#and while this like isn’t fun and it is strange for him to look at me and not know me more times than he does. it has also been kind of l | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 22 days ago

Note

Request for the person that infected me with the Love of Law:

I learned Law collects coins (what a NERD) so I was thinking strawhat reader w a crush collects rare coins on their travels until they see Law again. R shows him all the coins they found and the stories about where the came from. We tell him to pick his favorites to keep. And, then you know, He loves us forever and ever amen 🙏 Bless you for gifting us these daily stories! 😍🫡

Promise Coin

law x gn!reader

words count: 3.8k

tags: fluff, gender neutral reader, slow burn, traveler!reader, coin collector!reader, awkward!law, pining, mutual crush

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You like coins.

Not just money. Not the kind you spend. You like rare coins. Shiny, old, strange ones. But mostly, you like the ones that tell stories.

You started collecting them during your travels. Every island you visit, every small town, every weird shop or back alley, you search for some new ones that have a past on them. And when you find one, your heart beats a little faster.

All because of him.

Trafalgar D. Water Law.

You met him months ago, maybe even a year passed. You were both staying in a port town while your ships were getting repaired. You talked once, maybe twice. He was calm. Looked a little scary, but... kind.

And then, one night, you saw him looking at an old coin in his hand. Turning it over slowly. Focused. Soft, almost.

You asked, “You like coins?”

He nodded “I started collecting them. Just a hobby.”

That was it. That’s all he said.

But ever since that night, you started collecting them too. Just in case you saw him again… Dumb to do that over a random stranger but here you are anyway…

Now you're on a small island, and there’s news: The Heart Pirates are docked nearby.

Your heart jumps.

You clutch the small pouch at your side. Inside, your treasures. The coins you've found. You’ve kept them safe, thinking about this moment.

You don’t even know if he remembers you… After all, you just talked for one minute almost a year ago…

And yet, you walk fast around the market, hoping and wishing you’ll see him.

Then you hear it.

“Oi, Captain! They said they’ve got fresh octopus!”

The voice is loud, someone from his crew. And next to him, there he is.

Law.

He looks the same. Hat, tattoos, sword. But when he sees you, his eyes widen. Just a little.

You wave shyly “Hi.”

“…Hey.” His voice is quieter now. He walks over. You can see the tips of his ears are a little pink.

You smile “Long time. I’m Y/N, I don’t know if you remem—”

He nods “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

You bite your lip “I, uh… I found some things. Since the last time. Want to see?”

He looks confused “Things?”

You open your pouch carefully. Inside, the coins glint in the sun. Old ones, big ones, square-shaped, tiny ones with holes in them. All different.

Law’s eyes widen “These are…”

You laugh nervously “Yeah. I started collecting them. After we talked. You kinda inspired me.”

He stares at them. His fingers hover over the pouch like he wants to touch them but isn’t sure if he should.

“Can I…?”

You nod “Of course.”

He picks up one with strange symbols. Turns it slowly.

“This is from Rokka Island,” he says “It’s over a hundred years old.”

You grin “I found it in a stall run by an old man with no teeth. He said it was cursed, so he gave it to me for free.”

Law chuckles. Cute.

“Cursed, huh?”

“Yeah. But I’m still alive, so I think he was lying.”

You both laugh.

He holds the coin like it’s glass. His voice is softer “You really kept all of these?”

You nod again “I wanted to show you. I hoped I’d see you again.”

There’s a pause. His eyes meet yours. His cheeks turn a little red.

“…You did all this. For me?”

You shrug, looking down “Kinda… I started because of you but in the end I had fun finding them and knowing all their stories.”

Law clears his throat “That’s… That’s nice.”

You look up “You okay?”

He rubs the back of his neck “I’m fine. Just… not used to people doing stuff like that.”

You smile “Well, get used to it then.”

His lips twitch, in almost a smile. He looks at the coin again.

“Can you tell me where you found the rest?”

“Only if you promise to show me your collection next time.”

He nods slowly “Deal.”

Law glances back at his crew. They're loud. Still arguing over seafood.

He turns to you “Wanna sit somewhere quiet?”

You blink “Yeah. Sure.”

He walks beside you, silent but not cold. You lead him to a stone bench near the harbor, behind an old warehouse. There’s a little breeze and no one is around.

You sit down and open your pouch again. Law sits next to you, leaning in slightly.

You hold up a silver coin with jagged edges.

“This one,” you begin, “I found in a broken fountain on Dressrosa.”

Law raises an eyebrow “You went to Dressrosa?”

“By accident. Long story. Anyway, this coin was stuck under some moss. I thought it was a rock at first. A kid helped me pull it out.”

You turn it in your hand “It’s cut weird because, apparently, they used to break coins in half to share them between people they trusted.”

“Like a promise?” Law asks.

“Yeah. Like, ‘I’ll come back for the other half’. Romantic, huh?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then says softly, “Yeah. It is.”

You pull out another one, a tiny gold coin, almost like a button.

“This one’s from Skypiea,” you say “It was inside a cracked shell I bought from a sky merchant.”

He takes it, inspecting the edge “This is real gold.”

“Yup. But super thin. The merchant said they used them like gifts. For people they liked. Not for trade.”

Law pauses “Like… a token of affection?”

You shrug, smiling “Guess I collect a lot of romantic coins, huh?”

He chuckles under his breath “Apparently.”

Then, gently, he says, “What about your favorite?”

You pause, fingers brushing over the coins in the pouch. Then you pull out a plain, round coin. No shine. Worn edges. It looks boring.

“This one.”

Law frowns a little “Why this one?”

You smile “It’s not rare. Or valuable. But… the story.”

You hold it carefully between your fingers, like it might crumble.

“I met this old woman in a tiny fishing village. She was sitting outside her house, alone. I was just walking by, but she waved me over and said she liked my jacket.”

Law glances at your jacket, as if trying to find the part she liked.

“She invited me for tea. Told me her whole life story. Her husband died young. She had to raise her kids by herself. Never remarried. Always struggled with money. Then we talked more and I ended up telling her I like to collect coins because I met—” You stop as you notice you’re saying too much.

“Then she got all excited and she said this coin…” you show it to him again, “...was the first coin she earned on her own. Cleaning nets for some grumpy old fisherman.”

Law’s eyes don’t leave the coin.

“She kept it her whole life. Said it reminded her she could survive anything. Even heartbreak. Even loneliness.”

You breathe out, slowly.

“When I was leaving, she gave it to me. Said I had ‘kind eyes’ and that she didn’t need it anymore.”

You look at Law. He’s watching you closely now. No teasing. Just… quiet.

“I almost didn’t take it,” you admit “But she insisted. So now I carry it with me. Not because it’s worth anything, but because… she gave me a piece of her strength.”

Law nods slowly “…That’s a good story.”

You smile “Yeah. I think so too.”

He clears his throat, then holds the coin gently. Like it’s something holy.

“You’ve really been through a lot.” he murmurs.

“So have you.” you say.

His eyes flick to yours. There’s something soft there. Shy. Almost nervous.

“…I’d like to show you mine. My collection…” he says.

You grin “I’d love that.”

You both sit in silence for a moment. The wind moves your hair. The sea glimmers behind him.

Then Law says, “You know… I think this is my favorite coin now too.”

You blink “Huh? But it’s mine.”

He smirks, a little flustered “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laugh “Then get your own sad grandma story.”

He chuckles, low and real.

“…Maybe I will.” he says.

You watch Law turn the old woman’s coin in his hand, thumb brushing its surface with surprising care.

Then you smile “Okay. That one’s my favorite. But you don’t get to choose that one.”

Law raises an eyebrow, lips twitching “I wasn’t trying to steal it.”

You lean closer, nudging him with your shoulder “Still. Pick another one.”

He blinks “What for?”

“Just do it.”

He hesitates, then looks down at your small pile again. His fingers hover for a moment before he gently picks up the tiny Skypiea coin, the thin gold one like a button.

“This one.” he says simply.

You grin “Nice choice.”

“It’s light. Easy to carry.”

You roll your eyes “Of course that’s your reason.”

But he’s still holding it. Turning it slowly. Like he’s already attached.

You nudge his hand “Keep it.”

Law freezes “What?”

“Keep it,” you say again, softer this time “As a promise.”

His eyes narrow slightly “Promise for what?”

You meet his gaze. Your voice is steady, but there’s a smile hiding in it “That we’ll meet again.”

He stares at you, unreadable for a few seconds.

Then, quietly “…You don’t want it back?”

You shake your head “Nope. That one’s yours now. I don’t collect just for value, remember?”

He looks down at the coin again.

“…And when you look at it, you’re supposed to think of me, okay?” You grin.

Law’s ears turn red. Bright red.

“…Tch,” he mutters, slipping the coin carefully into his coat pocket “You’re annoying.”

But he’s smiling a little.

You lean back, feeling the sun on your face “You’re not very good at pretending you’re not touched, y’know.”

Law groans “Don’t start.”

You laugh “Admit it. You’re gonna keep it forever.”

“…Maybe.”

You glance at him “And maybe one day you’ll give me one of yours.”

He looks at you sideways, face soft “…Deal?”

You pretend to think “Hmm. Deal.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, and the two of you sit like that, close, warm, quiet.

Not a goodbye. Just a see you later.

It’s been a long time.

Longer than you wanted.

Storms. Ship trouble. A run-in with Marines. Then some quiet months on a peaceful island where nothing happened, except you kept checking the docks, just in case.

No Heart Pirates.

No Law.

You still carry your coins. You even bought a few more. But lately, they feel heavier. Like they’re waiting too.

Now you’re on Faroa Island, known for spicy noodles and heavy fog. You’ve been here three days, eating too much and asking too many strangers about submarines.

You’re starting to give up again when a fisherman points out to sea.

“That ship’s weird…” he says.

Your heart stops.

You run to the harbor.

You know that shape. That ugly yellow.

The Polar Tang.

You spot the crew first. Shachi yelling, Penguin arguing, Bepo already hugging strangers.

And then there he is.

Trafalgar Law.

He’s walking down the ramp, coat moving in the wind, calm as ever. His face is unreadable, until he sees you.

He stops walking.

You wave slowly. Nervous. Hopeful. A little out of breath.

“…Hey!” you say, unsure if your voice is shaking or it’s just the sea wind.

He blinks and stops walking.

“You...” he says, like it’s not real.

You laugh “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Law’s face doesn’t show much, but his ears are just barely pink.

“I figured you’d still be running around.” he says quietly.

You laugh, softer this time “Got time to talk?”

He nods, silent, then gestures toward a quiet part of the dock.

You sit on a crate. He leans beside it.

“I’ve picked up a few more,” you say, pulling your pouch out “coins.”

He watches you open it without a word.

You hold out a new one, a tiny fish-shaped copper coin. The edges are smoothed down, but the little carved scales are still visible.

He takes it carefully.

“This one’s from a cliffside village. Super windy. Almost flew out of my hand into the sea.”

He hums, thumb brushing over the coin. You catch the way his fingers slow down. Familiar. Like he’s used to this.

“…You still have the one I gave you?” you ask suddenly, not thinking.

Law stiffens slightly and doesn’t look at you.

Then, without a word, he pulls something from inside his coat.

A small cloth pouch.

He opens it slowly and inside there is the thin gold Skypiea coin.

Your breath catches.

“You kept it…” you whisper.

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but he’s gripping the pouch a little tighter “I said I would.”

Before you can say anything else—

“WAIT. WHAT.”

You both look up.

Shachi and Penguin are standing there, mouths open, frozen mid-step. Bepo’s behind them, blinking.

Shachi leans in “Dude. We’ve seen you stare at it for months. Every night on night watch. We thought you were going crazy.”

Law’s face is stone “Leave.”

“You never told us it was from them!” Shachi points at you, wide-eyed “That makes it even weirder!”

“Wait,” Bepo says, eyes wide, “is it a love coin?”

Law mutters something under his breath that sounds very murdery.

You try not to laugh “Love coin, huh?”

“LEAVE.” Law growls, eyes twitching.

The crew stumbles away, still yelling behind them.

“HE STARES AT IT LIKE IT’S A TREASURE MAP!”

“IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW!”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS CURSED!”

Once they’re out of earshot, you cover your mouth, laughing.

Law exhales sharply “Idiots.”

“You didn’t tell them?”

“Obviously not.”

You bump your shoulder into his “You’re soft, Captain.”

“I’m not.”

You glance at the coin in his hand “You are.”

He doesn’t argue this time.

Instead, he slips the coin back into the pouch, then into his coat.

Then, quietly, he says “You… still collect them?”

You nod “Always.”

“…Then don’t stop. Not yet.”

You look at him “Why?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, but his voice is quiet when he says “Because I want to see what you find next.”

“I… have something to show you.”

You tilt your head “Oh?”

He glances away, like he regrets speaking at all “If you want. You can come on board.”

You blink “On the Polar Tang?”

He nods “My collection’s in my room. Kept safe.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling “Law, are you inviting me to your room?”

He mutters, “It’s not like that!” and turns away too fast, ears burning.

You laugh softly “Okay, okay. I’m joking, let’s go.”

You follow him through the metal corridors of the Polar Tang. The ship hums gently beneath your feet. The inside is warmer than you expected, surprisingly clean and full of personality. Bepo passes by, gives you a thumbs-up. Shachi is whispering something and giggling until Law glares at him into silence.

Finally, you reach his quarters.

He opens a drawer carefully, pulls out a small wooden box, and sits with you at the low table. No words, just quiet, steady movements.

Then he opens it.

Coins. A LOT of them.

Some are old and dark with age, others polished to a mirror shine. A few are cracked. Every one of them has been placed carefully, like a small piece of his story.

You whisper, “Wow.”

Law watches you “Most of them came from islands we stopped at. A few… from patients. People we couldn’t save.”

You look up at him. He says it plainly, but there’s weight behind his voice. Like every coin holds a memory he doesn’t always talk about.

Then, from the corner of the box, he pulls out a worn, half-moon shaped coin. It’s broken. Just half of something.

“This one…” He pauses, tracing the jagged edge with his thumb “There’s a legend tied to it.”

You lean in “Tell me.”

“They say there were coins made in pairs.” he explains, slowly, like he’s not sure why he’s telling you “Two halves. When put together, a design appears. Only visible if the coins match.”

“What kind of design?”

He hesitates “…No one there wanted to tell me. Said I had to find the other half to find out.”

You stare at the coin in his palm.

Then something in your brain clicks.

Your pouch.

You know that shape.

“…Wait,” you whisper, “Wait a second.”

You fumble into your pouch, digging fast. Coins clink against each other as you search, heart racing. Then you pull out a coin.

Broken. Same size. Same edge.

You place it gently next to his.

Law’s breath hitches.

You both look down.

The pieces slide together with a soft click.

Then the design shimmers into view, like ink appearing on water.

Two mirrored spirals, forming a small, delicate symbol.

The ancient mark.

“Soulmates.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment.

“No way…” you say, breathless.

Law is frozen. Staring at the coin. Then at you. Then back at the coin.

“I didn’t…” he starts, voice hoarse “I never thought anyone would have the other half.”

“I didn’t even know what it was,” you say quietly “I just thought it looked cool. I found it in a market near Raijin Island. A kid gave it to me for free. Said it ‘looked lonely.’”

Law blinks, like that part hits him even harder.

You both sit there. The coin between you.

Two halves. One mark.

“I…” He tries again, but the words don’t come.

His fingers brush yours, just barely, as he picks up the whole coin.

You watch his expression change, like something in him shifts.

You break the silence, voice soft “So… what now?”

He swallows.

Then, very quietly, very Law-like, he says “…Don’t leave. Not yet.”

The Polar Tang is quiet at night.

Outside, waves tap against the hull. Inside, the ship hums low, steady.

You’re still sitting on the floor of his quarters. Still staring at that coin.

Two halves. One whole. One mark.

He hasn’t stopped looking at it since it appeared. You haven’t stopped looking at him.

“So…” you say, softly “We’re soulmates now?”

He snorts “It’s not magic.”

You grin “You sound like you wish it was magic. That way you could blame the coin.”

Law pauses. Doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I don’t believe in fate.”

You tilt your head “But?”

His voice is quiet “But I believe in signs.”

He finally looks at you. Really looks. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are full of something heavy. Something warm.

You lean back against the wall, the coin now resting between you both on the table.

“Can I ask something?” you say.

He nods.

“Did you… think about me? After I gave you the coin?”

His answer is immediate “Yeah.”

You blink “That was fast.”

He glances down “…I looked at it more than I should’ve.”

You smile “Good. I hoped you would.”

There’s a silence after that, but not awkward, just full of everything you’re both not saying.

Then he speaks “Do you remember what you told me? When you gave it to me?”

You think for a second “That it was a promise. That when you looked at it, you’d remember me.”

He nods “And so I did. Every time.”

The air feels warmer now. You shift a little closer.

“What about now?” you ask “You’ve seen me again. We’re here. Does that promise still count?”

Law’s voice drops lower “…Yeah. Maybe more than before.”

You pause.

The hum of the ship grows louder in the quiet. His hand is close to yours now. The coin sits between you, touching both your fingers.

You look at him “You can kiss me, you know.”

His eyes widen a fraction “You’re direct.”

“You’re slow.”

That earns the tiniest twitch of a smile.

He studies you for one more second and then moves.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle, almost unsure, and then he leans in, slow and careful, like he’s afraid he’ll mess it up.

Your noses brush. You can feel his breath.

Then he kisses you.

Soft. Steady. Nothing rushed.

It’s the kind of kiss that speaks without words. The kind that says I thought about this every day. The kind that means finally.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

You’re both quiet.

Then you murmur, almost embarrassed “…That wasn’t part of the coin legend, by the way.”

He smirks a bit against your mouth “Maybe we’re making a new one then.”

You wake to soft humming from the ship.

The Polar Tang vibrates gently under your head, steady and warm. You blink your eyes open. You’re still on the floor of Law’s quarters, curled up under a blanket you definitely weren’t using last night.

Law is sitting at his desk, reading something, but you catch the way his eyes flick to you the second you move.

“…Morning.” he says, voice low and raspy.

You smile “Hey, Captain.”

He closes the book “You hungry?”

You stretch, yawning “Starving.”

He stands, brushes off his coat, then holds out a hand to help you up. You take it. His fingers linger just a second longer than they need to.

“You didn’t sleep much.” you say.

“I’m used to it.”

“Still. I could’ve taken the floor alone, y’know.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you here.”

You grin “Romantic.”

He rolls his eyes and walks out, but not before you catch a hint of pink on his ears.

You walk together to the kitchen, the hallway quiet.

But the second the door to the mess hall opens… Chaos.

“YOOO LOOK WHO CAME OUT OF THE CAPTAIN’S ROOM!”

Shachi nearly drops a bowl. Penguin starts choking on his breakfast.

Bepo blinks mid-sip “I thought you were on night shift, Captain—wait. Why are they here this early?”

You blink.

Law’s face goes from calm to deeply regretting all his life choices in 0.2 seconds.

“They slept here?!” Bepo gasps, pointing between the two of you.

“We knew it!” Shachi yells “Hey nerds, did you talk about coins all night?”

You try to answer, but then Penguin adds, “I’m sure they did more than talk.”

You laugh. Law groans.

“Enough.” he snaps.

Shachi smirks “What, we’re not allowed to celebrate your love now, Captain?”

“It’s not—”

“So,” Penguin adds, dramatically wiping a fake tear, “you shared your coin box? That’s, like, pirate marriage to you.”

“I will throw you all in the ocean.” Law mutters, dragging a hand over his face.

You lean in and whisper, “You’re really bad at hiding your feelings.”

He glares sideways “You’re not helping.”

You just grin.

Shachi elbows Bepo “I bet they kissed.”

Penguin gasps “BET? I bet he melted. Our captain's a secret romantic.”

Law exhales like a man ready to self-operate.

You finally speak, voice sweet, “For the record, we did talk about coins.”

The room goes quiet.

You lean closer to Law, smirking “And then we kissed.”

The crew erupts. Law covers his face with his hand.

You grab a plate and walk to the food like nothing happened, humming to yourself.

Behind you, Law is still standing there quiet, ears red, surrounded by absolute children pretending to be pirates.

He sighs, then mutters under his breath, “Worth it…”

819 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 5 months ago

Text

Birthday Wish

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to make a big deal out of his birthday, but you want to make it special.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: Mutual crush, confessions, humor, light angst, fluff, reference to Bucky's past, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Happy birthday to Bucky and this is my first submission for @avengers-assemble-bingo (Card 4B 020 - Square 2 - Birthday Boy). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t care to celebrate his birthday. What was there worth celebrating? It was just another day like any other, another year that he got older. Even then, his looks didn’t match his current age. It was strange to look in the mirror and have the appearance of someone so much younger when he was born in 1917. He should’ve been old.

He should’ve left this world a long time ago.

While he was thankful for Steve and his other friends, he did feel a pang in his heart when he thought of his family. The last birthday he got to celebrate with his mom and sisters was before he got shipped off to war. Since then, there were no homemade cakes, no happy singing and jokes about him getting older, no candles to blow out and make a wish.

What would he even wish for today?

“Maybe we can all go out to dinner,” Steve suggested when he brought up Bucky’s birthday. “That could be fun, right?”

He felt bad shrugging in response since his best friend was trying to help him celebrate. “Maybe.”

“Dinner? Jesus, you two really are old men,” Tony commented, typing something into his phone. “Say the word and I’ll throw you a party. Best party you’ve ever had. You can thank me later.”

Bucky didn’t mean to give Tony a grumpy look, but parties were the billionaire’s thing. And while he didn’t mind having the spotlight on him as a younger man, it seemed foreign to him now. “My birthday is tomorrow, which gives you no time to plan a party, and I think I’m good.”

“I’m insulted that you would underestimate me and my connections,” Tony argued.

“No party,” Bucky said. He didn’t want one.

“What do you want to do then?” Sam asked.

Bucky’s brows pinched together. He didn’t really know. “My birthday isn’t a big deal, so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it,” he replied. Something low-key and not the least bit stressful would be nice. “I guess if I had to choose something, I’d like to read a new book and have a piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.”

The guys stared at him, and he waited for Tony to laugh or make another “old man” comment. He didn’t care. It was his birthday they were asking about, so shouldn’t he get to choose what he wanted to do?

“I think that’s really sweet. And chocolate cake with chocolate frosting is delicious.”

Turning toward the soft voice, a smile touched Bucky’s lips and his heart fluttered when he saw you smiling back. The newest member of the team, you always had words of encouragement or a soft smile for him. As kind as you were, you could also kick ass and give Natasha a run for her money. To say he had a bit of a crush on you was an understatement.

“Thanks, doll,” he whispered.

You ducked your head with a giggle before you cleared your throat, making his smile widen. When he let his mind wander he liked to imagine you whimpering or sighing when he whispered that in your ear. If you only knew the things he thought about you, both naughty and nice.

“‘Doll’?” Tony groaned and shook his head. “Barnes, we really need to acclimate you to the modern world because no one with any sense calls anyone ‘doll’.”

His jaw clenched and color rose to his cheeks. Maybe it was a bit old-fashioned, but he liked it and he thought you liked it, too. But if it bothered you…

“You can call me ‘doll’, Bucky,” you assured him. “I don’t mind.”

Bucky could’ve used the opportunity to say something charming or sweet, but he kept the words in his head and gave you a grunt and a nod instead. A fucking grunt and a nod. What the hell was wrong with him? He might as well have given you a high-five and called you “buddy”.

“Okay,” you drew the word out slowly. “I’ll see you guys later!”

While Bucky watched you leave the room, the guys once again stared at him. “Not a fucking word,” he growled when Tony opened his mouth, heading out himself. He didn’t want their pity or their jokes.

With his exceptional hearing, he stopped when Tony muttered, “Tin Man better step up his game because that was painful to watch.”

“I’m old, not dead. I have game,” he mumbled. Well, he used to have game. Times were different now, and so was he. Still, his heart skipped a beat at the thought of you liking him, and maybe he could step up and take a chance.

“Be nice, Tony,” Steve sighed.

“I’ll be nice when he grows a pair and makes a move. Look, we all have eyes and we see how she looks at him.” Bucky felt butterflies in his stomach before Tony continued. “And she’s a stunning creature. Someone will snag her if he doesn’t.”

Bucky clenched his gloved fists. “Lay off the guy,” Sam said. “He’ll make a move when he’s ready.”

“Tomorrow,” Bucky whispered, walking away, determined. He would make a move tomorrow. It would either be the best birthday he could remember or he’d lick his wounds alone in his room and hope you’d still be his friend.

But as luck would have it, he didn’t get to talk to you the next morning.

He swore he saw you rush out of the kitchen with something in hand, but Steve stopped him to wish him a happy birthday. Everyone greeted him throughout the morning with various messages ranging from nice to references of his age. They all made it a point to say something, but he hadn’t seen you at all. Well, he hadn’t seen you or-

“Happy year of birth, Barnes!” Thor shouted. Bucky’s reflexes couldn’t stop the handful of confetti from hitting his face. “Let us celebrate, my friend!”

Bucky spit a piece of confetti out and tried to wipe away the remainder that landed on his face and shirt. “Thanks?”

The god of thunder looked him over. “Wasn’t your hair longer yesterday?” he asked, inhaling when Bucky ran a hand through it. “And are you wearing cologne? Is it for the party?”

“Maybe,” he said under his breath. He had trimmed his hair a bit and spritzed some cologne in the hopes of getting your attention if he bumped into you. It was stupid. “Party? What are you-”

He tensed up for a second when Thor threw an arm over his shoulders. “Stark said you didn’t want a party and I believe it’s meant to be a surprise, so don’t tell him I told you,” he said. Bucky almost snarled. He didn’t want a party. And how the hell did Tony put something together at the last second? “He also planned for it to be earlier in the day because he said you are old and wouldn’t want to stay up late. The man is-”

“Bucky!” you called out from down the hall, making him relax. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, doll,” he smiled, happy to finally see you.

“I like your haircut,” you said, gliding across the floor to where they stood and commanding the presence of anyone who looked your way. “It looks great.”

Bucky puffed his chest out, glad that you noticed and liked it. “Thanks, doll.”

“You got…” You smiled and wiped the remainder of confetti from his chest, his heart rate picking up. “Thor, I’m so sorry, but I have to steal Bucky away for a bit. You don’t mind, do you?”

Thor humbly bowed to you, your doe eyed expression getting the blonde to easily bend to your will. Bucky’s hands flexed and for a moment he felt jealous before he remembered Thor wasn’t romantically interested in you. “Not at all. I shall take my leave.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s and gently pulling him away. “Mmm. You smell good, too.”

Bucky hid a smile. “Thanks again,” he said, happy that he made the call to wear it. “Hey, Tony isn’t really throwing me a party, is he?”

You winced. “Yeah, he’s throwing something,” you confirmed. Bucky was going to have a chat with him later. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen to me.”

“I appreciate you trying,” he said, pulling you closer to his side. It meant a lot.

“Which is why I wanted to steal you away for a bit so you could have some peace and quiet.”

You guided him to the tower library which was one of his favorite areas. When he wasn’t training or hanging out in his room, he was usually there. “What is that?” he asked when he saw the CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE sign on the doors.

“Oh, I did that so no one would come in,” you winked, opening the doors so he could go inside. “Tada! Happy birthday!”

Bucky’s mouth fell open when he saw the small set up in the corner. There was a book with a bow sitting on the chair and a piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting with a single candle on the table beside it. “Did you… Did you do this for me?” he asked, his chest getting tight. It was exactly what he asked for.

“Yeah. You said you didn’t want to make a big deal out of your birthday, and I thought you deserved to have the kind of birthday you wanted. So, a slice of cake and a new book it is,” you smiled, a bounce in your step when you went to light the candle for him. “But I may have gotten you one more thing.”

“And what’s that?” he asked. You had already gone above and beyond for him. There was nothing you needed to get him.

“Tickets to the new science exhibit that’s opening this weekend.”

His chest felt tight again. He mentioned to you in passing that he wanted to go to the museum to see the new science exhibit. His love of science was something that hadn’t died, but hadn’t gotten around to buying tickets yet. You really paid attention to him and cared, didn’t you?

Your smile faltered just a bit when he kept staring. “I hope it’s okay that I did that. I really wanted you to have a nice birthday and you mean a lot to me and…” you trailed off as if you didn’t mean to say that.

God, he wanted you to mean it.

“It’s more than okay, thank you,” he swallowed, making his way over to you. “And did you say I mean a lot to you?” he asked because he had to hear you say it again.

You bit your lip and he wanted to bite your lip, too. “Yeah, you do.”

Hearing that was one of the best birthday gifts you could give him. “You mean a lot to me, too,” he confessed. You meant everything. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

There was that giggle again that he loved. “Oh, I’m not, but thank you.”

“Yes, you are,” he whispered. You were the most amazing woman he knew. “I think that candle’s about to go out.”

The flame glowed in your eyes when you held up the plate and he felt lost in the best way. “Then you better make a wish.”

A charming smile crossed his face. “I can’t blow out my candle until someone sings ‘Happy Birthday’,” he teased.

Bucky expected you to protest when you opened your mouth. “Happy birthday to you.” He exhaled as you sang, your smoothe tone sending tingles down to his toes. “Happy birthday to you.”

Taking a step closer he placed a hand on your hip, your voice turning a bit breathy. It was beautiful. Everything about you was beautiful. He didn’t think he could fall any harder for you, but he was falling more and more each day.

“Happy birthday, dear Bucky…” You peered at him through your lashes. Looking back at you, he felt like he had something worth celebrating. “Happy birthday to you.”

With a gentle breath he blew the candle out and took the plate from your hands with ease. He heard both of your hearts beating faster, and he saw hope in your eyes. He gazed back at you, silently asking for permission. He wanted to kiss you, wanted you to be his girl.

Bucky wanted his birthday wish to come true.

“Doll…” he breathed.

It wasn’t until you nodded that he closed the distance and pressed his lips to yours. He took his time, savoring the feel of your mouths together. It was perfect, a moment he’d never forget.

“Wow,” you whispered when he pulled away. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah?” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “And I’m thankful it was a kiss you gave me instead of a grunt and a nod.”

Bucky laughed. “I can still give you a grunt and a nod,” he teased, touching your warm cheek. “And you know, since it’s my birthday and you said I should celebrate how I want, I think it’s only fair that I get 108 kisses.”

“Sergeant Barnes, are you really asking me for 108 kisses?”

“To start,” he smirked. “And it’s a good excuse to skip the party,” he added, going back in for another when you giggled.

He’d ask you after to stay with him while he read and shared the piece of cake. You’d tell him that you made it from scratch and hurried out of the kitchen so the gang wouldn’t eat it. He’d explain that he cut his hair and put on cologne for you in the hopes of attracting your attention which you told him he already had. And before the night was over, he’d ask you to go to the exhibit with him and to be his girl.

A birthday wish come true.

Have I told you lovelies how much I appreciate you? Because I do. Happy birthday, Bucky Barnes! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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tsukisangel · 5 months ago

Text

hq boys react to you getting hit on in dms!!

characters ꕤ tsukishima, atsumu, kuroo, daichi

wc ꕤ 926

you were laying on your belly in bed with TSUKISHIMA while he was sitting up next to you and reading. it wasn’t too late in the evening. the two of you were just winding down after a long day. you scrolled through your phone when you got a message request on instagram. you furrowed your brows, pressing it and reading it. you gasped softly, making tsukishima glance over at you.

daish.guru: hey baby ;) how about u leave that loser and get w me instead ?

you laughed in pure shock. tsukishima hummed and set his book down after placing the bookmark in the page he was reading. you held the phone up to him, and he raised his brows. possessiveness flashed in his eyes for half a second. you hardly noticed it. then he smirked, taking the phone. he didn’t even say anything. he just wrote a message and gave it back to you. then he went back to reading.

you furrowed your brows at your boyfriend, looking at the phone.

y/n: correct me if i’m wrong, didn’t your girlfriend break up with you recently? and then when you begged on your hands and knees for her back and she rejected you, you went on instagram and found objectively attractive women to hit on thinking that would work? nice try. unfortunately for me, i’m stuck with her -loser

you laughed. “kei!” you exclaimed, a grin spreading across your face. “what the hell do you mean unfortunately?”

he rolled his eyes. “should i let him have you?” he asked. “you’re interrupting my reading.” you scoffed, hitting his arm and then stealing his book. “hey.” you laughed, making sure you kept his spot as you flipped through the pages. despite the teasing, your heart was still fluttering at the message your boyfriend sent.

ꕤ

“tsumu!” you groaned. “hurry up!” you exclaimed. “i’m gonna start it without you!” while you waited for ATSUMU to get out of the kitchen and get to the living room for your night in, you scrolled instagram on your phone. you furrowed your brows when you noticed a strange dm from some random guy you didn’t even know.

terushi.ma: hey gorgeous 😍 i bet you’d have way more fun with me than that weirdo ur with ;)

“who the fuck is that?” atsumu asked from behind you. you jumped, the phone flying out of your hand. he laughed.

you scowled and pushed his face. “i don’t know. guess he thinks i’m hot.” you smiled at atsumu. “but i already know that.”

“okay, bighead.” atsumu rolled his eyes, picking your phone up. you laughed softly. he checked for cracks and then sat next to you, opening the dm. “here, take a pic with me.” he opened the camera to take a picture, then pointed to his cheek. you grinned and kissed it, hearing the camera click. then you watched as he typed a message back.

y/n: [1 image attachment]

y/n: i think she’s good bro, gl tho

you nodded. “perfect.” you said. “my protector.” you rested your head on his lap and he chuckled, setting his popcorn bowl down on your belly. you giggled.

“anything for you, gorgeous.” he winked at you.

ꕤ

KUROO walked over to you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind as you prepared your breakfast. you saw his hands held your phone. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “why in the hell is daishou suguru messaging you?” he asked sweetly. you furrowed your brows, looking down at the message on your phone.

then you scoffed at the message.

daish.guru: hey baby ;) how about u leave that loser and get w me instead ?

“i’d like to know the same thing.” you frowned. “isn’t he from that team that cheated or whatever?” you asked.

kuroo nodded, starting to type on the phone. “cheated and still lost.” he chuckled.

y/n: daishou - 0, kuroo - 2

y/n: seems like you’re the loser here.

you laughed softly at the messages. “still holding a grudge on him?” you teased.

“no, not anymore. i’m finally at peace with it.” he grinned, setting your phone down. “food’s burning, by the way, pretty.” he walked away and you gasped, looking at the food. “maybe let me handle it next time.” he teased.

“shut up!” you exclaimed.

ꕤ

DAICHI set the plates of dinner down at the table. “thanks for cooking.” you smiled, putting your phone down face up on the table.

“of course. you deserve it.” he kissed your head. “plus, we haven’t been able to sit down and eat together for a while.” he sat down across from you, drinking from his cup of water. “i’m just glad i get to spend some nice, slow time with you.”

you nodded. “me too.” you said happily. as soon as you had both relaxed and started eating, you saw an instagram notification.

tets.kuroo: are you made of fluorine, iodine, and neon? because you’re F-I-Ne ;)

you furrowed your brows, about to grab it, but daichi grabbed it before u did. you saw him read it, look up at your bewildered expression, and then you watched him block the guy who messaged you. you could've sworn you saw his eye twitch. you raised your brows. “that’s that.” he said.

you smiled. “don’t be jealous.” you teased. he shook his head and you stood up, wrapping your arms around his neck. he looked up at you, pulling you down to press a kiss against your lips.

“you’re mine.” he said softly. you nodded, kissing his head.

“forever.” you smiled, glancing at the ring on your finger.

m.list

previous work (gossiping with kenma) | next work (situationship)

requests are open!!

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spaceshipkat · 1 month ago

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hmm currently thinking about how Buck recognized Eddie’s nice cologne when he was going on a date. and im also thinking about maybe Eddie asking if Buck wants to go to that new fancy restaurant everyone’s been talking about but Buck didn’t want to go to alone, since he’s single rn and just. not feeling up to dating. he’s sharing Eddie’s house still, now that Eddie and Chris are back, and he’s kinda maybe stopped talking about moving out because it feels so, so good to be under the same roof with two of his favorite people. he hasn’t been to any apartment viewings in ages, and Eddie isn’t asking him about them, so he feels like maybe he can just. stay here a little longer. until he gets the vibe that it’s time to move out (as if that’d ever happen. every morning Eddie walks into the kitchen to find Buck cooking at the stove and Eddie’s coffee already sitting on the island, made exactly how he likes it, Eddie feels just. so unbelievably happy. he can’t confront why yet, but he’ll get there. he will. Bobby—who is alive!!—told him he has time, bc Buck isn’t going anywhere. he’s staying right here with Eddie)

so Eddie asks if Buck wants to go to the new fancy restaurant, and of course Buck says yes (and he’s definitely not calling it a date in his head, bc he knows that’s not what it is: Eddie is straight, after all, and he’s just doing this romantic thing with Buck because that’s just how their friendship works. it doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else), so Eddie says “great, i’ll pick you up at seven,” and Buck just laughs and pretends not to notice Eddie’s cherry-red cheeks. it’s probably just the heat anyway, so Buck turns on the air conditioning. and he spends the day doing busy work so he doesn’t have to think about tonight, even though it’s all he ends up thinking about: what he should wear, how he should do his hair, which aftershave he should put on. because this isn’t a date—Eddie is straight!—but it is a fancy restaurant and Buck doesn’t want to stand out like a sore thumb. so in the end he does dress nice, and he does style his hair, and he does put on his best aftershave, and if Eddie later remarks on it Buck will just point out that Bobby (who is alive!!) told him he should dress to the nines because it’s a fancy restaurant (and who cares if Bobby kinda insinuated it’s a date. it’s not. Eddie is straight!) and Chris helped Buck pick out the right tie and it turned into a little lesson of Buck showing Chris how to tie a tie like Bobby once showed him, so Chris ties Buck’s tie for him and Buck definitely gets a little misty eyed oops

anyway then Buck’s turn in the bathroom is done but he makes sure that Eddie doesn’t see him after he gets dressed bc for some reason he really wants his appearance to be a surprise, so he’s hiding out in the kitchen while Eddie does his thing in the bathroom. Chris is in there with him, and Buck can hear the low rumble of their voices but he purposefully doesn’t listen. (and when it gets too tempting to try to eavesdrop on their conversation, he turns on the garbage disposal)

then Chris steps out of Eddie’s bedroom and says “have fun tonight!” with a waggle of his brows that Buck tries not to recognize from his own damn face (Chris isn’t his kid! however much Buck loves him! no matter that Chris asked Buck if he could go to the park this morning and Buck said yes and gave him cash for the taco truck he and his friends like for lunch and told him to be back by six, and it was only after Chris left that Buck realized he probably should have told him to ask Eddie, seeing as how Eddie is his dad and Buck is…his Buck, so Buck hurried to tell Eddie—who was out in the backyard working on his herb garden, bc his sisters got him into gardening while he was in El Paso—and Eddie just nodded and barely looked up when Buck rambled about where Chris was going, and it’s strange that Eddie isn’t at all concerned or upset but Buck isn’t gonna question that bc he doesn’t want to ruin the vibe of the date that isn’t a date tonight) and Buck’s facing the sink so his back is to the kitchen doorway but then he hears Eddie stop, and it’s quiet for a moment and Buck pretends he can’t feel Eddie’s eyes on him, lets Eddie believe that Buck hasn’t noticed his arrival, and besides he knows Eddie is probably just making sure his slacks aren’t stained with soap bc Buck is going a little nuts on a dirty coffee mug that Eddie used to house a worm until he could find a better place for the worm to live than a flower pot

and then Eddie clears his throat and says, “you look good, Buck,” attempting to be casual, but his voice gives him away: a little raspy, Buck’s name wrapped in heat and affection that Buck knows is just his imagination going wild. and so Buck licks his lips and says, “thanks, Eddie,” like they do this all the time (do they?! Buck feels like he would know if they do this all the time, but then again, so much of his life with Eddie is rote that he barely notices when they’re holding hands in a crowded room so they don’t get lost until he realizes they forgot to ever let go and now they’re holding hands while Chim and Hen see to a patient who called 911), and Eddie asks “you ready?” and Buck breathes in—

and he knows that cologne. it’s Eddie’s nice cologne. the cologne he only ever wears on dates.

—and Buck breathes out.

#911 #buddie #911 fic #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #eddie and buck #buck x eddie #my writing #my fic #idk fic writing block continues to exist and this is the closest i can get to writing one #i start work again tomorrow so maybe that’ll help (i always seem able to write the best fic when i shouldn’t be)#SO YKNOW. ENJOY.

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formulafanfics13 · 7 days ago

Note

Can you do one where reader made fun of Lando for saying the helmet is hard to breathe in, so Lando makes her wear it while he fucks her so she can realize how hot it gets in there?

try breathing now - LN4 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: You tease Lando about how dramatic he is about helmet heat, so he decides to prove his point in the dirtiest way possible.

Warnings: 18+ smut, helmet kink, breathplay, degradation, dom!Lando, possessive!Lando, spanking, hair pulling, face-fucking, overstimulation, light humiliation, dirty talk, orgasm control

You’d been sprawled on the couch after dinner, watching an old onboard clip, when Lando complained about how hot and stuffy helmets get mid-race. You’d laughed, rolling your eyes. “Oh, poor baby, can’t handle a little sweat?” you’d teased. “You act like it’s life or death in there.”

The look he gave you then should have been a warning. Which is how you now found yourself on your knees in the bedroom, his McLaren helmet in your hands. “Put it on,” he said simply.

You hesitated, narrowing your eyes. “You’re serious?”

He stepped forward, tilting your chin up. “Dead serious. You think it’s so easy? Let’s see how you feel when you’re dripping, struggling to breathe, and still have to keep up.”

The click of the visor locking down sent a strange thrill through you. The world narrowed instantly, muffled, warm, your own breath bouncing back at you.

Lando pushed you back onto the bed, his hands rough on your thighs as he yanked your shorts down. “Don’t take it off unless I say. You wanted to talk shit? You’re gonna learn.”

He stripped quickly, climbing over you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Through the visor, he was a blur of sharp jawlines and hungry eyes.

The first thrust was deep, deliberate, forcing a moan from you that echoed inside the helmet. Heat bloomed instantly, your own breath hot against your face. “Hard to breathe already, isn’t it?” he mocked, his pace brutal from the start.

You whimpered, the helmet making every sound feel amplified, trapped. Lando��s hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you onto him over and over. “You look so fucking good like this,” he growled. “Can’t see your whole face but I can hear you, every gasp, every moan. You’re mine.”

Sweat was pooling at the base of your neck, your chest tight. You tried to suck in more air but the visor felt like it was closing in, every exhale bouncing back, hotter.

Lando leaned over you, one hand gripping the helmet, holding you still as his thrusts grew rougher. “Not so easy now, is it, baby? Tell me you’re sorry.”

You shook your head stubbornly, the defiance making him laugh, and then he flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up. The helmet shifted slightly, your own panting loud in your ears. “Gonna fuck the attitude right out of you,” he muttered, slamming into you again.

The heat, the weight of the helmet, the way your breath came shallow and quick, it all blurred together until you were clawing at the sheets, on the edge of begging.

Lando’s hand slid between your thighs, rubbing your clit in fast, cruel circles. “Come like this. Feel how hot it is in there when you lose it for me.”

Your orgasm ripped through you, muffled cries filling the helmet as your body shook. Lando didn’t slow, fucking you through it, the air inside the visor almost unbearable now.

Only when he emptied himself inside you with a groan did he reach up, unlocking the visor and pushing it open. Cool air rushed over your face and you gasped, dizzy.

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you. “Next time you want to make fun of me, remember how it feels to try and breathe in that thing while I ruin you.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #ln4

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catiuskaa · 21 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

syn. venting to jeongin as you walk home accidentally makes you slip up, because indeed, what a curse it is to be a lover girl…

wc. 10.9k

cw. angsty(?) with good ending (i tried, lol). non!idol au. fluff. swearing, alcohol, and maybe the slightest bit suggestive in the end?

a/n. my take on @starlostastronaut’s fic exchange! my fic is for @gardeniashellfire, and i hope you like it pooks, i had lots of fun<3 i’ll so be participating again if there’s a next time!

[★☆☘️☆★]

It’s not as weird as Jeongin thought it’d be.

Small talk is a curse made by the devil. He, along with his slightly anxious tendencies when it comes to speaking —not just in a general sense, but rather in what involves unveiling and expressing one’s thoughts and feelings—, he just… um, Jeongin… well.

He’s not the kind of person who possesses that mysterious ability to bewitch people with small talk. Which, he believes, is probably why he hates it. If he thinks about it really hard, he only ever mentions the weather, maybe traffic if he has driven anywhere recently, and then patiently waits for the other person to make some kind of comment for him to smile at.

It’s been quite a while since you two started being paired up together as “the losers who had to walk back home,” a title coined thanks to a tipsy Jisung and a mean-spirited Seungmin. By that time, he had only known you as “Felix’s and Hyunjin’s friend,” and that was about it. And at first, he was a bit timid about walking alone with you after group hangouts, because, on a normal basis, Jeongin never really knew what to say. Now, imagine the situation with someone he isn’t even close to.

Yeah. Terrifying.

But somehow, you always had something hidden, perhaps powered by the soju everyone had shared minutes ago, or just powered by sheer will to never stay in silence for longer than a minute.

“What’s your take on pineapple on pizza?” You had asked him one of your first nights walking back together. “Watch out, because there is a right answer,” you had grinned, smiling in what he didn’t fully know if it was cheekiness or sheepishness, your cheeks rosy from the alcohol you’d had before.

Ever since then, as he so gratefully has discovered, your gingerly weird, odd, and unconventional small talk, in between other synonyms of said words, beats his. He’s not going to say out loud, because he knows you’d never let him forget it until you’d eventually forget it yourself —and he won’t risk it just in case that doesn’t happen—, but thanks to the fact that you two have to head toward the same direction when leaving Changbin’s and Hyunjin’s shared apartment, considering that almost every night ends there for everyone, after the rest of the gang hop in the same bus together, it’s not something strange anymore.

Damn the bus lines for not heading your way so late at night, but in the end, what is it, twenty minutes, give or take? Sometimes, if he has had something to drink, it feels slower.

But much to his amusement —even if he likes to pretend otherwise, for the sake of entertainment—, today, the one who is a little bit drunk is you.

And, mind you, it shows.

“No, ‘cause watch me be so normal about this,” you frown at your phone, slurring your words slightly, as you keep mumbling angrily —angily? What’s the adverb for angy?— about something he’s lost the plot to, but he’s not crazy enough to ask you to repeat yourself.

“Just look at ‘em. Ugh.”

Your arm bumps against his as you, in rough, yet somewhat technical terms, shove your phone towards him to see. For some bamboozling reason, though, Jeongin can’t make out whoever it is on the screen. Blaming it to the much rather convenient fact that he’s wearing his glasses on his head, and not to the fact that your ability to hold your arm still is very much not present in this very moment, you click your tongue and stop trying, frowning back at your screen again.

“Six years together. Yeah, isn’t that great,” you ask to no one in particular.

Or maybe it wasn’t even a question, honestly. Jeongin has fallen into listener mode, and still, he has no clue what tonight’s podcast is about. But finally, your not-sober brain comes up with an explanation for why you’ve been highly cranky since you both left the rest of the group at their respective bus stop, while looking at your phone for the last two to five minutes.

“It’s just that, sure, I’m happy for them, but why does everybody get to have someone? As in… how?”

Jeongin blinks. Maybe he’s done it one eye after the other, but he’s not going to entertain the idea —at least not now. The thing is, he’s not much for commentary when it’s clear you’re venting —he’s discovered it happens easily when you’ve had your fun drinking—, but in his tipsy state, he parts his lips softly.

“Sounds like you’re jealous.”

He blinks again, missing the blurry, tipsy figure in the corner of his eye after a few steps. His brain buzzes, because you’re suddenly not there, and he turns around, facing you.

“And the crowd has… stopped walking?”

He lets out a chuckle, confused in some sort of soft sense. He steps back towards you, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Please tell me you’re not going to puke like last week.”

There’s a gentle, proud feeling in his chest when his joke makes you chuckle. But still, you shrug your shoulders, like there’s a dark cloud over your little head, and even though it’s still very much summer, Jeongin’s tiny heart wishes he could get an umbrella for your sorrows.

“I just… I always feel like I’m hopeless and awkward and desperate for love, and I still never get it,” you sigh, lips pressed into a thin line in a sort of pout.

Jeongin doesn’t like to comment as you speak because he’s usually too focused on your expressiveness. Then —as in, twenty seconds ago—, you had been drunkenly pissed off about whatever post he hadn’t seen properly about your friends dating —or whatever, truly, because he’s still as lost as a goose in a hailstorm— but now, even if you were frowning slightly, your eyes were fixed on the floor, and you were nibbling on your lower lip.

Cute. Even if now you’re actually sulking, he can’t help but think that.

He nudges you again softly. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t believe there’s anything clever for him to say. At his warmth now closer against you, you blink, sighing.

“Sorry. Way to ruin the night.”

Jeongin fidgets with his fingers as he keeps them warm in his jacket’s pockets, cracking them as he shakes his head no.

“Better to say it out loud,” he states in what he can only hope sounds like a calm, comforting tone. “You know I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t miss how you bite the inside of your cheek before speaking again. But, strangely so, you don’t, just yet.

Instead, you hold the air in your lungs for a couple of seconds, and then sigh, looking at the floor. Whatever it is that you want to say right now, the right words seem to be escaping you. Jeongin recognises the feeling, and he merely watches you blink as your eyes lock on a small pebble in the middle of the pavement, and you move to go fetch it, softly starting to kick it while you continue walking back home again.

Your hands move to the pockets of your jeans, and unconsciously, he does that same thing too, zipping up the pockets of his jacket, where his hands have been seconds ago.

There’s a distinct sound every time your shoe hits the pebble, and both of you watch it as it sort of bounces on the sidewalk. Not profound enough to be described with a thud. It’s definitely not pluck, for there’s no water involved. He doesn’t know that many onomatopoeia —in fact, he’s surprised enough that he can spell that word correctly—, but the other one he knows, clack, seems to him something too metallic. He settles in that last one for lack of a better description.

Jeongin lets the jacket fall from his shoulders, the fabric now hanging low on his arms alone, his forearms out for the mosquitoes’ enjoyment. Summer nights are getting warmer as the days go by, and he’s starting to notice it. What he also notices, and it’s something that makes him chuckle softly, it’s that even when you seem to be lost in thought, there’s never just silence with you.

Clack, clack, clack…

“Is this like one of those videos where you start kicking a rock until it ends up being round?” He smiles lightly, taking his glasses from his hair and hanging them on the neck of his shirt.

Watching your frown grow slightly, he tries to hold his laugh back.

“I thought Felix was the one who spent the most time on his phone?” You mumble with a teasing smile.

That does get the laugh out of him. “Right. But guess who he sends the stupid videos to.”

You turn your head to face him, your smile slightly incredulous.

“You? Really?”

“No. Channie-hyung. But he’s got his phone on such a loud volume at the gym, it’s almost like I’m watching them too.”

As you snort at his dramatic expression, a small part of Jeongin’s brain acknowledges that he really enjoys making you laugh. Sadly, neither does he realise that in this very moment, nor does your laugh last too long.

Clack, clack, clack…

“Big sigh,” you let out in a murmur, following up with said big sigh.

“What for?”

Clack, clack, clack…

The question makes you fidget with your nails, and you start to look around, trying to find something distracting enough on the view of the street before you, so that maybe you wouldn’t find the words to voice your thoughts.

Unfortunately, the street, which had gone still, did absolutely nothing to help you. Storefronts stand dark, their metal grates pulled low and locked with rusty chains. The neon signs off, leaving only the old, yellow-stained wash of the streetlamps to pool on the sidewalk. The air warm and gingerly heavy, pressing close, filled with the lingering scent of mosquito repellent —although somewhere in your brain, you know that has to be you.

Everything felt paused, like the city was slowly falling asleep. Or rather, like every piece of the street —from the streetlamp, to the manhole cover, and even the moth that was surely going to get burnt— wants you to let it all out.

“I don’t know,” you say, bending down while you keep walking, picking up your pebble to inspect it up close.

Truthfully, it’s the best start you can come up with, your voice a little weaker than what Jeongin’s used to listening to, your words coming out a bit tangled, like the alcohol is helping you to not filter them anymore.

“I just feel like… I missed something. Like everyone else got some kind of guidebook on how to… find someone to be in love with, or whatever. And I just… I didn’t.”

You let out a breathy laugh, more of an exhale than anything, like you’re trying to brush it off but can’t quite.

“My friends are falling in love left and right. Like, ‘y’all bitches are making me diabetic’ in love. Meanwhile, while they’re making eye contact across rooms and… texting goodnight and good morning and… soft-launching each other on Instagram like it’s normal, I’ve had relationship issues when I’ve never even been in a proper relationship to begin with. But, like these guys who just posted… just… they just do it. Like it’s… easy.”

Your hands move while you talk, as if you’re trying to give shape to something you still don’t fully understand. “And they’re so good at it, too. Like… they know how to be vulnerable, and open, and not… weird about it. And I’m just here. Falling behind. Getting older. People watching. Everyone else moves forward while I’m still stuck fantasising about people who don’t even know my name and also somewhat hung up on people who I know I don’t want to be with, but the fact that at some point there was a chance, a real possibility, still makes me miss them? In a weird way?”

The warmth in the air is not the only thing that makes it feel heavy anymore. Or maybe that’s just the weight of your heart as it lets out a sigh just as big as the one you let out before.

Somehow, it is only now that Jeongin realises he stopped hearing the pebble against the pavement while you talked, but as silence slowly comes back, you drop it back to the floor, and he starts hearing it again.

Clack, clack, clack.

He walks in step with you, silent, but not absent. Clack, clack, clack. His brows draw together just slightly, like he’s hearing every word twice —once with his ears, and again somewhere deeper inside him. Clack, clack, clack. He glances at you, then down back at the clacky pebble, jaw ticking as if he wants to say something —but what if anything could anyone say to all that? Clack, clack, clack. His thumbs rub absently along the seams of his pockets.

There’s a silent understanding that while you’re the one who’s good with silly small talk enough to fill the walk home —or rather speak about anything that’s been clouding your sunshines recently—, Jeongin excels in being exactly the opposite: a really good listener.

He doesn’t say anything. Not right away, at least, like he lets the world hear you loud and clear before he gets to answer, or sometimes, like he lets you hear what just came out of your mouth. Quietly so, he just walks beside you, silent in that steady way he always is when you’re spiralling a little —like he knows better than to try and fix it, like he understands that what you really need is just to say it. His hands stay in his pockets, his gaze on the sidewalk —or right now, on the stupid pebble—, but you can feel his attention on you like a second heat pressing against your skin. Not judging —not even teasingly, which is sometimes expected. Not pitying. Just… listening.

It triggers something within you. As if the fact that he can just let you spew your nonsense unlocks just more loads of nonsense inside you.

“My Instagram is full of cute, flirty, silly reels that people would send to their partners, and I just share it to some of my girlfriends as a joke,” your voice gets louder, as if your sulking has been shunned away by the petty anger only a lonely, hopeless romantic can understand. You don’t know if any of what you’ve been saying makes sense to Jeongin, but fuck, your tipsy brain probably isn’t processing it properly either.

“And it’s not even that I want some perfect fairytale thing,” you say, voice tighter now, like the words are starting to scrape on the way out. “I just want something. Some… kind of… proof that… I’m not completely invisible. Like, I don’t know. I just want someone to choose me without… making me feel like I need to keep… begging for it,” you swallow, dry and hard.

It’s unfamiliar and unprecedented, how Jeongin’s silence lets your heart swim up to your throat and tangle itself into your vocal cords, voicing the weight you’ve dealt with and hid for what feels like months.

And somehow, with him just quietly walking beside you, it feels safe enough to say the things you’ve only ever admitted in your head.

“It just gets to a point where I almost feel… pathetic,” you let out, and the relief that floods you pushes you to just keep going. “I’m so good at being alone until I remember what it would be like to be loved. Loved like how I see them love each other. And then it’s almost embarrassing, when it all shows,” you let out a soft chuckle, so very weakly, somehow finding yourself still strong enough to be laughing at this. “I wouldn’t say I’m jealous, because I don’t want to take one of their places. I just… I want. I keep wanting. And I just… I never get.”

With one of your kicks, the pebble threatens to go onto the road, so you move towards it to kick it back to the pavement, and now you walk closer to Jeongin. Somehow, you didn’t lose your trail of thought, and with a sigh, you get right back on track.

“The only thing I get is seeing. I see them hold hands, I see them giggle at their phones, I see them hug and cuddle. I see them look into each other's eyes like they’ve been married in another life, and not just dating for the last three or four years.” You bite the inside of your cheek, as a part of you is starting to make you feel like you’ve been talking too much. And so, with a last thought in mind, you just sigh and let it out. “It just gets worse, when I look at them and blink as they make out at outings, and I just look away like a fucking loser who’s never been kissed before.”

The words hang in the warm night air longer than you mean them to. For a second, you wonder if you’ve finally reached the point where you’ve said too much, even for Jeongin. You risk a glance at him. He's still quiet, still thinking, or so it seems. So you sigh, which doesn’t help the anxious feeling in your chest as much as you hoped it would, and softer this time, almost like you don’t really want the answer, you let out a small, soft, almost weak, “…what do you think?”

That’s what pulls him out of whatever thought he’s been stuck in. Jeongin blinks, then lets out a breath like he’s been holding it. Not quite a laugh, but rather a puzzled disbelief at the way you talk about yourself.

“You’re not a loser,” he says first, instinctively, then pauses like he’s trying to sort through the words before they come out. “I mean… I think I get it. You’re watching everyone else live the thing you’re waiting for, and it makes you think you’re missing something. But… maybe it’s not that. Maybe you’re just… not rushing it like they are.”

His voice dips a little softer, more thoughtful. “You want something real. And you’re holding out for it. That’s not pathetic. That’s actually kind of… rare.” He licks his lips, not liking the lights being on him as he tries to mull through your rant the best he can.

“What I think is, there’s bound to be someone for you out there. The world would have to be crazy to miss making at least one someone for you to love and for them to love you back,” he lets out, not knowing if the thought makes sense now that he’s voiced it. He shrugs. He can blame it on the alcohol until he’s sober.

“There’s always some filler episodes,” he says in weird thoughtfulness. “And sure, they might be boring, and you’d rather just skip them —even if life doesn’t really work like that—, but it doesn’t mean the entire season is done for. Honestly, it usually means something’s going to happen sooner or later.”

He rubs the back of his neck, a crooked smile playing at his mouth. “Or what do I know. If the problem is that you just want to experience all that and you don’t have someone to…” He glances at you, and for the first time all night, there’s a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure anyone would want to kiss you if you asked.”

With a blink, whatever was there leaves his eyes. You, who takes a couple of seconds to process what he has just said, are too busy to even acknowledge how the brown in them seems deeper when his eyes trail off. It also takes him a second, and it doesn’t quite click until he notices he has to physically move his eyes away from your lips.

Caught off guard, you also blink. Not because the words were shocking exactly, but because of how offhand they sounded. Light. Like a throwaway comment you were supposed to laugh at and move on from.

So you do. You let out a small, awkward laugh, shaking your head like he’s just made some dumb joke.

“Right,” you say, your voice laced with sheepish disbelief and something bordering on a scoff. “Sure. Okay. Let me just start asking people to kiss me, as one does.”

You glance at him, expecting him to be laughing too, maybe nudging you with his elbow, teasing back with something equally dumb.

But he doesn’t.

You keep going, trying to fill the silence he leaves behind. A silence not even the stupid pebble can attempt to fill.

“Can you imagine?” you say, still smiling but starting to ramble now, words spilling just a bit too fast. “Like, ‘hey, I’ve never been kissed, so could you just do that real quick?’ Tryna get that off the checklist, ya know.”

You laugh again, but this time it rings a little hollow. Your cheeks feel warm, not from the soju but from the way the air between you suddenly feels... even warmer. And heavier.

Tighter.

You don’t look at him right away. You just keep walking, one step, then another, pretending you don’t feel how the air has shifted. Kicking the pebble once, twice. Rhythmically. You pretend you don’t notice how it’s no longer just warm, but charged. You’re hyper-aware of everything now: the quiet scuff of your shoes against the pavement, the faint buzz of a distant streetlamp, the way your shoulder brushes his when the sidewalk narrows and neither of you steps away.

There’s a stillness to him that draws your attention even before you turn to glance his way, and when you do —quickly, like it might catch you off guard—, you catch the look on his face.

“Humour me,” he lets out softly.

Your steps falter, just barely. The pebble gets kicked almost too far away, and you lose it.

Something about the way he says it —like he’s not making fun of you, like this is suddenly something different— tugs at your chest in a way you’re not prepared for.

You glance at him, expecting a smirk, a punchline.

But he’s just looking at you.

In the stillness, loneliness of his own mind, Jeongin curses at himself. Stupid, stupid boy. He doesn’t dare. He knows it. His mind, or at least the small portion of his mind that dares to look at his heart and hear out the one and only truth he’s been ignoring for weeks, looks at you and wants you in a way that he’s never wanted before.

His eyes are dull as he stares at you, and your expression of worry at the fact makes his heart skip a beat. “Jeongin?” you mumble, softly, drunkenly, warily. He can’t stop staring at you, and while he supposes success and defeat can look the same in a mirror —therefore, he doesn’t really blame your confusion—, he finds no words to explain which one he’s feeling, as those words seemed to have cursed him once and for all.

The cat is out of the bag as the eyes of a hopeless romantic —a timid, hidden, terrified one, dare I add—, meet yours, the different shades in the midst of your irises tinted with blooming confusion and something you never thought someone would’ve found in your eyes for the past days, even weeks. Months.

Hope. In a hopeless romantic’s eyes, yes.

Just a speck. A shimmer that maybe Jeongin imagined, because curse his stupid eyes for always seeing things that end up being far from the truth. Curse his stupid eyes for being unable to look away from yours ever since you asked him that ridiculous question about that ghastly thing that is pineapple on pizza.

Curse his stupid, stupid heart for making them stare at your lips.

He can’t help it. His mind starts spinning the second the words leave his mouth, twisting and turning through every possible way it could’ve sounded wrong. Too forward, too careless. Maybe he’d crossed a line or made things awkward, maybe he’d read too much into the way you’ve looked at him tonight —and all past nights combined—, or the way you laughed, or how your hands brushed just a moment ago.

But then again, his heart whispers, trying to get into his head like many times before, you sounded so tired, so raw when you said it, as if you weren’t asking for advice or comfort. Or maybe he’s just accepting that his heart has finally taken control of his head and climbed up his throat, and it has started making him hear tones that didn’t exist, making your voice sound like what you need is someone to hold onto, even if only briefly, when maybe that’s a voice inside his head. But maybe, just maybe, if all you want is to feel something real, even if only once, then the least he can do —the only thing he could do— was offer himself in some small way, even if it scares the hell out of him.

Or worse, even if it means the whole world to him, and not to you.

But he downplays it. He hides between layers of alcohol, and behind the fact that you can’t see him fidgeting with his bitten nails through his jeans’ pockets. You don’t need to know how his palms are starting to sweat, and how there’s an earthquake inside his head right now as words start to come out of his mouth again.

“I mean, just a kiss?” he shrugs lightly, glancing over at you again. “I would.”

A beat passes. Or maybe two. Maybe even three. Time gets trickier to measure for both of you now that neither of you can count the sounds that the pebble made against the floor.

You’re positive that a part of your brain is aware that his apartment is getting closer. You can almost see the door from the corner of your eye. That rational, albeit small part of your brain attempts to make you snort, pat Jeongin on the shoulder as he crosses his apartment door, and then go back to sulk against your pillow like last night, and the one before.

But inside you, it’s like something magical occurs. Without being given the order, your feet move just one single step towards Jeongin. Hesitant, almost like a mistake in their code. Like even the writer doesn’t know how on Earth to get some stupid characters to just kiss already.

A flush creeps up your neck as your eyes flicker to his, then dart away like you’re suddenly aware of how close you are. You bite your lip, a nervous laugh escaping before you can stop it. “Yeah, right,” you say, trying to sound casual, but your voice cracks just a little. “Like that’d happen.”

Jeongin’s entire system is collapsing. It starts in his chest —tight, unsteady— then spreads like static to his fingertips, his pulse tripping over itself as if trying to catch up to what he’s just said. His brain, foggy from the alcohol and the heat of your slow closeness, starts throwing every alarm at once. And still, some stubborn part of him, the part that’s been too quiet for too long, holds its ground.

“I mean it.” His throat has never been this dry. “I don’t mind.”

You blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or speak or just stand there and let your heart keep stumbling over itself. The look in his eyes doesn’t budge—it’s quiet and sure, not teasing, not daring. Just… there.

Your mouth opens, then closes.

“Why?”

It’s a whisper, half breath, half disbelief. Because, indeed, why doesn’t he mind?

And as intensely as Rome fell, his heart leaps, and his brain hands in its two-week notice, Jeongin swallows hard, his voice barely more than a murmur.

“Because I’ve thought about it more times than I should.”

The world narrows down to the space between you. The street is still, silent, like it knows better than to interrupt. Your heart drums against your ribs, stubborn and loud, and you swear Jeongin must hear it.

You wet your lips without meaning to, and his eyes track the motion like gravity. There’s a question hanging in the air. He doesn’t say it, but it’s there. And somehow, without thinking too hard about it, your feet move the tiniest bit closer.

Just enough to see if he’ll meet you halfway.

Jeongin’s thumb brushes over his knuckles as he fidgets with his own hands, gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes, then back again. There’s a quiet beat between you, the kind that makes everything else blur out —the city, the street, the air still thick with heat and something else neither of you can name.

He clears his throat, gentle, stepping closer in an uneasy stance. “Because this is your first kiss…” he begins, the words almost hesitant, careful, “how do you… want it to be?”

You blink, startled by the question, by how seriously he asks it. Your breath catches somewhere between your chest and your throat, and your eyes search his face for a hint of teasing, something to laugh off. But there’s nothing there but softness. A shy kind of earnestness.

He shrugs faintly, like maybe he regrets putting it out there, but then he nods once. Small, almost apologetic. “I just… thought it’d matter. Since it’s your first. Right?”

The air hangs there, expectant, a little too warm. “Right.” You shift your weight, glancing down to hide a sheepish, almost awkward smile, that creeps out before you even realise, your voice quiet. “That’s… kind of a weird thing to ask.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, eyes still on you, a sheepish pull at the corner of his mouth too. “But I still want to know.”

Weirdly, the answer comes easier than expected, like it’s been sitting there just waiting to be let out.

“I’ve… imagined…” you start, voice smaller than you meant it to be. Your fingers twitch at your sides, nervously fidgeting as you crack them. Your eyes don’t leave his, wide and searching, even as your cheeks warm. “That he’d… hook his fingers under my chin,” you say, swallowing hard as your breath catches, and finally move your eyes away, stunned by the intensity of his brown ones. “Just enough to tilt my face up.” Your lips part slightly, and you can feel your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

You hesitate, a soft warmth creeping into your cheeks as your words falter. “He’d… say something...” you murmur, your voice barely louder than the night air around you. Your fingers nervously twist the edge of your sleeve, and you glance down for a moment, not daring to meet his eyes again.

Jeongin lets out a quiet snicker, the sound low and easy, like a secret just shared between the two of you. His eyes sparkle in the dim light. “Anything?” he asks, voice teasing but gentle.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your breath catching a little. You bite your lip, sheepish, and the blush on your cheeks deepens. “I never really thought it’d happen like that anyway.”

For a moment, he just watches you, his gaze steady, clearly mesmerised by the way you look now. Then, as if deciding on a whim, he nods, voice dropping into a quiet mumble, half teasing, half sincere.

“Okay... I’ll make something up.”

You don’t say anything. Just look at him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips, the world outside the sidewalk narrowing until it’s only him in front of you.

And then his hand lifts.

He moves slowly, like he's still giving you a chance to pull away. To laugh this off, to undo the tension humming between you. But you don’t. You stay rooted to the spot as his fingers graze your jaw, gentle, then tilt your face up by the softest hook of his fingertips under your chin.

His eyes search yours —careful, cautious— but not unsure.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, low enough that only the quiet summer night can hear it, too.

Your heart is pounding, a wild drum inside your chest. The heat of his touch spreads through you, quiet and steady like a spark ready to ignite.

You nod. You don’t trust your voice not to break.

His lips brush against yours —just a soft, quick peck. You blink, your brow furrowing softly, caught off guard by how light it feels. Feeling him pull back, the alcohol that hasn’t flown out of your system takes control for one sentence.

“I know we’re like, just friends, but you could do it like you mean it, Innie.”

And that stupid sentence threatens to kill him. Jeongin breathes in deeply, trying to steady himself, but inside, everything’s breaking apart. His mind is spinning with how much he wants you, how badly he’s wanted this moment. Your words snap through the fragile wall he’s been holding up, and for a heartbeat, his control shatters.

A darkened part of him wants your sheepish, drunken heart to regret calling him by that cute nickname. The same one that is about to let the alcohol take over, just like you did. The same one that lets his fingers slide from your chin to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. He licks his lips, voice low and rough with sudden need.

“Fine. But you asked for this.”

He leans in, his breath mingling with yours, and suddenly it’s all too much. The softness of your hair under his fingers, the warmth radiating off your skin, the way your lips part ever so slightly in anticipation. It unravels something in him. His heart stumbles. His restraint weakens.

You’re right there.

And for a moment, all he can think about is how much he wants this. Not just now, not just once. It almost surprises him, the sheer weight of it, the underlying possessiveness it holds. He wants to kiss you in every way he can think of. He wants to learn what makes your knees go weak, what kind of kiss makes your breath hitch, what softness makes you smile against his mouth. He doesn’t think he’s too good at this —not really—, but he’d die trying to be, if it meant getting to show you. Getting to teach you, gently, playfully, patiently. Not because he knows best, but because he wants to be the one you get to figure it all out with.

His thumb grazes your cheek, but his jaw tightens.

He’s so close now. Too close.

And suddenly, he falters.

A breath catches in his throat. He can’t believe the words that are about to leave his mouth. Can’t believe he’s going to pull away from the thing he’s wanted for longer than he’s willing to admit —not even just the kiss, but this, the raw closeness, the way your eyes search his like they want something more. Every inch of him protests it, screams to just lean in and take what he’s been offered. But instead, he breathes through the ache in his chest, lets his forehead rest heavier against yours, and… stops.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t do this when we’re both drunk.”

It’s like someone drops an ice-cold water bucket straight over your head. The warmth you’d just settled into vanishes in an instant, leaving your skin cold and your chest tighter than before. You blink once, then again, like that’ll somehow reset whatever just happened. But it doesn’t. He’s still looking at you, all sincere and controlled and kind, and it makes your stomach twist.

Your brows knit together, confusion slipping into something sour.

“Oh,” you mutter, your voice tight. “Right. Okay.”

Jeongin feels it like a gut punch.

The moment your fingers wrap around his wrist and gently push his hand away from your face, something in his chest physically recoils. He thinks he’s going to be sick. It’s not dramatic, but it’s sharp in a way he doesn’t know how to recover from.

Your arms wrap around yourself like some dumb shield. A pout tugs at your lips before you can stop it. The lingering alcohol makes your throat sting.

“You know… you didn’t have to offer if you were just gonna… take it back.”

You’re not trying to be mean. Not really. But the words come out sticky with hurt, slurred just enough to sound softer than they feel. And your eyes don’t quite meet his now. Not because you’re scared of him, but because you’re scared he might look sorry.

After all, what did you expect? That someone who’s been your friend for months, who’s been there for every group hangout, who’s laughed with you over inside jokes, who always ends up walking home with you, matching your pace under dim streetlights and sharing with you convenience store ice cream would suddenly want more than all that friendship you’ve built?

Maybe you’ve had some small crush on him ever since you met him. No one tries that hard at small talk without a reason, even if the reason is mere, foolish hope. But now, with that hope sinking like a stone in your chest, it feels like all those moments were just… moments. Not signs. Just loads of imagination from your trusty, stupid, stupid romantic lover girl.

After all, trust a romantic to see something that isn’t there. Because no, this brush against each other’s lips wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t a beginning. It was just a moment. One that, by the looks of it, maybe he already regretted.

Maybe that’s why you start getting mad. Not at him, really, but at yourself. At how much you let yourself believe it. Believe everything that, as it seems, you made up in your head. At how quickly you built whole, stupid daydreams out of soft glances during group dinners and slow walks back from convenience stores. At how easily your heart had started to fall without a fight.

“I don’t need you to… walk me the rest of the way,” you mutter suddenly, voice sharp in a way that surprises even you. “I can do it myself.”

Jeongin blinks. “What do you—”

“We can —don’t touch me.” You swat his hand away when it hovers too close to your arm, not hard, but with the kind of clumsy force only a half-tired, half-drunk person uses. “I said I’m fine,” you sniff. “We can… walk, and you can leave when we reach your place. I’m doing the rest by myself.”

He says your name, quiet and careful, like he’s stepping into a storm barefoot.

“Shut up. I don’t need your… pity talk again,” you spit with almost child-like disgust in your face. You sniff hard, dragging your sleeve across your cheek, voice growing smaller and meaner all at once. “I get it, okay? I just… I almost thought…” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together. Your cheeks feel hot as stray tears travel through them. “Whatever. Just… let me walk the rest alone.”

He watches you, frozen for a breath. Jeongin blinks, like he’s missed a step on a moving staircase. And what he feels he can only describe as whiplash, but not the kind he can blame on the alcohol. It’s worse. It’s somehow… personal. And if he can’t fix this, his heart looks up at his brain through the lump that has formed in his throat, and threatens to kill him.

He takes a step closer, firm but not harsh.

“No,” he says quietly. “You’re too drunk to walk the next ten minutes or so by yourself. So either I walk you home, or you sleep at mine. That’s it.”

His voice isn’t sharp. It isn’t angry. It’s steady, low, the kind of calm that feels like safety even when your chest is on fire. It’s so stupidly him that your eyes water again.

Curse him, damnit. Curse romance, for fuck’s sake.

“I’m not… ” you sniff, voice cracking, “not… gonna sleep at yours.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, gently, agreeing almost like one does with toddlers.

“Good. Because I won’t.”

“Sure.”

“I won’t even look at your stupid couch.”

“That’s fine.” Jeongin would rather die than let you sleep on his couch anyways. His bed is yours, anytime —and still not as much as his jaded heart.

“I’ll just… walk fast, and then… then I’ll go to the 24-hour convenience store, and get—get bread. Or something.”

“Bread.”

A part of him wonders if there may be hidden cameras somewhere.

“I’m serious, Jeongin.” Your lip wobbles.

“I know you are,” he whispers, and it sounds heartbreakingly fond.

You try to swipe your tears away, but more just keep coming, frustrated and hot. “I don’t wanna sleep at yours and… smell your laundry and think about this tomorrow and… and feel stupid.”

He’s quiet for a second. “You’re not stupid.”

“I feel stupid.”

“You’re just sad.”

“I’m not sad,” you snap, wiping your face again.

Jeongin swallows. “Okay.”

You hiccup. “Just tired.”

“Mmh.”

“And cold.”

He slips off his jacket, holding it out gently toward you, the fabric warm between his fingers. You glance at it, then at him, your brow furrowing. Quietly, almost stubbornly, you pull back.

“No. I don’t want it,” you say, voice trembling just a little, a flicker of frustration hiding behind your words.

“Okay,” Jeongin says quietly.

“ I don’t… need your jacket,” you add with a trembling tone. “I don’t need anything.”

He doesn’t argue. Jeongin clenches his hands, gripping the jacket with almost white knuckles.

You sniff, louder than you meant to. “I’m not a… baby. I don’t need someone to tell me where to sleep or when to… cry or… or…” Your voice cracks, and your lip wobbles again. “God. I’m pathetic.”

Jeongin flinches at that. “You’re not.”

Your fists tighten. “You’re just being nice because you… feel bad,” you say, voice rising, shakier now, turning your head away like it hurts to look at him. Your heart keeps saying it does. “You said all that stuff and then you… changed your mind, and I’m… I’m… fine, actually. So stop it. Forget it. Just… stop.”

“I know you’re fine,” he says softly. He’s so close to lying down in the middle of the road beside you two and crying. “But you don’t like being cold, right?”

There’s a pout in your lips that Jeongin wishes to kiss away. But his mind is a mess, and he feels so fucking stupid, so instead, he sighs.

You stare at him, frowning hard, the way someone does when they want so badly not to believe something that feels too gentle. And then, without asking, he steps forward —slowly, gently—, and drapes the jacket over your shoulders.

You go still. Completely still. Like something inside you has short-circuited, like your brain is too tired to fight back but your heart hasn’t caught up yet.

The warmth of the fabric settles on your skin. It smells like him —clean, faintly citrus—, and it sinks into your bones like something you didn’t know you needed until now.

And then your body gives in. All at once.

You sag into him without meaning to, forehead resting against his chest like your bones forgot how to hold you upright. Your arms don’t lift, but rather dangle useless at your sides, limp and tired, like the fight’s been drained from you completely.

You don’t sob. You just breathe out in short, broken bursts, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence. They soak into his shirt one by one, hot and aching and a little bit ashamed.

One of his hands finds the back of your head, his fingers combing lightly through your hair. The other rests flat against your back, warm and steady and impossibly patient.

You sniff once —loud, final— then drag the back of your hand across your cheeks. The tears stop like a faucet turned off too quickly, leaving your skin damp and your breath unsteady, but no more sound comes out of you.

You blink up at him, but you can’t even attempt to hold his gaze, your eyes rimmed red, lashes still wet.

“Not. One. Word,” you mutter, voice rough and low.

And then you turn, shoulders squared just enough to look like you’re holding it together, and start walking again. Not fast. Just… steady. Determined.

Jeongin watches for half a second, then catches up without saying anything. It’s as if his own heart twists painfully in response, helpless and raw. He feels it like a physical ache. A sudden, sharp pang deep in his chest that tightens with every quiet sob you try to hide. His steps are quiet beside yours. Careful. Like even his footsteps know not to cross a line.

Neither of you speaks as the city hums gently around you. Neon glints off puddles. A breeze curls past your ankle. It’s only when his building comes into view that you pause again —just for a second—, and he holds the door open without a word. You don’t thank him. You just walk inside.

[★☆🍀☆★]

You barely cross the door to his apartment before you’re muttering again, dragging your feet stubbornly as you tug at the hem of his jacket.

“I’m not… sleeping in your bed, Jeongin,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with your sleeves. “That’s… weird. You sleep there. I’ll… take the couch. Or the floor. Or I’ll… stand, I don’t care—”

He sighs, clearly trying to be patient, but his eyes are glassy too, and he looks like he’s done entertaining arguments for the night. “You’re literally falling apart.”

“I’m fine!” you snap, wobbling slightly as you kick your shoes off. “You don’t have to treat me like some… some sad little mess—”

“Okay,” he breathes, clapping his hands once and nodding to himself as if reaching a decision. “That’s it.”

Before you can react, without warning, he wraps his arms around your waist and hauls you right off the ground.

“Jeongin! What—?! Put me down!”

“No,” he says, face entirely too calm for someone who's just carrying another someone on their shoulder, almost like he does it every Thursday. “You had your chance. You blew it.”

“I will scream.”

“You already cried on me. Might as well go for the full set.”

“You’re such an… ugh!” But your protests dissolve into indignant squeaking as he dumps you —gently— into the middle of his bed.

You scramble upright, hair wild, eyes wide. “I said I didn’t wanna—!”

“And I said,” he cuts in, putting his hand over your mouth, eyes locked onto yours, “that you’re too drunk and sad and… stubborn, to decide anything right now. So just… sleep, okay?” He sighs. “Please.” He mumbles softly.

Not only is he entirely too close for your sanity after everything that has happened tonight, but your body’s already sinking into the mattress like it’s been waiting for this. Your limbs betray you. You stay.

Jeongin sits on the edge of the bed, moving his hand and mumbling what you think has to be a quiet apology —classic Jeongin—, brushing your damp cheek with his thumb again, in a touch so soft it almost doesn’t register. He stares at you for a second longer than he should, and his voice drops.

“You’re really going to kill me one of these nights.”

You blink, but you don’t speak. You just watch him. With a tired sigh, he gets up and walks toward the door, one hand dragging through his hair.

“Sleep,” he whispers, voice low and tired, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

In your defense, you really do try. But, as it seems, sleep doesn’t come easy.

You’re lying in his bed, curled up on your side, staring at the wall. The sheets smell like him —fresh laundry and something faintly woodsy—, and it’s almost enough to make your chest ache again. You squeeze your eyes shut.

In the other room, you can hear Jeongin moving around. The quiet shuffle of a blanket. The faint creak of his couch. Then silence. Then more shuffling. Then silence again.

Neither of you says anything, but somehow, the space between you feels loud. Like the aftermath of an argument that never quite finished. You roll over and bury your face in the pillow. God, you’ve got to be so stupid.

A moment later, he does the same on the couch. Turning, sighing, pulling the blanket higher. Like maybe it’ll muffle the thoughts racing through both of your heads.

The night stretches on. Neither of you sleeps. Not really.

And when you think you’ll finally get some rest, all of a sudden, the light through the blinds is ruthless.

It slices through your eyelids, prying you out of sleep with all the gentleness of a slap. Your head is pounding, your mouth tastes like regret, and every inch of your body feels like it’s been slightly overcooked. The unfamiliar ceiling stares back at you, and for a moment, your brain plays catch-up with the rest of your senses.

Right. Jeongin’s bed.

You groan softly, throwing the blanket off with the exaggerated dramatics of someone deeply betrayed by their own choices. Your feet find the floor like they’ve never walked before. When you finally open the door, wincing at the sudden brightness of the apartment, the silence makes everything feel louder.

And there he is.

Jeongin’s passed out sideways on the couch, hair mussed in a way that makes him look younger than usual, one arm dangling off the side like he lost the will to exist halfway through getting comfortable. His blanket is doing a pitiful job of actually covering him, and the sock situation on his feet is, frankly, tragic.

You blink at him. Sigh. Then drag your hand down your face.

Your head is still pounding, but your chest… your chest aches differently.

You scratch the back of your head, annoyed at the cold in the room and the way it wraps around your shoulders. Your skin pebbles with goosebumps, and you rub your arms, shivering.

Then, without thinking too hard about it —because thinking hurts— you walk over and carefully lower yourself onto the narrow couch beside him. It’s barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but you scooch close anyway, your thigh pressing lightly against his.

He doesn’t stir.

You fold your arms with a huff and close your eyes again, forehead bumping softly against the edge of his shoulder.

Just for five minutes, you tell yourself. Just until the room stops spinning.

The couch creaks quietly under the added weight, but Jeongin doesn’t move. His breathing stays slow, steady—just the faintest hitch when your leg brushes his. Whether he’s still asleep or pretending, you don’t know. Don’t really care, either.

You let your eyes close again, head still heavy, every part of you aching in strange places, some physical, some… not.

The room is quiet in the way mornings are when no one’s ready to admit they’re real yet. You listen to the ticking of a clock somewhere, the distant hum of cars below, and Jeongin’s soft breaths right beside you.

It’s stupid, how warm he is.

You lie there for a while, not touching him beyond the lazy press of your side against his. The blanket tangled around his legs shifts slightly when he exhales deeper,like his body is reacting to yours even if he’s not awake enough to know why. Maybe it should make you uncomfortable. It doesn’t. Eventually, you speak, barely above a whisper.

“…Your couch sucks.”

He lets out a sleepy, rough noise, half snort, half hum. “Says the one who got the bed.”

You freeze. Then tilt your head up.

Jeongin’s eyes are still closed, sleepiness clinging to him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, still facing the ceiling like it’s easier that way. His voice is hoarse, like it had to drag itself back from sleep just to speak.

“I thought you were out,” you mumble.

“Was,” he says. “Then someone elbowed me in the ribs with all the grace of a wet mop.”

You blink. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

A beat. He finally turns his head to look at you, opening his eyes, and you wish he wouldn’t. Not because it’s awkward, but because he still looks so soft. His hair flattened on one side. His eyes ringed faintly with exhaustion and… something else.

You can’t bear to look him in the eyes.

“I didn’t mean to… uh. I mean, I just didn’t wanna be alone. Not… not because of last night.” You pause, grimace. “Or… okay, maybe a little because of last night...”

Jeongin’s brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton, slow and thick with the aftermath of too much alcohol and too little sleep.

He tries to listen. Really, he does. But your voice becomes a soft blur around the edges of his hangover and the sleepy glow of morning light catching in your hair. You look worried. Hesitant. Like you’re bracing for him to push you away.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just squints, then reaches out slowly —like he’s moving underwater—, and hooks a lazy arm over your waist, dragging you a few inches closer until your forehead nearly brushes his collarbone.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, voice sleep-rough and dry. “My head hurts.”

You freeze, breath caught, unsure what to do with your hands or your heart.

But then he exhales, long and tired, and tucks his chin gently over your head like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Shhhhhh,” he adds, like a half-hearted lullaby, already drifting again.

Slowly, almost like he’s moving through a dream, Jeongin’s hand slides from your waist to your forearm. His fingers brush softly against your skin as he gently nudges your arms around him, guiding you closer until your arms settle naturally against his chest.

He sighs, eyes fluttering shut, a tired smile ghosting his lips as he moves his arm back to your waist. His breath is warm against your skin as he murmurs, “…stay… just like… this…”

And, with your heart going crazy in your chest, you do. But eventually, Jeongin shifts with a grunt, rubbing at his face and blinking blearily at the ceiling. “Water,” he mutters like a prayer, already pushing himself up with a groan.

You follow, slowly detangling your limbs and wobbling to your feet. Your head’s pounding, your mouth is dry, and when he hands you a glass of water in the kitchen, your fingers brush his. Neither of you says anything about it.

The air is quieter now. More fragile.

You sip the water and lean your elbows over the counter, watching him pull cereal from the cabinet and set it down like it’s the most complicated task in the world.

He doesn’t look at you. Not really.

You breathe in slowly. Then, carefully, casually, as if it doesn’t matter, as if you haven’t rehearsed the question a dozen ways in your head already.

“So,” you start, cautious, “are we gonna… talk about it or not?”

Jeongin lifts his eyes to look at you briefly, then shrugs. “I… don’t know what to say.”

You huff. “That’s convenient.”

His brow twitches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you say, sharper now, “you keep starting things and then… pretending they didn’t happen. The more I think about it, it’s just there. First you kiss me, then you back off, then you carry me home and now you just cuddle me like nothing’s weird—”

“I didn’t pretend nothing happened.”

“Yeah right.” you argue, voice rising. “I don’t get it, Innie. You’re looking at me like you want something, and then you pull away when I try to meet you halfway.”

Jeongin winces. “I was trying to be… careful.”

“Careful?” You laugh, and it’s bitter. “Careful would’ve been not even kissing me in the first place.”

He exhales sharply. “I was drunk.”

“Dude.” You throw your hands up. “I was drunk too, but I remember what happened. I remember what you said.”

Something starts to itch all over him.

“Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

That stings. You flinch, mouth opening and closing before the words catch up.

“Oh,” you say, voice suddenly small.

Jeongin notices too late. “Wait. That’s not… I… didn’t mean it like that.”

“No?” You shake your head, eyes narrowing. “Then how did you mean it? Because I’m seriously going crazy trying to figure out if you actually feel something or if I’m just… just convenient.”

His jaw tightens. He looks away. Then back at you. Then down. Then up again. Cornered.

He’s gonna have to come clear, isn’t he?

You lean forward, breath shallow. “We can’t start this. If you don’t want anything, just—.”

Sudden would be a good word to describe it. You barely register it before his mouth crashes into yours, shutting you up with a jolt of startled heat. His hands find your jaw, your neck, your cheek, soft in the way he holds you but desperate in how he kisses you.

It’s not soft, not thoughtful. It reeks of instinct, panic, feeling. He’s kissing you because he can’t take another second of pretending he doesn’t want to. And you freeze, just for a breath, before kissing him back.

His heart kicks wildly in his chest, tripping over itself like it’s trying to catch up with everything he’s ever wanted. You taste like leftover sleep and the faintest trace of lipbalm, and it’s messy and real and completely, utterly you.

He exhales against your lips like it hurts to breathe otherwise. Like he’s needed this more than he could ever say aloud.

The kiss breaks, breathless and messy, your lips barely apart as you stare at each other, dazed, blinking, stunned by the weight of what just happened.

Jeongin doesn’t pull far. He pants softly, his chest rising and falling against yours, and leans his forehead to yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded. His eyes flutter shut for a second before he lets out a long sigh.

“I’ve been wanting to do that… for longer than just last night.”

His words slip out on an exhale, voice low and hoarse, like they’ve been bottled up for too long and finally broke free. His thumb brushes your cheek —shaky, careful— and he doesn’t open his eyes, like he’s afraid to see your reaction.

But before you can form a single thought, Jeongin keeps going, words spilling from him like he’s afraid if he stops, he won’t get the chance again.

“I didn’t mean to confuse you. I swear I didn’t.” He pulls back just enough to see your face, his brows drawn, the panic creeping into his voice even as he tries to sound calm. “I was just… God, I was scared. Of ruining everything. Of saying something too soon. Or too late. Or just… wrong.”

You blink at him, stunned.

“And last night? When you said to do it like I meant it?” He huffs a soft, helpless laugh, like the memory still short-circuits his brain. “I almost lost my mind. You looked at me like… like you meant it too. But we were drunk, and I thought maybe I was just being stupid again. So I pulled back, but it killed me. It…”

He runs a hand through his hair, completely unraveling in front of you.

“Maybe I seemed confusing. But I didn’t lie.” He swallows dry. “I meant all of it. Every second.”

His eyes find yours again. Soft. Cracked open.

“I’ve liked you for ages.”

A soft noise leaves him, part sigh, part laugh, part disbelief. He’s dizzy. He’s warm. And he’s certain now, more than ever, that he’s never wanted anything the way he wants this. You.

“Ever since Felix and Hyunjin introduced you that night, months ago. You were wearing that yellow sweater and you kept apologizing for being late even though no one cared, and I just…” He lets out a helpless laugh. “Part of me knew I was screwed already.”

He shakes his head, eyes flicking away, embarrassed now, but still talking, because there’s no turning back.

“You kept talking to me even when I barely said anything back. You remembered what I said about my favorite drink. You offered me the last dumpling and smiled like it wasn’t a big deal, and…” He swallows hard. “It became a big deal. You became a big deal.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, heart thudding painfully.

“And then we had to walk back together almost every day, and… I felt like the luckiest man in the world. You just asked the most stupid questions, and every night, I wanted to kiss you before you crossed your door. I love hearing you ramble about your day, or your books, or that barista you think has it out for you. I remember every dumb story you’ve told me.”

He exhales, like saying all of it has gutted him.

“I don’t know when it stopped being casual for me. I just know I kept pretending it was, because you deserved someone who—“

You don’t let him finish.

You surge forward, catching his face between your hands and kissing him hard, nothing soft or hesitant about it this time. It’s messy, sudden, teeth knocking slightly in your urgency, but it shuts him up like nothing else could.

For a second, he freezes —just barely— like his brain short-circuits at the contact.

And then he kisses you back.

His hands shoot up, gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. Without breaking the kiss, he backs you gently until your body meets the edge of the counter. There’s a sharp, light click as your hips hit the cool surface, and before you can think, he lifts you effortlessly, settling you on the counter.

Your legs wrap around him instinctively, and he deepens the kiss, lips parting and tongues dancing. His arms tighten around you as if afraid to let go, his heart pounding as loud as yours.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re both still catching your breath, eyes wide and searching, and it hits you. What just happened. What it means. Your chest tightens, overwhelmed and giddy all at once.

You let out a soft, sheepish laugh, the kind that catches in your throat before spilling out as a gentle giggle. It’s unexpected —light and fluttery, like the first warm breeze after a cold night—, and it makes Jeongin’s heart loosen, just a little. He watches you closely, the corners of his mouth lifting into a slow, genuine smile as your eyes sparkle with that shy amusement.

Jeongin’s smile deepens, his gaze softening as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, still holding you close.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection, but the smile never fades. “What are you laughing for, mhh?”

You giggle again, leaning into his touch, and the kitchen around you blurs into the background. “I just… I have no idea if I did any of that right,” you giggle, blushing, attempting to hide in the crook of his neck.

Jeongin’s lips twitch into a teasing grin as he hears your giggle. He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Oh, that.” He smirks. “I’m pretty sure you did something right.”

He nuzzles your neck lightly, his voice dropping into a playful whisper. “Though if you want… lessons, I could… give you a few tips.”

You catch the challenge in his eyes, and for a moment, the whole kitchen feels charged with quiet mischief and something a little dangerous.

“Well, well.” You tease, eyeing him up and down as his hands move to your waist, almost sneaking to the bits of skin that your shirt doesn’t cover. “Yang Jeongin.”

He shrugs, smirking. “I’m just sayin’.”

“Oh, I know what you’re saying.” You snicker. “You better not start something you can’t finish.”

Jeongin snickers low in his throat, eyes crinkling with mischief as he leans in and gives your cheek a cheeky little bite, soft, barely more than a nip, but it makes you squeal and giggle, squirming in his hold.

“Oh, jagi,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement, “you won’t have to worry about finishing.”

Your face goes hot immediately. You swat at his chest, trying —and failing— to look scandalized through your smile. “You’re the worst,” you mutter, eyes shining as you finally manage to slip off the counter, backing away just a step. He watches you, thoroughly amused, as you cross your arms and raise your brows at him. “What a tease,” you say, clearly trying to sound unimpressed even though your cheeks are still flushed. “At least make me breakfast first, mister.”

It dawns on you as softly as how his hands surrounded you seconds ago. When a hopeless romantic falls for another hopeless romantic, it doesn’t feel like falling at all, but rather like being caught. Tenderly, gently, by someone who’s been waiting with open arms and the same fluttering heart. Or someone who, through one sick hangover, still decides to make you breakfast first.

Maybe that’s how the lover girl curse lifts. Not because you stopped dreaming, but because someone finally started dreaming with you.

"Who do you think is going to freak out the most if we show up to the next hangout and say we're together?" you smile offhandedly, scrolling through last night's pictures on your phone.

Jeongin blinks, tongueing his cheek.

"Actually, about that..."

Smiling sheepishly and turning his own phone so you could see the screen, you blink, eyebrows raising.

“What the…?”

"I may have been texting him all night because I was, um... worried." Jeongin licks his lips. "I haven’t updated him yet, but...” He swallows, smiling. “If Hyunjin shows up here with a bat, calling me a fucking dumbass, it’s my fault."

He pauses.

"And if Felix brings you chocolate brownies to ‘cheer you up’, that’s probaly also my fault, because Hyunjin can't keep shit to himself."

[★☆☘️☆★]

~kats, who’s obsesion with Jeongin (as well as everybody else, who am i kidding) grew so much more ever since she could attend the concert in Madrid!!

catiuskaa, august 2025 ©

permanent taglist! @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @lyramundana @cheeksung @staytinyluva

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thepinkpanther83 · 2 months ago

Note

Reader is sitting at the hellfire club table in the cafeteria when Eddie approaches with the intentions to make reader flustered but it backfires.

Please and thank you 😊

Error 404: Smoothness Not Found

One-Shot Request: “Error 404: Smoothness Not Found”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Huge thanks to @meankenna for sending in this funny and adorable prompt, I had fun imagining Eddie getting absolutely wrecked by a smooth, unbothered Reader. You’re keeping the Hellfire chaos alive and I love ya for it. 💖 Hope this flirty lil romp makes you smile! 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

🎸 Summary: Eddie Munson doesn’t get nervous. He’s a Dungeon Master, a guitar god, a champion of cafeteria theatrics.

But when he sets out to fluster a cool, calm outsider at the Hellfire table with one of his classic lines, he gets hit with something he didn’t expect: his own game, turned on him.

A one-shot full of sharp banter, unexpected sparks, and the kind of lunchroom showdown that might just lead to love.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

“Error 404: Smoothness Not Found”

The cafeteria was its usual midday jungle, linoleum floors sticky with mystery stains, the air thick with teenage body spray and tater tots, and the low roar of adolescent chaos echoing off the walls. But over in the far-left corner, where the Hellfire Club had permanently claimed their domain, the chaos took on a distinctly nerdy flavor.

Dustin was in full meltdown mode.

“I’m telling you, Jeff, if my d20 mysteriously lands on a one again, I’m invoking dice tampering and demanding a re-roll.”

“On what grounds?” Jeff snorted, clutching his carton of chocolate milk like it was a rare artifact. “Your own bad luck isn’t a war crime, Henderson.”

Mike chimed in with a muttered, “You’re just mad your rogue keeps falling in love with NPCs,” while Gareth and Grant broke into a cackling duet, drumming out the Jaws theme on their trays.

Amid the storm of mockery and snacks, you sat calmly at the edge of the table, a quiet satellite in the Hellfire galaxy. You weren’t a member, but you’d been absorbed into the gravitational pull somehow, maybe through mutual classes, or shared disdain for cafeteria food. Either way, no one questioned your presence anymore. You didn’t play D&D, but you definitely watched it like a sociologist. Or a cat observing a very lively fish tank.

You balanced a crossword puzzle on one knee, methodically chewing through baby carrots and ignoring the shrieking over critical failures. Your pencil tapped a rhythm against the paper as you searched for a six-letter word meaning charming but doomed. You smirked to yourself. The answer was probably Munson.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The cafeteria doors banged open like the prelude to a boss battle, and there he was, Eddie Munson, leather-jacketed menace, King of the Freaks, and current front-runner in your personal list of “People Who Flirt Like It’s a Performance Art.”

You didn’t even have to look up to know he’d clocked you. You could feel it, that strange static charge that always rolled in with him like thunder before a storm. Somewhere between his combat boots and his wild mop of curls, the man managed to manufacture drama like it was a bodily function.

And judging by the slow curl of his smirk, he was already planning an ambush.

Eddie didn’t walk. He made an entrance.

Combat boots hit tile like a drumline. His rings clicked with every exaggerated gesture, like punctuation marks to an invisible sentence. The cafeteria didn’t look up, most of them had learned to just let Eddie Munson exist in his own dimension, but the Hellfire table definitely noticed.

Grant leaned toward Gareth with a muttered, “He’s got that look again.”

“Uh-oh,” Gareth whispered, catching the target of Eddie’s laser-focused attention. “Incoming flirt assault.”

You didn’t flinch. Pencil still in hand, you marked another square on your crossword as Eddie approached like a lion on a catwalk.

He came to a dramatic halt just beside you, resting one hand on the back of your chair and the other over his heart like he was preparing to recite Shakespeare.

His voice dropped into that low, faux-sultry register he used when he was laying it on way too thick.

“So, how’s the prettiest person in the world doing today?”

You didn’t even blink.

From across the table, Dustin made a noise like someone stepping on a wet clarinet. “Oh god,” he groaned, slapping his forehead. “Here he goes again.”

Mike muttered, “Please crash and burn,” under his breath like a spell, while Jeff and Grant leaned forward in quiet anticipation.

The table was holding its collective breath. But you? You were still calm. Unbothered. Pencil still tapping gently against your knee.

Cool as a cucumber in the middle of a microwave, you finally glanced up, lazily. Sipped your drink. Eyebrows lifted just a touch. Expression unreadable, and said flatly-

“I don’t know. How are you?”

It hit him like a crit to the chest.

Record scratch. System failure. Reboot error.

Eddie.exe had stopped responding.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Mouth parted like a Windows update was about to install. His brain buffer wheel was visibly spinning behind those wide brown eyes. For one glorious moment, the man was entirely speechless.

And the table?

Dead silent.

Even Dustin was in awe.

Eddie’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

The confidence? Gone. Swagger? Missing in action. Leather jacket? Still fabulous, but definitely not helping him now.

He cleared his throat once, then again, like he could cough the embarrassment out of his lungs.

“I’m…”

He tried again. Voice pitched slightly higher, cracked on the last syllable like an untrained choirboy.

“I’m fine.”

And just like that, the illusion shattered.

Grant choked on his apple slice.

Gareth slapped both hands on the table like he was witnessing a miracle. “Oh my god. He short-circuited.”

Dustin leaned across the table with gleeful menace. “Are you blushing, dude? Did we just watch Eddie ‘Nothing Phases Me’ Munson malfunction over a one-liner?”

“Mark the date,” Mike added, eyes wide, like he was witnessing history. “We just witnessed the fall of a legend.”

Eddie raised both middle fingers without breaking eye contact with you, the picture of performative defiance… except for the faint pink flush creeping up his cheeks, giving him away entirely.

You just sipped your drink again, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly.

You were enjoying this. Too much.

And Eddie knew it.

He was in trouble.

You watched him flounder, savoring every second of it like the first sip of something fizzy and dangerous. Eddie Munson, master of theatrics, king of the underdogs, flirt extraordinaire, was currently melting like a record left too close to a heater.

And he knew it.

Finally, after dragging the silence out just long enough to make him squirm, you tilted your head and really looked at him, slow, deliberate, eyes scanning from his tangled curls to the panicked gleam in his eyes.

Then, you smiled.

Not wide. Not dramatic.

Just the faintest upward tug at the corner of your lips, small, sharp, smug.

“Gotcha,” that smirk said without needing a word.

Eddie visibly twitched. He’d been bested. Checkmated. Absolutely wrecked.

And the worst part?

He liked it.

Your pencil returned to your crossword, but before you started filling in the next clue, you shifted slightly, nudging your tray to the side with just enough space to make the invitation obvious.

“You gonna sit or just hover there short-circuiting?”

He blinked. You watched the moment his brain reconnected with his body.

“Y-Yeah,” he muttered, trying to inject some cool back into his voice and absolutely failing. “I can… yeah.”

He slid into the seat beside you like it was his idea, like he wasn’t internally screaming, like this wasn’t the first time someone had flipped his game upside down and laughed about it.

Grant gave him a slow clap. Dustin made the international L hand sign for “Loser.” Mike stage-whispered, “He’s already down bad.”

But Eddie barely heard them.

Because now he was sitting next to you, and you were still smirking.

And he had no idea what you were going to do next.

But suddenly…

He really, really wanted to find out.

The moment Eddie sat down, you went right back to your crossword like he hadn’t just face-planted into a flirt trap of his own making. But there was a smug, satisfied ease to your posture now, and it was driving him insane in the best way.

Eddie leaned in a little, elbows on the table, trying to recover some semblance of control. “So…” he started, flashing his signature grin, though it wobbled at the edges now, like his pride had a dent in it. “You always this dangerous during lunch?”

Without looking up, you replied dryly:

“Only when provoked.”

That grin faltered again. He pushed on anyway.

“Gotta say, sweetheart, you’ve got some serious nerve turning the tables on me.”

You circled a clue. “Was that your A-game just now? Because if it was…” You finally met his eyes, head tilting.

“Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Grant wheezed. Dustin slammed his tray in approval. “SOMEONE GIVE HER A TROPHY.”

Eddie put a hand to his chest like he’d been struck. “Ouch. I come over here offering my heart, and maybe a little of my lunch money, and I get roasted like a damn marshmallow.”

“You came over here with a pickup line you’ve probably used on half the marching band.”

He gasped. “Now that’s just… okay, that’s fair.”

You turned to face him more fully, one leg crossing over the other. “Don’t take it too hard, Munson. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

For a moment, Eddie just stared. Like that one sentence had detonated whatever was left of his dignity.

“I… uh-”

He blinked rapidly. “See, now that’s just cruel. You can’t just casually say something like that. I’m emotionally fragile.”

You smirked again. “Yeah? You seem really delicate.”

“Emotionally, not physically!” he said, flailing slightly. “I’m tough. I headbang. I do mosh pits.”

“You cried during The Last Unicorn, Eddie.”

“Dustin promised he wouldn’t tell anyone that!”

“Oh, he didn’t,” you said, quirking a brow. “You did. Last week when you got drunk. Very dramatically.”

Dustin nodded solemnly. “You reenacted the scene with full narration.”

Eddie sagged into the table. “This is bullying.”

You nudged his elbow with yours. “No. This is flirting. Try to keep up.”

His head shot up, eyes wide.

Oh yeah, he was so down bad.

The banter didn’t stop, it just evolved. Sharper, brighter, like the two of you were passing jokes back and forth faster than the Hellfire boys could keep up. Eddie was grinning so hard it looked like it hurt. You were still smirking, but now there was a glint in your eyes, something softer, warmer.

It wasn’t a competition anymore.

It was a rhythm.

You reached for your juice box just as Eddie leaned over to grab a napkin, your fingers brushed.

Not full-on hand-holding. Just the tips. Just enough for his breath to catch.

And his heart? Yeah. That thing skipped like a scratched tape.

You didn’t flinch. But your eyes flicked up, met his. The faintest pulse, electric, unspoken.

He recovered fast, tossing you a wink. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cop a feel.”

“Eddie,” you said flatly, “your finger grazed mine. Settle down before you need a cigarette.”

“Oof. Brutal,” he grinned, tilting his head. “I’m just trying to build some romantic tension here. Let me live.”

“I’m still recovering from the Last Unicorn thing,” you teased, just as Eddie picked up Gareth’s half-finished can of grape soda for no reason at all.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was laughing too hard.

It came out of him in a loud, sudden honk bark, surprised and delighted by you. He threw his head back and bumped the can with the edge of his palm, sending purple fizz skittering across the table and directly into Jeff’s lap.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Jeff: “Dude.”

Eddie froze mid-cackle, still grinning like an idiot. “Oh my god. I swear that wasn’t planned.”

“I just washed these jeans!” Jeff wailed, jumping up.

But you were laughing now too.

Really laughing.

Head back, lips parted, one hand over your stomach. It hit you in a wave, sudden and genuine, the way good moments always do when you least expect them. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t cruel. It was just… joy.

And Eddie looked at you like someone had just turned the sun on.

For all the chaos, for all the fizzy embarrassment, he couldn’t stop staring.

“There it is,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

You glanced over, catching the look. “There what is?”

He blinked. Smile crooked. “Nothing. Just… I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you do, soda assassin.”

But your knee bumped against his under the table and neither of you moved away.

The table was still buzzing with secondhand embarrassment and grape soda residue, but Eddie had stopped noticing everything around him.

He was fully zeroed in on you now, watching the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the way you kept nudging him like the two of you had done this a thousand times before. Like it was natural.

You teased him again about the soda, something about “friendly fire” and “reckless endangerment of cafeteria fashion,” and he just grinned, all teeth and dimples and overwhelmed brain cells.

And then-

“Oh my god,” Dustin groaned loudly. “You’re literally drooling. Just ask her out already.”

Eddie choked.

Mike, who hadn’t looked up from his peanut butter sandwich in minutes, casually added, “Seriously. You’re embarrassing yourself and the dice gods.”

Eddie whipped his head around, eyes wide, face flaming. “I am not drooling!”

Dustin raised his brows. “Your mouth’s open. You keep staring. You just spilled a drink because she laughed. That’s a rom-com trifecta, man.”

Eddie looked like he was about to start foaming at the mouth out of sheer panic.

You, meanwhile, turned toward him slowly, resting your chin in your hand, eyes twinkling with dangerous amusement.

“Is that true?” you asked, voice light. “You planning to ask me out?”

The whole table went still.

Gareth’s spoon halfway to his mouth. Jeff frozen mid-blotting his jeans. Even Grant paused mid-sip of whatever mystery fluid he’d found in the vending machine.

Eddie swallowed hard.

You tilted your head. Not pushing. Not teasing this time.

Just… curious.

And flirtatious as hell.

Eddie’s mouth opened. Then closed. Like he was loading a save file from deep within his soul.

He cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter, and, miraculously, dialed it down. Just a notch. Enough that the swagger melted into something real beneath the surface noise. Less Dungeon Master, more Eddie.

“So hey,” he said, rubbing his palms against his jeans like he wasn’t sweating bullets, “if you’re not busy Friday night…”

You raised a brow, waiting. Dangerous glint back in your eyes.

“Wanna grab a burger and shake with me or something? Nothing fancy. Just... you and me. Maybe I don’t trip over anything or knock drinks over this time.”

The table leaned in as one collective being, holding its breath.

You let the silence stretch, just long enough to make him squirm. Not cruelly. Just a moment of power. Of play.

And then, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips:

“Only if you promise not to start with another cheesy line.”

Eddie exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days. Grin spreading again, lopsided and a little dazed.

“No promises,” he said, “but I’ll try my best.”

From across the table, Gareth let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “God, finally. I was about to start drawing hearts around your names on my character sheet.”

Dustin fist-pumped. “Hellfire matchmaking is real.”

You turned to Eddie one last time, eyes warm now, no teasing, just interested.

“Pick me up at seven, Munson.”

And just like that, you turned back to your crossword. Calm. Casual. Still in control.

Eddie sat there stunned for a second, watching you like you’d just cast a spell he didn’t know how to break.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“Did that just work?”

The moment you agreed to the date, all hell broke loose.

“WOOOOOO!” Dustin shot up from his seat like a firework. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Gareth banged a plastic fork against his tray like it was a gong. “Get it, Munson!”

Mike, ever the realist, just shook his head with a smirk. “She’s way out of your league, man.”

Jeff added dryly, “I think she just asked you out, technically.”

Eddie threw his hands in the air. “Okay, okay, calm down, you gremlins! You’re embarrassing me in front of my date.”

Dustin grinned. “You embarrassed yourself, dude. We’re just the backup dancers.”

You stood up slowly, collecting your tray with easy grace, as if you hadn’t just turned Eddie Munson into a walking heart-eye emoji in front of half the cafeteria.

As you passed behind him, you casually reached out, fingers threading through a few curls at the back of his neck, tugging lightly, just enough to make him sit up straighter.

Your hand drifted forward, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw with the softest tease of a caress.

“See you at seven, Eddie.”

And just like that, you walked away, cool, unbothered, radiant.

Eddie was left blinking at the air you left behind, looking like he’d just astral projected. He turned slowly back to the table, eyes wide and slightly unfocused.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

“Did that really just happen?” He looked around. “You guys saw that, right?”

Dustin patted his shoulder solemnly. “We saw, buddy. We all saw.”

Gareth nodded. “You okay? You look like you got hit with a charm spell.”

Eddie just stared into the distance, a soft, stunned smile curling on his lips.

“I think I’m in love.”

Part Two Follow Up: "Error 404: First Date Loading"

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially

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mejaemin · 19 days ago

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hehe ♡ with yoon jeonghan

wc: 873 summary: seeing your hannie have fun through seokminnie’s screen <3 warnings: fluff !!! v not proofread and lowk ass an: i miss my husband.

it’s like 2pm when you finally wake up, and jeonghan’s not there. yes, his absence is incredibly agonizing knowing that his weekdays are fully booked, but you can’t expect anything less when he has so many loved ones to see on his two days off. you sigh, rolling over into his side of the bed, taking a deep breath in when your nose hits his pillow. everything around you is engulfed in him, his scent, and even though he’s technically with you, you can’t help but miss him.

reaching for your phone, there isn’t a single notification from him. he definitely told you where he was going, a very vague memory of him telling you earlier today while kissing your cheek flashing through your mind. there’s barely any recollection of said event, save for his lips on your skin and the way he laughs at you for being so sleepily delirious. it’s everything.

there’s a million messages from seokmin, which isn’t that strange being that half of the younger boys have claimed you as their “mom” since you and jeonghan got together. firstly, there’s a video, along with multiple photos/texts, topped off with a million missed calls. upon pressing it, you’re immediately wide awake, jeonghan’s face filling the screen.

his face is a little damp, lips all pouty as he sits against a park bench. hat on, towel around his neck, chest heaving as his skin gets a little dewy, he looks directly in the camera. he pulls on his best puppy eyes, looking into the camera, “so you hate me?” seokmin laughs in the background. “i’m having a really big, monumental moment right now, and you don’t care.”

seokmin comes into frame then, head resting on jeonghan’s shoulder, “hi mom.” he smiles, “our hannie’s running. he went on a run!” jeonghan then starts swearing, hitting him in the head with complaints like i’m not that lazy, and i’ve always been able to run, dumbass! exiting the speaker. it makes you giggle, smiling wide even in your sleepy daze, listening to them bicker, camera forgotten as the video ends.

as soon as it’s over you dial seokmin on facetime, the boy picking up quickly, bright smile on as he waves to the camera. he looks up, “your sleeping beauty is finally awake~” he sing-songs, giggling when jeonghan shoots up, leaning over the entire table to look at the screen.

his face is upside down, and you can only see his eyes up, brows furrowed. “finally.. you were so deep in sleep, i couldn’t even call you to bail me out.. i’m so tired i could die.” he complains, falling back into his seat. seokmin sets the phone up so you can see the both of them, allowing them to return to their meal.

“i wonder who’s fault it is that i’m so tired, hm?” you prop your phone up on one of the other pillows, allowing yourself to stretch. jeonghan bursts out laughing, nearly falling over in his seat, while seokmin’s jaw hangs open with his spoon halfway there. you smile, snapping a picture of them, such contrast in their reactions.

“mm, i guess that’s life, isn’t it?” he says, smile so warm as he watches you through the phone. his food is completely forgotten, eyes full of so much love and warmth. it makes you curl into his hoodie even more than you already had, the fabric swallowing you whole, being that it’s oversized even for him. you can see it in his eyes that he’s so exhausted, but so full, emotionally.

you watch in silence as they fall back into conversation, jeonghan’s little giggles making your heart flutter. you don’t say anything, just watching as they laugh and eat together. despite his hair being short, hannie still has that habit of tucking his hair behind his ear, and you mentally pout, missing its length. there’s only so much time until he’s free, and you can only hope that he’ll grow it as long as possible when that time comes.

the call turns into a whole mukbang video, the two boys showing you every single little plate or bowl that they eat from, giving full detailed reviews of every little thing. at some point seokmin takes his phone back, flipping the camera and putting it on jeonghan. a ‘date simulator’ is what he calls it, putting on a fake voice and pretending to be you all while they share a meal together. you screen record the whole thing, nearly crying laughing when jeonghan plays into it, leaning in and kissing the rear camera.

eventually they finish up, still talking to you on the phone as they exit the store. seokmin turns to your boyfriend with a mischievous smile, “so, are you ready to keep going?”

his face falls, head turning to look at you in slow motion. all of a sudden, in the blink of his eye, he’s doubling over, whining as he falls onto a bench, clutching his knees. “oh my god! my legs! they’re broken! oh, my angel, please come pick me up! i can’t move!”

you roll your eyes, laughing to yourself, yet you still get up and grab your car keys on your way out the door.

svt 🏷️ @cinnayomiroll @prettymoles @polarisjisung @ikozen @rivercattail @tinkerbell460 @lunaryoongie @sseungcheols @markkiatocafe @prttycheol @hyckiszn

#mejaemin #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan fluff #jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #lee seokmin #dokyeom

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chaconnewon · 2 months ago

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심 재윤 ! ; you would do anything to see your bestfriend happy.

warnings: sub!jake x switch f!reader, begging, masturbation (m.), slight of praise kink, cum tasting, reader talks a lot, both of them are whipped, whiny jake, mdni ! ——

wc: 2k(2.227)

a/n: i came back from the death— proofread but since english is not my first language there could be mistakes !!! please, let me know and enjoy it(im thinking about a part two¿?)

you and jake have been friends for a while now. and if you were 100% sure about one thing about him was that he was shy around girls.

you could tell by how his hands trembled a little when female students approached him with any lame excuse to talk to him. his cheeks and ears were always red, almost burning. his puppy-like eyes were always searching for you like calling for help. and you found it cute, how can you not? jake wasn’t interested in them by any chance. sure he would talk to them and be polite because his mama raised a good boy but nothing further than a casual conversation.

it was late in the afternoon when jake dropped by your house, a handbag full of your favourite snacks. you two found a comfy spot in your bed as both of you took turns to update your day. he was first. you always wanted to hear him talk first. the way jake was expressive while talking about his interests made you feel kinda attracted. like a feeling you couldn’t quite tell. it didn’t mind you since it was pretty obvious jake was a good looking man with unique charisma. maybe way too much. you thought being kind of attracted to your best friend was the most normal thing on earth.

or you simply didn’t want to dig in too deep.

“. . . i’m telling you, they won't leave me alone.”

“what can I say? you’re very popular among the other students.”

jake furrowed his brows before answering.

“i only talk to you and the rest of the boys. every single day i find myself meeting people i’ve never seen in my life!”

“that’s how making friends works!” you replied, your voice laced with humor. “ what if you find the love of your life? you’re gonna miss it because of… shyness?”

“you’re right but—“

“also, there are sooo many pretty girls to kiss, no attachment, just enjoying the moment.”

the last sentence left him thinking. all these girls were interested in kissing him? like a whole make out and all? but most importantly, was he looking out for it? sometimes all that attention on jake made him uncomfortable, just wishing to avoid interactions with strangers just to get to you or his friends. jake never thought about kissing anyone.

at least not anyone that he didn’t know.

“but, uh… you kiss people for fun?”

“i think that's a part of kissing someone… you find someone you’re attracted to, or just someone who's pretty. what would you do then?”

“but isn’t it strange?”

you went silent for a couple minutes. his eyes seemed to shake with subtle agitation. his questions were avoiding answering you but you weren’t dumb, and soon you knew something what’s up.

before answering, you took time to meet his gaze. the way he was chewing his lip, fingers fidgeting with each other in some attempt to calm his nervousness. it wasn’t working though.

“jake… if you ever kissed someone, you would know how that’s not strange.” silence. his eyes dropped to his lap, evading your curious yet surprised look. “I'm assuming by your lack of response that, in fact, you haven't kissed anyone yet.”

“please don’t laugh at me.”

“why would i? it’s not a bad thing. you just didn't find that someone and that's alright. people have different concepts about the first kiss and—“

“i found her but i’m afraid because i dont know if i can do it right or not.” also she talks so fucking much he would’ve added.

“but it’s something normal, natural. you just aren't born knowing everything in life. you have to learn, to understand.”

jake parted his lips to say something but not a single noise went through his mouth. you were right and that made him feel at ease. but still his heart pounded fiercely inside his chest by simply thinking about kissing.

but not anyone.

kissing you.

the red-ish shade painting his cheeks was still there, and your gaze was still analyzing every movement or reaction by him. you’ve kissed people, sometimes for fun, sometimes blinded by desire but this time… the urge to smash your lips against your best friend's one was bigger. like something you couldn’t control.

“maybe… maybe we can try— if you want, of course. starting with some pecks, slow. there’s no rush.”

jake’s mouth hung open a little, processing what you just told him. you wanted to? you wanted to kiss him? his eyes were more than sparkling, trying to contain his hype, his need to scream because fuck, he couldn’t even imagine you would offer something like that to him.

“y–yeah, i mean. we can try.”

you giggled a little. jake used to be confident and funny around you but now was shuddering. like his confidence vanished the moment you suggested kissing each other would be a good idea.

“relax, okay? we are gonna start with something simple. you can always tell me to stop and I will, no questions. alright?”

he nodded, impossible for him to say anything out loud.

“i need you to speak, jake. say it with your words, it’s okay.”

your hand flew to his knee, caressing it slowly with your thumb.

“all right, it’s okay with me.”

you smiled at him, squeezing his leg a little.

next thing you did was to place the snacks aside, and crawl to be close to him. your knees were barely brushing his as you repositioned yourself closer. jake accommodated himself too, straightening his back and waiting for you to do something. you smiled, softly. you could read his mind at this point. jake was unsure what to do so he was waiting for you to take the lead.

after all, you were the one with way more experience than him.

your body leaned closer to him, your hands against the mattress to hold your weight as you finally pressed your lips against his.

the kiss stayed like that for a few seconds. no movements, no tongue, no nothing. just a gentle pressing against his plump, soft lips. jake’s heart beat faster, pounding hard into his ribcage and suddenly he felt so stupid for being this nervous by a simple peck. but in reality the kiss wasn’t the reason to be that nervous–it was you. the fact that he was kissing you was making his whole body tremble with anticipation.

after a few seconds you pulled back.

‘’was it okay?’’ you asked in a whisper, and you watched him nod.

before you can suggest anything more, his lips crashed onto your one again. started like before, a gentle press between both lips but he felt courage building inside him and took a step forward. his lips, unsure, started to move against yours. despite the intention his moves were clumsy but you found it adorable. you didn’t try to set a pace, you just matched his, making him familiar with that new emotion.

within minutes he seemed to understand what the whole kissing thing was about. his lips captured yours, pulling them slightly and then taking them again. slowly the tension between both of you started to feel heavy, and your hands found a place cupping his head, your left hand sinking in his fluffy hair, caressing it.

you moved away from the kiss to catch her breath, looking at his state. reddish lips a bit swollen, a darker shade of red more prominent on his cheeks. the image in front of you was impossible to not look at. now again you leaned close and attached your lips into his neck, kissing it with open-mouth kisses that left some trail of your own saliva, sucking gently whenever you had a chance.

jake’s hands gripped the sheets beneath him. all the new emotions he was feeling were starting to be too hard to handle, soft gasps leaving his lips. you took it as a green light, not stopping your commitment which was making him feel good. just where his pulse was beating rapidly, you sinked your teeth.

‘’y-y/n wait. . .’’

you stopped, you face contoured in concern. maybe you were pushing too hard for a first time. last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable.

jake struggled a bit seeking for words and you patiently waited, taking a peek of how rosy his cheeks were, or how shaky his hands were as well. you felt like he was avoiding your gaze and in fact, he was. you looked down, searching for something that told you what was crossing his mind.

until you noticed it.

a big, notorious bulge under his pants.

none of you said anything. it was normal, a natural reaction from the human body. if he was enjoying it that much, it made sense he was that hard. and to be honest, seeing how he grew an erection from a kiss, a simple kiss and a few touches on his neck, made you wet.

‘’jake.’’

he shook his head, embarrassed. you took his chin, tilting his head back a bit to make him look at you. jake chewed his lower lip nervously. what would you think about him? getting so hard for a kiss, almost so close to come… was embarrassing for him.

‘’i’m sorry i–’’

‘’hey, it’s okay, yeah? it’s a common reaction. do you want to stop?’’

he shook his head again, earning a smirk from you.

‘’does it hurt, mh? your crotch looks so tight…’’

jake swallowed hard at your words, eyes widening slightly but nodded anyway. fuck yeah it hurted, a lot. his hard dick was pressed against the uncomfortable clothes and them started to feel a bit damp. he needed a bit of relief.

your free hand traveled across his chest, fingers ghosting over. you could feel his muscles tensing. taking your time, your hand landed on top of his clothed boner, massaging it slowly. quickly jake shut his eyes down, his breath trembling. despites him being silent, he thrusts against your hand, asking wordlessly for more friction.

you unbuttoned his pants, taking him over his underwear. jake whimpered, eyes locked on your face now. his face was red, hot. along with his neck. you started to pump him slowly, with deliberate strokes, and it didn’t take long before soft moans escaped his lips. breathy. you continued until you felt him hard enough to free his dick from the remaining clothes. his cock twitched slightly by the sudden air hitting it directly, earning a soft hiss from him. jakes length was standing proud, a bit curved at the and his tip wet with some pre-cum. the view was amazing, and his shy attitude made it ten times better.

‘’show me how you make yourself good.’’ you whispered.

he hesitated for a moment, processing your words. you wanted him to jerk off in front of you? that scenario felt like a dream. even though his shaky hand reached his base, your tender yet firm demeanour made him feel, somehow, bold. jake started to slide his hand along his length, slow at first, feeling every mover, every squeeze. took a few minutes for him to gain a bit of confidence and start to pump faster, using his pre release as lube.

you watched him with hunger in your eyes, eyes glued at his hand. the heat between your legs was uncomfortable, your sticky panties pressed against your core. but tonight was for him, only for him. for his pleasure and adventure to explore what made him feel good. what he liked or not. and with that thought in mind, you placed your hand above his, setting a faster pace.

at that point, jake was a whiny mess. his chest raising and falling heavily, trying to stead his breathing but unable to. his lips puffy, red and wet by all the biting and licking he submitted them to.

‘’y/n shit– feels so good…’’

‘’does it?’’ he nodded, eagerly. ‘’look at you, all you body trembling, all your cheeks rosy… you look like a goddamn painting.’’

your words made him moan, arching his back. so, he was into a little praise? you wanted to test a bit further.

‘’did you like that? you like how pretty i tell you you look right now? how good are you taking our hands?’’ he whined, his legs starting to tremble anytime you opened your pretty yet filthy mouth.

‘’are you close?’’

‘’y–yes! so close…. keep going please—’’

he let go his hand, giving you full permission to masturbate him. and you did, fast and heavy. the wet noises filling the silent room. he gripped his sheets again and arched his back to you, feeling so, so close to cum.

‘’fuckfuckfuck– i’m cumming… please, can I?’’

as soon as you nodded, giving the permission he needed, warm sticky ropes of cum spurt off him, landing into your hand and his clothes. his body was shivering, moan after moan slipping through his lips until he couldn't anymore.

you lowered yourself as soon as he rode his orgasm, his soft dick sticky in your hand and you took your tongue off to lick a stripe of it, tasting him. he hissed, wide eyes looking at you.

‘’couldn't help it, jake.’’ you smiled, patting his hair with your free hand as his breath came to normality again. ‘’but we are not done yet.’’

#enhypen #enha x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen jake #jake x reader #jake smut #drabble #enhypen hard thoughts #chaconnewon

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adelliet · 26 days ago

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Bob reynolds x f!reader

SECRET DIARY

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

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

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

Mastelist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You started cleaning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Diary of Robert Reynolds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One page…

then two…

then five…

then eighteen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the sound of the elevator.

They were back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup. Just sometimes,” he smirked back.

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

“AH!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, did I wake you up?”

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

“What do you need?” you asked gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm… not really. Just a diary.”

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

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

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

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

“A-and did you… read it?”

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

You shook your head innocently. “Nooo…”

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

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

THUD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…what I wrote.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who said I want you to stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t take it anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could feel it. You were so close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to do that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, carefully, he began to move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t stop moaning his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“B-Bob— I— please, I can’t—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a while, neither of you said a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That made you both laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

His voice came quieter this time.

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

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

“So… I’m glad you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

Then a knock.

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

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

Your entire body tensed, adrenaline instantly flooding your veins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” she said. “Have you seen her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

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

Bob nodded. “Got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked. “Debatable.”

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

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

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

HAVE A LOVELY DAY!

BYEEE🍀🐛👒

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ahqkas · 9 months ago

Note

Hey! Can you please write headcanons for Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim where they get jealous when reader ignores them for some other guy? (They haven't confessed to her yet because of their issues) The reader is also very oblivious to their feelings and doesn't understand why they are acting weird around her male friend. Thanks 😘

♯BABY COME HOME 2 ME . . . he’s jealous !! (fem!reader)

BRUCE WAYNE

bruce had perfected the skill of keeping his emotions under wraps, but when he saw you chatting animatedly with clark kent of all the people, his jaw tightened, and his usual stoic demeanor grew even colder. he didn’t say anything outright, but his silence became louder, his responses clipped and curt

he spent an unreasonable amount of time analyzing every interaction you had with the superman. he didn’t want to be jealous, but he couldn’t help dissecting your body language, the tone of your laughter, and how often you glanced in clark’s direction. the world’s greatest detective is undone by a simple smile exchanged between you and the man of steel

so he started subtly trying to one-up clark whenever you were around. If clark complimented your choice of book, bruce casually mentioned that he had donated an entire library to that author’s hometown. if clark suggested grabbing coffee, bruce offered to fly you to paris for the best croissant you’ve ever had (competitive much)

he became strangely territorial, appearing wherever you and clark happened to be. need help with research? bruce suddenly has all the resources at his disposal. want to attend a charity event? bruce personally invites you as his guest. his subtle possessiveness confused you, but he waved it off with a dismissive, “i was in the area.”

despite being oblivious, clark catches on pretty quickly. he teases bruce about his attitude, whispering, “you know, she’s just being friendly,” during a team meeting. bruce’s only response is an icy glare, but inside, he’s frustrated that even clark can see what he won’t admit

bruce started making dry, sarcastic remarks when clark’s name came up in conversation. when you mentioned how nice clark is, bruce grumbled, “nice? sure. but can he solve an international financial crisis in a single night?” you think he’s joking, but that man is 100% serious.

DICK GRAYSON

dick prides himself on being the laid-back, easygoing friend, but when he sees you laughing at one of wally’s cheesy jokes, something tightens in his chest. his usual smile falters for a fraction of a second before he forces it back into place. you don’t notice, but wally does, smirking knowingly

he starts teasing wally in a way that’s just a bit sharper than usual. “wow, wally, that story gets funnier every time you tell it,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. you laugh along, oblivious, but wally raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying dick’s discomfort

he becomes oddly competitive, especially when wally’s abilities are involved. if wally races ahead to grab you something, dick will casually say, “sure, he’s fast, but can he do this?” before doing some ridiculously impressive flip that leaves you clapping. he’ll shrug it off like it’s nothing, but he’s secretly watching to see if you’re impressed

dick starts overthinking every little interaction. did you laugh harder at wally’s joke than at his? does wally text you more often? he gets caught up in his own insecurities, wondering if maybe wally is a better fit for you—someone fun and carefree, without the baggage he carries

wally, ever the troublemaker, starts leaning into the situation. he’ll throw an arm around your shoulder or wink at dick while you’re not looking, just to see how far he can push him. dick plays it off with a tight smile, but his fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to yank wally’s hand away from you

at some point, wally corners dick with a smug grin, saying, “so, when are you going to tell her?” dick tries to deny it, but wally isn’t fooled. “come on, grayson. she’s oblivious, not blind. well, actually, she is blind to you, but that’s your fault.” dick groans, knowing wally won’t let it go, ever

later when you two actually get together, wally makes sure to get in the last word, casually saying, “took you long enough, grayson. you’re lucky i’m such a good wingman.” dick rolls his eyes, but for once, he doesn’t argue

JASON TODD

jason is naturally broody, but when he sees you laughing at one of roy’s jokes or leaning closer to hear him better, his usual scowl deepens. his arms cross tighter, his jaw clenches, and his responses become more gruff and sarcastic. you think he’s just annoyed in general, but roy knows better

he doesn’t want to feel jealous of roy—roy’s his best friend, after all—but he can’t help it. he knows his friend is charming and easygoing, and it eats at him that you seem to enjoy roy’s company more than his. he hates himself for the bitterness, but he hates how much he cares even more

he starts pulling away, telling himself it’s better to let you be happy than to deal with these feelings. he’ll find excuses to leave the room when you and roy are hanging out, claiming he has “important red hood business” or muttering, “you two don’t need me hanging around.” his absence feels colder than his usual aloofness :((

jason tries to compete with roy’s charm in his own way. he’ll offer to help you with things before roy gets the chance—fixing something in your apartment, teaching you how to defend yourself, or lending you his jacket when it’s cold. his gestures are quieter but filled with meaning, though you only see them as jason being his usual protective self

roy catches on to jason’s jealousy almost immediately and starts poking the bear. he’ll intentionally sit a little closer to you or tell stories that paint himself as the hero. jason’s glare darkens every time, and roy smirks like he’s won some unspoken game

his friend eventually pulls him aside, half-teasing, half-serious. “you’re going to scare her off if you keep growling like that, jaybird,” he says with a grin. jason denies it, grumbling, “she doesn’t feel that way about me, so what does it matter?” roy shakes his head, muttering, “you’re hopeless,” but decides to give you two some space

“took you long enough. it was written all over jaybird’s face.”

TIM DRAKE

tim isn’t the type to show his jealousy outwardly, so at first, he tries to brush it off. he tells himself he’s being irrational, but every time he sees you smiling at conner or laughing at one of his jokes, it’s like a knife twisting in his chest. he sits there, silently sipping his coffee, pretending it doesn’t bother him

instead of confronting his feelings, tim buries himself in work. whenever you and conner are together, tim conveniently has “important research” or “a mission to plan.” he thinks distancing himself will help, but in reality, he’s just overthinking the situation in the safety of the batcave monitors

tim’s usual polite demeanor starts to crack, and he can’t help throwing in a few passive-aggressive comments. if vonner makes a lighthearted joke about being a hero, tim mutters under his breath, “yeah, because we didn’t already know how amazing you are, conner.” you laugh, thinking tim’s just being witty, while conner gives him a confused side-eye

when you and conner are deep in conversation, tim randomly interjects with obscure facts or strategic insights to redirect your focus. “did you know the alignment of the stars tonight is perfect for an alien incursion? just saying.” you smile and ask him to elaborate, giving him a brief moment of relief that he has your attention again

conner, being tim’s best friend, catches on pretty quickly. he notices the way tim’s eyes linger on you a little too long or how his voice drops when you mention conner’s name. instead of teasing him outright, conner starts backing off slightly, giving tim room to shine

you start noticing tim’s strange behavior—his avoidance, his sudden snarky remarks about conner—and ask him what’s wrong. he insists it’s “nothing,” but the crack in his voice gives him away. still, he’s too guarded to admit what’s really bothering him

later after tim’s confession, conner gives him a playful nudge and a knowing grin. “see? told you she’d feel the same way. maybe now you’ll stop staring at her like a lost puppy.” tim groans, muttering something about how conner’s the real puppy, but he’s secretly relieved—and grateful—that his best friend had his back

after your heart-to-heart, tim’s confidence starts to grow. he’s still awkward at times, but he’s more willing to share how he feels, even if it’s in small, thoughtful gestures. and when conner teases him about finally making a move, tim just smirks, knowing he’s the one who has your heart

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work, please consider reblogging and / or commenting !! thank you if you do 🤍

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okasuka · 7 months ago

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Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: You’ve practically been living at Wayne Manor, acting as Damian’s secondary Oracle and part-time medic when Alfred isn’t available. After a mission, you’re patching up a flustered Damian when he suddenly tells you he needs you to fake date him at school—because some girl won’t leave him alone.

The Batcave was quiet, save for the occasional dripping of water and the steady rhythm of your movements as you patched up Damian’s arm. He was perched on the med bay cot, scowling at the gauze in your hands like it had personally offended him.

“You’re lucky this isn’t deep,” you muttered, pressing the bandage against his bicep. “A little higher, and you’d have needed stitches.”

“Tt. I would have handled it.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpanned, securing the bandage before reaching for the antiseptic. “Hold still.”

Damian shifted slightly, his shoulders rigid as you dabbed at the shallow cut near his collarbone. You were close—closer than usual—and you could see the way his jaw tensed. He wasn’t making eye contact, which was strange. Damian was always direct, always unwavering.

“You okay?” you asked, raising a brow.

His expression flickered, something uncertain passing over his face before he abruptly muttered, “I need you to do something for me.”

You blinked. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

There was a pause. Damian exhaled through his nose, as if bracing himself.

“I need you to pretend to be my significant other.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“You—what?”

His ears were pink. Actually pink. Damian avoided your gaze, eyes fixated on some invisible point in the distance.

“There is a girl at school,” he said stiffly, as if it physically pained him to say it. “She refuses to leave me alone despite my clear disinterest. I have concluded that the most effective way to rid myself of her is to make her believe I am already involved in a relationship.”

You stared at him. Then blinked. Then stared some more.

“Damian.” You placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “You could just tell her ‘no.’ Like, verbally. With words.”

“I have.” His scowl deepened. “She does not seem to comprehend the meaning of rejection.”

“So you want me to be your fake girlfriend?”

He looked at you then, expression composed but the tips of his ears still betraying him. “Yes. Just until she ceases her pursuit.”

Your lips twitched. “And you thought asking me while I was literally sewing you back together was a good time?”

“You are a captive audience,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. But if I have to fake date you, we’re doing it right.”

His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means hand-holding, flirting, maybe even a pet name.” You grinned at the immediate horror on his face. “Oh, relax. It’s called commitment to the bit, Damian.”

“Tt. This was a mistake,” he muttered, but he didn’t take it back.

You tied off the bandage, patting his arm with a smirk. “Too late. You just got yourself a girlfriend.”

Damian sighed. This was going to be unbearable.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Two)

The second you stepped into Gotham Academy the next morning, you knew this was going to be fun.

Damian walked beside you, his usual composed self—shoulders squared, uniform immaculate, that constant look of disinterest plastered across his face. The only difference today? You were his fake girlfriend. And, judging by the way some students were already glancing in your direction, the news was spreading fast.

“Alright, beloved,” you teased, nudging his arm as you walked through the front gates. “How are we playing this?”

Damian visibly flinched at the pet name. “Do not call me that.”

You grinned. “What? It’s a classic. Do you prefer babe? Sweetheart? Dami-bear?”

He shot you a look so sharp it could cut through steel. “Tt. You are enjoying this too much.”

“You knew what you were getting into,” you said lightly, looping your arm through his, just to mess with him.

His whole body went rigid.

“You have to act natural,” you reminded him, biting back a laugh. “If you act like I just stabbed you in the ribs every time I touch you, no one’s gonna believe we’re dating.”

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn’t pull away. Progress.

You continued walking, scanning the halls for any sign of her—the girl who was apparently harassing Damian to the point where fake dating was his only option. It didn’t take long to find her.

Near his locker stood a girl with perfectly curled hair and an expensive-looking manicure, whispering with her friends while occasionally sneaking glances your way. The moment she made eye contact with Damian, her face lit up.

You had never seen Damian look more unamused.

“Here we go,” you murmured, tightening your grip on his arm. “Ready, love?”

“If you do not cease with the pet names—”

“Damian!” the girl interrupted, striding up to him with a dazzling smile. She completely ignored your existence. “Good morning! I was just thinking—”

And that’s when you really committed to the bit.

Before she could finish whatever sentence was about to ruin Damian’s day, you turned toward him, placed a hand on his chest, and, in the sweetest, most obnoxiously affectionate voice you could muster, said:

“Baby, you didn’t tell me you were this popular!”

Damian tensed under your touch, but—bless him—he didn’t pull away. Instead, he placed a hand on your waist (awkwardly, stiffly, like he had never touched a human before), and gave the girl a blank look.

“I am spoken for,” he said simply.

The girl’s expression faltered. She glanced between the two of you, disbelief evident in her eyes. “Wait, you’re dating him?”

You beamed. “Mhm! Isn’t he just the cutest?”

Damian closed his eyes, probably regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

The girl frowned. “But you’re always just… around. Like, you’re not even—”

“Around?” you interrupted with a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, I practically live at Wayne Manor. Didn’t you know?”

The girl’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Damian, to his credit, took the opportunity to put an end to the conversation. “If you are finished, we have matters to attend to.”

And with that, he steered you away, leaving the girl gaping after you.

The second you were out of earshot, you burst into laughter. “I am spoken for?” you mimicked, grinning up at him. “Dami, you sound like a medieval prince rejecting a marriage proposal.”

Damian scowled. “It was effective, was it not?”

“Extremely,” you admitted. “But man, you are so bad at this.”

He huffed. “Tt. This was a mistake.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you teased, nudging him again. “But hey, boyfriend, you’re stuck with me now.”

Damian sighed, long and suffering. “I am going to regret this, aren’t I?”

You just smirked.

“More than you know.”

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Three)

You and Damian barely made it to his locker before a group of guys—some of Damian’s more tolerable classmates—descended on you like a pack of hyenas.

“Okaaaay, hold up.” Colin Wilkes, one of the few people Damian actually acknowledged at school, squinted between the two of you. “Did I hear that right? You two are dating?”

You leaned against the lockers, smiling sweetly. “Yup.”

“Like… real dating?” added Maps Mizoguchi’s older brother, Kyle, who was watching the interaction like it was a live episode of Gotham’s trashiest reality show.

Damian crossed his arms. “Tt. Would I lie?”

Colin raised a brow. “You tell me, dude.”

“Wait, wait, wait—since when?” another guy, Elliot, chimed in. “You two have been best friends forever, and you expect us to believe you’re suddenly a thing?”

You shrugged. “It just happened. Right, babe?”

Damian twitched at the pet name but nodded. “Yes. It was… inevitable.”

Kyle snorted. “What, like fate?”

“Precisely.”

Colin squinted. “So you’re telling me the Damian Wayne—the same guy who once told a girl in math class that ‘romantic advances are an evolutionary weakness’—is dating?”

Damian looked unimpressed. “That statement remains true.”

“Okay, but why?” Elliot pressed. “Like, no offense, dude, but you don’t exactly scream ‘boyfriend material.’ How did this happen?”

You grinned. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Colin blinked. “Are you into emotionally constipated guys?”

“I am standing right here,” Damian deadpanned.

Kyle ignored him. “Okay, so since you two are so in love, I gotta ask…” He smirked. “How’d you confess?”

You opened your mouth—

“It was mutual,” Damian cut in before you could spin something ridiculous. “We reached the conclusion that our relationship had evolved beyond friendship and decided to act accordingly.”

The group stared.

“You decided to date?” Elliot repeated.

“Yes.”

“Like it was a business transaction?”

Damian frowned. “Would you rather I describe it as a primal urge?”

Colin choked on his water.

Kyle cackled. “Bro, you suck at this.”

Damian looked seconds away from murder. “Tt. This is absurd.”

Elliot ignored him. “Y/N, what was your perspective?”

“Oh, it was totally romantic,” you said dramatically, sighing. “One night, while I was patching him up, he just looked at me with those big green eyes and said, ‘Beloved, my heart belongs to you.’”

Damian visibly flinched. “I did not say that.”

“Shhh, let me paint the scene.” You leaned into his space, smirking as he stiffened. “He cupped my face, stared deep into my soul, and whispered—”

“Enough,” Damian snapped, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the group before you could say something even worse.

Behind you, the guys burst into laughter.

“Love you too, sweetheart!” you called over your shoulder, just to mess with him.

Damian muttered something in Arabic under his breath, face burning.

You grinned. This was gonna be fun.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Four)

Damian did not appreciate how much fun you were having with this.

It had been a grand total of four hours since the ruse started, and you had already called him babe, sweetheart, love, and—Gotham forgive him—Dami-bear. His reputation was in shambles.

And worst of all? It wasn’t working.

The girl—Annabelle, or She Who Must Be Vanquished, as Damian had mentally renamed her—was still trying to get his attention. She was persistent, he’d give her that. But you? You were determined.

Which is how he found himself in his current predicament: pressed against the lockers with you standing far too close, eyes sparkling with mischief as Annabelle watched from a few feet away.

“She’s still looking,” you whispered, resting a hand on his chest.

Damian scowled. “This is ridiculous. Why will she not simply accept reality?”

“Because she thinks you’re just saying we’re together to get rid of her.” You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think. “I think we need to be a little more… convincing.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “No.”

You grinned. “Yes.”

And before he could stop you, you grabbed the front of his blazer and pulled him into a kiss.

Damian short-circuited.

It was quick, just a soft press of lips, but he was not prepared. His brain flatlined, his entire body tensed, and for a solid three seconds, he forgot how to function. His hands hovered awkwardly by his sides, and oh, Gotham, why was his heart racing?

You pulled back with a smirk, watching his dazed expression like it was the best thing you’d ever seen. “You okay there, boyfriend?”

Damian’s face was on fire.

“Tt. You are insufferable,” he muttered, averting his gaze in a pathetic attempt to regain his dignity.

But it didn’t matter. Because when he snuck a glance toward Annabelle—who was now standing slack-jawed in utter defeat—he knew you had won.

She scoffed, flipping her hair before stalking off, grumbling something about “psycho couples” under her breath.

You grinned. “Mission accomplished.”

Damian exhaled slowly, willing his heartbeat to calm down already. “I despise you.”

“You kissed me back,” you pointed out.

“I did not!”

“You totally did.”

Damian scowled. “Tt. Let us leave before I am forced to endure more of your foolishness.”

You just smiled, intertwining your fingers with his as you walked down the hall.

And Damian, despite himself, didn’t let go.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Five)

A few days had passed since The Kiss, and things were… weird.

At school, Damian was as composed as ever—standing by your side, playing the role of the devoted boyfriend when necessary. But the second you left campus, something shifted.

He became distant, avoiding you at the Manor, cutting conversations short, barely even looking at you when you spoke. It was like he had slammed a wall between you overnight, and the worst part? You had no idea why.

It wasn’t until after patrol one night that you finally snapped.

You were in the Batcave, patching up a shallow cut on Damian’s hand while he sat rigidly on the med bay cot, eyes locked on the floor. The silence between you was thick, heavy with words unsaid, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright,” you said, pressing the gauze against his knuckles a little too forcefully. “What’s your deal?”

Damian stiffened. “Tt. I do not know what you mean.”

You scoffed. “Really? You’ve been acting weird since Monday, Damian. Distant. Cold. And I know it’s not just ‘brooding’ because I know you.” You softened slightly, glancing up at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

“Then talk to me,” you urged, placing a hand over his. “Whatever it is, you can—”

“Stop.”

His voice was sharp, cutting through the cave like a blade. You flinched.

Damian exhaled harshly, pulling his hand from your grasp like your touch burned him. “I do not need your concern, nor your pity,” he bit out. “This arrangement was a means to an end. Nothing more.”

You stared at him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The words settled between you, cold and cruel, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something crack inside you.

“Right,” you said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You stepped back, your hands curling into fists as you fought to keep your expression blank. “Got it.”

Then, before he could say another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, heading straight for your room.

Damian sat there, unmoving, the weight of his own words crashing down on him like a collapsing building.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, he wished he could take something back.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Six)

The next morning, Damian was heading toward the car, adjusting his school bag, when Alfred stopped him with a simple, “Miss Y/N will not be attending with you today, Master Damian.”

Damian paused mid-step, his brows furrowing. “What?”

Alfred, ever composed, merely handed him his lunch. “She is unwell.”

Something in Damian’s chest tightened.

“Unwell?” he echoed, gripping the strap of his bag.

Alfred gave him a pointed look. “Unwell,” he repeated. “As in, she has taken the day off to rest. Now, if you do not wish to be late, I suggest you get in the car.”

Damian hesitated, his fingers twitching, but nodded stiffly and left for school.

But he couldn’t focus.

All day, his mind drifted back to you—wondering if you were actually sick or if you had just wanted to avoid him. And if it was the latter…

He deserved it.

The weight of his own words from last night sat heavy on his chest. He had hurt you, pushed you away, all because he was too much of a coward to deal with his own feelings.

He had been distant because—Gotham help him—he wished it was real.

He wanted you to call him ridiculous pet names. He wanted to hold your hand like it was second nature. And that kiss? He hadn’t meant to kiss you back—but he had. Because deep down, he wanted nothing more than for you to be his.

And instead of confronting that, he had lashed out.

The second the final bell rang, he was out the door, barely waiting for the car to stop before heading straight to your room.

He knocked once.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

Sighing, he took a breath and opened the door.

You were curled up on your bed, staring at the ceiling, bundled under a blanket. You didn’t even bother looking at him. “Go away, Damian.”

He swallowed. “No.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Of course.”

Damian stepped further into the room, his usual confidence replaced by something… uncertain.

“I…” He hesitated, fists clenching at his sides. “I was an ass.”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

He exhaled sharply. “Tt. I am trying to apologize, Y/N.”

Silence.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes tired. “Why, though?”

He tensed. “Because I regret it.”

You sat up slightly, arms wrapping around yourself. “You regret it?”

He shut his eyes for a moment, then met your gaze.

“No. Not it. I regret… lying.” He clenched his jaw, his voice quieter now. “I was distant because… I wish it were real.”

You blinked, breath hitching. “What?”

“I want it to be real,” he admitted, his hands gripping the fabric of his blazer. “I want you.”

A beat of silence.

Then, before he could say anything else, you were in front of him, eyes wet with unshed tears as you grabbed his face and kissed him.

This time, he kissed back immediately. No hesitation.

His hands came up to cup your cheeks, warm and sure, and when you finally pulled away, breathless, you were smiling through your tears.

“Took you long enough,” you whispered.

He huffed out a small laugh, pressing his forehead to yours. “Shut up.”

You grinned. “Make me.”

So he kissed you again.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Final Part)

The next morning, when Damian arrived at school with you by his side, something was different.

For one, he looked happy.

Not his usual smug, I’m-better-than-you smirk, but a genuine, real smile—the kind that softened his sharp edges, made his eyes brighter. And more importantly? He was being blatantly affectionate.

Which, for Damian Wayne, was unheard of.

You had barely stepped into the building before he casually pulled you against his side, an arm draped around your waist like it belonged there. And if that wasn’t enough to make people gawk, the way he looked at you—soft, like you had personally placed the stars in the sky—was definitely causing a scene.

“Okay, what the hell,” Colin muttered as you both approached the lockers, watching as Damian adjusted your bag strap for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Since when are you all… clingy?”

Damian merely raised a brow, unimpressed. “Since when is it your concern, Wilkes?”

Colin pointed aggressively. “See?! That! You’re, like, content. That is not normal.”

Kyle Mizoguchi strolled up beside him, nodding. “Yeah, you smiled earlier. A real one. I almost called the paramedics.”

Elliot scoffed. “I knew the fake-dating thing was sus. You guys totally liked each other this whole time.”

You grinned, leaning against Damian’s shoulder. “Guilty.”

Colin stared between you. “Wait. So this is, like, real now?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Clearly.”

“Okay, but how?” Kyle pressed, crossing his arms. “Because last time I checked, Damian sucked at emotions.”

“He still does,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “But he’s learning.”

Damian huffed, but his arm around you tightened slightly. “Tt. I despise all of you.”

“Sure you do, lover boy.”

Before Damian could threaten bodily harm, Annabelle—the same girl who had been pestering him for weeks—walked past, glancing at you both.

She paused for a moment, observing the way Damian was practically wrapped around you, before rolling her eyes and walking away without a word.

You smirked. “Mission successfully accomplished.”

Damian hummed, watching her disappear down the hall before turning to you, eyes warm. “Indeed.”

Then, in front of everyone, he kissed your forehead.

Audible gasps.

Elliot looked like he was about to faint.

Colin smacked Kyle’s arm. “Dude.”

Kyle shook his head, defeated. “I have to text Maps.”

Damian ignored them, pressing his lips briefly to your temple before pulling you closer, satisfied.

You just laughed, heart full.

And as the school buzzed with whispers about Damian Wayne and his girlfriend, you simply held onto him, knowing that—for once—none of it was an act.

#dc #dc comics #dc robin #damian wayne #fluff #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #angst

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