honey and candies that burn the palate, his touches are deep, digging nails and fingers into the softness of the flesh, and at the same time stroking along all the curves, softening, he smells of something woody sea, tickling the nose and neck, where his beard scratches sensitively, chasing the kisses and bites, blossoming flowers of hickeys left behind, making you arch towards him pliantly, cling to his broad shoulders and strong forearms.

john lays you out in front of him more easily than poker cards, puts you back together easier than tetris, looks at a naked, vulnerable body with an undisguised, smoldering desire and a clear plan, not allowing himself a drop of pleasure until he satisfies you in the first place, no matter how hurting his cock looks, swollen and blazing rudy, beading pearls of leaking precum, heavy between his hairy legs, bracketing yours, as if to cage.

even when you pull at his hair, sighing languidly and moaning softly — telling him that it will take too long, it's not worth it, his growl shuts you up with a shudder of your spine, his calloused fingers running through the sopping mess of your cunt, stroking the folds, slippery and wet, fluttering at the touch along with the clench of your hole, needy and pulsating, eager for his hands and mouth as he get's to his work.

slick smeared all the way up to your labia, glistening all over your flesh, your thighs, as john's thumb runs up your sex in wonder, assessing, staining sticky and salty, savoring your tiny reactions, little twitches, shudders, sensitive keens from above, relaxing you to the point where you slip along the edges of your bubble, hazy and malleable, and only then he gives your cunt his mouth.

licking hungrily up the seam of your cunt, the savory taste coating his tongue right away, pulling a thundering groan, as he laves over, sucking at the hardened little nub he bumps into, slurping in his hot, drooling mouth, as your slick starts matting his messed beard, while you throb beneath his swelling lips, making him alternate between sucking and lapping up what slick gushes from you in shining rivulets, your body brimming with need, pleasure rolling in, arousal so sudden and strong your blood feels thick with it.

it's comes harder, this time, maybe because you denied yourself a person's sexual contact for too long, but this time, you cum with your legs clamping tight from being unable to fight this electricity, zapping through your whole body as you flood john's mouth with your slick, your back bowing, crumpling the sheets below as you almost hit your head against the headboard, his warm palm settling over the top, shielding, as you hiccup a chorus of moans, under the rasping coo of his voice, no note of being full of himself, cocky, just sweet encouragement of you.

only then, when sure that you've been at the throes of your pleasure, john acknowledges the bobbing weight of his painfully engorged, hard cock, wrapping a calloused palm around the length, slicked from the amount of pre his skin is coated in, jerking once, twice, thumbing against his slit with a huffed grunt of pleasure, before lining towards your gaping hole, the messy curls of his pubic hair brushing against your tingling, now sensitive skin, as you stretch around the girth of him, feeded gently till he's bottoming out.

mind still sluggish with lust, you push your his hips down, trying to take more, to make the deliciously slow thrusts turn into something more, rougher, as your blood sings for it, so john pulls back, lifts your hips, grip more bruising, and blessedly pumps you deep, crowding, cocooning you with his big, brawny body, snapping his broad hips harder and harder, the force echoing as a slaps of skin on skin, the wet squelches, the once again growing pressure inside your stomach is immaculate, heavy.

bodies flush together, john rocks gently into your tight heat, trying to prolong this pleasure, feeling, how you get closer again, so much quicker than any usual, the feeling of it overwhelming you, making your body trash, head hitting the pillows beneath, but he's heavy over your body, and it's comforts you, in a way, as chapped lips kiss your shoulder, and then he nuzzles against your temple.

breathing you in, smearing away your sweat, as you tremble with the need to cum, gasping for it, rocking, clenching with a shuddering twitch of your hips, sensitive and primed for another orgasm, and when your head rolls back with an arch of your kiss bitten neck, white hot pleasure blurring your vision, your every muscle tenses and then you come again, erupting in what feels like a torrent, and john whispers only lulling comfort and proud syllables, groaning deep as he cums himself, shuddering with you.

you're left feeling spent, muscles going lax, sagging into the mattress and crumpled bedding below, it's like your mind gotten into submission, too knocked out by onslaught of all the feelings that your system shut down, and you won't even move to rise up, john's breath coming up close, hard and puffing, as he kisses the marks over your throat as you recover, white spots still dotting the vision, legs unresponsive, so you just curl, and he drags his mouth over your warm skin, each kiss as a reward.

he won't say too much, wouldn't even bring what happened during sex, he has no permission to, no control over your body, it's only your merit that you trusted, relaxed, let the pleasure slip through your fingertips and climb higher, even if slowly, john just happened to be there at the right time, and he won't oblige you to anything, as you slowly fall asleep in his arms — but if you'll linger in the morning instead of disappearing away, he won't mind cooking you breakfast.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[kdh-tally]

Hi! If your requests are open, is there a chance you can write a oneshot about Mystery and Zoey from Kpop Demon Hunters? They're my favorite characters. I know all of the Saja Boys, except Jinu, are unfeeling demons, but I'm choosing to disregard what's canon. For the story, I was thinking of a scene where Mystery notices Zoey ogling Abby's abs. Seeing this makes Mystery jealous and self-conscious, and he asks himself, "What does he have that I don't have?" I would also lol if Mystery then starts barking at Abby.

Prompt : Mystery is a tad bit insecure

Author's Note : A tad bit on the longer side maybe?

Mystery didn’t intend on enjoying the idol life so much. Jinu had to spend most of his time persuading him out of the four other boy-band members. Mystery had enjoyed his home in hell to some degree. There was nothing to do really, and he wasn’t disturbed as long as Gwi-ma remained focused on someone else.

Of course there were still voices. The voices were always there. Well, they were. Jinu, the idiot, had the bright idea to debut their little boy band sooner than needed.That’s how he and the other 3 boys found themselves being shoved into a sketchy alleyway. 

“Look good!” he whispered yelled orders at them. The boys groaned in unison, annoyance visible in their tones but they listened anyway. 

Mystery was the first one turning the corner. He heard silent squeals coming from the other end but couldn’t see what was going on. He tilted his head slightly, hair flowing gracefully in the wind. The other boys seeing this copied his move, making it look synchronized and purposeful.

He took note of the three girls. Two of them seemed to be fangirling over Abby’s muscles, he didn’t understand why Jinu gave them such basic names, and the other girl looked so done with the situation. 

The girl that stood in the center, short with little space buns, began to turn red. She was the first human he’d noticed and, not that anyone could tell, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. But there were more important things than a cute human girl. Especially when she was a hunter that killed his king for a living. 

Killed them with her voice. Her beautiful, gentle, siren… 

“Mystery?” someone interrupted his thoughts. The man hadn’t even noticed that they had passed by the girls already and were standing near the center of the market place.

“What is it Baby?”

“You need to lock in”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Mystery scoffed at the new terminology the youngest demon had begun using. Baby seemed to really enjoy human humor.

“We’re about to perform so focus you idiot”

—

Jinu never seemed to run out of dumb ideas. None of the boys knew how they found themselves camping outside of the fan sign hall. All Mystery could remember was playing this game called Valorant or something of the sort, only to be summoned away to the front of a line. 

As they were letting it Mystery understood everything. Jinu wanted to flirt with his girl- enemy. Yep. Ignoring the sudden fuss when the purple lady said the groups would sit together, Mystery quickly found himself sitting beside the girl with the space buns again. 

He quickly learnt that her name was Zoey and she was the main rapper of the group. This shocked him slightly seeing as she was so bubbly and sweet. He’d honestly thought the scary pink lady was the main rapper, but seeing as Baby was their rapper he should've known better.

Eventually, Mystery mustered up the courage to ask her a question only to be interrupted by a fan. How dare they interrupt him? He didn’t even notice he was barking at them to scare them away until Zoey began to chastise him for it. 

“No! Bad Saja Boy!” she shamed, tapping his head with the pen until he calmed down. Mystery slouched back into his chair, what was coming over him?? From just two seats across, he could hear Baby snickering at him.

As he watched Zoey reassure the fan that everything was alright, why did she have to hold the fans hands???, he realized this feeling might have started to become a bigger problem than he thought it would be. —

The battle was over. Gwi-ma was finally defeated and the underworld was closed up for good. With the odd stillness that followed, Mystery found himself in a strange place. He found himself at peace. Well.. kinda?

He still couldn’t sleep properly as he wasn't used to the silence of the overworld at night, and his hair still got frizzy and big when it was humid, and sometimes Baby stole his earrings, but all in all, it was fine. Livable. Manageable. Different.

The dance practice room was empty aside from him and Zoey. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretched across the front wall, reflecting the two of them. Zoey in her grey sweats and a tiny white crop top (which was so unfair), and Mystery, slouched on the floor, playing dead.

“You’re not even trying to learn the moves,” Zoey said through a laugh, twisting her water bottle open.

“I am,” he groaned. “Just give me a week to actually get interested first.”

Zoey rolled her eyes at his dramatic behaviour, something that only ever seemed to pop out around her. “That choreography isn’t even that hard.”

“Says the girl with demon hunter blood and abs. This must be so easy for you.”

Zoey blinked. “Excuse you?”

Mystery sat up, one knee drawn up, resting an arm on it as he spoke, “It’s distracting.”

“You’re distracting,” she said pointedly, and then immediately flushed when she realized what she said. “I mean..!”

Mystery smirked, tying his hair up into a bun. He was fully aware of the fact that Zoey believed he was ‘just her type’ and took full advantage of it whenever he could. “You think I’m distracting?”

“I meant your weird slouchy pose was distracting,” Zoey huffed, face red, eyes looking everywhere but his face as she sipped her water too fast.

He liked this. The way her cheeks puffed when she was annoyed. The way she was clearly trying not to look at him while fixing her buns. The way she…

Stopped. Right in front of the mirror.

“Oh my god,” she said, squinting at the mirror.

“What?”

“I look jacked,” she whispered, checking her arm. “Is this what Abby feels like all the time?”

Mystery’s smile faded. “Abby?”

“Yeah. Look at this.” She lifted her arm slightly, flexing, and raised a brow in approval. “No wonder people like his stage presence. He’s a wall of charisma and strength.”

Mystery’s eye twitched. “What does he have that I don’t?” he muttered.

Zoey turned. “Hm?”

“Nothing!” Mystery said too fast. “Just… practicing the dance moves.”

Zoey snorted. “Sure you are. Just like how you were 'barking to protect our image' at the fan sign.”

Mystery’s eyes narrowed. “That fan was sketchy. Their aura was weird.” Aura was a word Baby taught him.

“Uh huh. You were jealous,” she teased, walking past him to grab her towel.

“I was not,” he lied poorly. “I’m incapable of jealousy. Demon, remember?”

“Right,” she dragged, throwing the towel at him. “And I’m incapable of sarcasm.”

She left him there on the floor, towel over his head, ego bruised. But even as she walked away, Mystery found his eyes trailing her again. He hated how soft he’d become.

Hated how often his thoughts drifted back to that first fan sign. To the first time he saw her in the overworld. Laughing. Blushing.

She'd been so red when they passed her in the alleyway, her and Mira swooning over Abby’s opened shirt while she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. He’d noticed her immediately. And it wasn't just because she was cute. (Okay, that was part of it.)

It was because she was human. So very human. Something he, at the time, didn’t realise he would want so bad. And yet she’d stayed in his mind like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

Even now, months later, with the world no longer ending and his contract with Gwi-ma gone, Mystery still found himself aching whenever she looked at someone else with even a fraction of the warmth she gave him.

Abby. Abby.

The name echoed in his mind again like some cursed chant. Summoning courage, he stood and marched up behind her. “You didn’t answer me.”

Zoey glanced at him in the mirror. “About?”

“What does he have that I don’t have?”

Zoey blinked. “Wait. You were serious?”

Mystery folded his arms. “I barked at a fan for you. I gave up my spot as center for that weird duet stage. I let you touch my hair. That’s practically marriage in demon culture.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped in laughter. “Mystery, I pat everyone’s head when they’re being a weirdo.”

“You don’t call everyone a good boy.” he pointed out.

Zoey flushed bright pink. “That was one time! I was trying to calm you down!”

“It worked.”

“Stop being dramatic.” Zoey laughed, softer this time, walking closer.

He hated how fast his heartbeat got when she stepped into his personal space.

“You’re not Abby,” she said gently.

“I know that,” he huffed.

“But you’re Mystery,” she added, poking his chest, her eyes peering into his. “You’re weird and intense and accidentally funny and overly stylish. And I like that.”

Mystery blinked. “Wait. What?”

Zoey turned, clearly trying not to look at him anymore. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You like me?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m pushing it,” he said, stepping beside her. “You said you like me.”

“Fine,” Zoey grumbled. “I like you.”

Mystery grinned.

“I knew barking was the right way to go.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m going to bark at Abby next time I see him.”

“No!”

But Mystery was already planning it.

If he had a heart, it would be doing cartwheels.

He glanced at her reflection again, her cheeks warm, eyes shy, and something settled in him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly.

Zoey looked up.

“I like you too. Even if your abs are unfair.”

Zoey broke into laughter, her head tilting back.

And for once, Mystery didn’t mind the quiet that came with the over world. He didn’t mind the quiet anywhere as long as it meant he could listen to the girl he probably shouldn’t have fallen for, laugh her heart out.

[brokenengene]

could you write about down bad loser hee that would do anything to get his was with you

*ೃ༄ first time user - l.hs

a/n: rahhh this was so much fun anon I hope you like my interpretation! (sorry it’s long!!)

summary: Your best friend’s brother is a total nerd—and he’s had a crush on you for years. She drags him along to a party one weekend, and it only takes you 30 seconds to show him exactly what he’s been missing.

pairing: best friend's brother!Heeseung x fem reader

genre: college au, smut, first time

word count: 2.5k

content warning: strong language, brief mention of alcohol, explicit smut, oral sex (f!receiving), virgin!Heeseung(implied) messy first time sex, mild humiliation, unprotected sex,(wrap it up!), creampie, begging, praise, awkward tension, overstimulation, and soft dom/sub dynamics

Content is only for readers 18+

You look into the mirror of your dorm room as you touch up your makeup under the yellow light. You blend out your contour and add extra highlighter to your collarbone right above the fabric of your dress.

“Damn you look good, I’m going to fight off crusty frat guys all night.” Your friend Jules says playfully.

You pass her your eyeliner as she leans over the sink right next to you. It’s become a habit at this point, the two of you decided it was time to live it up a little. And for the past few months, you’ve been wasted at a party every weekend living life to the fullest.

“I hope you have extra room in your car I’m bringing my brother along. He seriously needs to get out. His brain is gonna rot from looking at textbooks and video games all day.” Jules says casually.

You know her brother. Heeseung. Computer science major a year beneath you. He was basically the opposite of Jules. He was introverted, reserved, and always had his nose in a book or eyes glued to a PlayStation game.

Jules was the party girl, hell if she wasn’t your best friend you probably wouldn’t even be going out tonight. But it was good to have Jules around, she helped you break out of your shell.

The bass thumped beneath your feet as you finally arrived at the party. Jules and Heeseung are awkwardly followed behind you.

You’re immediately hit with the smell of alcohol the second you step through the door.

Tonight already smells like trouble.

You confidently find a cooler in the corner of the kitchen. You dig through the ice to find exactly what you’re looking for.

The party is already lively. People dancing, lights dim, couples making out on the couch and strangers hooking up upstairs. The usual for a night like this.

“Oh, my God is that the hot guy from Econ? I’ve got to talk to him!” Jules says as he digs through the cooler behind you looking for her own drink to take off whatever nerves she had left.

“Don’t get into too much trouble okay? Call me if you need anything! Mwah!” She says playfully and before you know it she’s disappearing into the crowd.

You look around, not really noticing any of the other people at the party besides one.

Heeseung.

He’s nervously leaning up against the outside wall, drink in hand, shoulders tight. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here.

You smirk as you take another sip of your drink. It’s kind of cute the way he keeps pushing up his glasses. The way his shirt is buttoned all the way to the top as he nervously grips a red solo cup in his hand.

Figuring you have nothing else to lose you walk over towards him.

“Hey, Heeseung right?” You say confidently as you place your free hand on the wall right next to his head. Your other hand holding your drink, the alcohol definitely giving you a kick of confidence.

Heeseung's face turns red, bright red at the gesture. He nearly drops his drink as he looks at you.

He stumbles over his words as he looks you up and down. Your dress is tight, hugging your form and leaving little to the imagination.

He opens his mouth to speak but he stutters, completely caught off guard by the amount of cleavage he’s seeing right now.

“Y..yeah? That’s m-me—“ he replies, his eyes wide as he looks at you. His expression is shocked—like he can't believe a girl like you is hitting on a guy like him.

“You look good tonight…” You coo sweetly. Not out of a place of mockery, you do find him cute.

“I do? Th-thanks—“ he stutters out, quickly taking another sip of his alcohol like that would be his only saving grace.

His eyes are wide like a deer in headlights. He can’t tear his eyes away from you, his jaw drops like he can’t believe you’re here right in front of him.

“You good?” You ask playfully as you notice he’s practically shaking. Barely keeping his drink up straight, ready to spill at any moment.

“It’s just—parties aren’t my thing, girls aren’t my thing.” He says with an awkward chuckle.

“Just relax, it’s not like you have a crush on me or something—“ you say casually in an attempt to break the ice.

Heeseung's grip on his cup loosens and the alcohol falls onto the floor beneath you. Your eyes widen, brows sharp with concern.

Jules really wasn’t lying about him needing to touch some grass.

“Actually—that’s debatable” Heesung confesses, his face bright red as he reluctantly tears his eyes from the floor to look at you again.

“I've actually liked you for—longer than I’d want to admit. You’re just so out of my league, I never stood a chance…” he says weakly awkwardly shifting against the wall like he’s trying to hide his very obvious erection.

“Wanna head upstairs?” You cut him off, biting your lip as you smirk at him. Finding everything about the interaction cute.

“Upstairs? Like to have sex upstairs?” Heeseung says his voice shaking as he bluntly puts two and two together.

“I’d give anything, please just let me touch you one time. Fuck me just once and God...I’ll die a happy man,” he says frantically like he’s trying to convince you before you can change your mind.

You don’t even reply, you just leave the alcohol on a random side table and grab his wrist, dragging him behind you up the stairs and into an empty bedroom.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m gonna last thirty seconds—shit am I hallucinating?” Heeseung mumbles as he paces back and forth awkwardly in the middle of the dark empty room.

“I don’t know what I’m doing…” Heeseung gasps.

Your lips cut him off, tasing the essence of alcohol as you back him towards one of the bedroom walls. You capture his lips, sweet, soft innocent.

Heeseung is stunned, his arms awkwardly hovering at your sides, his eyes wide as you kiss him.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” You pull away just for a moment to seductively whisper.

His hands hesitate before they find your waist, gently holding you overtop the sequins of your dress. He gasps into each kiss like you're taking the air out of his lungs every second your lips are on his.

After a few moments, he leans into it, moaning shamelessly into your mouth, closing his eyes as he messily kisses you back.

“I’m gonna come…in my pants—if you keep kissing me” Heeseung gasps between kisses as your lips nip and suck on his.

You smirk against his lips, enjoying how his unraveling a little too much. You let your thigh press between his, feeling how hard he is just from looking at you.

He whimpers against your lips, his grip tightening at the sensation.

“Do you want me to stop?” You say breathlessly as you pull your swollen lips away from his.

“No, No, God No! Please don’t stop, you could spit on me and I would like it. You could do anything and I would tell you to keep going. Use me however you want don’t care—as long as it’s you.” Heeseung says breathlessly, his expression almost pained from how hard he is and you haven’t even properly touched him yet.

It’s turning you on more than you thought it would.

“You’re so pretty, and your boobs are driving me crazy in your dress like that—I didn’t mean to say that.” Heeseung stutters out, still red in the face.

You smile as you grab his hands, biting your lip. You gently guide him towards the bed, watching him mentally unravel in front of you.

You gently push his chest and he falls back onto the mattress on command. You straddle his hips, and your dress rides up your thighs as you do.

“This is usually the part when you get naked—“ you say bluntly, with a wicked smirk, watching him whimper and moan underneath you just from having you in his lap.

You know it’s cruel, but you slowly grind your hips against his own, he’s throbbing already, and you know he’s definitely not going to last.

You kiss underneath his jawline letting your hands slowly unbutton his shirt. Revealing one inch of porcelain skin at a time.

Heeseung is gasping beneath you, his head falls back as he grips the sheets trying to keep himself from falling apart too soon.

You let your lips drag down his neck, gently sucking on the sensitive skin to leave a faint mark. Heeseung groans at the sensation, his hips jerking beneath you as you slide his shirt off his shoulders.

“Tell me, what do you want?” You ask breathlessly as you pull away to look into his eyes, your hands gently taking the crooked glasses off his face and setting them on the bedside table.

“Teach me how to not screw this up, “ Heeseung gasps as you take the glasses off his face. Like the reality of everything is sinking in.

“Lie back…” you say softly as you reach down to pull your dress up and over your head. You straddle his hips as you take off your bra, letting your tits free of their restraints.

“Oh my God, oh my God—“ Heeseung exhales beneath you, his cock painfully twitching in his pants at the sight.

You slide your panties off swiftly before Heeseung can even open his mouth to speak.

Heeseung is frozen beneath you as you swing one of your legs over his chest, letting your already-wet pussy straddle his face.

Heeseung catches his breath like he’s about to pass out. His hands reluctantly go to your thighs as you hover over his face, your hands gripping the headboard of the bed.

“Holy shit what do I even do?” He asks his voice cracking with anticipation and nerves.

“Just use your tongue, start slow—“ you say and without warning he grabs your hips and pulls you onto his face.

He attacks you with his tongue, too hard than too soft, his movements unsure and miscalculated. You gasp at the feeling of his wet tongue on your aching pussy.

“Slower, fuck yes just like that.” You gasp as he slows down, still eager, he gently licks unsure stripes up your folds.

You pull one hand away from the headboard, reaching down to gently push his dark hair out of his eyes. Guiding him with a soft voice.

He continues to explore your folds, your hips shudder against his mouth, and he lets a deep moan slip.

He repeats the motion, his tongue sliding through your folds to flick your clit again. Your thighs clench around him, wetness dripping onto his lips and chin.

“Fuck you’re so wet, like insanely wet—“ He mumbles into your pussy.

“Right there, fuck yes—“ you interrupt as he lazily drags his tongue across your clit again.

He grips your thighs tighter as he gets the hang of eating you out. He’s a moaning mess beneath you. His hips jerk like he’s getting off just from having your taste in his mouth.

He continues not even registering that his nose is hitting you in all the right places as he fucks you with his tongue. Nails digging into your skin as he holds you down on his face.

He’s trembling, eyes rolling back like he’s the one getting head. He’s desperate, dark eyes glancing at you for guidance.

“You’re a fast learner.” You say truthfully with another soft moan, gripping the headboard tighter as you ride his face, enjoying it a lot more than you expected to.

“You’re good at this, so fucking good.” You gasp with a moan that even surprises you. Heeseung whines beneath you, shaking like he’s on the verge of his own release.

“Get ready, I’m coming in your mouth, shit—“ you gasp as he pushes you through your orgasm.

Your thighs clench, and you grip his hair as you use his nose to ride out your release. Your wetness coats his lips and tongue as he shamelessly licks up every drop between your thighs.

You swiftly swing your leg back over him. The cool air hits his face making him shudder. He’s breathless and red, face glistening with your cum.

“I had no idea, that’s what pussy tasted like—“ he says breathless, shocked as he licks his lips to taste more of you.

“And I can’t feel my jaw,” Heeseung states with a weak laugh.

You smile with disbelief, quickly moving back down the bed to unbutton his pants. You push them down along with his underwear already soaked with his pre-release. It’s a miracle he hasn’t come yet from the way he was responding.

“Please don’t laugh…” Heeseung pleaded as he threw his head back with a whimper. His cock was achingly hard and twitching out in the open.

“I’m not. You're cute, I’m enjoying this too.” You say truthfully.

You lean back on top of his body. Slick skin on skin as you kiss him again, letting him moan into your lips as he sinks back into the mattress.

Your hand slips between your bodies, wrapping around his girth as you stroke him once.

“Oh my god, oh my god–“ he whines as his hips jerk up into your hand, his tip swollen and leaking onto your fingertips.

You straddle him again, letting your soaked entrance tremble as you guide him to it.

You notch his aching tip into your slick heat before sinking down a few millimeters.

“Wait, wait, wait,—fuck you feel—I’m gonna”

“Breathe, breathe, Heeseung…” you say softly against his lips as you gently stroke the side of his sweaty red face. Smiling down at him with affection.

You give him a moment to pull himself together before you sink down a few more inches. He throws his head back against the pillows with a pained expression.

Tears start to fall from the corner of his dark eyes.

Heeseung sobs as he comes inside you, not even all the way in. He gasps like he’s in pain as he spills ropes of hot cum into your pussy.

You help him ride it out, sinking all the way down and rocking your hips back and forward as cum starts to slip out.

He grips the sheets as he shudders inside you. Tears streaming down his face. Beads of sweat on his chest.

“I’m sorry…” he whimpers through the tears.

God that was hot. And he looks completely wrecked.

“You rake your hands through his damp hair as you feel him going soft inside you. You gently kiss some of the tears from his cheeks as he nearly hyperventilates beneath you.

“I think I love you,” Heeseung says awkwardly in the heat of the moment.

You chuckle softly, your lips finding his again with another soft kiss. You pull away, whispering against his lips.

“You were perfect. You have no idea…”

“So is that like a one-time thing or do I get a chance to redeem myself?” Heeseung asks with a weak self-deprecating chuckle against your lips.

You smile back, gently brushing your fingertips through his dark hair.

“You better study,” you whisper, lips brushing his, “because next time—I’m letting you fuck me.”

© brokenengene

[dayasfilms]

Ahhh I’m obsessed with your writing!!! Can we pls have Star and Steve’s first time together?

Your First Time With Steve

Summary: You and Steve have your first time together after you decide to take a little break from studying for your chemistry exam.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Year: Around September-October of 1982 (Star and Steve are in their sophomore year of high school)

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv (don’t do this), fluff, bad dirty chem jokes, mentions of Y/N, feeling insecure, losing virginity (both f and m), it would make a lot more sense to read my ST series Reticent (click the Series Masterlist below) before reading this to know more about the part regarding protection and the scar but it’s not absolutely necessary

Word Count: 4.1k

Note: Thank you for your request! Funnily enough, I was already writing this before I even got this request so this is perfect timing. Enjoy a little smut one shot about Star and Steve’s first time together. Also, if you want to get added to my ST taglist, scroll all the way to the bottom of this post and click on the green link!

Series Masterlist

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The amount of notes on your desk was enough to drive anyone insane. But even though you were in desperate need of a break, you didn’t stop. You kept flipping through flashcards, reviewing every homework assignment and highlighting the mess of topics that would be on your Chemistry exam in two days.

The house was quiet. Your mom was working late in the city, which meant you had the whole day to yourself with no disruptions. Not that your mom was a disruption, of course she never was. You just enjoyed having some peace to cram.

Though maybe you’d jinxed it. Just as you reached for the next flashcard in your stack, a light tapping sound came from the window. Your head snapped toward the glass, heart skipping just slightly. Cautiously, you stood and stepped closer, unsure what, or who, you’d find outside.

At first, there was nothing. You just saw the trees outside and the faint reflection of your bedroom in the afternoon light. You were just about to turn around when another knock made you jump, and a face appeared at the window.

You shrieked. A hand flew to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart as you exhaled sharply. Outside the glass, Steve Harrington stood with a sheepish grin, waving at you like he hadn’t just shaved a year off your life. You opened the window and stepped back as he climbed through carefully, brushing his jeans before straightening up.

“Steve!” You hissed, hands on your hips. “You scared me! You could’ve fallen!”

He gave you an unapologetic grin as he shut the window behind him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to your desk, pulling out your chair and flopping back into it. “What are you even doing here?”

He sat on the edge of your bed, watching you with soft eyes. “I missed you. Haven’t seen you since…uh, yesterday.”

You turned just enough to raise an eyebrow. “Wow, a whole day?”

“Exactly. Tragic.”

You laughed under your breath and turned back around, flipping open your textbook again. “Why not use the front door like a normal person? My mom’s not even home.” That made him pause. You turned to look at him again. “You didn’t notice her car wasn’t in the driveway, did you?”

He opened his mouth, then scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, in my defense, I was too busy thinking about you. I didn’t really notice anything else.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, but your smile betrayed you.

“Also,” he added quickly. “Sneaking through your window? It’s super romantic, if you ask me.”

“Oh, is that what that was?” You teased.

Steve stood up and walked over to where you sat, leaning over your shoulder to glance at your pile of notes. His brows raised. “Jesus. How long have you been at this?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost three PM. You chewed the inside of your cheek. “…Since about ten? After breakfast.”

His eyes went wide. “That was five hours ago!”

You deadpanned. “Yes, Steve. I can count.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he gently spun your chair toward him, his hands resting on the armrests as he bent down to your eye level. “Hey. You need a break.”

You shook your head. “I need to pass Chem.”

“You also need a functioning brain, and I’m pretty sure yours is melting right now.” You smiled a little despite yourself, leaning back in your chair. “And I’m sure you don’t even need to study anymore. You’re the smartest person ever.”

You hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” he coaxed, brushing a hand down your arm. “Just ten minutes. I’ll even quiz you first. I promise.”

“You’re gonna quiz me?”

“I’m very qualified,” he said, grabbing a flashcard dramatically and clearing his throat. “What’s the atomic number of carbon?”

You rolled your eyes, yet you still had a small smile form on your lips. “Six.”

He flipped the card. “Correct. I’m a great tutor already.”

You crossed your arms, amused. “One question and you’re giving yourself a gold star?”

“Absolutely.”

He grinned, tossed the card aside, and asked you a few more. For a little while, it actually worked. You were laughing and forgetting about the pressure. But eventually, Steve stopped reading, just watching you quietly with a look that made your stomach do a slow flip.

He gently placed the flashcards down and stood up straight, motioning for you to do the same. “Come on. Just ten minutes. Take a real break.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and stood, and Steve didn’t waste a second before sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you toward him.

You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re relentless.”

“I just want you to breathe,” he murmured. “And maybe make out with you a little.”

You laughed. “Of course you do.”

You didn’t protest when Steve gently tugged you away from the desk and toward your bed. You let him fall back onto it first, laughing when he exaggerated the flop, then climbed up after him. He reached for you immediately, pulling you down beside him.

“You’re warm,” he murmured as you settled into his chest.

You snorted softly. “You dragged me away from my desk. This is your fault so stop complaining.”

“Who said I’m complaining?” He said with a grin, then tilted your chin up toward him. “You’re so cute when you’re mad at me.”

You rolled your eyes, lips already curving as he leaned in. His kiss was soft at first, teasing and slow. But as your lips continued to move, it grew heavier. His fingers brushed along your jaw before sliding into your hair, and your hand found the hem of his shirt, fingertips curling slightly against the fabric.

The kiss deepened as you shifted, Steve sitting against the headboard while you straddled him, your body pressed to his. His hands moved to your waist, holding you steady.

It was easy to lose track of time like that. It was easy to melt into the feel of him, the way he kissed you like he’d never get tired of it. The way he always made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

You shifted slightly, and the pressure of his bulge against your thigh made your breath hitch. He let out a quiet whine that was barely audible, but he quickly deepened the kiss to cover it up. The sound still lingered in your mind, sending a flutter through your core as your fingers curled tighter into his shirt.

At some point, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but you didn’t move far. Your forehead rested against his, and both of you were quiet for a moment, just listening to the sound of each other’s breathing.

Your heart pounded and not because of the kissing, but from the thoughts that formed the longer he held you. “Steve?” You asked softly.

His eyes blinked open. “Yeah?”

Your voice wavered, trying to figure out how to say it. “Have you ever, you know…done the thing before? Like, actually?”

Steve blinked up at you, surprised. “No. I haven’t.”

You nodded slowly, not quite meeting his eyes. “Me neither.”

He was quiet for a second, searching your expression. “Why do you ask?”

You paused, fingers fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I was just…thinking. About us. Being with you like this.” His brows softened as he tilted his head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You glanced at him, and though your cheeks were warm, you pushed through your shyness. “I think…I think I want to. I want my first time to be with you.”

Steve’s eyes widened, the boy stuttering. “I–I, uh, wha–really?”

You wanted to hide, thinking that maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. “Yeah. I mean, we don’t have to. If–if you don’t want your first time to be with me, I understand. But…I–actually, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Hey, no.” He shifted a little, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Of course I want my first time to be with you. But are you really sure about this?”

You nodded, your voice a whisper. “Yeah. I mean…I’m nervous. But I trust you. And I want this. I want to do it with you.”

Steve let out a quiet breath and smiled, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you. “Okay. We’ll go slow, alright? If you change your mind at any point, you just tell me.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart fluttering.

He leaned in to kiss you again, gentler than before, like he was memorizing every second. His hands stayed put on your waist, always patient with you.

Slowly, he lays you back on the bed, his body covering yours. He peppered kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his lips leaving a tingly sensation on your skin. You arched into his touch, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued his exploration of your body.

He stopped, pulling back a little to check on you. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Just a little nervous,” you admitted, your cheeks turning warm with embarrassment.

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, I’m nervous too,” he confessed, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "But I promise, we’ll take it slow. We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with.”

His words eased your anxiety, and you found yourself relaxing a little. You tilted your head up and captured his lips in another passionate kiss. He responded immediately, his hand cupping your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You moaned softly against his mouth, your tongue tangling with his.

Your hands began to roam, going up and down his chest. He groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and it sent excitement through your body.

When he reached the hem of your shirt, he paused, his eyes seeking permission. You nodded breathlessly, eager for more. He took it off, revealing your bra-clad breasts. His gaze darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice deep.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the swell of your breasts, his fingers swiftly unhooking your bra. As he took off the material, he gazed upon your exposed flesh, his eyes filled with awe.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a scar near the side of your stomach. He paused, looking up at you. “Wait, what’s this?”

You immediately covered it with your hands, shying away from him. “Um, it’s nothing. It was from a car accident when I was younger.”

His eyes softened, and he went down to the scar, pressing soft kisses on it. The contact made you shiver.

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“Shh…” he shushed you, continuing to pepper kisses along the faded edges. “Just let me.”

You didn’t say anything else as he loved on you, pressing his lips to make you forget about what happened to you in the past. You wanted to tell him, but not yet. You weren’t ready to open up about that part of your life. You just watched him, your heart full of warmth and love as he put so much care into you.

He then brought his head up and took one hardened nipple into his mouth. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked and nibbled gently. Waves of pleasure coursed through your body, making you squirm beneath him.

As he lavished attention on your breasts, his hand slid up your thigh, caressing you through your sweatpants. You tensed for a moment, unsure if you were ready for this. But as his hands went higher, you found yourself aching for more.

When his fingers brushed against your core, you knew there was no turning back. This was really happening. You were about to give yourself to him completely.

He pulled away briefly, his eyes locking with yours. “Is this okay?” He asked, his voice quiet.

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you gazed up at him. “Yes,” you whispered. “Please, I want this. I want you, Steve.”

A smile spread across his face, and he leaned down to capture your lips in another searing kiss. As he did, his hands helped you take off your pants and then panties, before his fingers glided through your slick folds.

You gasped at the contact, your hips lifting off the bed to meet his touch. He stroked you gently, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you moan with pleasure. Your head fell back against the pillow, your eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in his touch.

But as he continued to pleasure you, you couldn’t help but feel a little worried. You couldn’t stop thinking about how maybe you weren’t good enough to do this, that you would only disappoint him and make a fool out of yourself. Your insecurities threatened to overwhelm you, and you found yourself tensing up under his touch.

Sensing your sudden hesitation, Steve pulled back, concern etched on his face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, his fingers stilling.

You bit your lip, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m just...I’m worried that you won’t like it,” you admitted, your voice small.

He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, there’s nothing to be worried about,” he assured you, his eyes soft. “This is both our first times, remember? We’re learning together. There’s no right or wrong way to do this, all that matters is that we’re honest with each other and communicate what feels good. I want to make sure you feel good.”

His words helped calm your nerves again, and you felt yourself relaxing once more. You leaned into his touch, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his mouth. “For being so understanding.”

He smiled, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Of course, honey,” he murmured, before capturing your lips in another deep kiss.

As the kiss intensified, you found yourself losing yourself in the moment, all thoughts of nervousness and self-doubt fading away. You were here with Steve, the boy you loved, and nothing else mattered.

With newfound confidence, you began to explore his body, your hands moving under his shirt to touch his bare skin. He groaned at your touch, his hips pressing against yours. You could feel his bulge growing, straining against his jeans.

Unable to resist any longer, you reached down and palmed him through the denim, earning a sharp intake of breath from him. He bucked into your hand, his fingers digging into your hips.

“God, Y/N,” he gasped, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Satisfied with his reaction, you began to unbuckle his belt, your fingers trembling slightly. He helped you push his jeans and boxers down his legs, kicking them off the side of the bed. He then took his shirt off, throwing it to the side as well.

Now fully naked before each other, you took a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He was lean, subtly toned from years of sports, with a faint trail of chest hair that made your breath catch. His cock made your eyes widen, and you couldn’t help but feel nervous again.

Sensing your gaze, Steve looked down at you, eyebrows furrowing. “Hey, we don’t have to do this, honey. Just say the word and we can stop,” he told you softly.

You shook your head, bringing your hand to his cheek. “No, no. It’s not that I don’t want to do it. It’s just…” you looked back at his cock. “How is that supposed to, um…fit?”

Steve couldn’t help but almost let out a laugh at the nervous look on your face. He tried to remain composed, grinning at you instead. “It’ll be okay. And if it hurts too much, we can stop, okay? You just have to let me know. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you gazed up at him through lowered lashes. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hand slid between your thighs once more. This time, when his fingers brushed against your folds, you were ready for him.

He stroked you slowly with one finger first, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you writhing beneath him. He then added a second finger, and then a third. Your moans filled the room as he explored your slick folds, his touch driving you closer and closer to the edge. He pumped his fingers in and out, making sure you were ready for him. He wanted to make this as painless as possible for you.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his fingers kept moving inside you, the wet sound of it only making the ache between your legs increase. Your eyes dropped to watch the motion of his hand, mouth parting at the sight. It was too much but in the best way. You let your eyes flutter shut, head falling back against the pillow as you let him continue.

You suddenly felt Steve lick a stripe up your pulsing heat. You gasped, opening your eyes to see his head between your thighs. He looked up at you as he stuck his tongue inside, lapping at your soaked core.

“You taste so sweet,” Steve murmured against you, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. The vibrations made your hips move on their own, grinding against his mouth. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling as you tugged him closer. He groaned at the feeling, trying to match your pace as he continued exploring you with his tongue. When his nose bumped a particularly sensitive spot, a sharp whine escaped your throat. He froze instantly, lifting his head with concern etched into his features. “Did I hurt you?” He asked softly, eyes wide and apologetic.

“N–no,” your voice was quiet, and you could feel your cheeks grow warm. “It felt good.”

His frown turned into a relieved smile when he realized you were okay. He brought his fingers back, pressing gently against the spot that had made you gasp. This was all new for both of you, but Steve was determined to learn, to make it good for you. And now that he’d found what made you fall apart, he wasn’t about to let it go. He lowered his head again, his lips wrapping around your clit. When he began to suck softly, your back arched, a moan slipping out as your hand tightened in his hair, keeping him close.

The pressure in your core was building fast, your breaths coming out in soft, stuttering gasps as Steve’s mouth moved against you. He held you steady, his hands gripping your hips as if he didn’t want to let go. Your fingers were still in his hair, tugging him further into you as that wave of pleasure crept faster.

“Steve,” you whimpered, barely able to say his name. He didn’t stop, he just kept going, and it finally sent you over. Your eyes squeezed shut, head pressing back into the pillow as your body tensed, then melted beneath him. The sound of your moan filled the room, shaky and breathless, as the release swept through you. Steve looked up at you, his lips still parted and glistening with your slick. His eyes were wide, completely in awe. You opened your eyes slowly to meet his, still dazed.

“Was that okay?” He asked softly, his hands gently tracing along the insides of your thighs as he brought you back down to earth. You gave him a lazy, content smile and nodded, your heart still fluttering from the high. He leaned up to kiss you again, and you could faintly taste yourself on his lips, a reminder that made your cheeks flush and your legs instinctively press together at the image of him between them just moments ago. He then pulled away from your lips, leaving you aching for more. You whimpered in protest, your lips chasing him.

“Shh, just wait,” he murmured gently, his voice soothing as he settled between your legs. Just as he was about to continue, he paused, eyes going wide as he pulled back slightly. “Shit–I don’t have a condom. I never thought we were going to do this today.”

You stayed quiet for a second, your heart racing. You debated telling him the truth, but now wasn’t the time. Someday, when you were older and ready, you’d open up about everything. For now, a small white lie would have to do.

“We…don’t need one,” you said softly, watching his head snap up in surprise. “I’m on the pill.”

Steve blinked, confused. “Wait, really?” His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of it. “I mean–is that, like…safe?”

You almost laughed at the look on his face, but you held it back. Shifting slightly, you closed your legs, suddenly feeling too exposed. “Yeah, it’s safe,” you reassured him, meeting his eyes. “My doctor put me on it…to help regulate my cycle.”

He still looked a little uncertain. Steve had never claimed to know much about girls’ bodies but he was still trying to learn. He didn’t push you though. What you said made enough sense for him and he trusted you with everything in him. His gaze dropped to your now closed legs and then back to your face. Gently, he placed a hand on your knee.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked sincerely.

You nodded slowly, your cheeks warm. As he carefully parted your legs again, you swallowed your nerves and whispered. “Yes. Please.”

His eyes searched yours before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I promise I’ll be gentle,” he whispered. “We’ll go slow. If it’s too much, you just tell me, okay?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself. Slowly, he entered you, inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside your tight heat. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. It was a mix of pleasure and discomfort that made you tremble. You were grateful he had taken his time to prepare you. You gasped as he began to move, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to adjust to the new feeling.

As he continued to thrust into you, the discomfort began to fade away, replaced by a building sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you whole. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper and faster.

He obliged, increasing his pace as he tried to get you to come before him. The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin against skin as he drove into you with more speed. His fingers went to your clit, gently rubbing the sensitive bud, making you cry out in pleasure.

You could feel your orgasm building again, your body tensing as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. You clutched at him desperately, your nails scratching down his back as you were so close to reaching your high.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped. “I’m so close.”

He groaned against your neck, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his own climax. “F-fuck, where do you want me?”

You tried to answer but another moan fell out of you. Your hands clenched tightly on his shoulders, barely getting the word out. “I-inside.”

That one word was all it took for him to push into you one last time, sending both of you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure washed through you. He followed at the same time, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found his own release, spilling inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, content to just stay wrapped up in each other’s arms. Finally, he rolled off you and pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“That was incredible,” he whispered. His eyes stayed locked on your face, full of longing.

You smiled up at him, your finger tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Yeah, it really was,” you murmured, nuzzling closer.

He wrapped you tighter, tangling your legs together so there was nothing between you. He kissed the top of your head as your eyes fluttered closed.

He knew he’d have to leave soon since there was no telling when your mom would get home, but as he took in your peaceful face, all he wanted was to hold you like this forever.

After a while, you glanced at the abandoned flashcards across your desk. “Great. Now I’m definitely gonna fail this test.”

Steve shifted beside you, grinning as he trailed his fingers along your waist. “Impossible. Like I said, you’re literally the smartest person I know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Tell that to my chem grade after Monday.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Honey, if tonight proved anything, it’s that our chemistry’s explosive.”

You blinked, then groaned. “Oh my God, Steve.”

“What?” He said, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, we definitely bonded.”

You shoved his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Stop!”

“Come on,” he said with a wink. “Don’t act like I didn’t rock your periodic table.”

You gave him a look. “Okay, now you’re banned from speaking until my exam is over.”

He gasped. “What?! That’s, like, two whole days!”

“Exactly. Suffer.”

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

•• @kirriririririri @djospresso

get added to my ST taglist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

[lexosaurus]

dp confessional: i actually got into dp because of fucking dsmp. and from what u knew about the uhhh thing about group of guys playing minecraft YES thats what it was but there was also roleplaying and acting involed so people were fucking around with boundaries and what was 'canon character in roleplay vs. real life person'. also like most of the guys were sexpests or absuers or just general scum (tommyinnit is the one that youd THINK would be scummy but he came out of it doin standup and writing books and making songs so hes actually pretty chill)

ANYWAYS BACK TO DP CONFESSIONAL THAT WAS OFF-TRACK. uhhh i got into dp because of dsmp. not kidding

watching dsmp got me into wilbur soots shit (now know hes an asshole dont worry bout it) and he joined origins smp which was basically dsmp without the d and also people got powers. wilbur ended up picking the phantom powers and was joking about how he was like 'that one guy that says going ghost or whatever' and eventually said 'IM DANNY PHANTOM' and i had no fucking idea what he was talkin bout so i went and found out its a show, watched all three seasons in like two days, and became soooo fucking obssesed about it and now just a phan :)))

tdlr: dsmp to dp pipeline is real and really fucking funny

Okay, you win. You've won on the "wildest exposure to danny phantom" contest

i legitimately have nothing else to add because this whole post is such an experience in its purest form

[halogenwarrior]

Agreed with nuance. I love these types of arcs sometimes but I think whether the redemption or self-sacrificial hero dying is bad writing or not really depends a lot on the context of the particular character. While most people seem to hate "redemption deaths" no matter the context, I hate them when the clear narrative motivation behind them is that the character doesn't deserve to live or it would be more complicated if they lived and they don't want to deal with that narrative, especially of the character themselves thinks they don't deserve to live and the narrative agrees with them by presenting their death as heartwarming and a fitting end/the best end a character could have after what they did (and unfortunately this is most of them in fiction). And especially if the thing they are atoning for really has nothing to do with any kind of selfishness or cowardice and in fact they were the "loyal to a cause above their own lives" type even pre-redemption. However I think it can work when their arc is about being selfish or cowardly, not being willing to give up even a little happiness or power or money for other people (and importantly in no way thinks they deserve death even when they atone), in which case giving up their very life can be the most impactful thing they could narratively do to show how they've changed. Or when they very much want to live but it's not the redemption that kills them but a "tragic hero" arc where the consequences of their flaws and mistakes do them in in a way that's presented as cathartic but not fundamentally deserved and they are able to have some realization of their wrongdoing/attempt to do good on the inevitable way out. Or if they are suicidal and think they deserve death but the narrative doesn't agree with them and their death when it happens is framed as tragically unnecessary rather than agreeing that it's a fitting ending. But I feel like this nuance gets lost with the "redemption deaths are bad no matter what" takes you usually see on this website.

And likewise with the self-sacrificial hero version, I sometimes love the trope of them living I'm a sucker for a good story about a suicidal character finding through hard struggle a reason to live, but if it's done wrong it can come across as protagonist-centric morality; if the character doesn't come off as suicidal but just doing the rational utilitarian thing in valuing a few or many others over their own life, but the narrative keeps criticizing them for that because don't they know they are the main character, so their life is more important than all of those NPCs? Especially if lots of other characters die including self-sacrifices in the story without being saved and it's only the main character who gets spared like this. While finding some contrived way to let said "NPCs" live anyway so they don't have to actually deal with the moral implications in implying the protagonist's life is more important than everyone else's.

i love when characters don't get to die

[wayeasier]

COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part nine

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: New roommate is a new start. But a good one. He's someone who you needed and you're someone who he needed. From one roommate it turns into something else, into five more roommates. But not in your apartment, thankfully. But in a completely different state.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, mention of kissing (nothing major), thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for any grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

author's note 2: this was waaaay to domestic that i forgot i was writing about people who literally kill people for their job ... avengers core woohoo!!

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT | PART NINE ...

It had been about a month and a half since everything changed. Since your life had been thrown on a different path than you ever thought it would go. Since your name was not just spoken by the ones who experimented on you or who you worked for. Now your name is spoken loudly. Publicly. Printed on newspapers, in small text and also in big text. As a part of them.

As a part of the New Avengers.

Your face had been on screens. You don't even know how they got some of those pictures from when you fought on different missions from ages before. Then came the other images from missions that really no one should’ve had access to. They came from missions that were buried in restricted files, footage no one should’ve had access to. Footage that had cost people their lives too. Grainy stills from missions you were on in different countries all over the world, the ones you did alone, and the ones you did under Valentina's name.

You were already sick of it.

Your name, Twenty-Two, was stretched bold across headlines in nearly every newspaper.

You were a real mystery to sell. They didn't know much about you. It was exactly what they were looking for. A blank canvas to sketch on firstly and then paint in blood. Someone to make up theories and conspiracies for. The world stared at you and wrote about you like you were some kind of a new weapon for the country on display. Not a person. Not a living creature. Just the one to save everyone.

You tried reading the stories and articles at first. Just one, then two, and by the third, you couldn’t do it anymore. You stopped reading the articles completely after the third one. It was all... just too much. The stories were fake, made-up theories on how you and the others got your names to be picked out as members of the new team. Fiction picking up the missing bits. One claiming another theory and the other claiming another. It was all speculations and theories. They wrote about your past like they knew you.

It was tiring.

So tiring.

Every article had a different answer for any question that people asked. And none of them were true.

None of them asked if you had a choice. If you had a choice in saying anything before joining this team. None of them imagined you might have wanted to say no. You couldn't really.

You became the one to save everyone. You were apparently not the one who might need a saving.

That was it. A chaos. It was an absolute chaos.

A loud one.

But the only quiet part was that had Bob had moved into your apartment. It was the safest, quiet part of this whole chaos of the announcement of the New Avengers. It was the total opposite of it. It was a sweet escape from this never-ending nightmare.

He hadn’t brought anything with him. He didn't bring a single thing when he moved in with you. Not even a spare pair of socks, nothing.

He only had the blue crewneck with long sleeves that clung to his frame like a comforter, then those caramel corduroy pants that hung comfortably on his legs, and a pair of old beaten-up Nikes. That was all.

Your apartment was simple and small. It had never been meant for two people, really. When he stepped into your apartment for the first time, it looked like he was almost in an unfamiliar territory where someone would jump at him from any side in a matter of a second. Each of his footsteps were so careful, that it looked like he was almost scared that he's gonna break the floor by just walking on top of it.

Unfortunately, there was no toothbrush in your bathroom for him, just one of yours and one toothpaste. You never needed a second toothbrush, because you never really had someone so close to you that they would need a toothbrush even at your place. Nobody stayed there apart from you. No friends to have their stuff there, no sleepovers organized there, or whatever. It was everything just for one person. Everywhere you looked it was just a singular piece. It was one person's life.

Well, until now.

Just the day after you both arrived at your apartment, you bought him a toothbrush and left it by the sink right next to yours. It was almost laughable how your toothbrush was grey and his was yellow. Matching the colours of your suits from before.

He didn't bring anything with him.

But somehow, he still managed to bring everything.

"Did you get the mail from yesterday?" Bob walked into your kitchen like it was his own palace, his brown curls stubbornly sticking to every side like they refused to be tamed. A few of them were stuck on his forehead from sweat too. He wasn't in a combat suit with the signature blue and gold colours, which he wore as Sentry. He wasn't in hospital clothes what he had back in Utah's vault, he wasn't wearing those clothes from his nightmare either.

He was in something else entirely.

He was wearing a pair of brown or black colored sweats that hung loosely and comfortably. The colour of the sweats changed with each lighting. The color was very unclear even when he had bought them. He just liked the material. On top, he was wearing a shirt, that he had insisted on getting from a second-hand store rather than a normal store in a shopping mall close by. You tried to get him a new, clean shirt from a store, but he insisted so stubbornly that it was better getting it from an old second-hand store that was two streets down from your apartment. It was an old grey faded shirt with some fishing club from Louisiana. It had a cool logo, you could both agree on that. But it was ugly. And it fit him strangely well, almost like it was already his before he bought it.

"I thought you did!" you said to him as you cleaned the dishes you used for breakfast. You turned your head slightly over your shoulder to look at the man in your kitchen and then back to your work in your kitchen sink.

"Well. You always take the mail, so I thought you would take it now too," he muttered from where he was standing in the doorway of your kitchen.

"But it was your mail. You ordered those books," you said softly as you put the last plate on the counter beside you, cleaning the last droplets of water from it with an old and used towel. Your sleeves are pushed up to your elbows so as not to get wet. You were also not wearing the grey tactical suit with your vest and weapons. There wasn't a belt on your waist with many weapons strapped to it, and there wasn't a gun holster on your thigh.

Obviously, you weren't wearing that suit at home. But it was still weird for Bob, he only saw you in your suit, fighting. With blood on your face and palms. He saw you dying too. He hadn't forgotten how he saw you laying on that floor. Otherwise, he'd only really known you like that.

But now you were in your kitchen, sleeves of an old loose white, but now more of an off-white that matched the colour of an old parchment, rolled up at your elbows. A pair of sweats that had paint stains on your knees.

It was all so different. You both were so different from when you were last in New York or Utah. You were both remnants of lives that were made for violence. And yet, here you both were.

“I’ll call them later, so we can pick up the mail back. I don’t understand why they just can't leave it by the door…” you muttered with a long sigh as you wiped your hands on your sweats, the fabric darkening slightly at the knees where it had already been stained with some paint. Then you turned to face Bob.

He was still there in the doorway. He was also barefoot, his feet peeking from underneath the confusingly colored sweats.

“You don’t have to call,” he said, his hand rising up to move a few curls that fell in front of his left eye, “I can go pick it up... If you’re tired or—"

"No, no. You're fine. I can give them a call," you waved your hand at him and leaned your back against the sink, you felt a wet sensation at your lower back at your shirt got a little bit wet from the still-wet edge of the sink.

Bob gave a small nod in response, and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, staring at each other across the kitchen like you were both lost in thought.

Then you exhaled loudly, almost like it took the whole breath out of you. You dragged both of your hands up to cover your face entirely, "god, I hate this,” you mumbled into your palms, voice muffled, "I don’t do this. This isn’t me.”

You stayed like that for a moment. You felt it. Something warm brushing against your wrist just a few seconds after. It was Bob stepping closer to you, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist as he softly pulled one of your hands away from hiding your face.

“I know,” he said softly with that quiet voice of his, "it's not me either.”

You let him guide your hand down, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, "I haven’t done this in… in so long,” you admitted quietly, your eyes dropping to your hand in his palm, "Bob, this isn’t who I am. I fight. I hurt people. I kill people. I don’t stay in a fucking apartment doing absolutely nothing.”

"You don't order books online," he softly said with a small smile. You chuckled and nodded a few times, "yeah. I don't order books online."

"I don't know how to be... like this," you said, motioning vaguely around with your other hand that he is not holding. It all felt so foreign to you somehow. Even if it was your own life, your own house. It felt like it wasn't your actual life, almost like you took it from someone else.

“We can figure it out,” he said with a shrug of his shoulder, his thumb grazing over the skin of your wrist. You both stood still, both staring into each other's eyes.

Then, so slowly, his head lowered. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath from his nose brush over your own nose. He stayed like that for a few seconds, a moment that stretched the silence like a gum. Then he dipped even lower, a little bit more.

His lips then met yours.

It was not rushed, it wasn't hungry. It was soft. It was still. There was no desperation behind it, no need of moving. Both of your eyes drifted shut at the contact of your two lips meeting. Eyelashes fluttering closed against the skin of your cheeks.

It was just lips against lips. Your lips against his.

His forehead then came to rest gently against yours when both of your lips parted after a moment. Neither of you spoke for a while, there wasn't a need to fill in the gap with words. Silence said everything. He breathed out and it fanned on your nose. As if there was a calling, you both opened your eyes at the same time.

"That was nice," he said softly, his forehead still against yours. The curls softly brushing against your forehead like leaves from a tree.

"Really nice," you said back to him and his forehead pulled off yours. But he didn’t move away completely, his chest was still pressed gently against yours. You didn't even notice but his other hand dropped your wrist and fingers were now just dancing around yours. You both stayed quiet after that, just standing close to each other. You didn’t speak, and neither did he. There was no need. It was quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

A sharp, violent sound that was almost identical to a bomb going off shattered the calm quietness. You both jumped apart, your bodies flinching back from each other as your heads snapped towards where the sound came from. Your hand darted to your thigh before remembering you’re not wearing a gun holster at home.

But it wasn’t a bomb. Not really.

Just an old radio by the kitchen doorway.

The old, nearly non-functioning radio had a bad habit of turning itself on at the worst times ever with a sound you'd never expect a radio to make. It always sounded like it was about to explode. It jumped to life with the sound of an atomic bomb going off in your apartment and then it moved into some radio station that it picked up.

Bob exhales a sharp breath through his nose at the scene, "that's at least the tenth time since I moved in," he muttered staring at the old radio like it was a beast.

You groaned, putting your forehead against his chest, "I hate that thing. I need to throw it out."

“You said that last time,” he replied with a chuckle, “and the time before and before and before..." his voice was soft and teasing.

"It ruined a nice moment!" your lips moved against the fabric of his shirt as you spoke. The words came out muffled, your face still pressed against him, forehead resting on his chest. You listened to the faint music crackling from the old radio.

"Maybe it started a new one," then suddenly, his hands slid to your hips, fingers wrapping gently around them through the fabric of your old loose shirt. Before you could ask what he was doing, his hips began to sway slowly from side to side, pulling you along with him. His hips swaying in a smooth manner as if he had done it many times before.

He was dancing.

You laughed into his shirt at the movement, "what are you doing?” you asked, your voice still muffled but the amusement could be heard even from the other room.

He guided you away from the sink from where you were leaning against it. The both of you stepping carefully around in the small kitchen in your apartment. His movements were slow and exaggerated, hips swaying with a rhythm that you'd never expect him to pull out. It was so unexpected of him. When you lifted your head to look at him, he was already staring down at you with a grin that stretched from one ear to another. Grinning mischievously.

“Bob, what are you doing?” you repeated, this time smiling up at him as you both swayed to the rhythm that was coming from the old radio by the doorway.

“Dancing,” he said simply, his tone innocent, almost confused by the question, his hands softly grabbing at your hips as you both sway. He gave the lightest squeeze as the two of you moved in unison on the floor of your kitchen.

"What even is this song?" you let out another soft, quiet laugh, shaking your head. As you said that, you slid your arms up around his neck, fingers lacing together at the back of his neck. His curls tickling at your fingertips. The two of you stood in the middle of the kitchen, slowly swaying together from side to side.

Bob let out a funny gasp and then chuckled, "you don’t know Elton John?” he asked teasingly. He leaned forward, lips pressing to your temple again, his lips staying there.

"Oh. Of course, I know—" you started to say to him, but he chuckled against your temple and cut you off.

"Really?" he asked with a grin that you felt on your temple, "what's the song then, hm?"

You paused, listening to the song that was softly playing from the old, half-broken radio by the doorway as you both swayed like you were on a dance floor. You frowned and started to say, "okay, I don't really—"

"Harmony," he cut you off as he whispered against your skin, his breath warming the spot on your temple again, "it's one of my favourites, really."

"That's nice to know," you murmured, your fingers grazing a few peeking curls on the nape of his neck, the brown hairs curling around your fingers like little ribbons.

The radio crackled again, switching briefly to a weird buzzing, but loud static noise before settling back into the quieter, soft melody of Elton John's Harmony.

“Remind me to throw away that thing,” you muttered as you looked to your side at the old radio.

Bob laughed softly, his thumb brushing slowly and softly some shapes on your hip, "absolutely not. It’s the reason we’re dancing!"

His hand slipped from your hip to your back slowly, pulling you slightly closer to him, your chest against his comfortably. He then rested his chin against the side of your head, the both of you still swaying to Harmony that was playing from the radio softly. You closed your eyes and let yourself be moved by the gentle sways of your bodies to the melody of one of his favourite songs. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment too. But then they opened, his eyes drifting to something just behind you near the kitchen sink where you were before.

His eyes flickered to the window just above the kitchen sink. His brows furrowed slightly as he looked at the windowsill where there was propped up a small frame. It had a faded dark wood frame and inside it were not photographs, but two small and similar cards. Two cards pressed side by side behind the glass of the small frame.

The first card was his. His card from the attic. The two ghosts sitting next to each other. He remembered it so clearly that he almost thinks that he's making it up. It's the only thing he remembers from when he was stuck with the Void. The attic. When you were both sitting on the worn-out old rug, next to each other with your knees touching and holding hands, just like the ghosts on his card were.

And the second card. The second card was yours. The same, two ghosts were on it again. But this time, they were not sitting. They looked like they were dancing. Their tiny little arms reaching out for each other, like they were dancing together just like the two of you were doing now.

Bob stared at it. His gaze was glued to the small card in the frame. For this entire moment, the soft music fell away from his ears almost like he had gone deaf. Because this moment right now. This was the moment that was on the card. It was like some part of the universe knew that this would happen too. That this would become real. That those two missing ghosts would find each other and dance like they had been looking for each other for their entire lifetime.

As if destiny had already sketched the moment you were living now, long before either of you could even name it. Even imagine it.

It was almost like a destiny for him and you.

Two ghosts dancing.

Just like you two were now.

Bob didn’t speak, he didn’t want to break the comfortable silence between the two of you while you danced to the soft melody of Elton John from the old radio in the kitchen. He just closed his eyes again, his hand gently rubbing your back in smooth manners, his fingertips moving over your back like he was scared to touch you. Ghosting over the curve of your spine.

"Is it bad..." he said, lips brushing against your hairline by your temple, “that this… might be just enough for me right now?”

“No,” you whispered back to him, a small smile coming up onto your lips, "no, it’s not bad at all.”

“I’m glad you found me,” he said simply, his fingers ghosting over your back and slowly moving between your shoulder blades and then back down.

"I didn’t,” you replied softly, still swaying from side to side, "we found each other.”

The radio rattled again with a sudden sound that once again resembled a small explosion. Both of you flinched instinctively at the sudden sound from by the doorway.

You let out a breathy chuckle through your nose, your head falling forward against his chest as your shoulders shook with quiet laughter. Bob laughed too, his shoulders shaking against yours, and he looked sideways at the old thing that turned itself off. The song cutting itself off. There wasn't any other sound coming from the radio, no static or anything. Silence filled the kitchen.

But you didn't stop. You both stayed right there, wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying from side to side. With no music playing.

You sighed softly against him, "I guess that old thing did not like Elton much."

Bob smiled above you, "yeah,” he murmured softly, "but I’m not done dancing yet."

Neither were you. So you kept going. Two ghosts swaying to nothing but the love in the air.

And that's how most of the days went. Just the two of you at home. No missions, no blood or fighting in your spare time. No orders from Valentina. Well, for now. There weren't any plans for the days, there didn't need to be any. You never talked about what was next. You also really did not talk about what Valentina was planning for the future. How the New Avengers would affect you two. How it would affect this peace you have.

About how long this peace would actually last.

You spent your time doing the most random things to fill the in-between time. Even the silence was good. It was comforting.

Sometimes it went differently, though.

"Where were you?" his voice came out just as you unlocked the front door and entered your apartment. He sounded scared, almost hurt.

You closed the door with your foot, the sole of your boot against the door as it clicked shut. The brown paper box cradled in your arms, heavy but manageable.

Bob was standing just a few steps away, in the doorway of your hallway. He was barefoot and his hair was still stubbornly sticking to the sides, his curls on his nape nearly making fun of him as they didn't sit the way he wanted them to.

His eyes are locked onto yours. He looks quite nervous. You blinked at him, confused for a moment, "I just went to pick up the mail,” you said softly, voice slightly breathless from carrying the box. All the way home, even getting up the stairs to your apartment, "they finally returned it. After the fourth call!"

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink, "oh... You didn’t leave a note,” he said, quieter now, almost like he was embarrassed, “I—I woke up and you were just gone.”

You furrowed your brows, stepping further inside and placing the box down gently on the floor beside where his shoes were kicked off by the door, "oh. I must have forgotten."

"I couldn’t find you. You weren’t home. I thought—” his voice cracked just slightly, his steps moving slightly forward towards you but then he stopped like he didn't know if he really wanted to step forward to you.

You blinked at him, your eyes softening, you walked over to him, "Bob…”

“I know it’s stupid,” he muttered quickly, eyes still not meeting yours, rather interested in the brown box on the floor, "I know. It’s just... After everything. I woke up and the place was too quiet and you were just gone. You were not in the bed, nor in the kitchen. You just weren't there. My brain doesn’t immediately go to the thought that you went to get mail. It goes to the worst scenario possible. Every time."

"I saw you die once. You know how that feels?" He lifted his gaze up and met yours. Your chest ached at the way he said it.

"You died that day. If it wasn't for... If it wasn't for...For Voi—for him. You wouldn't be there. You were dead," you swallowed hard at his words, and nodded. You reached forward slowly, placing a gentle hand against his cheek and Bob leaned into it instantly like it was his own place.

"That image just... just doesn't disappear from my mind," he spoke, leaning his cheek gently into your palm, “that image. It is just there. All the time and then I wake up and—” he swallowed hard.

“I just… I can’t lose you again,” he murmured, those blue skies of his that he held in his eyes falling upon yours, "I know you don’t really die. But it still feels like you did since that. Since I saw you die. It destroyed me..."

You leaned forward, letting your hand fall gently from his cheek to over his shoulder and your other one sneaked that way too. You pulled him into a hug, your bodies closing the space between you like two magnets, “I thought you were gone,” he whispered into your hair as he returned the hug, his own arms wrapping around your frame.

“I’m not,” you whispered back softly, your cheek pressed against him, "and I won’t be.”

You were both still learning. To live. To feel. To have someone else. To have someone else who fills that empty space, a void, inside you that needed to be filled ages ago. The missing piece that you were looking for.

That's also how the days went. Just minutes ago, the world had nearly told him that you were gone. But then the bad moment passed like a wave in the sea. The fear was quickly replaced by something else.

The box sat on the counter next to him. Bubble-wrap littering on the floor, the one he said he's gonna clean up after. You were sitting on the counter, your head resting against the wooden cabinet frame behind you. Bob was next to you, his hip leaning against the edge of the sink. Close enough that your knees brushed against his arm every so often when he shifted to unwrap another book of his. He was carefully unwrapping the bubble wrap from each book that he picked up from the box you brought in.

He unwrapped another book, the bubble wrap falling on the floor once again. You watched as he looked at the book, the minimalistic cover catching your attention. Your eyes flickered to the corner of the cover where the title sat in small, black lettering.

“The Creative Act: A Way of Being," you read it out loud. Bob paused, the book still in his hands as you spoke the title. He then looked up at you, his blue eyes meeting yours.

"Yeah..." he said softly and looked back down at the book in his hands. You leaned forward again, your knee grazing against his arm in return.

"It looked... I don't know. I thought it might help or something. I wanted it," he said quietly, looking down at the cover of the book. He looked over at you and then back down.

You hummed and he set the book aside, pulling out another book from the box. Your heart nearly dropped. Your eyes fell upon the name that clutched at something buried deep inside your chest.

Svetoslav Starijski.

You didn't speak, you just looked down at the book in his hands. He didn't say anything either. He just looked at the cover again, then he looked back up at you.

"I remembered our conversation in the attic... When I told you where I found my card," he said softly, his fingers dragging over the letters on the cover of the book, his eyes up on your face, "it was in this book."

You didn't speak, you didn't move.

"It's in Sokovian," he said quietly, his arm brushing against your leg again as he spoke. His eyes flickered back down at the book as you didn't speak at all. He was starting to grow embarrassed. He looked back up at you.

He started talking faster, stumbling over his own words, "I thought you’d like to read it. If you don’t, it’s totally fine... I just—I don’t understand Sokovian, so I thou—”

But you didn’t let him ramble anymore. So, you leaned in. You reached for him by his shoulders and turned him around. His head snapped to yours and you kissed him. His words died in an instant.

Your hand slid to his shoulder to graze the soft edge of his jaw as you pulled him closer. You felt his hand grab at your waist, his finger softly moving over your shirt.

You spoke softly against his lips, "I’m glad you got it. I wanted to read it since you told me about it. He was the only one who showed me kindness back in Sokovia.”

You then pulled away from him, his eyes fluttering back open and so did yours. His hand slipped from your waist and he leaned back against the edge of the sink. He put the book on the small pile of books he had already unwrapped.

"Last one," he reached down for the next book, lifting it from the box where the last books laid. Bob started to chuckle, shaking his head as he held the last book up with a grin spreading on his face, "I have no idea who thought this was a good idea, but it’s definitely... something!"

You leaned over his shoulder, curious at why he's laughing, "what are you laughing at—oh..."

You leaned closer, eyes scanning the front cover of the book. No, it was a magazine. He ordered a magazine. It was a Rolling Stone magazine.

The iconic Queen II album cover was there on the front cover of the magazine. But only, instead of Freddie Mercury and the band, it was your faces.

Yelena stood to your right, Bucky and John on the left, Ava in the back, and Alexei as Freddie, striking that signature pose from the cover.

You laughed harder, your head falling against Bob’s shoulder, "what the fuck is this?” you gasped out in between the chuckles that were leaving your mouth.

"You're a New Avenger and also a rockstar? Oh wow," Bob muttered between his chuckles, staring down at the magazine in his hands.

"I mean, we could use a little less chaos and a little more music," you chuckled against his shoulder, staring at the ridiculous front cover of the magazine in his hands.

And that was the last day you spent together like that.

The magazine sat open on the counter long after the laughter died down. You read a few articles from there but it was too ridiculous to even continue. As you sat close on your bed, talking about so many different topics, a ring of your phone came in.

It was a few minutes past midnight, you were on your bed with Bob sitting against the headboard and you at the end of the bed with one leg hanging off. You weren't sleeping yet, but Bob looked like he was going to fall asleep in a moment, his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. Eyes heavy.

Nobody ever calls you, and you don't use your phone nearly at all. You don't have any contacts saved apart from a restaurant a few blocks away that you usually order food from. You didn't move to get the ringing phone and just continued talking to nearly half-asleep Bob.

The ringing eased after you didn't pick up. But then it came back again. The ringing didn’t stop. So, you knew something was wrong or someone was desperately trying to get hold of this phone number just past midnight.

You groaned and jumped off the edge of your bed. Just as your feet touched the floor and you turned your back, Bob let his head fall back against the headboard with a very tired sigh, closing his eyes to rest. You crossed your bedroom to the kitchen where the phone sat on the counter nearby.

Unknown Number. The caller ID hidden.

You squinted at it, but answered the very urgent-looking call, "hello?”

“Finally!” the voice belonged unmistakably to Valentina, "I’ve been trying to reach you. Don’t hang up on me.”

"As I said, I’ll be contacting you soon as the tower is reconstructed. It’s time. I expect you in New York this Friday. So, today. Flight is booked. I know where you and Robert are," she spoke smoothly like she was reciting the lines from a book.

You muttered under your breath at her words, "that's kind of weird..."

“You’re an Avenger now. I know everything about you, Twenty-Two,” she purred smoothly into the speaker, "and I know that you’ve been all lovey-dovey with Robert too. I’m not stupid," her voice snapped at you from the smooth manner she used before. You swallowed at that, glancing over your shoulder towards your bedroom door, where Bob was resting against the headboard of your now-shared bed.

“Pack your essentials and your suit too. You’ll be getting a new one, but I need your measurements. Also, don’t forget Robert. He is coming too. I’ll send you details later today. The flight is tonight. Don't forget."

You nodded a few times, but realized she couldn't see you. You swallowed again, "okay..."

"Okay. Bye! Say hello to Robert from me too," she said for the last and the line went dead, a repeating beep sounding out to mark that your call ended.

You dropped the phone back onto the counter where it was before. Watching the phone as the screen dimmed back to darkness after the call ended. You exhaled lowly, still standing in the kitchen like you were preparing for something new. Then, the same way you came in, you went out. Walking back to your bedroom where you were just moments before.

Bob was still there, propped against the headboard, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling steadily. He must have fallen asleep already as you took the short call. But the moment you sat down on the edge of the bed, his body shifted and his eyelids fluttered open. The blue skies met yours as you sat on the edge near his feet.

"Who was that?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded as he spoke out, tiredness lacing his words like a little additional feeling. His curls were slightly flattened on one side from where he was leaning against the headboard.

You turned to face him, “Valentina,” you said irritated.

"She knows where we are. Flight is booked for today and she wants both of us back in New York," you admitted to the curly-headed, tired man in your bed.

He looked at you with that gaze of his that could hold your whole world, "oh… back at the Tower?” he asked, his head tilting and falling against his shoulder.

You nodded at him, looking down at your hands in your lap, "I need to bring my suit and probably other stuff too... She's replacing it.”

Bob slowly sat up, shifting over the covers and over the whole bed to sit at the edge just beside you. His weight was making the mattress dip slightly. His shoulder brushed yours as he settled onto his knees, while your legs hung off the soft edge of your shared bed.

“I’m kind of going to miss… this,” you said eventually after a moment of comfortable silence. You then motioned around the room and then at him. Bob exhaled through his nose and smiled softly at you and leaned closer as if he didn't quite hear you right, "but I’m going with you.”

“I know,” you whispered quietly, "but it’s going to be different. You know that too.”

Just as those words left your lips, you let your head fall gently onto his shoulder, your ear pressing against the top of it. For a moment, you both just stayed just like that. Unmoving.

“Remember when we first met in the vault?” Bob asked quietly. You smiled, eyes fluttering shut, imagining the first interaction you had with the man who was now in your apartment and sitting on your bed. You nodded against his shoulder.

“We were all pointing our guns at you.”

A soft laugh escaped right from his chest and he shook his head at the memory. You felt his shoulder move beneath your cheek as he let the laugh escape him. Then his arm slid across your back, curling so gently around your shoulders. Almost like he was still unsure about making movement around you.

“You were shot in the shoulder,” Bob remembered, “I didn’t even know you then… and yet I was already so interested in you.”

You both stayed like that for a long while. Comfortably curled together, your head gently pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt just over his shoulders while his arm held you from behind. Neither of you said anything else and just sat in a silence that could ease every tremor in your life.

Eventually, you shifted from the sitting position. Bob followed your movements and later you found yourselves just at the correct position on the bed, laying together to fall into your resting for the night.

A flicker of a moment flew by like a small dove and you both had drifted off into a dream somewhere far away in your sleep. Sleeping like you carried the world on your shoulders.

The night went by and you were already awake. Morning came like the blink of an eye.

Bob was still asleep on the other side of the bed when you woke up. His arm hung off the edge of the side of the bed that he was laying on. His lips were slightly parted and his cheek was smushed against the duvet. His curls, stubborn as ever, had fallen across the pillow in a way that looked like they were sketching out some planned painting.

You always woke up first.

So, you started packing. Quietly.

You packed only what Valentina had said. The essentials.

Just your suit, a few sets of clothes that looked fine to wear in the late Avengers' tower, your toothbrush along with a half-empty toothpaste, documents that you were sure Valentina already has copies of without your allowance, a book that Bob bought you, the one in Sokovian by Svetoslav. You paused at that, your thumb brushing over the Sokovian title. Then you added a few more items that you don't want to leave behind. It all fit easily into your old duffel bag. After you put everything inside, there was still space for many more items that you did not even have or plan on taking.

And Bob's looked almost painfully the same.

You had bought that black duffel bag for him a few weeks after he had first moved into your apartment with you. He never owned much, and he didn't bring anything with him.

You folded each of his new clothes, which you had bought together when he moved in, carefully into his duffel bag. That fishing club shirt laid on top of all things, that cool logo with a fish staring up at you from the folded pile of his clothes inside. Then his yellow toothbrush and of course, all the books he ordered. Apart from the Rolling Stone magazine, that won't be going anywhere. That ridiculous cover still haunting your mind.

Everything he owned fit neatly inside that duffel bag.

You placed both of the bags up at the foot door.

And Bob was still asleep, he slept as a log.

The day passed without much to be said about it. Bob finally emerged from the bedroom sometime around noon. He stumbled out of the bedroom like some sort of a hibernating animal being coaxed out of its den after a good sleep. His eyes were still half-lidded, a faint sheet of sweat lingering forehead from underneath his fallen hair. He was warm too. Warmth radiating off him.

His curls were chaos. Literal chaos. They stuck in every direction, others were plastered to his temples like a badly placed wig and others were still stuck to his sweaty forehead. The sleep-warmed Bob shuffled barefoot across the colder floor from the bedroom to the kitchen like he was learning to walk.

You didn’t say anything at first, just gave him a small glance as you stirred the takeout soup you ordered from the single contact that you have saved in your phone. The good restaurant a few blocks away. You had two soup containers. One for him, one for you.

You slid the other one across the counter just as the sleepy man arrived beside you. He blinked down at the soup and then back up at you. He leaned against the counter that you were sitting on top of. Then his eyes flickered next to the soup that you were stirring.

A gun.

His brows lifted up as he took in the object on the kitchen counter. It didn't look threatening. It was just odd seeing a gun on a kitchen countertop.

“Why is there a gun?” he asked, voice hoarse from the sleep. Despite the question he asked, he picked up the spoon and dipped it into the warm container-bowl of soup.

You didn’t even look up from where you were swirling your own spoon slowly in your soup, "I was getting bored,” you replied simply, "so... I cleaned stuff.”

He took another slow sip of soup, "okay,” he mumbled softly, and sipped at the warm soup, "that’s one way to pass the time,” he said quietly into his spoon.

He glanced back down at the gun again, then at the stack of two packed duffel bags by the front door of your apartment. Reality was beginning to settle and it was pulling at his chest.

He finished the soup slowly, in quiet and careful sips. You did the same. Both of you enjoying the warmth of the soup.

“I liked it here,” Bob said suddenly, without looking at you. His eyes on the window above the kitchen sink, "I know it was just temporary... I knew that. But I liked it. I liked waking up in this apartment... with you."

You looked up from your empty container-bowl at him, "I liked seeing you in that ugly fishing shirt,” you said, voice soft with humour lingering at the edge.

"It's not ugly!" he protested, his eyes snapping to yours from the window, "but also... thanks for packing for me,” he added after a moment, "I hope you packed that fishing shirt. I like it."

You glanced at him with a smirk, “don't get used to it, though... And yes, I packed it."

He let out a soft laugh at that. Your phone then buzzed against the counter it was on top of. You looked over at it, already guessing who it was. Or already knowing who it was. That same unknown number. Hidden ID.

You reached for it and opened the message notification. Two files were attached just like Valentina had said. Flight details. You tapped one open but didn’t bother reading through it. You only needed to see the time. It was written in red and underlined in a bigger font than the other text written there.

Nine PM tonight. Just in a few hours.

You turned your head to Bob, “the flight is at nine,” you said to him, dropping the phone back on the counter. The device rattled as it hit the top of the counter.

Bob gave a small nod and in the blink of an eye, he leaned away from the counter and walked straight to the window by the kitchen sink. You watched him reach up to the windowsill and pick up something you had not packed into your bags.

That frame.

With those two cards inside.

With two ghosts.

“This,” Bob said, holding the frame up with a small grin placed on his face, "is coming with us.”

And before you could reply or protest against his words, he was already jogging down the hallway out of the kitchen. His bare feet padded on the floor. He kneeled by the two duffel bags and opened his own. You heard the faint rustle of the zipper being undone again for at least the hundredth time this day.

When Bob returned a few moments later, the frame safely tucked away in his duffel bag that was coming with him to New York, he didn’t say anything at first. You were both quiet for a while, enjoying each other's company like you wanted to savour it this time. Like it may be your last.

When the sun began to slowly set behind its horizon, you knew it was the best time to move. To head to the next chapter.

You were sitting on the edge of your bed, staring absently out of the window to your right. Everything was done. Bags were zipped and in front of the front door, two pairs of shoes by the door waiting for you two. Bob came to stand in the doorway of the bedroom when he noticed the quietness in the apartment. He leaned his shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching you like you were some painting in a museum.

You looked up at him after you noticed the faint shadow on the floor, "do you think it’ll be weird?”

“New York?” he asked softly, still leaning against the doorway.

“No. The Tower..." you replied weakly, looking up to him, "just... I used to work alone. I used to go on missions just by myself and now, suddenly, I'm going to be on a team. And it's just—" you trailed off because you had so much to say that you couldn't spill it out all at once.

"Y-Yeah. It won't be weird. It will be different," he said, leaning himself off the doorway, but still standing there.

"Ah... We should probably get ready," you said, staring at him for a moment before you spoke.

And then a few minutes later you were standing by the door with the duffel bag thrown over your shoulder. Bob was already out, standing like a confused teenager outside. His head was low and his arms were over his chest. You turned the lights in the hallway off behind you and locked the front door with one last single glance over your shoulder to take in the sight of your apartment. Your key turns the lock with a finality.

You read the message from Valentina again. You're glad you did because you'd be spending a good amount of money on a taxi to the airport. You had a drive arranged by her. There was a black car parked just down the street, unmarked but unmistakably meant for you. You didn’t need to tell the driver where you were going. You were driven straight to the airport, right on time.

The flight was quiet just like the drive to the airport was.

You took the spot by the window, the same seat you had on the flight from New York months ago. The flight wasn’t long. It was just around two hours. At first, you stayed awake while Bob drifted off. He leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest, lips parted just slightly, but then his head fell once again onto your shoulder.

Then you were the one to let yourself drift off into a dream. Maybe even a nightmare if you could call it that.

You were back in Oregon. You knew that place very well. You remembered it very well. You were peeking around the corner of the building you were in. Quiet and careful like always.

When you turned and they were there. Four of them. Four alerted and armed security guards. They were already on you before you could even process the scene in front of you. A hand closed around your neck and their rifle slammed into your stomach. You gasped out at the pain and hit your elbow into the security guard behind you.

Your vision blurred and your arms burned as you tried to pry off the security guards from behind you. But then you noticed someone in front of you.

John.

You saw the muzzle flash before the sound reached you. A perfect shot. Straight between your eyes. Right into your forehead and then you dropped down.

When it felt like an actual end, the world shifted again. The dream hadn’t finished, but it didn’t need to because you knew well how it ended. It was a memory, not a dream.

You were alive.

When you woke up, Bob was awake now. Staring down at you where you two somehow held hands, you didn't even notice that you started holding hands at some point during the flight.

When the plane's wheels hit the ground, you were off to leave. Both of you with the two duffel bags over your shoulders. Bob followed you down the narrow aisle of the plane straight towards the exit.

By the time you stepped into the airport's terminal, the sky was completely dark. There was supposed to be a car waiting for you outside. And there was one. It was not hard not to spot. Black and completely identical to the one you were in a few hours earlier.

The Tower loomed above you against the dark night sky of New York City. You stood at the base of it, just in front of the large glass doors. Your old duffel bag slung over your shoulder as you stared up at the height of the building.

Next to you, Bob stood in bigger awe. His curls by his temples were flattened slightly from the flight when he slept and his mouth hung open. His eyes trailed all the way up, following the towering piece of the building in front of him. The emblem on the top of the tower had changed. It was no longer the proud symbol of the original Avengers.

You sighed out and finally looked in front of you where the doors awaited you. Your fingers curling around the strap over your shoulder. You started walking towards it and Bob followed without a word, falling in beside you as he quickly jogged up to catch up.

As you approached the doors, they parted automatically almost like they were expecting you.

And standing just beyond them was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Wearing her immaculately professional, tailored suit jacket with a skirt. Her shoulders were straight just as her whole posture. Smiling with that sly smile of hers.

“It is so lovely to see you,” she drawled out the words, “Twenty-Two. Robert."

She looked you both up and down. Looking at the two people in plain clothes, duffel bags slung over their shoulders, "you look like tourists,” she remarked with a grimace. You didn't bother to respond and just stared at her.

“Come on in,” she said as she turned around on her high-heels, "the others are already here… well... apart from Walker and Barnes."

She didn’t wait for you to respond. She was already walking off, her heels echoing on the floor. You nodded to Bob and then the both of you followed her inside.

"It looks cool," Bob muttered softly under his breath as you followed Valentina closely. Bob was standing close, his shoulder brushing yours, his duffel bag gripped loosely in his hand. Now off his shoulder.

You didn’t answer him. You were too busy watching Valentina’s silhouette glide through the reception of the Tower like she owned the entire world.

“There are rooms assigned to you both,” Valentina said without turning around, heading to the elevator that you have once stood in when you were on your way to save Bob a few months back, “you can... do whatever, but I want you in the briefing room tomorrow morning.”

You didn’t disagree or protest and just nodded. The elevator took you up a good number of floors up to the top of the Tower. That wasn't even the first day. You couldn't call it a first day, it was just the day you came to sleep at the late Avengers' tower.

The actual first day was atrocious.

There was no other word for it.

Everything felt stiff and wrong for so many reasons. From the moment you stepped out of your new room on the highest floor you've ever been on. It was all so bad. The people; your supposed teammates, looked like strangers who didn't even understand the English language. It's like they were changed during those two months that you all were gone. Like it wasn't even the people you met in the vault back in Utah. No one smiled. No one said good morning. No one even looked at each other for longer than a second. It was all so awkward.

Alexei was the only one talking. Or trying to talk. He was making terrible jokes, commenting on everything he laid his eyes on, and asking the most bizarre questions known to a person.

That first day. That first day was terrible. You didn't do anything. You've done absolutely nothing.

Bob stayed close to you most of it. Maybe because he was just as uncomfortable as you were. You spoke only with Bob. He was near you every single time, like he had nowhere else to go.

You also haven't even spoken with John. He was quiet. He was too quiet. It was all too awkward. Almost weird.

But things got better. Achingly slowly.

A few days in, something started to shift. Something was starting to change. Not just in you, but in everyone else too.

It changed during the training you had on the schedule. Valentina stomped her feet that you were not quite working out as heroes should during those few months and sent you all off into the training room like you were kids on the playground.

At first, it was just you and Yelena.

She was there in the early morning. You paused in the doorway when you were about to enter, catching sight of her. She was standing on the mat. She wasn't wearing her fighting suit, the one she wore in the vault. Just a pair of leggings and a tank top. She glanced at you and then turned back to where she was looking at the weights on the floor.

You stepped onto the mat anyway. Neither of you said anything, but she glanced back up and kept her gaze on you. Now not caring about the weights that she was picking out.

Then, finally, she broke the silence, "want to try out your reflexes?” she asked you, her body angled towards you.

A smile tugged at your lips. You were just glad to hear her talk.

“Only if you still have it in you,” you teased the blonde woman, which pulled out a grin from her.

She didn’t waste time and the next moment she was launching herself at you with a swift punch aimed straight at your face. You barely ducked in time, it was so unexpected.

Then it began. She came at you with force, all hard punches of her fists thrown. But you weren’t easy either, you didn't let yourself down. You dodged each punch of hers, kicking with your legs rather than your fists.

Her hand flew to your shoulder as she jumped at you. You caught her mid-kick she was planning on doing to you. Instead of backing off and dodging the kick, you surged forward quickly. You wrapped your arms tightly around her thigh that was in the air and with one quick motion you threw her on the mat. Her body flew and she let out a loud, pained, and surprised grunt when she hit the mat under herself hard.

She groaned, sprawled flat on her back, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared up at you from her laying position. You leaned over her, laughing at the blonde woman below. She stared at you like she couldn’t believe you actually did that. Almost like she didn't expect something like that from you.

“…Okay,” she muttered. You offered her your hand and she swiftly took it. You were still chuckling, but it was quickly cut when you were suddenly flying over your own body onto your back.

Yelena pulled your arm and threw you over. Now she was the one chuckling. She stood above you, her hands on her hips with a grin that could light up the whole world. You layed there, staring up at her, stunned like ever.

“What a cheater you are,” you gasped out from your laying position on the mat. Letting the smile jump onto your lips. Yelena started laughing, not chuckling like you. Loud and cheerful. She was completely laughing out loud, the sound echoing off the training room's walls.

And somehow, laying on your back, sore and mildly betrayed by Yelena's very unfair antics of getting you down, you couldn’t help but laugh with her.

"It's seven in the morning! Quiet down your laughter!" came an annoyed voice from the doorway of the training room.

John Walker stood there with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed like the noise had really physically hurt him. Behind him, two others appeared. Bucky and Ava were coming into the training room.

You turned your head from where you were still sprawled on the mat, catching the three new people in the room.

“Shut up, Walker!” Yelena called through her laughter, not even looking back at him, still staring at your laying form on the mat, "It is nine, not seven!"

"That's the same," John grumbled like a mad bear, dragging himself further into the training room as Yelena reached down and helped you to your feet again. You were still breathless, still half-laughing as you finally stood beside her.

"Throw each other on the floor until you start laughing. Great activity for nine in the morning," John mumbled under his breath.

Ava trailed behind John slowly, raising a brow at the scene on the mat where you and Yelena were. You and Yelena exchanged glances at John's words. Both of you still trying to catch your breath from the sparring. It was fun, you had to admit.

"Well," the blonde woman said, still grinning at you, "at least I now know that you're good at dodging punches."

You grinned back at her, "and now I know that you cheat."

From there, it was like you were all replaced. From that day you all stayed. You talked, joked, and laughed. It was all genuine. The days weren't full of an awkward silence anymore. You were no longer strangers who were forced to share a space and live together. You were sharing the moments in that shared space. You were starting to be something else. Someone else.

And it all felt normal.

Well. It felt normal until Valentina came in with her all-sweet tone of her voice and told you she already has missions for you planned. And that she has the new suits done and prepared for you all.

"So, what do you think?" Valentina smiled at you as she pointed at the suit that hung on the hanger in one of the hundreds of rooms in the Tower.

"I don't like it."

"What—What is there not to like?" Valentina's head snapped at you and then at the suit. Unbelieving your statement, trying to find anything bad-looking on the suit.

"It's too... I don't know. It's not me. It doesn't look like what I used to wear," you stared at the grey suit in front of you.

It wasn't that dark shade of grey that you had before. It was now a very light grey, nothing you could hide in. There wasn't a tactical vest either. It only had pockets on the front of the suit. It looked almost too plain. Like it wasn't meant for a fight, but more for the pictures.

"That’s the point, Twenty-Two. The people need heroes. You can't be walking around like a military soldier that scares people," Valentina stared at the suit and then back at you, her arms coming to rest on her hips almost like she was flooded with disappointment.

“This isn’t a runway, Valentina,” you said, voice lower now. “I don’t need to look like a fetishized hero figure. I need something that I can fight in," you groaned as you glanced at the woman and then again at the suit hanging in front of you.

Valentina let out the loudest sigh you’d ever heard from her. It was so dramatic that it may even have made a cut into something theatrical, "okay! Fine,” she muttered annoyingly, "I knew you’d say that, I knew it. Of course, you'd be like this."

She spun on her heels and walked around you, "had this one made just in case, okay? Just in case you decided to be difficult. And of course, you were..."

She disappeared around the corner just behind you and you heard her heels clicking against the floor and she was also muttering something under her breath.

Then you heard her make a weird noise and then Valentina stepped back into the room from behind the corner she had gone around a moment before. And your breath was caught at the sight. Like it was nearly pulled out of you.

She was carrying something completely different from that ugly piece of suit that hung behind you. Something entirely different, something that you would actually wear. Something almost too familiar.

That deep grey tactical fabric hung in her arms. That tactical black vest with pockets in the same exact place your pockets were before sat just as well where your chest was. The perfectly designed new-looking thigh holster for your gun etched on the suit's thigh. The holster had been upgraded too. But it was literally the same.

It was an exact replica. But better looking.

“I had it made just in case you rejected the other one,” she added, waving her hand towards the suit still hanging behind you, "figured you’d be stubborn..."

You stared at the fabric for a long moment. Your eyes were tracing every single detail on it like you were staring at a piece of yourself. You moved forward and took it off her hands, touching the dark grey fabric.

"I like this one."

"Well, I'm very fucking glad," Valentina snapped at you with a long drawled-out sigh. She didn’t wait for a reply from you and instead, she just turned around towards the suit still hanging behind you. She ripped it off the hanger and groaned at the touch of the fabric on her fingers, "it looked so nice!"

She stomped off around the corner again, her heels clicking on the floor with her hurried steps. You heard the sound of fabric hitting a wall behind that corner, she must have just thrown it somewhere there.

“It looked so nice!” she repeated under her breath, as she threw that piece away. Then she barked like an annoyed dog from behind the wall, "and please. Try it on!”

You exhaled a breath and glanced down at the familiar but newer-looking piece of a suit in your hands. You heard Valentina's steps fade as she walked deeper into the hallway behind that corner of the room.

So, you pulled your shirt right over your head and set it over a chair nearby. Then came pants and your shoes. Then you pulled on the material over your body and clicked the tactical belt into place on your hips. The vest settled nicely against your chest and sat so well that it felt like home to you. Everything was exactly where it used to be.

Valentina’s voice rang out from somewhere behind that corner, "I swear to god, if you’re still not satisfied with that suit, I’m going to—”

She appeared from behind that corner of the room and just as her eyes landed on you, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth shut up like she forgot how to speak.

You exhaled through your nose and put your hands on your hips, staring at the woman, "what?"

"I can't say you look bad, because you really don't look bad. It looks nice," Valentina nodded and looked you up and down. She stepped closer but still observing you from afar. You raised an eyebrow at that, "that was supposed to be a compliment?”

"Take it or leave it," she stopped closer in front of you and reached out to adjust the strap on your vest, fidgeting with a buckle that didn’t need fixing. You let her, even though you both knew the suit was already perfect the way it was sitting on you.

Valentina gave a quick nod, smoothing the front of your suit, "okay, it’s nice. Don’t ruin it on the first day,” she said with that fake smile of hers, before turning on her heel and striding away from the room.

You turned around slowly, the feeling of newness in your boots catching at your movement. You caught your reflection in the mirror just where the other suit hung a few minutes before. The suit on you was just like you imagined.

Then the footsteps sounded back. Valentina was returning. Most likely.

You groaned, eyes rolling into an annoyed eyeroll. You turned around, starting to say with frustration, “yes, I told you I like—” but then you froze, your words dying in your throat.

Bob stood there from behind that corner.

His eyes flickered on your suit, taking it all in. He shuffled closer and then he spoke, "you… uh… you look nice,” stammering out, "really nice. Like really nice."

"You're not Valentina," you stared at the brown-curled man in front of you.

"Nope," he said without taking his eyes off you. He then blinked a few times and laughed under his breath like he forgot what he was doing, "I, uh… I was coming to ask something but…”

He trailed off like he was unsure of what he actually wanted to say. You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head at him.

“But?” you asked the man.

“You look… really nice,” he said again, smiling at you with that soft smile of his, "I mean... Not—not that you don’t usually—"

You smiled at him and turned towards the mirror once again, "thanks, Bob... I look good in my fighting clothes?" you let your smile turn into a grin.

Behind you, Bob cleared his throat, "yeah. You do. Um... That’s all I came to say. Just that..."

You turned back slowly, arms folding over your tactical vest which was against your chest over your suit, "you sure?”

Bob nodded at that, but his eyes kept searching for something on your face. Looking for something lost. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know what.

He looked back down at your suit again and then he looked back down at his attire, "I can’t go on missions yet,” he said lowly, "I tried something. But I can’t be like that… not without him.”

There was no need to ask Bob who him was. You knew. Everyone knew. The name was not needed. That part, which lived deep inside him and seeks to be let out at Bob's worst.

The Void.

His eyes flickered over the room, but at the same time, they always fell upon your suit that you were wearing. But then they dropped back to the floor, like he was embarrassed by not being what everyone expected of him. What Valentina expected of him. Like he was ashamed of what he wasn't.

“I know,” you said quietly to him, "no one is asking you to be... him right now. You just need to be you."

He took a step forward. It was painfully slow and it seemed almost too hesitant. Bob's eyes lifted again and those two sky- colored orbs met yours.

“I don’t know how to be just me anymore,” he admitted softly, "I still think about... what I've done. Who I have was back there..." he let out a breath that was quite a laugh but also quite wasn't, "yeah, well… I think Valentina doesn't even want me here. She would prefer him to be there rather than me...”

You stepped toward him now, "but I prefer you," you smiled up at the curly-headed man as you took a closer step to him.

Slowly he then mirrored your movement, closing the small gap between the two of you. He dipped his head low, so close it felt like he might just peck you on the lips, but instead Bob froze like time had been stopped.

You reached up slowly, brushing a lost curls of his hair from his forehead that dropped just by his eye. He tilted his head slightly, the curl falling back down where it was.

"You look like… like you again," he said softly, those eyes gazing at you like the sea.

“Did I not look like me before?" you teased him and pushed the curl away once again, but as stubborn as he is, the curl fell back.

"That's not—I meant—" Bob’s gaze dropped from you but then it was quickly lifted back up to meet yours, "I met you in that suit, but it’s—” He paused, the words catching in his throat like he didn't plan out his own sentence.

“Oh, I know what you meant," you teased the man with a grin that stretched at your lips, "I'm just messing with you."

Then came another voice.

"Guys, did you see the new suits? Look at my—Ew, what the fuck?"

Your hand dropped slowly from where it had just brushed away Bob's curl away. His cheeks were getting painted with that soft pink shade, embarrassment falling onto him. You both stepped back, breaking the closeness as Ava appeared in the doorway.

“Anyway, kiss all you want, I don’t care,” Ava said with a smirk at the two of you, waving her hand between you and Bob, “but first, look at the material of this!” she jabbed her finger at her own suit that she was wearing.

Bob shifted awkwardly, taking a small step back and lowering his gaze to the floor He was very clearly much embarrassed to be caught in such a close moment.

You snorted, watching her gesture violently to the textured fabric, "it looks nice on you, Ava."

"I know!"

Those past months have all been so different from each other. Those months have really reshaped your whole life. Your whole future. It was all so different from what you had expected from your future. Of what were you thinking about. But it wasn't a bad difference. It wasn't good either. It brought its good sides and bad sides with it. Some days brought hope and joy, others frustration and disappointment. It was a new chapter in your own book. A chapter you haven't read yet.

But you know that you're ready for that new chapter.

Ready for whatever awaits you in the future. Missions would come. There will be challenges to face and people to protect. Until then, you have to wait and follow the path. Moving forward, but it won't be just about you. You won't be alone this time. There will be others too. Others who are going to stay there with you. They're allies, companions, camaraderies... They're everything that you didn't have before.

It won't be just you. You won't be walking this path that awaits you alone this time.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

elton john is now canon in the mcu from now on.......

also i love love love u guys! thank you for giving my fanfiction any of your spare attention and readingthe chapters! around 4k hits on ao3 and over hundreds of notes on tumblr (insane to me) i'm so grateful it means the whole world to me <3

TAGLIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer , @lauryn2theelectricboogaloo , @mewmew222 , @badbishsblog , @lovely-foxes-exe , @funkyfable , @melvin333 , @sunflower-0180 , @witch-of-letters , @articel1967 , @kazamys , @ch-3-rry , @blackstabbath6

[snowstormarts]

hiii can u write more hcs or whatever about cam… there’s literally nothing for him and i want that stinky man >:3

Holding your hand as we spin in a circle with Cam who's not impressed. All to say is I love this trash man, the only reason I didnt get his romance route is because of the Empathy Block...But enough of that and more to headcanons for him! [If anyone else has Cam stuff please let me know, I need this man on such a deep level]

Reblogs & Likes are appreciated and feel free to send Requests, Questions, ect to my Inbox ^^

🗑 Cam Headcanons 🗑

[Divider Credit]

- He can't & won't stand for anyone bullying someone for something they can't control. He had his own experiences with bullying for being born as a trashcan so he will often step in and scare the bullies away before leaving [he has to keep his reputation as the silent guy who hates everyone]

- He has a opossum plushy that he keeps hidden away, it's his support & vent buddy when days are especially hard and he just needs to let it out somehow

- Don't let his clothes trick you, he might not look the strongest but underneath it all he has some muscles. Carrying trash around and creating a home with it is going to take some strength, it's like a free work out for him

- If you're dating him get ready for him to be the sweetest guy ever, you can literally walk into a room and see him make someone cower in fear only to turn around and face you with a smile and a huff. Before walking like nothing happened up to you, cupping your cheek and letting your foreheads touch as he asks if you were looking for him. ["Did I keep you waiting my little opossum? Yeah? Then let's get out of here and I will make it up to you, how does cuddling and snacking sound while we bitch about your ex-boss?"]

- Knows a ton about "pest-animals" like pigeons, raccoons, opossums & different kinds of bugs, you ever need some background noises or need to be grounded? This man has your back!

- If you ever propose to him/ask when he's gonna tie the knot he will be shocked, he never expected to date anyone let alone get married to someone who truly loves him for who he is.

"Is this some kind of cruel joke, maybe one of those challenges online? Or are you serious about this? Just in case you've forgotten I'm a trashcan, you sure you can handle that? That also means having to deal with me and my shit dai-huh? Y-You're serious, you even got the ring...Well then, I guess I might have a ring here somewhere for you just let me go find it... Oh, and doll? I love you, I really do. Thanks for choosing to stick with me even when I have my shitty moments, you're the best future spouse anyone could have wished for."

[viviansturns]

𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚!𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

cw: nsfw content, dirty talk, mentions of edging and humiliation, fluff

𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝑼

✧ he swears he’s in control

he’ll run his mouth all day:

“you’re obsessed with me,” “you’re lucky i even let you look at me,” “bet no one else gets you off like i do.”

then he’s flat on his back 10 minutes later, begging for more. the minute you touch his thighs, his attitude disappears.

✧ has to pretend he’s not soft when you baby him

if you call him “pretty,” he’ll scoff, roll his eyes, and turn fully red. mutters “whatever” while visibly melting into you.

doesn’t really know how to process gentle affection. can be an ass sometimes when he feels emasculated. Sometimes when you stop, he pretends he doesn’t want it back but gives in, nudging you with his foot like “why’d you stop?”

✧ absurdly sensitive 

when you go down on him, he tries so hard to be quiet, but he’s sweating, fists grabbing the sheets, biting his lip to try and keep the noises in. furrows his brow like he's enduring torture. when you flick your tongue a certain way and he whimpers, he goes fully red and feels humiliated.

✧ brat brat brat brat brat

rolls his hips without permission. bucks them unintentionally. talks back when you tell him to sit still: “make me.” will push your hand away just to be annoying, even when he wants it. until you unravel him enough—then he’s flushed and obedient.

✧ post-nut self-awareness hits him a truck

lays there blinking at the ceiling like he can’t believe what he just did.

"I was NOT whimpering" “nah you heard that wrong.” “don’t look at me like that.”

will deny everything he just said/did. you tease him and he turns into a tomato and refuses eye contact.

✧ tries to dirty talk but gets flustered halfway through.

thinks he’s smooth. starts off strong with cocky lines—

“bet you missed me,” “you’re so wet for me already”

—and for about five seconds, it’s believable. but then you give him a look, tilt your head just a bit, or say something back like “yeah? prove it.” and it ruins him. he stumbles over his next sentence, eyes flicker to your mouth, throat tightens. By the end of it, he’s gasping into your shoulder, voice breaking, whispering “fuck, I missed you” like he didn’t start this whole thing trying to act cool.

✧ sucks balls at aftercare

awful at knowing what to do when it’s over. He’ll pull his boxers on fast, avoid eye contact, act like it wasn’t as intimate as it was. You try to cuddle him, and he’s like “I’m fine. I don’t need to—” but his voice is already softening.

He’ll eventually bury his face in your neck and mumble, “that was good. you’re… really good at that,” like he’s complimenting your cooking and not the best orgasm of his life. It’s awkward. He needs guidance.

✧ possessive in a pathetic way

if someone flirts with you, he’s like “you’re mine, right?” even when he’s begging under you, he’s muttering shit like “nobody else gets you like i do,” “you wouldn’t let anyone else see you like this, right?” he gets all moany when you say he belongs to you.

✧ love hate relationship with edging he'll beg you not to do it. “Don’t be a dick—please,” he whines, hips lifting desperately as you hold him just on the edge. but he keeps coming back for more. Every time you let him get so close and stop, his eyes roll back like it’s killing him, but the next night he’s like, “you can do that thing again. um, i don't know. you seem to like it though"

✧ texts you later like nothing happened

chris: wanna go to chipotle? you: you were crying in my mouth 20 minutes ago?? chris: shut up?? and?? do u want extra guac or not.

𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝑼

my cutie fr!!! i love these headcanons so much i might write moreee

[juliettejwnewinesa]

I really don't understand what I'm happening with the whole situation (just something about ai), and I've been reading you fanfics for a while now (and I've been eating them up, theyre scrumptious and yummy), and never once have I thought they were ai. You can see it in writing structure(?) And the way you write, it feels human. And there is nothing wrong with using grammarly cause we all do.

Anyway, I'm so sorry for your hate, but if it's not much trouble, can you make a fanfic about childhood best friend!reader x Han Su-gang who is older than her by 2 years. She left town, sugang was devastated, and she came back and transferred for her last year.

He makes himself known by lingering around her for a long while (in the halls, brief touching, just tormenting her), wondering if she remembered him. things have been quiet, and no one tells her the incidents. She simps over Han su-gang about how handsome he is to her friends (she's a bunble Ray of sunshine and naive so they tell her nothing) and how adorable their children will be and all that like a middle schooler. It's like pure and adorable saying they'll have 3 kids, 2 boys and 1 girl, and have 5 cats (being dululu), and he hears about this and decided to give her a good time!(smut)

Anyway, please and thank you and take care of yourself (so sorry that this is long💔)

hey babeee thx for the request sorry for the delay btw 😘

Title: Guess You Grew Up Pairing: Han Su-gang x naive!sunshine!childhoodbestfriend!Fem!Reader Rating: 🔞 MDNI Tags: childhood best friends to something else, naive reader, light corruption, possessive Su-gang, unaware reader, fluffy smut, oral (f receiving), size kink, breeding talk (delulu style), soft and dark tension

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Han Su-gang never forgot you.

You were the only bright thing in his life back then. Messy pigtails, scraped knees, and that ridiculous laugh. You were the first person who held his hand without flinching. Who told him he was your “favorite person in the world.”

Then one day, you were just… gone. Moved away. No goodbye.

It haunted him. For years.

And then—just like that—you were back.

You transferred in mid-term, your backpack bouncing, your voice still sweet and chirpy as you introduced yourself with a wide smile to a classroom full of half-dead teenagers. “I used to live here when I was little! It’s so good to be back!”

Su-gang leaned back in his chair, staring at you from the back row, jaw tight.

You’d grown. Legs longer. Hair shinier. Same fucking smile.

But you didn’t even look at him.

Did you forget him?

He watched. Waited.

And when the bell rang, you skipped right past him like you didn’t even notice the boy who used to protect you from bullies.

He almost laughed.

You started following him with your eyes first.

He could feel it when he walked down the hallway, his hands in his pockets, and you’d pause mid-conversation, glancing up at him like a little lost puppy.

Then came the whispers. The blushing.

“He’s so pretty, right?” you said to your friends one day in the bathroom, unaware he was around the corner. “Like, dangerously hot. Oh my god. I want him to kiss me and then ignore me for a week so I can cry about it like in a drama.”

Your friends stared at you in horror.

You just kept going. “If I married him, our kids would be gorgeous. We’d have, like… three. Two boys, one girl. And five cats! Or maybe seven. He looks like a cat dad, don’t you think?”

Su-gang bit his lip to keep from laughing.

You really hadn’t changed at all.

He started showing up more.

Behind you in the hallway. Lurking near your locker. Sitting near you in the cafeteria. His knuckles would brush yours when you passed. His shoulder would graze yours in class.

It drove you crazy.

You kept stealing glances, your brain turning into fluff every time he licked his lips or leaned against the wall like a walking daydream.

One day, after your “dream wedding fantasy” rant, Su-gang finally snapped.

He cornered you after school, pulling you into a supply room and shutting the door with a soft click.

You gasped, back hitting the shelf.

“Han—Han Su-gang?!”

He stared down at you, silent.

Your heart thumped. “Are you—um, are you lost?”

He stepped closer. "You really don’t remember me?"

You blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“I used to walk you home. You made me hold your stupid Hello Kitty umbrella.”

Your mouth fell open. “…Sooie?”

He groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh my god—Han Sooie!” You laughed, teary-eyed, and then threw your arms around him. “I missed you! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

“I was waiting,” he muttered into your hair, his arms tightening. “Wanted to see if you remembered. You didn’t.”

“I do now!” you pouted. “You got hot. That threw me off.”

He pulled back and looked down at you, his gaze dark. “You really think I’m hot?”

You nodded without thinking. “Like… really hot. In a ‘ruin me’ kind of way.”

“…You shouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I will.”

He kissed you hard, like he’d been holding it in for years.

Your lips parted in surprise, and Su-gang took full advantage, sliding his tongue into your mouth, one hand cupping your cheek while the other settled low on your waist.

You melted into him instantly.

“I should make you pay for forgetting me,” he murmured against your lips.

“S-Su-gang…”

“You say I’m hot? Say you want kids? Say stupid little things about marrying me?” He kissed down your neck, biting gently. “You think I wouldn’t hear that?”

You whimpered. “You heard that?!”

He chuckled darkly. “You’re not subtle.”

His hand slipped under your skirt. Fingers finding you embarrassingly wet already.

“Oh my god—”

“You this wet just from seeing me around, sunshine?”

You nodded, dazed. “You always look so good. I—I just thought about it a lot.”

“You want me to give you a good time, yeah?” he whispered, fingers stroking your clit slowly. “Since you dream about it so much.”

You whined and nodded again.

He kissed you breathless as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them slow and deep. His other hand moved to your chest, pulling down your top just enough to mouth at your nipple, sucking lightly.

Your legs shook.

“Please—please, Su-gang…”

“Shh. Let me take care of you, sunshine.” He dropped to his knees, pushing your skirt up.

“Wait—w-we’re still at school—”

“Then be quiet,” he smirked, before licking a thick stripe up your pussy, making your knees nearly buckle.

He ate you like he was starved. Like he owned you.

You were already close—years of fantasy finally crashing into reality.

“S-Su-gang, I’m—”

“Go ahead,” he murmured, fingers tightening on your thighs. “Cum for me. Then maybe I’ll fuck you for real and give you those kids you keep talking about.”

You cried out, biting your fist as you came hard, hips grinding against his mouth.

When he stood again, your legs were trembling, and he kissed you soft this time.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “Got it?”

You nodded, dizzy, breathless, ruined.

“Good girl.”

[puddinqcup]

bedroom eyes

pairing: betty x reader [reader has female genitalia]

cw: smut, tribing, shitty writing, if i missed anything lmk pls! SPOILERS if you haven’t finished with betty

a/n: who would’ve thought date everything would get me out of a huge writing slump 😵‍💫 was looking for smut of my mattress wife but there was NOTHING so i took matters into my own hands. hope you all enjoy, if im able to i do plan to write for more of the characters. wrote it on my phone too and request are welcome 🥳

after talking to everyone in the house you head upset to your bedroom, on your bed you see betty laying down with her eyes closed. she looks so comfortable and pretty it makes you blush.

“hey, lover” betty opens her eyes and holds her arms out towards you “come join me.”

you fall into her arms sinking into her soft chest while she holds you. “you’re so comfortable, you always help me get the best sleep possible.” you shyly look up to her beautiful eyes looking at you lovingly. she lets out a giggle and compliments how cute you look when you’re blushing.

betty feels the same way, before she confessed to you she couldn’t sleep at all. she wanted to tell you her feelings the day you laid down on her but she was worried you wouldn’t feel the same way, once you told her you felt the same way betty was over the moon. you two sleep together every night (you have no choice really) holding each other warmly and giving kisses all over each others face, and of course, betty loved to flirt with you.

“you’re comfortable down there?” betty asks while you deepen your face in her soft chest. you start to speak “how can i not be? other than actually being my bed you make me feel so comfortable.”

now it’s betty’s turn to blush, she loves how you make her feel. you make her feel adored and loved and needed, not like when she was in the warehouse doing nothing. “i feel the same way about you, you’re so sweet. i can’t get enough of you.” you look up at her again and she’s looking right back at you with that soft smile you fell for.

betty starts to sit up on the bed and lifts you up to straddle her thigh, she leans in and gives you a kiss on your cheek, then nose, and finally your lips. you’ve kissed her plenty of times already but no matter how many times you kiss her you feel such a warmth in your chest and stomach, and somewhere else too; and she knows it. betty places her hands on your hip and starts slowly rocking your hips back and forth against her. you let out a small moan in her mouth, your body is heating up, you start moving your hips on your own focusing on the way she flexes her thigh and moves it a tiny bit to make you feel the pleasure she knows you’re always looking for when you guys get horny.

she takes off your shirt and takes off her corset and top. your lips meet again, this time her tongue is sliding in your mouth making you moan into the kiss again. she pulls away and starts kissing down your chest while slipping her fingers on both sides of your waistband pulling them down. you remove the rest of your pants as she begins to remove her bottoms.

“i want you to take everything off, lover” betty looks at you with her seductive eyes watching as you slip your last article of clothing off. betty does the same, maintaining eye contact with you making you blush and look away under her gaze.

betty lets out a soft laugh, “no need to be shy, you’re so perfect.” betty lays down on the bed again not letting go of you, you slowly feel her pussy getting closer to yours as she moves you higher to meet her. she places you closer, you can’t help but give a slight jolt from how warm your pussy together feels. she starts moving your hips, “don’t be scared, you can move. make yourself feel good on me.”

you waste no time and start to move your hips faster, her grip tightens. she loves feeling you this close to her, feeling how wet you are just for her gives her the same pleasure. betty loves knowing she gets you like this, “look at you, look at how beautiful you look when you get like this.” you moan louder, loving the praise she gives you.

you feel your high coming soon, you keep rocking your hips, clit rubbing against hers. betty lets out a moan “fuck, keep going”

you go faster reaching your high, betty wants to make sure you cum first before she does and starts playing with your chest. the pleasure is too much, your stomach tighten and your legs getting weak you let out a breathy sigh.

“we’re not done yet, you’re not the only one cumming today” betty looks at you teasingly and grabs your hips again causing you to give a little jolt from the sensitivity. not wanting to disappoint you let her use your body to reach her climax and you try your best to rock your hips just for her. she loves how you’re still trying to please her, you grab her boobs this time; they barely fit into your hands and you love it. you pinch her nipples rolling them with your fingertips. betty lets out moan after moan, getting higher and louder as she feels herself getting closer. she moves you back and forth a few more times until her movements start staggering “oh my, fuck” betty starts but can’t finish her sentence, she looks down at you laying on chest trying to catch your breath with her tired eyes and she smiles “that felt so good.”

too tired to get up you both fell asleep naked, cuddling, and with a small smile on both of your faces.

end.

| puddinqcup | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog. — like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed :3

[emmiesoverthemoon]

AISLE BE DAMNED

two: closer than my comfort allows

wc: 6.3k ss count: 8 < previous | navigation | next >

friday, 2:50pm

the florist studio is tucked into the edge of the city like it belongs somewhere else entirely— glass walls half-swallowed by ivy, a hand-painted sign that reads blush & thistle, and the thick, heady perfume of fresh blooms rolling out onto the street like it’s trying to pull you in.

you’re early for once, as opposed to being just on time.

you stand just outside the doorway, one hand shading your eyes from the afternoon sun as you scan the carefully curated front window: a spiraling bouquet of peonies the color of spilled champagne, ranunculus with edges kissed in soft coral, and something vaguely poetic and wispy in cream. the arrangement is asymmetrical in the way only the most meticulous hands can make look effortless.

it smells like the kind of life you never admit to wanting.

you close your eyes for a breath, let it catch at the back of your throat. it already smells like the wedding. like the version of it you can see in your head— soft, decadent, wild around the edges but structured just enough to hold its shape. like magic, but orderly.

a place where nothing gets dropped. where the timeline bends without breaking. where everything just works.

“i knew you being early as a concept was real,” comes a voice behind you. dry. familiar. amused. “but seeing it in person? shocking.”

you turn without even flinching.

“oh my god,” you say, deadpanning. “you’re early and funny. someone write this down. it needs an entire section in the history books that will be studied for generations to come.”

minho steps beside you without looking over. he’s dressed more casually this time— well, casual for him. a slate-grey sweater layered cleanly over a collared shirt, coat folded neatly over one arm, sleeves already pushed to the forearms like he’s bracing to fix something broken. even now, he looks like a walking google calendar. somehow both timeless and scheduled.

he doesn’t glance at the flowers, just pushes open the glass door and steps inside like he’s done it a thousand times.

you follow behind him. “you didn't tell me this place was so fancy.”

“you never asked,” he replies, voice low as his eyes sweep across the shop’s glossy floors.

inside, the florist is already setting out samples on a long oak table— velvet-lined trays of boutonnières arranged like jewelry displays, pale rose bundles rising from glass cylinders in perfectly staggered tiers, tall taper candles resting in antique brass holders that glow soft gold under the skylights. it’s as close to sacred as a planning space can feel.

you catch your breath for a second.

minho, naturally, doesn’t blink.

he slides his coat onto the back of a nearby chair with surgical precision, then rolls up his sleeves and starts flipping through the sample binder like he’s clocking in at a job he plans to outperform.

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re awfully comfortable.”

he shrugs. “i like efficiency.”

but then he pauses. his fingers stop mid-turn over a page showcasing a trailing jasmine installation, its shape loose but elegant— intentional, but not rigid. something about the mess that makes sense.

he taps the page once.

“this one,” he asserts.

you blink. “…really?”

“your cousin will love it,” he replies simply. “you were right about the overgrown romantic thing.”

you stare at him.

not just because he said it. but because he said it like it cost nothing. like you being right was a given, not an anomaly. like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite ends of a never-ending argument.

“mark the calendar,” you mutter. “lee minho said something nice and no one has died.”

he rolls his eyes. “yet.”

the walkthrough begins in earnest. the florist leads you both through timelines, options, backup options. you follow her across the studio, scribbling in your notebook, nodding in all the right places, but your eyes keep drifting back to minho.

he’s not watching you. he’s not really watching anything.

he’s tracking.

when your pen slips from your notebook, he catches it mid-fall and sets it silently beside your hand. when the florist struggles with the ladder, he steps in without hesitation, holding it steady with one hand while helping rearrange a stubborn garland with the other. when she asks if you'd prefer the jasmine woven through the arch or draped more freely, you pause, unsure— and minho just says, quietly, “the drape. it catches the light better.”

you watch him without meaning to.

watch the way he folds his sleeves again as they start to slide. how he wipes his palms on his pants before handling delicate pieces. how he does things without being asked, does them well, and says nothing afterward.

it’s infuriating.

it’s— kind of amazing.

he’s not just good at this. he’s quietly good.

the kind of good that doesn’t need credit. that doesn’t point to his work when he’s done. that just makes sure the thing gets finished the way it’s supposed to.

you hate how the chaos seems less sharp when he’s near it.

you hate that you didn’t see it sooner.

you hate that you are seeing it now.

and you really, really hate the way your stomach flips when he steps back from the archway, nods at the florist, and says, “better. now it looks like it was meant to be here.”

what the hell is this supposed to mean?

later, as the florist talks through delivery dates, you find yourself zoning out just enough to realise how close the two of you are standing now. how his shoulder brushes yours each time he shifts weight. how he doesn’t seem to mind.

he notices everything, and yet— he doesn’t step away.

you’re not sure what that means.

you’re not sure you want to know.

you scribble a few final notes. mostly for show. your brain is a fog of jasmine, candle wax, and the smell of minho’s cologne that is unfortunately expensive and effective.

the florist asks for a final decision on what centrepieces and small motifs you’d like to order for the dining tables.

you open your mouth to speak, but before you do, minho leans forward, just slightly.

“she wants the low ones,” he affirms. “so people can see each other across the tables.”

the florist nods while ticking a section in her binder, then turns away.

you look at him.

not annoyed. not defensive.

just—

“how’d you know that?”

he shrugs. doesn’t look at you. “your eyes hovered over that section of the page for almost a full minute.”

you blink.

“…what?” he questions, catching your stare.

“nothing.”

“you’re doing the face.”

“what face?”

“the one where you realise i’m useful.”

you scoff. “i’d rather die.”

he grins.

not smirks. grins.

full, unguarded, slightly lopsided, but bright across his whole face. not for show, not for spite.

just for a second.

just for you.

and it hits you somewhere low and warm. something small but deep and entirely unprepared for.

you look away. immediately.

the florist clears her throat gently. you say something vaguely articulate.

he doesn’t look at you again.

when the meeting wraps, he helps pack the samples with the same quiet competence. he holds the door for her, thanks her for her time, checks the time and murmurs “on schedule, good” under his breath.

you linger by the car after. watching his hands as he scrolls through his calendar. efficient. focused.

you try not to notice his sharp knuckles or the veins raised along his wrists and hands that contorted with each of his movements.

you fail.

you used to think he was cold.

now you’re starting to wonder if he’s just careful.

and if maybe—just maybe—there’s more under that surface than either of you are ready to say out loud.

friday, 8:14pm

saturday, 12:48pm

sunday, 4:23pm

he should have said no to meeting at her place.

he should have said no the second the words “you can just come over, i have snacks and post-its” appeared in his texts like that was a normal thing to offer your co-planner. like it was a completely neutral suggestion to invite someone you had spent the past week or so bickering with into your living room with snacks and oddly aggressively colour-coded planning boards.

he told himself it was fine. he would stay an hour, maybe less. they would rearrange the seating chart, double-check the RSVPs, confirm vendor follow-ups, and move on. he wasn’t there to hang out. or linger. or notice things.

but now he was standing at your door, folder under his arm, coffee in his free hand, staring at the crooked little magnet on your front door that read:

no bad vibes (and also no men with opinions)

he stared at it for five seconds.

then knocked.

the door swung open on the second knock. you were already mid-sentence, wild and animated, one sock bunched halfway down your ankle like you hadn’t stopped moving all morning.

“ignore the mess,” you spoke quickly before he could get a greeting in, backing up into the apartment. “i’ve been in wedding-brain for three hours and i’m down a glue stick and most of my dignity.”

he stepped inside.

the first thing he noticed was the smell. vanilla and paper and something faintly like clean linen or lotion. the second thing was the absolute chaos spread across your living room floor. cushions tossed around a coffee table covered in seating cards, floor plan sketches, colour swatches, and the remains of what looked like a very enthusiastic snack run.

it looked like a storm made of washi tape had landed here and been told to get married.

“you said this would be a working meeting,” he said.

“this is a working meeting,” you replied, nudging a space clear on the floor for him to sit. “it just happens to include a little pizazz. and comfortableness. essentials!”

he didn’t roll his eyes. not outwardly.

but he did hesitate before lowering himself onto the floor beside you.

close. too close, maybe. but the coffee table left no room for distance.

“we’ll be quick,” he informed, opening his folder. “just seating and caterer reconfirmation. no need to—”

“minho,” you interrupted, reaching across him for a pen. “i designed laminated name tags! see?”

he blinked.

“you… laminated them?”

you held one up like it was a trophy, waving it proudly. “mhm, we’re not animals in this household.”

he didn’t respond. but he felt the corner of his mouth twitch once. involuntarily.

they settled into the work slowly.

or rather— you settled. you were cross-legged, phone propped against a jar of markers, flipping through guest notes and muttering about which side of the family was “least likely to start a scene,” or who was most incompatible with the elders of the family. your handwriting was neat but frantic. your mind, faster than your mouth.

he sat straighter. made notes in real time. watched your process like it was a foreign language he almost understood.

and slowly—almost annoyingly—he found himself syncing to it.

you spoke in half-formed ideas. he filled in the blanks.

you reached for one name, he already had it sorted alphabetically.

you frowned at the spacing when it felt off, he adjusted the layout with three quick gestures and no fanfare.

he didn’t ask questions. he didn’t announce when you had made a mistake. he just fixed it, no questions asked.

and for once, you didn’t fight him on it.

sometime between the third snack break and the fourth round of placements, he started noticing things.

like how you always tapped the side of her pencil twice before suggesting a change.

how you rechecked the same line of the guest list even after he’d confirmed it.

how you would squint at the chart with the intensity of someone trying to win an argument without saying a word.

and also— how your knee kept brushing his.

not deliberately. not flirtatiously. just the accidental contact of two people sitting too close for too long, both pretending not to notice.

but minho did notice.

he noticed it every time.

and the longer they sat there, the more aware of you he became. not in a distracting way. not even in a romantic one.

just… aware.

your perfume. faint. sweet. nothing showy. just you.

your fingers. always moving. fidgeting. rearranging.

your voice. lower when you were focused. softer.

your laugh, when you let it slip between sentences— unconfined, quick, like it surprised even you.

he didn’t want to learn these things. he just did.

“what if we moved table six next to the head table?” you suggested suddenly, breaking his spiral. “it’s awkward now, having these people out by the fireplace. it’s too far.”

he looked down at the map. then up at her.

you were biting the corner of her lip. unsure, for once.

he took the name cards. shifted the pieces around. slid your proposed change into place.

“you’re right,” he agreed.

you blinked. “i am?”

he nodded. “it balances the room.”

you smiled then— soft and easy. the kind that didn’t feel defensive or smug or rehearsed. the kind that made something buzz low in his throat.

“you’re not bad at this,” you hummed.

“you sound surprised.”

“just impressed. you didn’t even sigh once this time.”

“yet.”

you laughed again. this time, he let himself smile too.

they sat in that hush for a long moment. paper around them like flower petals. warm yellow light spilling from the lamp above. your shoulder barely brushing his. his thumb tapping absently against the corner of a card.

he didn’t say the thing in his throat.

the one that sounded a lot like you’re easier to be around than i thought. i like this more than i’m letting myself admit.

he didn’t say anything at all.

but when he reached for the final place card and your fingers met his halfway, neither of you pulled back.

not for a second.

then—finally—you stood, and stretched your arms above your head.

the moment broke like sugar glass.

“i’ll finalise this tonight,” you spoke. “unless you want to triple-check everything in your sleep.”

he stood too. adjusted his folder. gave you a look.

“only twice.”

you rolled your eyes.

he watched you without meaning to.

in the car, on the way back to his side of the city, he stared out the window.

not thinking about anything.

but not not thinking about you.

that was new.

monday, 10:02am

wednesday, 1:27pm

friday, 5:11pm

the sky is a melted spill of lavender and peach, the last sun-glow dipping behind the treetops. the breeze is warm for winter, dusted in late golden hour, and you’re adjusting the strap of your dress with a pit in your stomach and a buzzing under your skin.

you smooth your dress again. fix the collar of your coat. stare at your reflection in the hallway mirror like it might give you instructions.

just take a deep breath.

it’s just minho.

just minho, who once called your table styling “visually exhausting.” minho, who adjusted the itinerary once because your bullet points weren’t “uniform enough.” minho, who made planning feel like a chess match played with garden shears.

except tonight, you are fairly certain he is in a suit.

you do not know that for a fact, but you’ve heard him say “semi-formal” in the exact same tone most people say “murder,” and if he took it seriously—which he would—then he is absolutely out there right now dressed like a warning label for heartbreak.

you are not nervous. you are not. you are just slightly flushed from the glass of white wine you definitely did not drink to calm yourself. and maybe your hands are a little cold, and maybe your thoughts are not particularly safe for work, but—

you peek through the front window.

he’s here.

minho. suit-clad. leaning against the side of his car like he stepped out of a magazine editorial called brooding elegance. charcoal grey jacket and black slacks, tie tied almost too perfectly around his neck. his sleeves are rolled just slightly, enough to reveal forearms and a glint of silver watch that should not make you feel the way it does. his hair is still damp from a recent shower, the ends curling just above his temples.

you grip the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping your knees upright.

and then— your phone lights up. his name. your thumb hesitates above the screen before you answer.

“i’m outside,” he informs, voice smooth, low. irritatingly calm.

you nearly drop your phone. “be down in a sec,” you reply, breathless. “hold your horses. or whatever it is you drive.”

the door opens.

he turns.

you descend the steps one by one, heels soft against the concrete, coat draped over your arms, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes catch— how they stay fixed. the way he straightens up as if jolted by electricity.

he blinks. once. twice.

and then— he swears under his breath. quietly. reverently.

he’s trying to stay neutral. to act like your presence in that dress isn’t causing minor system failure. but he is not fooling anyone. especially not himself.

he opens the passenger door for you.

“you look—” he begins, but then his voice cuts out like he changed his mind halfway through.

“you’re driving?” you deflect, half-laughing, already sliding into the seat.

“i can legally operate a vehicle,” he feigns offense, but his mouth twitches into a smile. he sits in the drivers seat. “don’t act surprised.”

“no, it’s not that. it’s just…” you exhale and give him a pointed once-over. “you. suit. behind the wheel. how dare you.”

“oh how dare i, hm?”

his hands tense around the wheel, knuckles white.

“the way you said that. oh that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you murmur to yourself, quietly enough so that he doesn’t hear.

he does hear it.

the rest of the ride is quiet. not silent, not comfortable, charged. like someone turned the volume down on the world but turned the brightness way, way up.

his cologne coils low in your throat. something clean, something subtle, like cedar, cold water, and a hint of heat beneath. you keep your eyes ahead, fingers fidgeting in your lap, trying not to notice the line of his thigh pressed close, the way his hand flexes on the gearshift. the flick of his gaze toward you at every red light.

he doesn’t speak. but he feels. like static across your skin.

friday, 5:44pm

the venue is glowing when you arrive— fairy lights strung in loose constellations through the trellises, draping low over the courtyard like starlight caught in a net. soft instrumental music filters through hidden speakers, just shy of orchestral, just shy of overwhelming. it pools into the golden hour like it belongs there. like it was written to gild the edges of a night like this.

it’s elegant. lush. dizzying.

it’s everything you had wanted for your cousin. it’s everything you had drafted in sketches, pinterest boards, and blurry midnight notes in your phone.

and it feels real now.

you step inside. and minho is beside you.

not ahead, not trailing behind— just there. shoulder to shoulder. like the rhythm has been established and neither of you are willing to break it now.

you both field questions like co-hosts. not just efficient— seamless. one unit split between two bodies.

he defers to you on décor. you defer to him on vendor logistics. a glance is all it takes for a decision to be made.

people notice.

they always do.

someone’s aunt knocks over a glass of wine with a too-wide gesture. you both move at once— him for the glass, you for the napkins. he catches it mid-fall. you’re already blotting the linen. he holds the glass steady as you reach for it. your hands brush— barely.

neither of you says anything.

but your pulse thuds behind your ears.

he disappears at one point and reappears moments later with a new drink, no explanation. he does not ask if you want it. just places it beside your elbow like it belongs there. there for you if you were to want a fresh glass. he would be unoffended if you left it, you know. he just wants you to have what you want.

obviously only in the context of ease and convenience. nothing else.

you do not thank him out loud.

you just hand him a new place card for table five without being prompted.

this is how it goes now. reflexive. unspoken. comfortably in swing with each other.

you do not touch.

but you almost do.

when you reach across him for the floral sample, your sleeve brushes his wrist.

he doesn’t move.

at one point, you bend to fix the ribbon placement along the sweetheart table. he kneels beside you, adjusting the arrangement opposite your hands with quiet precision. you’re close— close enough to see the shadow of his lashes, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he concentrates.

you glance over to him.

he’s already looking at you.

and for one full second, neither of you look away.

your breath sticks.

his fingers pause mid-placement.

then—too fast—he clears his throat and shifts back like nothing happened.

“you handled that toast well,” he compliments—almost smugly—later, voice just behind your shoulder.

you turn your head, slightly.

he’s close enough that the scent of his cologne fogs your senses. warm. dark. something spiced that makes your head hum.

“was that a compliment?” you murmur, lips tilted.

he blinks once. then—quiet, like it’s an accident—he says, “maybe.”

you don’t answer.

but you also don’t move away.

you stand like that for a few long beats. shoulder to shoulder in the half-lit hallway, the sound of laughter echoing off the walls from the next room. the party goes on without you. but your body is tuned to him, now. to the static, the charge, the sharp ache of whatever this is becoming.

friday, 7:32pm

the courtyard is warm with late sun and champagne. the soft glimmer of fairy lights makes the air feel a little enchanted— like something impossible might happen if you just stepped a little farther into the gold.

you step back instead.

a soft breeze trails through the stone archway as you slip away from the bustle, away from the table setup and the politely enthusiastic relatives and the never-ending sea of questions. you don’t go far— just near the fountain, where the string music fades into a gentler hush and the flowers curl around the trellises like they grew just for tonight.

you breathe.

a moment. just one.

and then, your cousin appears. she’s still in rehearsal whites, hair pinned up loosely, glowing with that particular kind of joy that only belongs to the week before a wedding. when she sees you, she smiles like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

"you look like you needed rescuing," she laughs softly, linking her arm through yours.

you breathe out a soft laugh. "i was hiding."

"same thing."

you stand like that for a moment. the breeze is just warm enough, the laughter from inside low and soft like it's part of the décor.

she pulls back slightly to look at you. "so… how are things going with my two favourite planners?"

you snort. "we haven’t killed each other. yet."

"interesting," she hums, tilting her head, clearly playing innocent. "because it looked a lot like i saw minho refill your glass and brush the hair off your shoulder and laugh at something that was not remotely funny."

"he didn’t—"

"mmhm."

you blink, suddenly aware of the residual warmth in your chest. of the way you’d caught yourself watching him earlier— adjusting the lighting chart, jacket off, tie loosened, sleeves rolled. how he’d glanced over like he felt it too. like he was watching you back.

"he’s just being polite," you dismiss finally.

"he’s never been polite a day in his life."

you glare. "do you want me to plan your wedding or not."

she grins, completely unbothered. "just sayin’. you two are… something."

"something?"

"something. simmering."

a moment passes.

she rests her head briefly against your shoulder, voice gentler now. “thank you. for everything. i know this past time has been hell, i know how he can be to deal with sometimes. i know i dumped you into this on the spot when i asked you.”

you shake your head. “no, you didn’t. i said yes. and… i’m glad i did.”

“even with him?”

“…maybe especially with him.”

she smiles. then, her head perks up like she’s just remembered something.

"anyway—before i forget—do you have next weekend blocked out?"

you furrow your brows. "uh. no? what’s next weekend? i didn't think i had forgotten something was on..."

"oh no, you didn't forget. i just booked this yesterday. it's a super crazy catering presentation, with that chef group you picked out—great taste, by the way. it’s at their fancy vineyard estate a few hours out. the head chef wants you and minho to sample the full menu and sign off."

"that sounds…" you trail off, suspicious.

"delicious?" your cousin offers.

"inconvenient."

"it’s in the evening," she says, all fake-cheerful. "they’re serving everything as a full-course dinner. with champagne pairings. and the estate insists on overnight guests to ‘ensure palette clarity’ or some crap."

"girl—"

"relax. i already booked the room."

"the room? singular?"

"the one room they had left."

you stare at her.

she smiles like she just got away with a crime. "it’s all they had on short notice! i said you were very close coworkers."

"you’re going to hell."

"worth it."

you cover your face with both hands. she hugs you sideways.

"you’re welcome," she smiles into your shoulder. "only good can come from this."

friday, 9:17pm

the champagne goes straight to your head.

not a lot. but just enough.

you’re perched beside him on a low stone ledge in the garden, empty glasses between you, the air full of murmuring laughter and distant violin.

you’re tipsy. not sloppy. you’re still completely in control, just loose around the edges.

your cheeks are warm. your guard’s cracked.

you glance sideways. he’s got one arm draped across his knee, suit jacket folded neatly over a nearby chair, dress shirt unbuttoned just slightly at the collar, tie abandoned to his pocket.

“you look really—” you start. pause. sip your drink even though it’s empty. “—stupid hot tonight.”

minho stills.

you don’t look at him when you say it. you stare straight ahead. pretend it was a joke. a mistake. a side effect of the alcohol.

but he turns slowly.

you feel the weight of his gaze like a hand on your throat.

he says nothing.

he doesn’t need to.

the air shifts. tightens.

his knee brushes yours.

you don’t move.

he should say something. you should say something.

instead, you both just sit in it. the weight of what was said and what wasn’t. the electric hum under your skin. the way your eyes catch on the curve of his mouth every time he exhales.

someone calls you both back, instantly shattering any moment you both were in. minho helps you up and aside to let you reenter the building first, his palm lightly brushing the centre of your back to guide you.

you almost thank him.

you almost reach for his wrist as you pass.

but neither of you breaks the silence.

instead, you fall back into step.

like gravity.

like a pattern already written.

and in every step beside him, in every look passed between wine glasses and candles, the truth lingers beneath the surface:

you are not pretending to hate each other anymore.

but you are still pretending not to want.

and that’s worse.

so much worse.

friday, 10:01pm

it’s later that night, and the party is starting to splinter— guests leaving in soft clusters, heels in hands, speeches echoing in their laughter. minho stands near the exit, nursing the last half of a drink that’s long since lost its chill.

minho does not look for you.

he’s been doing that all night. too much. too obviously.

so now, he’s looking at the chandelier. or the gift table. or absolutely anything that isn’t the swing of your dress across the room.

"you’re brooding," comes a voice to his left.

he turns slowly, and sees the groom looking back at him.

"i’m standing," minho replies.

"brooding while standing, then." his friend clinks their glasses together. “what’s going on with you and my fiancée’s cousin?”

minho exhales through his nose. “nothing.”

"mhmm. and yet here you are, glowering into your whiskey like a tortured protagonist.”

"we’re working."

"you’re working,” the groom echoes, nodding with mock seriousness. “working together. respectfully. professionally. with all that almost-hand-touching and deep eye contact."

minho sips his drink and says nothing.

"anyway," the groom says, smirking now, "the missus told me i was meant to give you a heads-up."

minho raises a brow.

"about next weekend. the vineyard. she booked you both in for the catering run-through."

“right,” minho nods. “the dinner thing was mentioned to me earlier in passing.”

“it’s a whole presentation now,” the groom replies. “chef’s running a full-course mock-up— wine pairings, menu tasting, all that. they’re trying to make a night of it. impress you.”

minho nods once. this was practical. expected, even.

then the groom adds, far too casually: “and they’ve got a room ready for you two.”

minho pauses. “a room?”

“mhm. they only had one left. something about peak wedding season. it's been booked already.”

there’s a beat of silence. the music has shifted— slow, distant, some soft piano instrumental echoing through the space like the tail end of a love story.

minho sets his glass down with a little more force than necessary.

“it’s not weird,” the groom offers, attempting nonchalance. “it’s a huge room. i think. probably. big vineyard. rustic charm. candles and shit. very aesthetic.”

“why would i care,” minho says, voice tight. his attempt to cover the fact that he in fact does care is futile.

the groom’s expression shifts— just slightly. “you shouldn’t. obviously. but you do look a little…”

"i don’t."

“…weirdly tense about it.”

minho closes his eyes for half a second. opens them again.

“we’re professionals,” he breathes evenly. “we’ll manage.”

"mm. you do seem like you're managing. especially when you aren’t staring at her for three minutes straight across the bar."

minho doesn’t reply.

he picks up his jacket from the back of the chair. straightens the collar. and ignores the grin spreading across his friend’s face.

"if it helps," the groom remarks, one last parting shot, “from the time that i've known her, i think she likes working with you.”

minho freezes for half a breath.

then leaves. the silence swells around him, full of everything he didn’t say. didn’t ask.

she likes working with you.

he lets the words sink in.

one room.

one dinner.

not a problem.

not a problem at all.

this might be a problem.

friday, 10:37pm

on the way back, the silence is unbearable.

minho drives.

his right hand stays steady on the wheel, knuckles tight with restraint, the other resting uselessly on the gear shift as though it needs something to grip— anything to ground him. the interior of the car smells like you. your perfume, the faintest trace of champagne on your breath, your laughter still echoing somewhere in the seams of the leather seats.

you do not speak.

you do not dare.

your body is turned slightly toward the window, knees angled just enough to look casual, but not distant. the air between you is vibrating, humming with the static of everything that did not get said. your thigh brushes his once—accidental. then again, more like a whisper. more like your skin asking a question it cannot voice.

he does not flinch.

you are thinking things you are not supposed to think.

what his mouth would taste like— how it would feel to pull him in by the collar and kiss him like you mean it. what sound he would make if you said his name like a secret. if his hands would hesitate or devour. whether his tie is still tucked into his coat pocket and whether he would ever let you tug on it just once.

you grip the hem of your coat tighter in your fists.

outside, the streetlights paint passing gold ribbons across your thighs, your cheek, the line of his jaw when you steal a glance.

a red light.

you risk it.

you look at him.

and he is already watching you.

his eyes are dark, unreadable. but something inside them flickers— something raw and wrecked and wanting. his jaw is tense. his mouth parted like there are words balanced right there on the edge, waiting to tumble out if only he could bear to say them.

he opens his mouth.

your breath catches. you feel it— feel the shift, the second the air grows tight and ready to snap. your lips part too, like maybe this is it. maybe this is the moment everything gives way.

but then—

the light turns green.

he exhales like he’s been holding it in for hours.

and he drives.

he walks you to your door because he is polite. because he is eighty-five percent sure you're still tipsy, and you actually don’t know what you’re doing. (you do know). because if he leaves without seeing you inside, he will worry. because if he leaves without one last look, he will break.

you fumble with your keys.

your hands shake a little— not obviously, not enough for him to comment, but you feel it. the adrenaline of something almost-born still stuttering beneath your ribs. you glance up once, open your mouth. the words are right there, tucked beneath your tongue. i wanted to kiss you. i don’t hate you anymore. i don’t want to pretend.

but he speaks first.

“goodnight.”

simple. even. too smooth to be accidental.

you blink.

“…goodnight,” you echo.

neither of you moves.

he stands there, hands in the pockets of his coat, chest rising slowly. you think he might lean in again, just slightly, barely perceptible— but you see it. you feel it. like the universe is teetering forward with him.

his gaze traces the outline of your lips.

your collarbone.

your eyes.

you are all heat, all pulse, and all maybe, and he is looking at you like he might do something unforgivable.

but then— he tilts his head. just a fraction. and steps back.

“see you soon, get some rest,” he mutters, voice thick, rough around the edges like it scraped against everything he did not say.

you nod. even though you are not ready. even though your mouth aches with every unspoken thing you swallowed down instead.

the door closes softly behind you.

you lean against it. then slide down to the floor in your stupid pretty dress and too-warm skin and heartbeat that does not know how to calm down. you press your palm flat to the hardwood flooring, like if you stay there long enough you might still feel the echo of his footsteps through it.

you want to tell him to come back. say something. scream.

instead, you just sit there, clutching your coat like it might explain anything.

outside, he does not move.

minho stands under the porch light, eyes fixed on the crack between your curtains, trying to convince himself to turn around. to breathe. to forget.

but he can't.

his hands curl into fists inside his pockets, like they’re holding him together. like if he loosens one finger, the whole thing might break.

minho doesn't sleep that night.

and neither do you.

both of you lying in separate beds, in separate parts of the city, thinking the exact same thing:

i should have said something.

i should have kissed them.

but the window of opportunity has closed. and the night has carried on, leaving you in the dust.

saturday, 11:04am

the morning is too bright.

you wake with your cheek pressed into your pillow and your hand curled beneath your chin, the imprint of last night’s makeup faint against the fabric. your mouth is dry. your hair smells like champagne and something floral.

you do not open your eyes right away.

you are remembering things. not dreams— real things.

his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside like it was nothing.

the look he gave you when you stepped into the car.

the silence between you, thick enough to drown in.

you should have said something.

you roll onto your back with a hefty sigh, blanket kicked to the floor, one arm draped across your stomach like it might hold the ache there still. it is not a romantic ache. not a lovesick one. it is sharper than that. brighter. like your body is still buzzing from a voltage it was never allowed to discharge.

your phone is facedown on your nightstand. you consider ignoring it.

you do not.

the screen lights up in your palm— no messages from him. no messages to him, either. not yet.

your text thread from yesterday is still open, like it’s waiting for one of you to admit something.

it mocks you.

you type out thanks for the ride

then delete it.

you type what would you have done if i brought you inside?

then delete it.

you type did you get home okay?

then delete that too.

you lock your phone and toss it gently across the bed.

in the kitchen, your kettle sputters to life, and you lean against the counter, waiting, eyes still swollen from too little sleep. your dress is still pooled on the chair. your heels by the door.

you don’t feel bad.

you just feel… unsettled.

as if something important almost happened.

as if it still might.

somewhere across the city, minho sits on the edge of his bed, tie still crumpled in the pocket of his coat, phone in his hand. his thumb hovers above your name, unread messages unsent.

he’d meant to text.

he’d meant to say goodnight, or you looked beautiful, or what would you have done if i leaned in?

he doesn’t text any of those things.

instead, he gets up, drags a hand through his hair, and stares at the mess on his desk— your invitation designs, your schedules, your ceremony timings.

everything in its place.

everything but this.

he thinks about your perfume.

the way you looked at him when you said that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.

how your fingers almost touched his at the stoplight.

how he almost said i wanted to kiss you and instead said nothing at all.

he makes coffee, and proceeds to not drink it.

he tells himself to let it go.

he knows he won’t.

you sip your tea slowly.

you scroll through photos you do not remember taking— random areas of the venue, family members you haven’t seen in too long, and only one of minho. it appears to have been taken in a random room at the venue, you think he was speaking with some vendors? the memory is foggy. it’s a candid image, and your slightly blurred-drunken photography gives it a dreamy look, making him appear even more ethereal than you remember.

you stop on that one and stare at it for a long time. it’s like you’re frozen in a daze, he’s so capturing.

then, you open your messages with him and him the image.

just that.

no message. no caption. no follow-up.

you leave your phone on the counter and walk away.

when you return five minutes later, there’s a reply.

your heart stutters once.

you close the thread.

and smile. freely.

you’re alone, and you’re sick of pretending he isn’t the reason for it.

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thanks for reading chapter two! keep hanging around for chapter three and beyond <3

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[sicvitaest27]

I’d like to give my two cents on this subject, as an author myself.

Honestly, I consider myself quite a free speaker, and will ask if I have something to ask, just as I’ll comment, when I have something to comment. Also, when I’m done with the story, I’m more than happy to give feedback.

Of course, I understand that one of the beautiful things about writing WIP s is that real time interaction with readers, as the story progresses. But, for me personally, I do find myself waiting for the story to continue, without having the need to input anything. Not because I don’t care about the story, just because I understand what is going on, the direction, and everything else is just explained well, so there’s nothing really prompting me to ask anything, for it would, probably, be spoiler territory.

Now, of course, theories and whatnot are always welcome, but, there’s only so much theories that can be made about a story; and that heavily depends on how vague the story is being written, and don’t even get me started of people guessing and guessing, and then, by so many guesses, finish the story before you even get a chance to conclude it yourself. That’s a totally different can of worms, that I do not want to get myself into at the moment😂

Now, when an author explicitly asks a question to the readers, sure, it is always a welcome thing to answer, but, it should be considered that, unless they have enabled the notifications from a specific blog, chances are, that, if they follow a lot of blogs and people, they simply won’t see it, and for the ones that do, not all of them will feel the urge to respond. Why? I don’t know, that’s just their preference, and the reasonings are their own, and that’s okay. That’s how it is.

I’m relatively close to submitting a story of my own, and honestly, I would love to have interaction with the readers, for them to tell me how did they like the story, the characters, but I understand if they don’t, because, 9 times out of 10, I first, don’t find myself having the need to give constant feedback, and if that’s the case for me, I can’t put different expectations onto others.

But that’s just normal. That’s why you see games on steam, that everyone knows have sold millions, yet have only 300 reviews, or IF s on steam, that have authors on tumblr, and they are writing a second book for their IF, and there’ll still be barely any questions about it, or any theories.

Would I want for the community to be more active? Absolutely, but only because I want people to have a good time, and to feel free to have that good time, without thinking that they’re going to be subjected to whatever. But, if they are still here, following along, then that’s fine too, and that shouldn’t affect the authors, because, I understand that it’s always good to get that engagement, because that tells you that you’re doing something that’s worth doing, worth more than you may initially think, but, as an artist, you should do it because of yourself, first and foremost.

This is not a rant, and this is not a comment made against anyone who feels differently than what I just said; you’re justified in that, and I do feel you, trust me, but, as long as people want to stick around and enjoy your stories, then I say let them! And, if they wish to talk to the brilliant mind behind the story, then by all means, but I don’t see a point in trying to force something to do that. Because, even encouraging can be viewed like that, and I doubt that any of us want that.

So, to conclude this, yes, the community may have gone a tad bit quieter, and the reasons for that are unknown to me, but, should that change? Hopefully, but if not, then hell, it is what it is. There are certainly many factors and reasons that can be taken into account for that, but, what I advocate for, is for people to be comfortable and have a good time. And for authors, to do this because they truly like doing it, and, as Toni Morrison had put it, “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” That’s how I view my writing. No one’s written this, in this specific setting or this specific way, with these specific characters, and so, I shall write it, and if people like it? That’s just icing on the cake.

Anyhow, to all my fellow authors, I feel you, I truly do, but hey, things change the way they do, but that shouldn’t demotivate you. People will express themselves when they wish to do so, for reasons only they have, and that’s also fine as well. Hopefully, folks will get more comfortable, for the IF community is a lovely community, which offers a safe space for everyone, but, if they just wish to follow along, let them. It’s all you can really do. Cheers to everyone, and love to all🥂🖤

I think a lot of authors have noticed this lately: Likes, comments, reblogs with reviews... everything seems to be getting quieter. Stories go on, chapters come out, but all too often, it's a great silent nothingness that greets them.

Are we at fault, or is it something else? Yet you're there, we can see you raising the view counters on our demos.

I'm not here to lecture or beg for anything. I'd just like to understand, as many other authors do, why ? Because this statement is the result of a growing concern? Depression?among our ranks. To the degree that some of us have come to say: What's the point?

I'd just like to remind you of one thing: a story is alive, yes, but ! It's alive thanks to you, not just to us.

Every word you read, every emotion you feel, every theory you silently formulate: it's all part of the magic of a story, and it needs to be shared. When you share it all, a comment, a reblog with a fews words, even a brief reaction, that's when it really comes together, you're blowing on the story's flame! You fuel it, make it tangible. You give it a life that an author, alone in front of their screen, can't always sustain over time. Believe me, we try... Some are more gifted than others, but I'm all for helping each other.

Because yes, we write out of passion, out of desire, out of need. Yes, we love our worlds. But the impetus, the joy, the motivation, the feeling of really being read, all that is also born from exchange.

So here it is, just a quick note to say that if you like or don't like something, please say so. No need for a big dissertation but there's nothing worse than silence, it's the great reaper of our aspirations and I don't want to let it win.

And to my author friends: you're not alone. 💙

[alltimecharlo]

Willmack high-school au where Leno convinces Mack – the junior Will has a huge crush on – to help him eliminate Will in the senior assassin game. So they make up this super detailed plan, which is basically Mack and Will spending the whole day together (on a date!!) and Leno following them, but nothing goes as it should

With maybe a plot twist in the end🫣

this was fun anon!! i went for something a little different with leno’s pov!!👀 i thought it would work quite well hehe🩵

Leno crouches behind the hedge with his hoodie pulled low and the neon green water pistol clutched tightly in his hand like it’s a live weapon. It’s not his proudest moment. But it could be his most successful.

Across the park, he sees them. Mack and Will. Sitting on the picnic bench Leno had watched Mack choose earlier that day like he was scouting a sniper perch. They’re laughing. Will’s got his legs curled up under him like a kid, sipping some awful carbonated smoothie thing he brought from the convenience store. Mack’s leaning in, stupid grin on his face, and Will looks like he’s going to combust. That grin is not survivable.

Leno sighs. Loudly. Into the dirt.

This was his plan. Well, mostly. Technically it was Leno’s idea for Mack to ask Will out, because everyone knew Will had the kind of high school crush on Mack that they’d write about in yearbooks or, like, scribble into the back of their SAT prep books. He got dreamy. He got stupid. He followed Mack around like a puppy.

So, obviously, Leno had gone to Mack and said, “Help me take Will out in Assassin. Just ask him on a date or something.”

He’d said it as a joke. Kind of.

Mack had blinked at him for a second and then just—shrugged. Said, “Yeah, alright.”

Now here they are.

Except… Leno hadn’t expected them to actually look like they were enjoying themselves. He definitely hadn’t expected Will to come bounding up to him earlier that day like, “Dude. DUDE. Mack asked me out. Like, not just hang out. Out out. We’re getting slushies. We’re walking to the park. Am I dreaming?”

Leno had nodded like a broken marionette and spent the next six hours internally screaming.

Now they’re laughing at something. Mack throws his head back. Will’s cheeks are pink. The sun is shining like the weather itself ships it. And Leno is here, about to ambush them with a water gun.

He hesitates.

But—he also really wants to win Assassin.

So he moves. Darting from the hedge, around the trash can, crouching behind a tree like some kind of cartoon villain. He’s got the pistol raised. Will’s facing him, backlit by the sun, sipping his smoothie through a neon pink straw. It’s perfect. Leno launches forward.

The water hits Will square in the chest.

“ARGH,” Will yelps, flailing backward and shoving Mack out of the way like Mack’s in danger from a sniper, not from a glorified squirt toy. His smoothie crashes to the ground, sacrificed in the line of duty. “MACK! GET DOWN—wait. Wait a sec—”

Mack is laughing already, hands raised like he’s innocent. Leno drops the water gun and doubles over.

Will stares at Leno, then at Mack, then down at his soaked hoodie and jeans. Then he squints. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry,” Leno wheezes. “I couldn’t resist.”

Will’s face twists. “Wait. So. So that means. You—” He turns to Mack, all puppy betrayal. “You asked me out to help Leno win a game?”

Leno’s laugh dies in his throat.

But Mack’s already stepping forward, hands out like he wants to fix this with touch alone. “No. I mean—yeah. I told him I’d help. But, Will, I swear, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages. I just… I didn’t know how. And then this happened and it was dumb but I really meant it.”

Will looks at him. His whole expression does a little flicker—hurt, confusion, then slowly… something else. Something softer.

“You mean it?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Mack says, fierce now. “You think I’d waste my one shot at a first date with you like this if I didn’t mean it?”

Will cracks a smile. “I mean, I do have a puddle in my lap.”

Leno winces. “So… technically I helped you both. A little thank-you would be nice?”

Will throws him a Look. “Don’t push it.”

Leno holds up his hands. “Fair.”

Will’s still smiling, water dripping down his hoodie. Mack’s cheeks are red but he looks like he might float out of his sneakers. Leno sighs and drops onto the grass beside them.

“Romance is weird,” he mutters.

But hey. At least he’s still in the game.

♡