#a screen. nothing more. if i had said something else; would it have changed things? would you remember me differently? would i have been…

[th0tformikasa]

Sorry about dinner..

summary- Bucky missed your dinner plans

pairings - Bucky Barnes x gn!reader

warnings- mentions of blood

wc: 889, masterlist | taglist

~~~

You had been slightly annoyed. Well—maybe more disappointed than anything. Tonight was supposed to be dinner out with Bucky. Something you’d both been looking forward to. But then he texted, asking if you could push things back… and switch it to dinner at home.

Fine. You told yourself something must’ve come up.

Bucky was always on time. Early, even. Never late. It was one of those things you’d come to count on—steady, reliable, him. So you tried not to let the change of plans bother you.

At first.

You’d gone ahead and cooked anyway, wanting the food to be hot and waiting when he walked through the door. But that had been two hours ago. Two hours of pacing, of peeking out the window at every sound, of telling yourself he’d be here any minute.

Eventually you’d given up, sliding the food into containers and stacking it neatly in the fridge. The apartment had grown too quiet, too heavy, so you curled up on the couch under a blanket, half-distracted by a teen romance show you were oddly obsessed with. The kind of thing Bucky would shake his head at and then end up secretly watching right along with you.

But as the minutes stretched into another hour, your disappointment shifted into something else. Worry.

Why wasn’t he home? What came up? Was he okay?

You chewed at your lip, phone clutched in your hand, before finally typing out another message.

“Is everything okay, Bucky? Call me.”

Delivered 10:33.

You stared at the screen, willing the dots to appear, willing it to buzz with his voice on the other end. This wasn’t normal for him. Not answering. Not checking in.

He may have been over a hundred years old, but Bucky Barnes knew how to use a phone. And if he wasn’t answering yours… something was wrong.

At some point, exhaustion won out. You dozed off still curled on the couch, blanket pulled tight around you. You hadn’t meant to—you’d promised yourself you’d stay up, just to make sure he came home.

The sound of keys jingling snapped you awake. The front door creaked open, soft and hesitant, like whoever was entering didn’t want to make a sound.

Your eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep. The heel of your hand rubbed against them, trying to chase away the haze.

“Bucky?” you called, voice small and groggy.

“Hey…” His reply was quiet, almost careful.

That tone alone had your heart skipping. You sat up straighter, blinking at him—and instantly, the fog of sleep disappeared.

He stood in the doorway, cut on his lip, blood still drying along his temple, bruises scattered across his jaw and knuckles. Not catastrophic—nothing you hadn’t seen before—but enough to make your chest tighten.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” you snapped, shooting to your feet and rushing toward him. The blanket fell uselessly to the floor.

“I’m sorry about dinner, love,” he murmured, voice rough and tired. His shoulders slumped, like even standing upright was more effort than he had left in him.

You closed your eyes for a second, pulling in a shaky breath to steady yourself. Dinner? Dinner?

When you opened them again, your worry broke through your frustration. “I’m not—God, Bucky, I’m not worried about dinner. What happened to you?”

He tried to give you a small smile, but it pulled at his split lip. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Your glare told him you weren’t buying it, not even a little. You pressed your hands to his chest, not pushing him away, but grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him.

“Next time,” you said, softer now, eyes searching his, “you call me. Or I swear, Buck, dinner will be the least of your problems.”

His laugh was low and rumbling, even as his hands found your waist. “Yes, ma’am.”

But when he leaned forward to kiss your temple, you felt the smallest tremor in him. And that was when you knew—he needed you more than dinner, more than scolding, more than anything else tonight.

“Do I have Steve to blame for you getting into this mess?” you asked, eyebrow arched.

Bucky gave a tired half-smile. “Yeah… he called. Needed help with some Avengers stuff.”

You shook your head with a sigh. “Alright, then. Next time I see him, I’ll have a word.”

That earned you the faintest chuckle. “Don’t threaten Steve on my behalf.”

“Who says it’s a threat?” you shot back, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh.

His eyes softened then, lingering on you longer than they should have. “Tell me you didn’t stay up waiting.”

You tilted your head, smirking gently. “Well, I’m not a liar.”

Your hands came up to his jaw, light and careful, thumbs brushing over stubble as you studied his face like he might vanish if you blinked. “Let’s go fix you up.”

“I’ll be better by tomorrow,” he murmured, almost stubborn, though the warmth in his voice gave him away.

“I know,” you whispered back, lips curving into a small smile. “But I still like to care for you.”

His gaze searched yours, something unspoken flickering in his tired blue eyes. And when he leaned into your touch just slightly, like he couldn’t help it—like he’d finally let himself need you—you knew tomorrow could wait. Tonight was yours.

~~~

an: bucky come home to me bruised i’ll literally lick you clean!!!

[redley-of-many-noodles]

*holding writhing bag of shitty memes*

I GOT THE MORBS, START UP THE GRINDER

[goldenbrowns]

˳೫˚ BUCKY BARNES THOUGHT

summary: bucky being sensitive and pent-up after hydra — considering he hasn’t been touched or had sex since the forties, he completely falls apart the first time you take care of him. word count: 2k warning: minors dni, smut, soft!dom reader, sub!bucky, handjob, dirty talking.

Ever since you and Bucky had become official about a month or two ago, you noticed how he seemed to avoid getting close in certain ways. Not emotionally — just intimacy. Whenever the moment felt right, he’d get nervous, suddenly distracted, or find some urgent reason to leave the room. It wasn’t like him to shut you down like that, but you never pushed. You figured he was scared — scared of being vulnerable, embarrassed, or maybe just unsure how to be himself again after everything he’d been through.

You understood. Deep down, you knew Hydra had taken more from him than just his freedom. It had stolen his ability to connect on that level, left him raw and hesitant.

Over time, you also started to notice something else: how pent up he seemed. It was little things—the way his whole energy was taut, like a wire stretched too tight. His brows often furrowed more than necessary, a subtle sign of stress that never fully left him. Even his reactions to the simplest things gave it away. The way he’d release a shaky breath whenever your hug squeezed him just a little too much—the length of him pressing hard against you from under the fabric of his sweatpants. And naturally, the way his lashes would flutter shut when your lips brushed softly against his neck, his eyes glazing over, leaving him looking completely helpless.

Bucky was obviously shy about sex—there was no other way to say it. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the poor guy hadn’t touched anyone in decades. He was clearly embarrassed, fumbling for the right words because he’d never been good at talking about this stuff. The whole situation made your heart ache even more. You wanted to be the one to give him that release, that high he had to have been craving for so long. You wanted to be the one to push him over the edge, to make him feel good—because after everything, he deserved nothing less.

And you couldn’t lie—it’s something you’d fantasized about more times than you’d admit. The face he’d make when he finally let go, the breathy little noises he’d try to hold back but wouldn’t be able to. Maybe even a shaky string of “thank you’s” slipping from his lips while you stroked him, his body trembling beneath you, overwhelmed with pleasure he hadn’t felt in years. You wanted that. You wanted him like that. Desperate, undone, yours.

Today the whole team had decided to watch a movie together, everyone packed onto the couches, blankets thrown around, popcorn bowls scattered. Everything was normal—until a sex scene came on screen.

Bucky had his arm draped behind your neck, casual at first, his fingers lightly brushing your shoulder. But the second the moaning started from the TV, you felt it—his hand tensed, curling into the fabric of the couch. His breathing changed too, slower but uneven, like he was trying too hard to stay calm. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow movements, and when you turned to look at him, his jaw was clenched, lips parted just slightly, and his eyes—glossy and unfocused—were fixed straight ahead like he couldn’t trust himself to blink.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, leaning in close.

He blinked quickly and swallowed hard. “Y-yeah,” he muttered, voice hoarse, his tone far from convincing. “I’m fine, jus’ they didn’t have this on TV when i was younger.” He said trying to joke, sending you a fake laugh. You nodded and kept any comment to yourself to avoid embarrassing him any longer.

You glanced down for half a second and saw it—the firm outline of his length straining painfully beneath his sweatpants, you swore you saw it twitching . He shifted in his seat, subtle but obvious to you, trying to angle his hips away like that would somehow hide how worked up he was. His cheeks were flushed, his fingers drumming anxiously against the cushion, like if he didn’t move, he might come undone right there in front of everyone.

The poor thing looked like he was about to combust from just a few minutes of on-screen tension. So pent-up he could barely breathe through it. And yet still, he tried to pretend it was nothing—tried to keep that fragile composure he always clung to when he was close to slipping.

Later that night, after the movie ended and everyone shuffled off to their rooms, you and Bucky moved in silence. But the air between you crackled—thick with tension, heat barely restrained.

He was quiet as he peeled off his shirt, his back to you, slow like he wasn’t sure if he should. Then came his sweatpants, pushed down and left in a crumpled heap on the floor, and he stood there in nothing but those low-sitting plaid boxers, clinging tight to his hips.

You didn’t even try to look away.

His body was unfair—lean and sculpted, muscles flexing with every little movement, abs etched deep like they’d been carved. But it was the sharp cut of his v-line disappearing under his waistband that made something inside you snap. That, and the way his length was already pressing faintly against the fabric, twitching with every breath he took.

The moment he pulled the blanket back and sat on the edge of the bed, you moved—no hesitation, no warning. You crawled into his lap, straddling him.

“Wha—baby,” he stuttered, eyes going wide as his hands flew to your waist, gripping you gently like he didn’t know whether to stop you or pull you closer. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t answer. You just rocked your hips once—slow, firm—your core pressing directly against the length hidden beneath those thin boxers. Then you just leaned in and kissed him.

Soft at first. Just your lips brushing his, testing, coaxing. But the second he felt it—your warmth, your intention—Bucky melted. His fingers tightened on your waist, pressing you down against his lap as his hips unconsciously bucked up into yours. His mouth opened to yours with a quiet, broken sound. A soft whine slipped from the back of his throat.

His grip on your waist tightened, and he kissed you back—desperate, unpracticed, but so full of want. Every time your lips moved against his, a soft, broken sound slipped from his throat. Whines, low and needy, muffled between kisses like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.

Every time your hips shifted, even just a little, he let out the most delicate, involuntary noises—so quiet, so ashamed of them, like he didn’t want you to hear how deeply he felt everything.

But then, just as your hips began to grind faster, you felt his hands pause on your waist.

“Um- I should probably take a shower ,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “Y’know, long day and all…”

You pulled back, just enough to look at him.

“Why do you always run from this?” you asked, your voice soft, not accusing—just wanting to understand.

He sat there frozen for a moment, staring down at your thighs on either side of him, his lips slightly parted, breath shaking.

Then he sighed. His shoulders slumped a little, like he’d just dropped a weight he’d been carrying too long.

“I’m embarrassed” he admitted finally, voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach you. “I haven’t… done any of this in so long. I don’t even know if I remember how.”

He glanced up at you, eyes full of guilt, of shame, of fear that he’d disappoint you.

“What if I’m not good at it anymore?” he said, his voice cracking. “What if I can’t make you feel good? You deserve the best. You deserve to… to fall apart over and over again and I—” He swallowed, brows furrowing hard. “I’m afraid I won’t last. That I won’t be enough.”

Your heart ached at the way he said it. At how much he clearly wanted to give you everything—but didn’t believe he could.

You cupped his face gently, brushing your thumb along the edge of his cheek. “Bucky,” you whispered. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You just have to let yourself feel. We can take our time… together.”

He blinked fast, like he was trying not to tear up, his jaw trembling beneath your hand.

“I just wanna be good for you,” he whispered. “I just… I want you to want me.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “Aw, baby. I already do”

And in that silence between your words, he finally started to believe it.

You kissed the corner of his mouth—soft, tender. And in the quiet after, you felt something inside him shift. He let out the tiniest breath, shaky and unsure, but open.

Your hands moved down slowly, no rush, no pressure. This wasn’t about getting off. This wasn’t for you. This was his.

When your fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, you felt the heat of him instantly—feverish, twitching, like his body had been holding back for far too long.

And when you finally freed his cock, it sprang forth with a heavy pulse, flushed and swollen, already leaking at the tip. It throbbed visibly in the open air, twitching in rhythm with his shallow breaths, as if even the coolness of the room was too much.

Bucky let out a choked, embarrassed sound, his forearm covering part of his face as he turned away slightly. “S-sorry,” he stammered, as though he had anything to be ashamed of.

But to you, he looked beautiful. So painfully hard it almost looked like it hurt—his cock thick and flushed deep at the tip, slick with arousal. You could see how pent-up he truly was, how his body had been aching for even the slightest touch. Every tiny movement you made had it twitching in your grasp, pulsing against your fingers like it had been waiting for this—for you—for far too long.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, your hand finally grasping at his shaft.

His breath caught in his throat, and he gasped when your fingers wrapped around him—hot and heavy, twitching in your palm like just your touch was too much.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, brows knitting together as his hips jerked up instinctively. His thighs trembled beneath you. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t help it.”

“You don’t need to,” you murmured. “Just let go.”

You stroked him slow and gentle, the way you’d imagined a dozen times—thumb gliding over his tip, smearing the slick that had already gathered there. His head tipped back, lips parted in breathy moans he couldn’t hide, couldn’t control.

His body was shaking under yours, muscles twitching, his length throbbing in your hand like he’d been aching for this for years.

“I-It’s too much,” he gasped, voice cracking. “You’re so good to me… I don’t know what to do.”

You kissed his cheek, your hand never stopping its slow, coaxing rhythm.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby,” you whispered. “Just let me take care of you. You deserve this.”

His hips bucked up again, completely at your mercy now, as needy whines spilled from him freely—desperation, relief, and disbelief all tangled into each sound. And still, he tried to hold on.

His hips had lost all rhythm, bucking up against your hand with instinct alone—clumsy, desperate, his body trembling beneath yours like he couldn’t take any more. His abs flexed under your palm, every breath a shallow gasp. His head tipped back, throat exposed, lips parted as soft, broken whines escaped him without filter.

His cock sliding skillfully in your hand, hot and soaked with need, leaking over your fingers as you milked him with slow, purposeful care.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, your voice honey-sweet in his ear. “Just let yourself feel it.”

“I—fuck,” he gasped, fingers gripping your waist like he’d fall apart without you. “It feels so good. I didn’t think—God—I didn’t know it could feel this good.”

You kissed under his jaw as he moaned again, hips twitching helplessly into your palm. “I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

He did.

His entire body jerked, breath catching in his throat as his release hit him—hard and overwhelming. His cock pulsed in your hand, thick spurts spilling over your fingers, his stomach, as he cried out softly against your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still shuddering. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t help it.”

“You don’t need to,” you murmured. “You never had to.”

His hands slid up your sides, tentative but aching with need for closeness. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathed. “I’ve wanted you. Just to be touched like this... by you. I never knew how to ask.”

You stroked his hair as he slowly melted under you, his breath still shaky.

“Now you know you can always ask, baby,” you whispered, lips brushing his temple. “No need to be embarrassed about anything.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was scared to let go. His softening length rested warm between your bodies, and you felt the last tremble in his thighs as he relaxed fully into you.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, over and over, burying his face into your neck.

[adelliet]

Bob reynolds x f!reader

SECRET DIARY

Summary: You stumbled upon Bob's diary. You had no idea how much reading it would change everything, or how much it would reveal about him… and yourself.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, strong language, alcohol consumption, invasion of privacy, unprotected sex (p i v), oral sex (f receiving), breast play, multiple orgasms, mutual orgasm, sexual tension, Bob being emotionally guarded, aftecare (cuddling), smut mixed with fluff, slight obssesion

A/n: Hi there! I had so fun writting this and I am so happy how it turned out! Again, it's a bit long but that's completěy normal for me right :p Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Mastelist

“It’s really okay, I promise,” you kept reassuring Bucky, though his expression remained unconvinced.

“You sure?” That was the fifth time he’d asked, and your answer hadn’t changed.

Even if Bucky didn’t believe it, it was true — you honestly didn’t mind staying at Stark Tower while the others went on the mission. Not only would there've been more people than necessary, but you’d had a headache since morning, and you knew you’d be nothing but a burden in your current state.

“Alright, if you say so. I tried,” Bucky said in defeat, raising his hands with a sly grin that sometimes worked, but not this time.

“Just come back alive,” you joked with a soft smile. He chuckled as he slipped his gun into the holster on his belt.

Before they left, you said a quick goodbye to everyone and waved them off. They all looked fairly confident, maybe even excited, except Bob. But he always looked stressed, so it didn’t really surprise you.

The moment the doors closed and silence washed over you, you took a deep breath. Alone. Finally alone.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you had the entire tower to yourself, and though it came with a certain responsibility, it was an amazing feeling.

No more of Walker’s annoying educational lectures. No more of Yelena’s frustration radiating through the walls. No more of Alexei’s disgusting smelly socks. No more of Ava's constant eye-rolls when something didn’t go her way. And no more of Bucky’s mysterious expressions that always made you wonder if he was angry, deep in thought, or just hungry.

When it came to Bob though — strangely, nothing about him annoyed you. Quite the opposite. Ever since he moved in, he had become the most wonderful company, and the others often said you’d been smiling a lot more since then.

The first time you saw Bob, you were immediately drawn to him, not just his looks, but also his silly, lovable personality. Sure, he could be a bit of a goof who missed obvious things, and yeah, maybe he’d almost destroyed an entire city because of his trauma, but that didn’t change how much he meant to you. You’d do anything if he were in trouble, because you knew he’d do the same for you.

It took him a while to open up to you, to let you into his comfort zone. But when he finally did, Bob didn’t regret it. He had learned what it meant not to be alone anymore. To have someone to share stories with, to play PlayStation with, or just sit and watch a movie beside.

And that someone was you. You were a team. Inseparable. Well until now. But you believed he’d be okay out there.

While the others were out risking their lives, you decided to enjoy yourself as much as possible. You made yourself a summery mojito with ice, turned on your favorite show, and sank into the armchair. Strangely, your headache vanished. How odd…

Time passed slowly, and after a while, just sitting and staring at the screen got boring. So you decided to be a little productive.

You started cleaning.

Even you couldn’t believe it. You had no idea where the motivation came from. Normally, when it was your turn to do the dishes, vacuum, or any kind of chore, you’d dodge it like the plague.

But now? You were doing it voluntarily. You even touched your forehead, wondering if you had a fever and were hallucinating, but apparently, you were fine.

You changed into more comfortable clothes, tied your hair into a ponytail, and got to work.

You scrubbed the entire kitchen until it sparkled, surprised by how much dirt had been hiding in various corners.

Then you vacuumed the floors, took out the trash, wiped down the bar, cleaned the bathroom, you even went into the gym and wiped down all the sweaty equipment. And just like that, it was done. You felt good about yourself.

But the crew still hadn’t returned, and you’d finished everything way too fast. You let out a loud sigh, thinking about what else you could possibly do. Then a lightbulb went off.

You grabbed all your cleaning gear and headed to the bedrooms. Was this a breach of privacy?

…Maybe.

But as long as you didn’t snoop or go digging through their stuff, maybe they’d even thank you for it. So you started cleaning each room, one by one.

You were careful to leave everything exactly where it had been, you didn’t want anyone biting your ass over a moved book or out-of-place trinket.

You dusted the shelves and dressers, polished the decorations, and occasionally found things you’d never be able to erase from your memory — but hey, at least now you had blackmail material. Silver lining.

As your little cleaning era went on, you realized how ridiculously messy everyone was.

Underwear on the floor, clean and dirty. Dishes left around with half-eaten food. Smells that hit you like a locker room full of sweaty hockey players. It was chaos. But you managed to clean it up. Now it looked less like a war zone and more like a smaller explosion.

When you walked into Bob’s room, it immediately felt different.

He didn’t have many things, barely any clothes, either, and the empty space gave it a sort of natural tidiness. There wasn’t much for you to clean, really. So instead, you snooped a little.

His books were arranged on the shelf by alphabetical order, by size, and even by color. His perfectionism was going to kill him one day.

The PlayStation controller sat exactly where it always did, right under the TV. His clothes were neatly folded in drawers or hanging on perfectly aligned hangers.

You never would’ve guessed Bob was this meticulous with cleaning. He was tidier than most women you knew. He never stopped surprising you. Still wanting to help a little, you decided to at least fluff up his bedding.

You grabbed the comforter first. It was the heaviest and took the longest. Once that was done, you returned, laid it carefully over the bed, and moved on to the pillows.

He had two, one on each side, like everyone else. You picked up the first. Then the second, and then you stopped. Beneath the second pillow, there was a book. A journal.

Your brows furrowed as you slowly set the pillows aside. You reached out and picked it up. Opening to the first page, you saw the title written neatly in Bob’s handwriting:

“The Diary of Robert Reynolds.”

You inhaled deeply and hesitated. This was his privacy. And you weren’t going to invade that. You placed the diary back, moved the pillows to their original position, and left the room.

But the second your foot hit the hallway, curiosity took over. With a quiet sigh, you turned around, stepped back in, tossed the pillows onto the bed, and stared at the diary.

Your mind was a storm of thoughts. Like you had an angel sitting on one shoulder telling you not to, and a devil on the other whispering, “Read it.”

You stood there with your arms crossed tightly, chewing the inside of your cheek. Your foot tapped nervously on the floor until finally, you made your decision.

“One page won’t hurt anybody,” you muttered, picking up the diary and flipping open the first page.

Just a simple entry about how much he liked the food Yelena had made. Nothing interesting. You flipped ahead.

An entry about how Walker pissed him off. Now that was more interesting. You laughed at the way Bob described him, he’d captured John’s annoying behavior perfectly.

And from there, it snowballed. You flipped through more pages, sat down on his bed, and slowly got lost in his writing.

Even when he was gossiping, even when he was clearly furious — he wrote with this poetic, strangely beautiful tone. He had real talent.

One page…

then two…

then five…

then eighteen.

You didn’t read the whole thing, just the juicy stuff. The gossip. The rants.

Your eyes eagerly scanned the words, a smile tugging at your lips. But then you flipped another page and froze. A chill ran down your spine as you read your name.

He had never mentioned you in the diary before, not even once. And now he had written several pages just about you. You shouldn’t read it. You really shouldn't. But you had to. You wanted to.

God, I don’t even know where to begin. She is so unbelievably beautiful. I adore every single part of her body.

The way her hair dances in the wind when we’re driving to a mission and she’s looking out the window.

Her adorable nose, scrunching up anytime she sees or hears something awkward.

How she bites her lip whenever someone gives her a compliment and she doesn’t know how to respond.

You hadn’t even noticed it, but as you read those words, you were biting your lip. Your heart was pounding like crazy, and your face was as red as a tomato. Still, you kept reading.

She makes me think of things I never imagined before. She brings something into my body, my mind, that I’ve never felt.

It’s like she’s my salvation from the Void. My rescue. My reason to smile each day.

I always thought I needed medication to feel okay again. To feel like I was worth anything. But… all this time, I just needed her. And I still do.

There’s not a single day I don’t think about her. Not one hour. Not a single damn minute.

She’s stuck in my head and I don’t want her out. She’s like my blood, like my oxygen… I need her like I need food. Like I need air.

You couldn’t believe what you were reading. You had no idea Bob felt this way about you. And those words… they weren’t just words on paper. They meant something more. Because no one had ever written about you like this before. No one had ever seen you like this. It made your chest ache, in the sweetest, most terrifying way.

Bob wasn’t just a good man. He was soft, tender, full of things he kept hidden so deep… and now you were reading the most vulnerable part of him.

You couldn’t read any more. Not because you didn’t want to, but because if you did, you’d probably cry. Or get emotional diabetes from how absurdly sweet it all was.

So you flipped forward. Just casually, few pages. No big deal. But then one word stopped you. Then another. And another. Then an entire sentence. And suddenly, you couldn’t do anything else but read the page.

I feel like a stupid teenager when I see her, but I can’t help it. I don’t just need her emotionally, I need her physically.

My body craves her every single night. When I try to sleep, I close my eyes and I see her.

And in that moment, every unholy thought crashes into me, and I can’t fight it. I don’t want to.

I see her, in lingerie, wearing that breathtaking smile. The way her juicy ass bounces when she jumps, or simply walks. The way her breasts sit perfectly, and I just wonder what it would feel like to touch them. To feel her. Inside me. To feel her soft lips wrap around the head of my cock—

You gasped out loud, hand flying to your mouth as you slammed the diary shut with a loud thud. This can’t be real. Bob Reynolds, the most respectful, quiet, gentlemanly person you know, wrote this? Thought this?

You closed your eyes tightly, shaking your head as if trying to reboot your brain. You must be imagining this. You’ve been alone too long, lost deep in your feelings. But curiosity didn’t care and made you reopened the diary. And on the next page, it got worse…or better… well you didn’t even know anymore.

I want to feel her around me. I want to know what it’s like to have my dick buried inside her.

What her voice would sound like if I circled my finger around her clit.

I want to hear her scream my name so loud the whole building knows who’s fucking her.

I want to see her jaw drop, her eyebrows twitch, her eyes close as I make her cum so hard she forgets her own name.

God forgive me, but every night I can’t sleep, it’s her I see. And I have no choice but to touch myself to her. I can’t help it — she’s so damn beautiful. I don’t even understand what she’s done to me, but I let it happen.

That was it. That was the last straw. Your jaw literally dropped as you slowly closed the diary, your eyes wide, staring into the wall like it personally insulted your family. Every sentence replayed in your head like a broken record. You needed a minute, or two.

The real problem wasn't that it was creepy — which, yeah, maybe a little. But the real issue was it didn’t bother you. Not even a little. If anything, it turned you on. And that’s wrong.

Your hands slapped against your face as you let out a frustrated scream. This was getting way out of hand. Well, at least this is your lesson to mind your own business next time and not go snooping through people’s private stuff.

Because now, that diary and those words were glued into your brain. They kept playing on a loop, rewinding and pausing only to make you suffer more.

You sat in the armchair, staring blankly at the TV. Some random program was playing, you didn’t even know what it was about.

Then came the sound of the elevator.

They were back.

You didn’t even need to look over to know the mission had gone well. The cheers, the laughter, the happy chaos — yeah, that gave it away.

Still, you weren’t really present. Your mind was completely hijacked. The damn diary had hypnotized you. Your thoughts were a hurricane of ink, sex, and Bob.

You tried to fight it, but you couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to feel him inside you, stretching you out inch by inch, to hear Bob beg you to make him cum—

“Hey sweetheart! Were you bored while we were gone?”

Alexei’s voice and the sudden slap on your shoulder made you jump out of your skin. He laughed like a maniac and walked past you toward the bar.

“Someone’s got a guilty conscience if they flinch like that,” he teased, grabbing drinks.

“Yep, I do,” you whispered just under your breath, smiling like a criminal who absolutely did it.

“I see the mission went well,” you finally forced yourself to join the conversation, trying to think about literally anything besides Bob’s penis.

“Obviously. But we missed you,” Yelena pouted with fake sad eyes. You rolled your eyes and nudged her, shaking your head.

“No, really. You could be useful on the field sometimes,” Bucky added while throwing back a shot of vodka and instantly grimacing.

“Oh, sometimes?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup. Just sometimes,” he smirked back.

You laughed, finally relaxing a little. You glanced around. Ava and Yelena were laughing about something dumb, John, Alexei, and Bucky were crowded by the bar with their celebratory drinks, and Bob—

“AH!”

You screamed when you felt fingers suddenly tickling your sides. You whipped around and there he was. Robert Reynolds, grinning like the smug bastard he was.

“Definitely guilty conscience,” he smirked, poking you once more before sitting down beside your chair.

You gave him a playful shove, trying not to combust on the spot. He stayed next to you, sitting on the floor, quietly watching the others. For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

“So… looks like you made it out in one piece,” you finally said, glancing down at him.

He was already watching you, and when your eyes met, he quickly looked away, his hand going straight to the back of his neck.

“Uhh… yeah. I made it,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact like it physically hurt.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Was he nervous because he just imagined you naked in his bed?

“Is it just me or, is this place suspiciously clean,” John suddenly said, breaking the moment. Everyone turned toward him.

“Yeah, I cleaned,” you said proudly, lifting your chin.

Silence. Like dead, kill-me-now silence. Then — Loud. Explosive. Collective laughter. You scowled.

“Real funny. No seriously, who came to clean?” Ava asked, deadpan. Your pride died right there on the spot.

“Guys, seriously. I did clean,” you insisted, but your voice was practically drowned in their chaos.

Eventually, you’d had enough humiliation. You slipped away from the group, heading toward your room to take a shower, throw on some pajamas, and maybe pass out and forget about the diary.

Just as you were reaching the hallway, a voice called out behind you.

“Hey, wait! Come have a drink with us!”

You turned back, raising an eyebrow. It was Bucky, gesturing toward the bar with a tilt of his head.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but smirked with a sly glint. “Maybe,” you called back. And with that, you vanished down the hallway.

Everyone was already in their pajamas, but the way they were chugging drink after drink definitely didn’t suggest they were going to sleep anytime soon.

This was standard procedure after a successful mission — get absolutely wasted and regret it in the morning when the hangovers hit like a truck.

But hey, it’s their lives. And on the other hand, might as well enjoy the good while it lasts. You, on the other hand, were more cautious.

Your head had just stopped pounding this morning, and the last thing you wanted was another round of pain mixed with nausea and existential dread.

So you drank just enough to feel the buzz, enough to tolerate these lovable idiots. Because let’s be honest, sometimes dealing with them is harder than raising fifteen toddlers at once.

You all sat in a circle, some chatting in pairs, others laughing in the group. These little “family moments” were rare, but they were beautiful in their own chaotic way.

Bob sat directly across from you in the circle. You noticed he had a beer in hand, but just like you, he wasn’t overdoing it.

He didn’t seem like the type to drink until blackout. After everything he’d been through with drugs and losing himself, he’d probably had enough unconsciousness for a lifetime.

“Alright, guys, I’m calling it,” you stood up slowly, stretching a little.

Your sleep shorts, maybe a bit too short, and your white tank top with tiny black bows shifted with your movement. Your announcement was met with various groans and sad noises of protest.

You just shrugged. “After the huge cleaning session that I did, I’m seriously exhausted.” They snickered, clearly still not taking your ‘I cleaned’ claim seriously, but at least they wished you goodnight.

As you made your way toward your room, you suddenly heard another wave of “Good night!”And then, fast footsteps behind you. You glanced to your side. Of course it was Bob.

He walked beside you with that soft, crooked smile of his. You smiled back, a little more timidly, then looked ahead again.

“You cleaned really well,” he said quietly, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

Your cheeks flushed immediately, dimples appearing as your lips curled up.

“Thanks, Bob,” you murmured, eyes still forward.

When you reached his room, he paused, and you turned to him. A warm, soft hug, following with a gentle exchange of “Goodnight.”

And even though a spark passed between you, you both turned away and walked to your bedrooms. The moment you closed yours behind you, you leaned against it and slowly slid down to the floor with a long, exhausted sigh.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, or the damn diary, or both, but something had shifted. You looked at Bob differently now. And you had no one to blame but yourself.

Eventually, you climbed into bed, collapsing face-first into the pillow, then slowly turning onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Thoughts swirled. The only sound in your room was your steady, rhythmic breathing. And your head wouldn't stop. You couldn’t sleep. How could you?

Every time you closed your eyes, your mind fed you vivid, raw images of Bob. Naked, on top of you, fucking you hard while whispering your name through tearful gasps. And suddenly you understood him.

You understood the restlessness. The sleepless nights. The torment of craving something so badly, your body and soul felt like they might burst without them. You understood Bob now, too well.

You were pulled out of your unholy thoughts by a soft knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you called out, lifting yourself up onto your elbows to get a better view of the door.

It slowly creaked open, and there he was. Bob. For a second, your heart skipped a beat. Could he see what you’d been thinking? Had your sinful imagination summoned him?

“Hey, did I wake you up?”

His voice was soft, cautious, filled with genuine concern that instantly warmed your heart. You smiled, shaking your head.

“What do you need?” you asked gently.

Bob took a deep breath, his fingers nervously toying with each other.

“I need help in my room,” he said, giving you those damn puppy-dog eyes. Of course, you helped him without a second thought.

A few minutes later, you stood in his room, holding your phone flashlight above his desk like some loyal assistant, while he was crouched underneath it, fiddling with a bunch of tangled cables.

Apparently, he was trying to organize them, make everything look ‘neater and more aesthetic.’ And not even the overhead light was helping him see anything properly. So now, you were his lamp.

It was quiet. Neither of you spoke. Only the occasional sighs from Bob and the subtle clicks of tape or plastic filled the room.

“I cleaned the rooms too,” you finally said, trying to break the silence.

“Yeah? That’s sweet of you,” Bob answered, clearly focused on the mess below. His voice was casual, distracted.

“But yours was already clean,” you chuckled softly. “Didn’t really have anything to do in here.”

He smiled to himself but didn’t say anything. You were just about to ask something when Bob suddenly beat you to it.

“Did you find anything interesting?” he asked, his voice light, but just barely. There was something beneath the surface. Your lips curled into a mischievous grin. He had no idea what he’d just walked into.

“Hmm… not really. Just a diary.”

The rustling sounds stopped. Complete silence. You could almost feel the panic fill the room like thick smoke.

“W-what diary?” Bob’s voice cracked slightly.

You could hear it. The tension, the way his throat tightened as he said it. Slowly, he emerged from under the desk. His eyes were wide, his breathing shallow. His shoulders were tense, lips slightly parted. His usual calm was gone — completely replaced with visible stress and terror.

“The one under the pillow,” you said casually with a grin on your face. You watched as his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if unsure whether to defend himself or just curl into fists. His whole body language screamed one thing: he felt exposed.

“A-and did you… read it?”

His voice trembled with anticipation. You could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. His gaze locked onto yours, desperate and anxious, like someone waiting for a death sentence.

You shook your head innocently. “Nooo…”

Bob exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging with relief. “Okay…”

“…Just the part where you want me to suck your dick.”

THUD

Bob smacked his head against the underside of the desk so hard you winced for him. He scrambled out from under it in pure panic, his face turning several shades of red at once. ´art embarrassment, part shock.

Honestly you would’ve never said it. Would’ve never admitted it. But you’d had just enough alcohol tonight to stop caring, and it felt damn good.

Bob froze like a statue. His fingers stopped moving, his breathing stalled mid-breath, and his back tensed as if someone had just aimed a gun at him.

His eyes searched yours, but not for understanding, he was looking for mercy. His chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to keep his composure, but you could see right through him.

The way his lips parted in horror, the faint shimmer of sweat on his brow, the frantic micro-movements of his hands, it all betrayed him.

“God… I…” He raked his hand through his messy brown hair, visibly unraveling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, hoarse. “I didn’t mean for you to see that. It was never meant for you to — God, that’s so inappropriate. I swear, I wasn’t thinking straight. I was drunk when I wrote that—”

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, and tilted your head slightly.

“Drunk, huh?” you echoed, almost teasingly.

He nodded, eager. Desperate. “Yeah. I mean, not a lot, but I wasn’t sober. I was feeling… messed up. It doesn’t mean anything, I just — I wrote it in the moment.”

You squinted a little, then smirked, your voice quiet but sharp. “For someone who was drunk, you wrote surprisingly coherently.”

That hit him like a second slap to the face. He blinked, his mouth opening but no words coming out. He knew you had him.

You watched the guilt play across his face, flickering like candlelight. Bob exhaled shakily, then finally stood up. Almost ceremoniously. He was back on his feet now, but somehow still looked small.

“I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I never wanted to disrespect you or offend you in any way. I wasn’t trying to be gross or… or make you uncomfortable.”

His voice cracked on that last sentence. He meant it, you could hear it. Every damn word was sincere.

You let out a quiet laugh, just a breath through your nose, and looked off to the side. Then, softly, you whisper: “You didn’t offend me… quite the opposite, actually.”

Bob’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

You glanced at him, only for a second, your cheeks warming, eyes betraying that you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Nothing! I just meant — it’s late, and we should both probably get some sleep,” you stammered, your voice suddenly high and tight as your eyes darted away from his.

Just like that, the tables had turned. You were the nervous one now. Bob didn’t say anything right away, but his eyes never left your face.

He took a slow step forward. You took another step back, and he followed. Each of his movements was slow, deliberate. As if he was giving you time to stop him. But you didn’t want to.

You were hyper-aware of every breath, every beat of your heart slamming in your chest like a drum. The thin fabric of your pajama top clung a little tighter now with each inhale, and you knew he could see it.

“Your heart’s racing,” Bob whispered again, as if he couldn’t help but marvel at it.

His voice — quiet, almost reverent — slid down your spine like a warm current. And still, you stepped back. Step after step, until your shoulder blades hit the cold wall behind you. He stopped. For a second, he just looked at you. Not your face. Not your body. But you, and he felt it.

The way your stomach fluttered and tightened at once, like you were falling from a great height. The heat between your legs, steady and low, pulsing with every inch he closed in. The way your nipples had hardened beneath your top, brushing slightly against it as you breathed.

“You’re breathing faster,” he said. Soft, observant, like he was taking you in, cataloguing your reactions, and treasuring them one by one.

You should’ve felt exposed. But instead, you felt seen.

“Bob…” you whispered, unsure what you were even trying to say.

He didn’t touch you. Not even now, but his chest was inches from yours. His hands stayed at his sides, clenched tightly like he was holding himself back with every ounce of strength he had.

“Have you ever thought about it?” His voice dipped lower, as your eyes widened. He tilted his head, his lips barely parted.

“…what I wrote.”

Your body responded before your mind could catch up. A tremor ran through you. Your thighs clenched. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The image of his words flashed in your head like a match striking in the dark.

The things he wanted to do to you. The way he wanted to do them. Not rough and greedy — but with emotion, with desperation, with need. Crying your name while buried inside you, broken and whole at once.

You said nothing, but your eyes did, and he saw it. Bob leaned in closer, just a fraction. Still not touching.

You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the tension vibrating off of him like a storm waiting to break. His breath mixed with yours, shallow and heated. Your own breath hitched when he looked down at your mouth. Your lips parted just slightly, just enough.

He clenched his jaw and pulled back the tiniest bit. His hands twitched at his sides, like they ached to touch you.

“Jesus…” he whispered, barely audible. His restraint made it worse. His lack of touch made you need it more. There was so much space and yet none at all.

Everything was amplified. The thudding in your ears. The throb between your legs. The slick heat growing, pooling inside your core, begging for friction.

You bit your lower lip to ground yourself, but his eyes followed that movement like prey, and you saw his pupils dilate. He was as undone as you were. But he still didn’t move.

“Why won’t you touch me?” you finally breathed.

Bob’s eyes met yours again. Dark and intense.

“I’m scared if I start… I won’t stop.”

“And who said I want you to stop?”

Your voice was a whisper, but the weight of your words hit like a storm.

You were skating on thin ice, and you knew it. But with the heat roaring in your chest, you didn’t care if the ice cracked beneath you. Maybe it already had. And maybe that was exactly what you wanted.

It was the alcohol talking. Or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, you were grateful for the liquid courage, because now you were exactly where you’d wanted to be for far too long.

The second your words slipped out, something in Bob snapped. Whatever thread of patience or restraint he’d been clinging to, it broke.

With zero hesitation, Bob surged forward, his hands flying up to cradle your cheeks. His grip was firm but reverent, like you were something precious and fragile, but he was desperate to have you. And then his lips crashed into yours.

It was hungry, starving, like he’d been holding back for months, and now that he had you, he couldn’t afford to waste a single second.

You insantly melted into him. His kiss devoured you, and you welcomed it. You didn’t need to read a single word from his diary to know that Bob had been aching for this for so long. It poured out of him with every desperate press of his mouth, every tiny, trembling gasp against your lips.

His fingers twitched, shaking just slightly as they cupped your jaw, as if he was at war with himself, wanting to touch you everywhere, but forcing his hands to stay put. Like he was scared he’d lose himself if he did more. Like you might vanish if he didn’t hold you just right.

Your lips parted wider, granting him more access, and Bob groaned into your mouth. A sound that made your knees weak and your pulse pound in your throat. Every time you moaned, he swallowed it greedily, muffling your sounds with another kiss, deeper than the last.

Your entire body was on fire. Your core throbbed with every second that passed— hot, pulsing, soaked with need. Your sleeping shorts clung to your folds, embarrassingly wet, and still it wasn’t enough.

You needed more.

Bob still hadn’t moved his hands from your face. But you had no such self-control. You grabbed him at the waist, fingers digging harshly into his hips as if trying to anchor yourself, and then, unable to stop yourself, you slid your hands beneath his shirt.

Your fingertips met hot skin. Taut muscle. Bob shuddered, his breath hitching, his body jerking like he’d been shocked.

“F-fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, his voice ragged. That noise alone made your thighs clench and your knees threaten to give out.

Your arousal spilled, warm and wet, sliding down your inner thigh. You didn’t even care how pathetically soaked you were. Not when it was because of him. You wanted to be ruined for him.

Each kiss made the air between you thicker. Hotter. Every pant, every moan, every whispered curse fueled the fire between you. He still hadn’t touched anywhere else, and yet you were so soaked.

You could feel the warmth of Bob’s skin beneath your fingertips. He twitched beneath your touch, every little movement from you making his breath come faster, harsher. You felt his restraint. His body was screaming to act, but his mind was still fighting to hold back.

But you weren’t nearly as patient. Your hands roamed greedily across his torso, your fingers mapping the taut lines of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. But that wasn’t enough. You had to see him.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and began tugging it upward. Bob didn’t resist. In fact, he helped.

He broke the kiss, his lips pulling away just enough to yank the fabric up over his head in one smooth, almost desperate motion. And suddenly he was there. Bare. Glorious. Godlike.

You froze. Your eyes widened, your breath caught in your throat, and your lips parted instinctively as your gaze drank him in.

He was sculpted like a marble statue brought to life. His chest, his abs, the sharp lines of his V-cut all glistening faintly under the low light.

Bob noticed your stunned expression. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Your wide eyes and parted mouth told him everything.

You reached out. Your palm met his chest, fingers splaying, gliding slowly over the warm, hard muscle, and you gasped softly. Your breath hitched again, your knees quivering slightly at just how solid he felt.

Bob watched you like you were worshipping him. Like he couldn’t believe you were touching him, and still wanted more. Then suddenly, he moved.

He stepped back in, closing the tiny distance between you, and crashed his lips to yours again, this time with even more hunger.

You moaned into him, your arms flying around his waist and pulling him against you. Your bodies collided. Pressed together. You could feel everything.

Your hardened nipples brushed against his chest, sending shivers up your spine. And lower you felt him.

His cock, hard and growing, rubbed gently but unmistakably against your inner thigh, and you whimpered into the kiss, your hips twitching toward him instinctively.

Even though Bob’s body was clearly begging for release, his touch remained careful, respectful. He kissed you slowly, deeply, savoring you like you were something sacred.

But you were losing it. You wanted him. Your desperate kisses, the way you clung to him, the quiet whimpers against his lips, every signal you gave told him he didn’t need to hold back anymore. And he got the message.

His hand slid away from your cheek, trailing a trembling path down your neck, across your collarbone, slowly between the valley of your breasts, then lower, along your bare stomach until he reached the hem of your top.

He stopped there. His voice, rough and breathless, curled in your ear. “Can I?”

You nodded eagerly. Your hands raised above your head, giving him full access. Bob didn’t rush. He took his time, watching you, studying the way you reacted to every inch of skin he uncovered as he lifted your top inch by inch.

And when the fabric passed over your head and off your arms, leaving you completely exposed, Bob froze.

He stared so hard you could feel the weight of his gaze like hands all over your body. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes flicked from your face, to your chest, then back again, and you could see them darken.

You could see his fingers flex and twitch at his sides like he was fighting himself again. Fighting not to grab you and devour you whole. You decided to break the tension.

“You can touch me,” you whispered, your voice soft but confident. Bob’s eyes snapped to yours, wide and hopeful, and then dropped back to your bare chest.

He stepped closer, and gently cupped your breasts in both hands. His touch was so soft, it made you ache. You barely felt the pressure — just the warmth of his palms and the subtle trembling of his fingers.

He wasn’t groping. He was revering. He ran a thumb across the top of your breast, then, hesitantly, dragged it over your nipple.

You gasped, loud and sudden. Your knees almost buckled. It was too much, and not enough, all at once.

Bob noticed your reaction instantly. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained intense, locked on your body. He did it again. And again. Then he focused solely on your nipples. Gently brushing, teasing, circling, testing.

His thumbs moved with incredible delicacy, exploring the hypersensitive peaks until your back arched and your head lolled against the wall behind you.

You were trembling, and Bob was still just touching your breasts.

The way his hands worshipped your body, the look in his eyes, the careful way he pushed boundaries, it wasn’t just lust. It was need.

Need tangled up in admiration, in awe, in something deeper than either of you dared say out loud just yet.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The pulsing between your thighs had become unbearable. Each throb more desperate, more consuming than the last. Your whole body was screaming for release, trembling under the weight of restrained need. You had to do something, anything, before you lost your mind.

So you grabbed Bob by the neck and crashed your lips against his, breathless and ravenous.

There was nothing graceful about the kiss. It was messy, uncoordinated, soaked in lust — all sloppy lips and hungry gasps. You devoured each other like you’d been starving, like you’d waited years for just a taste.

Bob groaned into your mouth, deep and throaty, the sound vibrating against your tongue and making your stomach twist in anticipation. Your sighs turned to sweet, trembling moans, soft declarations of everything you couldn’t put into words.

Your hands, shaky and impatient, wandered down his warm chest, over the hard lines of his abdomen, stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants. But before you could go further, Bob beat you.

His hands, warm and firm, suddenly moved from your chest and found their way to your shorts. Even if he had already undressed you in his mind a hundred times, he still stopped and looked at you. His eyes searched yours, asking without words. You nodded, breathless, eager yes.

Bob exhaled in something like relief, and with a single smooth motion, he hooked his fingers into the sides of your shorts and pulled them down. They slid past your hips, fell around your ankles, and suddenly you were standing there, completely bare. No fabric, no barrier, no hiding, just you.

He stepped back, and for a moment, the air stood still.

Bob’s gaze traveled the full length of your body, like he was trying to memorize you forever. You felt your cheeks flush, a shy warmth blooming in your chest. But then you saw his expression, his parted lips, his softened eyes, his entire face lit up with awe, and suddenly your insecurities melted.

“You’ve got the body of a goddess,” he whispered, stepping close again, his voice low and full of reverence.

You bit your lip, heat rising in your chest, and tried to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. His compliment wrapped around you like silk, making you shiver. When he reached for your face, tilting your chin gently so your eyes met his, your heart just about burst.

“You’re like my muse… if only I could paint,” he murmured, brushing the softest kiss over your lips — feather-light, almost imaginary. And then he sank to his knees.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “W-what are you doing?” you asked, voice shaky, your legs suddenly unsure under you.

His hands slowly trailed up your legs, brushing along your thighs as if he was mapping out constellations in your skin. “I want to taste you,” he said softly, his voice hoarse and laced with hunger. He looked up at you with those dark, adoring eyes that practically begged to worship you.

Before you could say anything, he buried his face into you. Your head tilted back with a sharp gasp, one hand flying straight into his curls, gripping instinctively. Your other hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the involuntary cry that escaped your throat.

His lips found your labia, and your spine arched back against the wall with a trembling whimper. His tongue moved gently at first — soft strokes, testing reactions. He was discovering you one heartbeat at a time, tasting the way your body responded to him.

Every flick of his tongue sent sparks shooting up your spine, every low murmur against your skin made your knees quiver. He groaned softly, clearly savoring every second of it, and the vibration of his voice against you made your breath stutter.

You pulled at his hair instinctively, desperate to stay grounded, but it only encouraged him. His name almost spilled from your lips, caught between a gasp and a moan. Your whole body was on fire and still he didn’t stop. If anything, he became more confident, bolder in the way he worshipped you.

He was in awe of the way you tasted, of how responsive you were, of the way your body practically melted under his mouth. It was like he had dreamt of this for so long that now he refused to rush a single second.

You were barely able to hold yourself upright. Trembling, panting, your fingers tangled in his hair, your entire body pulsing with desire. Every time he looked up at you, you felt yourself coming undone just a little more.

A few more slow, teasing licks, and he found exactly what he was searching for.

The moment his tongue landed on your clit, your entire body jolted. A strangled moan slipped from you despite your hand clamped over your mouth, and your hips bucked toward him as if guided by pure instinct. Your fingers gripped his hair tighter, tugging with each wave of pleasure that rolled through you. That reaction told him everything, he was in the right spot.

Bob stayed there, circling you with his tongue, then flattening it against you with aching pressure, alternating between soft suckling and slow, deliberate flicks that made your vision blur. You could feel him moan against you, low and barely audible, but it vibrated straight through your core.

And yet, even as his own arousal grew harder to ignore, his precum already dampening the front of his sweatpants, a visible mark forming, he didn’t reach for himself. He didn’t chase his own release. His only focus was you. Making you fall apart. Watching you come undone.

“F-Fuck, Bob—” you gasped, your hand now tangled tightly in his curls as you bit your lip hard.

He looked up for a brief second, and what he saw nearly shattered him — your face, flushed and trembling, lips parted in pleasure, eyes half-lidded and desperate. You were beautiful.

Slowly, he lifted your legs and rested them gently on his shoulders, adjusting you carefully so you were supported and he could go deeper. He wanted you comfortable.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pushed his tongue inside you. The way your body clenched around him, the way your breath hitched and your back arched, it was everything.

The way you pulsed against him, so hot, and needy, it drove him insane. You’d been craving this and now that he had you, he was going to worship every part of you, for as long as you’d let him.

His lips sealed around your clit again, and this time he sucked gently, pulling a raw, desperate moan from you. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves in a rhythm that felt impossibly good. You writhed above him, your body arching up into his mouth, hips moving on their own as if begging for more.

You were already close, embarrassingly close. Each touch of his tongue sent a jolt of heat straight through your stomach, winding tighter and tighter. Your thighs clenched around his head, but Bob didn’t stop. He wanted you like this. Falling apart. Losing control. For him.

God, he was so hard it hurt. His cock throbbed, twitching inside his sweatpants. Every breath he took was shaky, his body begging for friction. And yet, he didn’t touch himself. Not even once.

Every time you moaned his name, it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through him, making his hips jerk against nothing. Still, he stayed focused. This was about you.

He was shaking, not just from arousal, but from the overwhelming need to please you. He wanted you to break for him. To lose yourself. To come undone under his mouth and know, without question, that he belonged to you.

Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair, pulling hard, and you choked on another whimper. “B-Bob, I— I can’t—” you gasped, your voice trembling as your thighs trembled too.

He moaned again at the sound, encouraging, desperate, hungry. His tongue moved faster now, circling your clit with dizzying pressure, then flattening again and again as your back arched off the wall. Your breaths were shallow and fast, your body trembling as you tried to hold on, but it was useless.

He could feel it. You were so close.

He brought one hand up, resting gently on your hip to keep you grounded as he continued devouring you like a man starved. His own hips rolled again involuntarily, chasing friction that never came. He was a mess and yet still entirely focused on you.

Your back was pressed against the wall, Bob’s mouth was pure fire between your legs. His strong hands gripped your thighs, keeping you open.

The pleasure crested like a wave building at the edge of something unstoppable. Your legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and your fingers clawed at the wall behind you, searching for something to hold onto, because he wasn’t letting up.

His tongue moved in soft but fast circles, his lips sucking gently, then greedily, as though he could drink your pleasure like a remedy for every ache he’d ever had.

Your breath caught in your throat, your chest rising in ragged gasps. Every inch of your skin burned with heat, and your belly tightened, coiling like a spring pulled impossibly taut. Then everything snapped.

Your orgasm hit like lightning. A desperate, broken cry left your lips, and your entire body convulsed. The muscles in your thighs clenched around his head, your hips bucked, and stars danced behind your eyes. Your toes curled. Your nails scraped helplessly against the wall. The pleasure rolled through you in long, drawn-out pulses, overwhelming and raw.

You weren’t sure if you were breathing or sobbing or laughing. Maybe all three.

Bob held you through it, grounding you with his steady grip, his mouth never once leaving you as your body rode out wave after wave. He moaned softly against you, his own body twitching, as if he could feel it too.

Yet, he still didn’t touch himself. His self-control was insane, agonizing, but he only cared about you.

When your body went limp in his arms, your breathing shallow and uneven, he looked up at you with blown pupils and flushed cheeks, lips glistening, hair tousled from where you’d tugged it.

“Hey… easy, okay?” he whispered, standing back on his feet. “You need some rest.”

But you were still drunk on pleasure, dazed, your body humming. You saw the wet spot on his sweatpants, and the huge twitching bulge, and you felt guilty, for not giving him what he gave you.

You reached for him, sliding your fingers down his torso and slowly tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. He didn’t stop you, not at first. But when you sank to your knees in front of him, your gaze hazy and full of intent, he gently grabbed your arms and pulled you back up.

“Whoa—okay, okay,” he said, lifting you effortlessly again. His voice was soft, but there was urgency in it. He looked at you like you were the most fragile, precious thing he’d ever held. You blinked up at him, eyes glassy and wide, guilt and desire blending across your face.

“Please,” you whispered. “I wanna make you feel good…”

Your voice was needy and soft, still wrecked from your high. Bob stared at you for a long moment, jaw tight. Then he scoffed, almost bitterly, and shook his head.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“But I want to!” you protested, your words slurred just a little, but sincere. You cupped his face in your hands, trying to plead with him through touch. Your heart pounded, still not fully recovered, but all you could think of was him, how badly you wanted him to feel even half of what he just gave you.

But Bob just closed his eyes, jaw clenching harder, as if struggling not to give in.

“We’ll save that for another time, alright?” he murmured, resting his forehead gently against yours. His next words came low, almost a growl. “You have no idea how much I want to be inside you right now. And if you touch me like that again, I’ll lose it.”

You swallowed, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit like fire straight to your core.

But you nodded. You understood. Even in the haze of pleasure, you saw the discipline in his eyes, the way he forced himself to hold back, for you.

He gave you a moment, letting both of you breathe. Then, with incredible gentleness, he scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bed like you weighed nothing. He lay you down softly, like he was afraid you’d break.

“Are you ready?” he asked in a low whisper, peppering soft kisses over your cheek and temple, each one making you giggle a little, despite everything. You nodded slowly, eyes locked on him.

He watched you too — every breath, every flicker of emotion. You’d never seen him look at anything the way he looked at you right then. Like you were sacred. Like you were the answer to every dream he’d ever had. Not even the way he looked at his cereal in the morning could compare.

He adjusted his position above you, his large hand brushing between your legs again to feel how ready you still were. His other hand gently held your face as he leaned down, his voice a whisper just for you:

“If I need to stop, just tell me, okay?”

You nodded again, biting your lip, your hands fisting in the sheets as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your folds. Your whole body tensed with anticipation.

Bob eased forward carefully, his body hovering above yours as he gently began to push into you. Every inch felt impossibly big, stretching you in a way that burned and soothed all at once. The pressure was overwhelming. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively curled your fingers into the muscles of his back, grounding yourself against him.

Both of you exhaled in sync, a shared breath of tension, release, and disbelief.

For you it was the sharp, unfamiliar ache that came with being filled so completely. The sensation of being opened, inch by inch, by someone so gentle and yet so undeniably large.

And for him it was the sheer heat and tightness of you around him, pulsing, welcoming, gripping. It nearly undid him.

He was still pushing in, deeper than you thought was even possible. You whimpered, the stretch sharp, but your hips shifted instinctively, pushing up to meet him, desperate for the rest of him. “You’re so big—” you gasped, your back arching off the mattress as you tried to take more.

Bob froze for a second, stunned by your voice. Your praise hit him harder than you realized.

“A-am I?” he asked, his voice breathless, a soft laugh escaping through his disbelief. His cheeks were flushed, eyes locked on where your bodies were joined.

You nodded quickly, too overcome to speak, your hands splayed across his back as your body slowly adjusted. He was still stretching you out, your walls fluttering around him, trying to take him in.

“Almost there,” he murmured lowly, his voice like velvet and gravel at once. It vibrated against your skin, sending another involuntary shiver down your spine. His fingers gripped your hips as he pressed the final inch into you, his hips finally meeting yours, his length buried fully to the base.

You gasped, your eyes flying shut, as a wave of sensation washed over you, you’d never felt so full in your life. Bob let out a guttural exhale, the kind pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, as he stopped moving for a moment. He needed to.

He was throbbing. Visibly shaking. He had already been on edge for so long, and now, inside you? He couldn’t believe he was still holding on.

But even his stillness had you trembling. You could feel him pulsing inside you, every twitch making your breath catch, every little flex of his thighs sending subtle, electric aftershocks through your core.

Then, carefully, he began to move.

He didn’t pull out fully. Not at first. Just shallow thrusts, slow and deliberate, building friction and rhythm. The motion created just enough drag, enough pressure to make your toes curl. His hips rolled, his breath huffing near your ear, while your nails scraped lightly down his back.

It was intimate. Your bodies were so close it felt like you were melting into each other. Skin brushing, muscles flexing, quiet moans and wet sounds filling the room in perfect harmony.

And then you started to move. Your hips met his with more confidence, your body adjusting, urging him on. Telling him in the only way he needed to hear: I’m ready.

Bob’s eyes snapped open. He growled softly under his breath, unable to hold back anymore.

He drew back slowly, this time almost fully, leaving only the thick, swollen tip inside you before thrusting back in with a deep, wet sound that echoed in the room. You cried out, your body arching into him, every inch of you alight with sensation.

Bob’s pace shifted, hips moving with more urgency now. Still controlled, still careful, but with purpose. Each thrust was firm, dragging along your walls in all the right ways, hitting that spot that made your legs quake. His skin slapped against yours, a rhythm of flesh and want and helpless need, and the room filled with a symphony of wet, obscene sounds and breathy moans.

You couldn’t stop moaning his name.

He was everywhere, his weight, his heat, the way his arms caged you in as he rocked into you, his lips brushing your ear and jaw and throat in soft, fleeting kisses.

Every stroke made your nerves spark, building again, deeper this time. Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him in even closer, closer than skin allowed. And Bob, panting now, forehead pressed against yours, could barely keep himself together.

“I’m not gonna last—” he whispered, voice wrecked.

Bob’s thrusts deepened, his hips angling just slightly, searching for that perfect spot inside you. But when he heard that soft, desperate gasp from your lips, he knew he’d found it. And that changed everything.

He snapped his hips forward again, harder this time. And again. The bed creaked beneath you with each deep push, the headboard lightly thudding against the wall in a rhythm that matched your ragged breathing. Your legs were trembling, wrapped tightly around his waist, heels pressing into his lower back, urging him not to stop.

“Mhm, you feel—” Bob’s voice cracked, his head falling to the crook of your neck as his hips continued to pound into you, faster, yet still guided by a rhythm that made your toes curl. His breath was hot and erratic on your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone between soft groans.

The room felt smaller now, the air thick with heat and scent and need. Dim light from a bedside lamp threw flickers of amber and shadow across the sheets, catching the sheen of sweat on Bob’s back as his muscles flexed with each movement.

You couldn’t stop moaning. Your voice bounced off the walls. Soft whimpers, sharp gasps, whispered pleas that only made Bob’s grip tighten on your thighs.

He groaned into your skin, his hand sliding up to grip your hip as he drove into you again. “You’re perfect.”

You arched up to meet him, your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling slightly, and that made him groan louder. He was losing it. His control was thinning with every second. The way you clenched around him, the way your nails raked down his back, it all pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

Then, without warning, Bob shifted his weight slightly, propped up on one forearm, and slid his free hand between your bodies. His fingers found your clit with practiced instinct, and he began to circle it in slow, teasing strokes.

You screamed his name, not out of pain, not even from surprise, but from the sudden wave of unbearable pleasure that rocked through you. Your thighs clenched around his hips, your body arching up into his touch.

“B-Bob— I— please, I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, barely holding on.

His fingers worked faster, keeping perfect rhythm with the powerful thrusts of his hips. You could feel him everywhere — filling you, pressing against every sensitive spot, driving into you so hard and deep you could barely think. You were unraveling.

The pressure built like a storm inside you. Every nerve in your body was stretched tight, every muscle coiled. His name spilled from your lips in broken syllables. You clawed at his back, your legs trembling violently, your whole body on the brink. And then you shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a wave crashing over a cliff. Your entire body locked around him, trembling, pulsing, milking him as you screamed into the crook of his neck. Stars exploded behind your eyelids. You were gone, drowning in heat and light.

Bob groaned — a low, guttural sound that rumbled from his chest to your bones. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

Feeling you contract around him, the way your whole body gripped him so tightly, it pushed him over the edge.

He slammed into you one last time, deep and hard, and let go with a strangled moan, burying his face in your neck as his orgasm ripped through him. His hips bucked against yours, erratic and desperate, his entire body shuddering as he spilled into you, every throb of release met by another wave from your still-echoing climax.

He whispered your name, over and over, like a prayer. His breath hot and uneven against your skin, hands still trembling as they held you close, grounding himself through the aftershocks.

The world faded into silence except for your uneven breaths and the quiet, sticky slide of your bodies pressed together.

Bob didn’t pull away right away. He stayed inside you, arms wrapped tight around your body, lips pressed to your shoulder.

“I’ve wanted that for so long,” he finally whispered, voice hoarse and full of wonder. All you could do was nod, your hands buried in his hair, still catching your breath.

For a while, neither of you said a word.

The only sound in the room was your breathing. Both of you still catching your breath, lungs rising and falling rapidly in sync, chests slick with sweat, pulses slowly settling.

Eventually, he pulled out of you with deliberate care, as though even the smallest movement might disrupt the perfect silence between you.

A soft, wet sound followed, and you shivered slightly at the absence. Bob let out a low groan as he collapsed beside you, one hand flopping limply across his stomach, the other resting near your

You turned to face him, your body aching in the most satisfying way. Then you nestled your head on his chest, right over his steadily beating heart. It felt warm and safe, grounding you as if you’d always belonged there. His arm instinctively moved to hold you closer, fingers brushing through your damp hair.

You could feel his heartbeat thudding under your cheek, the way his breath caught now and then like even he couldn’t fully believe what had just happened.

And somewhere in that soft, quiet moment, you realized that you felt more for him than you thought. More than you were ready to admit out loud.

This wasn’t just sex or fantasy come to life. This was Bob. The man who made you laugh when you didn’t want to, and now held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth.

You blinked up at him through the dim light, voice barely above a whisper. “Was it… better than you imagined?”

Bob huffed out a breath and let out a soft, sarcastic laugh. “Was it better?” he repeated, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You giggled softly against his chest, but then he added, mock-serious: “But for the record — stay the hell outta my diary. I need to find a better hiding spot now.”

That made you both laugh.

“I will find it,” you teased, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, a wicked little smirk on your lips. “You forget who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I remember,” he muttered, smirking back. “You’re the girl who breaks into people’s privacy and weaponizes their deepest thoughts.”

You gasped in mock offense and pushed yourself up slightly on your elbow so you could look at him properly. Your hair was a mess, your cheeks still flushed, but your eyes were shining.

“I do not break into people’s privacy! I just—accidentally found it. It’s not my fault you hide personal stuff in the most obvious places.”

“Oh really?” he grinned, tugging you back down into his chest and you snuggle closer with a smile. Bob’s fingers threaded slowly through your hair, his other hand lazily tracing patterns along your bare back.

His voice came quieter this time.

“But if you hadn’t found it…” he murmured, “If you hadn’t read it… this never would’ve happened.”

He was still staring up at the ceiling, like the thought truly stunned him. Then he turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours.

“So… I’m glad you did.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you just nuzzled deeper into the warmth of his chest, letting your hand rest over his heart. You closed your eyes, breathed him in, and smiled softly to yourself.

A small hum of agreement slipped from your lips, full of something deeper than just afterglow. Something like peace

And slowly, with the steady rhythm of his breathing under you and his arms wrapped tightly around you, you drifted off to sleep. Completely his.

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting warm, golden light across the messy sheets. You were curled against Bob’s side, both of you still completely naked under the tangled covers, your legs intertwined, your head resting peacefully on his shoulder.

Everything smelled like sleep and sex. Bob’s fingers were lazily stroking up and down your spine as you both lay in that sweet, quiet space between dreaming and waking. No words yet, just the comfort of shared warmth and the slow return to reality.

Then a knock.

Bob’s eyes snapped open at the exact same time yours did.

“Bob?” came a voice from the other side of the door. It was Yelena. “Can I come in?”

Your entire body tensed, adrenaline instantly flooding your veins.

“Shit—shitshitshit,” you whispered, already half-leaping out of bed. Your heart thundered in your chest as you scrambled to gather your clothes from the floor — your shorts and top, half-tangled in the sheets.

Bob sat up with wide, panicked eyes, already reaching for his own clothes.

“Wait, just a second!” he called out, voice cracking with forced calm.

You quickly scooped up his sweatpants and t-shirt from the floor and threw them at him. Then you dove under the bed. The floor was cool against your bare skin, dust brushing against your knees and arms as you squeezed yourself into the narrow space, holding your breath.

You watched through the gap between the mattress and the bed frame as Bob pulled his t-shirt over his head and jumped into his sweatpants. He shuffled to the door, opening it with a soft click.

Yelena stepped in casually, dressed in sweats and a tank top, her hair pulled up in a bun.

“Hey,” she said. “Have you seen her?”

Bob scratched the back of his neck. “Who?”

She gave him a flat look. “Her. The girl who’s always around you lately.”

He blinked, keeping his face neutral. “Nope. Haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

Under the bed, you were trying not to breathe too loudly, your hand clamped over your mouth, heartbeat roaring in your ears.

Yelena didn’t say anything for a second. She just looked around the room slowly. Her gaze moved over the unmade bed, the rumpled sheets, the warm glow of morning light. Then she sniffed the air. Bob stiffened immediately.

“…Why does it smell like women’s perfume in here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Bob froze for half a second. His voice came out too quickly. “Oh—uh—yeah, she came by last night. Helped me with something.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “She left after, though.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

There was a long pause. Then, thankfully, she just sighed and turned toward the door. “Okay. If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her. She borrowed my book and never gave it back.”

Bob nodded. “Got it.”

As soon as the door shut behind her, he locked it, turned back to the bed, and immediately burst into quiet laughter.

You crawled out from under the frame, hair wild, skin covered in tiny dust specks. You were laughing too, mostly from relief, partly from the absurdity of it all.

“That,” you gasped, “was way too close.”

Bob flopped down beside you on the bed, still chuckling, wiping at his eyes. “I thought she was going to smell you and shoot me on the spot.”

“Same,” you grinned, flopping next to him.

He pulled you into his arms, your messy limbs tangling together again, this time with laughter still shaking your chests. You let your head fall against his collarbone, and he kissed the top of your head, still smiling.

Your breaths syncing, your fingers tracing little circles into the soft fabric of his shirt as the adrenaline faded.

“Y’know…” Bob murmured, “That might’ve been the most exciting morning of my life.”

You looked up at him with a lazy smile. “Better than cereal?”

He smirked. “Debatable.”

You giggled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, still curled into him like you belonged nowhere else. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY!

BYEEE🍀🐛👒

[kdh-tally]

Hi! I love your work! I was wondering if you could do a thing where the Saja Boys realize that being kpop idols was bit harder than they originally thought? Like debuting was easy but now that they've debuted they've got to deal with Dispatch and dating scandals and other things idols have to deal with!

Saja Boys Struggling with the Idol Life

Prompt : Saja Boys realising that being Kpop Idols weren't as easy as they thought.

Author's Note : So this might be a teensy tiny bit angsty but only cause i got super into it lol. Prior to this movie coming out I've been a mega kpop fan since like 2016 and completely adore everything about the kpop community except evil fans. I feel like i've seen my fair share of unfairness and just put all my frustration about what some idols deal with into this. Anyways, Enjoy!

The first few months after debut had felt like a dream. After getting past their initial issues with Huntr/x, the boys had a proper debut into kpop society. It was dizzying. A blur of encores, confetti, excited fans, and constant camera flashes that never seemed to end. They felt invincible. They were invincible. Hungry for fame, powered by an energy that was now being put to good use, excited to share their apparent talents with the world. After all, what was a six-hour schedule compared to centuries of the blood-soaked domain they used to live in?

But slowly, things changed, fans set higher expectations, critics got harsher. They were no longer the new and bright rookies. More groups made music, the Saja Boys were good but they weren’t the only boy band out there. Even their fans didn’t seem to help. They got more invested with the boys' lives, possessive over what they did and who they hung around. It was getting suffocating. 

Mystery sat slouched on the practice room floor, hoodie pulled up, hair hiding his face even though he was alone. He scrolled through the trending topics absently, thumb pausing at a familiar photo. It was of him at the gym, something their new manager had insisted all the boys do. He just so happened to have bumped into one of the female workers and someone had clipped it and made it out to be something it wasn’t.

The tags were misleading. 

#SAJABOYS_Mystery_DatingRumor #MysteryAndThePilatesGirl #DispatchAtItAgain

He exhaled through his nose. Quietly. Bitterly.

“You don’t even know her,” Baby muttered from beside him, Mystery hadn’t noticed him come in. 

“Try explaining that to twelve million people who already think they know everything about you.” the silver-haired boy sighed in response. He let the phone screen dim, the room sinking back into silence.

It wasn’t about the rumor.

It was about what came next. There would be comments dissecting his every move, fans creating timelines of when he must’ve "fallen in love", antis spinning it into him betraying the fans.. Even Zoey, who had also faced her fair share of dating rumors, had advised him to lay low for a bit. No solo lives, no fan interactions. “It’s best you let it blow over,” she’d said.

He wanted to tell everyone it was a lie. But what was the point of one person speaking amongst a crowd of yelling fans?

Romance stopped writing lyrics for the first time in weeks. His notebook remained open on his desk, pen idle.

He lay on his bed, watching some show Bobby recommended to him. His mind wasn’t on the movie though. He used to think emotions were a superpower. It was what he found most interesting about humans. That the overthinking, sensitivity, and deep craving to be seen was what made them unique. Was what made him unique. But now it felt like a trap. 

Every word he wrote was calculated. Will fans think this line is about someone? Will this become a scandal? Will they think I’m dating?

He couldn't even smile or zone out on live streams without worrying about whether someone would spin some fantasy made up tale in their minds about him thinking of someone else. It especially hurt to be told who he apparently loved by people who knew almost nothing about him. 

He had social media. He had seen the theories. Multiple fans claiming he had to be straight or gay or bisexual and many many others. He didn’t even know himself. He distanced himself from everyone, fearful of possibly being shipped with friends or even his bandmates. 

Even the fun stages weren’t fun anymore. He had once looked forward to the variety shows and challenges, but suddenly the hosts began asking personal and provoking questions. He’d started putting on smiles like makeup. Perfect, identical and completely fake.

As he moved to turn off the television, his room becoming engulfed in darkness, he remembered when they had just debuted. He missed those times. Where his biggest fear was if Mira would one day stab him with her guandao for flirting with her and not whether a sasaeng would break into his home. 

Jinu had always been the steady one. Their leader. Even when they fought he remained the glue of the group. Keeping them together both in demon form and as humans. But even he had a limit.

He stood in the dance studio well past midnight, practicing the same step again and again until his shoulder spasmed from the repetition. Not because he wasn’t getting it. But because he couldn’t afford to get it wrong.

Ever since their last stage, where a fan took a blurry photo of his hand coincidentally hovering a little too close to Rumi’s waist during a behind-the-scenes clip, he’d been trending for all the wrong reasons. Never mind that she was more than anyone would ever know to him. That they'd fought side by side in a war nobody even knew about. That he would give her every part of him if it meant seeing her smile.

It didn’t matter.

He was an idol now.

And idols don’t touch women.

He’d seen the magazines, blogs, articles written for anyone who was willing to listen. They painted him as an egoistical and cocky…. He couldn’t even bring himself to remember the words they used. It hurt too much to remember. 

Baby had taken his phone away, pleading with him to stay off the media. But he couldn’t help it. He was like an addict. He needed to know what the fans were thinking at all times. He needed to know who they thought he was.

He stopped dancing, turning to look at his reflection. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Chest heaving not from cardio but anxiety. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

Abby had it the worst.

Because unlike the others, Abby loved the attention. He needed it. Craved it. The cheers, the gasps, the fan edits with filters, it made everything feel more real to him.

But recently?

He’d been trending for laughing too much at a female MC’s joke, even though he genuinely found it hilarious. For standing too close to a back-up dancer. For wearing a shirt that fans claimed was from a "couple brand."

He was even shamed for what brought him the most joy. His muscles. He’d simply been on his way to the company gym one day, he and the other boys stayed far away from public ones after seeing what happened to Mystery. He took his regular spot, though a few other idols had been there as well, they were all friendly. 

Before he began his usual workout, he’d taken a little selfie. His shirt lifted provocatively to reveal his abs and everything. He posted it on his personal instagram story, thinking he’d given fans content for the day. 

Sure he’d put on a little weight but it was barely noticeable. The group was on a well deserved break and he was taking the time to truly take care of himself, even if that meant eating a bit more junk food than he should have.

He hadn’t expected the scrutiny. He’d seen multiple comments and videos going on about how he must have gotten lazy, about how fans missed when he was muscular, how he now looked overweight.

“I haven’t even eaten this week!” he exploded, throwing his jacket onto the dorm floor. “I had one stupid burger and that was it!”

Mira, who was visiting, tried to calm him down. “Abby, you know they don’t mean harm—”

“Then why does it feel like I can’t breathe without someone twisting it into a crime?” he deflated. 

She couldn’t answer. She simply wrapped him up in a tight hug as he broke down.

Baby stayed quiet most days. He was less snarky, didn’t go live as much, hung out less with Zoey and Rumi. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because he did. Just too much.

He watched all of his hyungs fall apart. He saw the way Jinu stayed up at night, scrolling through hate threads. The way Romance flinched when asked about “his type.” The way Mystery held his breath when female staff passed by. The way Abby was way less boisterous than usual.

Unfortunately he too had his own issues. People that were supposed to be his fans had begun to turn on him. Claiming he acted too much like a child. Claiming he needed to grow up. 

At first he had rolled his eyes, he wasn’t even that childish. People just seemed to enjoy placing the cutest member into the baby category. He didn’t want to let it get to him but he had gotten conscious of every move he made. He remembered Zoey calling it Paranoia. 

He didn’t eat on camera, as people flamed him for enjoying a strawberry. He didn’t play around with his hyungs as much. He didn’t even play into the whole aegyo thing anymore. 

And Baby hated it. Sure he didn’t care for acting childish but it had gotten fun. And now all the fun was sucked out of it simply because a few people decided they didn’t want him to act that way anymore.

He hated how self conscious he got. He hated how he felt like he couldn’t tell his group members in fear of adding more to their plate. It was suffocating. 

None of them had signed up for this.

Debuting had been easy.

It was staying on top that was killing them.

They had fought hunters and hellfire. Survived bloodshed and sacrifices. But nothing, not even Huntr/x, as experienced as they were, had prepared them for a world where they were no longer allowed to be human.

Where love was a scandal.

Where exhaustion was an attitude.

Where silence was considered ungrateful.

Later that week, they sat in their dorm in silence. No social media playing, no scrolling through the hate threads. It was just them, all together for the first time in days. Just boys who used to be monsters, now pretending to be perfect.

“We used to fight to survive,” Mystery spoke, breaking the silence.

“Now we’re just surviving to be liked.” Romance mumbled in resentment as he fidgeted with his bracelets. No one spoke for a while. Each boy struggled to swallow the truth that had been facing them the entire time.

Then Jinu nodded. “But we chose to keep doing this.” They all looked at him in disdain. “We agreed to do this because we wanted to show the girls that we were something good. And now we have to show that to everyone else too. We’re tired, yeah. But… maybe that’s part of being an idol.”

Baby groaned in annoyance, but a small smile, the first real one anyone had seen from him in weeks, tugged on his lips. “Why do you sound like a motivational speaker?”

Abby snorted. “Because he’s right.” It was true. Jinu did motivate them into joining his demon boy-band in the first place. 

“So what now?” Romance smiled with exhaustion.

Jinu stood up. “We rest. We take care of each other. Then we get back on stage. Because we owe it to ourselves.”

Slowly, they stood too.

Because if they had learned one thing from their past life, it was that you don’t stop fighting just because the enemy looks different.

[viktateapot]

THINGS (Batboys)

Dick Grayson:

You and Dick were having dinner at a restaurant when Dick got a call to immediately head out to Bludhaven for one person.

Looking flustered, he quickly kissed your cheek and scurried toward the door while bumping into everything along the way.

While you were fuming, what happened years earlier had crossed your mind: Dick stealing your favourite dress and putting it on for everyone’s amusement. Unwilling to forgive him for the rampage you had over it, you decided to pay him back.

You rushed over to Dick’s, only to find he wasn’t there. The frustration became unbearable, and knowing that Dick would be back, you hastened home, beginning to think about what you could possibly take revenge with.

“I have an idea,” you declared as you entered the room, and saw his favorite pajamas.

When Dick got to the apartment, he saw that you were asleep on the couch. Smiling, he embraced you. “I love you,” he said.

As he entered the bedroom to change, his eyes widened and a confused look was etched onto his face: the pajamas were missing.

Jason Todd:

Jason woke up in a foul mood. You could feel it rolling off of him in waves. He was all but oozing sarcasm and dark energy. Usually, you gave him his space during times like these, but today you decided enough was enough.

“What’s wrong with you?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of his room.

“Nothing,” He replied, not even sparing you a glance.

“Come on, Jason,” You said, rolling your eyes. “I know you better than anyone else. What’s got you so worked up?”

He mumbled something under his breath, but you couldn’t make it out.

“What?” You asked. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Mind speaking up?”

Jason sighed deeply. “It doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t understand anyway,” He said.

“Try me,” You urged. “I’m sure I can.”

He looked up at you then, and you saw the pain in his eyes. Your heart ached for him, and you just wanted to make it all better. But you knew he needed to get it off his chest first.

“It’s just…everything,” He said. “I just feel so lost, ya know?”

You walked into the room and sat down next to him on the bed. “I understand,” You said. “I feel like that sometimes too. But you know what? You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” He said. “I’m just gonna end up making things worse.”

“That’s not true, and I can prove it,” You replied, yanking him up from the bed.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” Jason protested as you dragged him toward the front door.

“Come on,” You replied. “We’re going to get out of these problems”.

“What if I don’t want to?” Jason grumbled, resisting.

“Oh, you don’t?" You smirked. "Well, I guess I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands” You pushed him in the back. “Now go.”

Leaving, you took all his bullets.

Tim Drake:

Tim’s fatigue reached a new peak, and with him being too stubborn to quit, you decide to step in yourself. You certainly wouldn’t want him to get sick. Who knows what would happen to Gotham then!

You rushed into the Batcave. “TIM!” you screamed. “We need to talk.”

Tim gave no response. He was far too invested in whatever he was doing on his computer.

Rolling your eyes, you got closer. “Tim!” you repeated, this time a bit louder.

“What is it?” he grumbled, not looking away from the screen.

“You need to rest,” you said.

Tim chuckled. “I don’t have time for sleep,” he said. “I have more important things to do.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ve been working for ages now. You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“I’m fine,” Tim said. “I can keep going.”

“No,” you said. "It's over."

You stepped forward and ripped his computer’s power cord right out of the socket.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Tim protested.

“Making you rest,” you replied, placing your hands on your hips. "All these gadgets you like? Are now under my control."

Damian Wayne:

Again, another night of sitting around with nothing to do. I swear, sometimes it feels like you are just a fancy decoration in Wayne Manor because everyone is always too busy for anything.

“Damian,” you said. “I’m bored.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Then find something to do,” he replied.

“I have tried everything,” you said. “There’s nothing that’s interesting.”

“That’s not my problem,” Damian replied.

“You could just spend time with me,” you said.

“I don’t have time,” Damian replied. “I have more important things to do.”

“Than what?” you asked. “What could possibly be more important than spending time with your girlfriend?”

Damian didn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought,” you said. “You just want to push me away.”

“That’s not true,” Damian replied.

“Is too true,” you said. “You’re afraid to get close to me because you think I’m going to leave you, like everyone else has.”

Damian didn’t say a word.

“You’re pathetic,” you said.

Damian flinched as if you had slapped him. You immediately regretted it, but it was too late.

“I know,” Damian replied.

From there, you had decided that it was time to get revenge with at least something minor. Carefully sneaking up on him while he’s meditating, you quietly take his sword and flee. It would most certainly make him angry.

HERE'S A LITTLE SURPRISE FOR YOU, MY DEARS

Conner Kent:

You woke up in the middle of the night. The apartment was eerily silent, and you suddenly felt lonely. Conner was out on patrol, and you hated it when he was gone for so long.

You turned over to your side, but you couldn't fall back asleep. You wanted the warmth of Conner near you.

You pondered, then you got out of bed. You quietly snuck into his room and approached his closet. You knew he hated it when you rummaged through his things, but you didn't care. You were feeling too bummed.

You opened his closet and started looking through his belongings. There were a lot of t-shirts with Superman logos and jeans, but you needed something else. You wanted something that smelled like Conner.

You sorted through all his things, but you couldn't find anything. You were about to give up when you noticed a leather jacket hanging in the corner. You smiled. It was just what you needed.

You grabbed the jacket and put it on. It was a little too big on you, but that was okay. The important thing was that it smelled like Conner.

You headed back to your room and lay back down in bed. The jacket smelled like him, and you felt better.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Everything okay?" Conner whispered.

You smiled. "Yes," you replied. "Now, yes."

[shaiyasstuff]

fate | rafayel | sequel

synopsis : Who are we to stand in the line of fate? That was what you used to think. content : fluff, rafayel x non-mc!reader, a happy ending since there were so many requests for part two

One bullet.

Clean. Fatal. Head.

Another bullet.

Missed—close, but enough to remind you you were still breathing.

You were back at the range. Again.

It had become your sanctuary. Or maybe your penance.

Five days.

That’s how long it’s been since Shaiya and Rafayel found you curled up on the beach, lost somewhere between sleep and surrender.

Five days since you’d let go of that last fragile thread of hope.

Because whatever you were waiting for—whatever foolish, aching part of you still believed—wasn’t coming.

It never was.

Because who were you to stand in the line of fate?

The echo of gunfire fades, swallowed by the cavernous stillness of the room. You lower the weapon slowly, slipping it back into its holster with practiced ease.

Footsteps behind you.

You don’t need to turn. You already know.

“I’m fine,” you say before she can open her mouth, forcing a smile as you dust off your hands. “You don’t have to check on me like I’m a child.”

Shaiya chuckles, light, warm. “I know. I just…”

She hesitates. “I was worried. You scared me.”

There it is again—that soft pang in your chest. The one that always came when she looked at you like you mattered. Like you were worth something.

Standing in front of you was the girl who unknowingly stood between you and the one thing you couldn’t stop wanting.

And still—you couldn’t hate her. Not when she was like this. Not when her kindness reached you in places nothing else could.

“Rafayel’s been asking about you,” she says casually, and your jaw clenches, just for a second.

You look away.

Of course he has.

But not to you.

He hadn’t shown up since that day—when he left without a word and slammed the door so hard it echoed for hours.

“Did he now,” you murmur, fiddling with your holster again like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Shaiya nods, watching you carefully. “Did something… happen between you two?” she asks gently.

You look at her. She’s calm. Thoughtful.

So perfect it almost hurts.

Would telling her change anything?

Would she understand?

Would it make you feel better, saying it out loud?

Probably not.

So you give her a shrug instead.

“No,” you lie, soft and bitter. “Nothing happened.”

The words burn on your tongue, but you swallow them down with the rest of the things you’ll never say.

She holds your gaze for a moment longer, like she knows there’s more but won’t press.

“I told him he should call you,” she says finally. “He kept brushing it off. Said something about how clueless you can be.”

You freeze.

The world stills for half a second.

That stupid flicker again—hope. Always rising from the ashes, uninvited. You hate it. You need it.

You offer a small smile. “Maybe I’ll talk to him.”

Shaiya grins. “Good. Because he’s driving me crazy. Get him off my back, will you?”

She waves and heads out, leaving you alone in the empty range.

Alone with the echo of her words.

Clueless.

You repeat it under your breath like a riddle.

“What did he mean?”

You don’t notice the shadow behind the wall. The quiet figure watching from just out of sight.

Rafayel.

—•

The moonlight spills like silver ink across your apartment floor as you sink into the couch, muscles heavy with exhaustion. You groan softly, letting your head fall back.

Your hand fishes your phone from your pocket.

11:48 p.m.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering over nothing.

And then, quietly, you wonder—

What is he doing right now?

Was he annoying Shaiya again, hovering too close in that boyish, oblivious way of his? Was he in his studio, fingers stained with paint, lost in a world he never let you see?

Or was he standing on the other side of your door?

You stand slowly, unsure what draws you forward, only that your feet are already moving. Already at the threshold.

“If he’s there, he’s there,” you mumble, hand on the doorknob. “That’s it.”

But then—

“What if he isn’t?”

And just like that, you pause.

What would you even say if he was?

You’ve never said anything before. Never dared to touch the truth of what you feel.

What makes tonight any different?

You shake your head, scoffing under your breath.

“You dumbass,” you whisper to yourself.

And still, you open the door.

Because even if fate had chosen someone else, even if you were never meant to be written into his story—

Some small, stubborn, reckless part of you wanted to defy it.

Just once.

You squint, eyes adjusting slowly to the pale light pooling in the hallway.

At first, it’s just a silhouette. Then—A familiar mop of tousled lilac hair.

And those eyes—those ridiculous, impossible eyes—somewhere between the ocean before a storm and the sky just before sunrise.

Rafayel.

A boyish grin tugs at his lips when your gaze locks with his.

And you freeze.

He’s here.

He’s really here.

Your heart stutters in your chest, wild and disoriented, as your body stays rooted in place, too overwhelmed to decide what to feel.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, his voice rushed, anxious, as if afraid you’ll shut the door before he can say more.

You blink at him, stunned. Words scatter like leaves in the wind. What is he doing here? After everything, after five days of silence and slammed doors and missed meaning—why now?

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor. “I didn’t know,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work through his own confusion.

“How you felt. I mean, I always brushed it off because I thought…”

He trails off, the pause longer than it needs to be, and then—

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

A breath.

“…That way.”

And finally, finally, his eyes meet yours.

The world tilts.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

“Huh?”

That’s all your mouth manages.

Not “what are you saying,” or “why now,” or “you idiot, I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Just that soft, bewildered sound. Like the universe just broke its rules in front of you, and you’re still waiting for the punchline.

He shifts on his feet, lips twitching nervously. “I’m not good at this,” he mutters, half to himself. “But I had to come. Because you opened the door. And I hoped—I really hoped you would.”

And suddenly, you’re not sure if you’re breathing at all.

He grabs your shoulders—not roughly, but with a kind of urgency that makes the world sharpen around the edges. His touch grounds you, and suddenly, you’re sure—

The universe is finally, impossibly, on your side.

“I like you, Y/N. No—wait, I love you,” he says, voice cracking with emotion. “Loved you. All this time.”

His eyes are wide, vulnerable, brimming with something wild and scared. And real.

“I’m sorry I confused you. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize. I’m sorry I hurt you,” he keeps going, the words tumbling out in a rush, like he’s afraid if he stops, this moment might vanish, or worse—you might walk away.

You’re still frozen, heart thundering in your ears, head spinning. But then something snaps inside you—not painfully, just enough to pull you back to the now.

You reach up and place your hands gently on his arms, still gripping your shoulders.

His head jerks up at the touch, eyes locking onto yours—still afraid. Still unsure.

And you smile.

That’s when his worry deepens into panic. Because now there are tears spilling down your cheeks—silent, steady, unstoppable.

“W-Woah, hey—!” he stammers, hands flying up to your face in alarm, wiping at the wetness with shaking fingers. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry—what did I do—?”

You blink, dazed, lifting your own hands to your cheeks. The tears keep falling, and you don’t even remember when they started. You hadn’t planned to cry. You hadn’t planned for any of this.

And then your knees give out beneath you. Not from sorrow this time, but from the sheer weight of relief.

You sink to the floor, breath shuddering as Rafayel catches you, arms instantly wrapping around you like a net made of everything you’ve ever wanted but never dared to ask for.

Your fingers curl into his shirt. Your forehead presses to his chest.

“Is this real?” you choke, voice raw and trembling.

He holds you tighter, as if to prove it, his voice a whisper against your hair.

“It is. I promise you—it is.”

“I thought—”

The sob ripped out of you before you could stop it, raw and trembling, every word soaked in the ache you’d buried for so long.

“I thought you would never see me that way. That it was always going to be Shaiya.”

Your voice cracked at her name, your whole chest twisting with the confession. You looked up at him, face streaked with tears, the question you’d never dared ask burning in your throat.

“You told me that story… the one about your scales—” you choked, the memory of it splintering inside you. “That your heart was bound to hers…”

Rafayel’s eyes widened, devastated.

He shook his head, urgently, as if trying to erase every word you’d just said, every hurt it carried.

“No,” he whispered, hands flying to your cheeks, cradling your face like it was the most fragile, sacred thing in the world.

His thumbs brushed your tears away, and this time he leaned closer, eyes burning into yours with something fierce and unwavering.

“None of that mattered the moment I met you.”

The words landed like lightning in your chest.

“I didn’t know what it was at first,” he went on, voice thick with emotion, “But you—you made me feel like I’d been sleepwalking through every lifetime until this one.”

You stared at him, breath caught, and for the first time in forever, you felt it.

Not just hope.

Certainty.

“Screw fate,” he breathes, voice rough with conviction. “Screw all that.”

His arms tighten around you as he pulls you flush against his chest, like he’s trying to shield you from everything—even the stars.

“You’re the most important to me,” he murmurs fiercely, burying his face into your hair, breath warm against your scalp. “Not some fate-written bullshit. You.”

You tremble in his hold, sobs quieting just enough to feel the way his heart is racing beneath your cheek—fast and real, like it’s beating just for you.

“Stop crying,” he whispers, softer now, voice breaking around the edges. “Shh… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay.”

And this time, when you close your eyes against his shoulder, it’s not in grief.

It’s in the slow, overwhelming realization that maybe—just maybe—this time, love chose you back.

Your head shot up again, breath catching, panic flaring in your chest as your fingers clutched his arm—tight, desperate, enough to make him flinch.

“Shai—”

“She knows,” Rafayel cuts in gently, before you can say another word. “She knew. The whole time.”

You go still. The wind outside could’ve stopped and you wouldn’t have noticed.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Just stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, eyes searching yours, full of guilt and something deeper. “I know how it must’ve looked. How I was always with her. But—” he swallows, his voice catching, “it wasn’t because I loved her.”

He licks his lips, and his hands cradle your face again, his thumbs resting beneath your eyes as if he’s afraid you’ll start crying all over again.

“She was the only one I could go to,” he confesses, voice just above a whisper. “The only one I trusted… to tell how I felt about you.”

It hits you like a wave—sharp, cold, and then warm, like everything you’d been aching for was finally surfacing.

Every moment you thought he was choosing her—

He was only ever trying to understand what you meant to him.

And somehow, she knew before even you did.

“I’m stupid,” he mutters, a sheepish look flickering across his face. “I say things without thinking. I know.”

There’s an apology in his voice, unpolished and honest, as if he’s laying himself bare for the first time.

And despite everything—despite the ache, the confusion, the tears—

a soft, breathy laugh escapes your lips.

It catches you off guard.

Because all at once, the memories rush in—

the way he hovered when you were quiet for too long,

how he always brought your favorite snacks back from missions without asking,

how he’d search the crowd until his eyes found yours, even when Shaiya was right beside him.

The way he always noticed when something was off, even when you said you were fine.

He’d been showing you his heart, clumsily, messily, loudly, and yet—

You convinced yourself it wasn’t real.

You convinced yourself that fate had no room for a love like this.

And maybe… maybe you were wrong.

Rafayel blinked at you, startled by your sudden laughter.

“Did I say something funny?” he asks cautiously, lips curving just slightly, hopeful.

You shake your head, smile trembling through your tears. “No. Just… me. I was so sure none of it meant anything.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“It meant everything,” he whispers.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, breathless, hopeful, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

You smile—soft, radiant, a little shaky—and nod.

A wave of relief washes over his face so quickly it nearly makes you laugh again. He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath for years.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent, “how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

And then—he moves.

No hesitation.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, hands cupping your face as his lips find yours.

The kiss isn’t tentative. It isn’t shy or delicate or fleeting.

It’s real.

All the longing you buried in silence, all the moments he loved you without saying a word, all the ache and confusion and heartbreak—

It all crashes together in that single, breath-stealing moment.

It’s not rough, but it’s not gentle either.

It’s everything you both couldn’t say, finally spoken in the language of skin and breath and trembling mouths.

And when he pulls back, just barely, just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, you’re both breathless and smiling and finally, finally seen.

“Still think fate’s unbeatable?” he whispers.

You hit his chest as he chuckles, but you don’t retort.

Because for the first time in a long, long while—you don’t.

masterlist

[grimmsbride]

big flirt …. ! ₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣.

mark grayson ╲ the almighty invincible has no problem showing his lovely girlfriend how beautiful she truly is..

𖥔 ࣪˖ tags⠀⎯ reader is depicted as curvy / plus-size | mentions of internet bullying | mark being obsessed with his gf | mentions of masturbation | pre-established relationship | dryhumping | lotss of praise | cowgirl position | minor manhandling | reader is a little insecure, proceeds to get them fucked out of her | lowkey ooc mark?? | he talks wayyyy too much 😈 | etc

𖥔 ࣪˖ author’s notes⠀⎯ the way mark canonically likes woman of all sizes just does something to me. he took one look at eve and truly dngaf about her size 😭. as always please enjoy this fic and excuse any grammar mistakes

You hated the internet. The way people crawled from their little depths of hell, fingers slamming into whatever keyboard they could find; typing hatred laced with the most obvious passive aggression that made you want to vomit.

You thought superheroes would be exempt from such scrutiny, maybe they people realize hey, these people save my life on a daily basis— maybe i should cut them some slack! But no, of course such a case was nothing more than wishful thinking.

Posts upon posts of blatant disrespect always collected in some random corner on the web, you unfortunately coming across most of them the moment you searched your super-hero name.

While some posts were.. okay, others were just downright horrible.

Your finger slid across the mouse, the page that shined on your features sliding with the action. A grimace collected on your face as your eyes took in the words before you;

Does she need a bigger suit?

There’s no way she works out everyday. I swear she was at least a little smaller last time she appeared on a camera.

I know the saying, “a camera adds extra pounds” but.. I don’t think we can blame the camera anymore!

You shouldn’t let those words get to you. You were a woman of honor, a superhero praised for your efforts and respected amongst the your peers. And after all, it was all just internet strangers hiding behind their screens. They didn’t personally affect you.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar trickle of shame filled warmth slide down your spine— pooling deep in your stomach. That was the downside of being a hero— scratch that, a woman being a hero; always on display, and always judged so, so harshly.

You were stolen from your thoughts the moment a hand suddenly shut your laptop, another gripping the chair you currently sat in and spinning it around. Quickly your gaze settled upon your beloved boyfriend, Mark Grayson. So caught up in your self-loathing, you nearly forgot he was over on a rare day off, having just showered — curtesy of the towel around his bare shoulders, and the droplets of water amongst his hair.

You gave a nervous smile, quickly spotting that little furrow of his eyebrows. The man wasn’t one to get irritated with you, but when he did— it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Enjoy your sh—“

“I thought I said to stop looking at stuff like that.” Mark murmured softly, releasing your chair and rising, grasping the towel on his shoulders to dry his hair. You watched, a little too greedily; taking in the way his arms flexed with the movement, toned stomach on display as the sweats he wore hung on his waist so loosely.

“It’s just stupid people online.”

His next words eliminated your perverted thoughts quickly, a sigh soon escaping you as you leaned back into the chair.

“I know.” You breathed, eyes traveling to the side for a moment. “It’s just.. no one ever talks about anything else. I know I’m a little big—“

“Quit saying that too.”

Mark interrupted you with ease, tossing the towel he had to the side before moving to his knees. His hands rose, warm and large, covering your bare thighs before sliding up to your waist. The man rested his cheek upon your flesh, playing with the fabric of your shirt.

“You’re perfect. You don’t need to change a thing.”

You couldn’t help the cheeky smile pulling your lips, eyes even rolling as your hand fell to tangle into his damp hair, “Mark, you’re supposed to say that. You’re my boyfriend, after all.” You giggled, feeling the way his fingers tightened just a bit in response.

Mark turned to rest his chin onto your thigh, chocolate pools focusing on you entirely. “That may be true. And I’ll say it as many times as you need me to.”

“Cheesy..”

It was his turn to grin, hands trailing down to your thighs once again, pressing his fingers into the warm flesh.

“But.. that didn’t only start when we started dating. I always thought you were perfect beforehand too.”

With a turn of his wrist, Mark began to ghost the underside of your thighs, watching the way you twitched at the tickling sensation. Your hips adjusted, glancing down at the man through your lashes;

“Really?”

“Really.”

You gasped the moment he grabbed your thighs tightly, easily lifting you from the chair whilst bringing himself to his feet. Instinctively your arms wrapped around his neck, feeling his hands travel to cup your ass, holding your body flush against his own.

“You know..” Mark spoke lowly, leading himself backwards until he sat on your bed. There, his legs spread, hands pressed down on your hips so you wouldn’t even think about raising off his lap. He looked at you intently, thumb breaching the edge of your shirt to glide across your skin; tracing a stretch mark etched into the flesh.

“I was always obsessed with you.. Your name, your smell, your, “ His eyes carried down your form, “—body. I didn’t know a person could be as perfect as you.”

“Mark..” You begun, whimpering the moment his fingers clenched, rolling his hips just to buck up into you. The growing bulge underneath his sweats nudged against your barely veiled center so perfectly, making your body grow just a bit hotter.

“There were some nights,” The man continued as if listing off a grocery list, as casual as ever, all while continuing to roll his hips every once in a while just to hear you whine. “—I would lay in bed, unable to sleep because you were on my mind.”

You wanted, no needed him to be quiet. He’s barely touched you, has only spoken, yet you already felt yourself losing focus. You gasped the moment he drew closer, feeling soft lips press against the side of your face before traveling to your chin and neck.

“The only way I could even sleep was touching myself to the thought of you.”

“Mark— oh my god.”

You cried softly, feeling his hips move with more purpose, more vigor. A hand of his rose from your waist to instead collect the back of your skull, tilting you how he liked before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. The man wanted to devour you— all of you. Rid those stupid thoughts circulating your head and replace them with nothing but pleasure.

Mark breathed into your mouth, gripping your plush form as he proceeded to manually move you, rolling your hips back against his own rolling ones. He felt your cunt pressed up against him through your panties and shorts, shuddering as the dampness of your center soaked onto his sweats.

You broke apart for air, resting your forehead against his own as little moans escaped you. Your nails dragged across his exposed skin, pulling yourself even closer to him as a sweet whisper of his name fell from your lips.

Mark never allowed his eyes to leave your face, lidded yet focused on you, and only you. His lips parted, watching you, soft huffs escaping as he bucked up. He groaned at the friction, soon leading himself to lay on his back.

Your hands dragged to his stomach, pressing there as you continued to move your hips desperate for more. As delicious as it felt, it certainly wasn’t enough. You craved much more.

“Mark…” You whimpered so feebly, feeling the way his fingers twitched at the call of his name. Said fingers trailed to the waistband of your bottoms, tugging quickly.

“I know baby, I know..” The man allowed you to rise up a bit, basically shoving your lower garments off whilst you focused on pulling his own down.

Once free of the confinements Mark’s hands were finding your hips against, lining you up with his dick before slowly pushing you down. A breath escaped the both you as your walls enveloped his length, your nails dragging across his skin as you took all of him so deeply.

“Look at that, just perfect.” Mark murmured, clearly the entranced by the way your bodies connected. He couldn’t help but focus there, feeling your walls pulse around him with each breath that escaped you. His hands cupped your form, flesh filling his palms so easily— so perfectly. His eyes flicked to your face the moment you whined, watching your hands fall to his wrist.

Mark grinned a bit, seeming to innocently adjust his hips when really he bucked into you, watching your lidded eyes fly open as the sweetest gasp escaped you.

“I don’t think you get how lucky I really am, having all of you to myself.” His words were quickly overcome by the soft squelches of your pussy the moment he began to thrust up into you. Your nails dragged across his skin, a pleasured hiss escaping his lips in response. His gaze greedily lapped at the way your face screwed up in pleasure, lips parted as you moaned.

“Mark.. baby, please..”

“Yeah.. Allll to myself.”

The man giggled softly, as if delirious off your body. It wasn’t that much of a stretch really, Mark was entirely crazy about you. Those thoughts at night didn’t stop the moment you solidified your relationship, maybe they even grew.

Only now the man was lucky enough to have every single fantasy come true.

Your hips rolled as you met each thrust with your own uncoordinated rut, head knocking against your shoulders as your eyes squeezed shut. Mark fucked up into you as if you weighed nothing, and you probably didn’t to him, curtesy of the Viltrumite blood running through his veins. Your hands slipped from his wrists to instead settle upon his stomach, dragging angry red lines into his flesh.

A particularly hard thrust had you toppling over with a gasp, landing upon his chest. Mark took this opportunity to wrap his arms tightly around your waist, feet going flat on the bed as he drilled into you.

You twisted and turned, unable to run from the pleasure as he made you take every single thrust. Your cunt clenched around him, arousal trickling and forming a foamy ring around the base of his cock, a complete sticky mess. You cried out as the feeling overtook your body, intoxicating and addicting, yet so, so much. Your hand brushed against his hip, a mantra of his name escaping in sloppy speech;

“Ma..mark, baby! Pleas— please slow down..!”

“Mm.” Mark hummed defiantly, lips pressing against your face with the sweetest kisses whilst completely wrecking your body. Soft breaths fanned across your skin, his nails digging into your flesh and refusing to let go. With each thrust a wet plap bounced off the walls of your bedroom, urging him even more.

“Feel so good baby.. you were made just for me, fu—fuck what anyone else says.”

Through hurried breaths he spoke, groaning the moment he felt your cunt clenching around him with each word. A hand dragged down to your ass, gripping the warm flesh as Mark stroked that spongy spot inside.

A melodic string of moans escaped your throat, incoherent babbles that oddly enough sounded like Mark! following shortly after. Your peak was closing in, detailed in the way you shook and gasped, cunt pulsing with each movement.

Mark coaxed you through it, whispering such sweet words right into your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it. His hands gripped at your shuddering body, praising every inch, detailing several more perverse fantasies just to hear you whine from embarrassment.

Soon enough you were reaching your end, coming undone with a final sob of his name, tears pricking at your eyes from the pleasure. You felt the man kiss at your cheeks, continuing to fuck into you as he chased his own end.

“Fuckkk.. Mark..!” You keened as he fucked you through your high, wet squelches covering every inch of the room.

Mark groaned softly, tugging you flush against his form as he slammed into you, “Almost there, pretty— almost there, I got you..” A soft swear fell from his tongue, teeth dragging against his bottom lip the moment he pushed himself deep, flooding you with his come.

Pants enveloped the room as Mark laid out amongst your bed, fingers dragging up and down your spine; delighted in the way you melted into him. He simply laid still, eyes focusing on coming down whilst laying so content under you.

Soon enough you had calmed down, slowly rising to sit in his lap, hands smoothing across his body.

“You’re.. such a little pervert.” You murmured, watching the way a little flush of red spread across his face; as if truly embarrassed, as if he hadn’t just got done with fucking your brains out.

Mark rose to lean on his elbows, head tilting to rest on his shoulder as he looked up at you so lovingly.

“Yeah well.. I’m your little pervert.”

The man smiled the moment you began to giggle, eyes closing as you leaned to capture his lips. He was far too happy to wipe that previous grimace off your face with his actions.

Now to figure out who exactly made those posts about you..

[bytemee]

SECOND NATURE 3 — kim minjeong.

synopsis. teasing you has become her favorite hobby—especially now that she knows what makes you tick.

pairing. winter x fem!added!member!reader

warning(s). fluffy, winter is a tease, reader is kinda a loser lol, and let me know if there's more!

words. 1.5k

authors note. i know i said rendezvous update would be next but...chat...please...c'mon

navigation. main masterlist. request. part one. part two.

you're sitting behind the camera during a live, scrolling through chat with half an eye and munching on a snack. it’s an idle thing—minjeong’s doing the talking, answering questions from my while you're practically here to babysit so she doesn't spoil anything about your group's upcoming comeback.

"any artist you’d want to collab with in the future? oh, hm..." minjeong pauses, tapping her chin in thought.

you pause your chewing and lean forward, curious to hear her response. "iu."

did she just—? iu? you weren't expecting her to say you, obviously not; you’re not even a soloist. but still. you stare at her like she just betrayed the nation. she glances your way and grins at you, all teeth, and it makes you pout a little. how can she just casually say it like that, like she's not trying to crush your dreams with the simple act of mentioning someone else's name?

“wow,” you mutter, loud enough for the mic to pick up. “i thought you’d say me.”

minjeong’s grin doesn’t falter, though. if anything, it widens.

"i mean," she says. "of course i'd love to collab with our beloved y/n, but there are many other artists who are more worthy than her."

"yah!" you yell.

game day.

the finals. your team made it. you’ve got the match queued up on the big screen, snacks on the table, and the couch set like a shrine to your club. you’re wearing the jersey, the scarf, and the pride of someone who’s watched this team since they were six.

you don’t expect minjeong to watch with you. she never usually does.

but then she walks out of her room—wearing your team’s shirt.

your heart physically skips a beat.

you stare. you forget the snacks. you forget your name.

she plops next to you like it’s nothing. “who’s playing again?”

“you planned this,” you say, dazed.

“planned what?” she asks, blinking up at you, pure innocence.

“you’re evil,” you whisper.

the game starts. you don’t see any of it. not with her shoulder brushing yours, not with her humming the theme song mockingly. when your team scores, you yell. when they win, you jump to your feet—and then immediately point at her.

“you’re my lucky charm now.”

“oh?” she grins. “does this mean i get free snacks for life?”

“no,” you say seriously. “it means you wear that shirt forever. that’s a rule now.”

you’re talking to a staff member a few days later, telling some stupid comic book theory you have about multiverse timelines in dc. it's a nice little chat, casual. he's listening intently. it's fun, even though your voice is getting scratchy and you're so into the discussion you're using your hands too much.

you’ve never had a proper conversation about it with anyone here, and it feels refreshing to just get it all out, even if it’s way more complicated than it probably needs to be.

“…so if you think about it, right? there’s always a version of every hero, but what gets tricky is the overlapping timelines. like, if the flash changes something in one universe, it doesn’t just affect that timeline. it causes a ripple effect, but it doesn’t always stick. that’s why they bring in different versions of themselves to fix it, but then they risk creating even more divergent timelines. it’s like this whole cycle. some timelines… they just collapse in on themselves. boom. gone. do you see what i mean? it’s like—wow."

your hands are flying through the air now, cutting through the air as you use gestures to explain the theory. the staff member nods, laughing along, clearly amused and equally intrigued by your nerd rambling.

"imagine a timeline where wonder woman was raised by a human family instead of the amazons, or, or, or… if batman actually had powers? what do you think would happen to the universe? would that cause a catastrophic event? or maybe there are a thousand other batmen without powers that are basically the real version of batman. that'd be hilarious, but then we'd have to find out what caused the divergence. what if it was something stupid like his parents not dying? would he still become batman? or maybe he'd become a villain! i think that'd be cool, to see the dark, evil batman."

suddenly, there's an arm wrapping around your waist. you stop mid-sentence, freezing like a deer caught in headlights, as minjeong's fragrance fills your senses.

you glance up, blinking rapidly, trying to get your bearings, but she’s just there, her cheek resting against your shoulder as she whispers, "i see you're getting really passionate about this whole multiverse thing."

you feel the heat rise in your cheeks instantly. the hand that had been gesturing wildly moments ago now freezes mid-air, awkwardly hovering as you scramble to pull yourself together. "i—uh, yeah, i just—i'm, you know, just explaining it. nothing big."

minjeong chuckles, and you feel the vibrations of it against your shoulder. "you know,” she starts, “i didn’t realize you could talk for hours about comic books.”

you’re about to try and make a joke, but then you catch sight of the staff member beside you. he's clearly holding back a smile, looking between the two of you like he’s enjoying the show. you quickly lower your hand, your cheeks growing even warmer, and you mumble, “i, uh, i wasn’t talking that much…”

“you were,” she says, her grin growing wider, and that’s when it happens—she gives you another little squeeze, leaning in just a touch closer, her face tilting up toward your ear as she adds, “you know, you’ve been going on for, like, twenty minutes now. you must be really into it. kinda cute.”

you freeze again, your mouth open but no words coming out. her voice is soft, sweet, almost a murmur, and when you turn to look at her, her gaze is even softer. it doesn't help that she's standing so close, her breath ghosting over your skin. it's warm. inviting. her arm tightens around your waist as her lips curve into a smile, and you can't stop staring at her mouth.

and subsequently she whispers just loud enough for only you to hear, "i'm still your number one, though, right?”

you nod dumbly.

(of course, it's always her.)

after the awards show, you're exhausted and starving but still wrapped in your black suit, tie loosened but not gone. you and minjeong are bickering in the living room about dinner. the other members are scrolling delivery apps. you’re losing your mind.

“tteokbokki is a solid option,” you argue.

“you always say that,” minjeong replies, arms crossed.

“because it’s true! it is a solid option. and there are good ones nearby. and they deliver. it's easy and delicious, and we can get the extra cheese option. we need comfort food. please. come on. tteokbokki is the way to go here."

you stare her down, and she stares back. there's a battle happening in her eyes. you know she wants the same thing, but you're willing to fight tooth and nail for this.

she steps forward. grabs your tie.

pulls you down. face-to-face.

“we’re getting jjajangmyeon,” she says softly.

you forget every word you’ve ever known.

“cool?” she adds, lips inches from yours.

you nod. or black out. maybe both.

she lets go. turns to the others like nothing happened.

you stand there, gay-panicking like your body was struck by lightning.

you don’t post on bubble often. mostly updates, the occasional backstage pic, and once—because your members forced you—a blurry photo of your dog in a hat. you like the anonymity. when you do post, it's usually about a song you've listened to on repeat or an outfit you can't get enough of. but today, you decide to give your fans an update about your day.

you’re outside the practice room, waiting for aeri, as she wanted to grab dinner together. it's a rare moment of quiet, and you’re still in your sweats from the late practice that went way too long. your hair’s a mess, tucked under your favorite sock hat that you got custom-made for you last christmas.

you pull out your phone, unlock it, and stare at the screen for a minute. your fingers hover over the keyboard as you debate how to phrase the update.

you type quickly, your fingers moving with ease:

“sock hat. \^o^/ here's a photo of me i took before practice. how’s everyone else doing today?”

you pause, rereading it a few times, then hit send. just as you set your phone down and lean back, the notifications start popping up.

KARINA 💙: what are you doing

you blink. pause. your brain scrambles to remember—did you post that on bubble or—

oh no.

y/n: lol wait a minute y/n: how do i delete

NING: this is the bubble groupchat grandma 😭

y/n: wait when did we have a group chat?

y/n: can MY see this???

NING: yes

you nearly drop your phone trying to cover your face, heart racing like you just got caught doing something illegal.

winter: how do i save

winter: sock hat supremacy… you’re too cute !

y/n: …

KARINA 💙: …winters fav fashion icon everyone 🧦🎩

winter: you guys don’t understand how serious she is about that hat. i’ve seen it in three different colors.

NING: i saw it walk out of her suitcase on its own once

y/n: jealousy is a disease and i hope you all get well soon ❤️

winter: only jealous the sock hat gets to be that close to you 🙂‍↕️

y/n: yeah that’s enough

y/n: i’m logging off now

y/n: bye MY o(TヘTo)

GISELLE: sock hat aespa’s sixth member confirmed? GISELLE: wait are we still getting dinner? GISELLE: hello?

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

ummm can i request jealous spencer? like reader has a boyfriend or spencer thinks she has a boyfriend and he gets all pouty. and then ... soft confession/kisses :)

feel free to ignore if it's not your cup of tea!

btw my criminal minds themed blog is @sweetheartspence !! but alas i cannot send asks from a side blog </3

thank u in advance! hope u have a wonderful day/night

Oh! This is definitely my cup of tea I love love love jealous Spencer 😋

BYR(b4 u Reid): Jealous & mean Spencer Reid :0, teasing, and a bit of fluff toward the end, along w a cute little kiss scene hehe

Jealousy | Spencer Reid

It had been a week. A week since Spencer started noticing the shift in your behavior.

You were… happier. Lighter. More willing to do things for your coworkers than before.

Staying late without complaint, grabbing an extra coffee for someone, taking an extra file without the usual dramatic sigh.

You used to roll your eyes when Morgan pawned off paperwork on you, now you just did it. No protest. No banter.

And then there were the little changes. The way you started painting your nails, the extra time you took with your makeup.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume someone was catching your attention, and truthfully he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Hey.” He called, catching you before you could leave the bullpen. “There’s a movie playing tonight, it’s based in the fifties, and about a serial killer who’d eat his victims. It’s supposed to be really good. Want to come with me?”

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “Aw, Spence, that does sound fun, but I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Oh.” His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening. “No, that’s fine. What are you doing?” He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Just… something with a friend.” You said vaguely, offering him a small smile.

A friend.

He nodded, forcing a smile. “Nice. Okay. Maybe next time.”

“Yeah.” You agreed before walking away, leaving him standing there.

And it wasn’t just him noticing the change anymore, it was the whole team.

The way you were always texting, checking your phone like you were waiting for something. For someone.

Morgan noticed first, of course.

“Someone seems pretty occupied.” His voice was laced with amusement as he watched your fingers fly over your screen.

You glanced up, blinking. “Yeah, sorry.” You muttered, locking your phone and setting it down.

“Important stuff?” Spencer asks, trying to sound casual.

You shook your head. “No not important at all.”

Morgan snorted. “Right.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” He said, smirking as he leaned back in his seat.

You didn’t buy it, but you let it go, getting up from your spot on the jet and heading toward the restroom.

The second you were gone, Morgan turned toward Spencer, grinning. “That girl is definitely hiding something.”

Spencer’s head snapped to Derek. “Yeah? Like what?” His brows raised, eyes wide.

Morgan’s smirk only grew more. “Woah. Eager, aren’t you, pretty boy?”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I’m just curious. Does it seem like she’s acting different? Like… someone is causing her to be like this?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re worried.”

“Worried?” Spencer scoffed. “About what?”

“That she might be seeing someone.”

Spencer sat up straighter. “I’m not worried.” He said quickly, too quickly. “Just curious. She’s my friend. Don’t you want to know?”

“Yeah, but only because I’m nosey. You, on the other hand…” Morgan tilted his head. “You want to know because you’re scared of losing her.”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Losing her? How would I lose her?”

Morgan shrugged, still grinning. “No more movie nights, no more friendly dinners, and definitely no more sleepovers. Your girl is gonna be busy with someone else.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, looking away. “She’s just my friend.”

Morgan let out a low chuckle. “Sure, pretty boy. Keep telling yourself that.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Lunch with Spencer had become a routine, quiet escape from the chaos of the BAU. Your usual spot, the same table by the window. Everything felt the same, except Spencer.

He was distracted. Off.

He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his gut, the one that told him something was going on with you. Something you weren’t telling him. The past week had been filled with too many smiles at your phone, to many whispered conversations with the girls, and too many times you’d turn him down.

So he had to pry a little bit.

“So, uh…how’s everything been?” He tried to keep his voice even, but there was a nervous edge to it.

You furrowed your brows. “How’s what been?”

“Uh, life?”

You smiled, stirring your drink absentmindedly. “Oh, good. Nothing much outside of work. Just busy.” You paused. “Why?”

Spencer shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just wondering if anything has changed in your life.”

You eyed him for a second, suspicious. “Oh…okay. Well no. Not really. You?”

“No. The same. Work and home. That’s about it.”

“Nice.” You said simply

There was a beat of silence before Spencer tried again. “Can I come over tonight? I’ve been wanting to play this new game I got.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “Oh, my house? It’s kind of a mess. Maybe we can do it at yours instead?”

His grip on his fork tightened. A mess? That was the excuse? Since when did you care if he saw your place like that? Unless… you were hiding something? Someone?

Had the person you were seeing already moved in?

The thought sent a sharp, unwelcoming sting through his chest.

“Yes.” He said, a little too quickly. “My house is good. Is eight okay with you?”

You nodded, smiling. “Perfect.”

Then your phone buzzed, and before he could say anything else, you grabbed it. You didn’t just check it, you smiled at it. A real, genuine smile.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek.

Something burned in his stomach. Jealously.

It was stupid. Irrational. He had not right to be upset. You weren’t his.

But he was upset.

“We should go back now.” He said abruptly.

You glanced at the time. “We still have some time, though.”

He clears his throat. “I’m not really feeling good.”

Your brows knit tighter in concern. “Oh. Okay.”

You don’t question it. And that made him feel worse.

Back at the office, he watched as you practically sprinted to JJ, Emily, and Penelope. The four of you huddled together, whispering, giggling.

Spencer tried to listen, straining to hear past the office noise, but all he caught were Penelope’s dramatic gasps and high-pitched “oh my gods.”

And then-

“We need to meet him.” JJ says.

Spencer could’ve fainted right there.

Meet who?

Why did they get to know, and he didn’t? He thought you were closer than that.

“Maybe Friday night?” You suggested. “We can all get together. He’d love to meet the team.”

Spencer’s stomach twisted. He.

Who the hell was he?

He felt sick.

But no one noticed the way his face fell, the way his fingers dug into his palm as he clenched his fists.

“Yes, Friday!” Penelope clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll tell the guys! Derek loves a night out at the bar.”

“Alright, I’ll let him know.” You said, smiling at the girls before heading back to your desk.

Spencer, however, turned on his heel and walked straight to the restroom, locking himself in a stall to breathe.

By the end of the workday, he’d barely spoken to you. He wasn’t even sure he could without his feelings slipping out in some pathetic, embarrassing way.

But then you ran into him on your way out.

“Hey.” You greeted, smiling up at him. “Still up for that game?”

Spencer hesitated, shifting on his feet. His emotions were too raw, too tangled. The thought of sitting alone with you tonight, knowing Friday he was probably going to have to come face to face with that guy, made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“I, umm…” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m still not feeling good. Maybe next time.”

Your face fell slightly, and it made his chest ache. “I can still come over and make you some soup? Or we can watch a movie?”

For a brief second, he melted. Your voice was so soft, so you. Sincere. You cared about him. But then reality him, maybe you were like this with him, too. Maybe you were sending him sweet messages, making him laugh, offering him soup when he wasn’t feeling well.

The thought made his stomach turn.

“Uh, no.” He said, voice flat. “I want to be alone.”

Something flickered across your face, something confused and a little hurt. “Oh. Okay. Well… get better. Let me know if you do want my company. I’d love to stop by.”

Spencer swallows hard. “Yeah.”

Then he turned and walked away before you could see just how much he hated this.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

By Friday everyone had noticed, Spencer was off.

His usual, quiet, awkward charm had been replaced by something sharper, something angry. He was short with everyone, but mostly with you.

“Are you okay, Spencer?” You finally asked, cautiously approaching his desk.

His eyes lifted from the case file in front of him, sharp and unreadable. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You frowned. “You’ve just been…I don’t know. Different.”

Spencer let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Me? Different?” His voice was laced with sarcasm. “Right. I’m different.”

Your brows knit together. “Did I do something?”

“Look, I have a lot of work to do. I need to focus.” His tone was clipped, dismissive.

Morgan appeared behind you, catching enough of the conversation to raise an eyebrow. “Hey man. just chill.”

“I am chill.” Spencer snapped, jaw tight. “Just both of you. Go.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re acting like a child, but fine. I’ll go.”

Morgan watched you walk off before turning back to Spencer with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Man, you’re scaring her off.”

“Why should I care?” Spencer muttered, flipping a page in his file like it didn’t matter. “She’s taken.”

Morgan scoffed. “Because she’s your friend, and she cares about you. You’re treating her like garbage.”

Spencer didn’t answer. Just clenched his jaw and stared at the file like it could somehow fix what was wrong with him.

Morgan sighed. “You’re gonna regret this, kid.” Then he walked off, leaving Spencer alone with the gnawing, unbearable feeling twisting in his gut.

Later, in the break room, Emily found you pouring yourself a coffee.

“Hey! Have you asked Spencer if he’s coming tonight?”

You sighed. “No. Honestly, I’m kind of scared to talk to him right now. He seems off.”

Emily’s lips pressed together. “Yeah, I’ve noticed too.”

“I’ll try again.” You said, exhaling “maybe he just needs time to cool off.”

Emily nodded. “Hope it goes well.”

With your coffee in hand, you made your way back through the bullpen. You passed Spencer’s desk, and once again, found the same hard expression on his face. He didn’t even look at you.

But you weren’t giving up on him.

Two hours later, you decided to try again.

You walked over and casually perched yourself on his desk, something you’d done a hundred times before. But this time, Spencer tensed. Like he wanted you off.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

His eyes flicked up. “Hey.”

“Are you coming to the bar tonight? I’d love it if you came.”

Spencer swallowed. “I—I don’t know. Bars aren’t really my thing. You know that.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know, but someone really important is coming, and I’d love for you to meet him.”

Spencer inhaled sharply.

Important. You had to say it like that? Right to his face?

His fingers twitched against his desk. “Yeah, I-I don’t think so.”

You pouted. “Spencer, please. He’s so funny, so cool. The girls already love him, and I know you guys would. He’s such a good guy, you need to meet him.”

His entire body went rigid.

He wanted to snap. He wanted to yell. But instead, he just clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“No.” His voice was sharp, and final.

You gave him those wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

He shook his head.

“Alright.” You sighed, standing up. “Well, if you change your mind, it’s at Rudy’s. I really want you there.”

Before leaving, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His breath hitched.

“I’m here if you need to talk.” You murmured. Then you walked away.

And Spencer ?

He dropped his head into his hands, exhaling sharply.

He felt awful.

Why was he like this? He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control his jealousy, the anger, the way his emotions spiraled out of control every time he thought about you with someone else.

And worst of all?

He knew he was hurting you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The bar was packed, the energy high. Everyone laughed, letting loose after a long exhausting week.

You were happy, smiling, surrounded by your team. But still, you couldn’t help but miss the one person who wasn’t there.

“He’s not coming.” JJ said gently, watching the way your smile faltered.

You sighed. “He hates me. And I don’t even know why.”

JJ shook her head. “He could never hate you. That boy practically worships the ground you walk on.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Then why does it feel like there’s nothing left for us? I should've made a move when things were good. Now it’s like… he's a different person. And I'm scared he doesn't want me.”

“Just give him time.” JJ said, squeezing your shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

You gave her a small smile before heading to the bar, sipping your drink.

Then.

“Can I sit?”

Your head snapped up. And there he was.

Spencer.

Your heart leapt. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.”

He shrugged, slipping into the seat beside you. “I changed my mind, I guess.”

“Good.” You beamed. “I’m so happy.”

His eyes softened. “Uh, so where’s that guy?”

“Oh, Brian? He’s running a bit late, should be here soon through.”

Spencer exhaled, forcing a nod.

“Come on, let’s sit with the group.”

Before he could process it, you grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the booth where the team sat. His pulse kicked up at the contact.

As soon as the team saw him, a cheer erupted.

“Look who finally decided to have a life!” Penelope teased.

Spencer forced a smile, sliding into the booth beside you.

For awhile, things felt normal. Drinks flowed, conversations bounced between cases, childhood memories, and ridiculous office gossip. It was the kind of night that made you all feel less like FBI agents and more like lifelong friends.

Until.

“So, this guy we’re meeting…” Rossi drawled sipping his whiskey with an amused smile.

Spencer tensed.

You lit up. “Yes! His name is Brian! I’ve told him all about you guys, and he cannot wait to meet all of you.”

Spencer swallowed hard.

“He’s amazing.”

Spencer rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice his reaction.

Then, your name was called.

Spencer’s stomach dropped, this was the moment he had to come face to face with his fears.

You turned, your entire face brightening as you ran into the arms of some guy. You hugged him tightly. Held on to him like he was the best part of your night.

Spencer was sick.

“Guys, this is Brian, my best friend.” You introduced him, glancing around the group. But when your eyes landed on Spencer’s empty seat, your heart sank. He was gone. A knot formed in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

The team greeted Brian warmly, and soon, conversation flowed easily. It didn’t take long for everyone to love him, he was energetic, kind, and full of the craziest stories that had the group laughing.

“So, Brian, what made you want to move here?” Emily asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Well,” Brian grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “This girl right here told me there was a lot of cute guys out here, so I figured, why not? Hot guys and my best friend? Seemed like a no-brainer.”

He smirked, blatantly eyeing Hotch and Derek.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Derek had managed to slip away from the group, and go with Spencer who was at the bar, nursing a drink that seemed like it hadn’t been sipped on.

“Alright, pretty boy. What’s your deal?”

Spencer didn’t even look at him. “I can’t watch her be with him.”

Derek let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “Look, man, you’re spiraling. You need to go talk to your girl. Seriously.”

“She isn’t my girl, she has a boyfriend.”

Derek rubbed his face like Spencer was exhausting him. “Quit your pouting and go talk to her. Before the night ends.”

Spencer didn’t respond.

Derek groaned and walked off, leaving Spencer with his own miserable thoughts.

He turned toward the booth again, watching you.

You were smiling and having fun but he knew when it was genuine and when it wasn’t, and right now it wasn’t.

A weight settled in his chest.

So he made his choice.

Pushing off the bar, he crossed the room, weaving through the crowd until he was in front of you.

You looked up, surprised, but your expression softened. “Spencer, you’re back.”

His voice was low. “Can we talk?”

You studied his face, concern flickering across your features before you nodded.

Without another word, he took your hand and led you somewhere quieter, somewhere just for the two of you.

You both sat down, the buzz of the teams laughter and music muffled by the distance. There was a silencer between you, not uncomfortable. You didn't say anything. You were waiting... For him.

Spencer was thinking. If the man had steam coming out of his ears, you wouldn't even be surprised.

Finally, his eyes met yours. “I’m sorry.” he said softly.

He gave your hand that was still in his a gentle squeeze, you should've pulled away because truthfully, he didn't deserve to hold it, but you couldn't.

“I’m sorry I was being a-”

“An ass?” you filled in, no hesitation.

His jaw dropped slightly at your bluntness before he sighed in surrender. “Yeah… I deserved that.”

You nodded. “You did.”

Then your voice lowered, a little more vulnerable. “What did I do, Spencer?”

His shoulders sank under the weight of your words, he couldn’t believe he made you feel like it was all your fault. “Nothing. God, you didn’t do anything.” He said. He couldn’t even look at you.

You followed his gaze and it was on Brian, so it all clicked together for you.

“Be honest.” You urged gently.

His eyes flicked to you, guilt written all over his face. “I was jealous.”

“By who?” You asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from him.

“Brian.” He muttered, looking down at his shoes like they might offer an escape. You tilted your head. “Brian?”

You could’ve teased him. Let him stew a little more, just for the hell of it. But he already looked like he’d been spiraling all week, and the truth was, you didn’t want to see him in pain, not when you cared about him this much.

“Spencer, Brian’s not into me.” You said. His head snapped up. “How?” He asked, baffled. “You’re- you’re perfect.”

You chuckled, shoulders lifting in a little shrug. “I’m not his type.” You glanced toward the booth where Brian was now leaned in, laughing at something Derek was saying. “But I think Derek might be.”

Spencer tracked your gaze, eyes narrowing in that profiler way of his. One second. Two. He blinked.

“Oh.”

The air left his lungs in a rush, like someone had cut the string pulling his jealousy tight.

But then his brows furrowed again. “Then why have you been different lately? Happier. Dressing up. You stopped inviting me over…”

You smirked. “Didn’t know you were paying so much attention, Dr. Reid.”

He flushed.

“Brian and I moved in together. That’s why I’ve been in a better mood, I guess. It’s nice having my best friend from home close. And yeah, I’ve been putting more effort in… but that’s because I’ve been trying to get the attention of this one genius loser I work with.”

Spencer blinked. That trademark genius brain of his clearly went offline.

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “You, Spence. It’s you.”

His lips parted, like the words were there but stuck. “I-I just didn’t want to assume.”

You gave him a playful look. “Right.”

He looked lighter now, like the guilt and confusion he’d been carrying and finally lifted.

“I really like you.” He said, voice more confident now. He leaned in a little. “And I-I want to make everything up to you.”

You raised brow. “Oh yeah? How?”

He smiled nervously. “Can I take you to dinner?”

You nodded slowly, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. “I’d like that…and?”

He bit his lip, thinking. “Movies…and then we can go back to my place and play that game I was telling you about?”

You nodded. “Not bad. It’ll be perfect if you also take on a couple of my files for a month.”

He groaned but smiled. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Your guys eyes locked on each others, and you weren’t sure who leaned in first. It didn’t matter.

The moment your lips met, it was soft, hesitant, but warm. Then Spencer deepened the kiss, one hand rising to cup your jaw, his other still holding you hand tightly like he couldn’t let go. His tongue slid across your lips, and you let him in.

You guys moved in sync, like you were perfect for each other.

And like this is where you guys were supposed to be.

You kissed until the need for air pulled you apart. Both of you stared, wide-eyed, lips parted.

“I was supposed to be mad at you a little longer.” You teased, he grinned smug. “Can I kiss you again so you won’t?”

You giggled. “Maybe.”

He leaned in again. This kiss was sweeter and gentler like he had gotten all the desperate need for you out with the first kiss. Now, he just wanted to continue feeling your lips on his, even if it was just a peck.

“I can do this all night.” You tell him

“I can too.”

And with that, the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s company for the rest of the night. The team didn’t interrupt or tease, they simply let you be, giving you the space to enjoy the quiet warmth between you. It was easy, comfortable, like everything had finally fallen into place…

@beeintheskies Hope you love this<3 it was so fun to write, thank you for your request!

Divider from @hyuneskkami

[rika-mmendmethings]

Interdimensional Epiphany

Chapter 6

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

₊⊹Synopsis: A fortnight of compensated leave from your company was supposed to be a rejuvenating experience. Things take an unexpected turn when Rafayel, your choice of ML, starts becoming self-aware. His love knows no bounds, not even interdimensional ones.

₊⊹Pairing: self aware! Rafayel x Reader

₊⊹Content: Subject to change as we progress further into the story. The series has major character deaths, subdued manipulation, heavy angst with a happy(?) ending, slight yandere themes, fluff, did I mention angst? For this chapter: fluff, flirting and romance, surprisingly.

₊⊹Word count: 2.9k

₊⊹Notes: WE'RE BACK EVERYONE!!!! Big kisses to every sweet soul who loves IE as much as I. Anyway, hopefully, you enjoy the read and stay tuned for the series. Lmk if you wish to be added to the tag list for this. ♥

₊⊹Tag list: @loveanddeephistory @ittybittyfanblog @lyssandraxo @micasosa34 @hyein21 @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @blessdunrest @altair718 @3fg7 @froleineeeee @mikachux3 @aiehtta @beaconsxd @poptrim @animecrazy76 @zackenblacken @rainycreationfart @invaderzia1 @his-ocean-emissary @multisstuff @wondering-again @some-girl-idk @itsrandompersonyall @plzdonutpercieveme @renchai @mc-cos-charm @mentaltrouble2201 @jeremywillis @dysphxriaii @paper--angel @bymoonlightfics @lizzyyrawrs @xsammijoanneex @itsmeaudrieee @jadedrouge3 @allycat2090 @nm4565natty @quill-for-glory @pokemonaora @satansdaughter123 @23s0fia @yandereaficionado @reni502 @yuhuahuaaa @placeholdddddd @a-friends-healer

The days bled into each other with a kind of cruel monotony, each hour passing without answer or change. Despite your meticulous comb-through of online forums, bug reports, and every obscure Reddit thread, you’d found nothing to explain what was happening with the game on your phone. There were no similar cases, no digital fingerprints left behind — just you and a character that kept acting increasingly less like code and more like...something else. But now, with only three to four days of your compensated leave remaining and the looming dread of returning to your office and having to immediately start working on new projects, you’d stopped trying to make sense of it.

You weren’t even sure you cared anymore.

Today you were having a reunion. You had plans with college friends — just drinks, maybe some loud laughter, a brief pretend-that-everything-will-be-okay kind of day. You sat before your vanity mirror, curling iron in one hand and your phone balanced neatly in its usual place on the stand. Your reflection stared back at you, a picture of effort: half-curled hair, smudges of highlighter clinging stubbornly to your fingertips, and two earrings held up in each hand — one a simple pearl stud, the other a pink chandelier piece that sparkled in the vanity light.

You tapped the game icon with the back of your knuckle, not thinking much of it. The loading screen usually took a while. You didn’t glance at the phone again, too busy weighing elegance against whimsy.

“I think the pearl studs would look nice,” came a low voice from your phone.

You startled, the sound cutting through the calm atmosphere of your room. Blinking, you glanced down at the screen — and found him there. Rafayel. Watching you.

Of course he was.

Deliberately, and perhaps a little childishly, you clicked the pink chandeliers into place. His lips curled in a boyish smile, a glint of victory in his eyes.

“I knew you were going to pick the opposite of whatever I said. That’s exactly why I suggested the pearl studs.”

You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror and rolled them, though you made no move to change the earrings. They did look good, after all.

Finally, you sank back into your chair, reaching for a wet wipe to clean your fingers. Only then did you really look at the screen — and paused.

The familiar velvet backdrop of Destiny Café was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Rafayel sat on a gold accentuated, marble stone stairway leading to what looked like a beautiful temple of sorts, the backdrop drenched in deep marine hues. It was an architectural marvel, enormously big with pretty coral reefs that grew beneath arching pillars. The water’s edge shimmered nearby, reflecting silvery light that had no clear source.

Rafayel rested with his elbows on his knees, hair loose and falling to his waist in soft, flowing waves. His current attire was new — at least to you. Gone were the shirts that had an artistic flair in them or the cute accessories. Now, he wore a robe-like ensemble draped over broad shoulders, dyed in gradients of seafoam and navy. Bare-chested beneath it, his form glistened faintly as if touched by saltwater. Gold armlets circled his biceps and thin chains crisscrossed his exposed chest, not merely decorative but worn with the kind of ease that suggested he was used to reverence. The robe’s high slit allowed glimpses of fitted trousers beneath, etched with motifs resembling ancient tide markings, while his sandals grounded him in an otherwise ethereal look. 

You told yourself it was probably another graphical glitch — his sentient programming, if that’s even what it was, just crashing the scene rendering system again. It was morning. You were not in the mood for digital mysteries.

He yawned and leaned back on his palms, the translucent drape falling slightly open to reveal more of the ridged planes of his torso. Your eyes trailed, unwillingly — or so you’d like to believe.

He caught you.

“Isn’t someone enjoying their free access a bit too much?” he teased.

You sputtered, words catching in your throat. “I—I wasn’t—”

“It’s alright,” he cut in smoothly, eyes twinkling. “I’ll take my turn when the time comes, beautiful.”

You huffed and crossed your arms, trying to recover what little dignity you could. “I was just looking because I didn’t recognize that outfit from your wardrobe. It looks nice, by the way.”

He grinned, glancing down at himself. “You like it? I’ll dress you as nice as me someday.”

“Delusional,” you shot back without missing a beat.

“Determined,” he corrected, flipping his hair over his shoulder with practiced ease.

You gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Lipstick intact, curls falling just right. Nothing out of place. You didn’t need to say it — but you did anyway.

“I’m going out with a few friends today.”

There was a pause. Then, Rafayel shook his head.

“You really didn’t have to tell me,” he said softly, “but you did.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, trying to play it off. “You know what? You’re right. I shouldn’t have told you. You’re not my husband or anything.”

“But I will be.”

Your brain did a graceless stutter-step. “Huh?”

He waved a hand casually, brushing it off. “Nothing. Forget it.”

You didn’t push it and told yourself it was just another quip. You busied yourself with the game instead — logging in your daily tasks, clicking through menus, and collecting stamina. When you reached the shop to claim the free pack, his voice rang out again.

“Why are you still doing this? It’s not like you can play any other characters or participate in new events. You know that, right?”

You exited the shop screen, facing him once more.

“I guess it’s just a habit now,” you said, almost to yourself. “I log in during office breaks. It gives me something to do.”

Then, with a pointed look in his direction, you added, “A girl can’t even have some company these days.”

Rafayel gave a theatrical pout, tilting his head. “Aw, are you sad I erased all the other leads? Aren’t I company enough for you?”

As if summoned by some celestial comic timing, a small pufferfish drifted across the screen, inflating with a pop. Its bulbous eyes blinked blankly, floating by like a forgotten thought. Rafayel’s expression mirrored it—absurdly cute in a way that defied logic.

That was it. You burst into laughter, the kind that bent you forward with its weight. Your stomach hurt and your eyes began to water. You hoped your mascara hadn’t betrayed you. Rafayel laughed too — warm and uninhibited, his laugh like waves crashing against a quiet shore.

Then, as your laughter began to settle into the space between you, your phone buzzed with a text. A simple message from your friend: ‘Waiting in your parking now.’

You straightened immediately, shooting off a quick ‘ok’ in reply, and hurriedly grabbed your things.

“Well,” you said, turning back to the screen, “I’ll see you later.”

He looked up at you. There was something in his expression then — less playful, more...hopeful. His dusky eyes shimmered with quiet yearning.

“Will I?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around your clutch. You didn’t want to lie — not when he looked like that.

“You will,” you promised, and you meant it.

He perked up instantly, radiant in his joy. You smiled, raised your hand, and blew him a quick kiss before exiting the app.

And on the other side of the screen, when you were gone, Rafayel fell onto his back like a teenager drunk on his first love — eyes closed, hand clutching at the center of his chest, a smile stretching wide and utterly unguarded.

The next few days passed in a haze — not quite a blur, but a soft kind of stretch, the way a lazy breeze moves through sheer curtains. You found yourself talking to Rafayel more than you did anyone else lately — between hobbies, during long drives with the radio humming low, or even while you lay in bed, sunk into your pillow with no will to move. You logged in without meaning to, without checking rewards or running through the usual routine of collecting stamina. He was the routine now.

Each time your screen lit up, so did his face — an almost instinctive light that flared in his dusky eyes the moment they met yours. And you... you told him things. Silly things and heavy things. Things you hadn’t said aloud in months. He listened, never rushing you, his voice comforting and steady — the kind that didn’t demand you be okay, just waited until you were.

He told you stories in return, pieces of his world not logged in any of his information on his desk. Tales that didn’t show up in event banners or collectible memories, but lived instead in the rhythm of his voice and the nostalgia that curled around his words. Like the time he sneaked onto the shore in his human form and scared away kids his age just so he could collect their beach toys and take them back with him to the ocean. 

At one point of time, his aunt, Talia joined in on your conversation too. You were bewildered that she was also as sentient as him and was aware of her existence as a game character. Rafayel assured you that you didn’t have to think so hard and that his world was as real as yours now. Talia was as lovely as she was depicted in the game and also adorned an unfamiliar attire that you assumed was also Lemurian. 

She was able to show you visions from her memories using her powers. You didn’t even know she had one to begin with. You saw Rafayel when he was a little toddler and shared laughs with her as she replayed his antics like a movie for you. Rafayel had his burning face hidden in his hands halfway through because Talia was telling you some downright mortifying tales of his. Talia didn’t forget to let you know how much Rafayel talked about you and when you glanced at the said man, he avoided your gaze like the plague.

And then, one especially grey afternoon — the kind that made everything in your apartment feel colder, smaller — you told him about your parents. About the silence that had stretched between you and your mother like a taut wire no one wanted to cut. About Tyler, your ex, whose name still sours your mouth when spoken aloud, not because you missed him, but because of how much of yourself you gave away trying to be enough for someone who never was.

Rafayel didn’t offer platitudes. He offered presence. He listened, his head tilted slightly as he sat on the temple steps, now so familiar they felt like a second home. You watched his expression shift with every word you uttered, and when you were done, when your voice cracked and your nose was embarrassingly red from sniffling into your sleeve, he exhaled thoughtfully. If you had paid more attention, you might’ve noticed his features darkening when you mentioned your trash ex.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together with mock gravity. “Step one: let’s send a highly dramatic letter to your mother via a seagull. They’re very reliable and you could easily avoid face-to-face confrontation. Step two: think about your life choices and step one with ice cream. Lots of it.”

You snorted through your tears, and he grinned in satisfaction.

“Okay, fine,” he added, tone softening, “maybe don’t actually involve birds. But talk to her. You don’t have to fix everything today... just let her know you’re open. That’s all a crack needs to let the light in, right?”

Later that same day, when you finally opened your laptop and dialed your mother’s number on skype — phone set beside it on a stand — Rafayel cheered for you as your call rang. When it finally connected and you saw your mother’s face light up the laptop screen, you quickly wished him goodbye. Your mom picked up on your chatter and asked who you were talking to.

And like the brat corporate has turned you into, you replied, “Your son-in-law.”

Your mom only huffed, lecturing you about your unnecessary witty replies as you exited the app and set your phone down. Unbeknownst to you, Rafayel had heard that part and had squealed in happiness, his cheeks tinted pink. 

At the end, things did work out with your parents.

The relief was subtle at first. But over the next few hours, the knot in your chest began to loosen. Conversations with your parents that once felt sharp and brief now carried warmth again, and though things weren’t perfect, they were better — healing, even. And at the center of it all, quietly holding space, was Rafayel. His presence was a comfort in the aftermath, steady and unbothered, like the ocean returning to calm after a storm.

You spent lighter days with him too, not just the ones dipped in melancholy. Laughter returned slowly — hesitantly at first — then freely, like sunlight stretching through a clearing sky.

One afternoon, you lounged across your bed, legs tangled in a fleece blanket, phone propped against your pillow. Rafayel sat in his usual place on the temple steps, one leg bent and the other stretched out casually in front of him, robe falling in lazy folds. A few glowing koi swam across the water’s surface behind him. You scrolled through your cluttered bucket list and turned the screen so he could see.

Your shopping list was chaotic — a deeply personal collection of things you didn’t necessarily need but wanted anyway. There were silk dresses in impractical colors, shoes with heels too high for daily wear, perfumes with names that sounded like poetry, and an antique-style mirror that would never fit in your apartment but was too beautiful to delete. Rafayel leaned in with growing amusement as you kept scrolling, his expression somewhere between admiration and mild horror.

“Oh wow,” Rafayel grinned, reading along. “You’re high maintenance too — just like me. We’ll go bankrupt together someday.”

You snorted, nudging your screen back toward yourself. “You say that like it’s a promise.”

He only smiled, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine that kind of future — reckless, extravagant, shared. Somewhere in your chest, it started to feel less like fantasy and more like something you could reach for. Something you weren’t sure he’d ever stop teasing you about if you said that aloud.

There, centered on the screen like some cursed spotlight moment, was a purple silk lingerie set you’d saved weeks ago — not for any practical purpose, just because it was pretty. You reached to close the tab instantly, but Rafayel had already seen it. His gaze lit up like someone had handed him a golden ticket to mischief. 

“Oh?” he drawled, feigning deep thought as he rubbed his chin. “You’d look incredibly sexy in that, you know?”

You groaned, covering your ears. “I’m not even going to listen to this.”

The redness that bloomed across your cheeks only encouraged him further. Rafayel leaned forward, voice louder and far too proud. “You're already a bombshell — imagine the double damage you’d do in that set. The world would never recover. Wait, not the world, me definitely.”

You buried your face in your hands, a muffled, “I hate you,” barely audible from beneath your palms.

“No, you don’t,” he said smugly, and you couldn’t argue with that.

Sometime later, curiosity got the better of you. You were flicking through the game’s sections, half out of boredom and half out of habit, when something strange caught your attention. The memory section — the one that housed his character events, four-star moments, and branching myths — was gutted. The cards featuring MC alongside him were simply... gone.

Frowning, you lingered on the screen, thumb hovering. “Hey, Rafayel... does MC exist as a person in your world?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers played absently with a strand of lavender hair, twisting it around and around as he leaned against one of the temple pillars. His voice, when it came, was distant. “Not anymore.”

You sat up slightly, a new chill curling up your spine. “Is that why I can’t access your memories with her? Or your branches?”

He finally looked at you then. There was something final in his eyes — a flicker of defiance threaded with protectiveness.

“No,” he said. “I did that myself.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He let out a breath and raked a hand through his hair, gaze never leaving yours. The movement was too practiced — like he was trying to distract you with his beauty instead of the gravity of what he was about to say.

“Because I refuse to share any romantic memories, pictures, or stories with any other woman that isn’t you.”

His words landed with a strange weight, like a pebble dropped into still water — the ripples invisible, but deeply felt. His dusky eyes searched your face with a new unwavering intensity, and you felt the first flutter of something real in your belly.

You were the first to look away.

Staring down at your lap, you hoped your hair was enough of a curtain to hide the heat climbing up your neck. “You have chronic flirting syndrome, don’t you?”

Without missing a beat, Rafayel replied, “Only for you, pearl.”

And you hated — absolutely hated — how the corners of your lips betrayed you at that moment.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

[kikiwie]

call me back? 𖦹 ˚.

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

in which you get in a heated fight with the haikyuu boys, and it takes longer to reconcile than usual.

you didn't need to see his message appear on your screen. especially not after waking up.

after going days without speaking and feeling better, you were able to stop thinking about him so much. but now that he was reaching out, you felt as though all of your effort was gone.

he mentioned something along the lines of wanting to meet up and talk. you really couldn't look at it for too long or you might lose what little sanity you had.

this was the worst fight you’ve had in your relationship, and you didn’t know what to do. you knew you couldn’t be mad forever, but some things said did hurt, and you could admit you said things you shouldn’t have too.

you screamed into your pillow, and you didn’t know if it was from dread or something else you didn’t want to recognize. that you missed him more than you wanted to.

immediately you grabbed your phone and texted the group chat to ask if you should text him back fast or wait because you were not sane enough to handle this situation.

you, of course, ended up giving in after 2 minutes, which you didn’t even finish asking your friends. even if you tried not to give in, you knew you loved him too much for that.

(he would’ve seen you or sent a text earlier, but he didn’t know if you were still mad. he was tweaking because you were non verbal.)

suna, osamu, sakusa, kenma, tsukishima & kageyama.

the last thing you expected to happen today was to see him standing in front of your door. you felt horrible for him because he was so wet from the rain, but you were hesitant.

"what brings you here?" despite your best efforts to appear cold, your eyes betrayed you as you glanced at him. "not even going to invite me in?" when you glared at him, his attempt at a smile turned wary.

"i didn't ask you to come here.” he didn't like it when you crossed your arms. you felt so distant.

"i just had to see you. to talk. i really miss you, and i wasn't expecting for the fight to go to this.” with a sigh, you decided that it would be best to have that discussion inside.

he entered when you stepped aside. "come, i’ll get you some dry clothes and a towel." he agreed, and he followed you to your room to get one of the hundreds of sweatshirts and shirts he stored in your dresser.

shortly after, he changed and came back with the towel in his hair. he gave you a hug when your back was to him. “i’m really, really sorry. i promise i’ll do anything to make this better..” he kept rambling, and you knew you couldn’t be mad forever.

kuroo, iwaizumi, terushima, daisho, akaashi & semi.

he tried to be nonchalant about the whole situation. like it didn’t bother him at all. (he in fact did care. just in denial) that was until he realized it wasn’t one of those times where you’d fight and after a few hours you would talk it out after you’ve both cooled off.

nope, he was going insane. he tried calling you and texting you, but you weren’t answering. it was really messing with him and with his performance in whatever he was up to.

he’d stalk your socials sometimes to see if you were up to anything, but you weren’t giving him anything to stalk. now he was just getting worried. usually you would repost on tiktok or post on your spam, but nothing. just radio silence.

that was until a miracle happened. your mutual friends had decided on a night out and invited you both. that was his chance.

when he saw you, he tried not to run to you and shower you with kisses like he usually did. but at this point he was getting desperate.

being the hopeless man he is, he had to talk to you. to fix this and never fight with you again and shut up whenever you want him to.

let’s just say he almost got on his knees and begged for forgiveness because he couldn’t last another second without you by his side. (in a way that didn’t seem too desperate, of course.)

atsumu, oikawa, bokuto, tendo, futakuchi & koganegawa

they don’t fight with you. they get told to shut up, and they do. they get told to sit down, and they sit. (they just love you a lot)

tanaka, nishinoya, hinata, lev & yamamoto

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

this was for funsies, might not be too accurate. hope you enjoyed either way. <3

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐨—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A friends to lovers, Stray Kids one shot.

Synopsis: When your best friend was hanging out at your place, you suddenly babbled out something that's been going on in your head. And Chan felt relieved when he realised it wasn't only him who felt the same.

Warnings: Smut🔞, unprotected sex, confessions, experienced, sweet (blond) Chan, reader's first time, creampie, oral (f.receiving), fingering, kisses, pet names (baby), fluff.

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I remember getting a comment under my one shot 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 from @whatudowhennooneseesyou, about a series of the reader's first times with each member. I'm still considering on that idea, so here's Chan's version for now.(Ps I had this collecting dust in my drafts since September)

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'��ᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.1k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Even though your playstation 5 “lived” in your apartment, the real owner of it was Chan. 

You got it because you found a game interesting and then you lost interest in it. But Chan? He took over like it was his duty to ensure the console felt appreciated. Now, it sat proudly near your TV, practically an extension of him whenever he visited. 

Both of you were in your living room, his eyes glued to the screen as fingers moved effortlessly over the controller, brows furrowed in concentration.

You sat beside him on the couch, knees drawn up, watching the way his expression changed with every twist and turn on the screen. The warm glow from the TV flickered across his sharp features, making his dark eyes glimmer.

He was so immersed, yet your mind was somewhere else entirely.

You swallowed, fiddling with the hem of your hoodie as an impulsive thought bubbled up, one that had been brewing for some time now.

You wanted to kiss him. 

It wasn’t the first time you thought about it, but tonight, the weight of it pressed harder, leaving your stomach in knots.

Maybe it was the way he looked so at home in your space, or how he always made time for you despite his crazy schedule. Or maybe it was just him—just Chan.

However, it felt wrong. Chan was your best friend, the one who had been there for you through everything since the beginning. You both built such a strong bond, so you feared your feelings would ruin what you have. 

But not saying anything also drove you crazy. There's nothing that you've kept as a secret from him but this felt more than just something random. 

The fear of rejection made it hard for you to think so you kept your feelings locked away. But you also had a gut feeling lingering, maybe you both are more than just friends. 

And then as if your body had a mind of its own, you moved in closer to him, and whispered, “Chan…” 

He didn't take his eyes off the screen. Then suddenly you blurted out.

“Have you ever thought about us…being together?”

His fingers fumbled over the buttons. A sharp in-game crash filled the room, followed by the bright red letters of Game Over flashing across the screen. 

Silence stretched between you two, only broken by the faint hum of the console and your own thudding heartbeat.

Chan slowly turned his head, blinking as if trying to process if you’d actually said that out loud or if his sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on him. 

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “What?”

And then, as if you couldn’t hold back anymore, you leaned forward and pressed your lips on his. 

Chan's eyes widened as your mouth collided with his, his heart banging in his ears. The warmth of your lips sent a shock through him, short-circuiting every rational thought.

Your insides twisted in knots as you pulled away just an inch, your breath shaky. "Oh my God," you whispered, eyes darting anywhere but at him. "I—I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have—"

Chan's hands shot up, his hand cupping  on your face, keeping you from pulling too far away. He swallowed hard, his breath uneven as if he had just run a marathon. "You... kissed me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I'm sorry…” you said again, your voice apologetic, you suddenly felt small in front of him, but Chan's gaze pierced into yours.

“Are you?” He asked teasingly. Embarrassment crawled up your neck and you tried to pull back from his hold but he pulled you towards him until you were on his lap. 

Before you could say anything, his lips pressed on yours again immediately, his hand sliding up your waist as his mouth moved over yours, angling your head, tasting you, letting you taste him. 

Your hands ran through his beautiful silk blond hair, the intoxicating scent of his spicy cologne engulfing you. 

Chan pulled apart, sucking in your bottom lip and gently biting it before he released, breaths heavy and eyes glassy as you both stared at each other.

His eyes searched for yours, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Back to your question,” he said, his fingers tightening just a bit on your waist before it went down to cup your clothed ass that made you jerk. 

"You asked if I ever thought about us being together," he murmured, voice low, teasing. "What do you think?"

You swallowed hard, your hands still tangled in his hair, fingertips pressing lightly against his scalp. "I—I don’t know," you admitted, suddenly shy. "You never really said anything, so I figured you just saw me as…nothing more than just a friend."

Chan scoffed, shaking his head in amusement. "You're an idiot, you know that?" His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you impossibly closer until your noses brushed. 

"Do you even realize how hard it’s been for me? To act normal around you? To pretend I don’t notice how fucking cute you are when you ramble about things you love?”

Your cheeks burned as your teeth dug the inside of your cheek.

"Or how many times I've to shut the guys’ mouths whenever you come over and they tease me for being so down bad for you?" he continued, eyes flickering down to your mouth.

"Drives me insane, baby."

Your stomach flipped at the pet name, at the sheer warmth in his gaze despite the teasing lilt in his voice. "You… you like me?" Your voice came out softer than intended, like you were still trying to process it.

He tilted his head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before a dimpled grin painted his face. 

“More than just like you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, then another, his breath fanning over your skin.

You felt like you were floating. The weight of every doubt, every second-guessing moment, melted away in his arms. "I…like you too," you admitted, barely above a whisper. "Maybe longer than you have.”

He arched a playful brow, pressing his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip. God, has that ever made your heart race this fast?

"Guess we were both idiots then, huh?"

You laughed softly, nodding. "Yeah."

Chan grinned, dimples appearing as he kissed the tip of your nose and pressed your forehead against his.

You both remained in each other's embrace as the minutes passed, yet your heart raced as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Rapid and relentless, betraying the calmness of his hold.

Should you say it? Will he think something else of you?

It was as if Chan could read the thousand thoughts racing your mind, his lips brushed on your chin before he said, “Whatever you wanna ask me, you can ask." He said without hesitation. 

Your breath clogged in your throat before your gaze dropped to the floor. Chan tilted his head, studying you with those warm, knowing eyes. His fingers traced soothing patterns over your back, being patient as always. 

“What is it, baby?” he murmured, his voice coaxing.

You swallowed the weight of your own thoughts pressing against your ribs. It wasn’t that you were scared. It was just… nerve-wracking to finally say it out loud.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, gripping it like an anchor as you whispered, “I want… I want my first time to be with you.”

Chan stilled. His eyes widening slightly as his hands on your waist tensed for just a moment before his breath left him in a slow, measured exhale.

"You do?" His voice was careful, gentle. Not teasing. Not pushing. Just making sure he heard you right.

You nodded, still not quite brave enough to look at him. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… wanting you. But I didn’t know how to say it. I thought you’ll find me weird. Or stop wanting to be friends with me…"

Chan let out a quiet chuckle, tilting your chin up with his fingers so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Baby, you could’ve said anything, and I’d listen. I’d never make you feel like you had to hold this in. 

A shiver ran down your spine at the intensity as he spoke, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You could never be weird to me. And nothing could ever make me stop wanting to be in your life.”

His words made your heart swell, a warmth blooming deep in your chest.

“You really mean that?” It was unusual for you to feel so exposed and vulnerable. It was unusual for Chan to be anything but a tease. It was this side of him you rarely got to see. 

Chan’s gaze softened, his arms tightening around you. “Of course I do.” He exhaled, his forehead pressing against yours again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as if he was absorbing the weight of your confession. 

Then he spoke, voice low, sincere. “But I need you to be sure. I don’t want you to do this just because you think you should or because of me.”

You nodded again, firmer this time. 

"We’ve got time, okay? We don’t have to rush anything." He said gently, holding you tightly.

But you shook your head slightly, your fingers curling into his hoodie once more. "I don’t want to wait anymore," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve already waited too long to feel like this."

Chan’s eyes darkened slightly at your words, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck. "Are you sure?" he whispered one last time, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded, your own breath catching in your throat. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And with that Chan smoothly carried you, locking your feet around his torso, your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him again, he walked towards your room, kicking the floor shut behind him. 

He gently laid you down on the bed and got up, unlocking his lips from yours to look at you.

You were heavenly, so beautiful beneath him, Chan's heart was racing like a wild galloping stallion as he watched you. Your chest rose and fell as you raised your arms up, calling him to hold you, to kiss you more because you couldn't get over how his mouth felt on yours.

And to take you, to guide you on what's about to happen.

Chan held your hand and kissed your palm, holding it on his cheek. You felt the warmth of his smooth skin, his other hand intertwined with yours as he smiled, a deep dimple blooming on his cheek.

“You're mine sweetheart.” He leaned down and softly but commandingly growled in your ear that made goosebumps pebble your skin. 

“I've only wanted the best for you, to only see you smiling and happy, I didn't want to ruin us, that's why I didn't tell you how I felt.” He kissed the spot below your ear as he continued his confession that made you hitch a breath. 

“But now, I will never be able to let you go.”

The dominance coating his voice sent a shiver, anticipation and thrill down your spine, as if your body knew to whom it should respond to all along. Chan's lips brushed over the line of your jaw then made its way down your neck, his mouth deeply sunk into your skin that made a soft moan escape your throat. 

He left his mark on what's his. 

"Chan..." you breathed out his name, and the way you said it seemed to unravel him further. He groaned softly, his hands sliding around to the front of your shirt, pausing just at the hem, waiting for your permission.

You met his eyes, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and nodded. 

That was all he needed. You raised your arms, allowing him to slip your shirt off, the fabric falling to the floor without a second thought. The cool air hit your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of Chan’s hands as they roamed over your sides, up your waist, and around to your back. His touch was electrifying, every brush of his fingers setting your skin on fire. He couldn’t get enough of you.

"I want to make you feel good," he murmured, his voice raw with need. "Tell me if you want me to stop and I’ll stop anytime."

You shook your head, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie. "Don’t stop," you whispered against his lips. "Please, don’t stop.”

Your hands found the hem of his hoodie, tugging it upwards. He pulled back just enough to allow you to lift it over his head, tossing it aside. His chest was bare now, and the sight of him, all toned muscles, chiseled abs and soft skin that made your breath catch in your throat.

Good God, this man was beyond breathtaking.

You ran your hands over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms, and Chan’s eyes fluttered closed, a low groan escaping him as your fingers brushed against his skin. He let you explore his body as he did with yours, his hands moved to your hips, pulling you against him and unclasping your bra with ease.

You could feel the heat building between you, something wet and needy flooding between your legs, the raw intensity of it threatening to consume you. But with Chan, it didn’t feel rushed or overwhelming.

It felt right. Absolutely true.

Chan's hands trailed lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for just a moment before pulling them down, his eyes never leaving yours. He tugged it down along with your underwear, you laid exposed and bare under him.

Chan knew at the very instant that he was in heaven.

“Fuck…” he growled in a low voice as he took the time to memorise the sight beneath him. 

You were perfect, so fucking perfect and practically glowing for him that he wanted nothing but to give you everything he had in him. 

Every ounce of pleasure, every kiss, every breath.

"God, you’re beautiful baby," he whispered, his voice reverent as his lips moved down, his mouth closed over one of the hardened nipples, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

You gasped at the sensation, your fingers threading through his hair, your body arching into his touch. Every nerve ending was on fire, the warmth of his mouth sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. 

His mouth worked skillfully on your sweet, sensitive nipples, giving both equal amounts of attention, sucking on one as he rolled the other with his forefinger and thumb. Chan’s breath was hot against your body as his mouth moved lower, kissing a trail down your chest and stomach, leaving your skin tingling in his wake. 

You couldn't stop your sounds escaping your throat at every single touch. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you firmly in place as he made his way lower.

“Chan…” you whispered, your voice breathy, laced with desire.

He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The fire of his gaze made your heart skip a beat, a dark hunger brewing behind his warm brown eyes. 

He wanted you—he needed you—but he was in no hurry. This wasn’t about rushing, this was about you, about making sure you felt every single moment.

“I want to make you feel good. Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice low and rough but filled with nothing but emotion and tenderness.

“Yes, I'm okay,” you said moaning softly, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly spread your legs wider, positioning himself between them. 

His gaze never wavered, his dark eyes filled with a kind of raw, unrestrained want that made your heart race even faster when his eyes were on your wet heat. Your pussy looked so beautiful and perfect for him, Chan’s heart raced equal anticipation as yours.

"I’ve got you," he whispered against your thigh, his voice soft but full of intensity. "I’ll take care of you, baby. I promise.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you could barely manage a response before his lips pressed on the soft rise of your pubic bone and finally reached your center. You gasped, your body jolting at the sudden surge of pleasure that shot through you. 

His tongue flicked against your clit in a slow, teasing rhythm, sending sparks of electricity through every nerve in your body. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he continued his slow, torturous assault.

Chan licked and flicked his tongue over your wet walls, spreading the slick folds gently with his tongue, giving himself more access to explore your heaven, which made his cock grow harder. 

You squirmed at every stroke of his tongue, sending you higher, moans filling the room as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation of it all.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as your hips moved against his mouth, desperate for more. 

"Chan... please..." you gasped, your voice breathless, trembling. You didn’t even know what you were asking for—only that you needed more, that the pleasure was building so quickly, that you thought you might fall apart right there under the warmth of his mouth.

"You’re so fucking amazing baby," he murmured between strokes, his voice raw with love and lust. "So fucking sweet... I could do this all night.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over you, and you moaned louder, your body trembling uncontrollably as he continued his relentless assault.

"Has anyone ever made you feel this way?" He sucked your tender clit like a man starving that got you to buck your hips up, grinding his face.

"Do you like my mouth eating this sweet pussy of yours?" Chan's fingers caressed your soft thighs before he nipped your skin. His words felt filthy—words you thought you'd never hear from him—but the way he said them made you tremble. 

The heat of his breath against your most sensitive part, combined with the skill of his mouth and tongue, had you completely at his mercy. He was relentless, alternating between gentle licks and hard, precise strokes, building you up to the point where you were almost sobbing with need.

"No... no one..." you finally managed to choke out, your voice barely audible between gasps. "Only you, Chan.”

"That’s right. No one’s ever going to make you feel this good," Chan growled, his voice low and husky with desire. He looked up at you briefly, his eyes dark and wild. 

“I want you to remember this. I want you to remember how good my mouth feels when you’re coming for me.”

His fingers, still gentle on your thighs, now slipped higher, tracing the wetness that coated your folds. The moment you felt his fingers teasing your entrance, your entire body tensed, pleasure building to a fever pitch.

"Chan... I can’t—" Your voice was breathless, ragged as you writhed beneath him,.

“Yes you can, baby. Don't be scared, I will make it good for you,” he whispered, pressing one finger inside you while his mouth worked you mercilessly. 

He slid it in slowly inch by inch, being careful not to hurt you but you were so wet and aroused, you could only feel the pleasure he was giving you.

His finger moved inside you with just the right amount of pressure, the combination of his mouth sent you to the edge as you arched your back for him, your hands grabbing the sheets till your knuckles turned white. 

He gently added another and when they curled inside you, finding that sweet perfect spot, it made stars burst behind your eyes.

Your hips bucked uncontrollably as the tingles that built up hit you hard and fast, you cried out his name, your orgasm tearing through you like a storm. The pressure of it was almost too much, and you shuddered beneath him, gasping for air as your body convulsed with wave after wave of pleasure.

"That’s it," Chan growled, his mouth still working you through your high as his fingers moved inside you, drawing out every last bit of it. "Such a good girl...”

When you finally came down from the high, your body still trembling, Chan lifted his head, his dark eyes filled with a kind of raw satisfaction as he watched you, withdrawing his digits, his lips glistening with your release.

"You’re fucking incredible," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he mapped his way back up your body, his hands roaming all over you. "You did so good for me baby."

You were still catching your breath, your heart racing as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a kind of awe at the way he had just unraveled you completely.

You pulled him, whispering his name until his body was pressed against yours. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh, and the realization of what was about to happen sent another wave of heat rushing through you.

Chan cradled your face so gently, like you were something very fragile, he smiled and let out a soft, shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours for a moment as he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. 

"I’ll go slow," he whispered, his voice low as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You swallowed hard and watched him as he pulled back to discard his shorts and boxers and you finally saw what was confined behind those pieces of fabric.

Could he fit inside you?

Your mind raced as your eyes never left the sight of his cock. Long and proudly hard, the soft tip leaking pre cum, you felt your heart pound in your throat.

Chan chuckled deeply, the sound making you tear your eyes off him and look at his face. Your face flushed instantly and he leaned down, placing his hands on the pillow on either side of your head.

“Ready?” His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation. Despite the fire burning between you, he was still so gentle, so careful with you, and it made your heart ache with how much he cared.

You nodded, your hand reaching up to cup his face. “Yeah, I'm ready for you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Chan kissed you deeply, his lips soft but demanding as he pressed his body against yours, his hands sliding down to grip your waist. 

He pulled back and positioned himself at your entrance, stroking his cock over the wetness of your pussy that made adrenaline rush like a wildlife over you both, and with a sharp inhale, he slowly began to push inside.

The stretch was intense, but not painful. More like a slow, sweet burn that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch. 

Your breath caught in your throat as your body accommodated to the fullness, the sensation of him inside you unlike anything you had ever felt before. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. 

Chan groaned, his breath hot as he buried his face against your neck, pushing himself completely inside you, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself back.

“So fucking tight…” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice rough with need as he paused, giving you time to adjust to his size. 

When you finally nodded, giving him the go-ahead to move, Chan let out a shaky breath and began to thrust, slow and gentle at first, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had you moaning beneath him. 

"You feel so good fuck," he groaned again, his hips picking up speed as he buried his face in your neck, his breath ragged against your skin. "I can’t get enough of you.”

Both of you were lost in the sensation of it all, the feel of him moving inside you, the way his body pressed against yours, the way his hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let you go. 

Now you realized what the internet meant that sex with the right person is the best thing you'll ever experience. 

This is what making love feels like. Perfect, sweet and mind-blowingly intoxicating.

Every movement of him sent a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, the friction between you driving you both closer to the edge. You held onto him tighter, almost wanting to mold into him, who whispered the most soothing and filthy words into your ear.

“Y’know for how long,”—thrust—“I've been wanting this baby?”  He growled, his voice rumbling in his chest. “To fuck your pussy,”—thrust—“to feel how tight it'll be f’me?”

Your head fell back against the pillows as he tore moan after moan from your throat, the noises of you both bouncing off the walls of the room. His movements sped up, grunting lowly, more desperate as he chased his release.

His hand splayed over your tummy, before it slid down to stroke your sensitive clit and that was enough to make the balls of tingles in the base of your spine build faster, making you reach the depth of your high.

“Chan, I…I'm close,” you gasped, your voice barely audible as your fingers dug into his back, holding him closer.

“Me too, baby,” he groaned, his pace quickening, his thrusts growing harder, hitting your sweet spots over and over again. “But I'm not gonna,” his voice went deep, “I'm not gonna come inside you.”

Your eyes widened, mouth falling open as you tried to catch a breath and threaded your fingers through his damp hair. 

“Please come,” you breathed that made Chan slow his pace just a bit, his brows knitting together. “Please come in me.”

“Baby,” His fingers brushed over your flushed cheeks and you clenched around him that made him hiss and grit his teeth.

“I want it, Chris. Please,” you whimpered and that drove him feral when you called him Chris. 

His hips slammed into yours harder and deeper, his restraints snapping, that made your breasts bounce back and forth before he hit that spot that made you shatter along with him.

His cum spilled in you just as your orgasm crashed over you, the intimacy of you both coming together for the first time during your first time sent you to the ends of ecstasy. 

Chan collapsed over you, but was careful to not crush you beneath his huge body and pulled out of you when the continuous twitching of his cock slowed. You could feel the spilled warmth of his cum seeping out of your hole with every breath you took, your gaze never leaving his. 

The post sex bliss began setting when Chan rolled over and fell next to you on the bed, pulling you flush against his chest. 

You sank into his sweat slicked body, letting the scent of him engulf your senses as you draped an arm and leg over his body.

Your eyes fluttered close before you opened it again to gaze up at him, your thumb tracing the line of his sharp jaw. 

“Channie…” you whispered, and he looked at you with a content smile you've never seen on him before.

“Hmm?” He hummed, his hand lightly squeezing your waist. 

“Does this make you my boyfriend now?” 

Feelings were confessed, through words and intimacy, but in the quiet aftermath, with nothing but the sound of your steady breaths filling the space, the weight of what happened in the past hours all truly settled in.

It wasn’t just the heat of the moment anymore. It wasn’t just something left unspoken between shared glances and playful teasing. 

It was real, undeniable in the way your bodies remained tangled together, in the way your hearts beat in sync, in the way neither of you could bring yourselves to let go.

Chan let out a quiet chuckle, dipping his head so his nose brushed against yours. "I think I’ve been yours for a long time now. Didn't I say it as well?" he murmured.

You're mine sweetheart.

You had always known Chan was special to you, but hearing it, having him confirm what your heart had suspected all along, made your throat tighten with unspoken emotions.

"So… officially my boyfriend now?" You teased, though your voice wavered slightly, betraying the weight of the question.

Chan tilted his head, studying you with a fond smile before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Yeah, baby. I'm officially yours.” 

A small laugh escaped you as you nuzzled closer, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns over his bare chest.

His arms tightened around you, a gentle squeeze that sent shivers down your spine. "I just… I wanna do this right," he spoke, breaking the silence, voice hushed yet resolute. 

“I meant what I said earlier. I don’t want this to be just a moment because you thought you should do it or because it's me. I want you, in every way, I always did. And not just tonight, not just in this bed, but every damn day after.”

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, your heart drumming wildly against your ribs. It wasn’t just the weight of his words, it was the way he looked at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You've always made me feel safe and loved Channie," you whispered, fingers curling into his as you laced them together. 

“You were my best friend and now you already are becoming the best boyfriend.”

His eyes softened, filled with something deeper than fondness, fingers tightening around yours as he pulled you even closer.

“I’m gonna spend every day proving that to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You deserve nothing less.”

It had always been Chan. Your best friend, your safe place, your anchor in the storm. And now, he was your person in a way you had never dared to imagine before tonight.

“I love you, Channie.” The words left you before you could second-guess them, before fear could creep in and make you hesitate. They weren’t new, not really. You had loved him for so long in so many other ways, but this time, it was different.

Chan’s lips parted, his eyes widening slightly before the softest, most radiant smile stretched across his face. His hand came up, fingertips ghosting along your cheek, memorizing the moment. 

“Say it again,” he whispered.

You let out a quiet laugh, warmth pooling in your chest. “I love you.”

His breath left him in a shaky exhale before he surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss so full of devotion. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead on yours.

“I love you too.”

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Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green, Part 31 masterpost cw: strongly implied off screen murder and discussions about it

“Do you need me to pull the car over so that you can put your make-up on?” Jason asked.

Tim shot him a withering stare. “Do I look like I need you to pull over so that I can do my make-up?”

“See, I know better than to answer yes to that,” Jason said cheerily, “but I also don’t want to deal with you poking out an eye with a mascara wand.”

“I’m not going to poke out an eye putting on mascara.”

“Or bitching the rest of the drive because your lipstick is slightly crooked.”

Tim paused. “…okay, that I might do.”

“And we’re pulling over!”

“Fine,” Tim sighed, “We need to spray your skunk streak black anyways and change.”

“I can’t believe their uniforms are really all white suits,” Jason said as he looked for a convenient side road to pull of onto.

“I know, have they never heard of no white after Labor Day?” Tim asked as he dusted something over his cheekbones.

Jason snorted. “Yeah, cause that’s my problem with the all white suits. Nothing about them being impractically easy to stain.”

Tim hummed. “White is easy to bleach, think lab coats and hotel sheets.”

“That only solves the problem if they don’t have to go anywhere before they can get the stains out,” Jason pointed out.

“It works if they think that they’re immune to any repercussion of having stains,” Tim said. He set the fluffy brush he had been using down. “How often do you think they walked around with Danny’s blood like it was nothing?”

Jason gripped the steering wheel so hard that it creaked under his hands. “Never again.”

“No,” Tim agreed. “Never again. Not any of them.”

“I hate that we can be as final with all of them,” Jason said as he forced himself to relax his grip.

“I know, but the organization is better handled by the Titans and Justice League. Bringing the law into their end will have more lasting effects than bring an end to their agents.”

“Damn bureaucracies,” Jason grumbled. “Always someone else to fill in a spot.”

Tim hummed in agreement. “If taking out agents and bases was enough, the LOA would be long gone, trust me.”

“Oh I do, Timbit. It’s why you’re the one in this car with me. I don’t have any illusions about your hands being clean or worry your commitment wavering.”

“Good, it won’t.”

“I know.”

Jason turned the car down a road and off to the side where it was hidden between tall rows of corn. Tim leaned forward to continue his make up. He really was the best chameleon of them all, even the old man. Jason tried not to think too hard about what that meant for Tim himself. Things were better now, that was enough. He grabbed the can of hairspray from Tim’s bag.

“There’s contacts in there for you too,” Tim said. “And put in the pomade before the spray so that it doesn’t run. You need to slick your hair back for that government lackey sort of look.”

“Glamorous. Is that why your shade of lipstick is so horrific?”

“Bland yet obligatorily feminine,” Tim replied with a flutter of his eyelashes.

Jason snorted as he set about running enough pomade through his hair to make a 1930’s man proud. He stepped out of the car to use the can of spray color and clean his hands off. The dusky contacts were popped in next before he fussed with getting his hair swept over just right and the sides pressed flat against the his head.

Tim finished about the same time with his wig, so Jason grabbed both garment bags and spread the one out on the trunk for Tim. By the time they were back in the car it was like Jason Todd and Tim Drake were never there. Agent UU and Z settled easily into the seats and continued on their way.

“We’re not making a mess,” Tim—or double U— said some time later.

Jason growled.

“I know, but we need to keep this clean.” There was just the right amount of lilt to the voice to sound like a determined woman who had spent to long fitting into a ‘mans’ world. “This is just the GIW cleaning up two assets before they can be picked up and spill secrets to the cops.”

“What’s the plan then?”

“The pen in your pocket is really a needle with a very quick acting sedative. It paralyzes. Everything.”

Jason nodded. “Okay. Act like we’re extracting, get them apart to gather vital items, stab them?”

“In the neck.”

“Okay.” Jason pulled the car to a stop in front of bland suburban house.

As if they had practiced, they exited the car in sync with one another, slight tug to their white suit jackets and everything, and approached the door in a matching clipped pace. Tim was a step ahead (a woman would be better received) and rang the doorbell before crossing his arms behind his back. Jason made himself breath as the door opened.

“Dr. Fenton,” Tim said. “Agents UU and Z. It’s urgent that we come inside, the GIW is breached.”

[etherealrin]

⋆.˚ call it what you want

in which proplayer!sae could care less about what the media was calling you two, if it means being with you again

warnings: none // wc: 647

note: fem reader! badly proofread

the star midfielder of re al, itoshi sae, has a spotless reputation. there wasn't a single stain on his image, not one rumor or dating scandal. it was a matter of heated debate online; there were multiple twitter threads regarding sae's love life. was he truly single? perhaps not into women at all? did he have a secret relationship with another celebrity? if he did, he was remarkably good at never being caught.

so when a photograph of sae leading a girl to a secluded room, shot at an angle where one could only see a flash of glimmering hair, goes viral, the entire internet was wholly appalled.

sae scoffs as you read another article from your phone's news feed to him. "hey, look at this!" your tone is joking as you point towards the device's screen. "they're questioning if i'm some top hollywood celeb. is it because i dyed my hair recently?"

"love, that's stupid. you know dispatch reports more lies than truths." he replies, nose wrinkling at the thought. sure, you were beautiful, more so than any actress, but he really didn't enjoy all of the media speculation he received. was it so wrong of him to want something normal, to have a private relationship?

you'd known sae since before he went to spain, when you were just two simple kids trying to go through life the right way. when he had left, it'd caused a huge buzz in your town, japan finally receiving international attention for football. and you'd long since been regarded as sae's closest friend, so everyone was clamoring to ask you: would he ever come back? the drama queens threw their fits (sae had no shortage of admirers even then), many people called you a liar when you said that you didn't know, the pressure caused you to isolate yourself—done with how nosy the world was being. and of course, you missed sae more than anything. you'd mindlessly twist your fingers through the silver necklace he gifted you right before his flight, the 冴 character shining in the pale moonlight. no one else knew the words he'd suddenly whispered into your ears before he boarded without sparing a glance back; "i love you, i'll swear i'll see you again."

you'd kept that necklace for years, until itoshi sae appeared in japan once more, to play for a mysterious soccer match; and a front row ticket was mysteriously sent to your email. which you had never changed from before he left. nervous anticipation floods you, you were about to see your best friend who you hadn't heard from in years. when you finally spot him on the field, he looked nothing less than a daydream, dark pink locks impossibly perfect even against the wind and sweat. as he's being introduced, sae's gaze somehow found you amongst the crowd—you might have died. though he knew you would show up, he couldn't help but look for extra assurance. and you couldn't have predicted the whirl of events that happened after. his manager pulling you aside, saying that "itoshi sae needs to meet you," sae walking towards you with his head down, evidently trying to avoid the paparazzi, grabbing your hands and guiding you into an empty interviewing room; teal eyes glimmering with unsaid words.

your lips inevitably crashed into each other, you both had heard the cameras click and seen the flash of brilliant white, but none of you cared. "at least i did one thing right," is what sae had murmured after a few minutes, deft fingers tracing across your cheeks. his eyes flickered over the chain he gave you, one you'd never taken off. the media could call it what they wanted, because in that moment it was only you and sae. though perhaps it had always been that way—all it took was for one of you to see it.

a/n: dude i'm so obsessed w this song rn. also i finally stopped slandering sae who would've thought this day would come so soon!

masterlist.

[soobnny]

we'll never have sex — changbin x reader ; established relationship & hurt/comfort (1.2k words)

there is nothing more beautiful than the promise of love even if you cannot guarantee or give that certain level of intimacy just yet

for my girls with a complicated relationship w sex & yes this is based off of leith ross’ song

Facetimes with Changbin always last longer than they should. 

Had it been anyone else, the call would’ve dropped more than an hour ago. You’d have been found guilty for finding any excuse to warrant you some silence–the slightest tinge of awkwardness, the moment conversation runs out, faking plans.

Never with Changbin.

The static of phone calls stretch on, neither of you having moved much. You can’t remember how long it’d been since either of you said something, but you’ve never minded. The quiet that came with your boyfriend had always felt comfortable. Almost safe.

In your periphery, just at the top most right of your screen, you can see him sprawled across his bed, signature hoodie to match the boyfriend look, and fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. 

“Still awake, baby?” His voice breaks the silence, teasing almost, but still gentle. 

“Mhm.” You hum, shifting in your position a little. “But ‘m a little sleepy.”

“You should go to bed.”

“No.” Changbin chuckles at your refusal, deep and raspy through the phone. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, distinguishably fond even with the poor quality of the video.

For a second, you allow yourself to just watch the boy–his glazed eyes, the softness in his features accentuated by the low light of his room, the warmth of his smile. 

Almost safe. Almost reassuring. 

You wonder if it’s all a facade, wonder when he’d finally break, wonder when he’d leave you because you refuse to let him do anything beyond a kiss. Maybe no amount of love, even from the right person like Changbin, will ever be enough to change that.

You try to scold yourself. Self-destructing thoughts are too familiar, they reverberate in your head like you’d been thinking about it for a while, like they’d been practiced and practiced until permanently tattooed. 

The tears come without warning, mid-scolding. Big and heavy and warm. They pool at the edges of your version, and it makes you feel pathetic that you hurry to press the sleeve of your hoodie against your face. 

Changbin notices immediately.

“Hey.” his voice sharpens, the playful edge he’d been sporting earlier gone in a split second. “(Name)? Baby, hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, and oh god, he’s going to leave you. He’s going to leave you because you’re such a crybaby, and anyone with a normal fucking mind wouldn’t do this to him. Anyone under normal—kinder—circumstances wouldn’t think like this. 

“Baby.” He tries again, softer this time. “Talk to me.” 

Your throat tightens around something akin to a lump. You try to swallow it down. 

“Why’re you crying? What’s wrong?” 

There’s a long pause before you finally speak.

“What if I… what if…” You start, voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know how to continue, words disjointed and dismembered. “If I said you could never touch me, would you still want to be with me?”

Changbin pauses for a fraction of a second, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion. But you go on, inundating him with the fears that have spent your entire life trying to catch up with you.

“I can’t give you what you want. It’s what you want, isn’t it? Would you still stay with me even if I told you that I never want to have sex?”

The boy’s expression softens immediately. He can hear his own heart break at how fragile you sound, at how shattering it is to look at your tear-streaked face through a screen, at the things that could’ve transpired for you to think that he’d ever leave you because of that, just because of something so menial to him in a relationship.

“Of course I’ll stay.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “That doesn’t change anything.”

His words are meant to be comforting, the small but sure smile on his lips should’ve been enough to return your peace, but instead, the tears well up again. Heavier this time. 

“Wait. Wait, wait—hold on.” His face suddenly disappears off the screen as he fumbles with his phone. He sounds rushed. “I’m… I can’t just look at you cry and not do anything about it.”

Then the call ends.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later when a sudden knock on your door shakes you from your self-pity do you see him again. And he’s standing there, slightly out of breath, the same hoodie you’d seen earlier half-zipped with his hair tousled from the cold wind outside. 

“Binnie.” Your voice cracks. “What are you doing here?”

Changbin doesn’t say anything at first, just allows himself to look at you—eyes tracing over the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you’re hugging yourself with the sleeves of one of his jackets. 

Then, without a word, he slips a hand beneath your jaw, tilting your face to look you in the eyes. His palms on your skin feel warm, calloused but gentle as he cradles you in his hands. “I think…” He pauses. 

A heartbeat passes.

“I think you look lovely.” He murmurs, tone low and gentle, abating the tempestuous anxieties swelling in the pit of your stomach. “And I love you. Not because of what you think I’m expecting from you, but because I love you. The entirety of you.”

You press your face into the crook of his neck as an ugly sob escapes your throat. The tears spill over again, faster, and you feel so ridiculous for crying even more in front of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls back, leaning in to press a kiss to your wet cheeks. His voice is firm, but not unkind. Never unkind. And his eyes held no hesitation, no flicker of doubt in the way he’s looking at you right now. “Did I say anything to make you feel this way?”

Changbin tries to hide how he feels about his question, like he could never imagine being the reason why you’re sobbing like this.

“No, oh my god. Binnie, no. It’s not you.” 

“Okay, it’s not me.” His voice is still kind, relieved. “I’m never expecting anything from you, okay?”

And just as gentle as he’s holding you, he kisses you. Nothing desperate, nothing hurried even. Just slow and lingering, like he’s savoring the moment for exactly what it is. He isn’t kissing you to take you to bed, not to ask for anything more, not even to change your mind.

Changbin kisses you just to kiss you. 

Just to hopefully show you that he means everything he said to you. 

“I’ll take care of you.” His fingers thread through your hair. “I love you.”

Quietly, tiredly, you start to show a small smile. “Thank you.”

Loving you is so easy for Changbin. Like second nature. Like falling in love with your laughter, and the little parts of you that make up your sum. And you’re aware that it’s going to take time to heal yourself—that it won’t be so easy all the time, that there will be days like these again, but you also know enough that he is genuine and that he loves you with no expectations even if it’s hard to believe sometimes.

Seo Changbin loves you with every bit of conscience he was born with. He loves you simply. 

You stay like this for a while. Safe. Reassuring. Until you feel the sickness less and less.