#and i will return with more fluff and LOVE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jyunhology · 2 days ago

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oh, honey lady ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ smg (m)

summary: when you get stood up and cancelled on one too many times, your friend takes it upon herself to get you to enjoy a night out. but you’re faced immediately with the source of your woes pressed up to another and a bartender who catches on quickly. the latter offers to dance with you; will you say yes?

a/n: have been getting a lot of feels for mingi lately .. i blacked out n wrote this aft watching the recent ateez whodunnit because jesus christ that man looked FINE acting as a bartender.

wc: 6.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! bartender!mingi, softdom!mingi, sub!reader, reader's (ex) bf is a loser, reader lowkey traumatised from her (ex) bf, mingi is very understanding, consumption of alcohol (however, they’re not drunk during the deed, just a little tipsy), grinding in a public space (a club lol), lots of teasing, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, praise, use of pet names (baby, honey, doll), bit of fluff in the middle, clit stimulation, unprotected p -> v sex (pls wrap it up irl), creampie, slight aftercare, mingi is so soft and patient with reader .. ❤️

No matter how much you knew this wasn’t your fault, you still can’t help but find fault with yourself — looks, personality, fashion. You passed it off the first time as something akin to a mistake, a miscalculation with the overtime your boyfriend, Hyunjae, had to do because of his recent promotion.

With mumbled apologies into your hair and fairly enjoyable sex, you thought everything between you both was going to be okay. It was just one dinner date, plus, he made it up to you with a fancy trip over the weekend and several, impressive gifts.

But you think you should’ve known better, because it happened a second time not even a month later, and the cycle repeats itself: sin, repent, and fall back into temptation all over again.

The only mistake you were making was thinking too highly of Hyunjae, assuming temptation was reports and hard work for extra cash, and not having a fucking affair with another woman in the printing room.

By the time the third incident came around, your friend was quick to propose a night out the next day despite your protests, but you know it came from a place of love. With the way she comforted you with memes and funny reels and words of advice, you realised it was the first time you’ve laughed since the supposed dinner at seven.

Ignoring the sinking dread settling in your heart the next afternoon, you shoot a simple ill be out late tonight to Hyunjae before dragging your body out of bed. You moved on autopilot, then, choosing not to acknowledge that he didn’t even return last night, preoccupying yourself instead with picking out your outfit.

And it was easy enough with a clear vision in your head; you weren’t afraid to dress up even after getting together with Hyunjae. This time it wasn’t any different — miniskirt, a cute fitted top and boots — that you already felt a bit better upon arriving at a bar for some pregame. The alcohol felt good, the company was better, and the both of you were already giggling and tipsy when you entered the club.

“Isn’t this way better than crying over that dumbass?” Yunjin nudges you gently before offering you a small smile.

You sigh, “I guess. I just don’t want it to be a recurring thing and make you responsible every time.”

“At least you know your limit now,” She loops an arm around you to keep you close as you two walk deeper into the club. “Still, as much as I love you, it was difficult trying to get you out of the club because you’d only be talking in counts of 8.��

Ever the teasing friend, you nudge her back before breaking into laughter together, heading right to the bar for a lighter drink. It’s buzzing with orders left and right with the (possibly) poor newcomer trying his best to work the counter with all its confusing buttons. But he’s saved by another, a taller, more experienced bartender who was definitely carved by gods.

You try not to gawk, though, feeling guilty even when he shoots the two of you a small customer-service smile. “Give us a minute, alright? We’ll get to ya soon.” The moment he’s turned around, Yunjin shakes your arm excitedly.

“What? What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! Tell me you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Yunjin…” You sigh. “You know Hyunjae and I aren’t broken up—”

“Yet.” She interrupts with that single word and you shoot her a half playful, half serious glare.

“Okay, but, I have no business looking at other people just ’cause I’ve been stood up thrice.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, recognising that it really didn’t sound good out loud.

“Yeah, but don’t you think those are enough times to call things off?” She faces you completely now with both hands on your arms, trying to look you in the eye while you shrink, flustered and a bit embarrassed at how easily you seem to crawl back to Hyunjae.

Because you felt that if you let this go, you’d never feel this way ever again, having someone else walking out your life again like clockwork.

Your fingers tense subconsciously; clenching, unclenching. You settle for taut hands to your friend’s, removing them with the little fight left in you. “Yunjin, can— can we please drop this for now? I came out to forget my boyfriend for a bit, and then I’ll go back home and everything will be f—”

But the universe has other plans for you, conversation cut short from the handsome bartender asking about your orders now.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. What will you two be having?” In the midst of wiping his hands on the towel, he leans over the counter just as Yunjin gives her order, but you swear over the booming music, the bass reverberating, the screamed lyrics, you hear familiarity.

It’s funny how habitual you can become with someone; hearing that same laugh in your skin on slow mornings and during reruns of B99 that you can’t help but search the dancefloor frantically.

You weren’t even sure why you did it, but you think you were chasing that familiarity and safety of having someone even though they were shit at showing up.

But along the desperate scans you do with your eyes, you register that you were simply accustomed to having Hyunjae in your life, accustomed to coming back again to an empty house. Yet, you can’t even remember the last time you said I love you to him.

And always trust your gut, because that sinking feeling from earlier comes back tenfold when your eyes lock onto two people on the floor with bodies leaving no space.

Hyunjae has no qualms about getting caught, his hands roaming all over her body and practically grinding from behind that you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yunjin…” The lights were too blinding, the music now too loud, but you don’t have to say anything to know she’s already helping you onto a bar stool. When she turns to where you were looking, her jaw tightens and wordlessly places a hand on your lower back.

You go through emotions, fast — denial, and then anger and then a hint of sadness. But what you’re mainly feeling is a thirst for revenge knowing he thinks you’re a coward, a girl desperate for love.

Maybe you are, and there’s nothing wrong with mourning what you had. Though, being cancelled on three times within two months and spewing lies about overtime, ignites your resolve easily.

All the while, the bartender watches the interaction carefully, skilled hands still able to fulfill people’s orders, but he’s got you and your boyfriend all figured out. Not that he meant to eavesdrop, though, exchanging a glance with your friend until you raise your head with unshed tears.

“Thought I lost you there for a moment. That your boyfriend?” He nodded in the general direction and had probably used that line countless times, but you give credit where credit’s due; he was attractive and didn’t choose to comment on your glossy eyes.

With semi-long hair, pretty moles and plump lips, you want to enjoy this seat a bit longer, proposing a silly idea as you nod.

“Ex-, now. Do you have any chance to get them both kicked out?” You smile, small and unsure, but he replies with an even sweeter smile laced with sympathy that makes your heart skip just a little.

“No can do. If he’s not causing trouble, our bouncers have no reason to throw him out. Sorry, ladies.” For a moment, he’s back to being professional and tries not to steal glances at you as you blink away tears and attempt to appear unaffected.

He serves the drinks he’s already made, helps the counter boy again with orders until he hears your friend beg again when he comes ’round to your side.

“Oh please, Mr Bartender!” He raises an eyebrow, eyes trained on the both of you while capping his shaker before shaking. You purse your lips teasingly despite your blurred vision and the heat on your cheeks, “She can be pretty persuasive.” God, you didn’t even know what you were feeling at the moment.

He shrugs. “Well, tell you what — I get off my shift in about fifteen, and you’re looking for some retribution. Why don’t we do a little dance of our own?”

With a sigh, you ponder over your cards — Hyunjae might be pleasantly surprised and you’d end up with a hot bartender in your arms to boot. But if this is only going to leave a hole in your heart after everything, what really was the point?

“It’s your call, doll. If you’re still holding this,” He holds up a slim piece of metal that matches the club’s colours with its letters engraved in stark white, “by the time I come back, I’m taking you onto the floor for a dance. Deal?”

It’s dropped into your palm before you flip it over, running a thumb over the debossed name.

“Mingi.”

“You got it.” Mingi gives you a dazzling grin and a wink while you stifle a smile.

You spend the next ten minutes debating your options that you can’t count the amount of times Yunjin had to get your attention back on her. Revenge sounded delicious before.

Now? Now you’re waddling deep in doubt, worried about the aftertaste; all you wanted was to go home and sleep this whole thing off. Even the name tag was weighing heavy in your hand.

But the late nights cooking dinner, sitting alone at restaurants and the sheer indifference Hyunjae’s currently dancing with, did you in.

If you were chickening out only so someone this terrible stays, then you might regret this single night with someone else who already has shown you more respect than Hyunjae ever did.

The music is a bit clearer to you, now, and less suffocating as you call out to the bartender with five minutes left until his shift ends. You play with the pin at the back, unfastening and popping it back into place repeatedly.

“I’ll take a Lemon Drop.” A knowing smile, a swipe of your card, sugar sweet on your lips. It hits great, and with a bit of liquid courage in you, you wait.

Mingi is quick to show up by your side a few minutes later, but he manages to take your breath away all over again with a more casual look.

Jewellery, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt down to his pecs that gives you a glimpse of a pretty little pendant resting nicely on his chest and rings adorning his fingers.

“Care for a dance?” His deep voice up close already has your stomach turning, opening your hand to show how you still had his name tag and he grins. “Keep it for now.”

You barely hear the whisper into your ear, but without any second thought you place your hand in his, the metal of his rings sending shivers right up your arm and down your spine. A faint cheer from Yunjin encourages you on, already feeling the addicting beats of the music playing.

Mingi is considerate above all else, looking back to see if you were still there, clearing a path for the both of you until you’re a few bodies away from Hyunjae. But standing out here now brings another wave of panic and embarrassment.

You were really about to do this, but—

What if he doesn’t like the way you danced? What if he’s a clean freak and would rather not have his hands over your already sweaty sides? What if Hyunjae creates a scene?

The thoughts are never-ending, swirling in your mind until you can feel Mingi’s hand enclose around your other hand, halting you from adjusting your outfit, from scratching at your skin.

It’s hot, too crowded for a dance floor and he knows that you’re nervous again with the increased proximity to your boyfriend.

Without words, Mingi brings your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Is this okay?”

You nod. Bodies beside you cause you to inch closer to him and his hair is so soft. Your tongue tingles from the lemon’s sourness and you want nothing more than to balance it out with his mouth that smells of rum.

“Hey, I realise I haven’t gotten your name just yet.” The smile he has isn’t teasing, cocky, and you manage a small one back. He leans down to get your answer.

“It’s (Y/N).”

“Pretty. Follow my lead.”

And slowly but surely, you get out of your shell as you both lose all formality with the ear-splitting songs. The cocktail makes your hands wander, trailing over his nape, over his broad shoulders. He still hovers.

You don’t know whether it’s Mingi, the dim lighting or the song but you don’t hesitate to force his hands to your sides and he takes it as a sign.

He’s pulling you close until you’re pressed to his front, head immediately going for your exposed neck, and the laugh that escapes feels so different from Hyunjae, so free that you giggle with him.

It turns from wanting to Hyunjae to see you could do so much better to genuinely enjoying your time with the bartender that you don’t register the shock forming on Hyunjae’s face when he spots you just a few people over. Mingi doesn’t miss it, squeezing your waist softly to bring it to your attention.

“B-babe? What’re you doing here?” He acts like he doesn’t even know the girl dancing with him, yanking her off of him as he tries to preserve his dignity. But you knew better — you’ve seen her face at company dinners, on his Instagram story.

“Why are you here?” He sputters out an answer, not expecting you to fight back. Hyunjae’s smaller than ever now.

The bartender resists the urge to scoff at his lack of explanation, about to tell him to piss off when you push at Hyunjae with a finger. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. Witnessing you and the girl you told me not to worry about. Talking crap about overtime just to fuck her in your workplace.”

“W-What? That’s bullshit, where’d you even get that from?!”

Thank God for Mingi’s Lemon Drop, because you shove Hyunjae harder than before, angering the people behind him who push him back towards you.

“Guess you’ll never find out how. Get your shit out of my apartment and leave before tomorrow morning or else I’ll be telling your boss about inappropriate workplace conduct.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes and waves you off, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I hope the job market’s ready for someone who promised overtime hours only to soil the printing room. Keep checking your emails babe.” You purposefully drag out the pet name he likes to use on you, which now sounds cheap and tacky. Mingi can’t help a cackle from escaping, tugging you closer as if you’re his.

And you might just be by the end of this night.

Hyunjae doesn’t bother to one-up the bartender one bit, only throwing Mingi a scowl before elbowing himself through the crowd. Unknowingly, your body relaxes, melting into the other’s arms easily and wanting nothing more than to turn off your brain for the night. It makes Mingi smile.

You’re bolder when the night deepens. It starts with running your hands down his chest and grasping softly at his waist. There’s whispered lyrics into your skin, letting him trail kisses down your jawline to your sternum and you feel like you’re on top of the world.

His body’s flush against yours, tensing and breathing hard. The heat’s suffocating and the kisses sweet, hovering over just where you both need each other desperately.

“Heard you’re a dancer,” Mingi mumbles, sneaky hands going past your hips to your ass and kneads. You laugh.

“You heard whatever Yunjin said? It was one time,” You reminisce about the time you went out for her birthday before getting shit-faced drunk and talking to her only in counts, “and she was struggling to understand what I was saying.”

It takes a beat for you to take the leap. “Want me to show you?”

A pretty laugh leaves his lips, “Your dancing or your innate ability to only talk in eights?”

Fuck, he’s handsome and funny.

“Har-har, very funny.” The moment’s playful but charged with underlying tension that only increases once the song changes. With a hand, you lift his head from your neck, taking advantage of his surprise to turn around.

Pushing up against him, you make sure he’s feeling every part of your ass on him, swaying your hips until you get a small groan from him. Tempted, Mingi places his hands along your waist, helping you grind down on him while arousal pools in your panties.

He’s enamoured with how well you fit against him, even more so when you lace your fingers with his, tugging one up to rest on your chest.

He takes the bait with how you turn your head, boasting your pretty lips with eyes closed. But you’re not letting him get what he wants that easily, finger pressed against his lips.

“Did the Lemon Drop do this, hm?” He’s back on your neck like it’s his home, slurring his words in that deep, deep voice of his that you want nothing more than to hear that for the rest of your life (and hopefully in your bed tonight).

“Maybe.” You can’t help but chuckle triumphantly, but it’s cut short when he suddenly yanks you back to his front; shit, you can feel his hard-on — he’s big.

You subconsciously gulp and pull him closer (not without a mildly surprised “oh”), overwhelmed with the feeling of his chest against yours, of his hips moving in tandem with yours, of his breath on your lips.

“I’m full of surprises, too.”

“That was so corny.” Biting your lip, you try to stifle a smile but it bleeds out past your lips, “You’re lucky I still want to fuck you.”

“Aw, only fuck?” He feigns sadness as he bats his eyelashes at you. That question probably would’ve made you think twice, but with Mingi’s little pout, the vodka in your system and Rihanna in the background, you throw all complicated feelings out the window.

“Shut up, Mingi.”

That elicits a low chuckle. “Gladly.”

He collides with you immediately, lips moulding into yours like two parts of a whole that you stumble a bit from the force. But you waste no time in reciprocating with neediness of your own, tugging him down to you with hands tangled in his black hair.

You could care less about your ex, about Yunjin excitedly texting you from the bar, nor the people around you.

Not when Mingi’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and your pussy’s just desperate for relief that you moan softly into his mouth.

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulls away for air, but he’s already hooked onto your taste, leaving pecks on your lips again and again. His hands rest comfortably on your sides, caressing, squeezing. “Need to hear that in my sheets.”

You mutter a soft fuck before licking your lips, “Your place?”

Mingi hums into your lips, “You have my name tag, baby. It’s up to you,” and grins when he sees you jolt. The pet name affects you. He knows.

Fuck it. You need this man now.

With a quick text to Yunjin, everything that happens on the way to Mingi’s doesn’t exist. The ride was both a torment and a blur when his hand trails so closely to where you need him and his hips adjust uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. You’re so horny that you’re sure you’ve sobered up already.

You lunge forward once the front door’s closed, eagerness undermining both your abilities to remove your shoes, too preoccupied with devouring the other.

Mingi tastes like sage and citrus, a flavour you’ll keep locked away forever; he breaks the kiss reluctantly, and that taste travels down your body, taking his time.

Mingi’s anything but composed, though, larger hands wrapped around your middle while he takes in your scent and sweat, nose pressed against your heaving stomach.

Just a mere bartender, a one-night stand acting like a lover when he fully goes onto his knees and zips open your boots. Torturously, agonisingly slow, and removes them even slower.

By the time the second shoe’s off, your hand has already messed up his hair. You push him to you, he pulls back.

“It’s my time to tease, doll. Patience.” You whine softly in disagreement, letting him plant soft kisses along your ankle, up to your shin and knees and finally your inner thighs that threaten to tighten in his hold.

“Mingi…” You don’t mean to sound so desperate off the bat, but your cunt’s pulsing and the AC’s sending goosebumps all over your skin and possibly the hottest man alive is on his knees in front of you.

“Fuck, baby, I can smell you from here.” Like a gentleman, he helps you to shimmy out of your miniskirt and underwear before tossing it somewhere and you’re suddenly self conscious about being all exposed.

But Mingi simply doesn’t care about decorum as he lifts your leg, prompting you to place it on his shoulder. He marvels at your arousal illuminated by the doorway lighting, stifling a moan.

“Look at you.” Sighing, he plays with your folds, trailing a finger up and down and smirking when he feels you shiver under his touch. “So perfect. All this for me?”

“Y-Yeah, just for you,” Your words are muffled from your hand, trying to hold back your sounds but Mingi isn’t having any of that. He thinks your ex-boyfriend may have something to do with it.

“Let me hear you, alright, honey?” Mingi takes your hand and interlocks it together with his, a promise that you’ll be the star tonight. “We’re safe here, there’s no need to hold back.”

You nod just as he blows into your cunt, making you clench around nothing and he smiles. “For now, let me eat my meal.”

And Mingi eats, convincing yourself that you’ve definitely driven a hole through his shoebox cabinet with how hard you were leaning against it. Your hips buck against his face, tongue flicking over your clit as you relish in the pleasure.

“Oh my G-God, Mingi…” You can barely hold eye contact with him as he latches onto your pussy like a vice, addicted to your taste, your sounds and how you drip endlessly all over his tongue.

“That’s it, doll, tell me how good you feel.” Mingi continues to inch closer on his knees, trapping himself under your thighs as his tongue works wonders.

With an experimental finger, he circles your pulsing hole and pushes in ever so slightly, making you almost keel over from the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi, that feels so—!” Your moans fill his house together with the lewd sounds of your pussy, feeling the vibrations of his hums on your sensitive clit. His thumb plays with it as he comes up for air, adding a second finger easily before starting to pump them with determination.

“That feel good?” He’s brutal in his thrusting, but it’s not even a minute when he returns with his merciless tongue again, swearing that you were seeing stars from this alone.

If Mingi was this pussy drunk, who knows how you’d feel when he’s in you? You tremble at the thought, fingers pulling at his hair until it stings.

But Mingi loves it, loves seeing your eyes flutter close and your toes curl in sheer pleasure as the prettiest mewls fall from your lips. You’re full on grinding into his face now, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, while there’s the audible slick sounds of your juices.

It’s hotter than it was on the dance floor, and fully knowing you’d be buckling to the ground if it wasn’t for Mingi’s secure hold on you. Because you can feel yourself getting weaker and weaker the more the coil in your stomach turns, clamping down hard on his fingers.

“I-I’m close, baby—” Your words slip, every part of your body tingles and he pants out a plea.

“Call me that again for me, doll.” He’s ravishing you, ruining you for any other person and you wouldn’t have it any other way. His rings feel so cold on your cunt, while his mouth’s hot and he’s dizzy off of you.

“Gonna cum, baby,” If your friend couldn’t understand you while drunk, Mingi’s chest puffs with pride making you babble nonsensical things while you’re both tipsy with his name being the only coherent thing, “Mingi, Mingi, Mingiiii.”

The name becomes a chant together with needy whines that’s drowned out by your soaking pussy. Mingi lets the force of his palm stimulate your clit instead, and the visual of seeing him on his knees with this tongue out—

“F-fuck…” Your orgasm hits you in sudden waves, sending you jerking against his hold even when his fingers don’t slow down, “Feels s’good, Mingi—”

“There we go, baby, keep cumming… Taste just like honey.” Mingi groans and drives his tongue along your folds for a taste, but now he takes and takes, savouring whatever you have to give. Sweeter than his Lemon Drop, you taste so heavenly that he wants seconds.

But you have other plans, trying your best to regain your balance and simultaneously drag him up by the biceps. Mingi traps you in between the cabinet, and you trap him with a passionate kiss. Moaning into his mouth at your taste while he soothes your aching thighs with his gentle touch.

“Bed. Now.” Your cheeks warm as he laughs against your lips at your request.

“You got it, doll.” With a hand outstretched, you grab hold and let him lead you just like the club. Along the way, you slip on your underwear just so you won’t be butt ass naked and he throws you a small smile. Except this time, you’re not performing for anyone, not for Hyunjae, not for yourself, and hopefully not for Mingi.

Though, if riding Mingi’s tongue had you thrashing left and right, you think you’d be safe, knowing he’ll take care of you.

His room feels strangely familiar — posters and records plastered up everywhere with a portable closet and pretty lights. There’s a few guitars in cases with one displayed proudly while his desk is littered with cute trinkets and a gaming set-up. It’s a lived-in bedroom, worn down from years of tape on walls and accidents from silly dance moves.

“Hard to believe I’m an adult with this room, huh?”

You smile at him, finding it endearing he’s still kept his hobbies and favourite things close to him. “No no, it’s charming. I like it.”

You continued, “I don’t think having a ‘serious’ job like bartending immediately eliminates your other hobbies.”

Mingi shoots you that boyish grin again, “You think my job’s ‘serious’?” and mimics your air quotes.

“Well, you are handling alcohol — it seems pretty serious, don’t you think?” There’s no choice but to giggle when Mingi’s expression turns from all-knowing to pondering. “And— And there’s always the usual brooding persons that come in to vent their problems to you.”

Mingi bursts out laughing at that with an attractive rasp to it, plopping on his Queen size. “You’re not wrong about that. I guess I’m sort of like a therapist too.”

Like a magnet, you feel the pull into his arms just as he whispers a c’mere, finally able to see his face properly when you stand in between his legs.

The glistening juices on the bottom half of his face make you flush just a bit, but up close, Mingi feels so familiar. Not the way Hyunjae was — that was habit disguised as familiarity.

But despite your unconfirmed fate and the possibility of never seeing Mingi again, he enchants like no other. Fuck, you were talking crazy.

The other seems to see your dilemma, reaching for your hands. “We don’t have to do anything, you know?”

His touch is so tender, it makes your heart ache, “I know we only danced to scare off your boyfriend but I genuinely did want to know you. And… I know you feel it too, but I don’t wanna pressure you after seeing such a shitty thing in the club.”

“You’re… not wrong, Mingi. It has been only a few hours and you’ve already made me feel more worth than he ever did but, I’ll need time to process my feelings too.”

Slowly, you remove your hands from his but only to straddle him in the next second, whining softly when he tugs you closer if that was even possible.

“But tonight, I want you to fuck all the feelings out of me. I don’t wanna think, I don’t wanna—” You heave a heavy sigh, swallowing when you think back to Hyunjae and his colleague.

Mingi applies light pressure to your side to ground you. “(Y/N), hey, it’s no problem. Your wish is my command, tonight.”

“And after—”

“We’ll talk about the after later, don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout it.” You don’t even realise he’s flipped you over but he takes his time to remove his pants and boxers, ego stroked just a little when he sees your wide eyes at his size.

“You’re…”

“I know, baby. We’ll take it slow, alright?” Mingi is steady even as he reaches over for a condom, but you stop him.

“Wanna feel all of you.” He swears his heart bursts at your cute pout. “I’m clean and on the pill, that okay?”

“More than okay. I’m clean too. You sure you’re okay?” He asks as he tugs your panties to the side, interrupted briefly from your impatient hum.

“Yes, Mingi. Please just fuck me already.” Your voice is less bratty, more pleading, but it strikes a chord within him. He obeys immediately.

“Okay, okay!” His deep laugh elicits one out of you, too. At least you don’t stop him from taking the lube — he spurts a good amount and strokes himself with a soft grunt, mixing in with his pre-cum. Relief. “It’s gonna hurt. Need you to breathe and relax, okay?”

Mingi’s already much thicker than your ex, and you hiss slightly at the stretch once he inches his cock in. But it’s nothing you can take, eyes trained on how he’s pushing through slowly.

“F-Fuck, baby, you gotta stop clenching. So tight—” You whimper at the sight, but Mingi uses his body to push you down, distracting you with deep kisses that subconsciously relaxes your body. His intoxicating smell and presence does the rest of the job.

“Taking me so well, good girl.” He mumbles into your skin as you become obsessed with the way his body engulfs yours, towering but certain.

His pendant’s movements are messy, colliding with your chin over and over but Mingi is just so deep it doesn’t register in your head. “Just a little more, honey, you got it.”

In the next minute, Mingi’s loud groan fills your ears, bottoming out in your walls that feel so warm that he never wants to pull out.

His furrowed eyebrows with sweat lined along it paired with his beautiful parted lips is enough to make your cunt pulse and heart full — making a pretty man like him lose his mind over you, desperation and profanity spilling over.

“M-Move, baby, please—” With a slow thrust of his hips, he has to drop his head to yours because you just feel too fucking good wrapped around his aching length. Both your shaky breaths mingle as he sets a comfortable pace that allows you both to feel every part of the other.

And his languid movements have never felt slower and more intense, the obscene noises of your soaking pussy stuffed full reverberating off the walls. It surrounds you like a cloud, making the feeling, the sensations rise to an all time high.

It’s worse when Mingi folds your legs to your chest, the image of his shaft disappearing into your pretty little pussy searing itself into his brain.

Mingi keeps his promise to you, taking your one-worded pleas and turning them into repeated “ah’s” with no room for any word or any doubt left in your mind. By now, he’s pistoning in and out of you, your release from earlier merging with the lube until both you and Mingi are filthy and soaking, juices flowing down your thighs and right into his sheets.

“You’re so wet, holy f-fuck—” His eyes are the ones struggling to stay open now, drunk off of everything you that he can’t even move his hips properly, stuttering every now and then.

There’s the delicious squelches every time his skin meets yours, the dizzying pap! pap! pap! that hypnotises you. “Listen to how wet your sweet pussy is, baby.”

You’re past words, only babbling incoherence as Mingi grunts above you, continuing to fill you up with his cock. His thrusts start to turn erratic, so lost in the feeling that the grip on your legs loses its hold. You take the chance to wrap them around his waist, barely catching his pendant and yanking him towards you.

“Kiss me stupid, Mingi.” The long, drawn out moan against your lips sends heat bubbling up from inside you. And the kiss he lands on you leaves fire along your skin, burning indefinitely until a particular thrust has your eyes rolling back.

“Cumming— f-fuck—!” It comes out in broken sobs as you see white, cumming so hard on his pulsating length that your juices spray everywhere and your legs shake uncontrollably. The slight sheen along his cock starts to form a ring of white and he whines at your warmth.

Everything — the craving for you, your tight cunt, how you leak all over him — makes him cum right after. “I-I’m gonna pump you full, baby— shit…”

Your eyes can’t help but roll back again at the sensation of Mingi painting your insides white, cum spurting so deep in you that you can feel it flow out. It’s so warm that you squirm as he holds your hips down, making sure your hole gets every last drop.

Without pulling out, he admires your sweaty top that’s been pushed past your tits, your heaving chest and the remnants of your trembling thighs with a lip bite accompanied by a smile.

Silently, he caresses your outer thighs, slowly bringing your feet down to rest on his soaked sheets. You whimper when you feel him pull out, the salacious sight of cum leaking out from your pussy comes out in blobs; it takes everything in Mingi to compose himself.

Because you were utterly fucked out, eyes constantly blinking with a light-headed expression that tells him he might’ve fucked you dumb. Your little sounds are just adorable that he rubs his cum just one last time over your folds, claiming you.

“Okay okay, baby, I got you.” With a peck to your forehead, Mingi promises to come back with a wet rag and some water and the last thing you remember is sage and citrus wafting through the air as he plants a sweet kiss to your lips. “And then tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out, okay honey?”

You drift off easily, but you’ll find that for now and possibly forever, Mingi always keeps his promises.

A dream — you think, when you wake up, but you recognise that the bedroom is not yours and the ache in your body persists. But to your dismay, Mingi is nowhere to be found. Not until you hear faint humming coming from the kitchen and smell the lovely aroma of pancakes.

“Morning, baby.” Mingi says like you’ve always been in his life, like you’ve lived here for many years, like you’re familiar to him.

“Y-Yeah, good morning, Mingi.” Awkwardly, you take a seat at his island, but as you watch his broad back cooking breakfast for his one-night stand, you relax for a bit.

Mingi piles a few pancakes for you effortlessly, sliding the plate to you, followed by the butter and then holds up maple syrup in his left hand and honey in the other. The question is unsaid, but you nod towards his right with a small smile that’s returned.

“Eat.” With a plate in his hand as well, he plops down beside you as if one-night stands don’t complicate feelings and makes things messy.

But Mingi, the bartender, with a pure heart and even lovelier soul (you have yet to discover this), eats a meal beside you like you’re tied together by fate (maybe).

(You are).

Now, his deep voice sounds small, but sure. “And then we’ll talk feelings after. And we can talk about the ‘after’ after.”

A deep breath for good measure and luck. “And also maybe about the date I’d wanna bring you on.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡ also major thank you to this video which made me lose my mind n inspired this...

#ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez scenarios #ateez mingi smut #mingi smut #song mingi x reader #song mingi smut #song mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi hard hours #ateez drabbles #ateez mingi x reader #ateez smut #song mingi fanfic #mingi ateez #mingi x you #song mingi ateez

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colouredbyd · 1 day ago

Text

About You

james potter x reader

synopsis: in a world where soulmates see color only when they meet, james potter has always lived in vivid hues without knowing why. the girl who once lit up his world in childhood vanished, leaving only fragments of memory behind. years later, when she returns, tangled memories and aching hearts reveal a truth he’s longed for — that everything has always been about you.

cw: soulmate au, reader is adopted, childhood friends to lovers, getting hit by a ball, kissing, dual point of view, extensive james pov, james deeply in love, reader adopted by a french family, reader is a transfer student to hogwarts, background wolfstar elements, mild emotional intensity, some angst, slow-burn romance, no major triggers, fluff fluff fluff!

w/c: 5.8k

request: here!

a/n: based on the song About You by The 1975. i’m genuinely so proud of this, and will be rereading it till i get the ick <3

masterlist

James Potter believed he had no soulmate. For many reasons.

The idea that the universe could conjure one singular person who was perfect for him sounded, frankly, implausible.

Wasn’t a person meant to decide their own fate? The very notion bristled against his nature, too neat, too scripted, too convenient.

James had never liked being told how things ought to be, how paths were meant to wind, or whom he was meant to love.

He thought of the way the world spun with infinite variables, endless choices, each step shaping the next in ways no prophecy could predict.

What if he didn’t like his soulmate? Worse, what if they didn’t like him?

The thought sat sharp-edged and unwelcome in the quiet corners of his mind. He did not dwell on it, as a rule.

Still, it was difficult to escape the idea entirely. All his life, he had heard the stories, told over dinners, late-night fires, quiet moments between his parents.

Tales of that first breathless instant when color had bled into the world, so rich it left them dazed.

His father would speak of the impossible green of his mother’s eyes, the startling red of her lips. His mother would smile, eyes soft with memory, describing the gold in his father’s hair beneath the sun.

James would listen, curious but strangely distant from it all, as they told him how the world had split wide and new when they met, how they could still remember the exact moment the grey had vanished.

There was something beautiful in it, he supposed. Something that stirred at the edge of longing. But beneath that was a quieter, sharper thing — fear, perhaps.

A worry that his story would not unfold in such a fairytale manner, that the universe might be cruel, or careless, or simply indifferent.

And yet, for all those tangled doubts and questions, none were his strongest reason for disbelief.

In a world where people are born to see only black and white, where the first meeting of a soulmate floods the eye with color, James had known with mounting certainty that he did not have one.

Because for as long as he could remember, he had seen the world in color.

He remembered it as a child, dashing barefoot through the echoing halls of Potter Manor, the tapestries a riot of gold and crimson, the gardens spilling green across the summer air.

He remembered color at the village markets, the bright bustle of stalls, the striped awnings swaying in the wind.

And most of all, he remembered color from the orphanage, of all places, a rather grey and drafty stone building that somehow still flickered to life whenever he visited.

Euphemia Potter had a heart wide as the sky. Though she came from a pure-blood family, she had never cared for the stuffy ideas that often clung to such lineage.

She would say, in her usual firm and breezy way, that the world had more than enough coldness in it already.

And so it had been her habit, even after marriage and motherhood, to visit the local orphanage with baskets of sweets, books, blankets.

She brought James with her, of course.

“You should make friends everywhere you can,” she would tell him. “That is what magic is for.”

James had not needed convincing. A boy of seven with boundless curiosity and a great deal too much energy, he had thought the visits a grand adventure.

The halls of the orphanage were a new playground, full of new faces, new games, new scrapes to be had.

And though his memory, even now, was a rather hopeless mess of scattered images and blurred hours — he had been seven, after all, with the attention span of a gnat — there was one thing he remembered clearly.

One certain girl.

She had bickered with him from the very first moment. It seemed to be her sport, her purpose in life, to contradict everything he said.

If he claimed the sky was blue, she would argue that it was grey.

If he ran to the swings, she would beat him there and call him slow.

If he tried to charm her with sweets from his mother’s basket, she would sniff at them and declare them probably poisoned.

And yet, for all her stubbornness, for all her sharp tongue and quicker wit, something about her had altered James’s world, tilted it on its axis.

He could remember the exact shade of her hair beneath the sun, the color of her laugh (yes, it had seemed to have color, or perhaps that was only how he had felt about it), the bright flash of her eyes when she grinned at him in triumph after a particularly vicious game of tag.

She had been, if he was honest, the closest James had ever come to finding love.

Not that he had known it at the time. It had been a stupid thing. A childish thing. A crush from when he was seven, foolish and fleeting.

But sometimes, in quiet moments, the memory would drift back.

And then, as quickly as she had appeared, she had vanished.

One day, she simply was not there.

James had asked his mother, bewildered and frowning. “Where did she go?”

Euphemia had smiled, soft and knowing. “She was adopted, love.”

Adopted. Off into some other life, some other world. Gone.

And so, James had decided, with the certainty only a small boy could possess: he was doomed. Utterly doomed. Never to find love again.

A ridiculous thought, of course. A dramatic one.

But even now, if one asked James Potter about soulmates, he would shrug and say with a crooked grin that the matter was simple: he had missed his chance at seven years old, and the universe had long since given up on him.

Which was all fine by him, really.

Absolutely fine.

Or so he told himself.

Still, doomed or not, James had other things to think about. Seventh year would not make itself easy. N.E.W.T.s, Quidditch, Prefect duties he mostly ignored.

The castle was louder this year, more crowded with couples now that so many had found their soulmates.

Everywhere he looked it seemed someone was falling into place — eyes brighter, hands clasped in the corridors, laughter a little too soft for comfort.

Even Sirius and Remus had settled, the two of them inseparable these days, perfectly content in their own easy orbit.

James had long since stopped teasing them for it. It was hard to begrudge your best mates something so clearly right.

No one in their year was surprised when Sirius stopped chasing girls and started sitting closer to Remus by the fire, heads bent together over a book, fingers sometimes laced beneath the table.

The two of them had found what the rest were still hoping for.

And James — well. He had no use for hoping. The universe had forgotten him, or worse, chosen to leave him out of the story altogether.

And honestly, it was fine. Absolutely fine. He was not the type to pine for something that would never be.

He did not even think of it again. Not until one crisp October afternoon, when fate chose to remind him that the universe had its own plans after all.

It had been a long practice. The Gryffindor team had spent hours drilling plays beneath a sky streaked pale with autumn clouds.

By the time James finally touched down on the pitch, the sun was slanting low behind the towers, painting everything in gold.

James touched down first, broom tucked beneath one arm, hair a windswept mess, sweat clinging to the nape of his neck.

A few paces behind, Sirius landed with a grin, spinning his broom lazily through one hand.

They had lingered after the rest of the team had gone in — a habit of James’s, these days. Some hours just did not want to end.

Remus was waiting at the edge of the stands, book tucked beneath one arm, watching them with quiet amusement.

He was never one for flying — though he had a good eye for plays — and often brought some battered novel to keep himself occupied during long practices.

By now the pitch had mostly emptied. A few stragglers remained at the far end, gathering gear, trailing off toward the castle.

James caught a worn quaffle from the basket and tossed it from hand to hand as they crossed the grass.

“Remus says you nearly knocked their new Chaser off her broom earlier,” Sirius said, slinging an arm over James’s shoulder. “Show-off.”

“She wasn’t watching her line,” James replied easily, giving the quaffle another spin.

“Besides, the only thing I knocked was that shot past you, mate.”

Sirius laughed, but before he could retort, James wound back and sent the quaffle arcing lazily into the air.

The throw was wide, idle, more habit than thought, the sort of casual motion born from years of play.

“Oi, careful with that,” Sirius called, shielding his eyes from the sun.

But already the quaffle was sailing out across the pitch, farther than James had meant, the angle off.

It spun in a slow arc toward the edge of the stands — and straight into an unsuspecting figure who had just rounded the corner.

There was a faint cry, a stumble — and then you went down hard, knees hitting the damp earth where the grass was still slick from the rain the night before.

A sharp splash of mud streaked your skirt, the quaffle rolling uselessly to a stop in the grass beside you.

Brilliant. Your first week at this school and already you were on your knees in the dirt.

And then a shadow fell across you.

“I’m so sorry—” he began, dropping into a crouch, reaching for your hand.

You looked up, ready to snap, and the words caught somewhere between your chest and throat.

The boy standing before you was tall, broad-shouldered beneath the loose fall of his Quidditch robes.

His skin was tanned deep by long hours beneath the sun, warm against the crisp October light.

Curls of dark brown hair framed his face, damp from practice, a little tousled at the edges. And his eyes—

You faltered.

His eyes were something else entirely. A colour so fierce and rich it stopped your breath, as though the world had narrowed to that single glance.

He crouched swiftly, one strong hand reaching out. His fingers curled around yours, firm and steady, as he helped you upright.

The instant his palm touched yours, the air shifted.

A spark, low and bright, lit beneath your skin. The faintest hum, dizzy and disorienting, curled through your chest. Every inch of you seemed to prickle with heat.

Your breath stilled.

And then you saw it in him. The subtle gasp, the way his mouth parted in some small sound.

His eyes widened, sharp with something between recognition and alarm. His grip faltered.

He jerked his hand back as though burned, stumbling a half-step away, chest rising fast beneath his robes.

He stared at you, gaze bright and bewildered, lips parted, no words finding their way out.

Then, without a word, he spun sharply on his heel, boots slipping slightly in the wet grass as he fled across the pitch.

You stood frozen, one hand half-raised where he had left it, heart beating so loud you were certain it would echo through the field. Your skin still hummed faintly, breath caught and uneven.

You blinked after his retreating form, brows drawing together.

“What in Merlin’s—?”

His friend, who was standing far behind him, frowned. “Prongs?”

But the boy was gone, disappearing fast beyond the edge of the stands. After a beat, the two of them exchanged a glance and hurried after him.

You were left sitting in the damp grass, heart racing so loudly you were certain the whole pitch could hear it.

“What a complete weirdo,” you muttered aloud, though your voice shook faintly.

You pressed your palms to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

The earth spun quietly beneath you.

“There you are!”

You glanced up. Lily Evans was making her way toward you, copper hair glinting in the sun, Mary Macdonald trailing close behind. Both girls looked concerned.

“We saw what happened,” Lily said, crouching beside you. “Are you alright? That looked like a nasty fall.”

“I’m fine,” you answered, though your heart was still pounding. “It was just—surprising.”

Mary smiled. “That’s one way to start the afternoon.”

Lily offered her hand to help you up. You took it gratefully, brushing damp earth from your knees.

“Honestly,” Lily continued, shaking her head, “some of these Quidditch boys have no aim at all.”

You forced a small laugh. “It seems so.”

Lily gave you a warm look. “Come on. Let’s get you back inside.”

You fell into step with them as they made their way toward the castle, grateful, as always, for their easy company.

Transferring to Hogwarts for your final year had been an ordeal, a whirlwind decision after your adoptive family’s move from France.

Beauxbatons had been your home for six years, all grace and polished magic.

Hogwarts was wild and sprawling by comparison, full of shifting staircases and unruly ghosts and students who had known each other forever.

It was rare to transfer so late. You knew the whispers that followed you through the halls.

A seventh-year newcomer was no small curiosity.

But Lily had been kind from the first. So had Mary. Their friendship had been a soft, steady thing amidst the strangeness, helping you find your footing in this unfamiliar place.

Still, even now, there were moments when it felt as though you did not quite belong.

“I still feel a bit lost,” you admitted quietly. “All of it is so different here.”

“It’ll settle in,” Lily promised. “Give it time.”

Mary grinned. “Just watch out for stray quaffles.”

You managed a real laugh then, though your thoughts kept circling back. Not to the fall. Not even to the crowd that had stared.

But to him.

The boy with eyes like burnished gold, who had looked at you as though the world itself had cracked open.

And fled. What a coward—who even gets scared from girls?

Lily glanced at you with a gentle smile, her eyes bright despite the chill in the air. “You’ve handled the fall better than most first years.”

Mary nudged your arm playfully.

“Yeah, and that mud really brings out your fille mystérieuse aesthetic.”

You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at your lips.

“If fille mystérieuse means ‘walking disaster,’ then sure. I’m nailing it.”

Mary grinned, “I still can’t believe you transferred here this late. Must be quite the change from Beauxbatons.”

You shrugged, folding your arms against the cool air.

“It’s... different. Beauxbatons is more... polished, orderly. Hogwarts feels like a wild storm — unpredictable and sprawling.”

Lily nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. But it’s home, in its own way. You’ll find your place.”

“Do you miss it? France?” Mary asked quietly.

You hesitated, looking down at your boots. “Sometimes. The way things were there. The certainty.”

Lily’s voice softened. “We all feel a bit adrift sometimes. Especially here, where everything is old and layered with so many stories.”

You looked up, catching their eyes. “Thanks. You both have been... a lifeline.”

Mary smiled warmly. “That’s what friends are for.”

The conversation drifted then, from classes to teachers to the upcoming exams.

The castle buzzed around you with the usual hum of students rushing between lessons, laughter echoing in the high ceilings.

And slowly, your attention began to wander, the words around you blurring into background noise.

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing farther down the corridor now, leaning casually against a stone pillar.

The sunlight caught in his curls, highlighting the rich brown and the damp sheen from practice. His skin, lightly tanned, seemed to glow faintly in the afternoon light.

But it was his eyes that rooted you in place — steady, unflinching, as if he were watching something rare and fragile.

You blinked, startled by the intensity of his gaze.

“Do you see that?” you murmured, nodding toward him.

Mary’s eyes followed your gesture, a grin tugging at her lips. “He’s staring like you’re some miracle.”

You folded your arms, lips tightening. “What’s up with that idiot bastard? Can’t he find anything better to do than gawking like I’m some kind of freak?”

Lily laughed softly. “You’d think someone from Beauxbatons would handle that sort of attention with a bit more grace.”

You rolled your eyes, a wry smile breaking through. “Grace isn’t exactly what I’m feeling.”

Mary chuckled. “Don’t mind him. That’s James Potter.”

You frowned, the name slipping somewhere into your memory. “James Potter...?”

Lily nodded. “Gryffindor’s Seeker. A bit of a troublemaker, but talented.”

“And his friends,” Mary added, “Sirius Black — his best mate, always at his side — and Remus Lupin, who’s been close to both for years.”

Your mind swirled with those names, distant echoes you’d heard but never quite understood.

You glanced back at James, still watching you without shame or hesitation.

The conversation with Lily and Mary faded into the background as you watched James, his figure etched against the stone pillar, his eyes still locked on you with that strange intensity.

There was something about him that tugged at the edges of your memory — a distant echo, a faint pulse beneath the surface of thought — but no matter how hard you tried, you could not place it.

It was as if a name was just beyond reach, a face blurred by time and distance.

You scoured your mind for clues, for fragments of some forgotten chapter, but all you found was a quiet ache of familiarity you couldn’t name.

You swallowed the feeling, telling yourself it was just the oddness of being new here, the disorienting swirl of so many unfamiliar faces and names.

With a sigh, you shifted your weight and turned toward the exit, ready to leave the corridor and the boy who unsettled you so deeply.

Mary and Lily fell into step beside you, their easy chatter picking up once more, but before you could take more than a few steps, a voice called out your name.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in your tracks, heart suddenly pounding as you spun around.

James was running toward you, his expression a mixture of hope and something more vulnerable.

Closer now, the fading light revealed a faint scar above his right eyebrow—a thin, pale line that caught your eye instantly.

And in that moment, the memories came flooding back with unrelenting clarity.

The muddy courtyard of the orphanage, sun-warmed stones beneath your hands.

The days when he was just a boy with dark curls, tanned skin, and laughter that rang out loud and clear.

How his mother, Euphemia, would visit the orphanage and bring him along, her wide heart pulling children from shadow into light.

You remembered the afternoons spent teasing and bickering, how stubborn he was, how fiercely alive.

And then the sharp sting of a broken branch — your misjudged swing, the cry of pain, the apology whispered breathlessly as you pressed your hand to his brow.

The scar you had given him was etched deep, a mark of childhood recklessness and unspoken connection.

Your breath caught.

He was the boy from your past — the boy who had shifted your world on its axis before disappearing into the unknown.

“James,” you whispered, the name tasting strange and familiar on your tongue.

He smiled, a little sheepish, but his eyes shone with relief.

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

For a second, the world hung still.

Your name trembled between you, spoken softly, almost reverently. His voice, warm with memory and something far deeper, seemed to echo through your chest.

And then, without thought, without hesitation, you moved.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, the recognition swelling so suddenly within you that it left you breathless.

“James Potter!”

You crossed the space between you, heart racing, arms rising as though guided by something older than memory.

You embraced him, your arms winding around his neck, pressing close with the full, unguarded joy of seeing someone long lost to time.

James stood frozen for a single, fragile instant. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with disbelief, as if the entire universe had shifted beneath his feet.

He had imagined this moment before, of course.

Countless times in quiet hours, in stray, half-formed thoughts that never quite dared to hope. But no imagining had prepared him for this.

For the way you felt in his arms, for the press of your cheek against his shoulder, for the soft scent of lavender and rain-soaked grass clinging to you.

Slowly, his arms rose and wrapped around you, unsure at first, almost hesitant, as though he feared one wrong movement might break the spell.

But the warmth of you was too real, too vivid, and something in him unfurled in that moment.

He held you closer, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like if he loosened his grip for even a second, you might vanish again.

His heart pounded hard enough to hurt, a wild, desperate rhythm that had only ever belonged to you.

It wasn’t just relief blooming in his chest. It was recognition. It was longing curling inward like a second heartbeat, something older than memory, louder than logic.

Everything in him was reaching — every thread of muscle and magic and soul stretching toward you, as if his very existence had been stitched together wrong without you in it.

He didn’t just want you close. He needed it, like air in his lungs, like light in a place that had gone too long without warmth.

And in that moment, with you wrapped in his arms, the noise of the world faded. It didn’t matter where you had been, how long it had taken, or how much had been lost.

You were here. You had always been his. And everything inside him knew it.

You pulled back after a long, trembling breath, your cheeks flushed, a bright smile curving your lips.

“Sorry,” you said, voice breathless, eyes shining. “I—”

James found his voice, rough and low, though his heart still beat wildly beneath his ribs. “It is all right,” he managed.

“It is more than all right.”

Around you, the corridor seemed to dim and still, as if the castle itself had withdrawn, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment.

Lily and Mary shared a glance behind you, a quiet understanding passing between them. With a soft word and a small smile, they slipped away into the flow of students, leaving behind a silence that was somehow heavier.

James could not look away from you.

He traced the lines of your face as though seeing them for the first time, though some part of him had carried the memory of them all these years.

The curve of your mouth, the shape of your eyes, the light that seemed to radiate from within you.

The years had only deepened what was already beautiful.

His voice was softer when he spoke again, touched with something you could not name. “Where have you been all this time?”

You drew in a breath, eyes flicking away for a moment as you gathered the words, unsure where to begin.

“I was adopted,” you said quietly.

“A family from France. It was… very sudden. I remember Euphemia told me the day before it happened. One moment I was there, with you and the others… and then I was gone.”

James’s brow furrowed, something aching flickering in his gaze. “I remember,” he said softly.

“Mum told me you’d been adopted. I thought—” He hesitated. “I thought you might still be nearby. I kept hoping.”

Your heart gave an odd little lurch at that, though you pressed on. “They moved not long after. To Provence. 1They were kind, truly, but it was all so new, and I suppose… I lost touch with everything from before. I spent the next six years at Beauxbatons.”

A faint smile touched your lips, though it carried a hint of wistfulness. “It was… beautiful there. Graceful, in its own way. Very different. But I always wondered about this place.”

James could only listen, rapt, as though your voice alone could anchor him to this moment.

“And then,” you continued, “this summer, they decided to return. My adoptive father was offered a position here, something in the Ministry. They thought it would be good for me too, to finish school here before… well, before whatever comes next.”

You let out a soft breath, lifting your gaze back to his. “And so, here I am. Quite unexpected.”

James shook his head, a slow, incredulous smile growing at the corners of his mouth. “Not unexpected,” he said, voice low and sure. “Fate, maybe.”

Something about the way he said it sent a ripple through you, warm and unsteady.

He studied you openly, drinking in every change, every new grace in your bearing, every familiar spark that still lived in your eyes.

“You have grown…” His voice caught, but he pressed on. “Beautifully. I nearly did not recognise you at first.”

You tilted your head, a glint of humour dancing beneath your words.

“So I was not beautiful before?”

Colour flushed his cheeks instantly, his composure slipping. “No— no, that is not— you were— you have always—” He broke off with a helpless little laugh, raking a hand through his damp curls.

You laughed too, the sound light, lilting between you. “I am teasing, James.”

Relief washed across his face, though the warmth in his eyes only deepened.

You let your gaze travel over him for a moment, noting how the years had reshaped him.

Gone was the boy who used to trail after you in the orphanage courtyard, all gangly limbs and stubborn defiance.

Now he stood taller, broader, with a presence that seemed to fill the corridor. The glasses remained, but behind them his eyes gleamed brighter than you remembered, full of something vivid and unspoken.

“You have grown quite well yourself,” you said softly. “You used to be shorter than me. I remember quite clearly.”

That drew a breathless, boyish laugh from him, the kind that caught in his throat. “Well,” he managed, “I could not let you stay taller forever.”

For a beat, neither of you moved. The moment stretched between you, a quiet, humming thing, as though the air itself was charged with something neither of you fully understood.

And James Potter, who had once been certain he would never know what it felt like to belong to someone, found himself standing before you, heart laid bare, and wondered how he had ever imagined anything else.

After that day, something began to change between you and James Potter, though the nature of that change unfolded with such quiet certainty that it seemed almost inevitable, as though it had been written long before either of you could comprehend it.

He began to appear more often in the spaces between your days — not merely by chance, but with a certain quiet deliberation, as though drawn to your orbit without fully understanding why.

After lessons, he would be there at the foot of the stairs or by the classroom door, offering a bright smile and some casual remark that seemed to disguise the hope in his eyes.

In the corridors between lectures, he would fall into step beside you, his presence easy and unforced, the conversation flowing in a manner that was both comfortable and new.

Before long, you began to notice him elsewhere.

In the library, beneath the high arches of the south wing, where he would pass by your table with an idle glance.

On the way to meals, where he would hold a place for you without being asked, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

In the common room, where his voice would grow softer when he spoke to you, his laughter somehow warmer.

It had been years since you had seen him last, and though your memories of the orphanage remained fragmented — blurred impressions of sunlit courtyards, laughter on wind-stirred afternoons, a stubborn boy with a scar on his brow and a fierce glint in his gaze — there was something about him that stirred an unspoken familiarity.

He felt, even now, like the sun itself: so warm and so constant that no matter how long you had wandered or how far you had been carried by the tides of life, you would always know the shape of that light.

It was impossible to outrun the sun, after all. One might seek shadows or turn away, but sooner or later, its warmth would find you again.

And so it was with James Potter.

You also grew closer still to Lily and Mary, their friendship becoming a steady anchor in this new place.

The three of you would linger over long breakfasts in the Great Hall, take quiet walks beneath the changing leaves, or while away late evenings in the common room .

The Marauders too, in their own way, welcomed you into their fold.

Remus, with his quiet wisdom and perceptive gaze, would offer thoughtful conversation and a gentle kind of understanding that needed no words.

Sirius, bright and sharp-edged, carried his loyalty with an intensity that was impossible to miss.

Aand beneath his teasing smiles there was a depth you came to value more with each passing day.

It was on one such afternoon that you found yourself with James beneath the willow by the lake.

The great tree swayed above you, its long branches drifting in the breeze like the threads of some ancient tapestry.

The grass beneath was cool, the earth soft, and from your place beneath the canopy. The castle seemed distant, its towers half-lost in the glow of the descending sun.

Books lay forgotten at your side, your conversation having long since drifted away from studies.

After some time, James shifted slightly where he sat, drawing one knee beneath him as though bracing himself.

He glanced toward you, and there was a seriousness in his gaze that stilled the air between you, a question that had long been waiting for the right moment.

When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual, touched with something softer, more deliberate.

“May I ask you something?”

You turned toward him, curiosity flickering beneath the surface of your calm. “Of course.”

He hesitated only a heartbeat, his amber gaze searching yours with a quiet intensity.

[please, please, please play About You by The 1975, here!! it will change up the entire scene <3]

“Have you,” he asked, his words careful now, as though they carried more weight than he could explain, “have you found your soulmate?”

“No, I haven’t.” You whispered.

Something about the look in his eyes made your breath catch, though you did not quite understand why.

You turned your head slightly toward him, voice quiet, curious.

“Have you found yours?” you asked softly. “Your soulmate.”

His breath seemed caught in his chest, his shoulders taut, as though your question had shifted something vast within him.

And then at last, he spoke, voice low, but the truth of it rang through you all the same.

“I have,” he said.

The words struck harder than they should have, sharp and sudden.

You flinched inwardly, though you tried to mask it.

Your heart, for reasons you could not quite understand, seemed to stutter painfully in your chest.

Of course he had. Of course. By this age, nearly everyone had. It had been foolish of you to even wonder otherwise.

A tightness rose in your throat. You glanced away, pushing quickly to your feet, fingers trembling faintly at your sides.

The sudden need to put distance between yourself and him felt overwhelming.

“I… I should go,” you murmured, already beginning to step back, voice unsteady despite your efforts to remain composed.

“I have— I should not be here.”

But before you could take another step, James surged forward, his hand catching yours.

You tried instinctively to pull away, to keep the ache in your chest from spilling over, but he held fast.

“Wait—” he said, his voice rough with something raw and vulnerable. “You asked if I’d found mine. And I told you yes.”

You froze, your heart thundering.

James swallowed, his gaze pinned to yours, his fingers trembling where they held your wrist.

“I always wondered why I could see colors when I never met my soulmate. Why I felt everything so deeply when no one was meant for me. Why everyone else had to wait to meet their soulmate till they saw color.”

He laughed, but it was hollow.

“I thought maybe the universe made a mistake. That maybe I was broken. I spent years thinking I was born wrong, that I was the only one who got left out of the magic.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles.

“But then you came along. And suddenly everything made sense. All that time I spent aching, waiting, wondering — it was for you”

You stared at him, breath caught.

James took a breath like it was the first one that hadn’t hurt in years.

“It’s always been about you.”

And before the ache in your chest could even become a word, he kissed you.

His mouth found yours with a hunger that stole the breath from your lungs, a heat that seemed to burn through every inch of you.

The contact sent a rush of sensation through your body, sharp and bright, as though the very air had turned electric.

You gasped softly into the kiss, the shock of it leaving you dizzy, helpless beneath the weight of the moment.

His lips moved over yours with aching purpose, gentle at first, then deepening, as though something vast and unspoken had broken free in him at last.

Your fingers curled unconsciously into the fabric of his robes, holding on as though the earth itself had shifted beneath you.

You could feel the heat of him through every layer, the taut strength of his arms braced around you.

And still the kiss went on — searing, consuming — until at last, breathless and trembling, you tore your mouth from his, gasping for air.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

James hovered above you, one hand still cradling your head, the other pressed to the earth beside you.

His gaze was blazing, the amber darkened with something fierce and undeniable.

“You are my soulmate,” he said, voice thick with something unshakable. “You always have been.”

The words wrapped around you like a thread pulled tight, tugging at something buried deep beneath your ribs.

“James,” you breathed, your voice trembled. “I thought you would forget me.”

His eyes didn’t waver. His hand tightened gently around yours.

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?” he asked, quiet but fierce, like the very idea was an insult to the stars.

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, one that didn’t quite hide the ache underneath. “I forgot a lot of things,” you said, watching him like he might disappear.

“But do you know what I never forgot?”

His brows furrowed, gaze locked to yours. “What?”

You lifted your hand, slow and hesitant, and reached up to brush your fingers gently across the arch of his brow.

“This scar,” you whispered. “Right here.”

His lips parted in surprise, a breath of laughter slipping out. “You gave me that,” he said, eyes lighting with memory.

“We were playing near the garden wall behind the orphanage. You hit me with a stick and then cried harder than I did.”

“I was dramatic,” you said, smiling now.

“You still are.”

Your smile wavered, softening into something more fragile. “There’s a lot I forgot about you, James. But somehow… there’s something about you that even now, when I can’t remember everything — it’s the same smile, same eyes, and the same damn scar that made my heart surrender.”

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like you’d stitched the air back into his lungs.

Then, with a quiet, aching tenderness, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm between you.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ve got the entire time in the world to remember each other.”

You laughed as he pressed another warm kiss into your lips.

“My mother will lose her mind,” he said with a soft laugh.

“She will be beside herself when she sees you. I have to write her the moment we leave this tree. She will not forgive me if I wait even an hour.”

That drew a true, another bright laugh from you.

You curled closer, head resting lightly against his shoulder, your heart steady now in a way it had never been.

And for James Potter—who had spent so many years quietly mistrusting the universe, doubting that such fragile, luminous things as soulmates could truly exist beyond storybooks and hopeful hearts — this was the moment everything changed.

Beneath the ancient sweep of the willow, with you nestled close and your fingers tangled in his, James held you like something sacred.

Your breath moved gently at his shoulder. The taste of your kiss still lingered on his lips, and all the old fears melted away like mist beneath the morning sun.

Because how could he doubt any longer?

How could he deny the truth when every thread of his life, every unseen choice and twist of fate, had led him here.

To you, the girl who once lit his world with color before he even knew he’d been living in grey, the only soul whose presence could turn the air to gold and make the light itself feel like it was made just for you.

In this moment, James Potter finally believed in fate, not as some cold hand that ruled from above, but as a force that, against all odds, had placed you in his path again.

Because it had always been you.

Every turn, every heartbeat, and every breath he took without knowing why.

All of it had been about you.

#james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #himbo!james potter x reader #james potter fluff #marauders era #james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter drabble #james potter #james fleamont potter #the maruaders #marauders

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dollyswishingwell · 1 day ago

Text

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Anniversary gift

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Suggestiveeeee, lots of fluff and simp men, 🧶 anon i used all your ideas :p let’s hope i did it justice, let’s not question who took the photos for reader lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You give them a book of very spicy photos for your anniversary

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He’s seated cross-legged in the sun-drenched studio of your estate, purple hair tousled, shirt entirely unbuttoned. Blue-pink eyes are completely locked on the glossy little album you gave him.

He was quiet for a while.

Too quiet.

Then he flipped the page and let out a sound that could only be described as an emotionally-compromised whimper.

“Pearlie… what are you trying to do to me…”

Another page flip.

“You’re actually unreal, baby. This isn’t fair. I’m gonna have to fight a god for this level of beauty. I’ll duel the moon. I’ll—”

He presses the album flat on his chest and throws himself backward on the floor, groaning, curling around it like it’s sacred.

The first photo, you, in a cherry-red bikini, towel wrapped low on your hips, the string of your top cheekily untied and draped over one shoulder, hair tousled from ocean spray. There’s glittering salt on your collarbone. The light hits your skin so perfectly it looks airbrushed.

“This is art. You are art.”

“You knew what you were doing… you minx.”

The second photo, you in your bridal veil, no clothes but a sheer white cloth draped carefully around your chest and thighs, pearls in your hair, eyes all soft and sleepy. There’s a vintage hand mirror in your hand. It was his.

He gets emotional.

“My wife. My muse. My everything. You expect me to function after seeing this?”

The third photo, the tasteful nude. Just your bare back, wrapped in white fabric from the waist down, lounging against the satin sheets he brought back from the North Territory. Your hair’s loose. There’s a fresh bouquet behind you.

“You have one hour to explain why I can’t paint this right now.”

“Actually, No, I’m starting now. I need my brushes. Baby, I’ll cry if you don’t let me immortalize this.”

Rafayel becomes insatiable. He needs a new photo every week. No, every four days.

He makes a whole cabinet drawer in his art room just for them, lovingly labeled “The Pearlie Archive.”

He carries his favourite polaroid in his coat pocket.

If he has to go to a meeting, and someone annoys him too much? He’ll look it mid-conversation just to soothe himself.

Eventually, he even makes a rotating sculpture series based on the photos, each titled something stupid like “Wife in Moonlight No.3 (She Looked At Me After This One and I Died).”

And of course, every time you hand him a new photo with that bashful little smile?

He groans, presses his face into your neck, and says—

“You’re evil. A beautiful, perfect little devil, pearlie.”

“I’m gonna spend the next 17 hours painting your elbow.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮��𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The two of you return to your estate after a private anniversary dinner at Linkon’s most exclusive restaurant. He’s been looking at you all evening like you’re the only woman on earth, because to Zayne, you are.

You’re dressed in something elegant and white, your hair done exactly how he loves it, diamond earrings glinting when you lean in to murmur sweet things during dessert. He kissed your hand at the table. He fed you the last bite of your souffle. He looked genuinely weak when you smiled.

Now, back home, you lead him by the hand into the cozy sitting room, your heels already kicked off, makeup still perfect, and you sit him down on the plush velvet armchair. You pull out a small, gift-wrapped item from behind the bar cart. It’s square, not too thick, tied in a delicate ribbon.

He eyes it suspiciously, lips quirking slightly.

“Another gift, sweetheart?” he murmurs, hazel-green eyes sparkling. “Wasn’t dinner and your company more than enough?”

You smile innocently, cheeks warm.

“This one’s just for you. A private gift. Promise you won’t open it until I say so?”

He raises a brow. He’s intrigued.

“You’re starting to worry me, snowflake.”

Still, he obliges, sitting obediently with the album in his lap while you go behind him, slipping your arms over his shoulders.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Now.”

He unties the ribbon. Opens the first page.

And stops breathing.

⸻

First photo, you in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a frilly pastel apron over one of his old dress shirts… buttoned only halfway. The hem flutters just below your thighs, leaving your legs completely bare. Your hands are flour-dusted, cheeks pink, and there’s whipped cream on your nose.

You’re bending slightly over the counter, sliding a tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven with the most mischievous smile.

“Sweetheart… what… what is this…”

He flips the page.

Second photo, you licking icing off your finger, eyes wide and innocent, the bow of the apron tied low on your back, the skirt very short. Zayne’s name is scrawled in icing of the cake on the countertop beside you, surrounded by pink sugar hearts.

Third photo, you, from behind, balancing on your tiptoes to reach for a spice jar. The dress has ridden up. There’s no mistaking what’s not underneath. The caption under it reads in your handwriting:

“oops. no panties today, chef~”

He’s silent.

Dead silent.

His jaw’s locked. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, ears turning red.

You lean close to whisper innocently, “Do you like it?”

And Zayne, your brilliant, stoic, always composed husband, finally breathes out—

“I’m going to have a stroke.”

⸻

The album now lives in his locked desk drawer, where no one else will ever find it. Not even if the house were on fire.

But more importantly, you find yourself pinned between the kitchen counter and your blushing husband not even twenty minutes later, his tie long gone, your apron hanging off your shoulders,

“Was this all a plan, darling?”

“Did you intend to drive me mad tonight?”

He kisses you breathless, his hand cupping your cheek, the other sliding beneath the fabric with reverent slowness.

“Next year,” he murmurs, voice low and hot, “I want one in a nurse uniform. And the year after that? Surprise me.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The evening had been perfect in that quiet, Xavier-esque way.

A soft dinner at home, lights dim, stars glittering through the penthouse windows. The table set with care, he’d even lit candles, though he tried to pretend he hadn’t planned that far ahead.

You’d cooked, and he sat beside you the whole time, sipping wine, brushing his fingers against yours between each course, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the words.

He never needed them anyway.

Not with how he looked at you.

“You’re… beautiful, starlight,” he murmured as you curled into his lap on the sofa after dinner, blanket half-draped over your legs. “You always are. But tonight… I’m starting to believe you really were made to haunt me.”

You giggled, pressed a kiss to his jaw, and handed him a small, ribboned album from behind the couch cushion.

“Happy anniversary, Xavier. I wanted to give you something personal.”

He blinked, confused.

Took it delicately, like it was a sacred relic.

“A… book?”

“…Wait.”

He unties the ribbon. Opens to the first page.

And that’s when the nosebleed hits.

⸻

First photo, you in a sheer, pale lilac negligee that hugs your body like mist. Your thighs peek through delicate lace. The neckline drips low enough to give a suggestion of cleavage, hidden by a loosely tied robe. You’re sitting in his reading chair. One hand rests lightly on your collarbone. Your expression is soft. Sleepy. Dangerous.

Blood hits the page.

“X-Xavier?!”

“You’re bleeding!”

He slaps a hand over his nose, face completely red, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“Starlight what did you do.”

“You can’t—you can’t just give me this!”

⸻

Second photo, the robe is slipping off your shoulder now, revealing more of your bare skin, your stocking-clad thighs folded neatly beneath you as you recline on your side like a classic painting. The caption is handwritten:

“I imagined you’d like this one. I was thinking of you when I posed.”

Xavier collapses backward. Still holding the album upright like it’s the last thing tethering him to earth. He’s trying not to breathe too hard. His nose is still bleeding, too frozen to take the tissues you’re offering him.

“I’ve made contact with divinity,” he murmurs dramatically. “It’s her. She’s real. She’s my wife.”

⸻

Third photo, you, standing in front of the penthouse bedroom mirror. The robe is untied. Your back is to the camera, head turned over your shoulder. The light catches on your shoulder blades, your soft hips, the top of your thigh-highs.

Underneath it is another note:

“You can come find me now, if you want. The robe’s still on the floor.”

He gets up. So fast you hear the whoosh of air.

Absolutely frantic.

“Where is it. Where is the robe.”

You laugh, backing toward the bedroom.

He follows like a man possessed.

⸻

Later, after he’s finally calmed down and your poor bedsheets are a casualty of the nosebleed and the aftermath, he insists on making a velvet-lined case for the album.

He keeps it in a drawer near the bed.

Takes it out every few days just to sigh over it.

“You didn’t have to go so far,” he murmurs, tracing the page edges. “You could’ve given me a photo of you in sweatpants and I’d still cry.”

Then his voice drops to a whisper.

“But I am going to need another shoot… same robe… maybe no robe… just a suggestion.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’d just come home from a week-long seaside villa getaway where Sylus spared no expense, private chef, marble infinity pool, silk robes delivered every morning, a whole fleet of bodyguards paid to “look the other way” when his hands wandered too far under dinner tables.

He was glowing with pride the entire trip.

“I’m a dangerous man, kitty,” he’d murmur as you swam up to him in the ocean, sunglasses perched on his silver hair. “But I’d give it all up to keep you soft like this. Tucked away. Spoiled rotten. Never needing to lift a finger except to choose which bikini to wear.”

He returned home relaxed, sun-warm, glowing from power and pleasure.

That is, until you handed him the velvet envelope.

“A little souvenir,” you said coyly, settling into the penthouse lounge with a yawn. “From me to you.”

He opened the album.

He paused.

Then he tilted his head.

Slowly. Like a predator smelling blood.

“…Kitten.”

⸻

First photo, you reclined across red silk sheets, wearing a see-through black chiffon robe that slips completely off your shoulders, revealing glitter-dusted thighs, sultry makeup, and the barrel of one of his gold-plated pistols perched lazily on your hip. A diamond necklace is looped between your teeth like candy.

Your eyes are half-lidded. The wedding band sparkles under the camera flash.

“Is that my pistol?” he murmurs, voice strangled.

“Did you take that from the vault?”

Second photo, you’re in the passenger seat of one of his vintage sports cars, door open, one leg outside, the other tucked provocatively on the leather seat. Your silk stockings are barely rolled up. The seatbelt’s undone. The caption below reads:

“ready for a ride, baby?”

He flips the page and laughs.

A dangerous, breathless kind of laugh.

The kind that says you’re not getting out of bed for three days.

“This is evil.”

Third photo, you, laying sideways across the hood of the car, fully naked except for stilettos and a diamond anklet, one of his revolvers laid carefully across your bare stomach.

⸻

He flips back. Again.

And again.

Then he gets up. Walks directly to the foyer. Takes his wallet from the marble console.

Silently, carefully, slides his favorite photo, the red silk sheet one, into the inside flap.

“You are truly born to torture me.”

⸻

You spot him flipping through the album again later, standing shirtless by the balcony with a cigar in his mouth, laughing under his breath.

“I knew you were perfect, kitten,” he drawls. “But this, this is perversely delightful.”

He tosses the cigar into the ashtray. Stalks over to you, scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

“Give me another shoot. In my office next time. I want a shot of you splayed across the desk.”

He grins.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You had a second honeymoon at the tropical resort, It was perfect.

Private beach. Ocean-view suite. Room service for every meal because you “didn’t feel like leaving bed” and Caleb had no problem with that. He spent most of the week either kissing saltwater off your shoulders or carrying you around like his pretty little prize.

“You really gonna let me have you all to myself like this again, pips?”

“No comms. No Fleet. Just my pretty wife lookin’ like paradise.”

Now, back home, sun-kissed and still a little sand-dusted, you hand him a neatly wrapped album as you’re snuggled on the couch, legs over his lap, wearing his oversized academy flight jacket.

He’s already smiling like a golden retriever with a brand new bone.

But the moment he opens the album?

Full body combustion. (He didn’t blow up again, don’t worry)

⸻

First photo, you, provocatively leaning over his fighter jet, hips arched, wearing a custom, skimpy version of his old pilot jumpsuit. The front is unzipped nearly all the way down, teasing a scandalous glimpse of your favorite lacy bra underneath, his favorite color. His name tag is pinned to your chest.

You’re wearing his flight jacket over your shoulders.

Hair tousled. Lipstick smudged.

The note underneath says:

“Reporting for duty, Colonel.”

“BABY.”

He literally shouts. Slaps the photo against his chest. “How will i ever step foot into that jet again without thinking of you?!”

Second photo, you inside the cockpit, half-in, half-out, glancing over your shoulder, lips parted, legs bent, the jumpsuit riding way too high. Helmet beside you, glove between your teeth.

He clutches his chest. Falls back onto the couch. Groaning.

“That’s my cockpit,” he moans dramatically. “You’ve defiled military equipment, and I have never been prouder in my life.”

Third photo, domestic theme. You in a retro gingham dress, pearls and red lipstick, holding a woven basket full of apples. You’re on a ladder, picking fruit, skirt accidentally hitched way too high, revealing sweet white thigh-highs and the hem of lace panties. The sun flares behind you like a lens filter from heaven.

Underneath, in your own handwriting:

“Almost fell off the ladder. Hope it was worth it”

“Oh my GOD,” he whines, flipping back and forth between pages. “Every photo is my favorite. I need one a week. No, twice a week. Actually, start filming them too.”

He grabs your face, squishes your cheeks, eyes sparkling like he just won the universe.

“Next time you wear that jumpsuit, you’re not taking it off. I wanna peel it off myself.”

You tease, “So you liked it?”

He growls.

“Pips, If you weren’t already my wife, I’d marry you all over again for this. I’d drop to my knees right now. I’d burn the Fleet down to make sure i never have to leave your side.”

He tucks the album into his duffel bag. That bag goes everywhere.

He literally calls it his emotional support photo album.

If he’s gone on deployment, he’s flipping through it in the captain’s quarters, smiling like a lunatic.

“God, my wife’s such a bombshell.”

And yes, he starts commissioning a video next.

Wants voiceover. Wants to hear your giggles in the background. Wants you whispering “I miss you, Colonel” while lying on his jet wearing nothing but the flight jacket.

401 notes · View notes

yukkiji · 2 days ago

Note

i js wanted to drop in and say ur writing is some of the best here on haikyuublr right now and u have such a talent <3 loved ur iwa and atsumu fic and greatly loking forward to reading more of ur stuff after writing this. thank u for sharing ur stuff and excited for whatever else u decide to write!!! ALSO i would love to request something longer with suna if thatd be possible,, maybe something where reader's feeling insecure bc its been a while since theyve done anything? when in reality suna's js exhausted from work and accidentally neglected her T-T if u dont wanna do this i dont mind at all anything with sunarin is fine <3 love ur writing againnn

still here, still yours

after weeks of exhaustion and unintended neglect, pro volleyball player suna gently reassures his insecure partner through tender, praise-filled intimacy—reminding her she's always wanted, never forgotten, and deeply loved.

starring. suna rintaro x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, light angst, smut

warning: 18+ mdni., smut, nsfw, praise kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, dom!suna, emotional neglect, reassurance, light spanking, shower scene, soft aftercare, verbal praise, body worship, unprotected sex

wc: 11.8k

author's note: long overdue but here it is! i hope you enjoy reading this hehe

it’s subtle at first.

the distance.

not a storm, not a blowout, not even a sharp word. just… a creeping quiet. the kind you don’t notice until you’re already sitting in the dark, wondering when the lights went out.

you chalk it up to exhaustion—the kind that’s expected from a professional athlete grinding through mid-season. rintarou comes home past midnight most nights now, his footsteps dragging, his voice low. the door opens, then closes with a tired sigh. his bag hits the floor, and he exhales like the weight on his shoulders is just too much.

he always greets you. always. a soft, automatic “hey,” murmured against your hair as he walks by. sometimes a kiss on the top of your head if he remembers. sometimes, if he isn’t too far gone, he pulls you against his chest for a minute, just holding you in that quiet, liminal hour between exhaustion and sleep.

but more often lately, he heads straight to the shower. a ten-minute rinse, the door left cracked open so the steam doesn’t fog the glass. when he returns, towel slung low on his hips, he drops into bed beside you with a grunt, kisses your shoulder if he’s awake enough, and passes out before you can even finish whispering, “welcome home.”

you tell yourself it’s nothing.

because technically, nothing’s wrong.

you still laugh at the memes he sends you at 1 a.m. from his side of the bed. you still hear him humming under his breath when he makes you tea in the morning. he still saves your leftovers when he eats out with the team. he still picks up your favorite snacks at the corner store without you asking.

but something’s missing.

something deep.

and you don’t even realize what it is until the third night he doesn’t come home at all.

no warning. no messages until after midnight, just a tired update: [rintaro]: staying at the facility tonight. too tired to drive back. love you.

you believe him. of course you do. you never doubt him. suna may be many things—dry, aloof, chronically low-energy—but he has never lied to you. never once gave you a reason to question his loyalty, his commitment. he’s yours. fully.

and still—you ache.

you lie in bed in one of his old shirts, the fabric stretched soft from years of wear, and your hands wander. you trail your fingers down your ribs, over your hips, part your thighs and slip under your panties.

you try.

you really try.

but your hand doesn’t feel like his.

your fingers don’t curl with the same hunger, don’t slide with the same deliberate slowness that he always used when he wanted to wreck you slowly. they don’t press firm and steady on your clit the way he does, the way that always made your legs shake. they don’t fill you the way he does—long fingers that crook just right, mouth murmuring praise between licks as you unravel under him.

you moan, trying to conjure him. you imagine his voice, low and thick with sleep, telling you what a good girl you are. how sweet you taste. how soft you feel. you remember the way he used to breathe harder when he got close to making you come, like your pleasure turned him inside out.

but it’s not the same.

your own touch feels foreign. lonely. hollow.

and when the heat finally builds and fizzles out, you lie there unsatisfied, eyes burning, chest aching more than your thighs.

not because you’re angry. not because you don’t trust him.

but because you miss him in a way that makes your body ache.

you miss the way he used to need you.

now it feels like he needs rest more than he needs you.

you know he’s tired. you know he’s overworked. you’ve seen the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he winces when he peels off his tape, the dark circles deepening under his eyes. you know that every match, every practice, every press event chips away at the energy he has left.

but still—you miss him.

and more than that, you miss feeling wanted.

not just loved. not just adored in the passive, every-day kind of way. but craved. desired. claimed.

you can’t even remember the last time he touched you like that. not out of obligation. not for routine.

but because he couldn’t not.

because his body had to be on yours, had to taste you, had to feel you wrapped around him.

you pull your hand back and curl into yourself, frustrated tears pricking the corners of your eyes. you’re not mad. you’re not suspicious. just…

lonely.

quietly, devastatingly lonely.

and you don’t know how to bring it up without sounding like you’re asking for too much.

without sounding like one more thing he doesn’t have the energy for.

but this quiet?

it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.

like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.

it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.

like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.

you wipe your hand on the hem of your shirt and breathe in deep—once, then again—trying to convince your body that the tears pooling in your eyes are just from frustration. not sadness. not rejection. just a fleeting ache. something that sleep will solve.

except, sleep doesn’t come easily anymore.

not when the bed feels too cold on one side. not when the sheets still smell like him, and your fingers ache from trying to replace a warmth that only he can give.

so you sit up.

pad into the kitchen. open the fridge. close it. not hungry.

you scroll your phone, rereading old messages from months ago—selfies he used to send from the gym, photos of his legs iced up and flexed after a match, paired with a lazy “you like this, don’t lie” and a smirking emoji. voice memos of him mumbling how much he missed you after a long away game. a grainy video of him shirtless in the locker room, whispering a low “wish you were here” against a backdrop of noisy teammates.

that version of him feels so far away now.

not gone. but buried. like a season passed, and no one told you it wouldn’t come back the same.

you curl into the couch with a blanket over your lap, eyes on the clock.

12:46 a.m.

then 1:22.

then 1:37.

no update.

he’s not home.

again.

you check your phone just to be sure, even though there’s no buzz, no badge.

nothing.

you think about calling. about asking if he’s okay. about whether he ate dinner, or if he remembered to put on the muscle rub that helps with his back. but then you imagine him in the locker room, tired eyes barely open, chin tucked to his chest as he tries to survive the day, and guilt gnaws at your resolve.

you don’t want to be a burden.

but when the door finally creaks open at 2:04 a.m., your body jolts upright before you even realize you’ve moved.

he looks… drained.

dark circles. damp hair. eyes dull like a storm cloud that never opens up. he kicks off his shoes without looking up, his bag thudding against the door.

“hey,” he mumbles, like always.

suna walks toward the couch, still shrugging off the weight of the day, and bends just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. the press of his lips is warm—familiar—but distant, like a habit rather than a want.

"why are you still awake, baby?" he murmurs, voice low and raspy, like gravel smoothed by exhaustion.

you stare at the muted tv for a beat too long before answering.

“i couldn’t sleep.”

he hums absently, his hand brushing the top of your head in that same distracted way he always does lately. like he means to be comforting but doesn’t linger long enough to make it count. then he turns, already peeling off his hoodie as he makes his way down the hall.

"don’t wait up for me,” he says, voice fading as he walks, “i’ll head to our bedroom after i shower, okay?”

you don’t answer.

because if you do, you’re scared it’ll come out as a sob.

so you just nod, even though he can’t see it, curling in tighter on the couch as you listen to the bathroom door click shut. the sound of running water soon follows—soft at first, then rushing.

you stay where you are.

wrapped in silence. in soft cotton and worn-out longing. your body curled like muscle memory, trying to make yourself small. the blanket's gone cold now, and the cushions beneath you are sunken with the weight of waiting.

you think about getting up. think about brushing your teeth and sliding under the sheets like nothing hurts. think about pretending you didn’t cry earlier, about slipping into bed beside him and offering your back like a silent invitation he probably won’t take.

but you can’t move.

not yet.

because even now—after he’s home, after he kissed your temple, after he said he’d meet you in bed—there’s still a hollow ache in your chest that hasn’t quieted.

you hear the water shut off.

moments later, the door opens. his familiar steps thump softly against the hallway floor.

you expect him to go straight to the bedroom like always.

but instead—

“…babe?”

his voice comes from behind you, confused. not panicked. but uncertain.

you blink slowly, still curled up on the couch, and turn your head just enough to see him standing there, fresh from the shower.

hair damp, sticking in dark strands across his forehead. a towel slung loosely around his hips, clinging low on his hips. water still glistening down his chest—broad, lean, the kind of frame built from quiet discipline and relentless training. his hand clutches a shirt he probably meant to put on in the bedroom.

but he never made it that far.

because you’re still not there.

and he notices.

“…why’re you still out here?” he asks quietly, his brows drawing together.

you don’t answer at first.

you just look up at him.

and that’s when he really sees you.

the tired set of your shoulders. the way your lips are pressed together like they’re holding back a flood. the way your eyes glint—not from the tv light, but from the tears you refuse to shed a second time tonight.

his expression falters.

he drops the shirt in his hand, chest still rising and falling slowly from the heat of the shower—and maybe now, from something else.

he crosses to you without a word, crouches beside the couch, and touches your knee with gentle fingers.

“talk to me,” he says, softly. genuinely. “please.”

and that’s when your voice cracks.

“did i do something wrong?”

you don’t mean for it to come out like that.

small. fragile. broken around the edges.

but there it is—bare and trembling in the air between you.

“did i do something wrong?”

suna’s breath stutters, his hand tightening just slightly on your knee. not out of anger. out of heartbreak. it’s written all over his face now—the pieces finally clicking into place, sharp and clear and cutting.

“no,” he breathes. “no, baby, you didn’t.”

you look away, ashamed, eyes blinking hard as your throat constricts. but he doesn’t let you pull away—not even in silence. he gently climbs onto the couch beside you, still shirtless, still warm from the shower, and wraps an arm around your shoulders like he’s trying to shield you from the weight you’ve been carrying alone.

“i just…” your voice trembles. “you haven’t touched me in weeks. you don’t look at me the way you used to. you barely come home anymore. i thought maybe—maybe i wasn’t enough for you anymore.”

“hey—hey.” he pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, to make you look at him. “don’t say that. don’t even think that.”

you try to hold it together, but your bottom lip quivers.

“i trust you, rin. i do. i never thought you were cheating, or that there was someone else, i just… i miss how it used to be. i miss how you used to be with me. i miss you.”

he lets out a quiet sound, like it physically hurts to hear.

and then his forehead is pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face with aching care.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers. “you didn’t do anything wrong. you’re still everything i want. everything i need. you always have been.”

“then why…?” your eyes flicker shut, voice barely a breath. “why did it start to feel like i wasn’t?”

“i got caught up,” he admits, voice hoarse. “with the team, and travel, and press—and i kept telling myself i’d make it up to you after the season, or the week after, or the next time i had energy. but all that time, i didn’t notice i was slowly… fading out of us. and i didn’t realize how far i’d drifted until i looked up tonight and you weren’t in bed. you were still out here, waiting.”

“i wasn’t waiting,” you say, barely.

he nods. “i know. i mean—i know you were done waiting. i should’ve come home to you weeks ago. i should’ve noticed that i was holding you at arm’s length when i should’ve been holding you close.”

he pauses, then says quietly:

“you never stopped being enough. i just stopped showing you that i saw it. that i saw you. and that’s on me.”

you blink again, this time letting the tears fall.

“rin…”

he wipes them with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss your cheeks—once, twice—then your nose, then your forehead.

“i love you,” he murmurs. “i love you so fucking much. and i’m sorry for making you feel anything less than wanted. i hate that you thought you had to question how much i still want you.”

your voice comes out cracked. “it’s been hard.”

“i know.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and slow. “let me make it easier again.”

you hesitate. “i don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad.”

“i’m doing it because i miss you,” he says, firmer now. “because i’ve been starving for you and too fucking tired to reach out. but i’m reaching now. if you’ll let me.”

you nod slowly, and he presses his lips to yours fully this time—gentle at first, then deeper, like he’s pouring every apology and longing into the kiss. like he’s been aching too. like he finally remembered how to hold you.

he kisses you like he’s starved for it—like he’s been standing in the doorway of himself for weeks, unable to find the key, and tonight you finally let him in.

his hand slides up your thigh, warm and steady, until his fingers dip just beneath the edge of your shorts. his knuckles brush your inner thigh, and you shiver, gasping softly into his mouth. the heat that floods your body is instant—dizzying—and he groans as you squirm in response, like your reaction only feeds him.

“come here,” he murmurs, already tugging your hips toward him until you're lying flat on the couch cushions, head tilted back against the armrest.

he drops to his knees between your legs, and the moment he looks up at you—wet hair falling over his eyes, mouth already parted like he’s hungry—your breath catches in your throat.

“you okay?” he asks, softer now.

you nod, eyes half-lidded.

“i just… i missed you,” you whisper. “so much.”

his jaw clenches.

“i know,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “i’m gonna make it up to you, baby. just lay back. let me take care of you.”

you lift your hips obediently when he starts to tug your shorts down—slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. he kisses your inner thigh first, just barely grazing his lips over the sensitive skin, then drags his mouth higher.

when he sees how wet you are—already slick, glistening under the dim light—he pauses.

his eyes flick up to yours, and you don’t even try to hide it.

“i touched myself earlier,” you admit, cheeks burning. “it didn’t feel the same. i—i needed you.”

his jaw tightens, eyes darkening.

still kneeling between your thighs, his gaze drags down slowly—over your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the soaked curve of your panties stretched tight against your pussy. and he just stares.

his voice drops, low and edged with heat. “you know i hate it when you touch yourself, baby.”

you shiver.

“but…” he leans in, nuzzles your inner thigh, his lips brushing hot against your skin, “…i wasn’t there for you, huh?”

you nod faintly, biting your lip. “i tried. it just… didn’t work.”

he hums against your skin, one hand trailing up your thigh, splaying wide over your hip. “because this pussy doesn’t open for anyone but me.”

your breath catches in your throat.

then—he hooks his fingers into your panties and drags them down excruciatingly slow, eyes locked on your glistening cunt. you swear you feel his breath hitch when he sees how wet you are.

“fuck,” he breathes, like it punches the air out of him. “you’re soaked.”

he leans in without hesitation, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—and moans.

loudly.

like the taste of you alone nearly makes him lose it.

“missed this,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “missed you.”

then he dives in.

his mouth seals over your clit like he’s starved—tongue warm and wet, flicking in tight, steady circles that make your thighs twitch. you gasp, back arching, and he groans again, like your reaction turns him on more than anything.

his tongue flattens and licks broad and slow, then tightens again to flick quick patterns over your clit. when you whimper, he slides his hands up, pressing your hips down with his forearms to keep you in place, to stop you from squirming away.

“you don’t get to run,” he says against you, voice muffled. “you wanted this—missed this. let me give it to you.”

and god, he gives.

he moves like he’s memorized every sound you make, every tremble, every part of you that begs to be touched. his tongue works your clit in perfect rhythm—slow, steady, precise. he moans every time you gasp his name. and when your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, gripping, he growls into your cunt like he wants to drown in it.

“rinnie—” you gasp.

that name. that soft little plea.

it makes something snap in him.

he pulls back for a second, lips slick, panting, and stares at your ruined expression.

“say it again.”

“rinnie,” you whisper, voice shaking.

his mouth crashes back to your clit and he slides two fingers into you with practiced ease. they stretch you open—deep, slow, curling perfectly against your sweet spot.

you cry out, body arching. “oh my—rin—!”

he starts fucking you with his fingers—deep and unrelenting. his pace is slow, but brutal, curling on every thrust. paired with his tongue flicking your clit again, your whole body starts to tremble.

you’re drenched. you hear it. every wet drag of his fingers, every slick suck of his lips over your clit.

“so fucking tight,” he rasps against you. “this pussy’s been waiting for me, huh?”

“y-yes—!”

“this is mine,” he growls. “say it.”

“yours! it’s yours—rinnie, please—!”

his fingers speed up.

his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking harder now—his tongue flicking faster, relentless. the combination builds fast—pressure curling, tightening, cresting under your skin like a wave you can’t stop.

“i wanna feel you cum, baby,” he pants against your pussy. “you gonna let me taste it?”

you’re too far gone to speak.

so you moan, and moan, hips bucking, thighs trembling.

and then—

you fall apart.

your orgasm rips through you—sharp and hot and overwhelming—your walls fluttering around his fingers, your cries echoing in the room.

suna moans into your release, drinks it down like it’s holy. he doesn’t stop. not until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and your hand pulls weakly at his hair.

then, slowly, he eases his fingers out and kisses your inner thigh like he’s thanking you.

you’re a mess—panting, legs trembling, chest heaving with every shaky breath. your skin is flushed with heat, overstimulated and glowing, and slick glistens between your thighs, dripping onto the couch cushions beneath you.

and him—suna—he’s still kneeling there, shirtless, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly, his chest kissed with droplets from his earlier shower. the towel around his waist has loosened just slightly, dangerously low on his hips, and his cock strains against the fabric, hard and heavy.

his chin glistens with your release, his lips swollen and pink. his eyes—dark, glassy, starving—drink you in like he’s imprinting every ruined inch of you into his memory.

and then—

he raises his hand.

two fingers glistening with your cum. slick and shining in the low light.

and without breaking eye contact—

suna brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

slow. leisurely. obscene.

his lips wrap around them and he moans low in his throat, tongue dragging up to savor every last drop of you.

your breath catches hard in your throat.

you feel it.

another gush of heat between your legs—like your body’s responding all over again, already throbbing with fresh want.

he notices.

the corner of his mouth lifts, slow and lazy, but his eyes are still hazy with need. still dark.

“you’re wet again,” he says quietly, fingers slipping from his mouth with a soft pop. his voice is low—dangerous—but wrapped in velvet. “that turn you on, baby?”

you can’t even deny it. not when your thighs press together involuntarily, chasing the friction. not when your skin burns under his gaze like he’s touching you with his eyes alone.

your voice comes out breathy. “rinnie…”

and that name—that sweet, submissive lilt—makes his towel tent even more.

he growls, climbing up onto the couch, crowding over your body.

“you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you again. “and you’re gonna let me fuck you now, yeah?”

your breath hitches.

he presses his forehead to yours, thumb caressing your cheek.

“let me make love to you slow, baby,” he whispers, voice wrecked with reverence. “let me remind you what it means to be mine.”

you barely nod before his arms are sliding beneath your back and thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the couch. the shift makes you gasp, but he holds you close, your bare chest pressed to his while your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. the towel is bunched between you now, loose and useless, your slick center brushing against the rigid outline of his cock.

you can feel him—hot, thick, already throbbing.

suna walks with slow, steady steps toward the bedroom, eyes fixed on you. he nudges the door open with his foot, never once faltering in his hold. the hallway light hits just enough to cast the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft gleam in his eyes.

you’re both half-undressed, your body flushed and still twitching from your orgasm, but your need spikes again just from feeling him so close—so hard. you grind against him instinctively, rolling your hips forward to chase the friction.

he hisses under his breath, arms tightening around you.

then—smack.

his hand lands firm and hot against your thigh, just enough to make you jolt.

“behave,” he mutters, voice dark now. his lips graze your ear, and you can feel the warning in his breath. “you wanna cum again tonight, don’t you?”

you bite your lip, nodding wordlessly.

“then wait,” he says, his palm smoothing over the sting he just left. “be good for me. i’ll give you everything. just let me get you to bed.”

you whimper, the heat between your legs pulsing at the way he speaks to you—firm but reverent, like you’re something precious and his.

on the way to the bedroom, his hoodie and your bra are discarded along the hall—rushed, messy, fevered. the moment you reach the bed, he lays you down gently, almost worshipfully, like you’re breakable and holy all at once.

he looks down at you.

bare. breathless. glowing.

and he lets the towel drop.

it pools at his feet, but your gaze doesn’t follow it. your eyes are locked on the heavy line of his cock—hard, flushed, thick, the tip glistening with arousal. he’s already leaking, already twitching as if your soaked body alone is enough to ruin him.

your thighs instinctively fall open, legs parting like muscle memory, inviting him in. suna watches the motion with a soft inhale, his eyes hungry, dark with something primal.

“look at you,” he murmurs, climbing over you slowly, like he’s savoring the view of your bare body spread out just for him. “dripping for me already.”

he leans down, kissing your collarbone first—slow, open-mouthed—then drags his lips across your skin until he reaches your mouth. and when he kisses you again, it’s warm and deep and wet, the kind of kiss that swallows everything.

he kisses you like he’s been dying of thirst and you’re the only thing that could ever quench it.

his hips dip lower, cock sliding through your folds, coating himself in your slick. he moans softly into your mouth when he feels how ready you are—how wet and swollen and clenching at nothing.

“feel that?” he murmurs, voice rough, hips rocking gently to tease your clit with the thick, aching head of his cock. “your pussy’s begging, baby.”

you whimper into his kiss, hips rising to meet his.

then—finally—he pushes in.

the tip eases past your entrance, stretching you open so slowly it makes your eyes roll back. he doesn’t rush it. he keeps kissing you, swallowing your shaky moans as he fills you inch by inch. his tongue slips into your mouth with the same lazy intensity, syncing perfectly with the slow, deliberate slide of his cock.

“fuck,” he hisses against your lips. “so tight. so warm. still the best thing i’ve ever felt.”

you break the kiss with a gasp, head tilting back into the pillow. he follows, mouthing down your throat, your jaw, the edge of your lips. you’re trying to breathe, trying to think, but he’s barely halfway in and your body already feels like it’s burning alive.

your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in when his hips roll forward again, pushing deeper.

“r-rinnie,” you moan, voice breaking into a whisper. “it’s so much…”

he kisses you again—slower this time, deeper.

“i know, baby. you’re taking me so well,” he murmurs against your mouth. “just like that. let me in. let me fill you up.”

his hand cups your thigh, spreading you wider. his pace never quickens—never—he sinks in slow, thick inch by thick inch, kissing you through the stretch, through the way your body tightens around him like you’ve been waiting to be whole again.

you whine against his lips, body arching, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and sweetness of it all.

when his hips finally press flush against yours, he doesn’t move.

he just holds himself there—buried to the hilt, twitching inside you—his lips brushing yours with a reverent sigh.

“there,” he whispers. “finally.”

you nod, dazed, barely able to speak.

“you feel me, baby?” he murmurs. “deep inside you, where i belong?”

“yes—rinnie, i feel you, i feel everything—”

he kisses you again, swallowing the way your voice trembles, and he doesn’t pull out yet. instead, he rocks his hips gently, barely moving—just enough for you to feel the weight of him, the thickness, the stretch.

“gonna take my time,” he promises, voice thick with emotion. “gonna love you so good you’ll forget all the nights i wasn’t here.”

your hands cup his face now, lips brushing his as your eyes flutter closed.

“just don’t stop,” you whisper. “don’t leave me empty anymore.”

his expression softens like he’s about to break.

“i won’t,” he says. “never again.”

and then—he pulls out just an inch, then slides back in, kissing you harder now.

and finally, finally, suna starts to move.

his hips roll into you with a lazy, deliberate rhythm—each thrust slow, smooth, like he’s memorizing the way your walls flutter around him. there’s no urgency, no rush. just the deep, steady grind of his cock inside you and the weight of his body pressed so perfectly into yours.

his lips never stray far from your skin. he peppers soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, then down to your shoulder, lingering at the dip of your collarbone like he’s anchoring himself there. every kiss is slow, reverent—matched to the way he moves inside you, the way he fills you with every deep, perfect stroke.

“feels so good,” he whispers against your skin. “so warm. so tight. you always take me so well.”

you gasp softly, fingers threading through his hair as you tilt your head, giving him more of your throat. he takes it, mouthing gently at your pulse point, his breath hot and ragged.

“missed this. missed you.”

he thrusts again—deep, slow, the kind of pace that makes your toes curl and your breath catch.

“i never got tired of you,” he murmurs, voice rough but steady. “not once. never stopped wanting you, baby.”

you whimper his name—“rinnie”—and his hips stutter, just slightly.

his hand slides down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider as he rocks into you again, a little deeper this time. your body stretches around him perfectly, molding to every slow, grinding thrust like he was made for you.

“not your body,” he continues, kissing below your ear, “not your voice, not the way you look at me when you’re falling apart.”

his words settle deep, like warm honey sinking into cracked skin.

“fuck, i missed this sweet little pussy,” he groans into your shoulder, voice husky. “i’ve been so out of it i forgot how fucking good it feels to be home.”

you choke on a moan, clinging to him tighter as your hips roll up to meet his—chasing his rhythm, desperate to be even closer.

“rinnie—please, don’t stop.”

“not going anywhere,” he breathes, kissing your jaw, your temple, your mouth again. “you hear me? i’m not gonna stop. not until you believe how much i still love you.”

his thrusts stay deep, measured—his cock dragging perfectly along your walls, kissing that sweet spot inside you with every roll of his hips. you feel so full, so cherished, your body buzzing under the slow build of heat.

and all the while, he never stops touching you, kissing you, talking to you.

“you’re everything to me.”

“you’re the best thing i’ve ever come home to.”

“i’m sorry it took me so long to show it.”

your heart squeezes painfully, eyes brimming with tears as you breathe out his name again.

and he kisses the corner of your mouth, whispering against your lips:

“let me stay here. let me love you right this time.”

the words linger in the air, wrapped in the heat of your skin and the tremble of your breath. your legs are still wrapped loosely around his waist, your arms clinging around his shoulders like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again if you let go. but he doesn’t. suna stays right there—inside you, above you, around you—thrusting slow and deep, like he’s in no hurry to reach the end.

his palm smooths along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling as he presses another kiss to your lips—soft, warm, home.

it’s quiet for a beat.

just your bodies moving together.

your soft moans swallowed between kisses.

the slick sound of him sliding in and out of you.

the weight of weeks of longing melting between the sheets.

but the ache is growing—coiling low in your belly. the slow rhythm is beautiful, addicting—but it’s not enough anymore. not with how full you feel. not with how much you need him.

your voice is barely more than a whimper.

“rin… faster, please.”

he freezes, eyes flicking down to meet yours.

and just like that—his expression shifts.

from tender to something darker. more possessive.

his lips curl into a quiet, knowing smirk. “could’ve just asked, baby.”

then his hands slide down—gripping the backs of your thighs as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you beneath him in one smooth, practiced motion.

the mating press.

his favorite.

because this is the position where he feels the most connected to you—where he can press every inch of himself into you, watch the way your face contorts with every thrust, feel your pussy tighten around him with nowhere to run.

where he can fuck you deep enough to hit your soul.

“you know i love you like this,” he grits out, adjusting his hips until the angle is perfect, until he’s buried even deeper.

you cry out at the stretch, the sudden change, your hands clutching at the sheets.

and then he starts to move.

harder. deeper.

his hips snap into yours, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. every stroke punches a moan out of you, your legs trembling where they’re pinned against his chest. he doesn’t let up—he won’t.

then—he leans down, shifting his weight so your thighs are still pressed high but his chest meets yours again. his mouth finds your breast, warm and wet as he wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks.

your head falls back with a moan. “rinnie—!”

he groans around your skin, tongue swirling slowly, then fast, then pulling off with a soft pop before switching to the other.

“can’t get enough of you,” he pants, voice muffled against your chest. “wanna be close. wanna be inside you when you cum.”

your nails dig into his back as he fucks you deeper, faster, rougher—his mouth latching onto your nipple again like he’s drinking from you, like it grounds him.

“rin, i’m—! i’m gonna—!”

“i know, baby,” he groans, voice cracked with the effort of restraint, his hips stuttering just slightly from the way your walls are already fluttering around him. “cum for me. milk my cock. show me how good i make you feel.”

and then he shifts—just barely—but enough to slip one hand down from your thigh and press it between your bodies. the way he moves, the way he always knows exactly what you need, even now with his cock buried deep inside you, makes your heart swell.

his fingers find your clit instantly, already slick and swollen from how thoroughly he’s worked you up.

and then—he touches you.

a single, perfect swipe.

your back arches, a cry tearing from your throat before you can even bite it back.

“rinnie—!”

“i’ve got you,” he whispers, low and reverent, eyes flickering from your trembling body to your face as his thumb begins to rub slow, tight circles over your clit. “i always do.”

his thrusts stay deep and unrelenting, grinding into your cervix with each push as your thighs shake around his waist, pinned wide in his favorite position. the mating press makes you feel so full, so claimed, so his. and with his fingers teasing your clit—just right, just perfect—it’s too much.

you sob beneath him, pleasure threatening to snap loose like a wire pulled too tight.

every thrust hits your sweet spot dead-on, his cock dragging against every oversensitive nerve, while his thumb massages slow circles that have your vision going blurry, breath leaving your lungs in shuddering gasps.

“you gonna cum, pretty girl?” he pants, lips grazing your jaw. “gonna cum all over my cock while i’m this deep inside you?”

you nod frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it feels.

“yes—yes, rinnie, i—oh my god, i’m gonna—”

“then fuckin’ let go.”

he leans in close, pressing his mouth to yours, and the second you moan into the kiss—your entire body breaks.

your orgasm hits like lightning—hard and hot, making your thighs twitch violently and your core clamp down around him in pulsing waves. your back lifts off the bed, body arching against his as you cry out his name over and over again, voice raw and ruined.

“fuck, yes—cum on my cock, just like that,” he growls, watching your face, eyes nearly wild as he feels you squeeze and throb around him. “god, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this. so perfect. this pussy was made for me.”

you can’t even speak—only sob, gasping as his cock continues to grind deep, his thumb slowing its circles now as your orgasm washes through you in long, drawn-out tremors.

your body collapses against the bed, boneless and overwhelmed, every nerve ending still buzzing.

but he’s still hard. still inside you.

and still fighting his own edge.

suna groans above you, his pace beginning to falter, a different kind of urgency taking over his movements now. his hand leaves your clit to grip your thigh again, pushing your legs even higher, even tighter to your chest.

“so fuckin’ tight when you cum,” he growls, hips snapping harder now, chasing his own release. “can’t hold it anymore—gonna fill you up, baby—gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy—”

his breathing shudders as your walls continue fluttering around him, your body still wrung out and gripping him like you never want to let go.

you manage to lift your arms, wrap them around his back, anchoring him to you.

“please,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “cum inside me, rinnie. want it so bad.”

that’s all it takes.

he plunges deep one last time—so deep it punches the air out of your lungs—and cums.

he moans your name as he spills into you, thick ropes of heat flooding your cunt, his cock twitching inside you with every wave of pleasure. his face buries into your neck, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other curled into the sheets beside your head as he rides out his orgasm in long, slow pulses.

you feel it. every drop. every throb.

and it only makes you hold him tighter.

he stays like that for a moment—breathing hard against your skin, chest rising and falling with yours, cock still buried deep, not ready to let go just yet.

“i needed that,” he breathes finally. “i needed you.”

you nod, lips brushing his temple, still trembling beneath him from the high. your heart pounds against your ribs, the slow stretch of afterglow sweeping over your limbs, but beneath it all—you're still pulsing. still needy. still not ready to let go.

and neither is he.

suna’s still inside you, his cock softening slightly from his orgasm, but the way your body stays wrapped around him—warm and wet and clenching gently with each little aftershock—has him breathing unevenly against your shoulder again.

his voice is rough, thick with the hint of a groan. “you’re gonna get me hard again if you keep squeezing me like that.”

you smile softly, tilting his chin up until your eyes meet.

“then let me take care of you now.”

he blinks, eyes fluttering, a little caught off-guard by the shift in your tone—no longer pleading or aching, but devoted. steady.

still straddling his waist in the mating press, you slowly slide off of him—every inch leaving you makes you both moan softly, the sensation almost too much, too bare. your thighs tremble as his cock slips free with a wet sound, followed immediately by the warm, slick spill of both your releases—his cum and yours—dripping from your swollen folds down onto his lower abdomen.

it’s messy. sticky. intimate in the way only lovers who’ve been through everything can be.

you try to move, try to shift off him gently, but suna catches the motion. his eyes drop immediately between your legs and he groans—deep and low in his throat, like he’s trying to keep it in but fails.

your mixed slick is coating your thighs, still trickling slowly down onto his stomach, and the sight wrecks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, eyes darkening again. “look at the mess we made…”

you don’t even get the chance to respond—not when you feel it.

him.

hardening again beneath you.

you glance down, eyes wide, as his cock, flushed and glistening, twitches back to life against his stomach. he’s already half-hard again, his breathing uneven just from the sight of you still soaked, your folds glistening and dripping with his cum.

“rinnie…” you murmur, somewhere between breathless and shy, “again?”

“i can’t help it,” he groans, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back. “you’re still dripping, baby. fuck, i didn’t even get to watch it all spill out properly…”

you tremble, heat spiraling through your core again despite the exhaustion in your limbs.

“you do something to me,” he murmurs, sitting up so you’re straddling his lap again, chests flush. his cock presses right against your slit now, nudging between your folds, still slick with everything. “you make me insatiable.”

he leans in, kissing you—slow and greedy—his fingers sliding down to spread you open again, groaning into your mouth when he feels how soft and wet you still are.

“and you’re still ready for me,” he adds, voice rough. “still warm. still fucking perfect.”

you whimper into the kiss, rocking your hips against him again, helpless to the way your body responds.

your pussy’s still sore, stretched, and yet—his need for you, the heat of his voice, the mess between your thighs—has you wanting him again already.

“you think you can ride me now, sweetheart?” he murmurs, thumb grazing your clit with a featherlight touch. “wanna see you take me like you missed me.”

and you nod, breathless, already sinking back down—ready to remind him that no matter how many times he fills you, no matter how much he takes, you’ll always want more.

always want him.

your body aches, your thighs tremble, and your pussy’s still throbbing from everything he’s already given you—but none of that matters. not when he’s looking up at you like this. not when his touch is soft on your hips, like he’s trying to ground himself in your warmth.

suna leans back slightly against the pillows, legs spread, his toned chest rising and falling with each breath as he watches you from beneath heavy lids. his cock stands hard again, already flushed and leaking, the head slick from your shared release earlier.

“come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with need. one of his hands slides down between you, wrapping around the base of his cock as he guides you toward it. “i’ll hold it. just take your time.”

you shift your hips, positioning yourself over him, your hands braced against his chest. slowly, carefully, you lower yourself down—letting the thick, aching head stretch you open once more.

both of you groan.

the feeling of him sinking into you again—after already being fucked so thoroughly—makes your head spin. he’s hot, thick, deep, and every inch feels like too much and still not enough.

“that’s it,” he pants, watching your face, his grip tightening around the base as you inch down farther. “take all of me. let me stretch you out again.”

you moan, breath hitching as your body accepts him—slowly, completely—until your hips finally meet his. you’re seated fully now, and you can feel everything. the stretch. the twitch. the fullness that has your pussy fluttering helplessly around him.

“fuck, you feel unreal,” he groans, both hands now gripping your waist. “look at you—already squeezing me like that.”

you begin to move—shallow bounces at first, your thighs trembling slightly with each rise and fall. his hands guide you, steady you, and soon your movements grow bolder—more confident—grinding down against his pelvis with every bounce.

the sound of slick skin meeting skin fills the room again, the wet heat of your cunt wrapping him so tightly that suna’s jaw clenches, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again—locked on you.

“come here,” he growls, sitting up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer until your chest is pressed to his.

and then—his mouth finds your breast.

he sucks in your nipple hungrily, moaning around the soft skin as he tongues it, teeth grazing lightly before he switches to the other with a wet pop. his hands never stop guiding your hips, helping you ride him in rhythm, pushing you down harder each time he thrusts up into you.

“rinnie—!” you cry, your hands tangled in his hair as you arch into his mouth, pleasure building again too fast. “that feels so good…”

“yeah?” he breathes between kisses and licks, lips shining. “these pretty tits missed me too, huh?”

he lavishes each nipple with attention—sucking, licking, pulling with just enough force to make your back arch and your pussy clamp down around him.

your rhythm grows messy, your moans louder, the coil in your belly winding tighter again as he thrusts up to meet every bounce of your hips, his cock dragging along all the right places inside you.

“don’t stop, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you now with more urgency. “wanna feel you cum again—ride me just like that—show me how much you missed this cock.”

and you do.

you ride him like your body was made to fit his. like his cock was crafted just for you—thick and deep and angled so perfectly that every bounce forces the air from your lungs and sends shocks of pleasure through your spine.

every time you drop your hips, he thrusts up to meet you, and the head of his cock kisses your cervix with an aching precision that leaves you trembling. it’s deep. devastating. the kind of depth that makes your vision blur and your breath come in stuttered moans.

“rinnie—fuck—it’s so deep,” you gasp, head falling to his shoulder. “i-i feel lightheaded…”

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and full of praise, his hands gripping your hips tighter, helping guide your rhythm. “you’re taking it so well. so fuckin’ good for me.”

his mouth finds your neck again, pressing kisses beneath your jaw, tongue flicking against the heat of your pulse point. one of his hands slides up, fingers splayed across your lower back, holding you steady as he bucks up harder, faster, the sound of your bodies meeting growing louder, wetter, messier.

your thighs burn. your clit rubs against the ridge of his pelvis with every movement. and your pussy—slick, swollen, fluttering—clings to him so desperately you swear you can feel the outline of every vein.

weeks. it’s been weeks.

weeks of aching. of waiting. of touching yourself in the quiet of night and hating how empty it felt.

but this?

this is everything.

his heat. his hands. the way he fills you up and stays there, panting against your skin like he needs you just as badly.

“missed this pussy,” he groans, voice cracking as your walls squeeze around him again. “so tight. so warm. no one gets to have you like this—just me.”

your thighs quake where they straddle him, your nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in his chest as your movements begin to falter. the rhythm you kept moments ago—desperate, steady, purposeful—is now stuttering into something sloppy and slow, hips barely rolling, your muscles too spent to keep up.

your head dips forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder as your mouth falls open in a soft, breathless moan.

that’s when he notices.

the way your moans turn into soft, broken whimpers.

the way your body trembles like it’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, ruined.

and suna grins.

a slow, knowing smirk curls against his lips as he looks up at you, the flush on your cheeks, the faraway haze in your eyes. his hands slide down, gripping your hips tighter, keeping you perched on his cock like a doll about to fall apart.

“ohhh,” he murmurs, voice deep, lazy, almost playful. “is my baby going cock dumb?”

you whimper, too dazed to even respond properly, only nodding against his neck as your pussy flutters around him again—wet, sensitive, clinging to every inch of him like your body can’t bear the thought of him pulling out.

“yeah?” he coos, a note of pride in his tone. “that’s what i thought.”

he doesn’t wait. he shifts beneath you, adjusting his position just slightly, and then—he starts to fuck up into you from below.

you sob, your fingers flying to clutch his shoulders as his cock punches into you over and over again, so deep, the tip brushing your cervix with every sharp thrust. the slick mess between your thighs makes the glide obscene—wet, hot, perfect.

“you were riding me so good, baby,” he pants, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “now look at you. barely holding on. just sittin’ on my cock like a dumb little bunny, letting me do all the work.”

his hands move to your ass, gripping tight, guiding your hips to grind down in rhythm with his thrusts. your clit rubs against his pubic bone just right—enough to make your entire body twitch.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, mouth dragging along your jaw. “so deep. so full. this what you missed while i was gone, huh?”

“y-yes, rin—please, it’s so much—”

“you can take it,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “you always do.”

then his mouth finds your nipple again—wet, hungry, greedy—sucking hard as he fucks you harder. his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak while one hand slips between your bodies again to rub tight, deliberate circles over your clit.

the stimulation is blinding.

his cock fucking up into you like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into your body.

his mouth at your chest.

his voice whispering filth and devotion in the same breath.

his fingers never stopping.

“cum for me again, baby,” he grits, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper. “wanna feel that pretty pussy gush all over me again. i need to feel it.”

your back arches. your thighs start to shake again. and your orgasm builds fast—white-hot and overwhelming, swelling inside you like pressure about to burst.

“rinnie—!” you cry, your entire body going taut. “i—i’m cumming—!”

and then it hits.

your walls clench hard—tightening around him like a vice, squeezing his cock so perfectly it draws a strangled moan from deep in his chest. your climax rips through you like a tidal wave, crashing fast and furious, leaving you breathless as your moans dissolve into shattered whimpers. your entire body trembles in his lap, thighs quaking, nails digging into his shoulders as your release gushes from you uncontrollably. it hits hard—sharp, hot, overwhelming—and then your body reacts.

you squirt.

the pressure releases all at once, sudden and messy, and your slick spills out of you in wet pulses. it covers both your thighs and his abs, drenching his lower stomach, soaking his cock, the bed beneath you already ruined. you gasp, head thrown back, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the pleasure peaks and doesn’t let go.

“fuck,” suna groans, watching it happen with parted lips, jaw slack. “you squirted, baby—fuck, look at that. look what i do to you.”

you can’t even answer. you’re still shaking, barely able to hold yourself upright, your thighs limp where they straddle his lap. you feel like you’ve melted, like you’ve unraveled entirely. and still—still—he’s hard inside you. still thick, still pulsing, twitching against your oversensitive walls. he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even think about stopping.

instead, he grips your hips tight, lifts you slightly, and drives up into you again.

your cry is sharp and wrecked, fingernails dragging down his back as your overstimulated cunt clamps around him again, your whole body jerking from the intensity.

“s–suna—rinnie—please, i—” you gasp, but the words fall apart when he thrusts again, deep, slow, and deliberate.

“oh, you’re not done,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and feral. “you think you can cum like that and not get fucked through it?”

you try to speak again, try to find something to cling to, but then he rolls his hips up—his cock dragging against every too-sensitive nerve ending inside you—and your hands fly to his shoulders, digging in hard. your nails scratch down his back in helpless, shaky arcs, and he groans, head falling to your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“mark me, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you harder now. “go ahead. scratch me. bite me. let me feel how good it is.”

you do. without even thinking, you sink your teeth into the skin of his shoulder, muffling your moan as another wave of pleasure slams into you. he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking up in response, his cock pressing even deeper—filling you in a way that has your body arching, your head spinning.

“you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, the sound of your soaked pussy squelching around him with every thrust. “this pussy’s so messy for me. so fuckin’ perfect. you like it when i fuck you after you cum, huh? when you’re too sensitive and still can’t stop squeezing me?”

you nod against his shoulder, still biting down, your moans breaking through your clenched jaw as he picks up the pace. he’s relentless now, hands holding your hips in place as he uses you—drives up into you with hard, deep thrusts that have your breath catching, your entire body lit up from the overstimulation.

each drag of his cock makes you twitch. each grind of his hips against yours sends another electric shock through your system.

you’re sobbing now—too much, too full, too fucked out—and he’s still praising you through it.

“take it, baby,” he breathes. “take all of it. you’re doing so good. let me fuck you dumb. let me make you forget your own name.”

your pussy flutters again, clenching down on him like a vice, and he groans so loud it vibrates through your chest. his rhythm stutters, hips bucking more erratically now, breath catching.

“gonna fill you up again,” he growls, voice wrecked. “wanna cum so deep, make you feel me for days.”

you nod again, eyes rolling back, body giving in completely.

“please,” you whisper. “please, rinnie, cum inside me. want all of it.”

that’s what does it.

he lets out a low, broken moan, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts deep, deeper, then stills—his cock twitching violently as he spills inside you. thick warmth fills you again, flooding your sore, stretched walls as he holds you tight, arms trembling around your waist, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths.

he stays there, buried to the hilt, pulsing, groaning softly as you twitch around him—still trembling, still so full, your walls fluttering weakly with every aftershock. his cum leaks out in slow, warm trails, dripping down between your thighs and smearing across both your bodies in the tangled mess you’ve made together.

but even after everything—after you squirted all over his abs, after he came deep inside you for the second time, after your entire body is limp and trembling in his arms—you feel it.

him.

still hard.

still inside you.

and when you whimper, shifting just a little on his lap, the slight movement makes his cock twitch again, still thick and rigid despite how thoroughly he just came. your head lolls against his shoulder, dazed and barely able to think straight.

“rin… you’re still… hard?”

he chuckles low in your ear, the sound deep and smug, his hands stroking slowly down your back.

“told you i missed you,” he murmurs, voice rasping with the weight of his lust. “i’m not done.”

you don’t even have the strength to respond—not with words. but your pussy clenches weakly around him, your thighs twitching, and that’s answer enough.

he shifts you gently, guiding your hips again, and groans when the motion makes your swollen, used cunt squeeze down on him with resistance. you’re sore, so sore, but the sensation of still being stretched open around him, of still feeling his cock twitching inside you, has heat building in your gut again.

“i’ve been away too long,” he mutters, lifting you slightly before thrusting back in—slow and deep, making you moan softly against his skin. “weeks without you. you think i’m gonna stop at two rounds?”

you cry out softly as he starts to move again, dragging his cock in and out of you with slow, grinding thrusts, letting you feel every inch. it’s not rushed this time—it’s deliberate. heavy. sensual. his hands cradle your hips, guiding your body to meet his rhythm.

“you deserve more than that,” he whispers, brushing his lips along your cheek. “deserve to be fucked so good you can’t walk tomorrow.”

you bury your face in his neck, moaning weakly, body already starting to melt again as overstimulation gives way to something new—slower, deeper, a third round wrapped in pleasure that borders on worship.

suna leans back against the pillows, shifting you slightly so your knees are spread wider, your chest pressed close to his, his cock sliding even deeper from the angle. he kisses you then—soft and possessive—while his hips roll up into you again and again, stretching you slowly as your slick mixes with his release and drips down his shaft.

“you gonna let me make up for all that lost time, baby?” he whispers against your lips, voice husky. “gonna let me fuck you again? take it like the good girl you are?”

you nod helplessly, barely coherent now. every inch of your skin feels fevered. your heart pounds. your body burns for him again.

and he gives you everything.

he proves himself over and over again.

with every deep thrust that leaves you gasping.

with every kiss that lingers on your skin like a promise.

with every time he brings you to the edge and pulls you back in.

and long into the night—until you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum, how many times he’s filled you—he holds you close, bodies still joined, proving that you were never too much to want.

he just needed time to remember how much he missed everything about you.

now here he was, kneeling at the edge of the bed with a towel in hand, wiping your thighs with slow, deliberate care.

the room is warm with the scent of sex and sweat, heavy with the afterglow of everything that’s just unraveled between you. the sheets are a soaked mess beneath you, tangled and clinging to your body, while your limbs lie slack, trembling, utterly spent. your skin is flushed, glistening in the low light. your chest rises and falls in unsteady breaths, and your thighs twitch involuntarily every time he touches you—still reeling from that final climax.

suna is quiet now, all of that teasing energy faded into something softer, something intimate. his hands move gently over your legs, wiping up the slick trails of cum and arousal that have dripped down to the backs of your knees. his thumb strokes just beneath the crease of your thigh, and even that has you flinching.

“easy,” he murmurs, glancing up at you with tired but affectionate eyes. “i’ve got you.”

you nod weakly, your voice hoarse from moaning his name all night. “i know… i’m just still—sensitive.”

he smiles at that. “yeah, i know.”

you watch as he folds the towel, his brows furrowed in concentration as he leans back in, wiping again, slower now.

and then, because he’s always been a little selfish when it comes to you, suna leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

“rin—” you start, a soft warning in your voice, but it’s too late.

his tongue is already dragging up your overstimulated slit, collecting the last remnants of his cum and your release, and you gasp, your hips jerking upward as your hand flies to his hair.

“i’m just cleaning you up,” he murmurs with a devilish smirk, but the way his mouth moves against you is anything but innocent. it’s slow, tender, savoring.

and somehow, even after everything—your body responds.

your legs twitch again, a sharp tremor crawling up your spine, and you shake your head, breath catching.

“rinnie—please—i can’t—” you whisper, but you’re already grinding against his mouth without realizing it.

his arms snake around your thighs, holding you open as his tongue dips into your entrance again, licking you through it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

one long stroke, then another.

and your body gives up.

you squirt again.

it’s sudden and messy, a wet gasp tearing from your throat as you soak his face with a hot rush of release. it pours down your thighs and splashes across his chest, some of it dripping to the floor beside the bed, and you collapse fully into the sheets, eyes fluttering back as your body convulses one last time.

he groans into you like it’s the best gift he’s ever received, letting the warmth of your release soak him as he finally pulls back—face dripping, lips parted, his abs slick and glistening.

“shit, baby…” he pants, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with pure disbelief. “you really missed me.”

you can’t even answer. you just groan, turning your head into the pillow, utterly ruined.

he laughs, breathless and fond, and reaches for a clean towel, dabbing your thighs again, this time with a reverence that makes your heart ache. he doesn’t rush. he wipes gently between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your knees, your hips, the swell of your stomach.

“okay,” he murmurs, voice low now, soothing. “let’s get you in the shower. you need to be warm and clean. i’ll help you.”

you don’t protest. you can’t. your body’s heavy and sore, but when suna lifts you into his arms bridal-style, everything in you goes quiet. safe. anchored. he carries you down the hall, bare skin against bare skin, your arms looped around his neck as your head rests on his shoulder.

the bathroom light is soft. the water’s already running—warm, with the faintest scent of lavender from the body wash you both share.

suna sets you down carefully on the shower bench and steps inside with you, guiding your body beneath the spray. he stands behind you, shielding you from the pressure of the water, and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his cheek against the back of your head.

you sigh. the water rolls down your skin like peace itself, soothing the soreness blooming in your thighs, the ache between your legs, the raw tremble in your muscles from being thoroughly and lovingly ruined. you lean back against suna’s chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as the steam rises around you both.

but the silence—the warmth—the intimacy—it's not enough.

not when he’s right there.

not when your body still remembers the stretch of him inside you. not when your skin is still buzzing with the echo of every touch, every kiss, every praise-soaked thrust.

"rin…" your voice is quiet, a bit raspier than usual, fragile and needy, "i want more."

he doesn’t move right away. you can feel his lips curve into the faintest smile against your wet shoulder.

then his arms tighten around you.

“baby…” he hums, low and indulgent. “you’ve cum how many times tonight?”

you pout, head tipping back to rest against his shoulder, eyes fluttering open lazily. “i don’t know. a lot?”

he chuckles, nuzzling into the curve of your neck, his breath warm and teasing against your damp skin.

“exactly. you squirted so many times i lost count. you’re spent,” he murmurs. “and i’m not about to let you pass out in the shower just because your pussy’s greedy.”

you flush, both from the warmth of the water and his words, and you squirm a little in his hold, grinding back against where you can already feel him half-hard, heat pressed up against the curve of your ass. you’re too sensitive to do anything serious, but even the faint contact has both of you groaning quietly.

still, he tightens his grip immediately, stilling your hips with a firm hand across your stomach.

“hey,” he warns, voice suddenly stern against your ear. “what did i just say?”

“but—”

“no buts,” he mutters, mouth brushing along your jaw as he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “don’t make me bend you over this bench and hold your thighs open while you cry from overstimulation.”

you shiver—not entirely from fear.

he smirks again, knowing exactly what he’s doing, before softening as he kisses your temple.

“i mean it,” he murmurs. “you’ve been so good for me tonight. let me take care of you properly. you’ll get more tomorrow—hell, you’ll get everything tomorrow.”

you lean back into him, huffing softly, your bottom lip jutting out as you whisper, “promise?”

suna kisses the pout away, slow and deliberate.

“i promise,” he breathes. “wanna see you on your knees. then ride you again. want to fuck you in front of the mirror. all of it.”

you moan into the kiss, but when your hips twitch again—another teasing grind—he growls softly and slaps your thigh gently under the water.

“behave,” he murmurs against your lips.

so instead, you melt into him, letting him tilt your chin toward his, his mouth finding yours again with no rush, no heat—just long, tender kisses beneath the stream of water. the kind that say i’m not done with you—not even close—but right now, i love you too much to fuck you again when your legs are already trembling.

your arms loop around his neck, fingers carding into his wet hair as he kisses you deeper. you moan softly when his tongue slides into your mouth, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all over again.

his hands roam your back, slow and reassuring, massaging out the tension in your shoulders. he kisses you again and again, coaxing you down from the edge you didn’t even know you were still standing on.

and even though he doesn’t take you again in the shower, that kiss—the way he holds you against him, strong and steady, murmuring soft little praises between each press of his lips—it feels like more. more than sex. more than lust. it’s him saying: i love you. i missed you. i see you.

when the water is turned off and the steam begins to settle, he wraps you gently in a towel and dries you off like you’re something fragile—like he’s afraid to lose you again to the space that had grown quietly between you these past few weeks.

suna hums under his breath while helping you into your favorite sleep shirt, one that’s oversized and soft, one that used to be his. he slides on his boxers, still damp around the edges, then gently combs his fingers through your damp hair, tucking it behind your ears like it’s second nature. there’s no rush in any of it—just tenderness, care, and quiet devotion.

back in bed, the sheets have been changed—he did that too, while you rested your head against the bathroom counter, legs too weak to stand fully. now the duvet is clean and warm, the lights dimmed low, and when you climb into bed beside him, his arms are already waiting to pull you into the curve of his body.

you curl into him like muscle memory, your leg tangled over his, cheek pressed against his chest. his hand strokes your back lazily, up and down, grounding you.

“you’re so good to me,” you murmur, voice soft and sleepy.

“not as good as you are to me,” he replies without missing a beat, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

there’s a pause, a silence filled with his fingertips tracing shapes into your spine.

“rinnie,” you whisper, “you’re not… tired of me, right?”

his hand stills.

he shifts slightly, tilting your chin up so you’ll look at him, even in the low light.

“never,” he says firmly, his voice low and hoarse from everything—sex, emotion, everything. “i’d never get tired of you.”

you blink slowly, lip quivering just slightly. “even if we don’t do stuff like tonight all the time?”

“baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your temple, your cheek, then your lips. “i didn’t fall in love with you because of what we do in bed. i fell in love with you because you’re you. the way you always know when to check on me. the way you always leave the hallway light on because you know i hate coming home to a dark apartment. the way you still get nervous when i kiss your neck like i didn’t already make you mine years ago.”

his voice gets softer, more serious.

“i got exhausted. i let the world outside this apartment wear me down, and i forgot how much you were waiting for me. that’s on me. but being with you? coming home to you? touching you, holding you, just lying here like this? i crave it. i crave you. always.”

you bury your face into his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his skin, holding him tighter.

“i wanna sleep with you still inside me,” you whisper.

he tenses just slightly, then sighs into your hair with a low chuckle.

“you’re insatiable,” he murmurs, voice fond. “you really want me to stay inside you while you sleep?”

you nod against his neck. “you said you missed me…”

“i did,” he groans. “i still do. i always do.”

another sigh, this time heavier, but laced with nothing but surrender. he shifts onto his side, nudging your thighs apart as he settles behind you, one hand guiding himself back to your entrance—still slick, still warm.

he slides in slow, careful, groaning low in his throat as he buries himself inside your sensitive cunt one last time.

you gasp, body relaxing immediately at the feeling of being full again—of him, deep and slow and safe.

he wraps his arms around you from behind, one hand cupping your breast, the other holding your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“happy now?” he mumbles sleepily.

“mhm,” you breathe, already drifting. “perfect.”

and that’s how you fall asleep—his cock still nestled inside you, his arms wrapped tight around your body, your heart steady again in the rhythm of his presence.

for the first time in weeks, the bed doesn’t feel cold.

it feels like home.

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sharieb · 2 days ago

Note

hello! just wanted to say I LOVEEE the way you do non-mc content. that being said could i request a headcanon on: lets say non-mc and the LI’s broke up because the dudes were still hung up on MC (they end up regretting it lol). then later on see non-mc in public who has moved on to someone else who is doing everything they guys failed to do.

The One Who Never Got It Right

Pairing: LADs x Non-Mc reader Genre: Angst (Breakup regrets) Writer's notes: Thought I could be getting more fluffs to do, but instead I got slapped in the face with this one, welp, no rest for the wicked, I guess 😅

He sees you across the bustling Skyhaven terminal—laughing, radiant, clinging to the arm of someone who isn’t him.

The man by your side is kind-eyed, attentive. He holds your bag, listens intently, and actually smiles when you talk. He doesn’t look distracted or distant—he’s there. Present.

Caleb halts mid-stride, fingers curling around the edge of his datapad. For a moment, it’s like the mission debrief in his hand doesn’t even exist.

He remembers every time he cut conversations short, gave you half his presence, let you walk beside him in silence because his mind was always elsewhere—on MC.

He thought you didn’t notice. That you’d wait. That maybe you’d always be around until he figured himself out.

Now you’re smiling in ways he never earned.

The worst part? You glance his way. See him. Then look away just as easily, returning to your conversation without missing a beat.

He used to be the safe place. Now, he's just a distant name in your past.

Later that night, he types a message to you. Deletes it. Writes it again.

In the end, he just stares at your contact photo for hours, then shuts off the holoscreen. And for the first time in a long time, Caleb can’t strategise his way out of the ache in his chest.

Mission Log 6.14.3A — Deleted Draft I saw her today. Not MC. Her. The one who asked me to be present. To try. To stop living like the past was all I had left. I thought letting her go would make me noble. Thought I was sparing her the weight of being second to a ghost. But maybe she wasn’t second. Maybe I just never gave her the space to be first. And someone else did. I hope he keeps holding her the way I never learned how to. I hope he never makes her feel like a placeholder. …I hope she never looks back.

He saw you at a gallery opening.

You're dressed in something elegant, arm-in-arm with a gentle-faced man who looks at you like you're art incarnate.

The moment hits him like a palette knife to the ribs.

You’re glowing—not in a spotlight way, but in a quiet, contented kind of joy he never could give.

He flashes his usual grin to the crowd, but his fingers twitch at his side.

Because of that new guy? He’s whispering something in your ear. And you’re laughing. That laugh used to belong to Rafayel, once.

But he made jokes about still missing MC. Let you hear silence when you needed security. Let you fade beside someone else’s memory.

Now?

Someone else painting you with attention. Frames you with love.

He downs his champagne and pretends to care about the next exhibit, but he draws you three times from memory that night.

None of them capture your smile the way he just did.

He doesn’t stop drawing until dawn. Each page is more desperate than the last.

Sketchbook Entry — Page Torn Out She asked me once what I thought love looked like. I told her it was impossible to capture - always shifting, always out of reach. But she caught it. She was it. And I? I framed her in glass and called it finished. She wanted a mess. Partnership. Splattered hands and stained shirts. I gave her monologues and empty wine glasses. I thought she was a phase. A warm red before I returned to ash. But she was permanent. I saw her smile today. It wasn’t for me. And for once, I couldn’t paint a damn thing.

He was leaning on the railing of a shadowed walkway, scanning the crowd below on a recon run, when he spotted you.

You're tucked into the side of someone unfamiliar—someone laughing with you, their hand laced with yours, feeding you a bite of something sweet.

The softness on your face is devastating. It used to be his. It was once the only softness he’d let himself keep.

He stays hidden, watching.

That guy kisses your knuckles. And you smile like you trust him completely.

His chest tightens, fingers twitching. He almost drops the comms unit in his hand.

You’d begged him once to try, to stop comparing you to MC. To see you. He hadn’t known how to let go back then. Now?

He’s thinking about how that man just wiped whipped cream from your lip without flinching—and how he never even learned your coffee order.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, pushing off the railing.

But he doesn’t go down there. He’s already done enough damage.

And this time… someone else didn’t waste the chance. He hates it. He admires it.

Mostly, he regrets that it wasn’t him who made you stay.

Encrypted Voice Log – Never Sent SYLUS.ENTRY_097.BURNOUT Timestamp: Corrupted “She looks better without me. You’d think that’d piss me off, wouldn’t you?” “It doesn’t.” “Not really.” “He holds her like he’s not afraid she’ll disappear. Like he’s not too busy sharpening knives to hold her with both hands.” “I didn’t know how to do that. Couldn’t stop chasing shadows.” “I told myself she was a game. A way to forget.” “But she was never small. Never temporary. She waited for me to look up. I never did.” “He did.” [long pause] “She’s not coming back. Good. Let her stay gone. Let her stay whole.”

It’s late in the museum observatory, and Xavier’s here to recalibrate a projection model—until he looks down from the upper dome and sees you.

You're walking hand-in-hand with someone else through the starlit halls. Laughing. Calm.

The person beside you spins you under their arm, and you twirl without hesitation, radiant under the artificial cosmos.

He stands frozen in the upper dome, unseen.

You once asked Xavier to dance. He hesitated, too quiet and too caught up in thoughts of MC to say yes.

But that stranger below? He didn’t hesitate at all.

And you look so light in his arms. So free.

Xavier leans his forehead against the glass, breathing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, even though you can’t hear him.

His star map reboots beside him, scattering constellations. But for the first time, he doesn’t reach out to correct them.

Because he knows now, you weren’t meant to orbit him forever.

And you didn’t. You became your own universe. One that he was never brave enough to explore.

Private Memoir Entry – Unpublished I was always afraid I’d look at her and see someone else. So I never truly looked. Not the way she deserved. She asked me once if I was choosing to heal with her or without her. I said, “Without.” She nodded. Didn’t cry. Just left. And now I’ve healed. Or so I pretend. But sometimes I think healing isn’t a choice. Sometimes it’s a cost. I gave up the one person who saw me in the shadows and stayed. And someone else saw her light and danced into it.

You’re seated in a corner café with a man Zayne doesn’t recognise—easy smiles, shared laughter, his coat wrapped around your shoulders.

Zayne was on his way to deliver lab files to the main district med unit but now… he can’t move.

His gaze locks on the way the man leans in to tuck your hair behind your ear. How your eyes crinkle with joy.

It’s the kind of comfort Zayne never offered you—not because he didn’t care, but because he was too distracted chasing clarity with MC.

You once told him you felt like his second choice. He never answered that. And now, someone else treats you like you're the only choice.

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t approach.

But that image burns in his mind for weeks. It replays in the sterile quiet of his clinic, on late nights when no one needs stitching up.

And when he returns home, he finds one of your old letters still tucked inside his medical textbook.

He rereads it, fingers trembling, and realises too late—he could’ve loved you right, if only he’d let himself try.

His next patient finds him staring into nothing, stethoscope in hand, utterly elsewhere.

Medical Log – Never Filed Patient: N/A Status: Unreachable Treatment note: Emotional detachment leads to unintentional abandonment. Prognosis: Permanent loss. Notes: She used to come into my clinic with little things. Fake injuries. Paper cuts. Just to be near me. I knew. And I let her pretend. I let myself believe I had time. That once I stopped thinking about MC, I could finally give this girl the pieces I hadn’t sealed away. But healing is slow. And people… they don’t always wait for your hands to stop trembling. She’s warm now. She’s whole. And I still wear gloves to hold my regrets.

#love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #lad x non mc #lads x non mc #caleb x non mc! reader #rafayel x non! mc reader #sylus x non! mc reader #xavier x non mc! reader #zayne x non mc! reader #non mc reader #lads angst

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bcksbarnes · 1 day ago

Text

one and only

pairing: husband!bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky decide to take the next step, afterwards you both reflect on your choices, and your love.

word count: 3.3K

cw: thunderbolts* spoilers

a/n: i was recently in a wedding and forgot how much i love true love, this is inspired by that. this is just straight tooth rotting fluff! enjoy!!! ✨

Marriage was always in the cards for Bucky — well, it was when he thought that life had a time limit and wasn't something that could be delayed. He had imagined returning from the war to find a partner, a house with a white picket fence, maybe 2-3 kids, and, hopefully, a good paying job.

None of that came true.

None of that would ever be the case for him.

So he gave up his dreams and realized that life had dealt him a brand new hand. He had spent many years running, hiding, now it seemed like all he could do was try to make his way back to at least some of his old life. Marriage didn't seem to align this time around, and he was okay with that.

Or at least, he pretended to be.

Imagine his surprise when you made your way into his life. Bucky didn't know if the universe was playing some fucked up trick on him, or if he had been reading this new hand of cards wrong this entire time. He knew you were special. Life changing, even.

There was never a doubt about it, that you were someone worth fighting for — someone that he was meant to love. It felt foreign at first, he had gone so long without the kind touch of another human being, but the two of you eased into it as if it was the most natural thing in this world.

Because it was.

You never explicitly spoke about marriage, not even when things shifted from fun to serious.

There was always a reason not to:

Bucky dealing with the loss of Steve

Him and Sam weren't seeing eye to eye for a while

He decides to have a midlife crisis and become a Congressman (which you happily supported, even if you weren't entirely sure where it came from).

Now, he was finding his footing with a new group, the Thunderbolts — er, New Avengers (there were some legal issues with the name that Bucky didn't want to get into, he was usually too tired, too stressed, it wasn't important enough).

Which is why it surprised you that one night, after dinner, Bucky's leg seemed to be shaking more than usual — a clear sign that he had a lot on his mind. He was pretty good at not wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but tonight seemed different

"Everything okay?" you ask, your hand resting on his knee under the table.

Bucky turns his head in your direction with a look that said he saw you, but that his brain was in an entirely different place. There were dark spots on the shoulders of his gray t-shirt, he had taken a shower as soon as he got home and the droplets of water were falling from his still damp hair.

For a man so large and brooding, Bucky looks so small. He's hunched inwards, his elbows resting on the table as he holds his head in his hands. He barely touched his food, instead just moving it around with a fork. Holding secrets to himself.

"Things have been crazy," he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Walker's been driving me up a wall every single day asking the dumbest questions. Alexei asked me if we could experiment with doing a double dosage of the serum. Yelena's been talking me off the edge so I don't bust everyone's heads in."

Your lips curl into a soft smile as you squeeze his leg, offering him your silent support. The team was still semi-new and most days Bucky didn't have the patience to deal with them — even if silently he enjoyed their presence.

"You're all still working out the kinks."

"It's been a year, you'd think we'd have it figured out by now. Sam does, Steve always did."

"Sam didn't for a while," you remind him. "And Steve never did, he was just confident. You will work it out, you always do."

Bucky's head lolls to the side to look at you. Even in the smallest moments you never gave up on him, you always told him it would find a way — you were usually right, he just hated waiting for it.

"I love you, you know that?" he asks quietly, his hand moving to grab yours and bring it up to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the palm of your hand before he intertwines your fingers together.

"I do," you nod. "I love you, too."

Bucky uses his free hand to push away his plate of untouched food, then he grabs the bottom of your chair and drags you over until you're next to him. Leaning over his hands wrap around the underside of your legs and lifts them up, letting them drape over his lap. He watches you intently, always memorizing your features — always scared one day he won't recognize them anymore.

"That's not the only thing that's on my mind tonight," he admits, his voice soft.

"Care to share?"

"Maybe."

You chuckle as you lean your head against the back of the chair, the amount of love in your eyes could make the Earth shatter.

Whatever is going on in that big, beautiful brain of his is taking a toll on him, his fingers playing with the tips of yours as he purses his lips. It's obvious he's trying to figure out what exactly to say, or how to say it.

"We should get married," Bucky finally comes clean, exposing his thoughts right then and there.

You wish you could say you were surprised by his admission, but the truth is you and Bucky had known from the very start that this was where your lives were headed together. It didn't need to be said audibly, no one needed to make sure. This was it.

"When?" you ask.

"Now."

"Right now?" you chuckle again, shaking your head with a playful eye roll. "The courthouse is closed, we'd need a witness."

"Too many logistics," he huffs. "Tomorrow, then."

"I'd have to check my calendar."

It was Bucky's turn to laugh, his head tilts back as he lets out a hearty bark, one that he only reserved for you. His hand runs up and down your leg, you can feel the calluses on his hands from where he held his gun or gripped his knife too tightly, but you didn't care. You loved the feeling of him.

"Mean."

"Tomorrow might work," you say, your eyes examining his features. "I don't have anything to wear."

"I don't care. You could wear that ratty old t-shirt you've been hanging onto for too long. I just want to marry you."

So that's exactly what you and Bucky did.

The next day the two of you called Sam and asked (pleaded) with him to meet you at the courthouse that afternoon and be the witness. He put up a little bit of a fight about the whole Avengers thing but you managed to remind him that this wasn't about petty arguments.

Bucky managed to scrounge up a suit from his time as a Congressman and you found an outfit that would work — it was slightly off white, maybe a little less traditional, but it did the job.

"Wow. And you we were worried about having nothing to wear" Bucky says as the two of you meet at the top of the steps in your home. "Give me a spin." You take his extended hand and he spins you around, whistling in admiration as he does. "Beautiful, as always."

"Not too bad yourself," you say as you face him again, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Are you ready to marry me, Barnes?"

"I've been ready since the day I met you," he whispers your name before he kisses you again, his lips lingering a few seconds longer this time.

Deep down he doesn't want to leave, he wants to take those clothes right off of you and worship the ground you walk on. He wants to hear you moan out your vows and promise to be with him forever. He'll settle for the courthouse instead.

The wait is longer than you had anticipated, apparently trying to get a marriage license was more of a hassle than either of you had expected (which wasn't very high since you both did a quick search on the computer the night before than hoped for the best).

Sam showed up as promised, albeit a little late, and now the three of you waited in the lobby of the courthouse, your leg bouncing in anxious anticipation.

"You're going to start an earthquake," Sam teased, earning a playful nudge from you.

"It's not everyday that you get married, Wilson."

"Can't believe R2-D2 over here found a soulmate," his chin nods over in Bucky's direction.

Bucky flips Sam off in a way that's both brotherly and full of hate, a perfect balance that only the two of them could master. You turn your head to the side to hide the amused smirk on your face, Sam was always getting you in trouble with his jokes.

"Don't egg him on," Bucky mutters.

"I'm sorry, R2-D2 is funny."

He grumbles something under his breath about being lucky he was going to marry you, but it doesn't matter because at the same time you hear your names being called out by one of the staff members.

It was time.

You wish you could say that you remembered every detail of what happened. That it was this beautiful, over-the-top ceremony filled with tears and wishes of love. In truth, it was quick and your mind sort of blanked out during it. There were no rings, no exchanging of pre-written vows, Sam watched a few feet back, with a quiet smile. It was intimate, quiet, exactly what you wanted.

A few signed documents, one cranky judge and a kiss later and the two of you were officially married. Not in the traditional sense that everyone grows up to dream about, but in a way that still promised each other the world and more.

"We're married," Bucky says.

It was hours later, the sun had now set, the world was dark and still. The two of you were now sitting on the floor of the kitchen, your legs draped over his. There was a skylight on the ceiling that let the moon and stars shine through illuminating the floor.

Bucky had gotten rid of his tie and suit jacket at some point in the night, the first button of his shirt was undone and his hair was a mess — but he was your husband, and he was beautiful. Your own hair was a mess and your strap had fallen down your arm, though you didn't care to fix it, there was a mysterious stain right under your chest and for all intents and purposes it was exactly how you pictured your wedding night.

A few feet away were a few empty bottles of champagne and a cake that you picked up from the grocery store on the way home. The white box was opened revealing what was left of a chocolate cake (which was now some crumbs) and two forks because of course you and Bucky fed each other and laughed about how weirdly dry it was.

"You keep saying that," you tease, biting down on your bottom lip.

"Can you believe it though? We're married." He grabs the open bottle of champagne by the neck and tips it to his lips, taking a long sip. It's not like he would ever feel the effects of the alcohol, but getting time to sit here with you and bask in your love made it feel like a celebration. What was a celebration without a little booze? "I never thought I'd be married, not after everything that happened."

You nod your head and give him a sad smile, grabbing the bottle that he was now holding out for you and taking a much smaller sip, the bubbles popping in your mouth.

"I wrote vows," you say, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

"When did you have time to write vows?" he asks, his eyebrow raising.

"Not last night, a while ago," you admit. "Do you want to hear them?"

There's a knot in Bucky's stomach at the idea that you had laid everything out on a piece of paper. He thought of his name in your neat handwriting, and how you must have taken time to reflect on this relationship — this love. He doesn't tell you he's done the same, that sitting in the breast of his suit pocket is his own set of vows. Ones that he wrote years ago.

But right now he wants nothing more in that moment than to hear what you have to say, so he nods his head. You stand immediately, using his shoulder as leverage, and patter over to the steps, soon finding your way to the bedroom. You kept the vows in the nightstand next to your side of the bed, a folded up piece of paper that you scribbled on the nights he was away.

They served as a constant reminder of his undying love for you.

The paper is tight in your hand as you make your way back to the kitchen, taking a seat on the floor in the same position that you got up from, your back now resting against the cabinets. Your eyes find Bucky's and when he gives you a soft smile you unfold the paper and begin to read:

"I'm not going to pretend that these are perfect, or even close to describing the love that I feel for you, but I would be a fool not to reflect on our story, and hope that I've had nearly a fraction of the impact on your life as the one you've had on mine.

"When we met for the first time, I knew at that moment that I would never be the same. Neither of us were searching for the other, but there we were, standing a few feet apart at that dirty dive bar that Sam brought us to …"

Bucky laughs.

"And the world seemed just a little bit brighter — like something had changed. Well, something did change. We were both scared of the world, of each other, and of falling in love. But we ignored those little voices, we leapt into this and no matter how scary or hard it was, we did it together. Hand in hand. Head first.

"Life isn't linear and our stories are never what we expect them to be, but with you by my side I know that we are unstoppable. You've shown me how to be brave and what true unconditional love looks like. If I've never said it before, then I am saying it now: thank you.

"I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your soulmate in this lifetime and every one. We will find each other no matter where we are or who we become, because our stories are now one. It's not just you and me, it's us.

"And at the end of our days you will not just be Bucky Barnes the hero, you'll be James Barnes, my husband, my one true love. And I hope by the time I'm reading this that we decide to get married, or calling you my husband will be kind of awkward."

Bucky laughs again, you join him as you try to get the rest of the words out, trying to hold back tears. Your voice is now shaking.

"And if we did get married, then I hope we did it like we do everything. Together, hand in hand, head first."

You fold the paper in your lap, a few tears sliding down your cheeks as you meet Bucky's gaze. His eyes are glossed over and there's a fondness on his face that he only reserves for you — like most of them are.

"I love you, Buck," you whisper.

Bucky nods his head a few times as he leans back, reaching out for his suit jacket that was behind him on the floor. If you were going to read him your vows, it was time for his. He pulls the crumbled paper out and holds it up. Your eyes widen in surprise, you did not expect him to have his own ready.

"I keep this thing with me wherever I go, I think I've crossed off a lot of things that didn't sound right," he says, showing you the paper for a moment. "May I?"

You nod your head. Bucky clears his throat, then begins:

"I'm not a man of many words, though I'd like to be, because life has passed me by and my only regret has been not telling you that 'I love you' enough. I know that you'll argue and say that I do, but I don't, because I should have told you the second we met and every moment after. Every single silence should have been filled with me saying those words to you.

"I knew it, I always did. What is there not to love? Your kindness? Your intelligence? The way you make sure to always keep my side of the bed warm when I get home late because you know I hate when it's cold? If I am the man worthy of your love then I have done something right in this world. I'll never take this love for granted, not ever.

"Maybe in another lifetime we found each other sooner, but in this lifetime we found each other exactly when we needed it. I always needed you. My life has been a constant tidal wave and you were the only one to swim me ashore. Now I can breathe, and you and I sit in the sun and bask in the warmth, where we belong.

"I'm sorry there aren't many words to explain how deep my love for you is, but I hope that every single day I can show you instead. I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your protector. And from now until my dying days I love you, I love you, I love you and I love you."

The paper in Bucky's hand is now splattered with teardrops, the once black ink now smudging across the off white paper. But it doesn't matter, none of it does, the vows are just a promise, one that the two of you had already made years ago.

You crawl over to him and wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. There's a few silent tears shed as you hold each other close, but nothing neither of you haven't seen before. It’s a rare moment of intimacy between lovers.

When Bucky pulls away to look at you there's a smile, not a sad one, but a grin so wide the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"We forgot rings."

"I know," you nod. "Do you have a pen?"

Bucky nods, reaching back into his suit pocket again and pulling out a ballpoint pen. You grab his hand and click the pen to expose the tip, writing your initials on the inside of his ring finger. He does the same shortly after — not a permanent solution, but a symbolic one.

He kisses the back of your hand a few times then begins to stand, lifting you to your feet and into his arms. Neither of you untangle from each other, instead opting to slowly sway back and forth in the middle of the kitchen, never wanting to let go. There was no music playing, there didn't need to be.

You and Bucky were starting your forever with whispered I love you's, hand in hand, head first.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #james barnes #james barnes fluff #bucky fluff #mine #100 #200

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littlelittlebear · 2 days ago

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streamer!fan!ellie x stand up comedian!reader

u just told me

want me to fuck u! (wc 4.5k)

you're her favorite, she finds out the feelings mutual.

fem!reader, butch!ellie. this is biblically accurate ellie yall, so shes a big dork. maybe i made her horny. maybe she was already horny. ellie worships the ground you walk on, wants your boobs in her mouth asap

major fluff with tension + eventual smut within this series of one shots!

disclaimer author tried to be funny (if youre funnier im so sorry) and knows nothing of twitch dot com (is it a website ??) (researched for this) also, forgot the us drinking age is 21… just pretend it’s at 18 lol. imagine your comedic delivery to be exactly like uh aubrey plaza meets john mulaney. this becomes very apparent as I straight up mention him

It wasn't a viral gem clip of crowdwork on tiktok that got you here. You were a slow burned sensation, a real, man-made star.

Since performing throughout your early teens, you built a bigger and bigger audience through word of mouth and phone booth posters. Old fuckin’ school!

Known for your dry wit comedy, understated delivery, and deserted social media presence, audiences young and old loved you; laughed with you. Big fucking publications– GQ, Wallstreet, the Times– credited you, amongst a couple of other trending talents, for Gen Z’s rising appreciation for stage performance.

You're adamant against the spotlight, you’re in it for the moment. The thrill. The writing and the payoff of a crowd. But because of your lack of content, fans started posting their favorite clips of your sets, which only widened your viewership. Eventually they started editing you. Just you. Cause baby, you’re hot. A handful of edits blew up and you were Tiktok’s fem of the month.

You caught everyone’s eye, including one @SmellieWilliams, fortified Twitch legend, Ellie.

☆

A feral scream interrupted her stream. Halfway through a Baldur’s Gate playthrough, someone in the chat asked if she’s heard of you.

Ellie held her reddening face in her hands. Her manspread legs, clad in checkered boxers, bounced on their heels as she jokingly sobbed. “No guys, you don’t understand, she’s so fucking hot. Yes, I’m pausing the fuckin’ game! It’s show and tell!” She got up, off screen, and returned with a big glossy poster of you biting your red painted lip with gleaming eyes, mic in hand.

visthirdleg BRUH Y/N DOESNT HAVE MERCH???😭😭

jonathansmirnoff ellie has access to a printer

She cackled at the chat. "I had pinterest and a dream. Look, look! Isn’t she pretty? She's so fuh-lipping pretty, can you believe she’s my age? See, y’all, more evidence that that’s my woman.” She left the frame again– and came back with her phone pulled up and held right up to the camera. Her lockscreen was a photo of her horse, Shimmer (a recurring feature on ellie’s streams). Then, she held her thumb down.

The lockscreen morphed into a very different scene: a tiktok edit. “Shut– shut up and watch. Take notes.” She pseudo-ordered.

The video teased a remix of a sexy R&B song as your eyes prawled over the crowd. Applause quieted. “Thank you everybody... hope y’all liked me tonight.” You drawled, purred. A series of slowed moments of you on stage followed – you throwing your head back in laughter like the rebirth of venus; you biting your lip like the poster; you tossing your hair up. The audio volume lowered back down to the first clip of you. “...because I liked y’all.”

“She’s so–” ellie cut herself off with a guttural moan-scream. The chatbox flew by with reactions. Suddenly, half the screen was obstructed by an audience member’s gift.

yournicknameohbaby

Cheered with $500

yournicknameohbaby feeling’s mutual, big secret tell no one

Ellie choked on her breath. “Hol– holy shit. Oh my God?” She scrambled back onto her gaming chair to get a better look, scrolling through the chat to find your comment. The strings of her black NASA hoodie were tugged tight. “yournicknameohbaby. Thank you. Oh my god, thank you. That is so huge I– guys, I know we do the dino dance for every big gift but I genuinely think it’s not enough–” Ellie stopped, reading. “Feeling’s mutual big se–” She chuckled under her breath at the comment, but that stopped too. yournickname… there’s no way, right? “Wait. Fuckin’ wait.” She raised an exaggerated eyebrow. The chat flew by some more.

sturniowannabe WAIT

lanadeladdisonrae NAAAH AINT NO WAY

porkupiggie fan acc

yournicknameohbaby 🤷‍♀️

Ellie reddened ferociously. “Okay! Haha, I’m gonna go with you being a loaded fan account ‘cause if you're actually her, I will jump out my window! The dino dance is definitely not enough for five hundred gyatt-damn dollars– woah you better not be y/n because I can’t be saying gyatt in front of fine shyt like that, um, so you get to pick what I do, yournicknameohbaby!”

The comments flurried between variations of “TELL HER TO TAKE HER SHIRT OFF” and “PLAY TAKE ON ME!!”

Ellie tsked “Guys, its yournicknameohbaby’s pick.” She turned the chat on slow mode so she could catch your comment.

yournicknameohbaby uhhh free of charge

wait no. tell me your favorite joke of y/n’s

and also! tell me what you like ab her :)) gimme like 5 reasons

Ellie read your comments outloud, chewing on her hoodie string. “But what if she sees this? I'm so freaking scared I’d look so freaky.”

yournicknameohbaby booooooooo

i promise you wouldnt

but okay okay

10 pushups rn

(pussy)

(kidding)

The chat erupted in keyboard smashes and onomatopoeia. Ellie sniggered. “Pfft, okay. I can do that. You made the masses happy.” She took off her hoodie by the back to reveal a white tank top. Re-angling the camera lower, she hunkered down and got into position. Palms and toes parallel to the floor. A glance, a wink, a smile. Then she lowered and lifted herself with ease, counting each one.

Towards the last five she spoke up. “Thank–” A push up. “you,” Another. “yournickname,” A whimper. “oh,” A grunt. “baby.” And a biiiig sigh.

She flopped back onto her gaming chair with a big grin. “Sucker, I would’ve done a hundred push ups for that!”

The chat had been business as usual: rapid fire pace with haha’s, omg’s, and the occasional bark.

yournicknameohbaby yay!! good job

yes and i am the most kind for requiring so few!

Ellie felt giddy. Five-hundred dollars was a lot for her scholar student budget, it meant the world. In her frenzy she’d already texted Joel a screenshot with the caption ‘!!!??!?!?:O :O’.

To which, Joel hearted. Probably busy with his shift at the plant. “Man, you know what, yournickname? I’ma follow you back real quick. Thank you. Can’t say it enough.” Her mouse clicked on your profile, then the follow button.

yournicknameohbaby OH WOAH

COOL YAY

HIII

Ellie turned her hands into a heart. “Cool-yay-hi to you, too! I can’t stop saying thank you. Gosh. Thanks a bunch. So many bunches.” She ran a tattooed hand through her auburn hair, then checked her watch. “Oh fuck, I’ve got class tomorrow, guys. I’ll end here. Get my zees. Love y’all, smell ya later!” She clicked her teeth as she winked with her sign off phrase, and the stream went black.

On her phone, Ellie opened her Paypal app and blinked away surprise as an extra five hundred was in-fucking-deed added to her account.

Whispers

smelliewilliams:

dude. thank u. fuck.

yournicknameohbaby:

hiya. you’re super welcome. shit.

smelliewilliams:

im so sorry i didnt do ur first ask yournickname

AAA I FEEL GUILTY BRO YOU SPENT SM MONEY

ITS JUST THAT THE STREAMS HAVE BEEN A LITTLE TOO FUCKIN LARGE LATELY

so scared someone clips it and it reaches wifey’s feed somehow thats so scawy ong

yournicknameohbaby:

ITS OKAY I PROMISE😭😭😭

uh i get it

so no guilt allowed

ive been a fan like since we were 14 (mb we’re the same age btw)

and ive got Adult Money now so im gonna spend it wisely

on the internet strangers who play games for me.

smelliewilliams:

JFHHFJSBDNSBFBA

ur fun-knee

and cool we’re both 19!!

was lowk worried u were a 4490 year old mega oldie

yournicknameohbaby:

only in spirit

the plot of nosferatu

you’re fun knee too

and hugh moris

smelliewilliams:

wait sorry what

yournicknameohbaby:

fun knee like funny and hugh moris like humorous!!

smelliewilliams:

OOOHHHHHA

HAHSHSHBSHSBAH

SYBAU WHY DIDNT I THINK OF THAT

yournicknameohbaby:

im just too good

youre meant to be sleeping ma’am!

smelliewilliams:

EIGHT I FORGOT

right**

night ohbaby!

yournicknameohbaby:

hah

sleep well!

Ellie was filled with bliss, the bigger number in her bank account shone on her like the sun. Instead of bed, though, she opened Tiktok. Lucky her, the first video on her For You Page was a long clip from your last show. Her jaw dropped, tongue pooled with unswallowed spit.

She’d never seen you in something so overtly hot. For all your shows, you’ve dressed more casually. A loud baby tee and blue jeans, hair down and real pretty. In this clip, though, you were in a tight black tank top, daisy dukes, pink kitten heels, and a Pamela Anderson up-do. Ellie bit her lip. “Fuck.” She muttered, and hastily favorited the Tiktok under a private folder called ‘let me do you y/n l/n'. You stood on stage with a mic, soaking up the spotlight. You barely had to muster energy to rack up stage presence. It eminated from you. Every set was like a casual, albeit one sided conversation. A knee rested atop the tall, black stool all stand up comedians seemed to be supplied with. Laughter from the last joke died down.

“My comedic hero is John Mulaney, because I’m nineteen years old. If I were twenty-nine, my comedic hero would be John Mulaney– because that's still not old enough to be good yet.” Laughter seemed to pour from the audience with every sentence.

“No, no. He's a brilliant comedian and, like everyone, I have also adopted him as my scraggly, misplaced, but ultimately very loving father.” The hint of a smirk grazed your glossed lips.

“Like him, I have a weird audience. I target none of you, yet many has flocked.” You raised a graceful hand toward the diverse, chuckling audience.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way! A specific audience calls for specific jokes. Now I may go on, undefined and independent. Sexualized by the free man instead of a Netflix producer–” The crowd gave a mixed cacophany of ooh’s and guffaws. You grinned like the cat who caught the canar-Ellie. “My career is as liberated as the act of getting out of a one piece, a body suit, in the bathroom. Am I technically free? … Yes. But I am also very vulnerable and cold.” Your genuine, underdone delivery made Ellie snicker.

“I respect a good body suit the way you respect that one guy who's really good at being an asshole? Body suits were clearly invented by someone with no genitals. A Ken doll. Because they always put the snap right where your dignity is meant. You look so good, but you are so mad, as there are three metal prongs trying super hard to be inside you.” Ellie choked on her lip. Thoughts of inside and you ran her brain through.

"Despite this, it's so cool to easily pee. The quick release. Like the little car in Cars who works the pit stop at speed ultimus. The short moments before and after the gate in front of a bullrider’s bull is unlocked. The body suit’s got the ethics of a catch and release program. The cunt is barred and freed! Is what the body suit says. It's also what my girl says when she opens the door for me.” The audience howled but Ellie’s smile vanished. She hit the share button for her group chat with Dina and Jessie so she could express her anguish. “I’m kidding, I dont have a girlfriend–” Ellie sighed in relief and deleted her unintelligible ‘whhwwyy”?!?!’ texts. “--I am in fact a total loser, I get zero vagina. Except I’m a pillow princess, so zero vagina gets me. This is not what was promised. Growing up beautiful and heterosexual, I was constantly told boys would be crawling all over me in college. Except I’m gay now. so that’s not ideal–”

The clip ended, cutting you off, and started to replay. A shocked face, lips parted, eyes wide, reflected back at Ellie from her dimly lit screen.

She texted her groupchat a barrage with the tiktok attached.

stinky 1:48 AM

several things: shes single. im single. so that means we’re literallt married

2nd. loser???? her??? fucking never

a pillow princess. guys wym she has sex without me. please plelslslsls lemme p-low that princess

(get it its like pillow but also plow bc smash hahahah)

ANS. SHES. GAY. GUYS SHE SGAY DGEHS D GAY AAAAA

dina’s wife 1:48 AM

sleep

diznuts 1:48 AM

SHES GAAAYAYAYYAYAY

GO ELS GO

stinky 1:48 AM

FYM GO??

I CANT DO ANTHING W THIS INFORMATION😔

dina’s wife 1:49 AM

sleep

diznuts 1:49 AM

DM HER DUMMY

stinky 1:49 AM

she has nothing to dm :(

diznuts 1:49 AM

go to her show.

dina’s wife 1:49 AM

this is enabling

stinky 1:50 AM

i CANT go to her show

diznuts 1:50 AM

PUSSIO

stinky 1:50 AM

THATS WEIRD DINA

dina’s wife 1:50 AM

stinky 1:50 AM

leep

night guys 🩶

Two days flew by, meshing into one, singular study session. Since exams season started, Ellie limited her streams to once a week instead of her usual, every other-other day set up. Ellie left her essay writing daze with triple the amount of notifications as usual. Brows furrowed, she consulted Twitter, then her tags. Hundreds of mentions under posts with the same thumbnail. You. Specifically, you on a Youtuber’s talk show.

“Now, girl, you’ve been outed.” Said the interviewer, Ellie wasn’t sure what her name was exactly.

“I know. I’m a gay.” You tsked and whined with joking rapor. Your interviewer pouted with you, and giggled.

“I’m interested. Who’s your celebrity need-me-some-a-that?”

You chuckled, a little shocked. “Oh, I like that. Fuck.” You paused to think. Ellie was on the edge of her seat, as far as laying down on her couch goes, antsy for context. “Okay, I don’t like celebrities, actually. I like athletes and streamers.” Ellie’s brow raised. She didn’t dare check the comments.

The interviewer popped her tongue. “Ooh! Tea.”

“Crumpets,” You added with full seriousness. the interviewer cackled. “Erm, man. God this is embarrassing because she’s… like… a fan of me too?” The interviewer and you gabbed and squealed. Ellie didn’t catch it, her ears began to ring.

“Ellie Williams, from Twitch. My actual fucking wife, She was kind of my gay awakening? Especially when she got more, um, butch–”

The clip ended. Then, Ellie’s phone was launched across the room.

☆

dinosellie’s Latest Tweets

deleting everything

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my body can be found floating in the seattle aquarium, thanks

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64k Retweets 33k Notes 97k Likes

imsososlrry im such. a simpfor youbon main y/nWHATTGF

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She paced around her tiny, tidy, dorm with her hands on her head, using it as a bongo drum.

“You’re not going insane.” She murmured. “This is just… very awesome and terrifying. Oh baby this is fucked–’ A violent gasp shook through her.

That username, yournickname, is too similar to y/n. The timing. The money. The insane amount of money. The ‘feeling is mutual’.

Whispers

smelliewilliams:

yournicknameohbaby:

oh hey!

smelliewilliams:

hooldd on there ohbaby

yournicknameohbaby:

okok im holding

smelliewilliams:

this is weird

OK THIS IS WEIRD

hey.

yournicknameohbaby:

hiya.

smellingwilliams:

are u y/n?

im sorry thats fuckin weird as balls to ask

yournicknameohbaby:

shoot

smelliewilliams:

shoot??!?!??@@?!?!

yournicknameohbaby:

OK FUCK YOU SAW THE CLIP

smelliewilliams:

the clip saw me.

yournicknameohbaby:

hugh moris

smelliewilliams:

DUDE ARE U??

im sorry for calling u dude

ner vous ?

yournicknameohbaby:

it felt weird asf to ask right?

imagine how weird it feels to say yes i am

her

y/n

smelliewilliams:

jesus wait

ARE U FUCKING W ME🤨

u are.

yournicknameohbaby:

time and place (Ellie found herself forgetting how to breathe.)

oh right

we cant send pics on here huh

smelliewilliams:

i dont think so

yournicknameohbaby:

add me on discord

if you wanna

ill turn my cam on and show you

heres my handle

firebuttershoefly

The blood in her veins achieved a strange temperature: both boiling hot and ice cold. On the one hand, she’s meeting you. Seeing your face. Your gorgeous fucking face and your focus all on her. Seeing you after you told the whole internet you want her. On the other hand, she’s fucking meeting you. Speaking to you after she told you (and the other hundred thousand in chat) that she wants you and then some.

Without responding, she added you on discord. After hey and hi were exchanged, the bubbly ringtone spooked her. Without collecting her breath, Ellie clicked answer.

Your camera was already on. You sat comfortably on your desk chair, knees up and covered in–lord have mercy– wooly high socks. A thin, grey t-shirt with a long scooping neckline had fallen off your shoulder. No bra strap obstructed your skin. Black glasses with big lenses sat pristine on your nose. Your mouth broke into a smile. “Ellie?” You asked, sweet voice stripped of comedic timing. You were unlike any state of yourself she’s seen online, comfortable and in sleepwear, but one hundred, billion percent you. Ellie was genuinely shaking. this was worse than stark struck, this was a disease.

“He-ey,” She stammered. “Yeah you’re definitely you.”

You giggled. “u-uh yeah, I am.” In the corner of the frame, she saw your hand tremble and fidget with itself. You were as nervous as she was, Ellie realized. “It’s okay if you don’t want to turn your camera on but I’d, um, like to see you too! We could hangout, maybe. If you’d like. I’d like to. Your profile picture of Shimmer eating pizza is cool too.”

Ellie wiped her sweaty palms on the couch seat. “Hah, yeah we can totally hangout. By the way, If I ever try to be funny, I’m so sorry.” You giggled, then before Ellie could think twice or check how she looked, she clicked camera off.

She saw the shift on your face when you saw her. Lips wetted. Eyes shone. “Woah! Hey there, Smellie!”

Ellie quickly covered her face with a hand. “Oh my God, no– you and Joel are the only people who aren’t allowed to call me that!” She groaned bashfully. “Sorry, Joel’s my–”

“I know who Joel is, silly. I’ve watched almost every stream since you started. I think my favorite one ever is from years ago when you two went to that big NASA exhibit. It’s a total comfort watch.” You tucked that same shaking hand behind your neck, massaging it. Ellie made impish noises internally. She almost wishes this was a clip pulled online so she could find edits of it, but then your shirt fell the teensiest more. “Ellie?” you asked, head tilted. Nope, No. a real conversation with you blows edits out of the water.

“Sorry, I’m here! I… lagged. That’s crazy, wow. I’m just wrapping my head around you knowing who I am at all.”

“Me too!” You nearly squealed. “Ellie, you’re fucking huge–” To which ellie shook her head, about to protest. “Zip it hombre. You’re easily bigger than I am, y’know? And definitely, uh, more thirst trapped.”

She grinned. “Like em?” Ellie sucked in a breath. Oh, she would beat her own ass if she could. “Sorry I– didn’t mean to like–” She could see your surprise. Your discomfort, your pure hatred of ellie and you’re definitely going to hang up and block her–

“Fuckin’ love em.” You said. It was quiet but with that on stage confidence she loves you in. Ellie reddened, her stomach dropping to her loins. Come on now, Williams. Don’t fuck this up. This is only what you’ve thought about every single night for months.

Ellie held two thumbs up at the screen.

You chuckled and copied her. “Anyways, wanna take one of those call-selfies? Everyone’ll go batshit.” You suggested.

“Oh sure! What do you mean though?” Ellie’d been offline since that forty second clip invaded her senses. As far as she knows, you said you had a thing for Ellie, and everyone on the damm platform let her know like Paul Revere.

Your eyes widened in amusement. “You haven’t seen them?” Ellie shook her head. “Oh my gosh, okay.” You interrupted yourself with a laugh as you pulled out your phone, tapping it as you spoke. “I’ll send you some stuff.”

firebuttershoefly sent 6 files.

Ellie eagerly clicked on the first link. It sent her to Tiktok and the lyrics “You just told me, want me to fuck you!” blasted out her phone full volume. Her eyes widened “Fuck, sorry.” she chuckled.

You laughed. “Keep watching!” It was the edit of the two of you, basically, looking hot in your separate fields. Clips of you she’s seen a billion times, transitioning into clips of her on her stream with the line “baby I will ‘cause I really want to.”

Ellie found herself hiding in the neck of her hoodie. “Oh!” She choked out.

“I know right? The rest of the files are screenshots, it’s so, so crazy.” One, a text-heavy Tiktok ranting about what this means for the girl kissing community. Another, a trending hashtag of #y/nllie. The last one was a screenshot of a Tweet by Twtch itself:

bringing lesbians together since 2011.

Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes. “Holy shit, yes let’s take that photo.” Grinning, she pulled out her phone, since you still had no public social media presence. You threw devil horned hand and bit your smiling lip, Ellie smouldered into her phone camera, aiming it at the Discord call. Click! “Should I post it right now?”

“Hmm, you know what? Yeah. Make the caption something like ‘what if we’ve been fucking this whole time.’” Then you laughed in her face like you weren’t little miss blasé.

Ellie sputtered. “Su-ure. I like that–” she cringed. “Not like– not like I like that. Fucking. I mean I do, but I didn’t say it–”

You were cracking up. “Breathe, Ellie.” She might be breathing a little too much, so she slowed it. “I knew what you meant. But we should u-um, talk about it! Shouldn’t we? Because I’m going kind of crazy here.”

“You?”

“Yes me!” Now, she noticed the pink creeping up to your forehead wasn’t makeup. “I’ve had the biggest fucking crush on you for five years. When people ask who my celebrity crush is I have always said Ellie Williams from Twitch.” You rambled.

Why are you so cute? Gone was that confident chick with the world at your feet, somehow, from a tiny pub stage. Drenched in wit and getting bigger laughs than today’s SNL. Now, you’re just a pretty girl who likes her back.

“Woah.” Whe muttered after a while, eyes blown out. “Okay… you might have me beat.”

You quirked a brow. “I know I do. Your turn. Talk about me now.”

She braced herself. “Well… my friend went to your show; sent me pics. Course I wanted your socials right a-fuckin’-way, but you’re like a ghost. so I looked you up and never left the damn rabbit hole.” She scratched the back of her neck, chuckling.

“And you think I’m super hot.”

“Uh-huh. Yep, yeah.”

“And I’m your wallpaper.” You preened.

“Ye-yeah, that too. I can change it if you want!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Okay okay!”

With the ice broken, Ellie's study materials and Google Scholar tabs went forgotten. You talked for ages, but it felt more like catching up.

☆

“Wait, you’re a gun chick?” You asked, beaming. Elie loved that smile on you. And she’s only seen it on this call, like it’s a secret kept precious away from a show. Dug up treasure.

Your call was moved from the living room to the kitchen counter as Ellie cooked dinner. “I love archery! It just felt archery-adjacent. Plus Joel’s crazy good at that sort of thing. He was a hunter for a while.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that!”

☆

You were pointing your laptop around your room, giving Ellie a tour. It was like letting her into your brain. Evidence of you and your passions sprawled every square inch. Posters of your favorite artists and movies, shelves packed with books, a shirt signed by Andy Samberg, who you met at a show in LA. You showed your collection of CDs you burned yourself, because you’re a firm believer of physical copies.

“I hate that you’re so cool.” Ellie grumbled, mouthful of instant noodles.

☆

Both of you wound up in bed, calling from your phones instead, talking the night away. The air eased into something so comfortable and fun. But the tension never ebbed. The chemistry lit you on fire.

“Hey, ohbaby.” Ellie said suddenly, looking a little nervous.

You smirked. “We're back to usernames, Smellie?”

She chuckled. “What did i say about calling me that?”

“Not to.” You faux-pouted. Ellie’s confidence grew.

“Mhm,” She drawled. God, you couldn’t help but stare. The barely there light over Ellie’s face was doing things for you. “You’re based in New York, right?” You nodded. “Let me come see you.”

“Y-you want to?” You asked, trying to control your quickening heart.

“‘Course I want to. I really want to.” She said. “What’s a three hour drive from Boston?” Your jaw dropped.

“A three hour drive– Ellie! I don’t want to be a bother,” You fidgeted. Ellie rolled her eyes playfully.

“What you want is to see me too!” She teased, before her smile melted into something more earnest. “I don’t just, like, lust after you or something. Especially now.”

“Me too, Ellie.” You said softly.

“Something can really happen here, y/n.” Ellie muttered, loud enough for the mic to pick it up.

You took a second to bathe in the moment. You’ve dreamed of exactly this for years. You never want to hang up.

With great resolve, you nodded. “Come see me.”

The smile you shared outshone the growing daylight peering through the blinds.

You hung up eventually. Too late in the evening became ungodly early, and you both had class the next day. Numbers were exchanged, like people who actually knew each other, for reals, and the bones of a plan for Ellie to drive those one hundred and eighty worth it minutes to come see you started to form.

Once again, instead of bed, Ellie checked her phone. It’s just for a second to check out the reactions to her post!

Your rock n’ roll pose and glowy lamp lighting, Ellie’s slightly grainy Macbook camera and smirking pink lips. “but what if we’ve been fucking the whole time” read the caption. Hundreds of thousands of likes, and the most comments she’s ever had on a post. She was too tired to react, but she quickly typed out her own comment. As always, replies piled up in no time.

smellie Creator

kiddingnm no fucking yet

Hide replies

caulfieldcam

get on it?!?!?!?!

renee

hurry

jessie’s girl

yet 😩

But one – and maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but one glowed brighter than the others. A blank but verified account. The profile picture: the photo of you on her poster.

yousername

sleep now, fucking later

Ellie didn’t have the time to process that.

yousername

sleep now, fucking later

Liked by Creator

---

thoughts??? THOTS?????

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tlou #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams smut #the last of us #tlou x reader #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x you

362 notes · View notes

liuhsng · 3 days ago

Text

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ off the record ( sjy ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jake x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 14.5k ⤷ based on this request by an anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — here’s part 2 as promised! i really had fun writing this one (especially the smut scenes hehe), so i hope you enjoy reading it just as much <3 i had to shuffle some events and performances around to make the timeline and plot flow smoother. pace yourselves, loves, ily always 🤍

⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), idol au, secret relationship, established relationship trope, idol!jake, idol!reader, possessive!jake, clingy!jake, overprotective!jake, a little toxic communication, breeding kink, mating press, oral, creampie, overstimulation, squirting, possessive!jake, praise kink, slight dom!jake, clit stimulation, backshots, aftercare, whiny!reader, clingy!jake, post-sex softness, light bruising, post-orgasm cuddles, soft angst, toxic industry pressure, hurt/comfort, morning after fluff, and one extremely lovesick, whipped man

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — two years in, and jake sim still looks at you like he’s falling for the first time. but being an idol means love stays quiet—hidden in elevator rides, exchanged glances, and stolen moments between schedules. it’s always been worth it. until you’re on stage with another. until a harmless award and a scripted smile threaten to break the calm he’s clung to. jealousy was never part of the plan, but neither was loving you this much. where you win an unexpected couple award with someone else, and sim jaeyun realizes just how tired he is of pretending you’re not his.

You stared at your hands, cheeks flushing as the kitchen filled with stunned silence.

Then Jake sighed, a little more seriously this time. “I’ve already met her parents. Twice, actually. But this…” he gestured vaguely to the kitchen, to your members hovering around the stove and the stools. “This is way scarier.”

Yunjin set the ladle down and turned fully toward him, arms crossed. “Good. We should be scary.”

“He’s right though,” Kazuha piped up from her seat beside you, wide-eyed but amused. “I feel like we’re in the middle of a drama episode reveal.”

Eunchae returned from the pantry holding a jar of jam, blinking. “Wait, what did I miss?”

“Only the part where Jake-sunbaenim just confessed they’ve been dating for two years,” Sakura said, dazed.

Jake raised his hand in defense. “In my defense, I didn’t exactly plan on getting grilled over broth and strawberries.”

You buried your face in your hands. “This is the exact nightmare I’ve had, by the way.”

Yunjin tilted her head. “We’re not mad, dummy. We just wish we knew sooner.”

Jake turned to you, then looked back at the girls. “I didn’t want her to be the one carrying the weight of going public too early. It’s hard enough being an idol. Dating one? That’s another level.”

The kitchen fell quiet for a moment. Even the bubbling soup on the stove seemed to hush.

Your members stared at him in surprise—eyes flicking between each other and him, processing that kind of emotional maturity.

Yunjin finally broke the silence with a sigh, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she stirred the pasta sauce. “You know, sunbaenim… I always pegged you as the playboy type. Not someone who’s been in a committed relationship for two years.”

Jake immediately frowned, head whipping toward her. “Hey, what? That’s not—okay, rude.”

“And don’t call me sunbaenim, please,” he added, with a groan. “We’re not filming.”

That made Eunchae laugh as she popped up beside you and Kazuha, snagging a strawberry from your bowl. “Sorry, sunbaenim,” she teased under her breath.

Behind you, the oven beeped and Sakura pulled out a golden, bubbling lasagna with practiced grace. “This one’s done,” she announced, placing it on the counter before glancing over her shoulder.

“Now, spill—how’d you two even meet?”

Eunchae nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I wanna know! Like, was it fate or what?” she grinned, holding her hands out dramatically.

You passed her a strawberry slice with a chuckle before leaning against the counter.

Jake, now stirring the soup with a wooden ladle, hummed in thought. He turned his head slightly, catching your gaze for a soft second before saying, “I think… it was around Drunk-Dazed era?”

“Oh?” Kazuha blinked. “That far back?”

“Yeah,” Jake nodded. “I bumped into her in the elevator. Like, literally. She was wearing a headset and almost spilled her drink. I helped her pick it up and she just… smiled. I guess we started talking from then on.”

You looked down, cheeks warming at the memory. Your first real conversation had been about Genshin updates and whether or not it was worth pulling for Zhongli.

“But why?” Kazuha asked curiously, head tilting. “I mean, what made you like her?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “She’s my type.”

Sakura raised a brow immediately, unimpressed. “So you’re into gamer nerds now?”

You scoffed, throwing a napkin at her. “Excuse you—intelligent gamer nerds. Get it right.”

Sakura raised her hands in mock defense. “Hey, hey—I’m just stating the facts.”

Jake laughed behind you, stirring the pot once more. “She was funny, honest, didn’t care who I was, and somehow managed to make the elevator ride feel like ten seconds instead of ten floors.”

Eunchae clutched her chest dramatically. “Okay, that’s actually kinda romantic.”

Yunjin shook her head. “Still shocked. You’re like… boyfriend material? That’s wild.”

Jake turned to her, deadpan. “I am offended on so many levels right now.”

Yunjin only shrugged, completely unbothered, as she grabbed a stack of plates from the cabinet. “You’ll be fine. Now go set the table. (Y/N), wake Chaewon, please.”

Jake turned off the stove with a soft click, the boiling soup finally calming, and gave you a look that screamed good luck.

You stood, stretching a little before padding quietly down the hallway. You gently pushed open the door to Chaewon’s room, the lights still dim from when she knocked out earlier.

The curtains fluttered slightly from the breeze of the cracked-open window.

Careful not to startle her, you sat at the edge of her bed and nudged her shoulder gently. “Unnie… dinner’s ready,” you whispered.

She stirred, blinking slowly as she rubbed her eyes. “Already?”

You nodded with a smile. “Yeah. Also, um… my boyfriend’s here.”

Chaewon paused mid-stretch, one eye squinting open. “…Boyfriend what?”

You bit your lip, stifling a laugh. “Yep. He’s here. In the kitchen. With a knife. Very domestic.”

Her eyes shot open fully this time as she scrambled to sit up, brushing her hair out of her face in panic. “Who? Wait—what? Since when? You—what?!”

You grinned, standing up and helping her fix the knot of her oversized shirt as she grabbed a headband from her bedside table to look more like the responsible leader she was. “Two years,” you answered simply.

“Two—” she nearly choked, jaw going slack. “Two?!?”

You giggled, tugging her hand gently as you led her out of the room. “Yep. Come meet him. He’s real nice. Also your hoobae.”

Chaewon furrowed her brows in disbelief as you entered the kitchen, her gaze immediately locking on the boy in question—tall, fluffy brown hair, now setting down a pair of chopsticks beside each plate and laughing at something Eunchae said.

He spotted you approaching and perked up, flashing his signature soft smile. “Hi! I’m Jake.”

Chaewon blinked at him, then turned to look at you with a raised brow. You simply nodded with the biggest, most unapologetic smile on your face.

Chaewon turned back to him slowly. “…Yeah. I know who you are.”

Jake’s smile wavered for a millisecond. “R-right. Yeah.”

“She’s told me a lot about you,” she added calmly, walking past him toward the table. “Like, for example, nothing. Ever.”

You laughed as Jake scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes darting to you.

“Chaewon unnie,” you said sweetly, “Jake’s helped me sneak ramen at two in the morning during our first world tour. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Chaewon scoffed, smirking. “We’ll see if it counts after he survives dinner.”

Jake laughed nervously, nodding. “That’s fair… I think.”

Still ever the gentleman, he reached out and pulled a chair for you first, waiting for you to sit down before settling into the one beside you.

You turned to him with a quiet “Thank you,” and he just offered you a soft smile—like everything was worth it just to sit beside you.

You both clasped your hands in a tiny, automatic gesture of prayer before digging in. The clinking of utensils and quiet hum of satisfied eating filled the room as the girls passed dishes around the table.

Jake, without a word, reached out and gently placed a spoonful of lasagna on your plate first, then added a few slices of grilled eggplant and your favorite salad topping. Only after your plate was full did he even think of serving himself.

Chaewon, from across the table, paused mid-chew. She stared. Narrowed her eyes. And then casually pointed her fork at Jake.

“Okay,” she said, “Approved. You can date my daughter.”

You choked on your water.

Jake blinked. “Oh—uh, thanks?”

Kazuha nearly dropped her fork from laughing. Yunjin let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think you’d fold that fast, unnie.”

Chaewon shrugged. “He served her before himself. I observe things.”

Jake grinned, finally putting food on his own plate. “I’ve been trying to earn your approval in my head for two years now. So… big win.”

“You’re still on probation,” Chaewon added.

Jake raised his glass. “Fair.”

Eunchae giggled from beside you. “Unnie, he really likes you.”

You turned pink and muttered, “I know…”

The room quieted for a second as everyone chewed on their food, the warm clatter of plates and utensils echoing softly around the dining space—until Chaewon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly looked up from her plate.

“Wait,” she said, squinting at Jake like she just remembered something. “Don’t you have promotions tomorrow?”

Jake blinked, mouth still full, and slowly nodded.

You rolled your eyes fondly and answered for him, “Yeah. They just released their comeback two days ago, so they’re in full promo mode.”

Chaewon raised a brow, setting her fork down with a soft clink. “So why are you here and not, I don’t know, practicing? Or sleeping? Or doing your twelve-step skincare routine with Sunoo?”

Jake chuckled sheepishly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “We already have everything prepped for this week. Plus, I’m heading out early tomorrow morning anyway.”

Yunjin tilted her head from the other end of the table. “Still, brave of you to spend the night in a dorm full of girls who could absolutely kick you in the ass for dating our member.”

Jake grinned, glancing at you. “Worth it.”

Chaewon gave him a pointed stare. “And?”

He set his utensils down and looked around the table for a moment before answering, sincere and clear. “Meeting you guys tonight was really important to me. She’s been in my life for two years… and I’ve met her family. It just felt right to meet hers, too.”

You tried to focus on your rice, but your cheeks betrayed you—glowing pink as Jake reached under the table to gently tap your hand with his.

“Well,” Sakura muttered with mock annoyance, “he’s charming. Great.”

“I know,” Kazuha sighed dramatically.

You tried not to smile too much, your heart fluttering like it was hearing him talk about you for the first time again. You picked up a new slice of lasagna and said softly, “Eat more, Jakey.”

Jake beamed at you and immediately obeyed, making everyone at the table burst into knowing laughter.

The clinking of dishes and the gentle hum of ‘TFW’ playing from someone’s speaker filled the quiet kitchen.

You stood at the sink, fingers slightly wrinkled from the warm water and soap bubbles, while Jake stood beside you with a clean towel in hand, drying each plate and placing it carefully into the dishwasher.

Jake let out a small breath, his eyes not leaving the glass in his hands. “You know…”

You hummed in question, not looking up from the last bowl you were rinsing.

“I’m really glad tonight went well,” he said quietly, drying the edge of a plate before setting it down.

You smiled, grabbing the towel and dabbing your wet hands on it before replying. “Well, it had to. I mean, they were always going to accept you, Jake. You’re you.”

He chuckled.

You leaned on the sink, tossing the washcloth onto the rack. “Plus, you’re already famous for being charming. That’s got to be, like, at least 60% of the battle.”

Jake laughed at that—low and breathy—and before you could turn around, you felt his arms snake around your waist. He pressed himself against your back, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” he mumbled into your hair.

You smiled to yourself, cheeks warm as you reached up to hold onto his arms. “Even if we fight?”

He leaned back slightly as you turned around in his embrace, your back now against the edge of the sink as he boxed you in, hands still resting loosely around your waist. He tilted his head, a soft grin playing on his lips.

“Especially when we fight,” he teased, gently nudging your nose with his. “You look like a sad bunny when you’re mad. It’s kinda hard to take you seriously.”

You gasped, laughing as you pushed on his chest. “You’re unbelievable!”

“And yet,” Jake said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart, “you continue to love me. Tragic.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh. “Tragic is right.”

But then he smiled—really smiled. That small, sweet curl of his lips that told you he wasn’t just joking anymore.

“I mean it, though,” he said. “Whatever happens with work, or promotions, or… whatever chaos we have to deal with—I’m still really, really glad I get to come home to this. To you.”

You let your hands rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“And I’m glad you’re here,” you whispered back.

Jake dipped his head and kissed you—gentle and unhurried, like there was no rush in the world.

You both lingered for a moment, eyes closed, foreheads still brushing before you slowly pulled away, sharing quiet, knowing smiles. The kind that said I love you without needing the words.

Wordlessly, you both turned back to the sink, finishing the last of the dishes in a rhythm that had become second nature.

Jake dried the last glass and stacked it neatly, while you wiped down the counter, tossing the cloth in the laundry bin tucked under the sink.

Just as you reached for the light switch, the sound of muffled footsteps filled the hallway—and in came your members, bundled in oversized coats, beanies, and masks, looking suspiciously like a group of spies ready for a mission.

You blinked at them. “Uh… Where are you guys going?”

Eunchae grinned beneath her white fleece bucket hat, nodding enthusiastically. “Convenience store! The one a few blocks down!”

Kazuha tugged her mask down slightly, eyes sparkling. “Chaewon-unnie said the new strawberry banana bread flavor just came out.”

Chaewon nodded proudly from the back, crossing her arms with mock authority. “Limited edition. We must investigate.”

You laughed, glancing at Jake beside you, who was already smiling—shoulders shaking in amusement at the chaotic yet endearing dynamic.

“You guys are such a unit,” he said under his breath, fondness written all over his face.

Sakura, who was zipping up her jacket, paused and looked at you. “You two want anything?”

You hummed, thinking for a second. “Yeah! That new sandwich with the cheese melt thing… and strawberry milk, please. I’ll pay later!”

Jake raised a brow, immediately shaking his head. “Double that. I’m paying.”

You gave him a playful glare, and he just winked at you in response.

“Got it!” Eunchae said, doing a little salute.

“We’ll lock the door behind us!” Yunjin added, already pulling it shut as they piled out one by one, Chaewon doing a headcount like a mom with her ducklings.

“Strawberry milk,” Kazuha repeated under her breath.

“And the sandwich!” Eunchae called before disappearing down the hall.

Jake laughed softly beside you as the door clicked shut. “You weren’t kidding when you said they’re your second family.”

You grinned, leaning against his side. “They’re my whole heart, actually.”

He slipped his hand into yours again, gently squeezing. “Yeah… I can see that.”

The apartment quieted again, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint echo of your playlist still looping from earlier.

The roar of Engenes filled the venue as the final notes of ‘One in a Billion’ echoed across the stage, the boys of ENHYPEN wrapping up their performance with flawless synchronicity.

You stood just off-stage, heart fluttering—not from nerves, but from the sight of Jake under the stage lights, shining like he was born for it.

“You good?” your stylist asked quickly, tugging your hair gently into place before stepping aside. You nodded, adjusting your mic pack with steady fingers, the anticipation building as your group was next to perform ‘Anti-Fragile.’

“Damn,” you muttered under your breath to Yunjin, eyes still locked on the stage. “They’re good.”

She laughed lightly, swaying to the fading melody. “Let’s not gas them up too much, we have to follow them.”

You both giggled as the cameras nearby continued to roll, capturing behind-the-scenes footage. Eunchae suddenly latched onto your bare waist, making you squeal and stumble slightly.

“Unnie,” she whined dramatically, her voice muffled as she hid behind your back, “I’m nervous for this comeback.”

You turned slightly, fixing her hair gently. “Don’t be. We’ve worked hard, and the fans are ready. We can do this.”

She nodded, eyes a little teary but determined.

Just then, the stage lights dimmed and the VCR began to play, signaling the transition. ENHYPEN began exiting, breathless but smiling, their in-ear pieces being pulled out as they walked your way.

Your members immediately straightened, Chaewon instinctively lining you all up in formation like the leader she was.

She bowed first. “Congratulations,” she said with practiced respect.

One by one, the boys bowed back. Sunghoon smiled and nodded. Sunoo gave Eunchae a small wave.

“Good luck,” Jake whispered to you as he passed, voice low and hidden beneath the noise of the crowd and crew, eyes meeting yours for a second longer than necessary.

Your heart did a full somersault, but you managed to smile through it, fingers adjusting the mic near your cheek to keep busy. “Thanks,” you whispered back, a little breathless.

He grinned—just the tiniest curve of his lips—before disappearing backstage with the others.

You blinked, grounding yourself. Focus. Stage time.

“Let’s go!” Chaewon called, and immediately, your group moved with muscle memory.

The spotlight began to rise.

Just a few doors down from the stage, in one of the private waiting rooms, Jake stood silently next to Ni-ki, both of them staring intently at the monitor on the wall.

The screen lit up with vibrant blues and deep blacks as the performance began—your group emerging with practiced intensity and poise.

Jake didn’t speak. He couldn’t. The moment you stepped into frame, center-left, he was already captivated.

You moved like second nature—confident, poised, every movement sharp and purposeful. And then came your solo line, one that ended with a subtle smirk and a teasing wink thrown directly into the camera.

Jake’s smile stretched, wide and utterly smitten.

Beside him, Ni-ki gave a small nod. “She’s killing it,” he muttered, arms crossed over his chest. “The choreo’s no joke.”

Jake didn’t reply immediately, still watching you with rapt attention. You twirled into center stage, your fitted black spaghetti-strap top catching the lights as your denim skirt fanned out slightly with each spin.

The crowd screamed louder as you took center, mic held up with confidence, voice crisp and full of attitude.

Jungwon stepped into the room then, a protein bar in one hand, casually joining them. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the screen. “I go to ride ’til I die, die,” he half-sang under his breath, nodding with a grin as your line came up.

Jake finally broke his silence with a soft, breathy laugh. “She’s unreal.”

Ni-ki leaned slightly toward him, eyebrow raised. “You’re gonna combust if you keep staring like that.”

Jake scoffed. “You’d combust too if your girlfriend looked that good on national TV.”

Jungwon chuckled. “Isn’t this torture for you? She’s out there serving stage presence while you’re stuck here trying not to look whipped.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, eyes still glued to the monitor as you transitioned into your ending pose.

The crowd was screaming, the lights flared one last time, and there you were—front and center—forming a heart with your hands, your purple-highlighted hair shimmering beneath the spotlight.

Jungwon’s comment still lingered in the air, and Jake didn’t even try to hide the way he was smiling. He glanced toward the camera filming their waiting room and waved a hand toward it lazily.

“Cut that one out,” he said, half-joking but with a trace of real concern in his voice. “I don’t wanna get fired.”

A burst of laughter erupted from the staff nearby.

One of the camera operators grinned, flashing him a thumbs up. “Don’t worry, hyung. We’ll blur your face,” he teased.

“Too late for that,” Sunghoon quipped from the couch, legs kicked up, his phone in one hand and an unimpressed expression on his face. “You’ve already said too much.”

Heeseung didn’t even glance up as he added, “Honestly? I doubt they’d fire you. Our group’s practically funding the entire building right now.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agreed, crossing his arms behind his head. “They need us more than we need them.”

Jake sighed under his breath, lips twitching into a reluctant grin. “Yeah… you have a point.”

The room had gradually filled up—Sunoo now standing beside Ni-ki, arms folded across his chest, nodding along to the beat still playing from the hallway speakers.

“Wow,” Sunoo murmured, eyes fixed on the screen. “Noona looks really good tonight.”

Jake hummed in agreement as the monitor shifted—your ending pose freezing for a second before it cut to the substitute MCs waving to the audience. You were clearly busy with promotions, too tied up to close the show like usual.

“Can’t believe she’s not up there with the mic,” Jungwon said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You’re slacking, hyung.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Blame her manager. Not me.”

“Blame you for not volunteering to co-MC before Jisung-sunbaenim,” Sunghoon chimed in, smirking.

Jake smiled despite himself, watching the replay of your ending fairy again as it looped quietly on the screen. “Nah. She shines just fine without me.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “That’s kinda romantic.”

Jake shrugged, still watching. “That’s kinda the truth.”

“Hopeless,” Sunghoon muttered, tossing a pillow at him.

Just then, Jungwon plopped onto the couch beside Sunghoon, his posture slouchy as he reached for the half-empty water bottle on the coffee table.

“Alright, break’s over,” he sighed, tone lighter but his words already sounding like business. “We’ve got a few months to plan for our MAMA performance.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Heeseung looked up from his phone. “Oh, right. That—plus the special ones they added.”

Jake finally turned his gaze away from the screen. “Which one are you talking about?”

“The KBS Entertainment Awards,” Heeseung answered, nodding toward their manager, who was already scrolling through the calendar on a tablet.

Jungwon nodded. “Yeah, that one. They confirmed it last night—we’re doing a joint performance with the other HYBE groups.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled. “Wait, does that mean we’ll probably do that mashup stage again?”

Ni-ki leaned forward, brows furrowed in curiosity. “Which concept are we pushing? Classic? Or do they want us to go full experimental again?”

Their second manager chimed in from the side, eyes scanning the notes on their device. “Still being finalized. But the producer wants something memorable. Something iconic. You’re one of the ending acts, so they expect impact.”

“Of course they do,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. “When don’t they?”

Jake leaned back, tossing a pillow behind his head. “So what’s left for now?”

Their main manager, standing closest to Jungwon, tapped a few checkboxes on her tablet. “We’ve still got Music Core this weekend, the radio interviews lined up next week, and your YouTube schedule to finish. Then rehearsal season starts full force.”

Jungwon groaned. “Guess that means goodbye to free time.”

Ni-ki flopped over the armrest of the couch. “I didn’t even get to download that new game yet.”

Sunoo gave him a light flick on the forehead. “Focus, Riki.”

Jake just quietly nodded, eyes scanning the calendar before asking, “Will we be rehearsing at HYBE or the KBS studios?”

“Both,” their manager replied. “Alternating schedules depending on which stage needs polishing.”

Heeseung glanced at Jake. “Better tell your girl to stock up on throat lozenges. With how things are looking, she’ll be rehearsing just as much as us.”

Jake chuckled, gaze softening a bit. “She’ll be fine. She's kind of unstoppable like that.”

This was going to be one hell of a comeback season.

The overhead lights buzzed softly as you held tightly onto Chaewon’s hand, the familiar gray-walled hallways of HYBE feeling more like a runway to your doom.

The camera following behind you captured every twitch of your brow, every deep breath, every fidget of your fingers gripping your water bottle.

Kazuha giggled beside you, looping her arm with Eunchae’s as she tilted her head at your nervous expression. “What’s wrong? You look like you're about to walk into a war.”

You shot her a look. “We’re collabing with ENHYPEN and TXT. What about this situation isn’t terrifying?”

Yunjin, who was walking just behind you, mumbled. “You’re literally dating one of them.”

“That’s exactly why I’m terrified,” you mumbled under your breath.

The six of you slowed in front of one of the biggest and most high-tech practice rooms in the building. The door stood tall and ominous in front of you like the gates of heaven… or hell.

Chaewon inhaled deeply beside you, squared her shoulders, and gave your hand a light squeeze before knocking twice.

“Here we go,” Sakura muttered.

The door creaked open.

Immediately, a flood of voices greeted you. “Hi!” “Oh, they’re here!” “Hello, Le Sserafim!”

Your group stepped inside slowly, bowing instinctively as the familiar faces of ENHYPEN and TXT turned toward you from across the polished wooden floor.

Most of them were stretching or adjusting their mics, water bottles scattered around like it was already halfway through practice.

Huening Kai grinned widely and jogged over first. “Finally! We were wondering when you’d show up,” he said, waving enthusiastically at you before offering Eunchae a playful fist bump.

Yeonjun spun around dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. “They’re here! The queens have arrived!” he announced, sending giggles through your members.

Eunchae shyly waved back at Ni-ki, who smiled at her from across the room.

Jay stood next to Sunghoon, fixing his hair in the mirror but paused when you entered. “Took you long enough,” he joked, sending a brief nod toward Chaewon.

You gave a small bow and forced a smile, eyes scanning the room instinctively.

Jake was there, leaning against the wall, hair pulled back in a cap and wearing a sleeveless black tee that clung to him in all the right places. He gave you a small smile from across the room and mouthed a soft, “You’re okay?”

You nodded slightly in return, heart thudding in your chest.

“Alright,” Soobin clapped his hands. “Shall we get started?”

Jungwon clapped his hands with a bright, “Alright, alright—find your spots, window style! Let’s get stretching!”

Everyone moved at once, bodies shuffling into lines, the room buzzing with casual chatter and the squeaks of sneakers on polished hardwood.

The long mirror across the wall reflected the familiar chaos of multi-group collabs: TXT in the far left row, ENHYPEN in the middle, and Le Sserafim forming a line behind them.

You found yourself stretching behind Jake and Sunoo, both already halfway into toe touches. Sunoo turned and beamed at you, waving with both hands like you hadn’t just seen each other two days ago.

“Hi noona! You’re behind us, yay!” he said, cheeks puffed with joy.

You chuckled and nodded, leaning to one side in a hamstring stretch. “Guess I have the best view, huh?”

Jake, still bent over touching his toes, glanced at you through the mirror with a sly smirk. “If you’re lucky, you might see me fall on my face during Growl.”

“You won’t,” you said simply, voice soft but sure.

“Let’s hope,” he muttered back, cheeks tinting pink.

On the other side of the room, Taehyun casually threw an arm over Jungwon’s shoulder. “Look at you, bossing us around like a true leader. So scary.”

Jungwon gave him a withering look, pushing his arm off with an embarrassed smile. “Hyung, I’m literally just trying to make sure no one pulls a muscle.”

“That’s what they all say before they become stage tyrants,” Yeonjun teased from his spot on the floor.

The choreographers moved toward the front, clipboard and iPad in hand as one of them called out, “Alright, eyes up!”

Everyone looked forward.

“So, for this special stage collab, we’re running through the classics. We’ve split each section by groups, but you’ll all dance together during transitions. Here’s the setlist.”

Another choreographer pulled the list up on the screen behind them.

You heard your members behind you murmuring in awe, and Eunchae nudged your side. “Unnie… are we seriously doing 10 Minutes?”

You stifled a laugh. “Good luck with that hair flip.”

“Alright,” the main choreographer spoke again, clapping their hands once to get everyone’s attention. “TXT will start with Candy.”

“ENHYPEN follows with The Way This Guy Lives by SECHSKIES,” another choreographer added, glancing at the boys through the mirror. “Then TXT jumps in for Bad Man.”

The third choreographer, flipping through a clipboard, nodded. “ENHYPEN will cover Come Back To Me next.”

“Le Sserafim, you’re handling 10 Minutes and Tell Me,” the first choreographer said, eyes meeting yours through the mirror. “You’ve got the energy for it.”

“We’ll bring everyone together for Mirotic and BANG BANG BANG,” the second one continued.

“Then split My House and Who’s Your Mama between male and female idols,” the third choreographer added with a quick clap.

“And finally,” the first choreographer finished, “everyone regroups for Growl and FIRE to close the show. Got it?”

Soobin let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a setlist.”

“You’re telling me,” Jay muttered.

Heeseung ran a hand down his face like he was mentally preparing to be eighty by the time this rehearsal ended.

Ni-ki, seated on the floor nearby, let out a wheezy laugh at the older’s expression, practically falling backward in amusement.

Across the room, Yunjin groaned dramatically and leaned against Kazuha for support, whining, “Why is this setlist built like a death wish? Who planned this?”

“HYBE,” Kazuha deadpanned.

You sighed, catching the chaos unfold around you as Jake leaned closer from where he was stretching beside you. His voice was low, careful, mindful of the camera panning lazily from idol to idol. “You ready?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

Sunoo, perched crisscross beside Ni-ki with a towel around his neck, raised his hand like he was agreeing with a teacher in class. “Me too,” he said cheerfully. “We’re gonna die beautifully.”

The choreographers clapped their hands twice again, calling for attention. “Okay, places everyone!”

You exhaled slowly, fingers adjusting your crop top, giving it a final tug as you caught Yunjin’s eye through the mirror. She straightened beside you, nodding once. No words were needed—you were both in your element now.

A glint of determination flickered in your gaze as you rolled your shoulders back, eyes zeroing in on your spot. The countdown began.

Oh, you were so ready to kill this stage.

It was the third week of practice, and you were clinging to the last sliver of sanity you had left.

You groaned into your hand, voice muffled as the heavy bass of ‘Who’s Your Mama’ blasted from the speakers. Jake, standing next to you with a wide grin, quickly reached out to grab your water bottle before it could spill from your loosened grip.

“Careful,” he said with a laugh, holding it out of your reach like he didn’t just save your life. “I’d rather not be dancing in sticky strawberry water.”

Beomgyu, who was across from you, absolutely lost it at your expression, clutching his knees as he laughed. “You look like you just saw your GPA after midterms.”

Taehyun was beside him, calmly sipping his iced coffee like he wasn’t also sweating through his shirt. “Honestly though, same.”

“I’m not made for this kind of choreography!” you cried, groaning louder this time as you leaned forward with your hands on your knees. “Who thought this was a good idea?! I feel like a hormonal teenager trying to impress her P.E. crush!”

Yunjin, standing next to Jay, snorted so hard she nearly dropped her mic pack. “You should’ve seen your face during the chorus, oh my god—”

Jake placed a hand on your shoulder, his tone mock-serious. “(Y/N), come back to us. Stay strong. Don’t let your thoughts consume you.”

Heeseung wheezed, half-bent from laughter. “You’re so dramatic for someone who literally looked cool five seconds ago.”

Behind you, Ni-ki and Eunchae fist-bumped like they’d just won a bet. “Told you she’d break by week three,” Ni-ki whispered.

Meanwhile, Sakura, who was standing beside Yeonjun, leaned in and murmured, “At this rate, those two are going to get caught in no time.”

Yeonjun didn’t look away from the mirror, lips twitching. “Jake’s not even hiding it. He’s gone.”

Off to the side, Kazuha and Soobin sat near the wall with their water bottles, the former giggling into her sleeve while Soobin casually stretched. “I give her one more day before she walks out,” Kazuha teased.

“I give Jake one more day before he breaks the no-dating rule,” Soobin added, sipping dramatically.

You flailed slightly as the music started up again, swiping your water bottle back from Jake and muttering, “If I survive this, I’m never letting anyone make me dance to JYP again.”

Jake just grinned, stepping into position as he threw you a wink. “You love it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I love you, not this.”

“That’s fair.”

It was the night of the KBS Entertainment Awards, and to say you were nervous would’ve been the biggest understatement of the year.

You could barely hear your own thoughts over the blaring bass of ‘Come Back to Me’ echoing through the stage monitors. Your group stood off to the side of the massive stage, just behind the heavy curtains—watching as ENHYPEN performed their hearts out under the golden lights.

And there he was.

Jake.

Blonde hair tousled just the right amount, dressed in a crisp white shirt that shimmered under the light, layered beneath a faded denim jacket that framed his shoulders perfectly, as he sang the chorus with that same intensity you fell for years ago.

His movements were sharp, calculated—effortless. But his eyes searched the crowd like he was singing to someone in particular.

And you had a good guess who.

“Hold still,” your stylist murmured beside you, dabbing a final streak of glitter on your cheekbone, brushing over your skin like stardust. “You’re up in five.”

You gave a nervous nod, fingers tightening around the edge of your pink mesh scarf, the soft fabric crinkling in your grip as the countdown began on the stage manager’s fingers.

Behind you, the unmistakable beat of ‘10 Minutes’ began to play.

You breathed in.

And then turned.

The second you pivoted to face the audience, center stage, your nerves evaporated like they were never there.

A smirk tugged at your lips as your eyes met Yunjin’s across the line. She mirrored it instantly. This was your zone. This was your power.

Your pink tube top, paired with a sleek black miniskirt, hugged your figure perfectly. The mesh scarf draped dramatically off your arms, and your pink heels clicked against the glossy stage floor with every step you took. You owned the moment.

The intro rang out, sultry and commanding—and your voice followed, smooth and sure as you sang the opening lines, hips swaying confidently to the beat. Your eyes never left the camera, trained on it with teasing winks and fierce gazes as if daring the nation to look away.

Backstage, just out of the spotlight, Jake watched.

He didn’t blink.

“She’s insane,” he muttered, voice low as he leaned toward Heeseung, eyes transfixed. “Like… unreal.”

Heeseung glanced at him with a knowing smile. “You’ve got it bad.”

Jake didn’t even deny it.

Because there you were, commanding the stage in pink and black like it was your birthright—your confidence radiating through every wink, every strut, every flawless note.

And as you twirled on cue, scarf fluttering like flame behind you, Jake could only exhale, heart caught in his throat.

He was falling in love with you all over again.

Jake’s trance was broken the moment the crowd erupted in cheers, the sound thundering through the venue just as your face flashed across the backstage monitor.

The screen lit up with your wink and smirk from the final beat of 10 Minutes, your figure vanishing into the shadows just as TXT began filing out onto the stage for their turn.

Staff members buzzed past, clapping their clipboards and complimenting you as you jogged toward the back, breath still heavy and skin glittering under the stage lights.

Jake stood just off to the side, waiting near one of the pillars with a massive grin on his face, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim jacket.

You grinned back at him, cheeks warm with adrenaline, and sent him a thumbs-up as your stylist tugged at your arm with a breathless, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s change!”

Jake’s smile lingered until a firm clap landed on his shoulder.

“Let’s move, loverboy,” Jay said, smirking. “You’ll see your girlfriend again in a few minutes. We need to change before the finale.”

Jake rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be dragged, glancing once more over his shoulder in the direction you disappeared. “Yeah, yeah… I’m going.”

The boys ducked into the makeshift changing tents set up behind the curtain, and at the same time, you were already slipping into your next outfit with quick, practiced ease.

Your stylist buttoned the last clasp on your blouse and handed you a mic belt as you stepped into the light, now in a soft pink plaid skirt and matching button-up blouse. A glittery ribbon sparkled at your chest, hair fluffed and curled to perfection again.

You turned to your right and nudged Sakura, who was tugging at her pink tie in front of the mirror with furrowed brows.

“This is giving Produce48, tell me I’m wrong,” you teased with a breathless laugh.

Sakura let out a dramatic sigh, “Don’t remind me,”

Yunjin groaned as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder, still adjusting her in-ear. “I’m getting trauma, actually.”

“Why does it feel like we’re about to do another audition?” Eunchae whispered, pulling her lip balm from her pocket and quickly applying it.

Kazuha giggled from beside you, patting the hem of her skirt. “Because we kinda are—but this time with better lighting and Jake-sunbaenim watching.”

You turned red. “Can we not mention my boyfriend every five minutes?” you grumbled.

“Oh no, we definitely can,” Yunjin smirked, “especially with how he looked like he was gonna pass out during your solo part.”

The girls erupted into soft laughter, the buzz of nerves momentarily replaced by shared joy and chaotic teasing.

Your manager peeked in, “Three minutes, girls.”

Everyone nodded.

The lights shifted, casting soft pink and purple hues across the stage as the intro to ‘Tell Me’ by Wonder Girls began to play. You and the rest of Le Sserafim took center once again, bright smiles plastered on your faces as you mimicked the iconic choreography with your own flair.

The audience screamed as you winked playfully during your solo part, fingers forming a heart before flipping your hair in sync with Yunjin and Sakura.

From the sidelines, TXT and ENHYPEN—already changed into their all-black outfits—cheered wildly, bouncing along to the beat and mimicking the moves half-seriously.

You could hear Beomgyu yell, “Go (Y/N)!” from offstage, making you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing on camera.

Then the beat shifted—‘BANG BANG BANG’ roared through the speakers, the lights cutting harsh and dramatic. ENHYPEN and TXT stormed the stage like they owned it, every move sharp and powerful as they delivered the fierce performance.

You and your members stood at the side, clapping and yelling just like the crowd, some of you even jumping in time with the beat.

You screamed, cupping your hands around your mouth, “Let’s go, Ni-ki!”

Eunchae beside you jumped up and down while cheering, “Yeah, Ni-ki-sunbaenim!”

The moment the final gunshot sound effect rang out and the stage lights dimmed again, a staff member grabbed your arm gently.

“(Y/N), you’re next. Quick change!”

You were pulled toward the styling area, still catching your breath, as stylists worked around you in record time.

Your glittery bow outfit was gone in seconds, swapped for sleek white shorts, a low-cut white blouse with soft bishop sleeves and a delicate silk bow tied in the middle. White boots zipped up your calves while your hair was tugged into a half-updo, a matching white bow clipped securely on top.

“Three minutes,” someone called, just as you were guided back toward the stage entrance.

Jake stood there already waiting, dressed in cream pants and a slightly sheer white button-up with a ribbon detail mirroring yours—subtle, but coordinated. His sleeves were rolled up, veins peeking out, sweat still lingering from their last stage.

He looked at you with a crooked smile. “Look at us. Matching like a couple at prom.”

You snorted softly. “Only one of us gets to wear heels though.”

Jake grinned and leaned in just slightly. “You pull them off better.”

The lights dimmed again, and the opening instrumental of ‘My House’ started to build.

From beside you, Sunoo cupped his hands around his mouth and cheered dramatically, “Let’s do this!”

Ni-ki whistled beside him, while Jungwon and Sunghoon grinned, already in formation a few steps ahead.

You shared a smile with Eunchae as she moved behind Jungwon, her hands fidgeting slightly as she whispered, “You look so cool, unnie…”

You winked at her in return. “Let’s kill this, okay?”

Chaewon, composed and charismatic as always, stood next to Sunoo—her eyes flickering to you briefly. She gave you a short, approving nod like a leader proud of her kid.

You smiled, then turned your focus to center stage.

Jake was already there, hands tucked into the pockets of his cream trousers, head tilted slightly with a sly smile on his face. You took your place beside him, heart beating in rhythm with the intro beat.

The two of you moved in sync, slow sways and confident strides as the choreography began. You didn’t need to overthink it. The sultry tempo carried you both.

Jake’s hand skimmed the air near your waist at one point, but never touched. The tension was part of the performance, and both of you knew how to sell it without giving anything away.

The bridge hit, and the choreography called for a switch—you and Jake trading places smoothly. He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist as he guided you behind him. You caught the glint of his smile under the stage lights as he whispered, “Come here.”

You followed, stepping into place just as the camera panned in for the final pose.

Jake stood behind you, his hand outstretched as you turned, fingertips grazing before striking the last beat with matching smirks—his hand pointed at the imaginary ‘front door’ the lyrics referenced, your head tilted just right with a playful smile.

The crowd screamed louder as the lights cut.

A staff member backstage waved at you to start moving—“Let’s go! Get ready for Growl!”

You grabbed your in-ears, heart still pounding as you rushed with your members to line up with TXT and ENHYPEN once more.

‘Growl’ was a blur of fluid transitions and charged energy—shoulders bumping, eyes catching in mirrors, and a sea of cheers that didn’t seem to quiet down for even a second.

And before you even had time to catch your breath—

“Last change! Who’s Your Mama! Let’s go!” your stylist shouted as she shoved a final hanger into your hands.

Your last outfit: a fitted black long-sleeve crop top that clung like a second skin, glittering subtly under the harsh dressing room lights. Paired with black sequin shorts and heeled boots, it was the most playful and risqué set of the night—and somehow your members were in nearly identical pieces, all tailored to perfection. Unity, but with bite.

Meanwhile, the boys who were performing beside you had also been thrown into their final looks—black blazers, black slacks, silver detailing along their cuffs.

Jake stood out even among them, his sleeves rolled slightly, hair tousled and pushed back in a way that made your stylist mumble, “I’d kill to be twenty again.”

You met eyes with him in the mirror as you applied your gloss. He raised his brows and mouthed, “Ready?”

You nodded once, slowly.

The second the beat of ‘Who’s Your Mama’ hit, the crowd erupted. Screams layered with cheers, fans recognizing that unmistakable bassline and chorus call-out before the first line was even sung.

You strutted onto the stage alongside your members, each of you walking in sync, hips swaying to the rhythm as lights flickered behind you in sultry strobes. Jake took his place beside you, the two of you placed center—too close for idols that were supposedly strangers, too electric not to notice.

You turned, your back facing the audience, and Jake—perfectly timed—stepped up behind you. His hands never touched you, but they hovered. Traced.

Down your arms, around your waist, stopping just shy of contact. Like a shadow or a silhouette.

It was choreography. Just choreography.

But the fans lost their minds.

You could hear a few screams turn feral as your smirk broke through and your eyes caught the camera. You tossed a look over your shoulder, catching Jake’s gaze. He bit back a grin, knowing exactly what he was doing—and what you were both about to get flamed for online.

The moment passed too quickly.

The beat of ‘FIRE’ suddenly blasted from the speakers as the lights cut out—blinding red beams slicing through smoke machines.

Someone shoved a black blazer into your arms mid-transition as staff pulled open the back curtains. You quickly slid it on, leaving the crop top beneath barely buttoned beneath the jacket. Heeseung took center, mic hot, eyes sharp, and voice deep as he delivered the iconic intro—

“It’s burning up.”

He threw his blazer back as fireworks burst across the stage and the floor vibrated beneath your boots.

You were panting—lungs burning, hair clinging to your neck with sweat, the adrenaline still rushing in your veins as you and Jake locked eyes for a brief second.

He grinned wide, chest heaving. You smiled back, still catching your breath, and the moment was fleeting before the wave of chaos returned.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” your stylist called over the music, already tugging at your sleeve to guide you toward the wings. Behind you, managers and stage directors were clapping, voices overlapping in excited praise.

“You all did amazing,” one of the head stylists beamed, handing you a towel. “Get your coats on, we’re heading back to the idol section before they start announcing the next category!”

“(Y/N), drink water, now,” your manager instructed sternly, already unscrewing the bottle cap for you.

Jake appeared beside you, now with his hair pushed back and blazer draped over one shoulder as he ruffled his bangs. “That was insane,” he exhaled, still breathless.

“Dude,” Sunghoon chimed in from behind, clapping Jake’s back. “You looked like you were about to jump into another dimension.”

Jake only laughed in response, shameless. “I was just in character.”

The golden spotlight caught the shimmer of your black gown as the camera briefly panned in your direction—long, flowy and cinched perfectly at the waist, with a slit running high on your thigh that added just the right amount of drama.

Your skin glowed under the soft lights, eyeshadow sparkling with hints of pink and gold, lips glossed to perfection. Your hair cascaded down your back like a curtain of midnight, strands framing your face delicately.

You offered a graceful wave, smile poised and elegant, posture straight as your hand rose in greeting.

Next to you, Chaewon leaned slightly into frame and mirrored your wave, wearing a pale champagne dress that glittered under the lights. “Smile, they’re panning,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“I am,” you muttered back with a practiced smile still plastered on your face. “But I swear, if they caught me chewing just now…”

She snorted quietly as the camera moved back to the hosts. “They definitely did. Munching on that cheese cube like it was your last meal.”

You turned to her, eyes wide. “It was a good cheese cube, okay?”

“Sure,” she laughed softly, adjusting her shawl as the awards continued. “Oh—wait. Isn’t that the guy from The Moonlight Palace?”

Your eyes snapped to the screen as the male actor took the stage. “Oh my god, yes. I loved him in that. Didn’t he cry in the rain for like fifteen minutes?”

“Yes!” she whispered, clutching your wrist. “That scene made me sob.”

You giggled, still clapping politely as he gave his acceptance speech. “You know I almost auditioned for that drama, right?”

“No way.”

“Yeah, they had us read the scene where the girl chooses her duty over love. But I was in Japan for a show, so I couldn’t follow through.”

Chaewon stared at you in mock offense. “You could’ve been a royal princess?! Wasted potential!”

You shrugged with a smile. “I became a pop princess instead. Not too bad.”

Behind you, you could hear faint murmurs—Heeseung saying something about the last speech being way too long, and Soobin asking if they were going to feed them again before the final segment. Yeonjun made a sarcastic joke that made Sunghoon snort behind his hand.

You reached for your water glass as another award was announced—this time for Best OST. Chaewon whispered, “Ten bucks says it’s from that high school drama with the ghosts.”

You gave her a knowing smirk. “If it’s the one where the ghost falls in love with the student council president, then absolutely.”

The two of you burst into soft giggles when it actually was that drama. TXT applauded loudly behind you as the OST singer climbed the stage.

Just then, the camera panned past your table again for a crowd shot, and this time, you leaned slightly to the side so you could wave and smile—charming but cool, radiating elegance without trying too hard.

The lights dimmed slightly as the hosts returned to center stage, cue cards in hand and smiles wide.

“And now…” one of them said, their voice rising with excitement, “we’re getting into slightly controversial territory.”

You glanced at Chaewon beside you, both of you raising your brows. She leaned in, whispering, “Controversial? Is this the award where people start fighting on Twitter after?”

You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth. “Probably. Why do I feel like we’re about to get dragged into it?”

The hosts continued, chuckling softly to themselves as they exchanged looks. “This next award celebrates chemistry. The kind of chemistry that makes the audience question if it’s really just acting.”

Chaewon blinked at you. “Oh no. It’s the couple award, isn’t it?”

“Please no,” you whispered back, just as the host confirmed it with a grin.

“That’s right! This year’s Best Onscreen Couple goes to…” Dramatic pause. “…(Y/N) of LE SSERAFIM and Park Jisung of NCT Dream, for their run as MCs of Music Bank!”

Your mouth opened slightly in shock. “Wait, what?”

The crowd erupted into cheers, some laughter, and a few surprised gasps.

The second host chuckled, gesturing toward the two of you. “These two have shown incredible chemistry over the past few months—witty banter, effortless teamwork, and an undeniable charm that’s made Music Bank even more fun to watch.”

The first host added with a grin, “They’ve kept fans laughing, swooning, and sometimes questioning if they were really just MCs.”

You stared at the stage, mouth slightly open in disbelief as your members howled around you.

You blinked, slowly rising from your seat, trying not to trip in your heels as the camera panned back to your table.

You gave a polite smile, bowing slightly as you made your way toward the stage, heart hammering as you could feel the eyes of not just the room—but millions—watching.

At the top of the stairs, Jisung was already there, holding out his hand with a nervous smile. You hesitated for a split second—not because of him, but because you could feel every camera zooming in on that exact moment. But manners were manners.

So, you took his hand.

He helped you onto the stage, and together you walked toward the podium amidst thundering applause, lights blinding and the occasional shout of your ship name piercing through the crowd.

Meanwhile, at the table, things weren’t quite as calm.

Sunghoon side-eyed Jake, whose expression was… too composed. Too quiet. He sat straight, arms crossed over his lap, lips pressed into a line as he stared dead ahead at the stage.

“Dude…” Sunghoon muttered. “You okay?”

Jake didn’t answer. His jaw was tight.

Sunoo sighed, reaching for his water. “Not this again.”

Heeseung, from the other end of the table, leaned in and nudged Jake with his elbow. “You’ve got every right to be jealous, man.”

“I’m not jealous,” Jake said, eyes never leaving the screen. “I just think it's funny how I’ve been dating her for two years and now some random award’s pairing her up with someone else.”

Ni-ki winced at the sharpness in his voice, slowly leaning back into his chair. “Hyung… you’re not really fooling anyone.”

Soobin, who had been silently sipping water beside them, nodded in agreement. “It’s literally written all over your face.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Just exhaled slowly, shoulders falling as he kept his gaze on the massive LED screen above the stage—your face glowing under the lights, a soft, practiced smile on your lips as the camera zoomed in.

Next to you, Jisung stepped up to the mic, waving a little before speaking. “Wow, uh… honestly, we didn’t expect this at all. Being Music Bank MCs with (Y/N) has been really fun—she’s smart, quick, and always looks out for me behind the scenes. So… thank you for this. We’ll keep working hard!”

You adjusted the mic and bowed lightly before speaking, your tone warm and graceful. “Thank you so much. Being an MC has been a challenge, but doing it with Jisung made it easier. I’m really grateful to the Music Bank team for trusting us and to all the fans who tuned in each week. This is unexpected but really special, so thank you again.”

The crowd roared with applause, a few whistles mixed in as you both stepped down from the stage.

Jake let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as you reappeared on screen returning to your table, trophy in hand, members already teasing you playfully as you laughed it off.

“She looked happy,” Soobin said gently, glancing over.

“She did,” Jake agreed softly. “She always does when she’s working.”

Ni-ki leaned forward, glancing at him curiously. “You okay?”

Jake let out a short, bitter laugh—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, voice too light, too tight.

But his gaze lingered.

Because just then, you looked back. Only for a second—but long enough.

Long enough to find him in the crowd, sitting there behind your table, behind all the glittering lights and all the faces you’d grown used to scanning.

Your eyes met his, and the easy smile on your lips faltered—just slightly.

And Jake, despite the churning heat in his chest, forced one back. A soft, reassuring curve of his lips. Nothing too loud, nothing too heavy. Just enough to reassure you.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to Chaewon beside you, placing the trophy on the table as you leaned in to say something, smiling again.

Jake exhaled, leaned back in his seat, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Totally fine,” he mumbled under his breath.

The elevator doors closed with a soft ding, the golden glow of the hotel’s mood lighting reflecting off the mirrored walls as a quiet hum of motion filled the space.

You let out a deep breath, leaning tiredly against Jake’s chest. His arm was draped around you, firm but distant.

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him, but his gaze was fixed ahead. Silent. Tense.

The exhaustion of the night pressed heavier against your shoulders. The performances. The awards. The camera flashes. The endless smiles.

And now, this.

“…I didn’t think we’d win that award,” you said quietly, trying to fill the silence, eyes on the glowing numbers climbing slowly with each floor.

Jake didn’t answer. Not at first. He just hummed. Low. Dismissive.

You sighed, pushing off his chest just slightly, putting a bit of distance between your bodies. “Jake, don’t do that.”

His jaw ticked.

And then, finally, he spoke—voice quiet but tight, laced with the kind of restraint that told you he’d been thinking about it all night.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, eyes still glued to the changing floor number.

“…But I am mad.”

You blinked, the words hitting harder than they should’ve.

He continued before you could respond.

“I know it’s just a show award. I know it doesn’t mean anything. But watching you hold someone else’s hand and smile like that—knowing it had to be him, knowing you had to act like that while I sat there pretending it didn’t bother me?” His voice cracked slightly at the end before he swallowed it down. “It sucked.”

You stayed silent, watching his reflection in the mirrored wall. The way his brows were slightly furrowed. The way his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked… tired.

Hurt.

“I didn’t want it,” you said softly. “The award, I mean. Not like that. I was just as surprised.”

Jake glanced at you finally. Eyes unreadable. “You still took his hand.”

“I had to. It’s… it’s just media etiquette, Jake.”

“And I get that,” he said. “I do. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t sting.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because what could you say? He was right.

“…I looked for you,” you said after a pause. “When I got up there. I looked back, hoping you’d see I wasn’t comfortable. That it wasn’t real.”

Jake sighed, leaning back against the elevator wall as the numbers neared your floor.

“I saw,” he admitted. “That’s the only reason I didn’t walk out.”

You stepped toward him then, fingers curling around the edge of his jacket.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “But it’s just you. It’s always been just you.”

Jake stilled.

For a second, it was like the world paused with him—air tight, chest frozen, eyes locked on you like you’d just set something in motion he couldn’t take back. Then, slowly, his gaze flickered down to your lips. Once. Twice. And that was all it took.

He surged forward.

Your gasp was swallowed by the way his mouth crashed into yours, one hand finding your waist while the other curled behind your head, fingers sliding into your hair as if he’d been dying to touch you like this.

You clutched the front of his button-up shirt—creased and still faintly warm from stage lights—fingers curling in desperation, steadying yourself against him as your knees weakened at the sheer intensity.

His mouth moved against yours like a man starved.

Then his tongue brushed the seam of your lips, slow, deliberate, asking.

You opened for him—just a little, just enough.

And he groaned, low and quiet in the back of his throat, like the taste of you was everything he’d been trying so hard to forget.

The kiss deepened, rougher now, full of everything unspoken—every secret glance, every rehearsed smile, every time your pinkies brushed under a table during a shared schedule.

His hand splayed over your hip, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you, and all you could do was melt.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and Jake pulled back just an inch, forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved.

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to stay sane,” he whispered, voice wrecked, lips still brushing yours.

“I don’t want you to stay sane,” you whispered back. “I want you.”

The elevator dinged.

Jake didn’t even glance up. He grabbed your waist, careful of the slit in your black gown and the long trail behind you, and muttered a quick “Come on,” before tugging you out into the hallway like a man possessed. His hand never left your body, guiding you through the corridor with tunnel vision, jaw clenched, breaths uneven.

You barely had time to look around before he fished his key card from the inner pocket of his blazer, cursing softly when it caught on the lining.

“Manager-hyung really pulled through,” he mumbled—half in disbelief, half in gratitude—as the light on the suite door blinked green.

Then the door clicked open.

And before you could take a step inside, Jake had you.

He kicked the door shut behind you and immediately pressed you against it, his lips finding yours again with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs.

Your back hit the wood with a soft thud, your fingers already reaching for the buttons of his shirt, heart racing in your chest as his blazer slid off and hit the floor.

“You’re driving me insane,” he muttered between kisses, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down to your neck, where he nipped just below your ear. “You looked like sin walking across that red carpet tonight. Like you knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back.”

“I didn’t,” you breathed, fingers finally popping open the third button as your other hand tangled in his hair. “But I was hoping.”

Jake groaned, the sound had been ripped straight from his chest. His hands were everywhere now: gripping your hips, sliding along the exposed skin of your thigh, curling around your waist like he didn’t know where to touch first.

The kiss turned messier, hotter, as your bodies molded together between silk and heat and tension that had been building for far too long.

“Say it again,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek as his breath fanned over your skin.

You looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, fingers still working at his shirt until it hung open, skin warm and golden beneath the soft hotel lights.

“I want you, Jake,” you said. “I want all of you.”

He kissed you then—hard, deep, possessive—as if the words had undone whatever restraint he had left.

And this time, when he pulled away, his eyes were darker, voice rasped and low as he whispered: “Then let me give you everything.”

His lips were on you before you could reply—pressing soft, heated kisses to your neck, collarbone, and the curve of your shoulder as you stumbled toward the bed together, wrapped in half-buttoned silk and quiet gasps.

You barely made it to the edge before Jake’s hands found your hips, pushing you down with a low, breathless laugh against your skin.

“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along the side of your jaw as he hovered over you—shirt hanging open, lip gloss smudged across his throat from your earlier kisses.

Your back hit the mattress, and Jake followed, kissing down your body with a growing urgency—hot, slow, intentional—as if he needed to memorize every inch. His hands moved with him, one slipping down your side, the other reaching for the zipper hidden at your waist.

You felt the soft zip of your gown coming undone, your breath catching as the cool air met your flushed skin.

“Lift up for me,” Jake whispered, tapping your hip gently.

He slid the gown off your body in one careful motion, letting it fall with a soft shhhk onto the floor—and then he froze.

His breath hitched, lips parted as his gaze slowly dragged down your body. Black lace hugged your curves perfectly, delicate and soft and dangerous in the way it made his jaw tighten.

You looked up at him with wide, watery eyes—still glassy from the kiss, from the moment, from him.

“You wore this for me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. “Who else would I wear it for?”

Jake exhaled sharply, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face as he leaned in, kissing you again—slower this time, deeper.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and when he pulled back, his gaze dropped once more to the black lace stretched across your chest.

“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

And when he dipped his head, lips brushing the top edge of your bra, you arched into his touch—whimpering softly as his hands slid behind your back, steady and warm.

“Let me take my time with you tonight,” Jake murmured, voice trembling from how hard he was holding himself back. “Let me show you what it feels like to be wanted.”

His lips returned to your skin—featherlight at first, pressing tender kisses across your chest, each one lower than the last, more deliberate. You gasped softly as he reached the curve of your breast, his breath warm and shaky as he paused, just holding you.

You could feel the restraint in him—how badly he wanted to lose control, and how hard he was trying not to.

His fingers found the thin straps of your lace bra, slipping them down slowly—reverently—like he was unwrapping something precious. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching, almost asking for permission one more time.

When you gave the slightest nod, Jake exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“God, you’re…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his voice dissolving into a broken sound of awe as he leaned in and pressed his lips over your heart—right there, in the center of your chest.

You whimpered, your hands tangling into his hair as he moved lower, kissing a trail along your skin, slower now, mouth opening against the softness of your body with a kind of devotion that made you dizzy.

His hands were everywhere—one steadying your waist, the other brushing down your side, mapping the shape of you like he was memorizing what it meant to finally have you like this.

His lips moved carefully, hungrily, lingering against every inch he exposed as the lace fell away.

“You drive me crazy,” Jake whispered, voice hoarse. “I think about you all the time. On stage. In the studio. Late at night when I can’t sleep. You don’t even know.”

He kissed lower, his mouth dragging a path down your stomach, every brush of his lips worshipful. Like he was savoring the moment, like he’d waited too long for this.

When he reached the waistband of your lace panties, he paused—just long enough to meet your eyes.

Then, in one swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled them down your thighs, not bothering to slow or look away. His gaze never left yours, not even when you whimpered from the sudden exposure. Jake’s breath hitched.

“Fuck, baby…” he murmured, voice reverent, “you’re so beautiful like this.”

He spread your thighs apart with ease, fingers curling over your knees before he lowered his mouth and dove in—with no hesitation, no teasing, just raw, desperate hunger.

The first swipe of his tongue made your back arch. He groaned like he’d just tasted heaven, his hands locking onto your thighs to hold you still as he ate you out like a man starved.

Long, deep strokes of his tongue mixed with slow circles around your clit, letting your needy whines guide his rhythm.

You reached for his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he moaned against you, the vibration making your legs shake.

“You taste so good,” Jake murmured in between kisses. “Been dying to do this. Thinking about it every night.”

He flattened his tongue against you, dragging it in slow, deliberate laps while he pressed two fingers inside, curling them perfectly. You cried out—loud—but Jake only smirked, eyes glinting up at you with something feral.

“Shh, baby,” he said, lips slick with you. “You gotta be quiet, yeah? You want the whole floor to hear how good I’m making you feel?”

You bit your lip, trying to stay silent, but when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, all control vanished.

“Jake—!” you gasped, hips stuttering, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

He groaned again, tongue relentless, fingers working you perfectly until you were writhing under him, your orgasm creeping up hard and fast.

“I got you,” he whispered, mouth hot against your skin. “Come for me. Let me taste all of it.”

And with one more flick—one more curl of his fingers—you broke.

Your body tensed, then shattered, waves of pleasure crashing through you as Jake held you through every second of it, mouth still working you gently, savoring every drop of your high like it was the only thing that mattered.

Only when your body went limp, breath ragged and thighs still shaking, did he finally pull away—lips swollen, chin wet, eyes dark with want.

He climbed back up your body, kissed your lips slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“I’m not done,” he whispered against your mouth. “Not even close.”

You whimpered, the taste of yourself still lingering on his lips, and it only made the ache between your legs return sharper, deeper. He groaned softly as you kissed him harder, greedy—your hands already working at the buckle of his belt with trembling urgency.

The clink of metal echoed in the room, followed by the soft rustle of hiis pants hitting the floor. Jake’s white shirt, already half-unbuttoned from earlier, slid down his arms, revealing his flushed chest, the lean cut of his torso, and the soft, defined outline of abs that flexed with every breath.

He leaned back against the headboard, legs spread slightly, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips when he saw the way your eyes dropped to his boxers—the thick outline straining against the fabric, begging for your attention.

“You want to take care of me, baby?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You nodded quickly, crawling over to him as heat burned down your spine. “Let me… please. I want to taste you.”

His jaw clenched at your eagerness. “Then be a good girl and come get it.”

You leaned in, lips trailing kisses down his chest—slow, open-mouthed—feeling the way his muscles jumped beneath your touch. He hissed softly when your tongue dipped just under the waistband of his boxers, fingers curling into the sheets.

Your hand cupped him through the fabric, palming him gently, and Jake cursed under his breath. He was already so hard for you, twitching against your touch. You looked up at him, waiting—wordlessly asking for permission.

He gave a breathless nod, pupils blown wide. “Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

You peeled his boxers down slowly, and his cock sprang free—flushed, thick, tip already leaking for you. The sight alone made your mouth water.

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave a tentative stroke, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to the head, your tongue flicking out to taste the bead of precum. Jake groaned, hips twitching.

“Fuck, baby—just like that,” he rasped, voice shaky. “You’re so perfect.”

You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, letting your tongue swirl around him as you sucked gently, working your way down inch by inch.

He was big—too big to take all at once—but you didn’t rush. Your hands kept a steady rhythm where your mouth couldn’t reach, spit slicking him up as you bobbed your head and moaned around him.

Jake let out a strangled noise, head falling back against the headboard. One hand threaded into your hair, guiding you with soft but firm pressure.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he groaned. “Pretty little mouth stretched around my cock. Shit—keep going, baby, you’re doing so well.”

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, faster, loving the way his thighs tensed beneath your hands, the way his abs flexed every time you moaned. His voice was breathless, cracking around curses and praise.

“Gonna lose it if you keep this up,” he warned, biting his lip as he watched you. “Wanna come inside you instead, baby. Want to feel you. Let me—fuck, let me fuck you.”

You pulled off with a pop, lips swollen, eyes hazy with lust.

“Then take me,” you whispered, climbing onto his lap. “I’m yours.”

Jake’s hands were on your hips in an instant, gripping tight, like he was grounding himself—like if he didn’t hold onto you, he’d lose control completely. His cock throbbed against your inner thigh as you straddled him, your core slick and aching, already throbbing to be filled.

“You’re so wet already,” he groaned, running the head of his cock through your folds, dragging it over your clit just to hear your breath hitch. “All this for me?”

You nodded desperately, nails digging into his shoulders. “Jake, please…”

That was all he needed.

He lined himself up and pushed in—slow at first, but you were so ready for him, he slid in with ease, stretching you perfectly. Both of you moaned in unison, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the dim room as he bottomed out, deep and thick inside you.

“Fuck,” Jake rasped, head falling back. “You feel like heaven. So tight around me. Shit, baby…”

You began to move, rolling your hips against his, setting a rhythm that made both of you dizzy.

Jake’s hands guided your pace—one wrapped firmly around your waist, the other slipping up to your chest, palming your breast as you rode him like you were meant to be there, like this was the only place you belonged.

“Look at you,” he panted, voice low and wrecked. “Bouncing on my cock like that… you’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his as you moved faster, whimpering with every drag and push. The way he filled you—how deep he was, how good he felt—was too much.

The way he kissed you between moans, how his teeth dragged against your bottom lip, how he whispered your name like a prayer.

“Jake,” you gasped, “I’m close—please—”

“Come for me,” he growled, slamming his hips up to meet yours, driving even deeper. “I want to feel you fall apart on me, baby. Right here, on my cock.”

But he wasn’t done.

Still hard inside you, he flipped you over in one smooth motion—pressing you down into the mattress, your legs wrapping around his waist. His pace was rougher now, more desperate. He pounded into you like he couldn’t get deep enough, like he needed to mark you from the inside out.

“Fuck, baby—gonna fill you up,” he gasped, his thrusts erratic now. “Wanna come inside you—wanna make a mess of you.”

You nodded, dazed and breathless. “Do it, Jake. Please. I want it.”

And with one last groan—low, guttural, broken—he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, warmth flooding your core as he held you tight, trembling with the force of it.

Your back arched at the sensation, a whimper spilling from your lips as his cum filled you, hot and thick, the sheer volume of it making you shudder.

“Jake—ah, f-fuck,” you gasped, overwhelmed by the heat, the pressure, the stretch of him still buried inside.

But instead of pulling out, Jake only growled low in his throat and shifted—grabbing your thighs and folding you in half with a firm, possessive grip.

He pressed your knees to your chest, his hips grinding deeper, impossibly so, until you were pinned beneath him, utterly open and helpless.

“Mmm—Jake, I can feel it… it’s too much—” you whimpered, hands clutching at his forearms as he began to move again, slow but deliberate, fucking his cum deeper into you.

“That’s the point,” he hissed, sweat dripping down his temple as he hovered above you. “Gotta make sure it stays, baby. Gotta fuck it in real deep.”

His tone was different now—filthier, rougher, all control gone. His hips snapped forward in short, hard thrusts, balls slapping against you with every stroke as your slick mixed with his release, messy and obscene.

You moaned louder, unable to hold back as your body trembled from overstimulation.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” Jake groaned, breath ragged, “clenching around me like you don’t wanna let me go. You want more, huh? Want me to fill you up again?”

You cried out at the thought, overstimulated and aching, but the way he kept pounding into you—deep, unrelenting—had your body responding without thought.

“Y-Yes,” you sobbed. “Want it. Want all of it.”

He kissed your jaw, your neck, your shoulder, everything he could reach while pressing down harder—completely folding you in a mating press, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you over and over again. He was so deep you could barely breathe, could barely think.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice cracking from how feral he sounded. “Say it. Say you’re mine while I’m fucking my cum into you.”

“I’m yours—fuck, Jake—I’m yours,” you cried, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as another orgasm coiled tight in your belly.

“That’s it,” he groaned, losing himself in you all over again. “Gonna give you more. Gonna stuff you full until it’s dripping out of you—until you can’t take anymore.”

His hand found your clit, rubbing harsh, tight circles that pushed you right over the edge. You came again—harder this time, body shaking under him as he kept thrusting, chasing his second high, lost in the feel of your pulsing walls gripping him tight.

And then he cursed sharply—a broken, breathless sound—before slamming deep one last time, holding you down as he spilled into you again.

The sensation made you cry out, so full, too full, warm and wet and overflowing.

You were barely catching your breath when Jake slowly pulled out, his cum dripping from your swollen folds, messy and obscene. Your body trembled, overstimulated and dazed. But Jake wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Fuck—look at that,” he groaned, watching it spill out of you with hunger still burning in his eyes. “It’s leaking out already… guess I’ll just have to fuck it back in.”

You whined helplessly as he gripped your hips, dragging you down the bed until your legs dangled over the edge.

Then—before you could even plead or prepare—he flipped you onto your stomach, ass in the air, spine arching as he pulled your hips up and apart.

“Jake—wait—” you gasped, voice weak, face pressed against the sheets.

“No,” he growled. “I want to see you fall apart again.”

He slammed back in with one brutal thrust.

You screamed.

Your hands clawed at the sheets as he buried himself to the hilt from behind, hitting deeper than before, the new angle merciless.

His grip on your waist was bruising, relentless, as he fucked into you hard, fast, obscene. Skin slapping, wetness gushing—the sound of it echoed shamelessly in the room.

“Shit,” Jake cursed under his breath, watching the way your slick coated him. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. So messy. You feel that?”

You whimpered out a shaky yes, barely able to think.

He leaned down, chest pressed to your back, voice like a growl in your ear. “Bet you’re gonna squirt for me, huh? You’re close, aren’t you? So fucking sensitive after I filled you up twice.”

He reached around, fingers finding your clit as he pounded into you from behind, hard and sharp. The stimulation had your legs shaking, body jerking beneath him, cries turning incoherent as pressure built fast—too fast.

“Jake—Jake, I’m gonna—”

“That’s right,” he rasped, thrusts brutal and deep. “Fucking let go. I want to see it. Want to make this pretty little pussy squirt all over me.”

And then he angled his hips just right—his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside—and his fingers never stopped circling your clit. You screamed his name as your body seized up and—you broke.

A gush of wetness sprayed from you, soaking the sheets, your thighs, Jake’s stomach. You screamed again, face buried in the mattress, thighs trembling violently as Jake fucked you through it, moaning in awe at the mess you made.

“Goddamn—look at you,” he groaned, breathless, watching the way you squirted for him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re fucking perfect.”

He slowed down only slightly, thrusts still deep and deliberate as your walls fluttered and pulsed around him.

You were shaking under him—overstimulated, wrecked, dripping.

And Jake kissed down your spine, gently this time, whispering praises as he finally pulled out, cum and slick spilling down your thighs, a mess neither of you cared to clean up just yet.

“Can’t believe you just did that,” he murmured against your skin, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you back into his lap. “You made such a mess for me, baby. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You lay against his chest, still trembling, face flushed and skin sticky with sweat and slick. But it was the feeling of his cock—still half-hard, slick between your folds—pressing right against your clit that made you let out a soft, broken whimper.

Jake groaned low in his throat, his hips twitching up instinctively at the sound. “Shit… baby, don’t make that noise. You’re gonna make me hard again.”

You rubbed against him, just slightly, your sensitive core gliding over his length. It was too much, too soon—the overstimulation making your body jolt with every twitch, but the friction was too addictive to stop.

“Jakey…” you whimpered again, your voice thin, tears still clinging to your lashes. “It’s too much…”

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple, hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “I know, baby. I’ve got you. You did so well for me. Let me take care of you now, yeah?”

Slowly, gently, he helped you lift off him, your legs wobbling as you winced at the feeling of him sliding out, the mixture of both your releases dripping down your thighs.

“Easy,” Jake murmured, catching you before you could slump forward. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

He picked you up effortlessly and carried you to the bathroom, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as he sat you down on the edge of the tub.

He ran warm water with one hand, the other never leaving your body. He was so gentle—so careful—like you were something fragile and precious.

Once the tub was filled, he eased you into it, sliding in behind you so your back rested against his chest. His hands moved over you slowly, washing you with the softest touch—rinsing between your legs, wiping away the mess he made, murmuring apologies and praises all at once.

“You were so good for me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “So fucking beautiful. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

You leaned back against him with a soft sigh, letting the warmth and his touch lull you into comfort.

“I love you,” you whispered, fingers curling around his.

He blinked, stunned for a beat—then smiled, bright and warm, the kind of smile that reached his eyes.

“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing you again. “And after this bath, I’m tucking you into bed, making sure you drink water, and cuddling you until you fall asleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching as you leaned into his kiss. “Sounds perfect.”

“Only the best for my baby,” he said, grinning. “Now c’mon, let me wash your hair.”

The soft warmth of sunlight peeked through the half-closed curtains, streaks of gold dancing lazily across the room. You winced a little, blinking against the light as you stirred under the tangled sheets.

Everything ached—your thighs, your hips, your back—but it was the good kind of ache. The kind that left a smile tugging at your lips the moment the memories of last night came rushing back.

You moved gently, and the first thing you saw was a mess of tousled blonde hair on the pillow beside you—Jake, face half-buried against your shoulder, one arm draped lazily around your waist. His breathing was slow, peaceful, lips slightly parted and lashes fanned out against his cheeks.

Your heart swelled.

He looked so soft like this. So warm. So real.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, careful not to wake him. But the motion must’ve stirred him anyway, because his brows knit slightly, voice thick and raspy from sleep.

“Baby,” he mumbled, eyes barely cracking open. “Why are you awake? It’s so early…”

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep,” you whispered, brushing his messy hair back. “I just wanted to take something real quick.”

Jake groaned sleepily, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he shifted closer, nuzzling into your skin, his arm tightening protectively around your waist. “Mmm… 'kay. Just come back.”

Your eyes softened as you glanced down at your intertwined hands—his much bigger one wrapped loosely around yours, both of your fingers still wearing the simple silver promise rings you exchanged months ago. They gleamed faintly in the morning light, sitting snugly on your fourth fingers.

Smiling, you lifted your phone with your free hand and gently positioned it just above the bed. You lined up the frame—your hand next to his, rings in perfect focus, the sleepy blur of blonde hair and sunlit sheets behind them.

You stared at the photo for a moment after capturing it—heart warm, cheeks full of love—and you typed slowly, carefully, on your account on Weverse, the same one Jake secretly followed even though he’d never admit it

Jake shifted behind you, eyes still closed. “You better not be posting my bedhead,” he muttered sleepily, his voice muffled against your skin.

You laughed softly, turning to kiss him again. “Too late. But don’t worry, you look like the love of my life.”

Jake cracked one eye open, lips twitching into the laziest, fondest smirk. “Management’s gonna kill you,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

You shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Well, everything else that happened?” You leaned in close, your nose brushing his, your voice a playful whisper against his lips. “That’s off the record.”

Jake chuckled, pulling you back into his chest with a quiet, satisfied groan. “Damn right it is.”

You nuzzled into him, your ring glinting in the sunlight, his arm wrapped tight around your waist like he’d never let go. The sheets still smelled like heat and sweat and the lingering sweetness of the night before, but the room was calm now—quiet and golden.

A moment frozen in time. Yours and his. Just the two of you.

⤷ read part 1 here !

⤷ permanent tagllist — @m1kkso

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ptergwen · 3 days ago

Note

saw the post for ideas 👀… yknow those vlogs peter would film in homecoming? what if the only exception in strange’s spell was to let him keep a copy of those films of you and him/memories of the team. he rewatches them when he needs to feel like someone is there with him eating dinner, on holidays, a rough night of patrol, etc :(

always belong to you ❤︎‬

ask box | taglist | blurb masterlist | main masterlist

w/c: 2.0k

warnings: suggestive jokes, doctor strange being a bully, angst

a/n: ugh you know i love an angst/fluff combo, i lowkey got carried away if you can't tell by the word count lmao but i think y'all will like :) p.s. i have more things brewing so stay tuned!

"ok, so, we just got on the plane. we're taking off in... i don't know, soon."

the camera pans to you half asleep on peter's shoulder. you hide your face in your boyfriend's flannel, grinning nevertheless. "y/n's tired. it's early," peter tells the camera. "but i'm excited," you mumble. he beams and hugs you to his side. "me too. we all are."

you wrap your arms around peter's bicep and rest your chin on his shoulder. "so, where are you the most excited to go? london, right?" peter looks over at you, his hand rubbing up and down your side. "mhm. what about you, venice?" you ask him.

"definitely venice. i’ve been practicing my italian," peter says. you move closer to the camera so you can talk into it. "yeah, he actually learned some italian. and french, for when we go to paris." you smile sleepily. "city of love," peter adds. you peck his lips, and he smiles against yours.

you never actually made it to paris. god, that whole trip was a disaster. it's a miracle his camera even survived it, since most of his stuff literally got blown up. your plans kept getting changed, and peter barely got to spend any time with you or his friends because he got dragged into doing spider-man stuff, spider-man stuff that put everybody in danger.

but it's not spider-man's fault that he lost you — it's peter parker's.

"you've been practicing your british accent. that's something," peter jokes. "oh yeah, true. i also learned british slang. i wanna be cultured like you, innit?" you do an over-exaggerated accent, which peter chuckles at. "c'mon, i never even leave new york. except germany that one time, and..." he lowers his voice. "space."

"what are you doing?" mj pops up behind peter. her, ned, and betty are in the row behind yours. you got stuck next to flash, who's been snapping at one of the flight attendants for something. "just making video diaries of the trip," peter explains. "ooh, aren't those for may?" ned enthusiastically asks from the aisle seat. "hi, may! everybody say hi to peter's aunt!"

"hi, peter's aunt!" betty waves. "sup, aunt milf," flash chimes in. peter clenches his jaw. "hi, may. your nephew woke me up," mj deadpans. she manages a smile. "i don't know how i’m gonna get any sleep around the lovebirds."

"i'm gonna sleep, too. i'm still kinda tired," you tell mj through a yawn, squeezing peter's bicep. "you should try to sleep, darling. there's gonna be a pretty big time difference when we land." you lay your head on peter's shoulder again with a smile that he returns even bigger.

"okay, i will. don't wanna be jet lagged," peter agrees, turning the camera to himself. "well, that's it for now, may. love you! see you when we land!"

"bye, may!" you echo, peter resting his head against yours as the video ends.

you were both so happy back then. now, you don't even remember who peter is. all he has left of you is memories, ironically enough. it's all he has left of any of his loved ones. may is gone, his only family. his best friends have no memory of him, and neither does his team.

but if peter had just thought things through before he asked doctor strange to cast that spell, he wouldn't have needed to cast a second one, and the world wouldn't have forgotten peter parker.

peter wishes he could make you remember him on nights like these, when he's missing you extra. he'd kept to himself all day in his classes — he doesn't really engage with anyone unless he's in the suit. patrol was quiet tonight, though. so as peter lays on his creaky bed at the end of the day, all by himself in his cramped apartment, he's never felt more lonely.

he thought it might make him feel better to watch some of his old videos. his camera is one of the only things he'd kept from before, and it has videos with everyone on it. he watches them sometimes so he can hear your voice, see your face.

"peter! you look so cute in your little lab coat," you say behind the camera. "babe, you can't call me cute in here," peter groans. you zoom in on him setting up some test tubes. "yeah, you think you're so tough cause you're an avenger. spider-man can't be cute, he's too big and scary," you tease.

"maybe not scary, but he's big for sure." peter smirks at the camera. "i can confirm," you smirk at him. peter's eyes widen. "woah, y/n. i meant, like, my arms. you're so unprofessional today, i think i'm gonna need a new camerawoman," peter shakes his head playfully, pouring something into a beaker.

"you can't replace me. i'm irreplaceable," you insist. "yeah. i know you are," peter says, and means it. he can make out a smile in your voice. "anyways, since you're so tough, why don't you take off the coat? and the goggles? i guess you don't need them."

"i can't! if doctor strange comes back and sees, he'll say i’m-"

"-violating safety precautions and being stupidly, dangerously irresponsible."

doctor strange lands on the linoleum floor of the lab, his cloak trailing behind him. peter has his goggles on his head, so he quickly pulls them down. you prop the camera up against a stool subtly, all three of you coming into the frame.

"we're dealing with the quantum realm, parker, something neither you nor i completely understand. let's not take our chances." strange puts on his own pair of lab goggles, giving both you and peter a stern look. you make a face at the camera. "yes, sir. i mean, stephen. i mean... yeah, stephen," peter stutters.

you take his hand to calm his nerves. he laces your fingers together with a grateful smile.

"where's banner?" doctor strange asks. "still not here yet. scott and i started setting up, though," peter answers. "you're certainly no world renowned scientists, but fine. i trust you know enough to handle glassware," strange says sarcastically.

"and what have you been doing, practicing your magic tricks?" you ask doctor strange. "they're not tricks, it's a mystic art. but yes, actually. things work differently in the quantum realm than they do here," he replies, narrowing his eyes at you.

"thanks for clearing that up. wow, you know a lot about this stuff. i can see why they made you sorcerer supreme," you say smugly. doctor strange closes his eyes, visibly irritated. "no, they chose wong. you know that," he says in a monotone. peter bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile.

you'd naturally met the avengers over the years you and peter were dating. everybody loved you because peter loved you, and they loved him. doctor strange was another story. peter hardly felt like strange even tolerated him, let alone his girlfriend he was constantly getting humbled by.

you figured that if he did it to peter, someone should do it to him. peter always appreciated you having his back in those moments.

you and strange had your banter, though, and he did love peter in his own way. clearly, considering that he brainwashed the whole world for him on multiple occasions.

"is there a reason you're here exactly?" doctor strange questions you. "yeah, to watch you make pym particles." you shrug. he sighs. "make– it doesn't work that way." doctor strange turns to peter. "what is she doing here?" he crosses his arms over his chest, his cloak mirroring his stance.

"y/n's always here," peter innocently replies, swinging your connected hands back and forth.

"yeah, she's one of us!"

"who said that?" doctor strange demands, looking around the lab.

"it's me, i’m tiny. hold on." scott suddenly grows from the size of an ant to his normal, human size, appearing next to the three of you. doctor strange and his cloak jump backwards.

"have you been here this whole time?" strange's voice raises in anger. "um, yeah. pay attention much?" scott scoffs. "pete already told you, we're setting up. hey, y/n/n." you and scott fist bump. "pete," he claps peter's shoulder. peter nods at him. "hey, scott. keep up the good work."

"solidarity among the bug men, isn't that sweet?" doctor strange dryly remarks. scott points a finger at him. "listen, wizard. you should be nicer to me. i’m your ticket to this whole quantum thing."

the two of them start to argue, so you and peter sneak away. you grab peter's camera again and film him as he finishes setting up for their experiment.

"i can't believe we got all that on video," peter laughs out. "yeah, that was some avengers reality tv shit," you agree. peter tightens more test tubes in place. some have pym particles in them, others empty. you suddenly take peter's chin between your fingers, prompting him to stop what he's doing and look up.

"you know what i was trying to say before? i know you're tough, and strong, but i’ll never just see you as spider-man. you're peter."

his doe eyes lock with yours behind the camera.

"and you might be spider-man to the world, but you'll always be my peter."

peter stops the video. he rewinds it to the part where you call him your peter, and then rewinds it again. tears begin to well up in his eyes. at the time, it was just something sweet you said. you could never have known how much it would mean to him now.

peter curls up on his pillow. he's gripping the camera with both hands, holding on tightly like it's you, because it's the closest thing he has to you. tears drip down his face and land on the screen as the rest of the video plays.

"thanks, baby. i'm not that strong, though. i just try to act like it because i’m scared. this all gets pretty intimidating sometimes," peter admits. "i know, but you deserve to be here. they need you here, and i think you're strong for coming," you reassure him. you flip the camera so it's showing your face and the back of peter's head.

peter kisses your cheek, then your lips lovingly. he can't tell watching it back, but he assumes he tries for more because you giggle and turn your face away.

"okay, guys! we hashed everything out!" scott calls in the background. "something of that sort," doctor strange mutters. "and y/n, since you insist on being here..." the cloak of levitation flies over to you and forms a makeshift hand, holding out a lab coat and goggles. "we have a dress code."

peter snickers at you. you put down the camera and take the lab gear, glaring at doctor strange, who smiles wickedly. strange's cloak floats behind you and taps on the camera lens, alerting his attention to it. his smile drops.

"are you two idiots recording in my lab?" doctor strange asks you and peter. "bruce's lab," scott corrects him. "yeah, it's mr. bruce's. i mean, doctor bruce's. i mean, doctor banner's-" peter cuts himself off when doctor strange comes marching over. he narrowly avoids bumping into him.

strange's cloak swipes the camera off the lab desk. you reach for it, but the cloak floats higher.

"well, until mr. doctor bruce banner shows up, i’m in charge, and this is strictly confidential," doctor strange decides.

"but we're not gonna show anyone, it's just for memories!" peter defends. "bruce always lets us record," you add. strange grabs the camera. "coat and goggles on. now," he reprimands you, scowling at the camera as he shuts it off.

peter actually finds himself laughing when the video ends. he misses you and his team so much, but watching his old videos has been comforting. he's exhausted now, both physically and emotionally, so he gets under the covers and lets himself drift off to the sounds of your voice as the next video plays.

there's a piece of you in each one, and a piece of peter parker, too. the real peter parker — yours. he'll always belong to you, even if you don't know it.

tags

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety @girlinlovewithlove @marvelgurl @superlegend216 @angelinabelovedballerina @moniffazictress11 @superlegend216 @doubledizzy22 @mystic-writings @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lnmp89 @starlight-starks @hollandsangel @ellebutnotwoods @tayyx @valluvsu @ronweasleysslut @winchestersgirl222 @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @niktwazny303 @thismessymasterpiece @alina02 @itsjanedeluca @idkeverythingistakennn @prancerrparkerr @urfayevorite @getwellsoontana @deanswifeyy @marvelita86 @uhhhj13iguess

#peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker writing #mcu peter x reader #mcu peter parker #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland writing #spiderman fluff #spiderman x reader

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rina-sakai · 2 days ago

Text

INCEPTIO ఌ︎. 𝗶 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

❪ 好想讀取你的心 ❫

— IN WHICH you fall in love with a boy five years your senior.

— SUMMARY you hadn't meant to fall in love with park sunghoon, your older brother's best friend. but somewhere along the lines of his sweet personality and devastating smile, you did.. and you fell hard.

— THE PLAYLIST for a better read, i recommend listening to the hidden love soundtrack

— NOTE sorry for the long wait, but she's finally here 🫣 i hope you all like it!

𓊆 ℳy 𝒞atalog | the chapter-list 𓊇 park sunghoon x fem!rea ∘ fluff skinship angst ⟢ reblogs appreciated! ― @rina-sakai

your heart felt as if it dropped to the floor. you wanted the ground to swallow you whole and let you drown in the guilt of your actions.

the phone clicked, signaling jaemin had hung up, the beep ringing through your ears. he hadn't even given you time to process what he told you.

then, a ping.

"it's your fault, go fix it yn." the text read from jaemin.

he's right, it is your fault.

but you were never good at apologies.

you didn't message sunghoon. not that night, not the day after, not even two days later.

he probably wants space right now.

but in all actuality, you were just too cowardly to admit you were wrong.

some selfish part of your mind hoped sunghoon would reach out first, just like he always did. it would be easier for you to apologize then, because it would mean he still wanted you in his life.

but a message from him never came, and the uncertainty clouding your mind was enough to scare you away from apologizing.

so you didn't.

you rummaged through your closet, trying to find a semi-decent outfit to put on.

the closet was a mess, clothes strewn around, dirty and clean. consequences of not putting them away properly.

boxes littered the closet, full of random things that you had yet to pick apart and organize.

the apartment was silent, save for your incessant shuffling around the small lighted space.

you had an interview at incheon university student cafe, and you wanted to look somewhat presentable, even if your mind was a mess.

seohyun and eunha would be arriving together tomorrow. you hoped their presence could take your mind off of what happened— or push you towards the one thing you knew you should do.

seohyun and eunha had always been grounding forces in your life. where seohyun was more blunt, eunha always stepped in, firm but soft.

your hand landed on something hard, eyebrows furrowing.

what is this?

your hands felt around for a bit, before landing on a silk opening. you pulled the object out.

a small blue box.

sunghoon's graduation gift. in the midst of moving and the commotion of your mind, you had completely forgotten about it.

you examined the box as if it was dropped off in the mail with no return address, and not given to you by someone who was like your closest family.

your eyes traveled to a small white box in the cramped corner of the closet. your mind replaying the moment sunghoon had peered into the box. the way his gaze broke, before hardening.

then they trailed to the penguin sat perched on a shelf. it was still in a box, perfect as the day you first brought it.

your eyes looked back at the small box in your hands. debating on whether to throw the gift into the box as the others, and leave them as memories of the past.

dramatic? yes. rational to your mind in this moment? also yes.

your thumb slid over the tiny slit opening, hesitating. sunghoon gave no indicator of what the gift could be, just handed it to you as if it was nothing, and slipped his hand back into harin's like it belonged there.

exhaling, you finally opened the small box. your breath caught in your throat.

the tiny pendant caught the light as if it was born from it, delicate and gleaming.

it was heart shaped, the middle was cursively engraved with your initials, etched perfectly, as if someone had did it by hand.

your shaky hand reached up, gently touching the necklace like it was porcelain, as if it would break if you did more.

regret clawed at you, filling up your lungs as a sob threatened to break through your lips.

jaemin had been forced by your mom to take you out with them. it was becoming like a ritual: jaemin would beg your mom to go out, she'd tell him that you had to come, and jaemin— who would argue at first— eventually stopped fighting it.

the three of you walked through the busy mall. jaemin—animated as always— was currently talking you and sunghoon's ears off about a new movie he wanted to see.

from the corner of your eye, something gleamed. you turned your head, curious eyes landing on a brightly-lit jewelry store.

you didn't wait for the older boys, breaking away from them and walking inside to look at the jewels.

sunghoon was the first to notice you gone, like sixth sense, he could feel when your presence was no longer around. he whipped his head around a few times, catching your pastel colored bag leaning over a case.

he alerted jaemin and the two boys followed suit behind you. jaemin's attention was instantly taken by a shiny watch he spotted to his left.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, jaemin had always been too easily distracted. so he approached you by himself, peering into the clear glass. "this one is so pretty!" you said, pointing to a heart shaped pendant in the display.

sunghoon looked at the pendant, his eyes landing on the four-hundred dollar price tag. "it's also expensive," he pointed out.

you stared at it for a moment, entranced. then you spoke, your voice lower but determined, "i'll save one hundred dollars a year! then, when i'm eighteen, i can afford it."

sunghoon smiled wistfully at your childish words, gently ruffling your hair. you were always such a bright child, maybe a bit naive, but at least you got to be a kid, and sunghoon was a bit envious of that.

jaemin, who had seemed to get his brain back, approached the two of you. he gave you a look, then flicked your forehead.

"what did i tell you about running off little demon?"

you stared at the pendant, taking in the gift with awe and concern. had he really spent four-hundred dollars on this gift?

you had been treating him like he was nothing more than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe. yet, he still made an effort to be there, to know your interests, and support you. even from afar.

you're such an idiot.

you spotted a small folded piece of paper taped inside the box, you sat the box down gently and pulled it out.

congratulations yn. save your money and buy yourself something nice :).

your lips thinned into a line, tears clinging to your lashes, but you refused to let them fall.

you closed the necklace, a bit harsher than intended, tilting your head back to stop the tears.

now's not the time. you have an interview.

you stumbled out of your apartment, barely on time for your interview. you had finally managed to slip on a decent outfit, a skirt, and a simple white top.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, the pendant shining under the light of the sun.

at first, you debated putting on the necklace. but it seemed to stare at you from it's position in the closet. taunting you, daring you to put it on, to accept the gift even though you didn't accept any of the ones before.

you picked it up, ready to throw it in the bin with all the other forgotten gifts.

though you felt yourself hesitating. this gift held deeper meaning to you. it was the first—and biggest, promise you've ever made to yourself.

you've dreamt about the moment you would hold this necklace in your hand, the day it would be yours, like all your hard work through high school had finally paid off.

you didn't know why this tiny necklace held so much meaning to you, even after four years, but it was a promise to yourself that you intended on keeping.

so, with reluctance, you snapped the clasp around your neck.

you exited the apartment building, it was a nice sunny day. you decided to walk instead of taking your car, it finally gave you time to take in the city for the first time since moving.

you had been in incheon for a total of 4 days, and you had yet to see the light of day due to unpacking (and the immense turmoil you were going through).

seohyun had took it upon herself to amazon prime a bunch of random—and mostly unnecessary— household items.

you were pretty sure there were going to be boxes stacked outside the house by the time you got back.

you pushed the café doors open, the bell ringing gently. the smell of coffee and pastries permeated the air gently, comforting.

it was busy, which made sense since the start of the school year was nearing in just two weeks.

you approached the counter, standing awkwardly to the side. you had never been good at making friends. seohyun and eunha were purely by chance.

a boy approached you, he looked soft, sweet. his features boyish, maybe around your age. he smiled, a dimple on his left cheek appearing.

just like sunghoon. your brain sait it before you could stop it.

this isn't about sunghoon—now is not the time to have an inner crisis, you're literally at your interview.

"you must be lee yn, right?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. you nodded, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

"cool, i'm jungwon, follow me." he said, opening a door. you stepped through the door, to the back of the cafe.

he led you to a small room, "you can sit there," he pointed to a chair in the corner of the room.

your body slipped into the chair, silently praying to whatever god that you would get the job.

the choice to work was one you made on your own, your parents were willing to pay your entire way, they offered it to jaemin too, which he declined.

you were growing up, and you wanted to gain more independence.

you wanted to prove to them that you could stand on your own two legs, just like jaemin when he left home.

jungwon pulled up another chair, it was like he could sense the nerves going through your body. "no need to be nervous."

the interview went very well, jungwon was surprisingly easy going. by the end, you were given the job right away despite the lack of experience.

probably because they're understaffed and only two people applied.

jungwon handed you a paper as well as plastic bag, a uniform. "you'll work a shift with me, sunoo, and yoona." you nodded, taking the items.

he led the way back out front, "i'll text you your training schedule in the coming days."

you thanked him, pushing the items into your tote and leaving the café.

you stared at it from your spot on the floor.

you had come to open the box, but uncertainty crashes over you like a wave when you realized what opening the box would mean.

your fingers reached up, toying with the necklace.

it was like the box of gifts was silently mocking you, challenging you to open it. to face the emotions and memories you tried so hard to supress.

sunghoon flooded your mind.

the day he helped you move, the argument on at your graduation dinner, the memory that caused you to cut him out of your life for a year.

the door nearly slammed shut, harin's head whipped towards it, watching as sunghoon angrily entered the house.

his fingers ran through his hair, his chest rising and falling quickly. his shoulders were tense, as if one more word would cause him to snap— or break down.

harin quickly closed the book she was reading, sitting it down on the coffee table. it was a tense day for sunghoon, the seventh anniversary of his parents' death.

she tiptoed around him, wanting to make today the day he gets to relax, to mourn.

because in all seven years after his parents' death, he never gave himself a chance to dwell on it, and not be okay.

she knew, in true sunghoon fashion, that he would never rest. but what type of girlfriend would she be if she didn't try?

what harin wasn't prepared for was sunghoon to, not only disregard the meaning of today, but to tell her—last minute— that he was helping you move.

harin was upset, not for herself, but for sunghoon. he had always been selfless.

she understood that he saw you as someone to protect, like a connection to the childhood he didn't get to have.

but did it really have to be today?

harin knew best that there was no use in arguing with sunghoon. once he said he was going to do something, he was going to do it no matter what.

she stood up from the couch, watching as sunghoon paced around the kitchen. "are you okay?" she asked softly.

he turned his head towards her, something breaking in his eyes. "she didn't open them.. any of them."

harin didn't hesitate, reaching out for him and hugging him tightly.

she knew what he was talking about, he didn't have to state what it was. it had been the catalyst to one too many disagreements between them.

sunghoon clung onto her, his breathing heavy. "i just— did i do something wrong?" he questioned.

harin quickly shook her head, anger welling up inside of her, "no, you didn't do anything wrong." she assured him.

you were seriously the most ungrateful person she had ever come across.

yet, she knew that sunghoon still wouldn't give up on you. and if anything, that made her despise you more.

reaching out, your fingers brushed over the lid, then, you pulled the box towards you.

sliding the lid off, your eyes scanned the neatly packaged gifts.

they were untouched, pristine as the day they arrived to your porch.

your fingers grazed over the colored parchments, lifting the first one out.

you inhaled deeply, preparing yourself for the rush of emotions that were bound to come.

you opened the notecard.

i'm leaving soon, lets talk before i go.

your heart twisted remembering the messages he sent you, all the ones you left unread.

you dropped the note, and unraveled the paper. you picked up the small bunny plush.

it was the same plush you struggled to win a year ago at the claw machine. you spent ten dollars, but you never managed to nab it.

your eyes raked over the plush. when did he have time to get this?

you sat the plush down next to you, opening up another one, then another, and another.

jaemin told me you've been upset since you've lost the last one. a cinnamoroll keychain, identical to the one that fell of your backpack.

you missed her book signing right? a signed copy of your favorite limited-edition book.

you're not still scared of the dark, are you? a nightlight star projector.

your chest felt as if it was going to cave in on you. even after a year of silence he still thought about you.

tears pricking the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

your hands reached for the last gift.

happy birthday yn.

it was a scrapbook.

you opened the first page.

a photo of you and sunghoon from when you were younger was the first thing your eyes landed on.

it was like someone had opened flood gates, you choked out a sob, staring at the page.

it was like the picture had single-handedly pushed every memory of sunghoon that you tried to suppress, right to the forefront of your mind.

you trailed your fingertips over the plastic, your breathing shaky.

4 pictures, all arranged slightly messy but still perfect in your eyes.

you could see the effort he put into it, and that only made the dull aching worse.

you were disgusted with yourself.

the little doodles he left, the clumsy handwriting, one of the pictures being cut off too close to his head, a randomly placed turtle sticker that contrasted against all the other pink and white ones.

your eyes took in the details of the page. the rest were empty, for you.

so you could fill it up with memories and make it your own, like how sunghoon did with that page.

"ow!" sunghoon exclaimed, grabbing his hand as blood began flowing out of the wound.

the table was littered with craft supplies of all kinds. he had went to the store completely clueless, luckily an old lady was there to help him out.

he printed off 4 pictures, the pictures were the ones he liked the most of you two (and the only ones without jaemin in them).

sunghoon met your family when he was eight years old, a few months after his family relocated from incheon to seoul for a job opportunity.

sunghoon and jaemin met at a school fair. jaemin— the more extroverted of the two— was the one to approach sunghoon, coaxing him out of his reclusive shell.

and from there, a friendship blossomed.

the two boys were practically glued to the hip. hanging out constantly, and all their future plans included each other.

jaemin rarely spoke about you, but sunghoon knew of your existence. he learned about you the first time he asked jaemin to hang out at your house, when they were ten years old.

jaemin instantly declined, going on a rant about annoying younger sisters. but he always seemed okay with yoona being around, so sunghoon never pushed on the real reason.

sunghoon's parents worked tirelessly, leaving yoona in sunghoon's care for extended periods of time. he knew it wasn't their fault, raising two kids with no help was hard.

when he turned sixteen, his parents got into a fatal car accident. a drunk driver hit their car on the way home to their two children, completely totaling it and severely injuring his parents.

his father died on impact, but his mother lived for a few days in agonizing pain. her last words were a plead to sunghoon to always take care of yoona.

she died a day later.

sunghoon's parents left him and yoona with nothing. they struggled to make ends meet when they were living, and the burden they placed on sunghoon after death was too heavy to carry on his own.

your parents, who always helped out the park's, paid for the service in full. in their eyes, it was the least they could do for him and little yoona.

a week after the service, sunghoon and yoona moved back to incheon to live with their aunt and uncle.

sunghoon grew distant from jaemin.

jaemin didn't fault sunghoon. he'd just lost both of his parents and was now assuming the role of his sister's caretaker alongside his aunt and uncle.

your family didn't hear from sunghoon that much after.

they always made sure to send weekly messages to his aunt and uncle, helping them out immensely. always making sure to send yoona things too.

your parents never spoke to jaemin or sunghoon about helping sunghoon's family. they didn't want him to feel like he owed them anything.

sunghoon was observant though, so it didn't take long for him to catch on. three months after their move, a check came in the mail, the amounts they've given his aunt and uncle paid back in full.

they tried to send it back. when he declined taking it, they simply left it in a spare account for a rainy day.

as his graduation time approached, sunghoon nearly gave up on his and jaemin's longtime shared promise to attend seoul national university. his aunt and uncle practically forced him out of the house.

he argued with them, though their stance was firm. they knew his parents' death affected him deeply, but he was a bright kid with a good future ahead of him, he had every right to follow his dreams.

leaving yoona was the hardest thing he had to do.

sunghoon felt as if he was breaking the promise he made to his mom, to always take care of his younger sister no matter what.

the day he met you, for a split second, it felt like he was looking at his younger sister. the one—in his eyes— he felt like he abandoned.

so he did what he knew best, taking care of others.

sunghoon rinsed his finger under the water, trying to get rid of the bleeding from the scissors he accidentally nicked.

he already glued down two pictures, messily, but he never worked with crafting glue before.

harin entered the kitchen, her eyes landing on sunghoon, then on the table.

she wasn't stupid, she knew your birthday was coming up, but she didn't expect sunghoon to put so much effort.

"why are you putting so much effort into a gift you know she won't open?" harin asked, her voice sharp.

sunghoon exhaled, "you don't know her."

harin's eyes softened as she watched him continue to cut and paste the papers. "i'm just worried for you, you've done so much for her and she hasn't even bothered to send a thank you."

"drop it."

she didn't push after that, but her eyes held a knowing look when it had been two weeks since he sent the gift, and you gave no response.

eunha and seohyun arrived to the house a few hours ago, expecting to be greeted by your happy face.

not your sulking figure on the couch curled into a ball, eyes red from crying.

the two of them immediately surrounded you, comforting you.

you eventually opened up, telling them everything that happened.

they sat and listened to you talk, not interrupting.

"yn, you know i love you, so i say this with love," eunha started, gently raking her hands through your hair.

"you're in the wrong." she said bluntly.

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. "i know."

"are you going to apologize?" seohyun chimed in, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

you hesitated, "i don't know."

your best friends knew you the best, and they knew just how hard it was for you to apologize.

seohyun and eunha had been on the receiving end of this before, but they knew you well enough to know you didn't mean it, you were just scared.

"well, i'm not going to judge you, but you really should apologize." eunha replied, she was always the more logical of you three.

"i know." you repeated, the thoughts swirling through your head. mainly thoughts of how to apologize, without actually apologizing—which definitely wasn't going to work.

you sat up, the blanket falling off. "i have to go to get ready for work now."

"yeah, i have to unpack." seohyun said, stretching off the couch. eunha agreed and lifted from her spot.

despite the three of you dropping it for now, you knew that the conversation was long from over.

you looked in the mirror, nose scrunching at the sight of your face. you looked like a mess. red puffy eyes, tear streaked cheeks, knotted hair.

you tried your best to make yourself as presentable as possible for the first day of training. applying some makeup, brushing your hair, and practicing to hopefully avoid another breakdown.

the bell of the cafe chimed, signaling your entrance, jungwon looked up at the door, smiling at you. "looks like you're on time."

you nodded, walking over to the counter and sitting your bag down.

"the other trainee should be arriving soon then we can start." he informed you. he walked to the back of the store, leaving you in the empty room.

sitting down in the chair, you pulled out your phone, mind wandering as you continued to dwell on the conversation you and your besties had.

just apologize yn, it's not that hard.

the bell chimed, signaling someone had entered the cafe. "am i late?"

your ears perked up, turning your head, your gaze unexpectedly landing on park yoona right as hers did yours.

"no way," she scoffed smiling.

your lips tilted up into a smile, you put your phone down, standing to hug the girl. "yoona. i knew that name sounded familiar. i just didn't think it would be you."

she pulled you into a hug, "it's so nice to see you again yn. how have you been."

i'm about three seconds from a break down because i was the most horrible person towards your brother for a year, for no reason, but everything's great.

"i'm great!" you said, pulling away. "how have you been?"

jungwon exited the back room before yoona could answer. "perfect, you're both here. let's start."

for the next 4 hours, you went over basic things: learning how to work the cash register, customer service, and cafe-specific procedures.

as you packed your bag, yoona's voice rang through your ears. "hey yn, we should catch up. i know a really nice lunch spot close by."

you agreed, closing your tote and pushing it over your shoulders.

the lunch place wasn't that far, you arrived within a few minutes, yoona guiding you to a seat near the back window.

you both sat for a few moments, the waiter took your order, then left, leaving you both in silence.

"how have you been these days? you never got to answer." you asked her.

she looked different, her deep brown hair was dyed a lighter brown color, a few freckles on her face that you hadn't noticed the first time you met. she had a nose piercing now too.

yet, she still looked as radiant and porcelain as ever.

"i'm great actually, mostly going through the motions of life."

you hummed in agreement. meeting yoona again like this was nostalgic in a way, reminding you of the first time you met a year ago.

"hows your crush going?" she asked.

you looked at her for a moment, then towards the window.

"it's.. a mess." you let out a small laugh. "a big, steaming mess."

she chuckled, "i hope it works out for you." she said sincerely.

you agreed. you wouldn't be saying that if you knew that the person i have a crush on is literally your brother.

the waiter came to your table, dropping off both your meals and then leaving.

you both ate quietly for a moment, then yoona spoke,

"did you know we were supposed to meet each other the day before sunghoon's graduation?" she asked, looking up from her plate.

your eyes widened, "no."

she hummed, "yep. i actually ruined his plan." she blushed a bit embarrassed.

"how so?" you tilted your head, intrigued.

"i told him i couldn't make it to his graduation, as a way to surprise him the day of. i didn't even know of his whole plan to introduce us until harin mentioned it in passing, weeks later."

you listened, feeling your heart race a bit.

see idiot? you ignored him for no reason.

you gripped your fork a bit tighter. guilt, confusion, and regret swirling through you like a storm.

in your silence, yoona decided to speak up again.

"i think... he sees you the way he sees me, honestly. like someone he has to protect, and look after. even when it's not his responsibility."

your confusion began to grow, despite knowing sunghoon for years, you didn't know much about him. "why?"

yoona shrugged, poking at her fries with the fork. "i don't know all the details. he doesn't talk about that incident a lot."

your eyebrows furrowed, but you didn't interrupt.

"i think.. after our parents died, he never got to process it.. like properly. he was only sixteen, and he had to give up the rest of his teen years, move back here to incheon, and take care of me alongside my aunt and uncle."

the words hit you, your brain reminding you of just how cruel you had been to sunghoon.

you wanted to cry.

yoona looked for your reaction, but she didn't stop. "he never had time to just be a teenager, or grieve the loss of his parents. i think he felt like if he didn't hold it together, we would fall apart."

she paused, letting out a shaky breath.

"he still does that. even now, with everyone in his life. like he's scared that if he doesn't constantly try to be there for people, he'll lose them."

she pursed her lips, your eyes softened. "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. we can switch the topic."

she quickly shook her head, "no. i want to."

you nodded, allowing her to collect herself before speaking again.

"you're kind of like that to him, you know— not in a bad way." she assured, not wanting to worry you.

"i think... you remind him of the little parts of life he never really got to have. you're the same age as me, but you were always allowed to just be you. and he liked that. he likes protecting you because no one protected him."

you took in her words, your voice coming out soft, "but i'm not his sister like you."

yoona blinked, a little caught off guard from your words, but she thought about it for a moment.

"no.. you're not." she replied.

"but that's the problem, isn't it?" she gave you a knowing look.

it was like she could see right through you.

"you're not me. but sometimes i think he treats you like you could be. like he's making sure he doesn't lose you the way he lost everything else."

her words settled over you, "like he projects?" you asked.

she hummed, nodding. "honestly? yeah. sometimes. i don't think he means to. but when our parents died, he was stuck in survival mode.. and part of him still is."

you picked at your food, absorbing her words.

yoona continued, "you're not me. but to him, you're a person he couldn't not love. and that terrifies him. because it's not the same love as with me, maybe at first, but these days? i don't think so." her words hinted at something.

"so he falls back into what he knows best. protect. deflect. avoid."

you processed her words silently.

"i think that's why he sends you all those gifts, he does the same to me. why he's so patient, why he doesn't give up."

her words resonated, reminding you of just how hard sunghoon tried to get you to speak to him.

"not just because he loves you like family. but because if you disappeared for good, it would feel like he failed again. like he didn't do good enough to make you want to stay." her tone was low.

despite being young, yoona was always very observant, especially when it came to sunghoon.

it's why she didn't cry when he left for seoul to attend university. she knew that if she let one tear slip, nobody could convince sunghoon to leave.

so she sucked it up, hugged him tightly, and cried on the way back home when he was already on the plane.

after a long silence, you finally found your voice. "i didn't know all of that, any of this."

yoona nodded in understanding, she wish she didn't know any of it, let alone live through it. but she could understand why your parents left you out of the loop.

you radiated innocence to yoona, so pure and beautiful. untainted and shielded from the harsh world, like she wishes she could've been.

sunghoon tried his best, but he's her brother, not her parent.

"please go easy on him, okay? i know it can be overbearing from experience. but he really does love you, like your his own sister."

right.. his sister.

"and if he did anything wrong.. it's probably because he cares, so much more than he ever lets on."

you allowed her words to marinate in the silence, picking at your food.

jaemin was right, it really is your fault.

you finished lunch switching the topic to something lighter.

you paid for the tab, not allowing yoona to argue.

"think of it as a thank you, for having this conversation." you told her as you exited.

both of you had separate ways to go, but yoona stopped you.

"and yn.."

you turned to look at her.

"if you did something, don't be so hard on yourself. sunghoon cares about you a lot, he'd forgive you." she told you gently, as if she could see something in your eyes.

"thank you, that means a lot." you gave her a small smile.

she pulled you into a hug, promising to message you later, then you both went separately.

you laid awake, staring at your dimly lit phone in the darkness. your fingers hesitated over the send button, rereading the message over and over.

you inhaled deeply, quickly pressing send and shutting off your phone. a few minutes passed, your teeth biting your bottom lip harshly.

a ping.

from: sunghoon

you're apologizing over text?

you looked at the message for a moment, then another one came through.

from: sunghoon

do you even know what you're apologizing for?

you stared at the message, trying to come up with something to say, but your finger stayed frozen.

if you were being completely honest, you didn't fully understand why you were apologizing.

for ghosting him? for not calling back? for letting your childish crush get in the way?

to: sunghoon

i'm sorry for treating you badly, and ignoring you when you tried reaching out.

a cop out. it was more than that, and you both knew it.

from: sunghoon

you think that makes it better?

a lump formed in your throat, he had every right to not forgive you, but it didn't make the fear go away.

from: sunghoon

i know you're not a kid anymore yn.

i tried, and you cut me off like i was nothing to you.

you sat up, it felt as if the sentence physically burned you. the words hitting you harshly.

the nagging voice in your brain overwhelmed, tormenting your thoughts and actions.

you wrote a message, the deleted it.

to: sunghoon

i didn't mean to make you feel that way. i didn't know how to handle such a big part of your life being thrown at me, which is my fault.

i'm sorry.

the text bubble appeared immediately.

then disappeared.

then appeared.

and finally.. no message came through.

you waited, breath held. minutes passed, and you realized he wasn't going to respond.

you exhaled. it was deserved.

"you apologized over text, yn?" seohyun looked at you as if you said you grew a sixth toe overnight.

"i didn't know what else to do!" you defended yourself, looking towards eunha for help.

you filled them in this morning on the conversation, hoping it would provide some clarity.

you should've known seohyun and eunha would never let your half-assed behaviors fly.

eunha instantly shook her head, "nope. not defending you on this one."

you dropped your head on the table with a groan, "what should i do then?"

eunha put a pancake on your plate, then patted your head softly. "apologize, in person. and take accountability yn."

eunha was right.

and that's how you found yourself standing outside of his work building a few days later. after practically begging jaemin to tell you where he worked and his work schedule.

he was reluctant to give up information, but he eventually caved— for sunghoon, not you.

because sunghoon deserved an explanation on your behaviors for the past year.

don't mess up yn. you have one chance.

you stood in front of a tall, sleek, black building. a picnic basket dangled off your arm, filled with a bunch of things due to your indecisive mind.

you sat down on a bench, smoothing out your dress. you took out your phone to write a message to sunghoon.

to: sunghoon

i know i don't deserve it, but i want to apologize properly, if you'll let me.

i'm outside your work, i'll leave in an hour.

you put your phone down, leaning back onto the bench.

after a few minutes, you checked your phone.

he hadn't viewed it. you sighed, putting the phone back down.

5:30

5:43

you checked your phone, he had read the message. you didn't know if it was a good or bad thing.

5:48

5:54

5:59

maybe yoona was wrong, maybe sunghoon really wasn't as forgiving as she made him out to be.

not that you deserved that forgiveness anyways.

then a few footsteps approached, and someone sat down on the bench next to you.

no words, you didn't have to look to see who it was.

because your heart always recognized him.

in all honesty, you didn't actually prepare for what happened if he showed up.

part of you hoped he didn't, so you could convince yourself that you tried but it just wasn't enough.

because it was hard for you to accept the fact that you've deeply hurt someone you care about.

but he was here, and you owed him an explanation.

"i didn't know what you liked.. so i just got everything i thought you would." you said, your voice was quiet. you handed him the basket.

you heard the basket shuffling around, but your mind didn't focus on that.

you tried calming yourself down, you got this yn. even if he doesn't forgive you.

even if he doesn't forgive you.

"i'm sorry for everything i did."

sunghoon turned to look at you but your gaze never met his.

"i—" you paused, your voice wavered.

being vulnerable was never easy for you. your parents, while they tried, their expectations weighed so heavily on you that being vulnerable never passed your mind.

and they never asked anyways.

you took a breath. "i'm really sorry for ignoring you, i'm not going to lie to you and say that it wasn't intentional.. or that i didn't have time. because i did."

sunghoon's jaw clenched. the confirmation wasn't surprising, but it still pierced.

"i should've let you explain," you continued. "but seeing yoona that day made me question myself. jaemin knew. even my parents knew about her."'

you pursed your lips, the uncomfortable feeling that accompanied your vulnerability, settling in.

"i wondered if you trusted me at all if you couldn't tell me such an important thing. and i came to the conclusion that i probably wasn't as important to you as i thought i was. so i shut you out."

yoona wasn't the only reason, but he didn't have to know that.

"i know it's not an excuse," you quickly said. "but i hope it can help you make sense of my actions because you deserve an explanation for my actions."

"i'm really sorry sunghoon, and i'd understand if you don't forgive me."

silence lingered for a few minutes.

"i forgive you, thank you for apologizing." it felt as if your heart dropped. you had already prepared yourself for the worst, so hearing him say that meant a lot.

any time you apologized to your parents, they brushed it off, as if it was never good enough. so you stopped trying.

not just for them. but friends too. maybe that's why it was so hard for you to make friends. you were lucky to have seohyun and eunha,

your gaze turned to him for the first time, eyes subtly assessing him.

did he really have to look so attractive while you were trying to apologize?

then, "are you ready to listen now?" he asked.

you nodded.

"you were supposed to meet yoona the day before my graduation," he said. his tone was softer, not like how it was the last time you spoke.

"i thought you both would get along well, you're similar. it was supposed to be a surprise for both of you. i planned it, set everything up. but she canceled, to come the day of."

you blinked. you had known this from yoona, but hearing it from sunghoon made your reasonings for ghosting him even more ridiculous.

your lips parted, but no words came. you felt like an idiot.

"as for harin—"

"i didn't ask about harin." you cut in, not wanting to hear about her. you leaned back, turning your head the other way.

the corner of his lip slightly twitched as if he was about to smile. your jealousy was so obvious.

"i know," sunghoon replied. "but i want to tell you anyways."

you looked at him from the corner of your eye, waiting for him to continue so the topic could switch from her as quick as possible.

"you're important to me, like a sister. i want your approval too."

right, sister. the word seemed to replay in your brain, laughing at you.

"you don't need my approval, you didn't need it back then either." you mumbled, playing with the hem of your dress.

"but i want it, because it matters to me." he said firmly.

his gaze fell in front of him. "me and harin met in high school, after i moved back to incheon. she helped me, a lot."

he didn't elaborate on that.

"we were friends until a few days before the day we watched that thriller movie. i didn't tell you because it was too soon." he stated, not wanting you to feel as if he was purposely keeping you out of it.

"the graduation is when we got together."

your body moved before your brain could catch up. you turned crashing right into a cleaning station. the cleaning supplies dropped from the cart, echoing through the empty hall.

they pulled apart instantly, heads turning.

sunghoon's eyes widened as they landed on you. "oh, shit— i'm.. fuck." your words sputtered.

sunghoon quickly approached you, concern in his eyes. "are you okay—" he reached for you, but you quickly stepped back.

"i'm fine," you said, too quickly. "i think i just walked in the wrong direction to the bathroom." your voice was slightly shaky.

"i'm going to go now."

and then you left before either of them could stop you.

sunghoon was prepared to go after you, but harin's hand quickly grabbed onto him. "let her go, she's probably just shocked but she'll come around."

sunghoon knew better. he texted you, once, twice, three times, day after day.

harin's attempts to comfort him proved futile, it hurt her to see him hurt. so she did what she was best at, fixing things.

the girl knew you weren't hurt— well, physically. your feelings were hurt for sure, but you'll get over it, or so she thought.

she severely underestimated how much it would affect your relationship between sunghoon— and consequently, sunghoon himself.

he was torn. and that's when harin's resentment for you began. it was petty for a 22-year-old woman to dislike a 17-year-old, but you were old enough to do better.

harin spent weeks being there for him, because she knew sunghoon. she knew he felt like a failure and she wanted him to know he wasn't anything of the sort.

sunghoon wasn't angry at you. he could never be angry at you.

he exhaled, a long tired breath. he didn't say anything, just observed his surroundings, as if he was having a mental conversation with himself.

another silence. heavy and uncertain, but not tense or angry— for the first time in months.

"are we good now?" you hated how small the question sounded, but it was honest. you were already prepared for the worst.

you were okay with whatever answer came, even if you didn't like it.

he turned to you. his eyes landed on the necklace resting on your collarbone, his gift. something unreadable passed through his eyes, then they softened.

"yeah," he murmured. "we're good."

and for the first time in a year, it actually felt like it.

END PART 3

taglist - @oashes @evxnsbae @andassortedkpop @evanleeisahoe @whateverhoon @soobskz @miauumin @la-choiblog @nmurark05 @t1iqaa @blckorchidd @rikifever

#enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #rinasakai #enha #enhypen writers

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acrosstheujiverse · 1 day ago

Note

hihi ur introvert uji w reader headcannons came on my for you AND IM So GLAD omg i love it sm.

we see alot of introvert uji w the extrovert members but can u do a extrovert partner please 😭🙏

dynamics of an introvert and extrovert

【📂】 summary: scenarios you have with your introverted boyfriend, woozi, as an extrovert. 【🖇️】 pairing: introvert!jihoon x extrovert!reader. 【💿】 genre: FLUFF!! 【🧺】 tags: so sweet it makes your cheeks hurt from smiling; MY HEARTEU. 【📦】 w/c: 833

📬 — author’s note！thank you for your request, anonymous :)) sorry this took some time to write. i enjoyed working on it and hope you like it!

« dynamics of an introverted couple | main masterlist | (SOON) »

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

it was at the annual high school talent show that you first fell for jihoon. he was one of the vocalists in a five-piece band, and his voice brought a kind of warmth to your heart.

you had talked with the other four members—jeonghan, joshua, seokmin, and seungkwan—but never once with jihoon. seeing him after the band’s performances was rare. you could never get the timing right.

it wasn’t until university that you finally had the chance to befriend him.

your love for jihoon would be loud—meaning everyone knows you two are dating. don’t get it twisted—you don’t talk about jihoon all the time. it’s just that when the topic of relationships comes up, you just happen to have a lot of loving words about him.

people notice how, whether he’s with you or not, your eyes and whole demeanor just scream “in love” the moment his name is mentioned.

you never fail to shower him with all the love you have—from whispering sweet nothings in bed to surprising him with thoughtful gifts.

jihoon sometimes wishes he could say the things to you that you so easily say to him.

“happy birthday to my ray of sunshine,” you once told him.

jihoon was confused. a ray of sunshine? you nodded eagerly and explained how—even though he’s quiet—he has a powerful presence whenever he’s on stage. like the sun, he lets his music speak for him.

sometimes… your love could be just… a bit overwhelming for an introvert like jihoon. sometimes, the way your energy fills every room, your endless words, and your bright, unfiltered affection make him retreat into the quiet corners of his mind to recharge. it’s not that he loves you any less—in fact, it’s quite the opposite. your warmth sometimes feels like too much to hold all at once, and jihoon needs those silent moments to gather himself and return to you with a full heart. but no matter how much he needs space, he never doubts the depth of your love, even if it’s louder than he’s used to.

you were one of the few lucky ones who ever received a long text message from jihoon—seungkwan was the other one.

you knew that jihoon would never say anything he didn’t mean.

“you were never hard to love, ji.”

you were always aware of his subtle gestures of affection—more than even he knew.

for jihoon, you would be his stars. you and he are of the same mind and body, but of different magnitude and abundance.

“unlike the moon, you don’t need the sun to shine. stars emit their own light. you shine brightly without me… but you shine more brightly with me.”

you once overheard him telling jeonghan, “they’re the chaos that makes me feel alive… but also the calm that brings me home. they’re like a supernova—blinding and explosive in presence, yet the light they leave behind lingers in quiet beauty for ages, guiding me even when they’re not near.”

you thrive in crowds, while jihoon thrives in corners. at parties, you’re the life of the room—he’s the person standing behind you, holding your drink and your jacket, quietly smiling because you’re shining.

jihoon always listens to your stories with an unreadable face, but later he’ll casually reference a small detail you didn’t even think he was paying attention to.

he’ll walk you to your class or the train station even if it’s out of his way—he won’t say much, but he’ll pull your hand into his pocket when it’s cold.

you once told him, “i love you,” at a crowded campus café and he went completely red. he didn’t say it back right away—but that night, he sent you a playlist titled “if i could say it better.”

jihoon won’t start pda, but he doesn’t pull away either. the first time you kissed his cheek in public, he stared straight ahead, then later texted: “can we do that again?”

when you’re venting loudly about something, he just lets you go off—then offers the most practical, well-thought-out advice that makes you pause mid-rant like, “how are you this calm?”

he sometimes writes lyrics about you, but he uses metaphors so layered even you have to ask, “is this one about me?”

you like grand gestures. he likes quiet consistency. you bring the spark; he keeps the fire going.

you once tried to surprise him with a flash mob dance (it was seungkwan’s idea). he panicked, ran the opposite direction, and didn’t stop blushing for three days.

on days when you feel overstimulated or burned out, jihoon wordlessly tucks you into bed, turns off your phone, and lies beside you with his hand resting over yours.

you said “i love you” first. jihoon said it second—at 2 a.m., curled around you, with your name whispered like a secret he finally let himself say out loud.

your relationship is like a sun and a star—separate lights, different intensities, but existing together in the same sky. never competing, always orbiting.

- fin.

#acrosstheujiverse #headcanon #anon ask #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #woozi #woozi x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff #woozi imagines #seventeen woozi #svt woozi #jihoon #lee jihoon #au #Spotify

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kotonoba · 3 days ago

Text

Make Stupid Choices, Win Stupid Prizes (Katakuri/F!Reader)

Summary: Oven convinces Katakuri to try a new "trending" prank on the reader.

a/n: Been writing a lot of angst recently, thought I should lighten up the mood with something lighthearted. I also love this sixteen-something feet of a man.

Warning(s): slightly ooc, fluff, comedy, established relationship

Inspo.

Posted on AO3

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“I don’t think that’s smart, I don’t think she’ll like that very much,” Katakuri fussed over with his siblings. The recently hot and trending topic was to do a ‘current girlfriend vs. next girlfriend,’ and a lot of different responses came; most of them were rather violent. As the second son of Big Mom, everyone expected perfection from him, everyone but you. You knew he still had to be human enough. And human he was to you, aside from being several feet taller than you, and several times stronger than you. You’re more than grateful he hasn’t ‘accidentally’ killed you in his sleep yet.

“You love her, don’t you?” Oven questioned; Katakuri answered with a nod, but beneath his calm demeanor lay a worried demon. “Come on, I’m sure it’ll be okay, she loves you, and you love her too, I’m sure she’s aware it’s just a joke and would love to play along. Playing is a sign of a healthy relationship!” Oven exclaimed happily, as Katakuri mulled over those details, Oven glanced off to the side at his other siblings, “Right?” There was a light discourse before they nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

Some time had passed by the time you had gotten home from helping with the shipment and intake of materials for your next big project. You had a big dream and an even bigger ambition to succeed. You returned home to your shared abode with your boyfriend, who seemed more jittery than usual. You were hoping for something more intimate when he had said he wanted to do something with you. What you didn’t expect to see was a small transponder snail looking back at you as you turned to face your boyfriend, who knelt to get to eye level with you, “what’s the snail doing here? Who’s watching?”

“Just my siblings, I wanted to talk to you about something,” you saw through his calmness, and saw how much he was fiddling with his scarf with his fingers. He was a friendly giant in your eyes, though not everyone agreed with you. He probably only showed you that side of himself because he fancied you.

“Hm…” you side-eyed it a few times before turning your attention to your boyfriend, “alright, what is it?”

You watched him closely; it seemed whatever he planned to do was weighing on him too much. As you were about to move to comfort him and relax, you heard him speak. You smile, and watched closely in response, “as many of you are aware, this here,” you watched him leisurely wrap his arm around you, “is my current girlfri–” you’re not aware of what you were thinking. But when you heard the words ‘current’ slip out of his mouth hidden beneath his scarf, you felt a vein pop, and all rationality fled you in the blink of an eye. You’re a normal civilian trained in self-defense originally because your parents worry that you would get kidnapped, and again because your boyfriend says he fears for your safety.

Without a second thought, a burning sensation rushed through your body, gathering at your hands. For a second, you recognized that to be Armament Haki. Still, you didn’t even process how you knew how to use it, you throat-chopped your boyfriend, which caused him to fall back in the middle of his introduction. A stupid one at that; the transponder snail widened its eyes as you turned towards your boyfriend, who was gasping for air. Trying to crawl back to you to calm you down, “you want to say that again, Charlotte Katakuri?”

The color drained out of Katakuri’s features as he saw what could be his future with his Observation Haki, a future where he sustains more wounds than in his fight with Luffy. “I– ack–” he massages his neck through his scarf, reaching over to the snail to turn off the transpondance, “Oven just– he said it would be fun to try the trend with you, I–” he cleared his throat, a tinge of metallic liquid tainted his tongue, “I didn’t want to–”

“But you did,” you hissed, raising your hand again, Katakuri quickly protectively clasped onto your hand, “was that fun for you?”

“No, respectfully, I didn’t think it was a smart decision either, but I couldn’t just say no to my siblings.” You knew Katakuri loved his siblings, no matter the hardships they put him through. You let your anger subside a little, watching him kneel back to your height, “I’m sorry for making such a stupid decision, but you sure are strong, maybe my next girl–” you didn’t give him time even to consider finishing that question when you placed him in a head lock this time.

“‘Current’ now ‘next’? You have a death wish, Charlotte Katakuri.” Katakuri’s features paled as your headlock tightened around him. He could easily break through, but he didn’t want to; to him, this was a sign of a healthy relationship.

You let go of him after a bit of suffocation for him as you head back towards your shared bedroom, “where are you going?”

“No kisses, no cuddles tonight,” you hissed, moving to close the door behind you.

Katakuri moved to hold onto the door knob, a look of distraught painted his features, so much so that his mouth was left agape after his scarf had fallen to the ground from the shock, “wh-why!?”

You pried his hands off the door knob, “make stupid choices, win stupid prizes,” you growled, slamming the door behind, locking it after it was closed shut.

Katakuri had never regretted listening to his siblings as much as today. However, it confirmed that your feelings for him were genuine, but you were stubborn enough to leave him in shock, standing outside the door to your shared bedroom for the entire night without opening it, no matter how he apologized.

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#katakuri x reader #charlotte katakuri #charlotte katakuri x reader #charlotte katakuri x you #katakuri x you #one piece katakuri #op x you #op x reader #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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r66dusthewriter · 1 day ago

Text

What comes after.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

A/n: “Are they lovers?” WORSE

Been working pretty consistently on these so i thought i could spare some extra fics this week 😙 enjoy, i guess...?

Genre: Angsty fluff

Era: Daryl Dixon spin off, season 1.

Word count: 0.6k

You had come after him, all the way from America to Paris with no real hope of finding him and yet, against every odd, there he was. Just like always, he was tangled in something larger than life, something neither of you could fully walk away from and instead of pulling him out of it, you stayed. Maybe it was foolish but soon you realize this was just another impossible chapter in a story you never meant to write but couldn’t stop reading.

You glanced sideways. He drove in silence, eyes fixed on the road, the set of his jaw tight in thought. In the backseat, Laurent was asleep, his breaths soft and steady like a lullaby against the chaos following him. He reminded you of Carl and how life never softened its hits for anyone. You turned back forward, the weight of words pressing on your chest until they spilled out in a quiet murmur.

“When this is over…when we find out what really happened to Rick. We go home if we still can and then…” you shrugged, unsure how to frame the ache blooming in your chest, “what comes after?”

Daryl shifted in his seat, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. You know that look, he was trying not to feel too much. It was clear he’d grown attached to the kid and how could he not? But this wasn’t home. It was time to stop pretending. There were no phones anymore, no commercial flights, no soft returns. Just death, survival and running time.

He snorted faintly. “What’? Ya think I’ve been plannin’ some kind’o vacation?” He teased. “Florida, maybe?”

You chuckled under your breath but there was no humor in it. “No, I’m saying maybe it’s time you finally put yourself first. You could…get your life back. You know, stop doing things for people”

He didn’t answer at first, just stared ahead as if the road could save him. “I dunno if I still can” he mumbled.

“Bullshit. You never thought about…settling down?” Your voice cracked, not from nerves but from sheer exhaustion of “almost”. You and Daryl had danced around that edge too many times and now time felt like something borrowed, like you should stop hoping and finally let go.

He gave a quiet, almost bitter huffed laugh. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on. Nobody special though?” you asked gently, for your own sake.

His hand tightened on the wheel, the tendons in his forearms flexing. Something shifted in his expression and when he looked at you, really looked at you, it hit like a gut punch. This was it, no more of you.

“Wha’? Like you?” he asked, rougher than he meant to, like he was bracing for heartbreak.

Your heart dropped. You wished you could reel the words back into your mouth. “I wasn’t–”

But he cut you off, voice low, certain. “Won’t find tha’ nowhere else”

Your breath trembled. You feel his eyes on you, waiting, always waiting for something you weren’t sure how to give.

You met his gaze “Who do you want me to be?”

He didn’t even blink. “Whatever you’re willin’ t’ still give me. I’ll take anythin’”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “I think we both need to get a life”

“At the same time?” he asked, and it wasn’t a joke, it was a question wrapped in forever.

You turned to the window, to the gray blur of France passing by, wondering if the years had been worth it. Wondering if you’d ever loved anyone the way you loved him.

“Yeah,” you whispered, a single tear falling. “Same time”

#daryl dixon fluff #Daryl dixon spin off #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd fluff #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon oneshot #twd daryl dixon

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thetrasha · 1 day ago

Note

Hey, Tasha!

I'm the anon who requested the ideal types and the Corazon fluff (I have made many more requests than I usually do on other blogs so now I don't even know what to say to get you to identify me anymore lol)

Well since it looks like I'll keep making requests, I feel it necessary to apologize if my English is weird sometimes. I'm actually just an alien trying to learn human languages 👽 and that's also the reason why my requests are usually so vague 😔🤚

Anyway, my ask today is: What do you think about the Straw Hats' love languages?

Hello anon (✿◡‿◡)

Well, if you want an identifying trait, you can choose any emoji you like and I'll create a tag for you :D Love to see so many anons return to me time and time again, means I'm doing something right LOL (and I love those requests! So don't worry about sending them in frequently, it's fine and I appreciate it)

Your English is literally perfect, so don't apologise!! Well, it's not like I can be an authority on this either😭 My first language is German, I'm just a bilingual goblin but I hide it pretty well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hope you like this one and take care~~ ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Love Languages

STRAW HAT EDITION

LUFFY

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Physical Touch

Luffy loves to wrap himself around your frame like a human scarf. His rubber arms aid him in circling themselves around you multiple times – he just feels so needed when he holds you, and it eases his worries. He’s lost great many things, but he’d never actually want to miss you from his life; that’d be the final blow. He’s so happy that you’re there to reciprocate his hugs, kisses, random cuddles and play off of his silly antics. You’re his safe haven, which means he’s more likely to touch you more enthusiastically; you can feel that grin of his approaching before his arms snap around you, his voice screaming your name soon following suit…

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Gift Giving

Now he’s by no means the type to shower you with lavish gifts, but Luffy’s definitely the type to hand you some random shell he’s found at the beach or a cool charm he’s bought at the local market just because he’d think you’d enjoy these things. He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but those small things do add up over time and your collection of knick-knacks is thus ever-growing. In his mind, he wants to share his life with you, so attaching every positive emotion and unforgettable memory to a little trinket is what sharing is all about. One day, you’ll lay in his arms and reminisce in memories – just because you’re holding a really smooth rock he’s found on Amazon Lily…

Luffy would melt if your primary love language was Physical Touch.

He needs someone who reciprocates his touch just as enthusiastically, someone who’d make him feel secure in his empathetic nature. It will lay his greatest anxieties about abandonment to rest.

ZORO

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Acts of Service

Zoro always aims to take some weight off your shoulders. You’re his one and only, but he has trouble voicing his thoughts since he’s a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. He doesn’t want to make empty promises; he’s a go-getter so he’s just going to do anything he feels would benefit you. Whether it’s as simply as turning off your alarm clock or as complex and emotionally charged as protecting you in battle – he doesn’t care. In fact, he would lay down his own life to preserve yours if it came down to it. Once Zoro swears loyalty to someone, he’s in it for life and nothing could ever stray him away from his chosen path.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Quality Time

If it wouldn’t be for the entire crew nagging him and forcing him into a community, Zoro would be solitary in nature. He’s autonomous and self-sufficient, always ready to defend his independence and his great ambitions, but he’d throw that instinct away if his friends or partner as much as asked for his presence. Despite his rougher side, he’s incredibly honourable – he is there when he is needed. He believes that your relationship has such a strong foundation because you both keep reinforcing that bond with that undivided attention you give to one another. The gestures aren’t big and excessive, but they’re steady and secure. Everything he does reminds you of the essence of him.

Zoro would melt if your primary love language was Words of Affirmation.

He needs someone who recognises his efforts and put things into words that he’s often too repressed to say. Hearing that you’re proud of him and grateful for his time will feed his soul for weeks.

USOPP

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Gift Giving

Usopp engages in many endeavours that make him a bit of a MacGyver. His creations may not look like much, but they are incredible pieces of engineering. He often just lounges about in his workshop to think about what to tinker on next… and that’s how you slowly start creeping up in his mind. You’ve become so important to him and he doesn’t have the means to treat you how he thinks you should be treated, which is exactly why you’ll have Usopp gifting you little crafts he’s made that make your life a little easier.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Many people don’t believe him when he’s trying to genuinely express himself, but you had never once doubted him. That alone encourages him so much yet you also appreciate his compliments and words of encouragement? Usopp would seek you out all the time, just to hear your opinion on various things that pertain to him, always offering his own commentary in return, too. Overall, he’s quite good at communicating and finds a healthy way to show you his love in your relationship. Every time, without fail!

Usopp would melt if your primary love language was Quality Time.

Usopp’s always been made to feel like a brazen liar while trying to cope with the loss of two parents. Deep down, his need for community and deep connection is fuelled by the idea that nobody could ever possibly want to be with him. He, who is neither brave nor great but just… Usopp. Your undivided attention on him would startle him. You really want to be with him? He… cannot comprehend it, but he’s grateful.

SANJI

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Praise and kindness really make Sanji’s whole week – and it means so much more if he can dish it out freely without having someone question his motive for that comment or act suspicious towards him for a mere compliment. As a hopeless romantic, he craves to voice his thoughts and thus makes about three to four love declarations every day, but you don’t even mind. You entertain him with a smile and then you brush a hand through his blond locks, looking at him with a shine in your eyes that makes him blush…

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Acts of Service

Sanji naturally takes care of others even if it comes from a place of self-pity and insecurity – it is still hard-coded into him to look after his loved ones and make they day-to-day life a little brighter by making everything run a bit more smoothly, but he takes it up an entire notch with you. You are his love, so… you get nothing less than the royal treatment. He’s there at your beck and call to pay you back for the incredible experiences you’ve given him. He’s hopelessly and madly in love with you, so he’s doing it all. From opening doors for you all the way to helping you out in big ways, like swooping in to defend your honour in front of a villain (enemy pirate – he’s dramatic, okay…), Sanji’s willing to do it all.

Sanji would melt if your primary love language was Acts of Service.

He needs someone who would have the same innate desire to watch him enjoy his day and take some of his pain away. He’d actually cry if he was the one getting pampered.

FRANKY

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Franky truly sees you for who you are and would become your personal hype man if that’s what you wanted and needed from him. He’d ecstatically comment on everything he likes about you and listen to anything you’d say, promptly declaring that you’re super great and that he counts himself lucky to have been able to woo you. This man would swell with pride if anyone asked him whether he was your boyfriend. First of all, he’s happy that anyone noticed. He’s big on PDA, so anything he deems subtle may be quite obvious to most other people, but second of all, he intuitively views you as his equal and wants to include you in every conversation, especially if you’re more reserved than him. Franky would encourage you to commit to it all – wear whatever you want, you’d look super good either way, eat that slice of cake, you want it, don’t you? and, most importantly, of course you’d be welcome in his workshop, he’s been dying to show you this cool thing anyway!

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Quality Time

For someone who lives in the fast lane of life, his intellect guarantees a plethora of knowledge and a natural curiosity for the inner workings of the world. He prefers to share his quiet moment with you and dedicate his time to you, uninterrupted and unbothered. Those date nights are usually filled with excitement and leave you laughing for the rest of the night. He’s the life of the party, but you’re his world.

Franky would melt if your primary love language was Gift Giving.

Franky would be happy with anything you give; after all, you used your super awesome brain to associate this cute object with his likeness, so it’s automatically a sweet gesture in his book, ...but those rare, deeply thoughtful moments count the most. They’re tokens of your love and he’d be a fool if he denied that his mechanical heart was overheating at that. He gets emotional.

BROOK

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Quality Time

Brook, more than anything else, wants to make memories that last a lifetime or two. Your one on one time is absolutely sacred to him – romance is something he’d never thought he’d get to experience ever again; after so much has been taken from him, he truthfully believed that anything he had left was his soul and nobody would want to spend their limited time on this Earth with something as grotesque as him… but you do. You don’t believe that your time is wasted on him at all, so he eventually musters up the courage to take whatever he can get. Brook is so, so close to you, always ready to make time for you, always ready to take you somewhere special and make the experience worthwhile… He’s an artist and his visions for the time you share are as bright and vibrant as his soul; there’s never a moment where you don’t forget the doom and gloom everybody has to deal with sometimes.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Physical Touch

Even though there’s not much softness to him anymore, he loves trailing his fingers over your warm skin and he’s also quite cheeky and lovingly squeezes any of your supple flesh he can find, just to hear you utter a sound of surprise and let your eyes wander towards him. Brook is unbelievably happy to know you don’t mind that he doesn’t have any tissue to cushion the snuggles he loved to hand out unexpectedly. You just roll with it… and it makes him feel so alive and normal.

Brook would melt if your primary love language was Physical Touch.

He would actually let out ugly sobs if you decided to exchange physical contact with him frequently. It fuels the fire that sings for you every day, it is euphoria, it is a renaissance – no, a revelation! Brook wouldn’t have ever thought that someone like you, someone so clearly out of his league, would love him so, so much, but he laps your attention up, always smiling down at you.

JINBE

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Acts of Service

He knows just how hard life can be; he’s had a lot of life experience and has seen the good, the bad and the ugly. Life has its ups and downs and everybody has their individual background, but he’s always wanted to help you grow past your burdens. He’s a great listener, gives great advice and is just generally helpful, so this is definitely how he’d approach your love life, too.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Jinbe is a natural at empathising with others and affirming their greatest strength. With you, it comes so easily that you don’t even realise that this is him expressing his love sometimes and instead just another part of his personality, but the depth of his words sometimes truly strike you. They’re always profound. It’s not a compliment said in passing just to cheer you up, he wants you to recognise you for who you are and choose the path that’s best for you. Also, he often straightforwardly tells you that he loves you. As someone who doesn’t offer much PDA, Jinbe makes up for it with words that don’t just whisper his affections. He’s proudly declaring those words for anyone to hear.

Jinbe would melt if your primary love language was Quality Time.

He knows that spending time all by yourself is a rather rare occurrence when you’re at sea, but he appreciates your efforts to make it happen so much. It makes him feel wanted and desired in a way he’s never been before and he just has to smile at you whenever you dive deep into his own personal story, wanting to learn more about him – it delights him and he knows that you remember everything, he sees that sparkle in your eyes.

#one piece #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #op x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #usopp x reader #sanji x reader #franky x reader #brook x reader #jinbe x reader #x reader #thetrasha writes #thetrasha requests

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cumikering · 15 hours ago

Text

Biker Keegan 2

3.2k | fluff Your first time riding (part 1)

That Saturday morning, Keegan polished the hell out of his bike. Might have hit the gym for a bit too before that. Couldn’t a man want to look good for a date?

You picked a brunch place, the one you’d been meaning to visit. Coincidentally, it wasn’t too far from your place which was good for your first ride.

He’d love to have come up to your door, but understandably, you didn’t give him your apartment number. In front of your building, he removed his helmet and leaned against his bike.

“Keegan?” you called.

You lit up when he turned to you. You probably couldn’t see the smile he returned under his black neck tube.

“Hi.” He straightened up and gave you a once over.

You wore a simple white shirt with light blue jeans. It was effortless, but you looked lovely all the same. He was allowed to compliment you, right?

“You look nice.” Beautiful. He meant beautiful. “I like your boots.”

Your gaze dropped from his eyes, lingering on his outfit. You might have wanted to return the compliment, but was maybe too shy. It was fine, the fact that you said yes to the date was already a compliment to him.

“Here, I got you the gear.” He held up his jacket. “Sorry, it’s pretty old.”

You zipped it on, a teasing smile on your face. It fitted you perfectly. “Seems a bit small for you.”

Keegan smiled. He was quite the scrawny kid. As a recruit, he didn’t look like he belonged in the military, but you never walked in ready. That’s why you had bootcamp.

“How long have you been riding?”

“My own? 19, but way before as a pillion. My uncle got me into it.” He smiled, remembering his first ride all those years ago as he watched you put the gloves on. “Got me the jacket for my 15th birthday.”

“That’s nice. I don’t know anyone who rides.”

“Now you do,” he said, gaze lingering on you before handing you the helmet. “Okay, I need you to sit close and hang on, can be on my waist or shoulders. Follow where my body goes so I can keep the bike balanced. If you want me to slow down, tap once. If you want to stop, tap twice, okay?”

You nodded before adjusting the strap of the helmet. He fastened his own before mounting his bike. You grabbed his shoulders, swinging your leg over the seat before wrapping your arms around his waist.

How obvious was it that he was hoping you would?

You nodded one once more when he confirmed if you were ready. He flicked up the kickstand and fired up the bike.

“Should I be loud or quiet?” he asked over his shoulder.

You laughed. “Loud.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said before pulling away.

The ride with Keegan was the most fun you’d had in a very long time. Apart from visiting Shrek in his swamp. That was impossible to top.

He kept his word about riding carefully and never once made you feel unsafe. It wasn’t hard to see he was an experienced rider, accelerating and braking smoothly at every corner. It only left you craving more.

At the parking lot, he held his hand out to help you dismount. Still buzzing from the ride (or the fact that you had to latch onto his broad figure the entire time), you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

But who wouldn’t have the same reaction? Sure, he was cool and composed, even intimidating with his icy stare, but he felt… gentle. Especially when he texted you.

Well, you did, with a legitimate reason too. Yes, you’d thought he was handsome, maybe even entertained the fantasy of riding with him. And even that he paid for the breakfast, you didn’t think there was anything more to it. You were a client he was courteous with.

So of course you couldn’t believe your eyes when he offered a ride, going as far as calling it a date.

Did he stumble over his words? Had you not seen the way he lost it at the parking lot, you’d have said it was impossible for a dude who didn’t look like he could smile more than twice a week, but now? He probably did.

Once seated and waiting for the meal, you took him in again as he ran his fingers through his hair. It was longer than the last time you saw him, a few strands stuck to his skin from being under the helmet.

Were you imagining it or did he get more muscular? Maybe it was the shirt. It fitted him, emphasising his biceps and revealing more of his tattoo, unlike the loose one from last time.

Oh, you shouldn’t be staring. But look at him, leaning back in his chair, sturdy arms on display as he rolled his shoulders. How were you supposed to not gawk when he looked like that?

“I hope I wasn’t too bad of a passenger,” you started, an attempt to distract yourself.

“You were really good. No sudden movements, kept your feet on the pegs at all times.”

“Someone said to imagine you’re a package, and packages don’t move.”

Keegan laughed, his eyes crinkling. “That’s a good way to put it. Was the ride okay for you?”

“It was great. I really liked it. Now I can check that off my bucket list.”

His gaze lingered on you for a beat before tearing it away. “You know, I, uh, actually meant to text you. A few days after Shrek.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, but I accidentally deleted our chat so I had no way of contacting you.” He paused, as if mulling over his next words. “I’m glad you messaged.”

You smiled, meeting his icy blues. Yeah, he probably thought too hard about texting you.

Brunch was as wonderful as all the reviews said, and it was even better in the company of someone as sweet as he was. He might not have been the chattiest, but with the way he asked about you, conversation flowed despite the lulls - never awkward when you knew he wanted to be there as much as you did. Your latte felt as short as a piccolo.

He held the door for you, and you stepped out into the sun, zipping his jacket back up. It was warm, heavy in a comforting way.

“I was thinking we could take a walk at the park if you didn’t like riding. But since you do, should we go up the hills?”

“That sounds lovely,” you said, pulling your gloves on as he did.

“Want to try revving it?” He stuck the key in the ignition.

You smiled. “You know I’m not going to say no.”

You mounted the bike, leaning in to grasp the handlebar. It was much heavier than you expected.

From your right, Keegan reached around, caging you with his strong arms as he clasped your hands over the handlebar. He helped you pull the bike upright and straighten the wheel.

“Turn the key. Killswitch off,” he narrated his actions and pointed at the N on the dash. “Make sure it’s in neutral, and start.”

The zap down your body was not from the shudder of the engine. He knew that he was doing, didn’t he? Coming up to you like that, purring in your ear. Could he feel how fast your heart was racing?

“Now give it throttle.” He twisted your right hand down, the bike roaring to life.

Clad in leather, there was no skin contact, but you could feel his heat on you anyway. His smooth voice had no business making your spine tingle like that.

“This is the valve button.” His thumb hovered over the little button next to the killswitch. “Press to open.”

You clicked it, the bike dropping to a growling bass note.

His hands remained over yours. “Don’t be shy.”

You twisted the grip a few times, the sound thundering in the parking lot, bringing a grin to your face. He let out a low chuckle, his breath warm on your skin making your stomach flip.

“Okay, that should do it. Don’t want to disturb people too much,” you said.

He pulled back, turned the engine off and helped you dismount. Unable to meet his eyes, you hid the heat creeping up your neck behind your helmet. Once you got back up on the bike, you wrapped your arms around him, a little less hesitant this time.

He looked over his shoulder, a hand on your knee. “There are going to be sharper turns. When I tap, hold on tighter.”

You nodded. With the way you were latching onto him, he probably didn’t need to tell you that. You appreciated the thoughtfulness anyway.

“Oh, and if you want me to go faster, just scream.”

You heard the laughter in his voice.

Under the clear skies, the trip up the lookout was a lot more enjoyable than usual. Or maybe it was because Keegan had such a pretty thing as his backpack. Your arms felt like they belonged around him.

He had to admit, he didn’t have passengers often at all. Sitting on that tiny pillion seat couldn’t have been very comfortable. Who was he going to take anyway, Ajax? Not sure his best friend’s idea of fun was hanging onto him like a koala.

But you didn’t need to tell him you had a good time. It was plain in the giggles under your helmet.

To his surprise, the usually quiet lookout had been converted to a temporary food truck lot. No wonder there was a lot more traffic on your way up.

“I didn’t know they had such a thing,” you said after removing your gear.

He locked the helmets on his bike. “Want to check it out? Let’s get something to drink.”

The aroma of fried food wafted in the air as you browsed. While everything looked good, you were still stuffed from brunch. You suggested lemonades instead, which was next to a shooting booth.

You sipped your drink as you strolled past. “That’s a cute unicorn.” You pointed at a huge plushie on the top shelf.

“You want it?”

“Oh, don’t waste your money.” You swatted your hand. “These games are impossible to win. I have a better bet buying-”

Was that a challenge? Did you know you were on a date with a spec ops sniper?

He tugged you by the hand towards the booth. “I’ll win it for you.”

You held his drink as he paid for a game.

“Shoot the star off. You get 100 rounds.” The older man placed the rifle on the counter. “Good luck, buddy.”

Keegan assumed his shooting stance, holding the rifle up. He held his breath and pulled the trigger.

Okay, you were right. The game was rigged.

He frowned as he lowered the rifle, almost appalled. He barely hit the paper target, safe for the chip in the bottom corner. The barrel might as well have been sawn in half and reattached with duct tape. Merrick would have ransacked the establishment.

He tried again, this time aiming off target, as if compensating for wind drift and bullet drop. A few shots later, he hit the red star dead centre. Once he figured out the adjustment needed, it was second nature. He only took a moment before shooting off a near-perfect circle.

“Well, you made it look really easy,” the man said with awe in his voice, taking the rifle from him. “Which prize do you want?”

He turned to you, looking too smug.

“The unicorn, please,” you said.

When the staff went to retrieve the plush, you handed Keegan his drink, an amused smile on your lips.

“Were you showing off?”

“Not sure yet. Are you impressed?”

“Should I be?”

“Nah, just doing my job. I like making you smile.”

You looked away, trying to bite down that grin as you sipped your drink. Was it bad he enjoyed teasing you? His stomach felt tingly as he, too, chewed on his lip.

Up close, the plush was a lot bigger than he’d expected. It had to be around 3 feet – more than half your size, but you were adorable carrying it on your hip like that. Why did you have to be so cute?

“I hope you like it.”

“Yes, it’s really soft. Thanks, Keegan.” You tightened your arm around it, beaming up at him. “Want a squeeze?”

He wrapped his arms around you. “Yup, it is soft,” he confirmed.

Where was all this boldness coming from? He took a whole week before he attempted to text you, and that afternoon he was making advances left and right. Was there something in the lemonade?

He took a step back, meeting your wide eyes before they softened as you let out a small giggle. That was it, the captivating smile that made him do all sorts of weird stuff.

“I saw the way you were looking at those churros. Will you finally let me pay for something today?”

He smiled. He had a soft spot for them. “Okay.”

If you didn’t have your hands full with the plush and the drink, would you have taken his arm? Maybe even held his big, lonely hand? Instead, as to not lose you in the crowd, he placed a hand on your shoulder as you made way to the churro truck. He’d love to have placed a hand on your back, but after making all the moves that day, he’d rather tone it down to not overstep.

You found an empty bench overlooking the city and the curvy roads you took. You placed your plush next to you.

“You sure you don’t want any?” Keegan held out his two churros.

“All for you.”

He took a bite. “Quite nice.”

“I never got to ask. What do you do in the USMC?”

He turned to you, his forearm resting on the back of the bench. “I’m a sniper.”

You laughed, placing a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry for ever doubting you.”

He didn’t think before he clasped your hand, rubbing his thumb over it. “Let me know if you want anything else.”

“Do you have a nickname there?”

“I don’t.” He paused. “A good friend calls me Russ sometimes, but that’s all.”

“Would you like one?”

“If it’s good, sure. Our captain’s called Scarecrow, which is pretty good because he’s, well, scary. But then there’s Kick, because-“ he snickered- “because he got kicked in the- yeah.”

You busted up laughing.

“There’s also Neptune. I think he’s called that because he’s mission control? Out there looking over or something. Could have been a worse planet definitely.” He smiled. “Actually, he was my second customer, and a loyal one. He’s always beefing with people.”

“Wait, I forgot to ask. Why did you take your ad down?”

Keegan was booked solid for the following week, making bank visiting multiple houses a day, until he didn’t.

“Business got really good. Too good, actually. Someone called the cops on me.”

He didn’t want to point fingers, but Elias had always frowned upon his sergeant’s affinity to motorcycles, deeming it dangerous. The concern was reasonable - he was a father of two sons and a paternal-figure to the Ghosts after all.

While Keegan and Ajax were the usual suspects for the shenanigans on base, Keegan was the one with a bike. So when Elias caught wind of the pranks going around, he didn’t seem to take very long to put two and two together. The same day the captain reprimanded him was the same one he got pulled over.

Too bad Elias lived on base and was immune to revbombing. Keegan could still attempt of course, but didn’t want his bike getting run over by a Humvee.

You winced. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Almost. I was let off with a warning.”

A smile teased your lips. “Did you have fun though?”

“Of course.” He chuckled, pulling up his phone and extended is arm behind you. “I’ll show you some of the videos I took.”

You scooted closer, leaving a small gap that he wanted to close. How obvious was it that he couldn’t get enough of you?

After he showed you his favourite clips, he pulled up photos with the Ghosts. Some were their nights out while a few were him and the boys playing board games and drinking. He had to do some digging, but he found a photo of him as a recruit, lanky and head shaven, also one on his first bike after his first tour. Lastly, one from his promotional ceremony where he made Sergeant.

“You look good.”

You shouldn’t have said it in that tone with such soft eyes.

Keegan slid his phone back in his pocket and took another bite of his churro. You rested your head on his shoulder with a soft sigh, making his heart jump. Please don’t let her hear it. You placed a hand on his thigh.

In the silence, he enjoyed your company. It was ideal for him, see, as he didn’t have to think about what to say all the time. Only about how he didn’t want to leave that bench.

He held out his last churro. “Offer still stands.”

“Okay, just a bite.” You smiled, sitting upright before taking a bite. “Alright, that’s better than I expected.”

He told you to wait as he got another for you, but he came back with a chocolate sundae and a grin. What could he say, he loved his sweet treats.

While you enjoyed the snacks, the lookout had grown more crowded, the chatter making it harder to hear each other. Much to his disappointment, you suggested heading back.

He stood, holding out a hand for you. “We need some rope.”

You took it, but your brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Your plush.”

“Oh, I forgot we rode here! How are we going to take it back?”

After you consented to looking silly, Keegan acquired some rope from the shooting booth. He tied your plush to your back, making sure it was secure, but unrestrictive for you.

“All done. Now my backpack has a backpack,” he said, patting the unicorn.

He couldn’t help laughing with you when you asked him to take a photo.

In front of your building, he helped you untie the plush before you handed your gear back to him. He packed them into his cinch bag.

You smiled up at him. “Thank you for today, Keegan. I had such a good time.”

He took a small step towards you, one which you thankfully understood was an invitation for a squeeze. “If you’re free next week, I’d love to take you on another ride. The city is pretty at night.”

“I’d love that.”

“In that case, do you want to hold onto this?” He gestured at the gear.

You let him walk you up, your hand in his as he trailed behind you, the bag on his shoulder. At your door, he pressed your knuckles against his lips.

“We should visit Shrek again. He’d be happier to see us at midnight.”

It made you laugh. He didn’t care what you did, he just wanted an excuse to hear that again and again.

Masterlist

Thanks for reading :D

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