#ask and i’ll add him to a part two

[0siixteen]

୨୧ fatui harbingers as random tweets

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[em1i2a3]

Carry The Zero

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry (or The Void) x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess because Bob is in here. Other than that there is nothing too extreme happening in here, it’s a bit emotional, but there is fluff in here, I would kind of describe this as a Hurt/Comfort fic than anything. There are mentions of abuse and there is also some heavy petting maybe? I mean, I’ll put that in here to cover my booty lol.

Authors Note: My second viewing of Thunderbolts truly got my mind racing for what to write in regard to Bob. Thought I would put out this lil blurb and probably add more to it later in another segment or something! Anyways! Enjoy y’all and happy premiere weekend!!! :)

Word Count: 6,784

The room wasn’t built for two people, that’s what you knew for sure. It used to be a storage space, at least that is what you assumed judging by the various filing cabinets that lined the area, the dented lockers that were near the door, and the strewn papers that nobody decided to throw away in preparation for the move-in. The only thing that was the saving grace was the fact that the place had a window that let you look out onto the city. But it still didn’t truly make up for the cramped space, even though they were able to shove two twin sized beds inside it and call it a room��which showed how effective their planning was throughout all the chaos.

The Avengers Compound was still under renovations after a security breach took out part of the living space, meaning everyone needed to be shuffled like cards in a losing deck. Room assignments were given unwillingly to everyone, and you had been paired with Bob.

It was weird to be rooming with someone who had the power of a million exploding suns as people liked to say, because even though he carried that on his sleeve sheepishly, his personality certainly didn’t match that of a person who could take down the entire world. He was shy, quiet, and careful, tip-toeing around you like you were going to snap at him at any second–which was not the case at all.

Compared to the other options you had you actually preferred to be rooming with him.

The first few days had passed in near silence. You didn’t talk much, you’d only go into your room to sleep or change, and when you would do something outside of those two things Bob would rush out pretty quickly, apologizing nervously under his breath, like he thought you were obligated to time alone.

He’d go to bed early, and you’d catch him reading beneath the awful buzzing lamp that was left in the room from before the two of you moved in. You never really asked him what he was reading because the title was always changing, like he couldn’t finish anything, or he had so much time to himself he was finishing books like they were snacks.

Then there were little things you began to notice.

He’d pace a lot, wring his hands in his lap, or pick at the skin on his fingers. He was clean, he never left shoes in the middle of the room, and always lined them up neatly under his bed frame, even yours. He would flinch at loud noises, like if there was a childish argument happening in the communal kitchen and things got too high in volume he would get a little twitchy. He was observant, and paid attention to everything around him–sometimes you would hear him talking to himself, repeating fragments of conversations from earlier in the day, like it grounded him in some way.

He had his routine and you respected it as much as possible, but tonight was entirely different.

You were coming in late from training, and a med bay visit.

The scrape on your shoulder wasn’t serious, but it was bad enough to have Bucky send you down to get checked out. It was standard–some antiseptic, a lecture from one of the nurses about being more careful and aware of your surroundings, and then you were released with a warning, and a fresh bandage. You were exhausted, sore, and annoyed with yourself for not paying attention and letting your guard down during a simulation, especially because the past few nights had been like that.

By the time you reached your floor, the halls were quiet. There wasn’t any bickering or discussions happening in the kitchen, nobody was lingering in the living room with post-mission jitters, it was just peace, for once.

You stopped at the fridge to pick yourself up a bottle of electrolytes, then paused, eyeing the row of them. You bit your inner cheek, and after a second of hesitation you grabbed another one for Bob, tucking it against you.

You figured he would be awake like he always was when you were on your training nights. You weren’t sure if he was just waiting for you or if he was just incapable of resting when you weren’t accounted for, but you never asked.

Slowly, you moved down the hall, twisting the cap off your drink with a wince when you strained just a little too much, causing the bandage to sting beneath your shirt. You gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Gotta take it easy on yourself.” You heard Bucky say from behind you. You turned on your heel, seeing he was still in his training gear, also holding a bottle of electrolytes as well, “You’re gonna burn out if you don’t take breaks.” You shifted under his gaze.

”I want to be better, that’s why I’m training. If you got your ass handed to you on the field you would be doing the same.” He shook his head.

”No. I would be resting and seeing what I could do better the next time. Don’t come to training for the rest of the week, just relax and recoup, we’ll revisit your regimen when you’re better.” Before you could say anything he typed his code in for his room, and was out of your sight. You could feel your body seething as you turned back around to continue making your way down the hall. You’d seen it coming from a mile away just by the way he was watching you during the simulation but you never thought he would say anything to you like that. It just added another layer of annoyance as you reached your room.

You pushed the door open gently, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The room was dark, which was unexpected, Bob’s light wasn’t even on. The only thing that was illuminating the room was the shimmer of city lights, casting silver-blue shadows across the floor.

Bob was in bed, lying on his side facing you, with his blanket tugged up to his neck. His face was soft in the low light–features relaxed, eyes closed. Sleeping, or at least you thought he was. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, squinting in the dimness of the room to see him a bit better.

His light brown hair looked a little messy, like he’d been shifting around for a while before finally settling on the position he was in now. You wondered how long he was lying like that, or if he had been waiting for your return but fell asleep in the process, and now you felt even worse than before.

You let the door close softly behind you with a gentle click, removing your shoes slowly, one at a time. Every motion felt heavier than it should have–dull with fatigue, and edged in frustration. You padded across the narrow space, keeping your steps quiet, with the extra bottle of electrolytes tucked against you, the condensation seeping through your training jacket.

You crouched slowly beside Bob’s bed, biting back a wince as your muscles tensed in protest, while you placed the bottle down on the floor, angling it so he’d see it when he woke up. It was a small, quiet offering, just something kind, a consideration in a way. You took your next moves slowly as you stood up and turned to your own bed with a tired exhale, putting the cap back on your drink and throwing it onto your bed. One hand rose to the zipper of your training jacket, pulling it down in a swift movement, teeth grinding while you pushed the fabric off your shoulders, feeling pain erupt from your ribs and shoulder now, the muscles pulsing with burning heat.

The cool air of the room hit your skin instantly, and your tank top didn’t do much to hide any of your injuries from the environment. Your back arched with the grating sting that came through you, and one hand came up to press against the bandage, making sure it was still on properly and not tugging at your skin. The ache was sharp and pulsing, and when your fingers came away damp, you already knew there was blood seeping through the gauze. You grimaced but didn’t consider making another trip to the med bay. You were too tired to care at this point, and it wasn’t something that would cause you to bleed out, so it was a morning issue to deal with.

You turned toward your dresser, collecting a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of sage, throwing both articles of clothing down onto your bed with a soft plop. You rolled your shoulder gently, testing the range of motion in it with a quiet wince before reaching for the hem of your tank top, peeling the rough fabric up your skin carefully, trying to avoid the worst of the sting, though even at your slowest pace you could feel the movement pulling at the wound.

The cotton clung briefly to the tape of the gauze and the dried sweat that coated your skin before finally giving way, and coming off completely. You let out a sigh of relief, as you let the fabric fall to the floor, reaching for your sweater next. The bandage on your shoulder throbbed with every shift you made, but it was the deeper bruises scattered across your body–ghosts of impacts from the past few days–that ached beneath your skin like an echoing thunder. You glanced down at yourself, taking in the way they bloomed across your ribs, stomach, and hips, at this point you could see more bruises than your actual flesh at this point, and they were tender, dark and swollen. Maybe Bucky was right, maybe you really did need a break…

Your fingers curled loosely into the hem of your sweater, but you didn’t think to pull it on yet, you just continued to look down at the wreck that was your body, and the longer you stared, the more numb you became. It was easy to take a break but it wasn’t deserved, you couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes during missions, and you knew you weren’t going to listen to Bucky, you would keep training until your body gave out.

You closed your eyes for a moment, before lifting the sweater towards you, ready to retreat into its softness, ready to disappear and call it a night, but then you heard it.

A breath. Sharp and quick. You froze in your spot.

Then came the sound of movement, the shuffling of the blanket, the mattress creaking under the shifting weight.

Your eyes darted toward Bob’s bed instantly, seeing that his back was now turned towards you. His blanket was pulled up around his shoulders, almost covering his whole head, but there was tension in his posture now, like he was more alert, and less relaxed.

Another breath was inhaled, only it was thinner this time, and wet, followed by a muffled sniffle. Your brows furrowed, and you worked quickly to throw your sweater on without hurting yourself so you were covered up completely, before making your way to his bed, crouching down on the floor, keeping your attention fixated on him. His shoulders were rising and falling now in uneven motions, and now you were piecing together that he was actually crying.

”…Bob?” You whispered, voice soft and low, like if you made it any louder than the volume you were at now it might shatter him. You could see the shuddering in his shoulders halt at the way you said his name, and he pulled the blanket higher over his head, like he was trying to shield himself from your eyes.

”I’m sorry…” Your brows pulled together in confusion as you leaned against the bed a little more, watching the outline of his frame beneath the covers, seeing the small tremors still running through his shoulders. You bit the inside of your cheek as you reached out, your hand hovering for a breath before resting gently against the curve of his back. He was radiating heat through the blanket, but he was stiff beneath your touch, like he didn’t know what to do with the comfort you were offering.

“Bob…Why are you apologizing?” You asked softly. He took in another shaky breath, but didn’t answer. You let out a sigh, rubbing your hand up and down his back like your mother used to when you cried, trying to soothe him, to calm him as much as you could.

”I…I saw the bruises.” He said, barely a whisper. Your hand on his back froze for a moment, “I-I didn’t mean to look, I swear, I just-“ His breath hitched, realizing that you were probably throwing daggers into his back with your eyes, “I just woke up…And saw them, and I couldn’t…Couldn’t stop remembering…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, it was just too much, as another set of sobs escaped his throat. You could feel your gaze soften at the noise, almost like a piece of your heart was breaking for him, continuing your movements along his back, pressing just a little harder into the muscle.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want some electrolytes or something?” He shook his head.

”No…P-Please just stay…” His voice was hoarse, cracking under the thickness that coated his throat from the tears. You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, staring at his shoulders as he continued to cry, curling in on himself beneath his blanket.

You continued rubbing his back, keeping a steady and consistent rhythm. The heat of him radiated through the blanket like a furnace on the verge of burning itself out. Every time your hand passed over his spine, his shoulders seemed to loosen by a fraction.

“C-Can I ask something…Kind of w-weird?” His voice broke through the quiet again, in such a timid whisper that you barely heard it.

“Sure.” You replied, hearing him sniffle again. There was a long pause, and you could feel the hesitation, like he was trying to put his words together properly so whatever he was going to say didn’t come off creepy. You continued to run your hand over his back, waiting patiently for him, watching his figure rising and falling beneath the blanket, still seeing it shaking. In your mind, you were worried, you hadn’t seen him like this before, and there was a moment where you considered calling Bucky or Yelena to come help you, but then his voice broke through the thoughts.

”…Could you…” He took another breath, “Could you…Please hold me?” The question came out strangled, like it had clawed its way out of his throat before he could second-guess it again. You blinked slowly at the request, not because you were unsure of your answer, but because the way he said it was so gentle, and embarrassed it caught you off guard in a way.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, you thought maybe he was going to ask you for a tissue, but this was something far more vulnerable, something you never thought would come from Bob of all people, even though you knew he was sensitive. Inside you hesitated only because you didn’t want to hurt him by possibly doing the wrong thing, yet your heart ached watching him break down beneath his blanket which at this point was drowning him because of how much he had curled up beneath it.

“Of course…Just let me change out of these training pants first okay? It’ll just take a second.” There was no response to that, just movement. He shifted towards the wall so he was giving you enough space to get in, still hunched over like he felt guilty for the area that he occupied. You quickly stood up, and made quick work of shimmying out of your training pants and putting on your cotton sleep shorts, which was probably the best idea since you felt him burning through the blanket he was wrapped in. You brought your attention back to him soon after, returning to the side of the bed, your eyes roaming over the lump that resembled his body.

With a gentle hand, you tugged the edge of the blanket down just enough to uncover the top of his head, revealing his light brown hair again which looked dampened with sweat beneath the illuminating city lights that shined through the window. He didn’t say anything, or protest being exposed to you, so you took that as a good sign to continue.

You slid into the space he made for you, careful not to jostle the cocoon he made for himself too much, and eased your bad arm underneath his pillow so your scraped shoulder could rest in a neutral position where your bandage wouldn’t rip off your skin completely. You pulled up the blanket slightly, getting in behind him, scooting closer until your chest met his damp back.

His navy blue t-shirt was soaked through completely, and it wasn’t helping that he was wearing long pants to bed either. There was a fear he was gonna pass out from heat stroke or something, but he had mentioned it several times that he ran hot in general, you just didn’t see it to this extreme. He smelled like a salty rain storm, or like ozone, it was something indescribable to you in those moments, but it was what he typically radiated, it was familiar.

Slowly, you brought your arm over his torso, placing your hand onto the hard plane of his sternum, the muscles beneath his shirt twitching against the unfamiliar touch that you introduced to him.

Neither of you spoke, you just laid against each other in pure silence, listening to each other's breathing–his trembling, yours steady. He could feel your hot breaths against his neck and tried to pay attention to it, as you pushed down the blanket a bit with your elbow to shed the makeshift shield from his body. It took him a while to compose himself enough to speak again, but when he did, you were hanging off of every word.

”…When I saw the bruises…” He rasped, “All I could think about was me. When I was a kid…” The mentioning of his childhood immediately felt like a blow to your stomach. He had said something about how he was raised in passing, but it was an off handed remark that nobody really paid attention to. You figured it was something he didn’t want to talk about, but hearing him say this only made you dread what he was going to continue with.

”After he’d hit me…I’d go over to the mirror, just to see how bad it was. I’d tell myself it didn’t hurt, even if it did, I’d just lie to myself, because I knew if I cried, he’d just get angrier. He was always in the mood to beat me up so when he had a reason I think it made him feel justified in some…Messed up way.” Your chest tightened at his words, thinking about how scary it must’ve been for him, and how terrified he must’ve felt not knowing when his own father would strike. You didn’t speak right away, but you did shift, sliding your hand up higher on his chest, so you could press your palm flat over his heart. His shirt was soaked there too, yet beneath it all you could feel the frantic fluttering of his pulse, like a bird rattling against its cage.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your breath tickling his neck again. He didn’t respond, though he didn’t recoil either.

“None of that should’ve ever happened to you,” You continued softly, brushing your thumb along the fabric against his heart, “You were a child, and you didn’t deserve that.” He let out a breath like he was trying not to begin sobbing again.

”You don’t have to say that.” You raised your head a bit, almost in disbelief that he truly thought that what happened to him was somehow okay or justified.

”I do, Bob.” You murmured, inching just a little closer, feeling your body screaming in protest as your injured shoulder moved the wrong way, causing you to hiss through your teeth. Bob noticed instantly.

”You’re hurting,” He said quietly with guilt sinking into every syllable.

”I really couldn’t give a crap about that right now Bob, trust me I’ve been through worse. You’re hurting right now too and I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?” You replied back, your voice low, but lacking bite, not that you intended to have it sound stern or anything.

Bob shifted beneath your touch, slowly rolling onto his back like the weight of your words cracked something loose inside him. You adjusted carefully to give him space, keeping your injured shoulder angled away from the impact of his back pressing against your arm, even though the ache felt like white noise beneath the tension that was beginning to rise in the room. When he settled on his back you adjusted yourself so your chin rested against his chest, keeping your hand splayed in the same position over his heart.

His eyes didn’t find yours at first, they stared blankly at the ceiling, the soft glow of the city lights catching the shimmer of the tears that were still pooling in his eyes. Now that you could see him fully, you realized how bad things really were. His skin was blotchy, and flushed from how hot he was. His cheeks were stained with fresh tears, mixing with sweat that created this overall sheen on his skin in general, which made his hair cling to his forehead. A long, old kind of hurt settled over his face, the kind that hid quietly within the corners of a person.

He inhaled shakily, and every exhale got caught somewhere between exhaustion and restraint. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your chin, and it made you ache in a way that put a hole deep in your chest.

”Bob…” You murmured, barely louder than the sound of the city humming outside the window, “Look at me.” At first he didn’t move, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling, distant and confused, still taking in those short bursts of air. Your hand left his chest, bringing them up to his jaw, coaxing his attention with the lightest touch you could give him.

“Look at me Bob,” You whispered again.

Then slowly, his eyes shifted downward until they found yours. The moment his gaze landed on you, something cracked open between you both–it was quiet, and delicate, but present and grounded in the center of it all. His expression was drawn, and his lashes were clumpy and wet with tears, framing his shimmering blue irises.

The skin surrounding his eyes were raw, almost a blood red, like someone had scratched it and left their marks streaking down his flesh. You didn’t flinch away from it though, you just looked at him with such focus, like your gaze could settle the storm that was in him. You could see his lip tremble slightly under your gaze as he tried to hold himself still, tears brimming in his eyes again, threatening to spill.

”I hate remembering…I can’t stand it. I don’t want to remember this stuff…I don’t want to think about it anymore, and I don’t want you to associate me with being weak.” You raised your eyebrows, now raising your head up to you were looking at him a little better, resting your hand against his chin now.

”I don’t, ” You stated, watching a set of tears flow out of the corners of his eyes, swallowing loudly, “I don’t associate you with weakness.” You whispered, brushing your thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek.

”I associate you with patience…With overwhelming kindness, and with strength so deep it doesn’t even have to be displayed. You could burn the sky down…You could use all the pain inside you to destroy the planet…Yet you help, you listen, and you keep going. That’s not a weak person Bob.” You wiped one of the tears away with your thumb, feeling him hesitate before leaning into your touch.

“Y/N…I’m not right in the head…You don’t understand…You’ll never understand.” You shook your head, and sighed.

”I don’t have to understand everything to care about you,” Bob’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, like the words that you said hit him like a truck. You could feel the tension in his jaw, as he clenched it tightly, trying to contain himself a bit.

“I used to think that if I could just bury everything deep enough maybe it wouldn’t make me feel so contaminated…But then when I got the serum…And The Void came…And that awfulness manifested into something bigger…I realized that it just wouldn’t go away. I’m dangerous Y/N…I’m not someone that can be fixed. I know you care, but I can’t risk hurting you.” You shifted closer to him, moving up slowly, dragging your chest along his. His eyes followed your movements, turning his head when you settled near his shoulder, feeling your hand leave his cheek.

“You don’t scare me Bob. You’re just saying this stuff because you think it’ll make me give up on you, but I’m not that easy to sway.” You whispered, reaching down to touch one of his hands, which caused him to flinch. He was already bracing himself, preparing to be pulled into one of your memories, but it didn’t happen…It was like…Things were quiet. Just pure emptiness, and the only thing he could see was you. He stared at you as you wrapped your fingers around his hand, seeing his brows draw together.

“H-How are you…Doing this?” He asked quietly, like he was afraid he was going to disturb the peace and get thrown into your mind out of nowhere.

”I locked it out.” He shook his head at you quickly.

”That’s impossible…It always gets in…” A small smile came up on your lips, hearing the disbelief in his voice, the way he was almost entirely taken aback by what you had just said. You leaned in a little closer to him, like you were going to tell him a secret, feeling his breath fanning over your face.

“Before I was recruited, I was part of a different team. Black-ops, kind of like what the X-Men used to be, but very much under the radar. It was just…Constant missions, we were a clean up crew basically, picking up the scraps that nobody else wanted…” You smiled faintly, the corner of your mouth twitching with the memories of your team, how close you all were, how none of you took crap from anyone…Similar to what you had now, just a little better because of the tether you all had between each other.

“We ran into a lot of people with gifts. Telepaths. Empaths…Stuff like that. Some didn’t even know they were projecting until it was too late. Others weaponized it. Pulled secrets out like stitches and drove people insane without ever touching them.”

Bob was still staring at you, eyes wide and brimming with tears, his chest rising beneath you in short bursts.

“It was mandatory,” You continued. “To train in mental shielding. Neural control. The discipline to lock down your own mind so tight it’s like a vault. We trained until our thoughts didn’t even echo. You learn to breathe around psychic pressure, to mask trauma with static, to reroute memories into dead space. You learn to feel someone reaching for you…And then cut the line.”

Bob swallowed hard, hearing the way you explained everything to him step by step, while still holding his hand, running your thumb over the back of it.

“I wasn’t trained to stop the Void,” You said gently, “But I was trained to stop something similar to it. And apparently, it’s just close enough.” You watched his lashes flutter like he didn’t know whether he was going to cry again or if he was just going to sink into the mattress and disappear entirely.

“…That’s why the mental noise isn’t so loud when we're alone in a room together…” He whispered under his breath, almost like everything was clicking in his mind, as his hand began to tighten around yours now, matching the same hold you had, “…Mental shielding…Who knew that would be the thing that makes everything go quiet.” You smirked at his comment, already hearing the tension in his voice wavering, feeling his breath sticking to your cheeks, shifting in front of him so your noses bumped slightly.

“Technically it’s still quite an experimental thing, but…It works when needed I think.” You can see his lip twitch slightly, drawing into his mouth just a little bit, as if he wanted to get a taste of your breath that coated it.

“It’s…Amazing.” Was all he could muster up to say, continuing to hold onto your hand tightly, like it was anchoring him to this quiet space in his head that he had not been able to reach since taking the serum. “…All I hear, and all I feel…Is you and I had no clue until now…” The sound of his voice made your spine tingle, and goosebumps raise on your skin.

It was shocking that moments ago he was this wreck, then suddenly it was like he was on top of the world. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been touched like this in so long, or maybe it was because he finally had a break from all the noise that kept draining him, you had no clue…But what you did know is how soft his eyes had become, and how deep his breaths were now that he was a little calmer, and not being treated like a threat of some kind.

You shifted again, getting almost unbearably close to him now, the fabric of the blanket sliding down slowly, exposing your clothed bodies to the silvery-blue light just a little more. Bob didn’t move, but his eyes never left yours, he kept every ounce of attention on you, waiting for your next action, hanging on every moment. His breath hitched when your knees bumped gently against his thigh, as the warmth of your bodies radiated like twin heartbeats pressed just barely apart.

Your noses were brushing against one another, and if you tilted your chin up by just a little bit, you’d be kissing.

”I’m glad I’ve been able to make it go quiet for you…Even if it’s not permanent.” A faint smile slowly appeared on his face–crooked, and trembling, but so genuine.

“It’s more peace than I thought I’d ever get…So thank you.” He replied back, his hand squeezing yours, not in desperation, but with something closer to awe, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the situation that was happening in front of him. His breath brushed across your face as he watched your eyes roaming over his. You couldn’t help but stare at him, to take him in now that he wasn’t crying, to admire the person who was in front of you. It was hard not to lose track of time studying his features, and how they were just…Him.

There was a long pause between the both of you, a snippet of time suspended into the universe where nothing else existed beyond the narrow bed and the hum of the city beyond the window. His chest rose slowly, puffing out warm shallow breaths against your lips, and for a second it felt like he was hesitating on something…But then, he leaned in.

It wasn’t fast, or sweeping like he was trying to catch you off guard. It was careful, like every little millimeter he closed between the both of you was an offer for you to pull back, but you didn’t take it.

When his lips met yours, it was a soft, trembling brush of mouths that lingered more in intent than execution. He kissed like he was afraid you were somehow going to disappear, but you could feel how much he truly wanted this. His lips were warm, and slightly parted, and you could taste the faintness of tears and salt, still hesitating to go the full mile.

There was a moment where he was about to pull back, and that’s when you took the opportunity to fully lean into the kiss and throw logic out the window, just for this one cut of time

Your lips moved against his, answering the softness of his approach with something more certain and grounded. The taste of him was still there, but now it was amplified tenfold from how much more pressure you were placing on the kiss now.

He was stiff at first, the tension in his jaw made it evident, like he was unsure of what he was allowed to do, what he was okay to give back, or like he was bracing himself for the possibility of you pulling back before he could even try to meet you where you were at. But then your hand let go of his, and slid up to cup the side of his face, and he let out the smallest gasp of disbelief against your mouth. Your thumb brushed gently beneath his eye as your lips molded to the shape of his mouth with a tenderness that shattered whatever restrain he’d been holding onto.

Your arm shifted beneath the pillow, bending just enough so you could lace your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him in more with such grace that it made him groan. His hand moved to your neck then–his shaky fingers pressing softly just below your ear, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw as he located your pulse instantly. His touch wasn’t possessive, it was filled with care, and curiosity. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin, the steady–or not so steady–rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his fingers, he craved to be closer to you, and every moment that passed was giving him the signal that you wanted that too.

He shifted gently, slowly turning onto his side without breaking the kiss, being cautious not to put anymore unwanted pressure on your arm beneath him as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in until your bodies were flush against one another. You could feel the dampness on your sweater from his shirt, and your bare legs brushing against the cotton of his sleep pants, which only overwhelmed you more, knowing it was going to be a challenge to stop this from going too far.

His hand splayed out on your back, twitching against the fabric that covered it as you parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to brush against yours with the softest flicker of hesitation, tasting you like he was drinking something sacred. The breath he let out against your mouth made your skin prickle beneath your sweater, and it only encouraged your response.

You angled your mouth to his, encouraging him to continue, feeling him follow suit in an instant, matching your energy bit by bit, syncing with the way you moved against him. When your hand slid further into his hair, and curled within the damp strands, gently tugging, he let out the smallest, softest moan–it was so quiet and desperate it sounded like it had been buried within him for years. It made your head spin hearing it, and it only made you shift yourself towards him even more, feeling his thigh nudging between your legs so the both of you can completely mesh together. It was such a subtle move, but it lit up every nerve ending in your body like it was nothing.

Bob’s hand slid beneath the hem of your sweater, craving the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. His fingers traced the small of your spine, barely putting enough pressure on it, yet he still managed to send shivers through your body. He was getting bolder, but kept his awareness at the forefront, like he was cataloging every reaction you gave him, terrified that he might cross an invisible line and ruin the moment.

You felt the muscles in his arm shift as he pulled you even closer, putting more pressure between your bodies until you felt every rise and fall of his chest, and his heartbeat pulsed through you. His knee shifted again, nudging further between your thighs, pressing it gently into the thin cotton fabric that covered your most sensitive area, eliciting a gasp from you now. You could feel yourself falter control for a moment, moving your hips just a little to test the friction that you wanted, and that’s when you both realized just how far this could go–and how close you already were to getting there.

His hand tensed against your back, and the kiss slowed down, until he found the correct moment to pull back, just a few inches. His lips were still parted, only now they were swollen and wet with saliva. He was out of breath, and you mirrored the same sentiment, as the both of you tried to even your racing hearts before they exploded. His pupils were dilated, and in the dimmed lighting you could only see a faint glisten of blue that rimmed the darkness that took over, the burn was there, the want was there, but there was the looming fear that you both were going from zero to one hundred really quickly, and that’s when regrets could be made, and neither of you wanted that.

”…We can’t do this…” He whispered, his voice cracking from being the first one to speak. You nodded faintly, your fingers still toying with his hair, reluctant to let go completely, but understanding him.

”I know,” You murmured, “Not like this…Not tonight.” You clarified. He closed his eyes, a soft exhale brushing your lips as his fingers twitched against your pulse point on your neck again.

”It’s not that I don’t want to,” He added quietly, “God I do…You have no idea.”

“I know,” You said again, running your thumb along his cheek, soothing the skin there, “Me too…I want to as well…But we’re not ready. Especially after being in the headspace that you were in a few minutes ago.” He nodded slowly.

”I don’t want it to be something that will be confused for a moment of distraction.” You stared at him, hearing how serious he was about it, “And I don’t want to ruin anything.” He added softly, opening his eyes again to look at you.

”You’re not ruining anything, we’re just pressing pause…And that’s completely fine, and it’s the best decision to make for right now.” He gave a small, nervous smile at that and leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, “We’ll talk more about it later…But for now how about we just relax hmm?” He let out a shaky breath, the heat from it hitting your lips and invading your mouth for just a split second.

”Yeah…I’d like that.” You smiled faintly, as your bodies untangled just a bit from one another, removing the both of you from the intimate position you had found yourself in moments before. His knee shifted out from between your legs, and rested against them instead, letting the tension unravel and disappear slowly.

He wrapped both arms around you now, carefully noting your injury, and you folded yourself into his chest, letting your hand rest on his ribs as he pulled the blanket up to shield the both of you.

You both stayed there, nose to nose, breath to breath, hearts beating unevenly against one another until sleep came over you like a harsh wave.

[chlorinecake]

A SUCKER FOR THE TASTE ✦— 𝐋.𝐇𝐒

▹ PAIRING — experienced husband heeseung x virgin f. reader

▹ GENRE — smut, fluff, newlyweds au

▹ SYNOPSIS — As teens, you were the uncanny duo that fell in love at first sight. Some odd years later, and you’re now a newlywed couple, spending your first night together in a fit of nerves as you navigate sex and other new feelings…

▹ WARNINGS — KINKTOBER SPECIAL, basically just pussy drunk!husband!heeseung making you squirt for hours on the night of your honeymoon, marriage themes (duh), mentions of food, dom and sub dynamics, kissing with tongue, overstimulation kink (reader cums multiple times), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, petnames (baby, angel, pretty, sweetie), that’s all

▹ WORD COUNT: 3.3k — DAY 1

YOU AND HEESEUNG were like Romeo and Juliet; two people from totally different walks of life, and honestly, no one ever would’ve guessed you two’d end up falling for each other.

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell any time had passed between the first moment you met Heeseung with a hickey on his neck in the lunch hall to now as you sit before him on a king sized bed, ring fingers clad with beautiful bands to match as you stared into each others eyes, speaking a love song of unspoken words.

“You’re fine with waiting til marriage?” You remember asking him a few weeks after you first started dating as teens, “you won’t think I’m a prude for wanting to keep things traditional?…”

“Of course not, sweetie,” you remember him answering while cupping your face in his hands, “a girl like you is worth the wait—” He whispered in between kissing your lips, “—and so much more…”

Since that moment, you and Heeseung have stuck to your guns, not even so much as showering together to keep your purity intact until the right moment…

… That fateful day when you’d say “I do” and he the same, right before venturing off into the sunset on angel’s wings to explore another country together.

Another life, might I add, as a married couple on your extravagant honeymoon…

Everything was so magical in your head, too… but regardless of that, Heeseung was too big of a fucking dork to let himself be romantic for once.

Just an hour ago, he had told the hotel receptionist “you too” after she congratulated you both on getting married—

“Grrrrrrrrr,” he pouted, scrunching his nose at you.

“Did you just… growl at me!?”

“Yes, and I’ll do it again if you keep resisting,” Heeseung threatened playfully, pointing an accusing finger at your frame now.

Sighing, you raised your hands beside your head as a sign of compliance, parting your lips slightly as you held your head back for him.

“Alright, don't move this time, alright? We can do this!” He ordered more passionately this time, cradling a single grape between his fingers before angling his wrist backwards and launching it towards your mouth.

“Oh my gosh, I finally caught it!” You shouted with excitement, words coming out a bit slurred as you bit down into the sweet fruit, “Tastes like victory,” you continued, making Heeseung grace you with his thundering ovation.

“Brava!” He began to cheer, but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by his own burp, which only elicited a fit of embarrassed giggles from the both of you…

Two empty glasses of wine sat on the hotel nightstand beside the bed you were currently sat on, and if it wasn't obvious enough, y'all were already starting to experience the giddy effects of the alcohol dancing in your systems.

“So,” you smiled, a laugh still present in your throat as you fed him a white grape from the bowl between you two, “we're the couple that eats pie in place of dinner now?”

“Sure... but not just any pie,” Heeseung corrected, leaning closer to your ear as he whispered, “blueeeberry pieeee.”

You're not sure if it was the wine or the honeymoon high, but you can't help yourself from laughing out loud at Heeseung's behavior in this moment—

“You’re a legend for always vibing with my horrible sense of humor, y’know that?” Your husband remarked while tilting his head at you endearingly.

“Your humor is definitely one-of-a-kind, but I wouldn't want you to change a thing about it,” you returned tenderly, right before feeding him a fork-full of blueberry pie from the dish between you two, feeling your heart swell as he smiled into the bite.

The kind of smile you’d have a hard time getting out of your mind later—

“Thanks, babe,” he said, a bit of dark blue jam resting in the corner of his mouth now as his eyes sparkled with what you could bet was pure flattery.

You always liked it whenever you managed to get Heeseung all flustered before you, considering how he was usually the one to make you a blushing mess with only his words.

“You've uh...” you stammer slightly, “you've got a little something on your lip there...”

“Really?”

“Yea, just... let me get it for you real quick,” you continue, licking the pad of your thumb before leaning forward to dab at the jam on his mouth.

That's when you noticed his lips curving into a subtle smirk as he whispered in a low voice, “You got it, baby?”

“Y-yea,” you stuttered again, feeling your face heat up at his words, and if you didn't look so hot to him right now, he would've pinched your cheeks—

“Whoops,” Heeseung gasped facetiously, pouting at the streak of blueberry jam he very intentionally just smeared on your lower lip, “must be the wine making me so clumsy today...”

Your eye almost twitched at the sight of him licking his finger clean, a rush of nerves swarming in your stomach now

“I-it's okay, Heeseung,” you said while lifting your thumb to your mouth, “I've got it...”

“No you don't,” he chuckled at your shy demeanor, right before closing the space between you two, taking your face in his hand and kissing you.

And yes, you saw this coming, but it took you a few seconds to fully close your eyes, letting them flutter shut as you both sighed at the taste of each other, almost as if the contact relaxed you…

The kiss was slow at first, with you and him simply breathing against each other’s mouths as his velvety lips moved against yours.

But that pace didn't last long once Heeseung broke from the kiss to move the bowl of grapes and pie out of the way, a few of the glossy green ovals hitting the ground with light thuds as his right hand found the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

The kiss grew more intense from there as both your heads were tilting into each other, wet smacks filling the room now as his tongue prodded against yours with every passing second.

“God, you taste so sweet,” Heeseung groaned, desperately clinging to your waist which only made you moan in response.

You and Heeseung had made out countless times in the past, but you could tell something was different this time... you never felt this worked up with him before, and you knew it wasn’t just gonna end with a kiss—

“Can’t wait to taste other parts of you, too, baby…” he hummed, kissing along your neck while pinning your delicate wrists above your head.

And that’s when you felt it…

The twitch between your legs and the heat rushing throughout your entire body…

You were wearing a plaid pajama skirt and white top that matched Heeseung’s plaid sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, as you simply expected to only eat some dessert, discuss the rest of your honeymoon plans, and head straight to sleep right after.

Now though, you knew you wouldn't be able to get much rest with your emotions like this… at least not comfortably, that is…

You’re between his lap at first until he guides you onto your back, kissing down your neck, between your breasts, and down your stomach as he lifts your top, stopping at the waist band of your skirt given the way your body tensed up suddenly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked softly, glancing back up at you with a swollen look to his pouty lips, given all the kissing they had just done.

You knew what was happening right now..

Heeseung was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and as much as your body craved it, your mind kept fighting it for some reason…

FLASHBACK —

“Just… don’t make it too… formal, okay?”

“Formal?” Heeseung repeated with a slight chuckle as you sat beside each other on the plane that morning.

“Well, yea… I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it—”

“But it is a big deal, baby,” he cut you off by placing his hand over yours. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this, y’know?… Not just to have sex but—” he leaned closer to you as he whispered this in your ear, “—to make each other feel good… in all kinds of ways…”

His breath tickled your ear in that moment… similarly to how his lips were tickling you now as you laid before him on the mattress, his head hovering over the space between your thighs.

“We don’t have to go any further until you’re ready, love—”

“I’m ready, Heeseung,” you said while nodding, but he waited to continue, knowing in his heart that there was still something you needed to get off your chest.

He backed away, pulling your shirt back over your stomach and sitting on the bed normally now.

“Heeseung,” you said again, drawing his sparkly doe eyes back to you.

“I’m listening, love,” is all he replied with, offering you a warm smile, “what’s on your mind?”

What’s in the way? You internally asked yourself right after, knowing deep down that you had no reason to feel so nervous with him right now…

Heeseung had never alienated you because of your inexperience with sex before, and was always very understanding of your moral and sexual boundaries.

But now, things were different; you were a married couple, and one of the many perks of that was being able to explore each others body in a comfortable way…

Turns out though, it was all just your own insecurities clouding your judgment, and you hated that you couldn’t shake the nerves bubbling in your stomach…

“It’s just that,” you started nervously, fidgeting with your manicured nails, “I… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Yeah, I know,” your husband nodded sarcastically, trying his best to resist the urge to kiss you again—

“And…well, you have a lot more experience than me with this kind of thing,” you continued, lowering your head.

“So what?”

“What if I don’t meet your expectations?…”

“Expectations? What do you mean, ____?”

“Well, you’ve been with a lot of other girls and what if I’m not as good as them? What if you don’t like sex with me?…”

Heeseung’s heart would’ve otherwise dropped at your words, but instead, he smiled softly, taking your chin in his hand and lifting your head towards him. “You’re nothing like those girls I was with in the past, ____, and that’s my favorite part about you,”

You looked into his eyes as he continued, “I’ll be happy with whatever happens tonight. You wanna know why? Because I did it with you, and I love you with my everything, princess…”

“I love you too, Heeseung,” you replied meekly, flashing him a soft smile as he kissed your cheek.

“No expectations tonight, then�� okay, baby? I just wanna please you,” he whispered, slowly guiding your body back down against the mattress with a secure hand. “I wanna make you feel so good,” he continued, placing another kiss to the center of your lips. 

Heeseung started by letting his plush lips wander all over your body again, lifting your shirt up once more to leave open-mouthed kisses all over your stomach.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured with warm breath against your skin, caressing your inner thighs with his hands until you naturally craned them open, inviting him to your pulsing core.

Your breath hitched once you felt his nose burry between your clothed folds, but your little sounds only excited him even further, and he wasted no time in removing your panties completely now.

“Heeseung,” you whined, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he spat on your cunt, toying with the moisture there using his middle and index finger.

“Just relax for me, angel,” your husband cooed with a soothing tone, and you're not sure if it was the alcohol or the petname he just called you in his bedroom voice, but your head was starting to feel very dizzy.

And if you weren't so horny, you would've felt bashful in front of him like this... half-naked, and trembling when he's hardly even touched you yet.

The coldness of his wedding band against the warm flesh of your thigh sent shivers down your spine, and he wasted no time in inviting his fingers into your sopping hole, one at a time until your walls practically sucked him in.

He then started to leave kitten licks against your sensitive bud, complimenting the pace by pumping his wrist towards your pelvis with his digits still exploring the gummy walls of your cunt.

Admittedly, you had tried fingering yourself in the past, but it never felt as good as the way Heeseung worked wonders inside you right now, but you still needed something...

Something to hold onto… something to grab, and Heeseung could immediately tell once your nails started weakly nipping at the bed sheets, your pussy throbbing more and more—

“Hee,” you moaned, feeling his fingers curl deeper and deeper inside your tight cunt, “need to touch you so bad...”

“Yea? Wanna hold my hand, pretty?”

All you can manage to do is nod desperately, making him chuckle slightly at your neediness.

“If you hold my hands, I need you to promise to keep your legs open for me on your own... can you do that for me, love?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, and with that, Heeseung got to work on licking your slick from his fingers before finding your hands in his.

But your core was already missing the stimulation, making your hips rise up and down as if thin air would provide enough friction to ease your craving.

And that's when he licked his first stripe up the center of your pussy, and you're sure your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sensation.

It didn't take long for the pleasure to escalate from there, either.

His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked you in like a starved out man. His tongue was applying pressure in all the best ways before sinking into your hole, filling you up just enough to have you arching your back on the bed.

You felt your first orgasm wash over you, but you knew your husband had no intention of stopping so soon.

You were mewling beneath him at the overstimulation, thankful that he at least slowed down the pace of his tongue, even though he was still very earnestly slurping at your juices…

“Could eat this pussy for hours, princess… you’re just too delicious…” he groaned, and you felt the bed shaking from the way he was rutting his crotch against the mattress, furrowing his eyebrows as his kept eating you out.

“Come on baby, let me hear you,” Heeseung practically begged, his tone sounding so hoarse, so drunk as the vibrations from his voice only tantalized you even further, “tell me how good it feels...”

“F-feels s-so fucking good, baby,” you moaned, words coming out in fragments given how cloudy your brain was becoming, and you're pretty sure you had your second or third orgasm shortly after as your hands squeezed his, so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His tongue was licking between your folds so well, the textured muscle making your skin tingle all over but in the best way imaginable.

Heeseung didn't plan on any of this to happening, which is why it felt so good in the first place. It was natural, raw, and so so messy…

Your own cum was dripping all over his chin and lips, and he was loving every single second of it.

He was obsessed with it. The way your clit throbbed against his lips, the way you squirted your juices all over his face, the way your thighs squirmed while struggling to stay open, and your angelically desperate cries of pleasure as he drew out orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

He wished he could watch your face contort with need as he fucked you with his face and tongue, but he couldn't look back up at you no matter how hard he tried… He had to keep his face buried between you…

Your strength eventually gave out and your grip released his hands that soon found one of your tits, gripping the mound of flesh in a way that only drew you even further over the edge.

Your hips had even developed a mind of their own, humping against his face like a bunny in heat as he whispered filthy nothings against your cunt, as well as sweet somethings that you'd hear for the next hour or two that Heesueng spent with his pointy nose brushing against your clit.

“You're so fucking wet for me, angel...”

“Love it when you come all over my face.”

“Pull my hair, baby... harder than that...”

“So so beautiful, and just for me.”

“Keep those pretty thighs open just like that, baby…”

“You taste so fucking divine...”

“Please don't tell me to stop... just one more, baby... I know you've got it in you...”

He found just as much enjoyment being between your thighs as you did in having him there, making you cream on his tongue again and again until you finally hiccuped the words, “N-no more, Hee... p-please, I can't t-take anymore...”

But your begging only made Heeseung even greedier, letting his fingers find your clit where he applied enough pressure and stimulation to break that last orgasm out of you, leaving you a shaking mess as he kissed you down, harder than a bullet in his own pants from getting to see you like this so many times and for so long in just one evening.

A series of shaky whimpers filled the room now as your husband crawled back over you, kissing you with his swollen lips while caressing the side of your fucked-out face. “You did so good for me, baby... especially on your first night...”

“Th-thank you,” you said with a weak chuckle, still feeling your orgasms fresh in your hips and thighs as he kept soothing you with his touch, your breath shaky in your chest after hours of coming undone with him…

That's when he moved over to lay beside you, and your eyes almost immediately caught sight of the thick bulge resting behind his pants, and you couldn't help but feel a little bad now given how he didn’t get much action the whole time.

“Do you want me to...” you started timidly, moving your hand to touch him up til he stopped you.

“Not tonight... we can have fun with that tomorrow,” Heeseung smiled, making you giggle again as he changed his position to make the bulge less noticeable, “for now though, let's focus on getting you cleaned up... sound good?”

“Better than good,” you replied tenderly, kissing him on the cheek before he got up from the bed and headed toward the hotel bathroom where he planned to run you a nice warm bath.

“Wait!” Your husband called out suddenly, just as he caught you trying to get out of the bed on your own.

Running over, a confused look remained on your face as he picked you up from the mattress bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom.

“I didn't forget how to walk, Heeseung,” you giggled, keeping your hands secure at his shoulder as he cradled you into the tub.

“I know,” he laughed, helping you get your top off and over your head as the water ran in the background, “I just didn't want my precious wife accidentally stepping on any of those grapes I dropped earlier...”

It went without saying that Heeseung had always been a loser, but he was your loser, and that fact alone was the bandaid that covered up every preconceived notion of him you ever created in the back of your mind…

You didn’t see him the way other people saw him… as the former man whore, troublemaker, or hopeless goof from high school, ‘destined’ to never change…

You saw him as the adorable nerd who accepted you for the things you saw as flaws… as the guy who still wore character themed PJ’s every once in a while that you now get to call “Hubby,” “lovey,” and “mine…”

⋆♱✮ Huge thanks to everyone who read this little fic of mine, which actually concludes DAY 1 of my Kinktober Event !! If you're interested in reading more works like this, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist by clicking one of these links !!

⋆♱✮ PERMANANT TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash

@yourmomscuntis2tighy, @wonbinisbabygurl

@watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

⋆♱✮ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs

@mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij

@yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess

@zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier

@idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings

[xplicitviewz]

Ex-husband!Eren who knocks on your door at the scheduled time to pick up your kids, 7 and 3 year olds. He was about to hit the call button when you opened the door dressed up and ready to leave- Wait? Dressed up to go where?

“You look beautiful.” He comments, not hiding the fact he was checking out his wife, yes his wife. You were after all still his, even though legally you weren’t. “I’ll go get the girls.” You nod getting ready to shut the door when he stops it, “Can i uh- use the bathroom? Yea I gotta pee real quick.” He lies offering you that damn ‘up to no good’ smile.

Rolling your eyes, you step aside, “Make it quick, I got somewhere to be.” Eren walks in and heads to the guest bathroom where he knew from instinct. You and Eren had been together for a while, got married a year into the relationship. You got pregnant a year later and bought a house together. There was’t really an exact reason why you guys got divorced, other than the fact that work and life just caught up to the both of you guys. Constant arguments, no time for each other, lots of cancelled dates, etc. The spark was dying, but in your eyes, there was no longer a spark. You were drained of being home all the time everyday, same thing. The cancelled dates- the dates you were looking forward to- was really the last straw.

Eren ended up giving everything to you, the house, the car, the savings, after all, it’s all for you and your kids. He felt like shit when he heard your feelings after being served divorce papers, apparently your ‘one last chance’ was when he cancelled the getaway you set up for the two of you because he had to go on a bullshit business trip. (One he didn’t even want to go to in the first place.)

You made your way up to the girl’s room seeing that your 7 year old is watching tv while laying next to her sister, who is sleeping. “Hey baby girl , daddy’s here.” You smile at her and squat down next to them. It was already about to be 7:30pm and you had to leave by then. Eren told you he was going to be a bit late but he’ll be there.

“Mommy can I finish the movie please?” Your daughter ask you with puppy dog eyes. You’ve seen the movie a thousand times so you know it’s about to end, “Okay sure, I’m gonna go finish getting ready in my room okay?” You tell her with a small smile. She nods and looks a back at the tv. You get up and head to grab a small blanket to put over your two girls.

They already had dinner and a bath just waiting for Eren to come. As you go to leave the room, you run into Eren, who was waking down the hallway to the girls room. “She wants to finish the movie, join her if you’d like.” You tell him as you open the door to your room and sit on the vanity to finish up your makeup.

You reach for your phone to text your friends would be a little late to the dinner plans but you were still going.

“Where are you off to?” You hear Eren say from behind you. You glance in the mirror and see him leaning against the door. It had been a while since he stepped foot in the once shared bedroom, he smiled at how you decorated it.

“A hot date.” You reply grabbing your mascara and putting it on, still watching him, more so his reaction. “Do they know you’re married?” Eren steps closer, still leaving space between you two.

“We’re divorced.” You roll your eyes, closing the mascara and grabbing the blush and your fluffy brush, “besides I doubt they’d care even if I was.” You add admiring how good you look in the mirror.

Eren eyes scan your seated body. The backless black dress you were wearing, how good your back looks. How soft your skin looks, when you lean forward to make sure your lipliner is good. He gets flashbacks of your arch when bouncing on his dick. He sucks in a breath and looks away, every part of you looks good. He’d probably get off just watching you bend your knee to place it on the couch from the floor. He is down bad. He misses you bad. It had been almost a full 2 years since your divorce date. No one could ever compare to you, he gave up after the second date (his friends forced him to go on). They simply weren’t you. His plan? Win you back as a gentleman would or win you back by fucking you so good you remember.

Good thing he can do both!

It was those sweet words that suggested your daughter to watch another movie before they left (she ended up falling asleep right next to her sister). Those same sweet words that led you guys to share a kiss, well it was supposed to be a simple kiss. Darn those sweet words that had your dress coming right back off as he led you to your shared bed. The same ones that convinced you to let him stay tonight, maybe forever.

“Shit baby.” Eren moans into your ear, his dick sliding slowly back in you. He holds you from under your knee with one hand and his other hand is under chest, holding your boobs while he fucks you from the side. Your back pressed against his chest while he kisses your neck, leaving marks he wants to be visible, moaning and licking your skin.

You mouth was ajar, one hand up tangled in his hair, holding him close, the other reached down your body as you massaged his balls slowly, moaning and begging for more. “D-don’t stop.” You whimper out wanting this to never end.

“Fuck, I miss you so much, want you back.” He whimpers when you give his balls a small squeeze, still fucking you pussy, juices from you gushing all around his dick, squeezing him tight when he hits the right angle. “You still wanna go out?” He taunts in your ear, nipping at the shell.

“N-no, wanna stay here- ohh- with y-you.” you pathetically whimper, feeling your thighs tremble in his hand, “missed you so much.”

“Pussy so perfect, miss her too.” Eren mumbles in your ear before kissing it, then he closes your legs together, and sits up, placing your legs on one of his shoulders. He kisses your ankles while he starts moving again. Not once did he slip out of you.

Your hands move to your ass, spreading it so he could see just how wet you are for him, hear it too.

“You hear that?” He bites his lip, his thrusts becoming rougher, “She misses me too.” He smirks as he spreads your legs wide, putting you in the meanest mating press, and fucking you.

He spent the first few rounds making love to you all over again and again, but this time, he’s gonna fuck you so good you remember. Remember everything and question why you even wanted a divorce, why you insisted you guys needed one.

“Shiitt Rennie.” You whine at the change of pace, using an old nickname as you try to push against his hips. “Uht uh mama, you can take it, lemme hear you say it.” He grunts not stopping, not even for a second.

He’s in so deep hitting every point inside you. Like a man on a mission. You cry out when he slams down once really hard in the most pleasurable way possible before he goes back to the pace he was doing, “You heard me baby,” he stares you down. You half-lidded lustful eyes flicker up at him, “I-I can take it-t fuuck, please Rennie.” You plead feeling your 3rd orgasm coming in fast.

“You wanna cum?” He taunts changing his angle again, your eyes roll back as you nod your head fast. “Who you belong to then?”

“Y-you!” You cry out.

“Who?” He asked again, “Come one baby you can be a little louder than that. The girls won’t wake up, I turned the tv up a bit.”

“F-fuck, youu.” You answer moaning out louder.

“You? Who’s you? Did I fuck you dumb already.”

“I belong to y-you-nnghhEren. To Eren. E-eren, you you you.” You babble out as he hits your sweet spot on and on. Your vision blurs, eyes rolling as he kept going, increasing the pace. He leans down capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into each other, breaking the kiss over and over.

Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him closer as he digs his fingers in the back of your thighs, your walls flutter around him, sucking him in full. There was a sudden shift in the air, one you both noticed. Eren’s pace slowed but still rough thrust hitting you deep in your womb, his body weight dropped onto you as you both stared into each others souls, “Marry me again, please mama, n-need you.” He murmurs softly against your lips. “Promise you everything will be different, I don’t want anyone else but you-fuck please baby please.” He begs, whimpering, his hip still passionately moving against yours. You were too fucked out to say anything else, “yes, yes Eren, need you, fuck please, wanna cum baby.”

“Yeah.” He moans moving slightly faster angling his hips differently, hitting deeper spots causing your moans to raise an octave, nodding, “yes.”

He kisses you deeply and slowly, his hips moving faster and rougher. Your back arches against his chest, moving your lips against his, accepting his tongue in your mouth, sucking on it slightly until you feel your orgasm crash over you. Eren rolls his eyes at the sounds you are making for him, the only sounds he ever wants to hear as he chases his own release. “Make me a mommy again, want you to fill me up baby.” You whimpered against his lips a very dangerous sentence. Eren’s dilated eyes snap back to your fucked out ones, “Can’t waste it then okay.” He grunts lifting his head to move it towards your neck, sucking it.

“I w-won’t.” You whine as he nips at sensitive spot, moving your head to the side. Eren starts fucking you ruthlessly, not caring about the bed hitting the wall or squeaking crazy. He doesn’t even hear it, just you, the sounds of you. He pushes your legs impossibly down more as he feels his dick twitch inside your greedy drooling fluttering pussy, his knees buckling as he came, moaning your name.

Eren sits up and pulls out to the tip before fucking his cum back in you slowly, watching how you suck him up with ease, feeling how your sensitive pussy is fluttering around him, “fuck baby.” He breathes out, wiping the sweat off his forehead before leaning down to kiss you again, this time a slow one, an “I miss you” kind of kiss. You accept whimpering softly as he pushes his dick deep inside you, resting there.

“Still wanna go out.” He teases pulling away slightly? You roll your eyes smirking, “shut up.”

*not proofread*

I have many of these in my drafts so yea

I also appreciate all the likes and reblogs omggggg <3333

And comments, I love replying to the few I got, so fun so fun

Okay well enjoy as usual, until next time 😎

Sylus mini

Nerd!armin x reader x boyfriend!eren

[bitters-n-sweets]

coffee tables — jack abbot x fem!reader A late-night shift brings Jack Abbot face to face with the one person he let slip through the cracks. Some wounds don’t bleed, but still ache. warnings: reader has an accident | I have no medical background whatsoever, everything was googled. part two || masterlist

You can only feel the burning pain in your thigh. EMTs wheel you in—blood soaked through the side of your jeans, sirens still fading.

"Laceration to the upper thigh," the EMT reports. "Glass. Deep, but clean. She’s stable."

Jack is already standing in the trauma bay, gloves half on. When his eyes land on you, he freezes. He looks at the intern beside him, stops her from taking the case, and says, "I’ve got this."

Ten minutes later, you're placed behind the curtains when Jack catches up to you and helps move you from the gurney.

"Oh fuck," you mutter, wincing as they cut your jeans open to fix you up.

"Push one of morphine. Let’s keep her comfortable," Jack says.

That’s not why you winced, but you stay quiet.

"I’ll handle the sutures," Jack adds, grabbing the nearest chair. "What happened?" He tries to start a conversation.

You sigh. "I was... trying to assemble a coffee table by myself. With a glass of wine. Or three."

Jack chuckles, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t go away.

You only realize your heart’s racing when the monitor catches Jack’s eye. "Pulse is still slightly elevated. Little fast for someone just sitting here," he says, slipping the stethoscope into his ears and pressing the diaphragm against your chest. He doesn’t meet your eyes. Maybe because you're so close. Too close.

"Yeah, well, try bleeding on a gurney while your ex-boyfriend evaluates your vitals," you retort.

The nurse takes that as a cue to leave you two alone.

That gets a flicker of a smile from him—tiny, reluctant, gone in a second. You don’t miss how Jack’s jaw tenses. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to.

The morphine helps you relax a little. You sink back against the pillow, body loosening as Jack goes to work on your wound.

"You’re lucky," Jack says, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. "Another inch and it would’ve hit your femoral artery."

"Guess I’m blessed," you mutter, voice softening under the meds. "Or cursed, depending how poetic you’re feeling tonight."

That earns another ghost of a smile.

"You look tired."

You’re not even sure why you’re still talking—maybe it’s the morphine, maybe it’s him. Some part of you wants to ask for another doctor, but the truth is, you’d rather have Jack. Even now.

He works efficiently—cleansing the wound, irrigating it, steady hands doing what they were trained to do. It’s oddly intimate, watching him focus like this. You used to admire that about him. The way he disappeared into his work like it was a refuge. A religion. Like fixing others meant he didn’t have to look at himself.

"I am tired."

"I thought you’d be—" you pause, words hazy, slow. "Happy."

Jack pauses mid-suture but doesn’t look up. "I’m not unhappy."

"That’s not the same thing."

Silence stretches between you. Only the soft beeping of the monitor and the sterile buzz of fluorescent lights.

"Are you? Happy?"

You don’t answer right away. Your eyes meet his, searching for something—an honesty, maybe, or a hope you’ve been holding onto without admitting it.

Finally, you whisper, "I’m trying to be."

Jack’s gaze holds yours a moment longer, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air.

There were things you thought you’d say if you ever saw him again—the anger, the pain, the bitter truth of what he left behind. But the second your eyes landed on him tonight, all of it faded. Not forgiven, just… quieter. Because beneath the exhaustion and the scruff, he looks better. Or maybe just a little less haunted.

Is that because you're not in the picture?

"I, uh," Jack clears his throat. "I’m seeing a therapist."

"Oh?" Your eyebrows raise. "That’s... good. Is it going well?"

"Yeah... I think so. He thinks I do night shifts because I find comfort in the darkness."

You let out a small laugh. "I think he knows you better than I did."

That lands harder than you meant it to. Jack’s expression falters—just for a second. Like the words caught him right where he knew they would. But he doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t defend himself.

"Sorry, I—" you sigh, pressing your head gently against the pillow. "I was mad at you for a long time. After we broke up. The amount of times I almost stormed into the ER just to yell at you..." You trail off, shaking your head. "I lost count."

Jack exhales through his nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. He sits back in the chair, eyes on your stitched-up thigh, like he can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze just yet.

"I wouldn’t have blamed you," he says finally. "You had every right."

"Stop—"

"No, let me just—" He takes a breath. "I told myself I ended things because I didn’t want to hurt you," he continues, almost to himself. "But the truth is, I already was. I just didn’t know how to stop being... like that."

You study him for a moment, tears pooling in your eyes. The new lines on his face. The tired kindness in his gaze. It’s not an excuse. He’s not trying to win you over with some perfect apology. He’s just telling you the truth, finally.

"I’m not great at fixing things outside of work," he says, finally meeting your eyes with a faint, self-deprecating smile. "But... if you ever need someone to finish putting together that coffee table..."

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift, then laugh—quiet but real.

"Figured it’s the least I can do. If I can’t change the past, maybe I can help make your living room slightly less dangerous." He shrugs.

You shake your head, still smiling. "Only you can joke around at a time like this... I kinda miss that." A hint, carefully placed.

You want to pull him in for a kiss, a hug, anything—to just touch him again. But you stop yourself. If there’s anything left here between you, anything real and fragile, you don’t want to rush it.

Jack bandages you up, his hands pausing for a beat longer than necessary before pulling back. You watch the way his fingers still, the way his shoulders hold tension even after the wound is closed.

"You should keep it elevated for the next day or two," he says quietly, discarding his gloves. "And don't mess with the bandage unless it gets soaked."

"Got it," you murmur, not breaking eye contact.

He stands slowly, but he doesn't step away. There's something caught between you now—weightless and heavy all at once.

Jack runs a hand through his hair, breath catching. "I've thought about calling you," he admits, voice low. "So many times."

You don't look away. "So why didn't you?"

He shrugs, voice shaking as he says, "Because I didn't know what I'd say. And because I was scared I hadn't changed. Or that I had, but it still wouldn't be enough."

The honesty hangs between you like a bridge just starting to form.

You nod once. "Well. You still have my number. And apparently my blood type."

That gets a soft huff of a laugh from him, head dropping for a second. When he looks back up, his voice is softer.

"I meant what I said, by the way. About the coffee table. Let me come by this weekend. I'll bring tools. Actual tools—not the shitty hex key that comes in the box."

You lift an eyebrow. "Are you saying I can't handle a little IKEA furniture?"

"That's exactly how you got here," he says, that old teasing spark lighting behind his eyes.

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you.

"Let me help. Please."

You hesitate. But only for a moment.

"Okay," you say. "Saturday?"

"Saturday." He nods, already committing to it like a promise. "And maybe… after the table's done… we talk a little more?"

"Yeah. Sounds like a plan." You offer a smile.

Jack brings the courage to hold your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Get some rest," he says, his voice quiet now. "I'll check on you before shift ends."

And as he turns to leave, you catch it—that small, involuntary flex of his fingers. Like the feel of your skin is still echoing through him.

You stare at the empty space where he stood, your hand still tingling.

Maybe this isn't the clean break it could've been. Maybe it's not a clean start, either.

But it's something.

------

here's part two!

[reidphobic]

i’ll show you heaven (if you’ll be an angel all night) - s. r.

in which you give your pretty boy neighbor a few much-needed lessons in pleasure. 4426 words. part two.

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, unprotected sex, mommy kink, brief hint at nursing, praise, oral (f receiving), no use of y/n, reader is super condescending at times but it’s hot i promise

You’re utterly enamoured with the pretty boy next door. You know next to nothing about him, only that his name is Dr. Spencer Reid (his mail); he’s bookish (you first met when he literally bumped into you in the hall with his nose in a book); he keeps very odd hours; and, most crucially, in the four years you’ve been his neighbor, he’s never had a girl over.

It’d be enough to make you think he just isn’t particularly interested in sex, if not for the paper-thin walls you share. You’re not trying to listen, but it’s hard to keep yourself under control when you know he’s only feet away, stroking himself to a whimpering, moaning orgasm in the dead of night. He just sounds so pretty, pliant and delicate, like he’s begging to be wrecked.

Your little crush has been spiralling out of control for a while now — you’re going through a dry spell, and it’s hard to keep your gorgeous neighbor out of your fantasies when they’re all you have. Your heart flutters when he smiles and waves from across the street, kicks in your chest when he nods at you in the hall. It’s embarrassing. Eventually, you have to take action. You order a parcel to his apartment, put your feet up and wait.

There’s a soft, timid tap at your door a day or so later, and you force yourself not to sprint to the door. “Hi,” Spencer says, bright and cheerful, an openness in his face that you’re dying to take advantage of. “Is this yours? It was delivered to my apartment by mistake. I- I’m Spencer. Reid. I live next door.”

Time for the performance of your life. You paste on a shocked, grateful look. “Yes! Oh, thank you!” you gasp. “I’ve been trying to get my money back all day, and it’s been a fucking nightmare,” you laugh, taking the box from him and leaning against the doorframe. Your eyes flicker down his body, tall and lean, catching on his hands for a second before landing on his lips. You smile, lick your lips. “Hey, d’you wanna come in? I’ll make you a coffee as a thank you.”

Spencer glances at his watch, then smiles, and, oh. You swear to yourself right then and there that you’ll do anything in your power to make him smile like that again. “Sure. I can’t stay long, though. Work,” he adds with an apologetic shrug.

“What is it you do?” you ask politely, closing the door behind him and busying yourself in the kitchen.

“I’m in the FBI,” he answers, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Your eyes bug out of your head, and you turn to face him. But then you catch his expression, resigned and almost bored.

You let your eyes widen just enough that he knows you’re impressed, and then shrug. “And I bet that’s all you get to talk about when you meet someone new, am I right?” His face cycles through surprise, confusion and then relief, and he nods. You sit, slide him a cup of coffee, try not to be too transfixed by the muscles in his throat as he swallows. “So let’s talk about something else. You’re a doctor, right?” He tilts his head quizzically. “You’re not the only one who gets other people’s mail by mistake. The whole FBI thing means you’re not a medical doctor, at least, I don’t think, which only leaves a PhD.”

“Three, actually.” At that, you can’t stop your eyes from bugging out. He can’t be more than twenty-five! “Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering.” He almost sounds sheepish, deliberately tucking in his shoulders to seem smaller as he speaks.

“Oh, my God,” you say faintly. “Well, I was going to ask about your thesis, but apparently I have to specify.” You pause. “Which one is your favourite? No, I wanna hear,” you say when Spencer opens his mouth to protest. “I won't understand a word, but I’m told I’m a really good listener.” You lean forward, smiling sweetly, and he fiddles nervously with his tie, stumbles over his words.

True enough, you don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but the way his eyes light up and his movements grow more animated the longer he talks more than makes up for it. You’re content to sit and listen, carefully memorise him as you hang onto every word, and the best part of an hour flies by like that. He pauses to take a breath, checks his watch and winces. “Crap. I’ve gotta go. This was… really nice. Thanks,” he says, setting his empty mug next to your sink on his way out.

“Hey,” you call out, and he pauses. “You’re welcome to come by another time, if you’re up for it. No offence or anything, but I kinda get the sense you need someone to talk to who’s not in the FBI.”

Spencer chuckles softly. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” you tease. “I’m sure your work is super serious and important, but, really, drop by if you get the chance. I’d like to see you again,” you add, letting the smallest note of interest creep into your voice at the last sentence, and you can tell by the way he falters mid-step that he picks up on it.

But he only smiles, offers you a polite goodbye, and disappears into the elevator. You don’t see him for a little while after that, but just when you’re starting to kick yourself for not getting his number, he taps on your door. It’s so late that you’d thought he wasn’t coming home for the night, but you smile warmly when you open the door, assure him he’s not bothering you at all, of course not, and you work nights anyway, so it’s not even close to your bedtime.

“You want something to drink? It’s a bit late for coffee, but I have tea? Wine?” You pad across the living room, hyper-conscious of Spencer’s gaze on your bare thighs, your short silk robe doing very little to protect your modesty.

“Wine would be great, actually,” he says, balancing himself delicately at the edge of your couch.

“Rough day?” you ask, pouring two healthy glasses and passing one to him.

He laughs ruefully. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Spencer bites his lip. “I’d really rather not,” he says quietly, looking down at his shoes. “How about you talk and I listen this time? About anything.” He laughs softly and you launch into your best first-date stories, slowly working your way through the wine and inching closer with each new glass. Both slightly tipsy, your head rests in his lap and he’s staring down at you like you hung the moon, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips, his pretty, flushed cheeks. “Hey, what was in that package they delivered to my apartment?” he asks, and you’ve got him.

“You don’t wanna know,” you smirk, toying with the hem of your robe and dragging it up, revealing just a sliver more of your bare thigh.

“I do, though,” he pouts, carding a hand gently through your hair.

Your smile broadens. “Well, you know what they say about curiosity.”

“It killed the cat?”

“Sure,” you answer, hands sliding up to the tie around your waist. “But satisfaction brought it back.” You untie your robe, let it spill into his lap and across the floor, hear him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of you. Lace in a shade of red so deep it’s almost black cradles the curves of your body, and you study his face carefully for a reaction. Spencer’s eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his hands tremble where they hover above your skin. “Do you like it? I bought it to cheer myself up. I’m in a real dry spell at the moment — but, you know about that, right?” you tease.

Spencer clears his throat. “I, uh… huh?” He sounds practically tongue-tied, poor thing, and you reach up to smooth his hair behind his ear.

“Spencer. Come on. Unless your mute girlfriend only comes in through the fire escape, you’ve never had a woman in your apartment,” you say, playful but just mean enough to get under his skin.

He flushes crimson to the tips of his ears. “Is it, uh…” He licks his lips. “Is it really that obvious?”

You smirk. “Yeah. Be honest, is this driving you a little crazy? Do you think I look pretty?”

“I think you’re beautiful.” You sit up, plant yourself squarely in his lap. He’s stiff, back ramrod-straight, fists clenched by his sides.

You shift your hips, grind down against him. “Do you want me?” you breathe, leaning in close. Spencer nods weakly, entirely at your mercy. “Spencer,” you purr. “Are you a virgin?”

“No!” he says indignantly. “I’ve had sex. Just not, you know, for a long while.”

Taking his hands, you place them on your waist, and his head tips back like he can’t believe his luck. You laugh, low and dark. “You blush like one.” Leaning in, you speak against his lips, so close he can practically swallow your words. “Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?”

He nods frantically, so hard you’re afraid his neck is going to snap. “Please. I want… God, I can’t—”

You drag your thumb across his bottom lip to silence him, resist the urge to press it deeper into his mouth. “Aw, you’re so needy, baby. So cute,” Spencer whines, pouts up at you as you shift your hips. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you,” you murmur, finally leaning in to kiss him; nothing more than a soft press of lips, at first. Then his hands slide up from your waist to your jaw, pull you in again. His kiss is starving, feverish, almost crazed, like he’s gone so long without it that he can’t relax.

You nip playfully at his bottom lip, pull it into your mouth. He slides his hands into your hair, happily cedes control as you slip your tongue into his mouth. His face scrunches up in displeasure when you pull away. “You’re not very experienced, are you?” you say, taking one of his hands and skimming it down your back. “All the theory in that brain of yours, but no application, right? Does that make you nervous?”

Spencer flushes impossibly redder. “I… Yes. I don’t… I want it to be good for you,” he murmurs, deliberately avoiding your gaze until you tilt his head up to meet his warm, honey-brown eyes.

Pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss to his lips, you gently twirl a strand of his hair around your finger. “It’s okay, baby. I can teach you, huh? How’s that sound?” You slip your hands under his sweater, slide them up his slim, toned chest.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, head dipping to kiss your neck.

You giggle. “Such a quick learner, baby. You wanna bruise me up, just a little?” His teeth scrape at your neck, a messy, graceless thing; pain blooms under his touch, skitters down your spine. “Good boy,” you murmur, and he shudders. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, pretty? Be a good boy and take your shirt off for me, okay?”

He scrambles to obey, practically rips his shirt over his head and tosses it away. You pull back to gaze at him, trace your fingertips over his bare chest. “Stop it,” he says quietly, almost a whine, squirming under you. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Can’t help it,” you grin. “You’re just so pretty.” You grind your hips down, moan just a touch theatrically. “And so hard. This all for me, sweetheart?” you ask, and he melts under you at the epithet. “I asked you a question,” you add, digging your nails just slightly into his jaw.

“Yeah, it’s for you. S’yours, baby, I want you,” Spencer pleads, eyes wide and lips parted.

“So eager, baby. I’ll give you what you need, don’t worry. You wanna stay here or go to bed?”

Spencer grabs at your hips, squirms under you, meets your hips at an angle that sends pleasure cascading over you. “Bed. Please,” he gasps, burying his head in your neck and whining.

You stand up without a word, affecting casualness, but you feel the loss of his warm body between your thighs like an ache. “You coming, pretty?” you smirk, glancing over your shoulder to where Spencer is still sitting, stunned. He scrambles to his feet so fast he almost pitches over, stumbling after you as you pad into your bedroom.

Spencer doesn’t follow you into bed, though, casting a sweeping, curious look around your room. You snap your fingers impatiently. “Hey. Stop profiling the half-naked girl who wants to have sex with you.” Obediently, he climbs onto the bed next to you, kisses you sweetly as your hands slide down to unbuckle his belt. You tug his pants and boxers off in one motion, let him awkwardly kick them to the floor. Suddenly, he’s gorgeously naked in your bed, his cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs.

You stare openly, mind blanking for a second as your mouth waters. All you can think about is how beautiful he is, how good he’ll feel inside you. “Are you… Am I, uh… Okay?” Spencer asks softly, like he’s embarrassed. You gasp, grab his face, kiss him fiercely.

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, cupping his cheek as he blushes. “You’re gorgeous. Such a pretty boy for me, huh?” you breathe, connecting your lips and taking easy control of the kiss, your movements languid where his are frantic and desperate.

“Please,” he murmurs against your lips, the pathetic sound of it falling straight between your legs.

You smirk against Spencer’s lips as his hands rove along your back like he’s searching for something. “It undoes from the front, honey.” You guide his hands to the clasps, let him loosen your lingerie and pull it off, and he moans openly at the sight of your naked body.

He sits up to gaze at you, lips parted and eyes darting around as if he’s mapping every inch of you. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, hands hovering over your chest until you grab them and rest them on your boobs. Arching up, you press your chest into Spencer’s hands, moan when he squeezes softly. One hand trails down your body, down your side and along the curve of your hip, under your leg to grab at the point where your thigh meets your ass. “How do you want me?” he breathes, a nervous tremble in his voice.

“It’s alright, baby. Take your time. I’m all yours, promise.” You smile softly up at him, let him cautiously explore your body, learn exactly how to pull a soft moan from your kiss-swollen lips. Spencer dips his head, kisses the hollow of your throat, works his way down until he’s wrapping his lips around your nipple. You whine when he sucks softly, laps at the peaked bud.

It seems like you’ve found something that makes him tick, because it’s minutes before he lifts his head, and only to switch to the other side. His eyes are glazed over with lust when he finally looks up, and you smile down at him. “Enjoying yourself?” you tease, and he flushes a now-familiar red. “It’s okay, pretty. Don’t need to be embarrassed. But I wanna fuck you now, ‘kay?” You crawl on top of him, grind your soaked cunt against his stomach. “Feel how wet I am, baby? S’all for you, gorgeous.”

Slowly, you push yourself up onto your knees, Spencer’s hands clutching your hips like you’re a mirage, like you’ll fade into a dream if he lets go. “Oh, my God,” he moans, eyes fluttering closed as his hips twitch in desperation.

You circle your hips, carefully line him up with your dripping hole. “You ever done cowgirl before?” He shakes his head mutely, mouth open but no sound coming out. “You want to?”

“Yes,” he rushes out. “God, yes. But, don’t you wanna… condom?”

You lean down to whisper in his ear, conspiratorial. “No. It’s hotter that way.” You shift your hips again. “I mean, I know I’m clean, and you haven’t had sex in over four years, I’m on the pill… I can go and get one, if you want, but I really want to feel you cum inside me, Spencer,” you murmur, and he gives a full-body shudder. “Yeah?”

He nods frantically. “Yeah.” You trail your hands down his stomach, the muscles bunched tight under your fingertips.

“Relax, okay, sweetheart?” you coo, still roaming your hands across his stomach. “S’only gonna feel even better if you just relax for me.” Spencer breathes in deeply, closes his eyes, exhales the tension. “Good boy.” Oh-so slowly, you sink down on him, the aching stretch delicious between your thighs. His whimpered fuck when you’re fully seated makes you pulse around him, back arching involuntarily. “Do you need a minute, baby?”

Spencer looks up at you, dazed, and nods. “You feel so good,” he groans, half-broken already. A moment or so passes, giving the both of you time to adjust to feeling each other. You can sense that he wants you to move by the way he starts twitching inside you, his nails digging harder into your hips.

You watch him suck his bottom lip into his mouth, screw his eyes shut, fight not to make a sound. Pouting, you slide your thumb over his mouth until his lips part obediently around the digit. “Who taught you that?” you murmur, scrunching your face in displeasure. “Who told you to be quiet, Spencer? Don’t do that with me, okay? I wanna hear all your pretty noises, honey. You gotta let me know you feel good.”

Nodding, Spencer moans your name the second you free his mouth, hips jerking as pent-up, needy whines spill free. Something that might be the word please stumbles from his lips, over and over until it’s the only sound you can hear, filling the room and humming under your skin.

Despite all his efforts, you hold still, though every nerve in your body is screaming, begging for you to fuck yourself on his cock. “Is there something you want, sweetheart?” you say, sickly-sweet and patronising. “Beg me for it, pretty.”

“Fuck, come on, please!” he whines. “Want you s’bad, please. God, I need you, please, Mommy, want you to fuck me, you feel so good, please!” he gasps. You don’t think he even realises what he’s said, too far gone in his desperation. You, however, are far more lucid.

You rock upwards, lift your hips off him, and he whines at the loss. “Is this what you need, baby? Need Mommy to fuck you like this?” Spencer covers his face in embarrassment, but he can’t hold back the gasping moan that slips out when you sink down on him, grind your clit against his stomach. “Stop it,” you snap, pulling his arm away from his face. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t be embarrassed, and don’t hold anything back. How’m I supposed to teach you if you don’t let me know what makes you feel good, huh?” Setting a slow pace, you start to bounce in his lap, every sound that escapes him pathetic and delicious. “I’ll be your Mommy if that’s what you need, pretty.”

Whining, Spencer gazes up at you, eyes fixed on your tits and practically drooling. “Tell me— shit— tell me what to do,” he pleads, grabbing greedily at your ass and moaning.

“Such an eager boy. Just wanna please, right?” He nods, moans your name and yes and Mommy. “Give me your hand, okay?” You take his hand, carefully press his index and middle fingers against your clit, moaning at the sudden stimulation. “Little circles, okay, baby? Just keep goin’, try and find—oh, fuck!” You choke on your words, a bright bolt of pleasure shooting up your spine as your thighs clench around his hips. “That’s it, baby, good fucking boy. Don’t stop,” you moan.

To his credit, Spencer knows what don’t stop means; doesn’t try to move faster, harder, just works at you in those same tight little circles, arousal sliding hot and sticky down your spine. His hips jerk, fucking up into you harder, and you grind down into his lap, against his fingers. Ecstasy pools in your belly, drips out between your legs, your hands fisting in the sheets.

You clench around him, roll your hips, lean down just enough that he can wrap his lips around your boob, grazing your skin with his teeth in his desperation. “Feel so good, Mommy,” Spencer moans, writhing desperately under you. “I’m gonna— gonna fucking— please,” he whimpers, choking on his own moans. Desire threads under your skin, pulls taut in your belly.

“You gonna cum, pretty? Aw, baby. Cum for me, yeah? I wanna feel it.” Your instruction seems to be all Spencer needs, twitching and jerking under you as he spills in your cunt. “Good boy,” you murmur. He shudders, goes limp, smiles dazedly up at you.

“Thank you,” he gasps as you climb off him, kissing you sweetly, frantic desire dispersed into slow, indolent passion. “That was… you’re… I mean…”

You giggle. “Oh, my God, are you speechless?” You press your lips against his, chest clenching with affection as he blushes. “God, you’re so cute,” you add, and Spencer closes his eyes, scrunches up his face in embarrassment.

He pouts up at you, all pleading brown eyes and soft hands skimming up and down your body. “You didn’t finish,” he says, and he sounds genuinely forlorn, earnestly apologetic.

“It’s okay, baby,” you say, and although it’s far from the first time you’ve said that in bed, you really do mean it. “This was about you, yeah? First time you’ve had sex in, oh… five years?” He nods. “You were never gonna last, sweetheart, it’s alright,” you coo, stroking his cheek as he presses his body close to yours.

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me? If I just… like that… How am I supposed to learn?” Spencer says slyly, the corner of his mouth quirking teasingly upward.

Oh, he’s learning, all right. You grin. “I’ll teach you something, Spencer. You ask a woman anything with that look on your face, she’ll do it.”

Spencer smiles faintly as you slide his hand down your body, along the inside of your thigh, let him explore you with the tips of his fingers. “Can I… I wanna taste you. Please?” You thread your fingers into his hair, tug lightly just to make him whine.

“Yeah? S’that what you want, pretty?” He nods as you lift his head, straining frantically to reach your lips where you hold him tantalisingly out of reach. “Oh, you’re so good, honey. God, I’m so lucky I got my hands on you, sweetheart, so good for me, such a sweet boy,” you say indulgently, and he scrambles down your body as soon as you let go of his hair. “Slow down, baby, s’not a race. You wanna take your time, alright? Kisses, a little bit of tongue, make me want it, yeah?”

“Okay,” Spencer breathes against your skin, kissing at your lower belly. His tongue swirls over your body, tracing delicate patterns over your skin that work you into a frenzy. You’re desperate, a fire burning you from the inside out, your body aching with it. You moan his name, and you feel him smile against you. “You want something?” he says, sounding all too pleased with himself.

You scoff, tugging on his hair. “Don’t get cute,” you scold, pulling him down until his lips meet your core.

Still teasing, he presses soft little kisses to the insides of your thighs. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, wide eyed and faux-innocent even with his mouth achingly close to where you need it.

“Use your imagination,” you groan, tugging his head down until his tongue finally makes contact with your core. He’s hesitant, at first, licking a slow stripe along your cunt, but your moan and the way you slam your thighs closed around his head seem to spur him on. Suddenly, he’s frantic, hands clutching at your hips as he buries his tongue inside you. Pleasure burns under your skin, creeps up your spine, drips out against Spencer’s mouth. He pauses between every new motion, every movement of his tongue, every trace of his fingers, studies your reaction oh-so carefully.

He’s hungry, and it only makes you more feverish, his sweet little moans into you coaxing matching ones from your own lips. His nose bumps your clit and you whine, a bolt of heat lurching through your body. Smiling, Spencer repeats the motion, brings his fingers up to circle your soaked clit. You grind against his face, down on his tongue, arousal winding tight between your thighs. “Shit, honey, I’m close,” you moan, holding him close, crossing your legs behind his head. He murmurs something unintelligible, but the words vibrate deliciously through you all the same, dragging you ever closer to your peak.

You whine when he moves his fingers away, clenching uselessly around nothing and bucking your hips in a silent plea. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly and moaning into you. The sudden wave of stimulation is all it takes, your vision cracking and splintering as ecstasy crashes over you. Your cunt pulses against his mouth, his name spilling from your lips in a nearly crazed litany, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. You’re half-convinced you left Earth for a second, your body melting into the mattress with his still tangled between your hips.

When you finally regain the strength to move, you let go of him, and he climbs eagerly up your body. “Was I good?” he asks, quiet and almost fragile.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You cup his jaw, kiss your own taste off his lips. “You’re so good for me, baby, did so good. C’mere, let me hold you.” You hook one leg over his, let him tuck his body into yours. “Such a good boy,” you murmur.

You’re conscious of the state of both of you, sweat-soaked and sticky between your thighs, but, selfishly, you just want to hold him a little longer. “Thank you,” Spencer says softly. “Do you… Can we, um. Do this again sometime? Maybe?”

You smile. “Honey, I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (3) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael offers to help you carry a large box, but when the elevator’s out, you end up climbing six flights of stairs together. The climb is tiring but playful, and it leads to him spending time with you in your apartment.

Word count: 2180

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: part 3!!! the story Michael tells is based on a actual story from someone in my life lol. if I forgot to add you to the tag list, very sorry! let me know if I didn’t add you and I’ll add you on. again thanks for the love! I enjoy reading your comments :) - ryn

Wednesday 7:20pm

“You need a hand with that?” Michael asked, walking up to the mailboxes, key in hand. He slid it into the lock and pulled out a small stack of mail. He looked tired—fresh off a long shift, still in scrubs.

You had just come back from a coffee shop, where you’d stayed after work to chip away at lesson planning. Now you stood by the mailboxes, eyeing the large box at your feet.

“Oh hey! Yes, please! It’s pretty heavy. Like, definitely a two-person job.”

“Alright, let’s go for it.”

The two of you hefted the box together, making your way toward the building’s single elevator—only to find a sign taped across the doors: Out of Order.

You both set the box down and stared at it in silence.

“Crap,” you muttered.

You exchanged a glance. It was obvious—you’d both just gotten off work, bags in tow, and neither of you had the energy for this.

“Okay… well, I guess we’re hitting the stairs,” Michael said.

“I can just leave it…”

“And let someone in our building steal it?”

“Who’s dumb enough to steal a box that weighs, like, over fifty pounds?”

“Hey, you never know. People are desperate these days.”

He bent to grab his side of the box, and you followed suit.

Together, you maneuvered the large box toward the stairwell, bumping it against the doorframe with a dull thud that made you both laugh, tired and amused.

Then began the slow, painful climb—six flights of stairs ahead.

They two of you made it about halfway.

“Okay—wait, wait,” Michael huffed, setting his side of the box down with a dramatic grunt. He leaned over the banister, catching his breath. “I need a minute. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

You laughed as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, shaking his head.

“How old are you, anyway?” you asked, playfully squinting at him.

“Fifty-three,”

He was twenty-nine years older than you. He’d lived more life, seen more, carried years of experiences you hadn’t even brushed against.

“How old are you?” he asks back.

“I’m twenty five”

“Geez,” he mumbled under his breath, masking his reaction with a slow exhale. He’d known you were young…just maybe not that young.

“Should I be worried about you throwing out your back?” You tease.

He gave you a hard, playful look as he looked up at you from leaning against the banister.

“Careful,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I might just leave you to drag this thing up yourself if you keep it up.”

“You wouldn’t do that." you say.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t” he chuckles.

He was teasing, sure—but he meant it. He’d never leave anyone hanging, especially not a woman. That’s just the kind of man Michael was. Caring. It was something his mother had instilled in him from the time he was a kid: look out for others, be kind, be useful.

It was why he became a doctor in the first place. He didn’t just want to fix things, he wanted to help people.

“Okay… halfway there,” he said, standing up straight.

You mirrored him, both of you grabbing your sides of the box as you began the final climb—three more flights of stairs.

By the time you reached the sixth floor and made it to your apartment door, the box hit the ground with a heavy thud.

You and Michael both let out loud huffs, panting like you’d just run a race.

He dropped his backpack beside the box and hunched over, hands on his knees.

“Shit,” he breathed.

“Okay—we… we did it. We made it,” you said, dropping your own bag, one hand braced against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

“What even is that?” he asked, squinting down at the box like it had personally offended him.

“It’s a shelf,” you replied.

“Do you wanna come in? I’ve got water… beer.”

He was still hunched over, catching his breath, but he pointed a finger at you when you said beer, wagging it up and down like it was the magic word.

“Beer… a beer sounds good.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.

“Do you think we can just… take a minute?” you asked, gesturing vaguely at the hallway—at the idea of not moving at all for a bit.

“I’m right there with you,” he said, like he’d read your mind.

You both stayed there a second longer, just breathing. Neither of you moved to open the door.

—

Eventually, the two of you made it inside your apartment. The box lay on your living room floor. You and Michael slouched on the couch, beers in hand, too exhausted from not only lugging the box up six flights of stairs but also your jobs.

“Are you gonna build it?” Michael asked, glancing over at the box.

“I was gonna have Aiden do it,” you said with a shrug.

Michael raised an eyebrow. Well, if Aiden didn’t even unjam your window, he most likely won’t be assembling your shelf either. The box was probably just going to sit there until you caved and did it yourself. He thought about it for a second, then sighed.

“Well, since I’m already here, I can put it together for you,” he offered.

You blinked. “What? No, come on, Michael. You just got off a 12-hour shift, you just helped me lug this thing up six flights of stairs—and your back—”

“My back will be fine,” he said quickly, waving it off.

It was a lie. His back was definitely hurting, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He’d pushed through worse and, honestly, he didn’t mind helping you out. Plus, it gave him an excuse to stay, to linger in the space for a little longer.

“Well, if you’re gonna build it, at least stay for dinner,” you said, giving him a pointed look.

“Okay, deal,” he agreed, grinning.

“I can also supervise you as you cook. You know, so you don’t smoke your apartment out again,” he said, teasing you, nudging you with his elbow.

You rolled your eyes. “Very funny.”

“Hey, I take this supervising gig seriously.” He leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face as he took a swig of his beer

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” you replied, getting up from the couch, heading to your kitchen.

__

You start cooking dinner, the comforting rhythm of mixing and stirring filling the air. Michael sits on your floor, his glasses on as he carefully reads the directions. His second beer sits not far from him, and tools and scattered pieces of the shelf are spread across the floor.

You glance over your shoulder, watching him as he concentrates, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hand, his brow furrowed in focus. The scene feels oddly domestic.

For a moment, you let yourself savor the quiet comfort of it—how natural it feels, how easy. You wish you and Aiden could have moments like this, too. No rush, no tension, just small, simple acts of being together. But the thought lingers, bittersweet, before you return to the task at hand.

“How long have you been a doctor?”

He huffs out a laugh “A long time”

“Uh well I started working in the ER when I was around your age–” he says picking up a piece and screwing it to another part. “I was assigned to the ER as med student…never really left after that. the department I wanted to be in”

“What made you want to be a doctor?” you asked, stirring the food in the pot, the wooden spoon clinking softly against the sides.

“I knew from a young age I always wanted to help people,”

“I was raised by a single mother,” Michael said, his voice steady but thoughtful. “She taught me to be kind, to be useful. Helpful in any way I could—whether it was something big or small. Her rule was: take action. Don’t just stand there waiting for someone to tell you what needs to be done. If you see it, do it.”

Michael said, his voice softening a bit and tinkering with the now half-built shelf, fitting a wooden panel into place. “There was this time when I was a kid—my friend and I were messing around with his BB gun, and he ended up getting shot in the torso. It was lodged in there, and he was too scared to tell his parents because we weren’t supposed to be playing with it”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “What did you do?”

“I panicked, but then I remembered her rule. I went into full rescue mode. I kept running back and forth through my house grabbing supplies—Band-Aids, peroxide, even tweezers. My mom was yelling, ‘What are you doing?’ and I just kept saying, ‘Emergency!’”

You laughed quietly, picturing a younger version of him in full crisis mode.

“Long story short,” he continued, “she was proud of me for wanting to help him, but also told me, very clearly, to leave it to the professionals. And right then and there, I knew I wanted to be one of them.”

He looked over at you.

“What about you? What made you want to be a teacher?”

You stopped stirring, turning the burner to low before resting the spoon on the edge of the pot. And grabs bowls from the cabnit.

“Kind of the same thing, I guess,” you say. “I just knew as a kid I always wanted to be good and do good. I thought I could do that by being a teacher. Impacting kids, inspiring them. I remembered how some of my favorite teachers made me feel… seen, safe, like I mattered. I wanted to do the same for someone else.”

“Look at us—working two of the most underrated, underappreciated, and undervalued professions,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“Tell me about it,” you said, cracking a tired smile as you scooped rice into the bowls.

“The food’s done. Come eat,” you called over your shoulder.

Michael paused mid-screw on the shelf, then set down the tool and picked up his beer. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

He made his way into the kitchen, peering into the pot with interest.

“Red beans and rice,” you said, ladling it into bowls. “It’s a Louisiana dish. I’ve got family down there. This is kind of my go-to comfort food.”

“Smells good,” he said, taking the bowl from you with a nod. “Thank you.”

—

The two of you sat at your island table like the first time the two of you had dinner, natural conversation flowing between you. Eventually, you both cleaned up the kitchen and made your way to the living room. Michael returned to the half-built shelf, you helping this time, passing him screws, holding panels steady, the quiet kind of teamwork that made the space feel warmer.

“How long have you been with Aiden?” Not looking at you right away, his focus on aligning two wooden panels.

You paused, caught a little off guard by the question, but not in a bad way.

“Since college,” you said, handing him a screw. “That was a different time though.”

He glanced over at you then, curious but not prying.

“Different how?” he asked, his tone careful, curious.

“We’ve changed a lot, I guess…” you said, your voice briefly tinged with sadness. But you quickly deflected, flashing a teasing grin and adding, “Not as young as we used to be.”

You mirror his earlier words, throwing them back at him when he had stopped to rest while carrying the box up the stairs.

He notices the brief shift in your mood but doesn’t push, sensing you’re not ready to dive into the heavier stuff. He figured maybe Aiden had been the one to change since then.

Instead, he chuckles, the sound light and familiar. “Says the 25-year-old. If you’re old, then what does that make me?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Ancient? A fossil? Practically prehistoric?”

He lets out a sigh and shakes his head “You wounded me.”

After finishing up the shelf, you both set it carefully in the corner of your living room.

“Now I have a place to house my books and not leave them lying around,” you say, stepping back to admire the shelf.

He crosses his arms, looking at the shelf with a proud nod. “Well, look at that. Mission accomplished.”

You glance over at him, your expression softening. “Thank you, Michael, can I repay you?

“Hey, you paid for my manual labor in beer and food, so we’re even.”

You laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, so pay you in food and beer—got it. Noted for future reference.”

He picks up his bag off the floor, signaling that he’s heading back across the hall, giving you a mock-serious look. “I expect my shelf to be filled with books and knick-knacks and whatnot.”

You give a mock salute. “I promise, it’ll be a shelf worth showing off.” The two of you walk toward the door.

You pause at the threshold, glancing at him with a soft smile. “Good night.” He says.

“Good night, Michael.”

With a final, lingering glance, he steps out into the evening, and you close the door behind you. You heart feels warm.

Tags: tag: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967 @lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep

Across The Hall (1) (2) (3) (4)

[seungkw1]

love me right — ksy

♡ pairing: roommate!hoshi x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni], humor ♡ wc: 4.1k ♡ warnings: oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected piv sex (do not do this), multiple orgasms, a lil spit play, head pushing, thigh riding, somnophilia, cum eating/swallowing, cumming in pants, like 2 seconds of angst, praise kink, hs is down bad for reader, gendered pet names (baby, good girl, pretty girl, etc), bit of fluff at the end ♡ a/n: this is part 2 to make me !! finally got this written hope yall like <3

Ever since you sort-of-accidentally had sex with your roommate for the first time, he’s been nothing but a fucking menace. 

Not in a bad way - no, despite the fact that he's kind of an actual insane person he's always been and continues to be a very considerate and agreeable roommate. There's no problem with your living arrangements. 

The problem is how fucking insatiable he has become. 

You previously never thought there could be such a thing as too many orgasms, but Soonyoung really is testing your limits. You've never had so much sex in your life - and you're not mad about it by any means. But your roommate-turned-friend with benefits is absolutely, utterly, wholeheartedly obsessed with having his entire face buried in your pussy at all possible times. And you love every second of it. 

Sure, sometimes your clit kinda feels like it's gonna fall off. Most of the time you've barely recovered from the last set of two, three, four orgasms (the current record is six, a record he's determined to beat) before he’s back between your legs again. But the constant cunnilingus leaves you more sensitive than ever before - and the more you squirm beneath his tongue and scream and cry as he takes you to paradise, the more it gets him off. One time you were wailing his name so much that he actually came in his pants, fully hands-free. The man simply worships you. 

You've had various kink-related conversations over the past couple months of nonstop boinking, as these things come up. You wouldn't necessarily say Soonyoung is into anything too crazy (besides the occasional burst of tiger roleplay, anyway), but so far he's been enthusiastically down for everything you've expressed interest in. He’s the very definition of matching one’s freak. 

“You know what would be hot?” Soonyoung asks you one day, approximately two minutes after you woke up and emerged from your room.

“Good morning to you too,” you tell him through a sleepy yawn.

“What if,” he continues anyway, “hypothetically, I were to wake you up one day by eating you out?”

“Soonyoung is it nine in the morning,” you reply as you give him a dull glare. You go to make yourself a cup of coffee, but he extends a full mug to you. You take the cup - it’s fresh, piping hot. 

“Oh, thanks,” you say, surprised by the kind gesture.

“So?” he prods, eagerly awaiting your reply.

“I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t be mad about that,” you answer with a small shrug.

“NOICE,” he exclaims, pumping his fist in the air.

“BUT-” you quickly add. “That cannot be an everyday thing.”

“Right, of course not,” he agrees with a nod. “Soooo, when can I try it?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that,” you reply straightforwardly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, that would like, defeat the whole point.”

A wide grin spreads across his face, but he shakes it off right away, playing it cool. 

“Okay cool, well I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, grabbing your hand and shaking it vigorously. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you gibe, but your face cracks into a smile. He pulls you in and kisses you. 

“Love you too.”

You freeze. 

You may have been intimate with him more times than you can count, but your relationship is strictly casual. You only kiss when you're fucking, and the words I love you have never once been uttered by either of you. You know he probably was saying it facetiously, but the way he said it was so nonchalant. So… realistic. You stare at him for a second, not knowing how to respond. His smile slowly drops. 

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes. His ears immediately turn red with embarrassment. 

“No no it’s fine,” you babble, trying to backtrack. “I just wasn't expecting…”

“I was just kidding,” he responds. Then his eyes widen. “I mean not like that, it's not that-”

“It’s fine!!” you quickly interject before he can say anything else. “I know what you mean.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs again. He suddenly realizes he's still holding onto your hand - he swiftly lets go. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” you tell him politely with a smile, trying to change the subject. 

“Of course,” he replies, trying to smile back at you, but you can tell he's still sulky. He departs from the kitchen without saying another word. He emerges from his room about a minute later in athletic gear, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Off to workout already? I thought you were going this afternoon” you inquire, but he's already breezing past you. 

“Yeah, Mingyu just texted me and wanted to meet earlier,” he answers as he grabs his keys. 

It’s a bad lie, and you both know it. But you don't press him further. 

“Okay, have fun!” you say cheerfully. But an air of tension remains. 

“Thanks,” he replies, turning back to glance at you for only a brief second. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “Soonyo-”

He's out the door before you have a chance to finish even saying his name. 

You stand there for a few moments, staring at the front door, wondering if you've just fucked everything up. You didn't mean to, of course. You were just so taken aback by the stupid L word. It's not something you ever expected to hear coming from Soonyoung’s lips, not about you anyways. But now it has you thinking. Was he simply joking around? Or does he actually have… feelings for you?

A small blip of a thought enters your mind: and do you have feelings for him?

You push it away before you can think about it any further. 

The next few days are undoubtedly a bit awkward. Soonyoung is clearly avoiding you - not in a malicious way, but he just so happens to have business elsewhere whenever you're at home. 

You're mildly annoyed, but more so you're feeling gloomy about the whole situation. You never meant to do anything to push him away - near-constant fucking aside, Soonyoung truly is a good friend. And now you find yourself missing him. 

After an entire week of this nonsense, you decide to confront him. You pretend to be going to sleep, anticipating that he’ll spend some time alone in the common area. A few minutes later your hunch is confirmed when you hear the tv come on, its volume low. You quietly open your door and sneak into the living room. You approach the couch slowly from behind - when you arrive at it, you jump around and plop down next to Soonyoung. 

“FUCK,” he yelps, nearly jumping out of his seat.  “You scared me!”

“I'm horny,” you tell him bluntly, scooting up next to him. “Let me suck your dick.”

Soonyoung stares at you, looking into your eyes that are now mere inches from his. You can tell he desperately wants to say yes, but he resists. You give him a flirty look, trying to entice him. 

“Pleaseeeee?”

“Well, I was gonna watch a movie…” his sentence trails off, unfinished. He tries to shift his focus away from you, but his eyes keep flickering back to yours. 

“Seriously?” you ask, crossing your arms. “Since when do you turn down head?” 

“Y/n…”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. 

“Yes?”

He looks you in the eyes again, then sighs. 

“I dunno, I’m just not in the mood right now,” he finally answers. He looks away sullenly. 

“Are you okay?”

He looks back at you. He clearly wants to tell you something, but he hesitates. 

“About the other day…” he finally speaks. He pauses, in case you have something to say. You don’t; he continues.

“I didn't mean to make things weird. When I said that I loved you.”

“You didn't,” you assure him. You note that he didn’t say anything about it not being true, but you try to ignore that right now. 

You take his hand in yours, patting it softly. He looks at you, surprised by the gesture. 

“I was being weird, that's on me.”

His mood cautiously lightens. “You sure?” he verifies. 

“100%,” you say with a nod. He smiles at you. 

“Now will you please put your dick in my mouth?” you request again, looking into his eyes seductively.  

A smile creeps onto his face. 

“I mean if you're gonna be this fucking hot…”

You give him a mischievous smirk. You tug at his tshirt; he immediately takes it off. He groans as you grab his dick through his sweatpants, his cock starting to harden instantly in response. One thing about Soonyoung - you can do the bare minimum and he’ll have a boner within five seconds. You lick your lips, stroking him slowly through the soft gray fabric. He lets out a deep exhale, relieved by your touch - it had only been a week, but he missed you badly. He craved your touch, craved how insane you make him feel. He drops his head back, his legs spreading as he settles into the couch, shifting his pelvis up so you have full access to his groin. You rub your hand over the thick bulge, squeezing and pulling lightly, causing him to let out a pathetic-sounding moan. He is putty in your hands. 

About a minute more of your over-the-pants handjob and Soonyoung is rock fucking hard. You slide off the couch, taking to your knees between his spread thighs. You pull at the elastic waistband, tugging it down over the pulsating bulge in his underwear. You place your mouth on him through the fabric, letting him feel your lips, your hot breath on him. 

“Stop teasing me,” he begs after you plant several more kisses on his clothed dick. “Please.”

You gaze up at him, your eyes filled with lust. You reach into his underwear, retrieving his cock, prompting further pathetic moaning. He is leaking with precum - you take him in your fist, stroking up and down at a pace that he finds painfully slow. You place your lips atop the head, lightly sucking up his juices. He cries out as you then swirl your tongue over his tip.

“Aaaah,” he groans, his voice turning gravelly.

You grab his balls and take the rest of the head into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks as you begin sucking on it slowly - each motion of your lips long and drawn out. Saliva accumulates in the back of your mouth - and an overwhelming wetness accumulates in your underwear.

You draw your head back, gazing up at Soonyoung submissively. You collect your saliva, spitting it onto his cock - it trickles downwards. Wrapping your hand around his girth you spread it over his full length, coating his cock with your spit. 

“Oh wow,” he mutters, nearly going cross eyed. You take his cock in your mouth once more, swallowing more and more of him until his entire length is down your throat. 

“Goddamn baby,” he growls as you bottom out. You begin to bob your head, sucking him off. The sounds being made right now are grotesque - slurping and gagging from you, moaning and grunting from him. But it's only turning you on even more. 

“Ohh that's a good girl,” he grumbles as he pets your hair. You increase your pace - saliva coats your lips, dripping down your chin, spreading across your face. The utterly sloppy head has Soonyoung writhing beneath you, babbling unintelligibly as his orgasm draws near. 

“Feels so good baby.” 

“Fuck you’re so hot.”

“Pretty girl sucking my cock so good right now.” 

His other hand ventures to your head, holding you down as his hips jerk and shake. Your throat aches from him fucking it, your eyes well with tears - but your clit throbbing against the stickiness that has flooded your panties proves how much you fucking love this. 

“Ohhhhhmygoddddd,” he groans through gritted teeth. “Fuuuuck, y/n… I’m gonna cum…”

He pushes your head down as he releases, giving you several hard thrusts as his cum spurts down your throat. You let him fill you up, eagerly swallowing each burst of his load. His hips slow as his climax wanes. His arms plop onto the couch cushions, his body sinking into the sofa as his body relaxes. He drags one hand to your face, grasping your jaw gently as he slowly pulls you off of his sensitive throbbing cock. He wants to look at you so bad, see that pretty little face with those pretty swollen lips covered in both your juices - but his energy is too drained to even lift his head. 

“C’mere,” he pleads softly. 

You pull yourself back up onto the couch, pressing your body closely against his. You lay your head on his shoulder as your fingertips delicately trace up and down his cock - it pulsates at your touch. 

He turns his head to face you, his nose brushing up against yours. He lifts one hand, tenderly cradling your cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low and husky. 

You feel a pang deep in your stomach. You've been scared to admit it this whole time, but at this point it's undeniable: you are falling in love with your roommate. And god do you want to kiss him. 

“Yes,” you whisper, the word hot and breathy against his lips lingering before yours. 

Soonyoung grabs your face with both hands, pulling you deep into his kiss. His lips hungrily lock onto yours, his body stilling except for his chest, rising and falling with slow, heaving breaths. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, holding you tightly, refusing to allow any physical space between you two. You want to stay here for all of eternity.

Slowly, your mouths part - he gives your bottom lip a few more tugs before letting go. His forehead rests against yours, both of you exhaling deeply in tandem. His hands drop to your waist, touching you gently as the warmth of his breath greets your face. He looks into your eyes as he holds you. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

You nod. Quickly tucking his remaining erection back into his sweats, he takes your hands and pulls you up with him, kissing you with each step as you stumble together into your room. You plop onto your bed, pulling Soonyoung on top of you. He rolls over, holding you snugly against him, your legs tangling together as he starts making out with you again. Your aching cunt presses against his thigh as you wrap your legs around him; you begin to grind your hips slowly.

“Wait,” he pauses. He reaches for your shorts, sliding your pajamas and panties off of you. You kick them the rest of the way off, discarding them somewhere on the bed, your shirt quickly joining them. He yanks his own pants off; you straddle his thigh again, your soaked cunt greeting his skin. 

“Oh my god,” he groans. “It’s so fucking wet.”

Your hips begin again, dragging your pussy up and down his thigh, your juices spreading everywhere. You whimper at the stimulation, riding Soonyoung’s thick muscular quads as he wraps his arms around your torso. You cling to him as he draws you in close, his mouth wandering to your neck to plant a string of small kisses on the delicate skin. Ceaseless moans escape you as a fire builds in your gut, the burning pleasure of your climax rapidly approaching. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you cry out as you frantically get yourself off on Soonyoung’s thigh. You feel his cock growing hard again - it presses into your belly as it strains against the fabric of his underwear. 

“Cum for me babe,” his low voice speaks softly into your ear. 

Desperately grinding your pussy on his thigh, you finally release. You scream his name as you cum, legs trembling as your body shakes with vigor. Soonyoung holds you tight, kissing your cheek lovingly as you orgasm in his arms. 

“That's my girl,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips. You begin to come down, but your head is still spinning from the overwhelming stimulation. You try to catch your breath, slowing your breathing as Soonyoung rubs your back - but his touch and the warmth of his body sends you into a deep state of relaxation. He whispers something else to you, but before you can even process what he's saying, you are fast asleep. 

You’re awoken the next morning by loud, moaning cries.

Still half asleep, you begin to register a familiar bodily sensation. Only when you pry your eyes open and see Soonyoung situated between your legs, do you realize you’re the one moaning. His face is buried in your pussy, licking you slowly, tasting you, savoring every moment of having his tongue in your cunt. 

He lifts his eyes, noticing that you’re now conscious.

“Soonyoung what the fu- ohhh,” you question, but are cut off by his lips attaching themselves to your clit. 

“Good morning beautiful,” he mumbles into your cunt, refusing to take his mouth of you for a second. 

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I forgot I told you you could do this.”

He pauses, looking up at you. 

“Do you want me to stop-”

“NO,” you shout, louder than you meant. You lift your hips, putting your folds back in his mouth. He smiles into your cunt, eagerly resuming eating you out.

“Good,” he replies, barely audible as his tongue begins working into your hole again. 

Your back arches as his nose presses into your clit, making it throb desperately. He flattens his tongue, licking you all the way up, then swirling around the sensitive bud. 

“Ahhh,” you cry out involuntarily. “You’re gonna make me cum already.”

This only eggs him on further. He wraps his arms around your thighs, grasping you tightly as the tip of his tongue quickly flicks over your clit.

“How- fuck, how long have you been down there?”

He glances up at you again, sticking his tongue out exaggeratedly as he continues licking you. 

“I dunno, like five minutes maybe.”

“Five?!” you proclaim as your head falls back onto the pillow. You run your fingers through his hair. “That’s it?”

Soonyoung smirks, planting several kisses on your pussy. 

“You were already soaking wet when I got here,” he informs you. “Must’ve been dreaming about me.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” you pretend to be annoyed with him, but the moans escaping from your lips undermine your facade. 

“C’mon, you like it,” he teases.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I do.”

He grins widely. “Good girl.”

His praise and the way his tongue is now circling your clit send you over the edge. You whine as your orgasm approaches - loud, pathetic sounds filling the air as he sucks and slurps between your thighs. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg. 

The sensation builds and builds, making you squirm beneath him as every nerve in your body erupts with overwhelming delight.

“Oh fuck- I’m cumming,” you shriek as you reach your high. You cum on his tongue, long and hard - riding out your orgasm on his face accompanied by loud, unabashed cries of pleasure. As your body starts to relax, you release the tight grip you didn’t realize you had on his hair, stroking his head as he softly laps up your release. 

“Come here,” you tell him softly, but he doesn’t move. He seems to be even more relaxed than you are right now.

“Just a second,” he responds through deep breaths, his body sinking into the bed.

“Oh my god, did you…”

“Cum in my pants again?” he finishes your question for you. “Yeah. I did.”

He lifts his head, his eyes glazed over in post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so hot, I couldn’t help it,” he says with an amused grin.

Finally able to move, he rises - his underwear visibly filled with cum. He crawls back up to you, plopping onto his back right beside you. He peels the ruined underwear off, tossing them aside, then stares down at his own mess.

“Lemme just, um…” 

He goes to get up, intending to go clean himself off, but you pull him back onto the bed.

“I got it.”

You scoot yourself down, positioning your face near his groin. Slowly you begin to lick his own cum off of him.

“Jesus fuck, y/n,” he groans, his voice deep and low. “You’re filthy.”

“Don’t act like you don’t think this is hot.”

“Oh I do,” he says proudly. “Very fucking hot.”

He strokes your hair as you clean him up. As you finish he pulls you back up, laying you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you once more. Both of you are sweaty, and the embrace is nearly too warm - but neither of you want to move. 

You lay there in silence, your head tucked comfortably into his shoulder, peacefully listening to the songbirds chirping as warm morning sunlight filters into the room through the blinds. Soonyoung is breathing so steadily that you think he's fallen asleep underneath you, but eventually you hear your name softly muttered from his lips. 

“Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” you reply sleepily without moving. Soonyoung caresses your back, dragging his fingertips gently up and down over the soft skin. 

“What are we?”

You lift your head, propping yourself up by your elbow. You look down at Soonyoung - he gazes up at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you answer after thinking for a moment. “What do you want us to be?”

He reaches for your face, stroking your cheek gently. 

“I wasn’t lying the other day.” He stares into your eyes. Despite the fact that he literally just had his face buried in your pussy, it feels overwhelmingly intimate. Your stomach churns anxiously.

“I really do love you.”

You knew he was going to say it, but your heart skips a beat anyway. Hearing him say it out loud, hearing him confess his love to you - it’s a thought that previously scared you. But you no longer fear confronting this reality. Now that you’re here, it feels comfortable, it feels right. 

“I’m sorry if that makes things weird between us, but it’s the truth,” he says timidly. “I just can’t deny it any longe-”

You cut him off with a kiss. 

You kiss him for far too long - but it’s never long enough. When your lips part at last, you gaze at him lovingly, a big, cheesy grin growing upon your face.

“I love you too, dummy.”

He stares back at you, mouth agape. He finally processes your words, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Really??” he asks you in awe. 

“Really really,” you nod.

He embraces you with explosive enthusiasm, making you yelp as he rolls over on top of you. You giggle as he gives you a series of rapidly-placed kisses all over your face. 

“Stop itttt,” you cry through your laughter. “That tickles!”

“Sorry,” he says with a big goofy smile. “I’m just really excited.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you say as you grab his boner that has quickly returned.

He beams at you. “What can I say, you make my dick happy.”

“God, you’re such a dork,” you tell him as you roll your eyes. But you guide his tip to your entrance, shifting your hips to take him inside you.

“Ohh fuuuuck,” he mumbles, his eyes rolling back into his head. He starts slowly sliding his overstimulated cock into you, grunting when his whole length is inside. He rests, unmoving.

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, just trying not to cum immediately,” he says, grinning.

“Soonyoung, you are crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” he says with a kiss. 

You spend the rest of the day in bed together, making out, fucking, napping - anything, so long as you don’t have to leave his side. Soonyoung, being Soonyoung, tells you he loves you no fewer than 12 more times.

“So,” he asks as you intertwine your fingers with his, holding hands after he goes down on you for probably the fourth time today. “Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?”

You try to answer, but you’re trying to catch your breath after your millionth orgasm. 

“Hmmmm?” he pesters.

“Gimme a… fucking second…” you mumble, pushing him away playfully. He gets right back in your face.

“I’m not hearing no…” he says, kissing your nose.

“Oh my god, yes, Soonyoung. The answer is yes.”

He grins from ear to ear, then wraps his entire body around yours, clinging to you like a koala.

“Yayyyy!" he replies as he nuzzles his face into you. 

“You know,” he says after a few moments of silence. “I’m pretty hungry…”

“You better mean real food this time,” you tell him sternly. “I don’t think I could handle any more orgasms today.”

“Yes, real food,” he chuckles. “Shall I order delivery from that Thai place you like?”

“Yes please, I’m fucking starving.”

“You got it, baby.”

[synity]

hi hiii can i request a loser core wonwoo hahaha something about him being down bad for yn! in a college setting if i may add! thank youuuu

DOWN BAD 101

(Jeon Wonwoo x FemReader)

*Popular-but-nerdy Wonwoo × Oblivious Y/N college AU fanfiction of Wonwoo in loser-core, secretly popular, bookish simp mode, slice of life, fluff, dramatic, romance humor*

If you asked Jeon Wonwoo to define "down bad," he wouldn’t even blink.

He’d say, “Y/N walking into Intro to Modern Poetry wearing that oversized hoodie with a pen in her hair like she’s the main character of a Studio Ghibli film, and I’m just the background bookshelf.”

Which is insane, because Wonwoo is not a background bookshelf.

He’s a walking academic weapon, the unofficial TA of every class he takes, the guy professors ask to “chime in” when no one raises their hand, and the type to correct the textbook during group presentations. He has 600k followers on social medial and once went viral for crying while reading a Murakami novel under a tree.

Wonwoo is popular. He just doesn’t realize it.

Because he only has eyes for you.

The first time he saw you, you were sprinting into class three minutes late, slamming into the door frame and apologizing in a breathless panic.

The professor hadn’t even flinched.

But Wonwoo? Wonwoo blinked, and somewhere in his ribcage, a tiny, clumsy crush woke up and started banging pots and pans like wake up, loser, this is it.

And since then, he’s been doomed.

Every class, same routine.

He saves the seat next to him.

He brings two pens one blue, one black just in case you forgot.

He pretends to scroll through lecture notes but actually re-reads your old discussion board posts, like:

"I think Emily Dickinson was just really dramatic and lonely and needed a snack."

And he highlighted it. In pink.

The worst part?

You have no idea.

You don’t notice the way his ears go pink every time you call him Wonu. You think he’s quiet because he’s shy, not because he’s rehearsing your name in his head before he says it. You just assume he’s nice.

Which he is.

Painfully nice.

Like helping you carry your iced coffee back from the vending machine even when he’s already juggling two of his own and a laptop bag. Or staying behind after class to explain the notes you missed even though you literally wrote them on your phone.

One time you tripped on the stairs and he dropped everything to catch you.

Like full K-drama slow motion moment. Your hands on his chest. His eyes wide. Your cheeks flushed.

You looked up at him and said: “Yo, that was ninja-level reflex. Thanks, bro.”

And his soul left his body.

Bro.

He’s never recovered.

Wonwoo isn’t just a regular student.

He’s the top assistant to Professor Kim a legend on campus and runs the tutoring program. He’s on scholarship, works two jobs, edits poetry journals, and tutors half the football team.

But he still makes time for you.

He doesn’t tell you, though. You just think he’s… always there.

It happens on a rainy Tuesday.

You burst into the campus café with your umbrella inside out and a murder in your eyes. Wonwoo watches from the corner booth, half-amused, half-panicked. You stomp up to him like a monsoon in sneakers.

“I failed the midterm.”

Wonwoo straightens. “Wait, what?”

“I got a D.” You plop beside him, miserable. “I wrote three pages on poetic disillusionment and the TA gave me a 67 because I ‘misinterpreted the author’s intent.’ Whatever that means.”

Wonwoo's hand tightens around his coffee cup.

“Who was your TA?”

You shrug. “Some guy named Minho. Kind of a jerk.”

Wonwoo exhales slowly, nods once, then gently slides his notebook toward you. “Come over tomorrow. I’ll help.”

You show up in sweats and snacks.

His apartment is small, warm, filled with books and plants. You wander around like you’ve stumbled into an aesthetic Pinterest board.

“You live like a Tumblr post,” you mumble, petting a succulent. “Why are you lowkey cottagecore?”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You sit beside him on the floor, back against the wall, flipping through poetry printouts. He watches you tuck your knees up, your hoodie sleeves falling over your hands, your hair a little messy.

And he thinks, I am so doomed.

Hours pass. You fall asleep halfway through a poem.

Wonwoo doesn’t move.

He just stares at you for a moment peaceful, warm, trustingly asleep in his space. Then he gets up slowly, covers you with his jacket, and sits back down with his notebook.

Under his breath, he whispers,

“Please, please, please… don’t fall for someone else before I get the courage to tell you.”

Wonwoo planned to confess on a Wednesday.

Not because Wednesdays were special, but because Tuesdays were cursed (exhibit A: your D grade), and Thursdays felt too dramatic. Wednesday was… neutral.

He even picked the café. The one where you always order the same drink vanilla oat milk latte, no syrup, extra cinnamon.

You called it your “silly little drink for a silly little life.”

He just called it yours.

But on Wednesday, he chickened out.

You sat across from him rambling about some group project that went sideways, and he was too busy staring at the crinkle in your nose when you mimicked your classmate’s whiny voice.

“Wonu, are you even listening?”

“Y-Yeah,” he blinked. “Something about… group betrayal.”

You squinted. “You good, bro?”

Bro.

He almost canceled himself right there.

Later that night, he texted Jeonghan in defeat:

[Wonwoo] Hyung. I’m never gonna tell her. It’s over. [Jeonghan] LMAOOOOOOOO [Jeonghan] okay but also? do you want her or not [Wonwoo] I do. So much it’s embarrassing. [Jeonghan] then stop being a Victorian novel and act like a man

Cue the Intervention.

Jeonghan recruited Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan to stage a “help session” in the library.

It lasted three hours.

It included a whiteboard, roleplay (Mingyu pretending to be you), and a slideshow titled: “Why Wonwoo Needs To GET A GRIP.”

“Step One,” Seungkwan clicked the remote. “Be normal.”

“Step Two,” Soonyoung added, “Stop disappearing when she enters the room like some vampire boy.”

“Step Three,” Jeonghan grinned, “Tell her she’s the prettiest human you've ever seen before someone else does.”

The next morning, you texted him.

[Y/N 🍓] hey wonu [Y/N 🍓] are you busy tonight? [Y/N 🍓] i wanna talk.

He stared at the message for ten minutes.

Then replied:

[Wonwoo] never too busy for you.

You showed up at his door that evening in a skirt and hoodie combo that nearly fried his brain.

“I, uh—come in,” he stammered.

You held up a small bag. “I brought snacks.”

That was the moment he knew. He was gone. Beyond gone. Down bad with no return flight.

Half an hour in, halfway through a bag of chips, you leaned back and whispered:

“I know.”

Wonwoo blinked. “Know what?”

You smiled soft, knowing, almost shy.

“That you like me.”

Silence.

Wonwoo felt the Earth tilt.

“You do, right?” you added, more nervous now. “Or was I… wrong?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then said, very eloquently:

“Holy sh—it’s that obvious?”

You giggled. “Kind of. But only to me, I think.”

Wonwoo rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You nudged his knee. “ I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

You both stared at each other in the warm light of his apartment, snacks between you, hearts pounding. And you whispered:

“Please don’t break my heart, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He leaned in, brushing your hair from your face.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said softly, “but you already have mine.”

The next few weeks passed in what you could only describe as soft chaos.

Because dating Jeon Wonwoo, a.k.a. the shy, insanely popular, overachieving bookworm, was kind of like dating a cat who thought he wasn’t allowed on the couch until you patted the spot next to you.

Every time you reached for his hand, his ears turned red.

Every time you kissed his cheek, he’d freeze like a character in an anime.

And when you texted him “I miss you,” he’d reply, “I missed you before you sent that.”

You were down bad. He was worse.

But nobody else knew.

Not because he was hiding you god no but because the two of you were nervous wrecks. And college wasn’t exactly subtle. Especially not when your boyfriends were in SEVENTEEN.

So when the College Arts Festival rolled around, Jeonghan made it his mission to blow your cover.

“I’m just saying,” he sang, hanging a banner, “if I see one more stolen glance from Wonwoo like he’s living in a K-drama, I’m outing him.”

“Don’t you dare,” you warned.

Too late.

That Night.

The festival was packed.

Lights strung between buildings. Music booming. Food trucks lined the streets. It felt like a dream.

A week later, the two of you sat on the campus rooftop.

It had become your safe place somewhere only you two went, somewhere quiet and yours.

You were playing soft music, curled against him, when you suddenly sighed.

“Wonwoo,” you murmured. “Don’t break my heart, please?”

He turned to you.

“I mean it,” you added, voice barely audible. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Wonwoo smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know people think you’re perfect,” you whispered, “but I’ve been burned before.”

He touched your face gently.

“I’m not perfect,” he said, “but I'll be enough for you.”

And then he added, “You’re not my weakness, Y/N. You’re my reason.”

[defmaybe]

That's So True

12 Days of Christmas: Day 10, January 3rd, 2025

aespa’s Uchinaga Aeri/Giselle & Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

5.3k words

Christmas Masterlist

The chatterings of the party goers fill the house, with a faint hint of Gracie Abrams’ That’s So True hanging in the air. The place reeks of cheap perfume (you added the cheap part by yourself, you really don’t know which is expensive and which is not), beer, and rum.

You’re somewhere in the house, playing a game with your friends, and your friends of friends. The bottle spins, as the players are watching it expectantly, anticipating the next candidate for truth or dare. It slows down, and the sounds of people’s breath hitching can be heard as the tip of the bottle goes near them.

(The stake here isn’t anything more than shame, really. Still, it’s a pretty huge predicament for college students.)

Finally, it stops, claiming Yoo Jimin as its victim. You watch her whine in slight disappointment, but there’s a glint, there’s a glint in her eyes that shows something more—excitement.

“Truth,” Jimin says.

You’ve always considered yourself lucky to be within Jimin’s radius, even if it’s just being a friend of a friend. There’s the obvious—her gorgeous, angelic features. You swear you can just look at her face all day without doing anything else, and that would’ve been enough for you.

Then, there’s her personality. It’s another thing you’ve always admired. She’s a leader, a goddamn 4.00 achiever, the perfect epitome of a student. She’s a debate team president, and now she’s sitting in the same circle as you, playing truth or dare, ready to be asked the most embarrassing questions.

“So,” Beomgyu begins, tapping his knees in a rhythm. He’s the faculty’s drummer, after all. “Alright, I couldn’t think of the question. My bad, guys”

The others watch Beomgyu with a slightly annoyed expression (they still love him, of course).

“Don’t start if you don’t know how to continue, man,” Jimin scoffs, turning to others for a spark to her question. “So, anyone?”

Nothing seems to run through your mind at the moment. You’re not an idea kind of person, to say. Your mind is blank.

“What is the worst–” Taehyun utters, but he seems lost on where to go next. The words hang in the air without closure “–fuck.”

“Is that fuck an exclamation, or it’s a part of the question, huh?” Jimin playfully teases him. “I mean, I can answer that if it’s the latter~”

God, she’s so charismatic.

Taehyun chuckles. “I’ll go with the second choice, then,” he says.

Jimin lets out a mischievous smirk. “Well, this is about two years ago, more or less,” she starts her story, as everyone in the circle gathers around to listen intently.

“I was fucking a guy, riding him like crazy. He was whimpering and moaning and all that stuff, you know? I thought he was perfect, being a submissive little slut like that,” Jimin says, an expression of wrath forming on her face. Fuck, she looks so hot when she’s mad. “I’m still mad at him, goddamn it.”

You only nod along with the story like the others, listening to her carefully.

“Everything was going so damn well. God, I even remember how he moaned like a bitch, ‘Nghhh~ Jimin, your pussy feels so good. Jimin, I’m your little man-whore, nghhh~’, like that,” Jimin mocks the poor man’s words while also mimicking the riding movement. You can see her breasts moving along with her motion.

This is fucking arousing. You’re starting to feel the tent inside your pants forming. Imagine being Jimin’s little man-whore like that, watching her tits jiggling while she’s on your cock. A few more shots and you could’ve been drooling all over the floor, being a laughingstock for all of your friends like that.

“That–That’s a very vivid imagery, Jimin,” Minjeong adds. The others are nodding along with her.

Jimin shrugs. “Guess I can be a bit–shameless, you know?” she says with a giggle, making the crowd smile along with her.

“Alright, back to the story. I was riding him, and he was moaning,” Jimin continues. “Everything was going fine. Then he fucking slapped my tits.”

You can see Minjeong clenching her lips, hard. She’s trying not to burst out in a huge laughter, so is Taehyun, so is Beomgyu, so are a lot of other guys in the circle.

Jimin shoots the crowd a glare, whining in frustration, “Come on, guys! He fucking slapped my tits!” Jimin then slaps her chest softly, and that breaks the group.

The crowd erupts in laughter, unable to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation. Kai is already on the floor, dying from the hilarity. You can’t help but chuckle along with the guys.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!” Jimin shouts, but the laughing crowd doesn’t seem to care, still laughing. You watch as Jimin leans back, watching the scene unfold around her, annoyed.

“Hmph!”

“Alright–Alright,” Yizhuo says, still laughing. She then reaches out to her friend for the bottle. Yizhuo wiggles it in her hand slightly, before she spins the bottle again, bringing the crowd’s attention to the object. The bottle rotates. Everyone, mostly still smiling, are watching it with anticipation, ready to see who will be the next victim of the game. Gracie Abrams’ That’s So True seems to repeat itself. The DJ probably forgot to turn the repeat function off. The guitar rings around the house. The bottle continues to spin, continuously slowing down second by second.

And it stops.

At you.

Fuck.

“Since Jimin picked truth–”

“Yeah, I know,” you quickly cut Yizhuo off. “Dare me something.”

You glance around the group. The men are thinking. The women are thinking. They’re probably trying to imagine the most embarrassing thing they can do to you.

“Hmm,” Beomgyu makes a thinking sound before seemingly having an idea. “Grind on somebody’s lap for thirty seconds.”

Your eyes widen in shock, trying to comprehend Beomgyu’s words. “Grind?”

“It’s the worst I could think of without taking off your clothes,” he nonchalantly says, shrugging.

“He could’ve done it for thirty-one seconds, you know,” Soobin chimes in, and the circle erupts in laughter, as you watch the events unfold shyly.

“Ha–alright, man,” Beomgyu says, still giggling. “Who’s going to be the lucky person here?”

The laughter subsides, and the circle focuses their attention on you. You look around the crowd, all red and flustered. Fuck, what is happening?

“I–uh–”

“I don’t mind,” Jimin blurts out with a loud burp, eliciting a few giggles. “I’m already taking a lot of flak tonight, so–come grind on my lap, pretty boy.”

Your eyes widen once more, not believing the words that just came out of Jimin’s pouty lips. Is she–Is she inviting you to grind on her lap? Your mind goes haywire. Your breathing quickens. Fuck, you can’t focus.

“C’mon, you’re already a bitch either way.”

You slowly get up from the floor, all anxious. You walk towards Jimin, who’s invitingly spreading her legs wide, gesturing you towards her.

As you reach Jimin, you lower your plump ass onto her lap. Jimin’s hands creep up your waist, gripping you in your place. Your body shudders at her touch.

“Alright, someone get the stopwatch,” Taehyun says. Yizhuo would be the one to do it, setting the timer at thirty seconds.

Your ass is hovering just above Jimin’s lap, leaving a small space because you just can’t bring yourself to. Suddenly, Jimin pulls you down onto her crotch, making you yelp.

“Nghhh!”

Jimin bursts out a laugh at your submissive response. Her hold on you is firm. She’s only allowing you to move sideways. Yeah, you’re definitely not leaving her before the timer runs out.

“Ready?” Yizhuo asks.

You take a deep breath on top of Jimin before replying, “Y–Yeah.”

“Alright, go!” Yizhuo then presses the start button.

Thirty seconds left.

You move on Jimin’s crotch awkwardly. Your hands find their grips on her strong shoulders. You feel the friction between your ass and her lap heating you two up in the space between. This feels so weird, yet so weirdly comforting. You somehow feel so safe on top of her like this.

“Mmm, just like that, bitch,” says Jimin, and you can only smile shyly in response.

Twenty seconds left.

Jimin starts to thrust her hips up your ass, making you bounce softly on her, her hands still gripping onto your waist tightly. You’re trying so hard to stifle your moan from coming out and embarrassing yourself.

You feel–reduced, reduced to her little man-whore, yet you find comfort in it. Your eyes start to flutter. Your vision is filled with stars.

“C’mon, moan for me. I fucking love it when men moan,” she encourages.

Ten seconds left.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s Jimin’s charm from below you. Your moans leak out from your lips as your movement quickens. You’re feeling like a bitch right now.

“Nghh~”

“Fuck, yeah! You’re putting on some show, pretty boy!” Jimin cheers, and that only spurs you on. Her hands are tightening on your waist. Your motion becomes more and more frantic. You’re revelling in the way she’s talking you down into her bitch.

“Alright, time’s up, guys.”

Your hands find purchase in her hair, as you grind her crotch recklessly. Your whimpers are echoing through the room. Through your narrowed eyes, you see Jimin watching you like a predator, smiling wickedly, taking in the view of her nasty little slut grinding on her lap like this.

“Guys.”

Your pants are tightened from the sensations pooling below your ass. Your whimpers become loud moans. You grind on her crotch as quickly as possible, and it feels so great, being reduced to her little man-whore like this. You swear that you can just do this forev–

“Guys!”

You’re snapped out of your little trance. It takes a blink of an eye, and you see Jimin laughing under you. Around you, the guys just watch in shock (there’s nobody filming, luckily), some having their mouths hanging open, some having their eyes widened.

“Time’s up,” Yizhuo says, showing you the zeroes on her phone.

“Oh, s–sorry,” you reply, before regretfully leaving Jimin’s lap. She’s still laughing under you.

—

You chug in a cup of beer, and another, and another. You’re still trying to make sense of what just happened earlier. You just grind on top of Yoo Jimin’s lap recklessly, moaning and whimpering on top of her. 

God, you were such a bitch.

“Hey.” Suddenly, a sound comes from your back, sounds familiar. You turn back to face its owner.

It’s Aeri, right hand holding her beer cup.

“H–Hey,” you reply nervously. The image of your intimacy with Jimin is still playing in your head.

Aeri shoots a look of concern towards you. “Are you okay? You seem a bit–red,” she asks.

“I–I’m okay, just a little drunk,” you answer, trying to brush her off the fact that you were just dry humped Yoo Jimin minutes ago.

“By the way, the guys were just talking about you,” Aeri says with a giggle. Her thumb is pointing towards your friends’ group that are trying to impress the women. “You grind on Yoo Jimin’s lap?”

Fuck.

You can only stand still in your place, unable to move a limb.

Aeri laughs at your petrified reaction. “Oh my god, you’re such a slut!” She gives your shoulder a friendly slap.

“I–It was a dare, Aeri,” you say apprehensively. That’ll prove fruitless, of course. She’s already thinking you’re a slut. She’s still laughing at you for doing so.

You wouldn’t call Aeri your closest friend, even if the distance between you and her is smaller than that of you and Jimin. You two greet each other in class. You two greet each other outside of class, but that’s it, nothing more, nothing less.

Aeri is more of a carefree type than Jimin. Getting a B is already an achievement for her. She drinks twice a week, stays over at somebody else’s place once a week. Her friends would call her a slut, and she’d happily accept it.

“Are you going to grind on someone’s lap again tonight?” she asks, giggling. “Or maybe eating some ladyfingers~”

“My god, Aeri.” You slap her shoulder softly.

“Alright, see you around!” Aeri says. You wave at her, and she waves back, before she disappears into the crowd again.

Why are you even here?

—

You’re sitting alone on the bed in the house’s bedroom. There’s a Little Fish poster on the wall. The owner sure has some taste. A few vinyls are stacking on top of one another near its player.

You’re trying to comprehend what just happened earlier. You were grinding on a popular girl’s lap, then another one came in to mock you. Oh god, it’s over.

A knock on the door pulls you out of the destructive cycle you’re in, at least.

“Yes?” you utter, and the door opens.

It’s Jimin. She’s peeking through the space between the door and the wall, as if to make sure that no one else is in the room but you (well, there’s no one else here). She then quickly enters the room, closes the door, and starts walking towards you.

“Uh–okay?” you say, puzzled by how she’s acting.

“Heyy,” Jimin greets you again. She seems a bit more–drunk?

“Hi, Jimin.” You figure that you should apologize to her. You just embarrassed her and yourself like that, and her nonchalant reaction may have been a mere defense mechanism!

“Look, I’m sorry about that dare. I should’ve controlled myself better. I’m sorr–”

Your train of thoughts is derailed by her fingers invading your mouth, making your entire body shudder in surprise. Your eyes open wide at her action. Fuck, what is she doing?

“Strip, now,” Jimin orders, drunkenly, fingers playing with the insides of your wet cavern, before she pulls them out, leaving you empty.

“Wh–What?”

“I said ‘strip’, bitch boy. What the fuck is so hard about that?” Her eyes are barely open.

“B–But–”

She plunges her wet fingers into your mouth again, stifling your slutty moans and whimpers. Her hand reeks of alcohol and something that screams her.

“Slut,” Jimin drunkenly utters, before using her free hand to unbutton your shirt, slowly revealing your abdomen inch by inch. “Just–ugh–be a good boy and listen to me, alright?”

You are starting to get lost in the haze of desire, and you can say nothing but nod at her filthy words. Your hands go to your belt, hastily unlocking it from your slutty waist. Your pants come off a little too easily, now pooling on the ground. Your cock only has your boxers left to cover it.

“A slut with a big cock–” Jimin chuckles, using her free hand to stroke your cock from the outside, and you can only moan into her filthy hands “–fucking perfect.”

You’re still sucking on her fingers enthusiastically, like a common whore. Your hands can only sit still by the sides. You don’t dare to touch her body again yet after what happened out there.

“You can touch my tits, you know. You’re standing like a rock, and it’s fucking weird,” Jimin says, and that gives you the permission to her voluptuous breasts.

Your hands start softly, from merely wandering on her tits from top to bottom. You can feel the bra underneath her midriff shirt. It’s barely containing her chest. God, fuck, she’s huge.

“You fucking love my tits, don’t you?” Jimin asks, fingers still busy exploring your mouth. “Strip for me and I’ll let you suck on them.”

You then stammeringly pull your boxers down to your ankles, freeing your cock from its tight confinement. It springs free in excitement, and you just can’t wait to plunge it into Jimin’s puffy cunt.

Your shirt follows suit as Jimin finally unbuttons it completely. You quickly get rid of the restrictive garment, and now, you’re completely nude in front of Yoo Jimin.

“Great body,” she says with a giggle, finally taking her fingers off your slutty mouth. Jimin then takes your hands towards the hem of her top, pulling it upwards, revealing the black bra that’s barely able to contain her tits. They’re almost spilling from the confinement. Fuck.

“Yeah, I fucking know they’re big, slut. Just–wait a sec,” she sneers, as her hands reach towards the back of her bra, hastily unlocking it. And with that, the garment comes off. You’re greeted with the sight of her breasts hanging gorgeously in front of your face, with brown nipples topping them. Her nipples are already hard, so ready for you to–

“Mmm~ s–suck it, slut,” she groans, her body trembling before you, hinting the pleasure she gets from this. Her hands press you harsher into her tits, wanting you to take in the taste.

Jimin reeks of the earlier alcohol, with a hint of salt on her nipples. She has been sweating a bit. God, imagine if you get to taste her after a workout, her body slick, shining with sweat. The salty taste on her tits permeates your tongue. You get to taste her sweat like that. What an experience that would be?

You keep sucking on her tits like there’s no tomorrow. When you suck on one side, you’ll use a hand to knead on the other, feeling the divine softness in your hand. You’re hungry, and only Yoo Jimin’s breasts can satiate your burning hunger.

“Wh–What a bitch,” Jimin sneers, but that only drives you further into the seemingly unending lust of yours.

Suddenly, Jimin grabs onto your hair, yanking your head back to face her beautiful features. It hurts, but in Jimin’s hand, your cock only grows harder and harder.

“Alright, get on the fucking bed,” Jimin orders, and you quickly complies with it.

Jimin follows you onto the soft bed, climbing onto it while her eyes are roaming your pliant body. She’s almost drooling at the sight, seeing you all being submissive for her like this.

She quickly discards her shorts and her already-drenched panties, and you can only watch her show in awe. Her pussy looks nothing short of puffy, so mouthwatering.

She then climbs on top of your pliant body, ready to fuck you senseless on your cock. She lines herself up with your length, before slowly lowering herself down.

At the first contact, both of you groan with the intense pleasure coursing through your bodies. Her pussy feels utterly diving, so fucking tight. Your breaths come out in a stuttered rhythm. Your entire body trembles in pure bliss.

“F–Fuckkk~” you mewl. Your mind can barely register anything but the tightness of her pussy enveloping your thick cock.

“Y–You goddamn s–slut, why is your–ugh–cock so b–big?” she moans, her body shaking in the pleasure you’re giving her.

“I–It’s g–genetics,” you answer her coyly.

Jimin bursts out a laugh on top of your cock, clearly amused by your reply. “God, you’re such a bitch, aren’t you?”

You can only shyly giggle. She’s almost at the hilt now, but the pleasure is already too intense for you.

“G–God, you’re so damn tight, J–Jimin,” you utter, unable to make sense of her otherworldly grip on your cock. God, she’s so tight.

“Th–Thanks,” she replies, her voice still stern. Her hands are drawing lines on your chest with her neatly-manicured nails. The sensation is just too much—on your abdomen, on your cock, on your mind.

Finally, she’s at the hilt. She screams in pure ecstasy. You’re splitting her open with your cock. Both of your eyes are fluttering in bliss. This feels so good.

“Oh f–fuck, you’re so–so big!” Jimin shouts. You watch as her hands are shaking on top of you, unable to handle the sheer size of you.

You say nothing, instead creeping your hands up her pillowy breasts, adding another hue of sensation to her. You start to play with her nipples, making her body spasming on top of you.

“G–Goddd~” she mewls.

Jimin then moves back up. Your cock reappears from the base once more. The feeling around your cock is ecstatic—her inner walls grazing your cock like this. It’s insane.

“Nghhh~” you moan, trying to comprehend the feeling.

“I–I’m going down now, s–slut,” she says, before ramming back down. The sound of flesh slapping into each other echoes through the room.

“Fuck!” Both of you scream in unison, involuntarily.

She moves up again, then down, then up, then she finds her rhythm on your cock. Her pussy feels unreal. She’s gripping you like a vice, so tight, so right. Without knowing, you’re plowing into her pussy with reckless abandon.

You pound her roughly with any force you have, aiming to fill her womb with your salty nectar. The sounds of moaning and flesh slapping rings through the room. The room reeks of sex. Your hands creep up onto her big breasts again. They feel so soft in your hands, and you decide to give them a firm squeeze, making Jimin’s body writhe above you.

“G–God, y–your hands, s–so good,” she says, voice barely above a goddamn whisper. Her back arches. Her eyes are fluttering. She’s falling apart.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your trance. Your motion comes to a halt in surprise.

“Heyyy, I know you guys are in there~”

Fuck, it’s Aeri.

Jimin quickly covers your mouth with her drool-stained hand, not wanting you to alert Aeri of your presence. She’s still grinding your cock recklessly, and you’re doing your best not to moan like a slut (even if you already are).

“I–It’s–ah–just Jimin here, A–Aeri,” Jimin says, trying to hide the fact that she’s using you as her fucktoy. Though the evident stutter in her voice gives way.

“C’mon, Jimin, don’t hog him just for yourself. I wanna use him too! Pleaseeee~” Aeri pleads. You can feel the desperation coming from the outside.

“Ugh, this fucking woman,” Jimin scoffs, hips moving on top of you in a hypnotic motion. Her breasts are jiggling as she moves. “Just–don’t forget to lock the door!”

You hear a happy giggle from the outside. The door opens, and here comes Aeri, still in the same clothes as the time she called you a slut earlier in the night. Though she’s already in the process of hiking up her crop top up. Her bra is slightly visible.

“Wow, Jimin, he’s already inside you? Naughty, naughty girl!” says Aeri as she closes the door. A loud click is heard.

“Tsk, says the college’s slut,” Jimin scoffs, before she goes back to riding the soul out of your pliant body.

“God forbid a woman be a little slutty, I guess,” Aeri sneers before taking off her crop top.

Aeri’s cup size, though not as large as Jimin’s, is still pretty damn impressive if you’d weigh in on this topic in the men’s circle. Her bust is also barely contained by her lacy bra, can’t see why someone wouldn’t be caught within her presence.

Your eyes are glued to the barely contained breasts of Aeri’s, despite being buried deep in Jimin’s cunt. Aeri sways her hips playfully, pulling you into another trance. It doesn’t stay for long though. Jimin calls you back into action with a flick on your taut nipple.

“Hey! Don’t–mmm!”

Jimin plunges her fingers into your mouth for the umpteenth time, it still works, of course. You’re still sucking her slender fingers like a whore (you’re a whore, her whore). Your hands roam over her body to have a grab on her large bust hanging gorgeously above your face.

“Fucking wh–whore,” Jimin sneers, unimpressed by your antics, although drowning in the pleasure of being touched by you. She seems to really want you as hers, doesn’t she?

“Ngmm~” you can only whimper out.

“Oh, come on, Jimin. Don’t be so harsh on him!” Aeri protects you, as she slowly takes off her bra, waiting to use your body in some way. “Don’t want him to cum so fast. You know how much of a slut he is, right, baby?”

You nod sheepishly with Jimin’s fingers still inside your mouth. Degradation only makes you cum faster, and you wouldn’t want to piss Jimin and Aeri off by cumming before them.

As Aeri’s bra comes off, you’re greeted with her perfect breasts. Her dusky nipples are already hard, ready to be sucked and nibbled. You’re so ready for the second pair of tits for tonight.

“Oh, c’mon, Aeri. You’re distracting him!” Jimin whines, her hands are trying to divert your attention back to her bouncing on your cock. It works, sometimes. You can see Aeri giggling in the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, alright, how about–” Aeri takes off her shorts and panties in a single swoop, putting her mouthwatering cunt on display for you “–I sit on his face.”

God, she looks so delicious naked like this.

Back to her latest words first, though. Did she just say she’s going to sit on your face?

“Seems fair,” Jimin replies, gesturing Aeri to your vacant, unused face.

“Wait, I can’t–”

“You can, slut,” Jimin commands. Her voice is stern. Her pace on your length remains reckless, trying to coax the cum out of your full balls. “Don’t think you have any say in this, bitch. Tonight’s my–no–our night.”

You only whimper in response. You’re going to get double-teamed by Jimin and Aeri, and you couldn’t be happier than this.

Aeri then climbs onto the bed, approaching you like a predator eyeing its prey. She puts her legs on both of your sides, caging your head with her meaty thighs. Her pussy is just right above you. And slowly, she lowers herself onto your face, ready to suffocate you with her cunt.

“Oh god,” you utter, so lost in the throes of pleasure Aeri is about to give you.

She lowers just one of her knees close to your head. You’ve seen a video on this before. It’ll help the woman to not get tired too quickly. Her pussy is so close to your face now, and you can do nothing but stick your tongue out, ready to eat her out.

“Oh, and,” Aeri says, halting her motion slightly, making you groan in disappointment. “Do you want to kiss me, Jimin?”

“Ah, not my thing. Sorry,” Jimin replies with a polite smile, keeping her movements erratic on your cock. God, this feels so good.

“It’s fine,” Aeri says, before completely sinking herself onto your face, making you take in her taste.

“Fuckkk~” Aeri screams. Her body is shaking in the pleasure you’re giving her. Her hands grip onto the sides of your head tightly. She doesn’t want to let you go.

It’s not hyperbolic to say that Aeri’s taste is insane. You’re completely hypnotized by her flavor on your tongue. She has the perfect amount of saltiness, and the perfect amount of musk. Aeri’s pussy is driving you haywire, even if it’s in a different way that Jimin is making you feel.

“So–perfect for–a facefuck, god!” Aeri shouts, starting to ride your face like it’s hers (it’s hers).

The sensation is unreal. Jimin is trying to pump cum out of your cock with her grinding motion as if you’re her fucktoy (you’re her fucktoy), while Aeri is riding the shit out of your face as if you’re her fucktoy (you’re her fucktoy). The scent of her pussy is filling your nostrils, and you can’t help but grab onto both women’s breasts.

“Goddd~” Aeri groans, body shaking on top of you. Jimin says nothing but letting you play with her tits, though a few whimpers are leaking out of her lips.

Aeri’s juice tastes so damn good, and you’re happily lapping her up hungrily. Her juice is running down your chin to your neck, creating a filthy trail on your pretty face. You’re revelling in her taste. You’re revelling in the way you’re pleasing her. You’re revelling in the way she fucking keens on top of you.

“S–So, you’re not all just a pretty face, huh?” Aeri asks, her taut body trembling on you. She keeps riding your face frantically. God, she really is going for it.

You answer with an even more intense movement of your tongue, making Aeri scream on top of you. She grinds on your face even faster and faster.

Inevitably, you’re going to reach the precipice. You can feel the heat pooling in your crotch. You’re going to cum inside Yoo Jimin’s pussy!

“Nghh~ g–gonna cum,” you say. It’s barely coming out with Aeri’s cunt on your mouth like this. 

You hear Aeri giggle softly above you, body trembling in pleasure. “Well, this is rather fast, isn’t it?”

“You’re late, Aeri,” Jimin says, slightly dissatisfied with Aeri’s complaints. “Maybe you can come here instead of whoring out while he’s balls deep inside of me.”

Aeri giggles again. “Fineee~ just let me know when you guys are fucking.”

“G–Girls, gonna c–cum–nghn.”

Both Jimin and Aeri quicken their pace on top of you, chasing their own orgasm. They really want to cum with you, don’t they?

“A–Alright, I’m c–close–ah,” Jimin utters. You can hear her frantic breathing from below. Her grip on your waist becomes tighter. Your left hand alternates between her breasts, giving them the treatment they deserve.

“M–Me too,” Aeri says. Her muscles tense up under your touch. Her brown nipples are harder than ever. The three of you are going to cum at the same time!

“Nghh, I–I’m so c–close, girls. C–Can I cum inside you, J–Jimin?” you ask. The feeling is irresistible now. You’re so, so close.

“F–Fucking fill my–my womb, bitch,” Jimin scoffs, her voice stern. “Breed me like–like the whore you are.”

Her words spur you on, as you thrust up into Jimin’s cunt as fast as humanly possible. Your mouth ravages Aeri’s folds recklessly.

Jimin would be the first to break. Her cunt gushes out clear liquid onto the bed. Her body spasms on top of you. You can feel her wetness pooling on your stomach. Aeri follows suit. Her squirt leaks out of her pussy onto your face as you happily drink it. Both of them scream, forming a cacophony that fills the room. 

“Yes! Yes! Fucking–Fucking love this cock.” Jimin shouts. You aren’t so sure who’s going to hear that, but you don’t care. You’re about to cum inside of her.

“G–God, I’m painting your face so good!” Aeri says.

You let go. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum into Jimin’s womb. You’re breeding Yoo Jimin with your cock. Your entire body writhes under both women’s bodies. 

“I can feel it twitch inside me!” Jimin says excitedly, softly raking your body with her nails.

Your eyes flutter in ecstasy, unable to make sense of the sensations on your body. There’s the feeling of Jimin’s ass on your cock. There’s the feeling of Aeri’s thighs on your face. There’s the scent of sex and sweat filling the room. That’s So True can still be heard. It just won’t stop, will it?

Finally, you come down from your precipice. You’re panting along with the women, trying to catch your breath in this post-orgasm bliss. Fuck, that felt good.

“Slut,” Jimin sneers, getting off from your cock at the same time as Aeri unlatches herself from your face. “Bathroom, now.”

You quickly comply with her order, getting off from the bed and walking towards the bathroom. You feel so submissive, so pliant, yet it feels so right, being their little bitch boy like this.

“One more round?” Aeri jokes, giving your ass a slap, making you yelp.

“Oh, definitely,” Jimin says, determined in her voice.

“M–Maybe, I gotta take a break.”

—

[solxamber]

One Date and a Lifetime: Leona Kingscholar x reader

You have chosen Leona! ; aka the times Leona-i-don't-care Kingscholar puts in effort for you;

1k masterlist ; Prologue

You never thought Leona would actually take this date seriously. Honestly, when you first call him, you half expect him to suggest, "Let's just take a nap or something." Instead, his voice is low and smug, almost purring through the phone.

“Sure. I’ll pick you up later. Be ready.”

And just like that, he hangs up before you can ask for specifics. Typical. You're prepared for some half-hearted effort involving him dragging you to a secluded spot to nap under the stars or something like that. But then, a knock sounds at the door of Ramshackle, and there stands Ruggie with a bouquet.

“These are from Leona,” Ruggie says with a grin that’s two parts mischievous, one part disbelief. “He told me to get the ‘good ones,’ whatever that means. I charged him double, by the way.”

You take the flowers, cheeks warming, trying not to feel too charmed by the fact that the laziest lion you know thought to send you flowers. “Compensation good?”

“Let’s just say I’m eating like royalty tonight.” Ruggie winks before scampering off, probably with plans to milk his housewarden’s generosity for the rest of the week.

When Leona finally arrives at your doorstep, you're stunned into silence. He’s dressed to kill, sharp black slacks, a sleek button-up rolled at the sleeves. Effortlessly regal.

"You..." You blink. "You’re somehow even prettier than usual. How is that fair?"

He grumbles, averting his gaze, but you catch the way his chest puffs out just a little. “Tch. Cut it out.”

“Admit it—you love the compliments,” you tease, looping your arm around his as you step outside.

Leona scoffs but doesn’t pull away. “You gonna keep flattering me all night, or are we leaving?”

And so begins the wildest date you could have imagined: Leona, the notorious nap king, escorting you to a local festival, of all things.

You glance up at him as you stroll through the brightly lit stalls. “I thought you hated crowds.”

“I do,” he replies, but then adds in a gruff mutter, “It’s fine if it’s with you.”

Your heart skips a beat. You're lucky he looks so good because you might’ve fainted on the spot otherwise.

At one of the stalls, you spot a mountain of cotton candy, pastel pink and blue fluff that looks like it’ll melt if you so much as breathe on it. You buy a stick and tear off a piece, holding it up to Leona.

“C’mon, try it.”

He eyes the sugary fluff suspiciously. “That’s just sugar and air.”

“Exactly. Now open up.”

With an exaggerated groan, Leona leans down, and you pop the piece into his mouth. His brow furrows as he chews. “Way too sweet.”

But the next time you hold up another piece, he still eats it, grumbling under his breath about “sugar addicts.” You don’t miss the tiny, fond smile that sneaks onto his face, though.

As you continue through the festival, you spot a prize stall lined with plushies, including a little dragon that immediately catches your eye.

“I need that,” you say, determination sparking.

You try... and fail. Repeatedly. Leona watches your attempts with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s enjoying the show.

When you lose for the fifth time, he sighs dramatically. “Move.”

He steps up to the game and, with one smooth flick of his wrist, nails it on the first try. But instead of the dragon plush, he gives the attendant a lazy grin. “The lion.”

When he hands you the lion plush, you stare at it, confused. “What happened to the dragon?”

“Lions are better,” Leona says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No debate.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but smile. It’s ridiculous, but it’s him, and somehow that makes it perfect.

Later, when he takes you to an absurdly expensive restaurant, you raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this? It’s... kind of pricey.”

He gives you a flat look. “Order whatever you want. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

So, naturally, you do. And the food is fantastic. Leona leans back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk as you happily dig into your meal.

When the date winds down and Leona walks you back to Ramshackle, the night air is cool, and you instinctively rub your arms. Without a word, Leona shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

You clutch onto his arm with a grin, snuggling into the warmth. “Thanks, Leona.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Of course you do.” You laugh, leaning against him. “Oh! Did I tell you what Ace and Deuce did earlier today? You won’t believe it.”

He humors you as you chatter away, recounting the latest shenanigans. “So, Grim decided to ‘supervise,’ which really just meant eating half the snacks while Ace accidentally set off the fire alarm—again.”

Leona snorts softly. “Idiots.”

“Yeah, but they’re my idiots.”

When you finally reach Ramshackle’s doorstep, you turn to face him, a little reluctant for the night to end. On a whim, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Leona freezes for half a second, and when you pull away, his expression is somewhere between surprised and utterly smitten.

“Goodnight, Leona,” you say softly, watching as he blinks down at you like you just shattered every lazy expectation he had about this date.

He clears his throat, looking away, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah... night.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but feel like you’ve just unlocked a whole new side of him—and you kind of love it.

You’ve been talking about this video game figure for weeks. Every time you hang out with Leona, he hears about it. Well, "hang out" is a generous term—he naps on your lap or leans against you, and you yap his ear off about how amazing the game is and how this figure is the holy grail of limited merch.

“I’ve been doing everything,” you rant one day, lying next to him in the botanical garden. “Crowley made me do ten extra assignments this week. I even agreed to clean Grim’s litter box without arguments—twice! But it’s worth it. If I get that figure, my life will be complete.”

Leona, who’s half-asleep with his head resting on your shoulder, cracks an eye open. “That good, huh?”

“Yes, that good. There are only ten in the world, Leona. Ten.”

He grunts, shifting a little to get more comfortable. “Better hope your luck’s good, herbivore. Sounds like a lotta effort for a toy.”

“It’s not a toy,” you huff dramatically. “It’s a collectible figure, and it’s the coolest thing in existence. Just wait—when it drops tomorrow, I’m getting it.”

And yet, the universe doesn’t care about your efforts.

You stare at your phone screen in disbelief the next day. The site crashes, the countdown ends, and the figure sells out in 0.2 seconds flat. You refresh. Then refresh again. But it’s gone—snatched from your grasp like a mirage in the desert.

“No... no, no, no.” You sit there, devastated, as the weight of your failure sinks in. After all the work, all the chores, and all the emotional speeches to Leona, you’ve been denied. The limited-edition figure remains forever out of reach.

By the time you see Leona later, your mood is somewhere between tragic despair and begrudging acceptance. You find him lounging in the garden again, his favorite napping spot.

“Didn’t get it, huh?” he asks, his voice carrying that lazy drawl as you flop down beside him.

“Nope,” you sigh, resting your forehead on your knees. “All that work, all that hope... and nothing.”

Without another word, Leona pulls something from behind him and chucks it onto your lap.

You blink. Then blink again.

It’s the figure. The figure. THE limited-edition figure you’ve been pining after for weeks.

“Leona???” you squawk, holding it up like it might vanish into thin air if you let go. “What—how—why—?”

He just shrugs. “Still the second prince, y’know.”

“You—" Your jaw drops. “Did you use royalty status to get me this figure?!”

“Yeah.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he just asked the palace cook to make toast instead of pulling strings for a rare collector’s item.

You gape at him, torn between disbelief and giddiness. “Leona... that’s cheating.”

“So?” He leans back with a satisfied smirk, clearly amused by your reaction. “You wanted it, didn’t you?”

You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, clutching the figure like it’s the greatest treasure ever gifted to you. “You’re impossible.”

Leona tugs you down beside him, trapping you in his arms. “Yeah, yeah. Now quit yappin’ and let me nap.”

Still grinning like a fool, you curl into him, giggling into his hair. “You’re way too good to me, you know that?”

He huffs, but there’s no hiding the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hand rests lazily against your back, warm and grounding. “Hmph. Lucky I like you.”

And just like that, he drifts off into sleep, his arms snug around you. And you? You lie there, feeling like the happiest person alive, hugging your figure close while Leona naps against you, his soft breaths the perfect lullaby.

The first sign something is wrong comes when Grim tries waking you up for your usual chaos-filled day.

“Hey, get up, henchhuman! We’ve got things to do!” he says, poking your cheek with one of his fluffy paws. “It’s already late! If Crowley gets mad, I ain’t takin' the fall!”

Normally, you’d groan and roll out of bed—or at least threaten Grim with chores—but today? All you can manage is a weak grunt before you flop back onto your pillow like a defeated pancake.

“Henchhuman?” Grim nudges you again, this time with more urgency. You crack one eye open just long enough to see his ears flatten in concern. “Oi, don’t ignore me—what’s wrong?”

Your head is heavy, and it feels like your bones have melted into jelly. You try to say I think I’m dying, but all that comes out is a sad, congested whimper.

Grim’s eyes widen, and suddenly, he’s a blur of blue fur and panic. “You’re dying!” he yells, as if confirming the worst-case scenario. “Don’t go toward the light, henchhuman! I’ll be right back—stay alive!!”

Before you can reassure him—or at least remind him that people don’t die from mild fevers—Grim is already out the door, paws skidding against the floor like a tiny tornado.

Somewhere across campus, Leona is enjoying a particularly satisfying mid-morning nap in the botanical gardens when an absolute menace of a furball barrels into him.

“HEY, YOU! Lion guy!” Grim shouts, climbing onto Leona's chest. “Get up! Henchhuman’s dying!”

Leona cracks open one bleary eye. “Dying?” he repeats with a skeptical grunt, already half-expecting Grim to be overreacting. “Probably just overslept.”

“I know the difference between sleeping and dying!” Grim shrieks, paws batting at Leona’s face. “They're burning up, can’t even sit up! You gotta do something!”

Leona grumbles under his breath, but he’s on his feet before Grim can push him again. The usual lazy slouch is gone, replaced by swift, purposeful movements.

By the time he strides into your room, Leona has already called his personal doctor, much to Ruggie’s dismay (“Do you know what time it is?! Do I get paid overtime for this??”). Leona doesn’t care. He’s moving fast—like a lion with a mission.

It’s a blur after that. You vaguely register a cool hand against your burning forehead, Leona’s voice a low rumble beside you. The doctor checks your pulse, takes your temperature, and declares it’s just a fever with some exhaustion thrown in. Nothing dangerous, but definitely enough to flatten you.

“Hah.” Leona lets out a short sigh of relief, slumping in the chair beside your bed. “Told ya Grim, not dead.”

“Yeah, well…” Grim’s still pacing at the edge of your bed, tail twitching in frustration. “They looked dead, okay?! How was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t. That’s why I’m here,” Leona says flatly, though his tone is less irritated than usual.

The next few hours pass in a fog of sleep, soft voices, and the occasional pressure of something cool against your skin. Ruggie swings by every now and then to drop off food, grinning as he deposits soup and medicine like it’s some kind of delivery service.

“Man, if I knew babysitting was part of my job description, I’d have charged extra,” Ruggie teases, setting down a tray.

Leona just rolls his eyes. “Get lost, hyena.”

Despite his usual snark, Leona is surprisingly attentive. He makes sure you drink water, feeds you spoonfuls of soup even when you mumble protests, and keeps an arm draped lazily around you when you shiver. If anyone asks, he’ll say it’s just because you’re annoying and need constant supervision.

When you finally come to, it’s because something warm and heavy is curled against you. You blink a few times, head still foggy, and realize it’s Leona—completely sprawled across the chair next to your bed, but with one hand tightly clasping yours.

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of him. Carefully, you nudge closer, nestling against his arm. The movement stirs him awake, his golden eyes blinking down at you groggily.

“You awake now?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“Barely,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

Leona grunts, but the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles is answer enough.

Just as you’re about to fully enjoy the peace, a loud, dramatic voice cuts through the moment.

“Finally!” Grim bursts into the room, leaping onto your bed. “Took you long enough to wake up! I thought I’d have to hire a priest or somethin’!”

You chuckle softly, the sound a little scratchy. “Didn’t know you cared that much.”

“Pfft! As if.” Grim crosses his arms, looking away with a huff. “I just didn’t wanna be stuck with Crowley as my only companion. He’s useless.”

But despite his words, Grim scrambles onto your lap anyway, curling up against your chest with a grumble. “Don’t get sick again, okay? It’s a pain.”

You pet his fur, grinning as you feel him relax. “Okay, okay. No more dying.”

Leona shifts beside you, rolling his eyes. “What, am I invisible?”

“Shh,” you murmur, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Just let me enjoy my two favorite cats for a minute.”

Leona huffs, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I'm not a cat. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

You grin back at him, and for once, you don’t need words to say thank you. He knows.

You like to think of yourself as a strong person. Someone who can hold their own in this chaotic, magic-ridden school where everything from magical accidents to actual ghost attacks is a typical Tuesday. You’ve handled your fair share of weird situations and even gotten through them without embarrassing yourself too badly. But… you are still a magicless human. And that’s a fact you can’t change.

So when three tall, muscle-bound Savanaclaw students corner you in a dimly-lit corridor on your way to visit Leona, your heart sinks.

"Where ya headin', little herbivore?" The biggest one grins, flashing sharp teeth that remind you just how much worse your day could get.

“Leona’s been hanging out with you a lot, huh?” another one sneers, blocking your path. “Think that makes you special or something?”

"Maybe they've got some kind of deal with him," the third one suggests, his voice dripping with mockery. "How about you tell us what’s really going on between you two?"

Your stomach twists, but you keep your face neutral. No way are you going to let them see how nervous you are. "How about you back off before you embarrass yourselves?" you say, proud of how steady your voice sounds.

The tallest one leans in, his grin widening. “Look at you, acting all tough. Too bad there’s no magic in that mouth of yours.”

You force yourself to hold your ground, though your fingers twitch toward your pocket. You really don’t want to bother Leona, but… well, desperate times. With a quick, discreet motion, you send a single SOS text.

You: Cornered. Help.

The three of them are still jeering at you when you hear footsteps approaching from behind. Slow, measured, and heavy with the kind of weight that makes everyone in the hallway tense.

"Oi," a familiar, low growl cuts through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

All three of them freeze. You glance over your shoulder—and there he is. Leona Kingscholar.

He stands at the end of the corridor, his usual lazy posture replaced by something much sharper, much more dangerous. His emerald eyes gleam with a warning, and a sly, predatory smile spreads across his face.

"Seems like I showed up just in time." His voice is deceptively calm, almost bored. “What do you think you're doin'?”

The boys shift uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances.

"Just… chatting," one of them stammers, the earlier bravado leaking out of him like air from a punctured balloon.

Leona steps forward, leisurely, as if he’s in no hurry—but there’s something about the way he carries himself that makes the air heavy with tension. His presence fills the space, demanding attention and submission.

"You must be real stupid," Leona drawls, "if you think you can mess with what’s mine."

The tallest boy blanches. “W-We didn’t mean—”

Leona’s grin sharpens, all teeth. "Didn’t mean to what? Annoy me? Make me waste my time on some sad, third-string rejects?"

They flinch, shrinking under the weight of his words. Leona isn’t yelling. He doesn’t have to. His authority is clear—absolute.

One of them mumbles an apology, and the others nod hurriedly, ready to slink away. But Leona’s not done.

“You ever try this again,” he says, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr, “I won’t just kick you out of Savanaclaw. I’ll bury you so deep, nobody’ll even remember your names.”

The boys scatter without another word, practically tripping over each other to escape.

Leona watches them go with a snort, then turns his gaze to you. His sharp expression softens just a fraction, the predatory edge giving way to something lazier—something almost… fond.

“You good?” he asks, as if he didn’t just verbally annihilate three guys on your behalf.

Your heart is racing, but not from fear. No, this is something else entirely. Something far more dangerous. You’re not sure when it happened, but you are completely, utterly smitten.

“Yeah,” you say, trying—and failing—not to sound starstruck.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Like you’re impressed.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, but you notice the faintest hint of color creeping up his ears. “Tch. Idiot.”

You laugh softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks for showing up, though.”

Leona shrugs like it’s nothing. "I told ya—just call me when you need me."

That does it. You feel yourself practically glowing at the simple promise, the quiet reassurance beneath his words.

You lean toward him, your grin widening. “What if I need you right now?”

He smirks, draping a lazy arm over your shoulders. “Then I guess I’m stuck with you.”

You let yourself melt into his side, the earlier tension gone like a bad dream. The two of you walk off together, his arm comfortably slung over you like it belongs there.

And, in that moment, you’re pretty sure it does.

The assignment in front of you is a nightmare.

You’ve been staring at the same page for what feels like hours, your head throbbing with frustration. You chew the end of your pen, tapping your foot anxiously against the floor. Why did you leave this for the last minute? Why does it feel like every word on the page is written in an ancient, cursed script meant specifically to drain your soul?

Meanwhile, Leona is draped over you like a weighted blanket, his head resting comfortably on your shoulder. You know he’s napping because of the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing. This man has zero care in the world.

He’s been napping while you’ve been spiraling. Because of course he is.

You mutter curses under your breath, willing the assignment to finish itself. But the numbers swim in front of your eyes, and your breaths grow shorter, more unsteady. Panic claws at the edges of your mind.

Leona stirs. He shifts just slightly, cracking open one eye to glance at you. “Oi,” he grumbles. “Stop breathin’ like you’re about to pass out.”

You ignore him and grip the pen tighter, heart pounding, trying to push through the stress. That’s the worst part about this assignment—if you don’t finish it, your grades will nosedive, and Crowley will never let you hear the end of it.

Suddenly, Leona's hand slips out from around you and snatches the pen from your grip. "Gimme that."

You blink as he pulls the paper closer.

"Leona, what are you—"

"Shh." He flips through the pages like they personally offended him. His eyes scan the questions with the kind of effortless ease that makes you want to scream in frustration. Without so much as a sigh, he picks up the pen and starts writing.

You can only sit there, dumbfounded, as his neat, surprisingly elegant handwriting fills in the answers you’ve been struggling with for hours.

"Wait—are you actually doing my homework?" you ask, staring at him in disbelief.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Told ya. I'm a senior. This stuff’s easy."

"Easy for you, maybe."

“Then why didn’t you ask me earlier?” he drawls, finishing the last answer without breaking a sweat.

You blink at the completed assignment like it might disappear if you look away. "I… didn’t think to."

Leona rolls his eyes and tosses the pen onto the desk with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Next time, just ask. I ain't gonna let you stress yourself out over dumb stuff.”

And that’s it. Just like that, all your anxiety evaporates.

You turn to look at him, utterly smitten once again. "You're ridiculous."

He leans back, resting his head against your shoulder again with a satisfied sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”

You let yourself melt into him, the earlier panic now a distant memory. His warmth, his steady breathing, the way his arms rest loosely around you—it all feels so easy. So right.

For a moment, you just sit there in silence, the peaceful kind that feels rare and precious. The assignment is finished. The world isn't ending. You don’t have to do everything alone.

You tilt your head to rest against his, your smile soft. "Thanks, Leona."

"Mm," he hums, already halfway back to sleep. But his hand gives yours a lazy squeeze, a quiet reassurance that makes your heart skip a beat.

The day passes in a haze of warmth and peace, your stress long gone. And you realize something: being with Leona feels like this—like having someone who makes the hard days bearable, without needing you to say a word.

And yeah, you could definitely get used to this.

You've thought about asking him for weeks. Maybe even months. But every time the words start forming, you chicken out. You’re this close to accepting that you’ll just live in relationship limbo forever.

It’s safer. No awkward conversations, no heartbreak. Just… endless naps together, weird dates that may or may not be dates, and him doing sweet things without ever calling them what they are.

But tonight, as you sit curled up in his arms, watching the stars from a balcony in the botanical gardens, it feels like the moment. Leona is lounging beside you, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, the other resting on your leg like it's the most natural thing in the world. His warmth is comforting, grounding, and for once, you let yourself think: Maybe, just maybe, this is real.

You take a breath, steeling yourself. If he laughs or acts indifferent, fine. If it ruins everything—okay, not fine, but you'll survive.

“Hey, Leona?”

He hums, eyes still half-lidded. He’s relaxed, probably thinking about nothing except how long it’ll take for him to drag you back to bed.

You clear your throat. “What are we?”

Leona cracks one eye open, giving you a lazy look. “Huh?”

You shift nervously under his gaze. “Like… What is this? Are we—” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “—a thing? Or… I mean, are you—do you even like me like that? Or—?”

He stares at you for a second, blinking slowly, like a cat woken from a nap it didn’t want to leave. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You feel your courage start to wither, but you force the words out. “I mean, I thought… We never really said anything official. And I don’t know if this is, you know—” You wave a hand. “Something? Or if you’re just putting up with me or—”

Leona makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, like you just asked him the dumbest question imaginable.

“You really thought I’d let you hang around me this much if I didn’t want you?” he says, giving you a flat, incredulous look.

You blink at him. “So… we’ve been dating this whole time?”

He just stares at you. “...What else did you think we were doing?”

“Oh my god—” You slap a hand over your face, torn between relief and secondhand embarrassment. “I thought you were just vibing.”

Leona snorts. “Yeah. Vibing with you. Idiot.”

Despite yourself, you laugh—a little breathless, a little giddy. It’s so absurd. All this time, you’d been worried about asking him where you stood, and he just… assumed you knew.

Leona rolls his eyes but shifts slightly, turning to face you. His gaze is softer now, and the usual laziness in it is replaced by something raw and unguarded. His hand, rough and warm, cups your cheek.

“Listen,” he mutters, voice low and a little rough around the edges. “I’m not good at sayin’ stuff like this, so don’t make me repeat it, okay?”

You nod, holding your breath.

“I love you.” The words slip out easily, like they’ve been waiting there all along. “Don’t care what anyone says, don’t care what they think—I'm not good at a lotta things, but I know I want you.”

Your heart stumbles. For a moment, the world feels too quiet, too small. You reach up to cover his hand with yours, warmth spreading through your chest.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, like it's the easiest thing you've ever said.

Leona's lips twitch upward into a faint, self-satisfied smirk, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze lingers on you, like he’s not used to getting what he wants.

“So,” you say softly, “are you my boyfriend now?”

He gives you the look—that deadpan, long-suffering stare, like you’ve just asked him the dumbest question of the century.

“Then what the hell else would I be?” he grumbles.

You can’t help it. You laugh—bright, free, and maybe a little too giddy. And before you can stop yourself, you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips.

The kiss is soft, warm, and it lingers just long enough to make your heart race. He tastes like mint and the faintest hint of something earthy, something that feels like home. His hand slides down to rest at the small of your back, holding you close like he has no intention of letting you go.

When you finally pull away, you grin at him, still breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, well.” He smirks, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” you whisper, and this time, it’s him who leans in.

And just like that, the world slips away, leaving only the two of you—wrapped in warmth, in laughter, in everything you never knew you needed.

Leona saunters into your room, hands in his pockets, tail flicking lazily behind him. “Hey, Falena and his family are visiting today,” he says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You blink at him from your bed, mid-scroll on your phone. “You mean the King and Queen of the Sunset Savanna are visiting.”

Leona shrugs. “Yeah. Same thing.”

You sit bolt upright. “Leona, that’s not the same thing! Those are literal royals!"

He raises an eyebrow, already amused. “I’m royalty too, you know?”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “But you’re my boyfriend!”

Leona’s smirk grows as smug as the desert sun. “Exactly.”

Oh no. He’s loving this way too much.

Despite your protests, you're soon standing next to Leona at the main entrance, sweating bullets as Falena, his wife, and Cheka step through the doors. They’re all gorgeous and elegant, the epitome of royal perfection. You’re about to pass out from nerves, but Leona? He looks like he’s two seconds away from falling asleep on his feet.

Cheka spots you first. “UNCLE LEONA!” he shrieks, barreling straight for his favorite uncle—and by extension, you. Before you can brace for impact, the little lion cub is already latched onto your legs.

“You must be the one Leona told us about!” Falena grins warmly, stepping up beside his wife, who’s equally radiant. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You gawk at him. “Wait... Leona talks about me?”

Falena’s wife smiles knowingly. “Quite a bit, actually.”

You shoot Leona a look, but he just rolls his eyes. “Don’t get weird about it.”

Meanwhile, Cheka, still latched to your leg like a koala, looks up with big, bright eyes. “You’re my favorite person now!” he declares, squeezing your leg tighter. “After Uncle Leona. But you’re mine after him, okay?”

Leona huffs out a laugh, amused by the possessive cub. “Tch. Good luck, kid.”

“I’ll fight for you!” Cheka promises dramatically, like you’re a prize to be won at a carnival. He even makes little fists, shadow-boxing an invisible opponent. “I’ll become a strong lion and beat all the bad guys!”

You try (and fail) to hold back a laugh. “Well, I look forward to it.”

Falena claps his hands together, his grin brighter than the savanna sun. “Since we’re all here, how about a walk around the grounds? It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“Nope.” Leona’s arm is suddenly wrapped around your waist, dragging you closer to him. “We’re good right here.”

Falena and his wife exchange that look—the kind that says they’ve been married long enough to know exactly what’s going on.

“We’ll leave you two alone, then,” Falena says with a chuckle, patting Leona on the shoulder. “We’re happy for you, Leona.”

His wife nods, her eyes twinkling. “Very happy.”

You open your mouth to protest—Wait, this isn’t what it looks like! We’re just standing here! I’m not even sure what’s happening!—but the words don’t come. You just sputter and blush as Leona tugs you closer, looking far too pleased with himself.

“See?” Leona murmurs smugly, lips quirking into a grin as you bury your face in your hands. “Told you it wasn’t a big deal.”

You groan into your palms. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His grip tightens just a bit, his voice low and lazy as ever. “C’mon. Admit it—you like having a royal boyfriend.”

You peek through your fingers, cheeks burning. “Leona...”

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Say it.”

You glare up at him, flustered beyond belief but unable to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “...Okay, maybe I do.”

He hums in satisfaction, practically purring. “Thought so.”

And just like that, he pulls you into a lazy, one-armed hug, as if holding you is the easiest thing in the world—and honestly? It kind of is.

The moment the news breaks that you’re dating Leona, you know it’s going to be a thing. A very loud thing. Ace and Deuce are the first to get wind of it, and honestly, you almost regret ever telling them.

“Leona Kingscholar?!” Ace yells, gaping like you just told him you were moving to Mars.

“Why??” Deuce adds, equally stunned. “Are you okay? Blink twice if you're in danger.”

“Isn’t he the guy who naps literally everywhere?” Ace squawks. “Like, you’re really dating a guy who falls asleep during fights?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Ace. I am.”

“Not to mention he’s scary,” Deuce mutters. “What if he, I don’t know, kicks you out of the relationship because it’s too much work?”

“He’s not going to ‘kick me out,’ Deuce.”

Ace leans in conspiratorially, wiggling his eyebrows. “Have you thought about what happens when Riddle finds out?”

Deuce pales. “Oh man, I’m not telling him.”

“You’re definitely telling him.”

“No, you tell him!”

“Do I look like I have a death wish?” Ace scoffs. “I can already hear him screaming something about ‘poor romantic judgment!’”

Meanwhile, Jack is sitting with his arms crossed, brow furrowed. “I don’t know why you’re all acting like this. Housewarden Leona’s actually cool if you get to know him.”

Ace stares at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Jack, the man once threatened to ‘accidentally’ kick me into a bush because I sneezed near him.”

“Yeah, because you sneezed on him.”

“It was allergy season!”

“Uh-huh.” Jack shrugs. “Still deserved it.”

Before you can jump in, Grim waddles in, arms crossed like the world’s smallest mafia boss. “I don’t care who you date as long as you’re still my henchhuman. Priorities, ya know?”

“Gee, thanks, Grim.”

Then, from across the room, Epel starts cackling like a madman.

“Oh, Vil is gonna lose his mind when he hears about this!” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “Leona’s the exact opposite of Vil’s whole life philosophy. This is beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Ace adds, smirking. “It’s like watching two completely different wildlife documentaries crash into each other.”

Before you can stop him, Sebek jumps in, indignant. “I cannot believe you would choose that lazy lout over the Young Master!” He practically growls the words.

“Sebek, Leona is—” you try to reason, but Sebek steamrolls right over you.

“He sleeps through his classes! He’s rude! And worst of all, he doesn’t respect Master Malleus!”

You sigh. “Sebek, you can’t date someone based on their respect levels for Malleus.”

“You should!” Sebek declares, crossing his arms dramatically like a lawyer who just delivered the winning argument.

Before things spiral further, Jack mutters, “Leona’s not rude. He’s just… efficient with his energy.”

“Efficient? He calls that one freshman ‘footstool,’ Jack,” Ace deadpans.

“Maybe it’s a term of endearment,” Jack grumbles defensively.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. The whole scene is chaotic—Ace flailing, Epel wheezing, Sebek looking personally offended, Deuce still white-knuckling through the idea of telling Riddle—and somehow, it’s perfect.

Because deep down, you know something they don’t.

Even though Leona doesn’t show it, even though he hates doing anything that even smells like effort, he cares. He really does. Whether it’s texting you to remind you to eat, draping his jacket over you when you forget yours, or waking you up from an accidental nap with your favorite snack—he makes sure you know.

You just smile quietly to yourself, heart warm. And when Ace notices and nudges you, asking what’s got you looking so smug, you just shrug.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, already counting down the minutes until you can see Leona again.

Because even though the man drives you up the wall and naps like a professional, he’s yours. And that makes all the teasing worth it.

1k masterlist ; Main Masterlist

i know lions don't purr but in my delusions, leona does. work with me here

[jobean12-blog]

Hanging by a Moment

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Joel's wanted you since the moment he saw you...what will it take for him to make a move.

Author's Note: Between Cannes this weekend and the upcoming episode six of TLOU 2 I'm pretty much useless and my life revolves around the next Pedro pic/gif/vid that will ruin me. It's fine though. I had to channel it somewhere so here's some tension and smut and all the good stuff. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension, some fun, some fluff, flirting, meddling Tommy and Ellie in the best way, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected p in v (wrap it in rl pls), light dirty talk and praise, Joel and his guitar

“Ellie’s out on patrol. Ben is inside drawing…what has you smiling like that?”

Tommy’s question goes unanswered as Joel continues staring straight ahead, his eyes bright and crinkled at the corners. Tommy turns to follow Joel’s gaze and let’s out a snort of laughter.

“No fuckin’ way brother,” Tommy says as he claps Joel on the back. “Good for you.”

Joel stares a second longer then swings his eyes to Tommy. “Good for me what?”

Tommy looks between you and Joel. “I’ve only seen you smile like that at two people, and neither are here, so…I’m glad you finally made a move.”

“I…what? I didn’t…do anything,” Joel stumbles.

Tommy frowns. “Then why are you starin’ like she belongs to you.”

Before Joel can reply you part with Dina and start walking toward the two men.

“Hi,” you say to them then turn your eyes to Joel. “I think I found something you can use to file those saddle slots.”

Joel’s mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Thanks,” he says.

“I’ll bring it by after lunch,” you tell him.

“Saddle slots?” Tommy asks as he watches Joel watch you walk away.

“For the guitar,” Joel grumbles before he turns on his heel.

Your knock goes unanswered, so you gently push the door open and call his name. Still no answer but you hear the tap of wood and the plucking of strings as you head toward the living room.

“Joel?”

He spins around, his safety glasses slipping down his nose.

“Hey,” he says gruffly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I knocked but I figured that. I have the file.”

You hold up the tool and he smiles.

He wipes his hands on his jeans and reaches out for it. You watch in silence as he carefully files down the edges of the saddle slots, every so often blowing over the wood to clear the shavings.

“I don’t know what you’re doing but it looks really beautiful already.”

When his eyes meets yours they’re soft and his expression filled with gratitude . “I hope she likes it.”

“She will,” you assure him. “Will you teach her to play?”

“If she’ll let me,” he says lightly.

You step closer and lean over the instrument, lifting a hand to lightly run it along the shiny wood. Your next words of admiration are cut short because his warm, strong hand covers yours, guiding it down the neck of the instrument and over the curve of the body.

“The top is made of a softwood, probably cedar and the sides and back a hardwood like mahogany,” he explains, his hand still leading yours.

The feel of him more than his words shocks you silent and you hold your breath.

“The different types of wood present different tones,” he continues.

You find yourself leaning into him subconsciously, and he squeezes your hand before releasing it.

“I can’t wait to hear you play it,” you whisper, still recovering from the contact of his skin.

“What time are Ellie and I leaving tomorrow?” Joel ask Tommy as they add more hay to the horse stables.

“Eight am sharp,” Tommy says with a smirk.

“What’s that about?” Joel says frowning.

Tommy shrugs but his smile widens as Ellie approaches.

“Did you tell him?” she asks Tommy, her eyes sparkling.

“Tell me what?” Joel grumbles as he rests his hands on his hips.

“You’re doing patrol tomorrow, but not with me,” Ellie says excitedly.

“What do you mean?” Joel asks, his tone dangerously low. “You’re not thinkin’ of goin’ out on your own…?”

“No,” Ellie says, waving him off. “I’m staying behind to train with Jesse.”

“I don’t understand,” Joel says with an exasperated sigh. “Why can’t you two just be straight with me.”

“I’m giving you a chance to make your move brother,” Tommy says with a wink.

The next morning with the fog of a humid night still hanging in the air you wait by the gate for Joel. The clip clop of hooves turns your head, and you see him leading Shimmer your way.

“Only one horse?” you say as you pat Shimmer’s side.

Joel’s gaze finds yours and his dark brown eyes stare at you so unapologetically it unnerves you in a way.

“Tommy says the others need rest.”

You give him a shaky smile and wait as he lifts himself onto the horse and then offers you his hand. You take it, his warm and calloused fingers strong around yours as he helps you up behind him.

“Comfortable?” he asks once you’re settled.

“Yes,” you say quietly, all at once aware of every sense- the way you’re pressed up against Joel’s back, the cool morning breeze along your heated skin, the smell of spice and leather.

You remain quiet for most of the ride, enjoying the warmth from the rising sun and the way it plays off the mountainsides, bathing the newly growing flowers and vegetation in a soft glow. The sounds of birds chirping and animals scurrying made things feel almost…normal.

“I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed springtime…and the fact that all the snow ‘s melted.”

You feel him laugh. “You’re tellin’ me. We never saw snow in Texas.”

It’s a quiet patrol and you and Joel pass the time with easy conversation about whatever comes to mind but when midday hits the sun is strong overhead and you’re both hot and in need of water. He stops Shimmer by a small stream and helps you off, first taking your hand then surprisingly grasping your waist, slowing your descent as you slide off the horse and into his arms.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

He nods but doesn’t release you. Not until Shimmer whinnies and stamps forward a few steps for a drink.

Joel heads to the stream and starts to take off his flannel, revealing his forearms and biceps, the muscles flexing and tightening as he reaches down to fill his canteen. He takes a long sip, the strong column of his throat shifting with each swallow and you suddenly feel more thirsty than ever before in your life.

After a small lunch and a water refill you’re back on Shimmer, headed to one last spot before returning for the day.

“Those clouds don’t look very good,” you mumble as you glance out west to the darkened sky.

“They don’t,” Joel agrees. “It feels like rain.”

“Do you think we’ll make it back in time?” you ask.

As if on cue, Joel’s radio emits static before Tommy’s voice comes through asking for your location.

You listen to the conversation, your stomach sinking when Tommy says the rain has already reached them.

“Think we’re gonna have to find a safe house to wait out the storm,” Joel says as he clicks off the com device.

Thunder rumbles far in the distance and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “Better get movin’.”

Just as he shoulders past the dilapidated door the rain drops start to fall. He holds a finger to his lips and tucks you behind him, stepping quietly and slowly into the house. He shines his flashlight in the corners of the room, the dark clouds now blotting out most of the days earlier sunshine and casting shadows all around you.

You wait, your grip on his shirt tight as you follow in step. When he’s satisfied the house is clear he clicks off the flashlight and his shoulders relax.

“Looks ok,” he says.

When you don’t release his shirt he looks down at where your hand is still fisted in the soft material. You track his gaze and release it quickly.

“Scared?” he teases.

You shake your head and let out the breath you were holding in.

An hour later you’re seated on the dusty floor, laughing as Joel tries to land the broken pieces of a vase into another that’s still intact.

“Your aim stinks,” you laugh.

“I’d like to see you do better,” he says.

You stand and hold your hand out for some of the pieces, staring down at him and waiting for him to move over so you can sit in the right spot. He shoves to the side but only enough for you to sit with yourself plastered to his side. Something sparkles in his eyes and is lips curl just a millimeter before he motions with a tilt of his head for you to take your best throw.

With a wry smile you line up your throw and launch it, missing the opening of the vase by half a foot. His body shakes next to you, and you elbow him in the side.

“Oof,” he mumbles before going quiet.

You try again but fail to get it inside the vase.

“I have to stand up!” you say determinedly.

“Don’t think that’s gonna do any good,” he jokes, and you give him a solid side eyed glare.

After your fourth missed throw, instead of his laughter, which you were prepared for, his hand meets the small of your back, and you sharply inhale at how warm and massive his palm is over the thin fabric of your tee shirt. He had to have felt it, the way you jolted at the contact, but he holds you steady and sure as he positions your body.

“Try now,” he says, his voice low.

He fixes the angle of your elbow then with a reluctance you can sense he moves away. You take the shot and get it inside the vase without even hitting the edge.

“YES!” you cheer far too loudly, the sound echoing around the emptiness of the house.

Both you and Joel go still, his eyes darting around as he takes a step closer to you. A sound outside the house startles you, your gasp catching in your throat when you see a shadow move outside the window. Joel wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you behind him, pressing you into the wall as he walks toward the kitchen. He reaches behind his back, his hand brushing along your stomach in the process, and pulls out his knife.

You wait, barely breathing as whatever is outside continues to pass the window. After several heart stopping moments, it turns and you realize it’s just a deer grazing outside the house, it’s large ears turned upward and out as if to listen itself.

“Shit,” you sigh, relaxing against Joel.

When he turns around to face you his body is merely an inch from yours, his eyes searching your face when he asks, “you ok?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, swaying closer. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he whispers. “It’s fine. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You give him the best smile you can and wait for him to step back but he doesn’t, instead, leaning forward and crowding you against the wall. His eyes drop to your mouth, lingering before he drags them back up and his lips part. You let out a shuddering breath, your eyelashes fluttering along your cheeks and your breath hitching when you feel his fingertips graze your neck.

The shrill sound of static and Tommy’s garbled voice breaks you out of the moment and you both move away with an intake of air. Joel let’s out a sigh and grabs the walkie talkie.

“Looks like we’re goin’ to be spendin’ the night,” Joel says as he watches you closely.

You can’t sleep. Despite the coolness of the rain filled night and the coziness of your sleeping bag, your body is heated, and your mind is racing. You decide to explore the house. Glancing at Joel’s sleeping bag it appears he’s still in it but it’s hard to tell under the blanket of darkness. Quietly, you creep free of the cocoon of fabric and tip toe toward the back of the house. Any other sounds of the night are muted by the consistent downpour of rain and the worn wooden floors are cool under your bare feet.

“Ah, and here I was thinkin’ I was alone.”

You jump at the deep voice, blinking repeatedly in the darkness as your eyes adjust. Slowly, a figure comes into view, a dark shadow that the closer it gets the more you recognize as Joel, broad shouldered, arms crossed over his chest and a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

“Not really,” you answer as you lean back against the kitchen counter.

You can’t see his eyes clearly in the dark, but you can feel them like warm rays of sunshine on your skin. You rub your hands over your bare arms, your tank top suddenly feeling paper thin, while minutes ago you felt too hot in your sleeping bag. Taking his time, but with purposeful steps, he moves closer to you, resting along the counter next to you. Your fingers curl around the edge of the grimy Formica, as if the action will keep you from reaching out for him.

“Why are you up?” you ask.

His face turns toward yours. “Wanted to make sure I could keep watch…keep you safe.”

You inhale deeply and his eyes fall to where you chest expands. “I like that you want to keep me safe.”

His nostrils flare, eyes searching your face, lips parted like he wants to speak but something holds him back. You watch the bob of his throat with his heavy swallow, the hollow area where his neck meets his collarbone as it ebbs and every muscle in your body tightens, your legs squeezing together.

He’s close enough now that even through the shadowed veil of night you can see the intensity of his gaze and feel his warm breath caress your cheek.

“I like to protect what’s mine,” he husks, his nose barely skimming yours.

At your gasp of air, his lips tilt upward, and warm fingertips brush the outside of your thigh, just above your knee. You feel the goosebumps erupt in a wave over your skin and he leans closer, his hips pressing into you, the large bulge between his legs brushing your stomach and outlining every substantial inch of him.

He has to know you feel it, has to know you’re just as affected, but just as suddenly as he’s right there, he steps back, turning away as your breath rushes back with a kick.

“Get some sleep darlin.’ We have an early start tomorrow.”

The next morning, the rain clings to the grass in sparkling dew drops and the air smells of damp earth. Shimmer trots away from the small town, away from what almost happened last night, and back toward reality. You try not to lean into Joel, but the uneven ground bobs you up and down, back, and forth, and constantly into his body. His tee shirt is thin enough that you feel the flex and shift of his back muscles beneath it and you can smell his skin, lightly dampened with sweat from the rising sun.

You reach Jackson without incident and part ways with Joel, quiet and reserved. Fortunately, you’re able to keep busy the next few days, catching up on various chores you missed and some much-needed sleep.

At least, until the middle of the week when Ellie drags you over to her house to show you the new guitar Joel gifted her. When you walk inside there’s no sign of Joel and you deflate with disappointment, the realization that you’ve missed him hitting harder than any time before.

Ellie excitedly chatters over the instrument as she shows you everything, even strumming some chords Joel’s started to teach her. You can’t help but feel her happiness, especially knowing how hard Joel has worked to fix the guitar.

“Maybe you’ll teach me after you learn more,” you tell Ellie with a smile.

Before she can answer you hear Joel’s gruff voice. “I’ll teach you to play.”

He emerges from his bedroom, running a hand along his bearded jaw while the muscles tick as he looks you over.

“Yeah?” you ask with a raised brow, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I’d love to,” he says, his words soft, subtle.

Ellie’s eyes swing back and forth between the two of you, her brow furrowed. “I’m just gonna go show this to Dina,” she squeaks. “See you guys later.”

She rushes off with the guitar and a slam of the door.

You cross your arms over your chest and drop your gaze. He’s across the room before you can register the movement, his thick fingers pressed under your chin to lift your eyes to his.

“Joel…”

“Don’t say my name like that, darlin’,” he warns, his eyes flicking to where you’ve pinned your bottom lip with your teeth. “Not unless you want…”

“Want what?” you interrupt.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out for your cheek and brushing along your lip to pull it free of your teeth. The pad of his thumb rubs the spot, slowly, teasingly, until your lips part with a gasp. His hand sweeps back, gripping the nape of your neck lightly. He pulls you in, and your eyelashes flutter along your cheeks.

The sound of boisterous laughter fills the air, and you hear the turn of the doorknob before Ellie and Dina bound in, breathless and smiling.

“Oh shit,” Ellie says, her smile falling before rising again now laced with mischief.

“I thought you said they were fighting?” Dina asks, her smile matching Ellie’s.

“They were,” Ellie says through the side of her mouth.

Joel’s teeth grind and Ellie’s smile widens. “I’m just gonna grab the tuner then we’ll be out of your hair.”

She rushes over to the table and rips the tuner off, sprinting back toward Dina and pushing her out the door.

For a long moment, Joel watches you, a million indecipherable emotions surging in his eyes. You watch the muscles in his jaw tighten; watch the way he slides his hands into his pockets as if it’s the only way to keep them from reaching out to touch you. He lets out a long, slow, and steady exhale, and then the door opens again, and Tommy appears.

“Need your help with somethin’,” he says, looking to Joel before his eyes slide to you apologetically.

Joel walks you back to your house, leaving you with a mumbled apology and following Tommy to the town hall. You flop back on your bed, covering your face with a pillow before screaming into it. Then you pull it off and stare up at the ceiling, your legs bouncing against the mattress. Your nerves are buzzing, and you’re entirely too restless and turned on. You lay there for a long time, forcing yourself to calm your breathing, placing your hands on your chest to follow the rhythmic rise and fall.

Just the pressure of your hands and the brush of your fingertips has you inhaling sharply, your thoughts shifting immediately to Joel and how his hands would feel along your bare skin. You flatten your palm to your stomach and let your mind continue to drift.

The way his eyes seem to devour you every time he sees you, like it’s the first and last time he will.

The words he spoke…he protects what’s his.

Every stolen touch and almost kiss…what would his kiss feel like.

Your knees drop open, your hand sliding between your thighs.

You can smell his skin, feel the growl of want rumble through his chest as he pins you to the bed.

A pulse shoots between your legs, and you chase the sensation with your fingers, running them through your wet folds before circling your clit. You moan and arch into the touch, imagining every touch, every whisper of his lips, until your fingers circle faster and your hips roll.

The faster your fingers move, the more your thoughts run wild, and you twist in the sheets, chasing the feeling as you slip a finger inside you.

Just then, a hard knock pounds the door. Your eyes shoot open, and you nearly kill yourself trying to get off the bed and to the door. Thankfully, your bedroom is in the far back of the house, so Joel is only in the living room when you walk out.

His brown eyes look darker than usual, and he smirks, letting his gaze sweep over you from head to toe. Your body hums.

“What were you doin’ darlin’?” he asks. “I thought I heard some…noises.”

“I feel asleep!” you say quickly. “And I think I was having a dream.”

He raises a brow and pops his knee out. “Hmm.”

“Is everything ok?” you ask, needing to change the subject.

“Yeah, just fine,” he says, “but we need to give our patrol report to the council.”

Then he turns and walks back to the door, holding it open for you.

After the meeting, Ellie’s back and requesting more guitar lessons so you leave them to it, not missing the way Joel’s gaze lingers on you until you disappear from view. It’s not until you’re out for an evening walk that you see him again, sitting quietly on the porch with his guitar over his lap.

He motions for you to come over and you do so without question, leaning against the porch railing.

“Where’s Ellie?” you ask.

“Doin’ something with Dina,” he says with a relaxed wave of his hand. “She had enough of me and my old man music.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your laughter and watch his face light up.

“What were you playing just now?”

“Some song from the 1980s…”

“I like it.”

He stands, taking the guitar with him.

“Here.”

You look from him to the guitar then take it in your hands, arranging it in front of you as best you know how.

“Like this,” he gently instructs, fixing first your hand positioning then your fingers. You try to focus on what he’s saying but instead can’t seem to stop the way your breath hitches at his touch.

His warm palm slides up your arm and he pulls you closer, pressing your back to his chest so he can show you how to play a chord. You can feel him hard against your lower back and you lose all trace of coherency.

“I know what you were doin’ earlier,” he whispers into your neck. “Heard you call my name.”

You whimper with need at this words and when he presses a soft kiss under your ear you have to lean all your weight into him to hold you steady.

“How long are we going to pretend?” he murmurs, his lips moving higher and skimming the shell of your ear.

You tremble in his hold. “Pretend what?”

“Pretend like you’re not already mine.”

Your next breath shudders out of you, and he takes the guitar from your hands and rests it to the side, then without warning spins you in his arms so you’re trapped between him and one of the posts of the porch.

“Yours…” you breathe out, confirming it.

He pulls you flush against him, lining up every part of your bodies in a way so possessive you feel your knees weaken.

His large palm runs between your breasts, up your collarbone, until his fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing just a pinch, and then releasing it to trail his fingers higher. His thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, tasting the salt of his skin. Your eyes connect with his, and his nose flares, his cock flexing against where your bodies are pressed together.

He groans, his next breath nothing but a hiss, his nose dragging along your neck with a deep inhale. His long fingers splay along your cheek, and he tilts your head up with the press of his thumb under your chin before his lips brush yours lightly.

The contact is too much and without wasting another second his lips are on yours, completely consuming. He presses you harder against the post of the porch , meeting your hips with his own. He grips your wrists in his hands, guiding them up over your head until they’re pinned along the wood of the post and he kisses you harder, biting your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“Is this what you thought about as you were touchin’ yourself baby?”

He kisses you again, swallowing your moaned confirmation. He takes over where he has your wrists pinned with one hand, letting the other trail down your arm, your neck and down to your breast where he caresses the soft flesh.

His hands, one so powerfully restraining you, while the other dips lower, feather light, into the waistband of your pants, threaten to ruin you. You gasp and arch into the touch and his knee wedges between your legs to spread them open.

“I need to touch you,” he murmurs as he slips his warm finger beneath your panties, running a line through your wet desire as your entire body convulses with the contact.

You chase his lips, unable to do much more than lean into him, reaching with your mouth where he meets you with another all-consuming kiss. A cry slips past your lips when his finger brushes your clit, sliding deeper until he’s teasing your entrance.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet baby,” he hisses, slicking his finger before teasing your clit.

“Please Joel,” you practically beg.

“You’ve been drivin’ me crazy since the first time I saw you,” he whispers, his touch still light, still teasing, but his words full of desperation.

He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes locked onto your face as he slides one thick finger inside you. Your lips part and your eyes start to flutter closed.

“Open them,” he growls. “Look at me.”

You do as he says, his nose skimming yours as he starts to work his finger in and out. Your breathing accelerates and your hips move with his hand and when he presses his thumb to your clit you let out a cry of his name. He silences you with a kiss, only pulling away when he feels you tighten around his finger. You fall apart and he releases your wrists, your body sagging into his arms as he drags out your pleasure with slow strokes and soft praises.

You don’t know how you make it into the house, can’t remember him opening the door and pulling you inside. All you know is the feel of your back against his mattress and his fingertips seeking, roaming, gripping, and tugging. He meets every desperate touch of yours with one even more anguished of his own. Your hands tangle in his hair, his big hands covering your breasts before his mouth does. You gasp at the sensation and writhe beneath him.

He sits up only to tuck his thumbs at your hips, slowly dragging the fabric of your panties down your legs.

“You’re a masterpiece,” he murmurs before his eyes meet yours and he moves again, settling between your spread legs.

You rock your hips, whining when you feel the roughness of his jeans. He quickly unzips them and kicks them off, barely giving you a chance to admire him before he presses his palm to your inner thigh and opens you wider for him. You feel the press of him between your legs, hard, warm and like silk.

His hand on your thigh pushes harder and he slides down your body, your whimper at the loss of him quickly softened when his nose grazes your clit and his tongue dips inside you.

“Oh god,” you cry, your body shaking.

He answers by holding you even more steady, open, and wide as he buries his face between your thighs and licks and sucks your clit in a rhythm that drives you wild. Your hands fall to his hair, gripping hard the closer he brings you to your release. Your orgasm rushes through you, your hips rocking into his face and your fingers tangled in his hair.

You’ve barely caught your breath when he slides back up your body, kissing and nipping as he goes to find your lips, your taste on his tongue.

“You taste even sweeter than I imagined,” he whispers, his hips moving until you feel the tip of his cock right where you need him.

With a breathy exhale you press into him, closing your eyes and digging your nails into his broad shoulders.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he commands. “Understand?”

You open them with a nod, wetting your lips and rolling your hips.

He grins at your compliance, kissing you hard before his gruff voice rumbles against your lips. “Good girl.”

You would respond but he gives you a look, one filled with so much emotion it steals your breath, then he fills you. A shocked moan leaves your mouth, and his eyes stay locked on yours as he withdraws and slowly pushes inside again, stretching you open, his body trembling.

“Fuck baby,” he breathes, looking down to watch himself disappearing inch by inch.

His hand smooths along the curve of your waist, over your hip and to your thigh, squeezing before he hikes it higher, opening you up so he can push deeper. It’s too good, he feels too perfect, and you feel your next release building quickly. You slide your fingers down his arms, feeling the muscles in his biceps tight with restraint as he holds himself above you and sets a bruising pace. Your whispered plea for more is all it takes to snap his control, and the rush of sensations hits you all at once.

Your body shakes and you tighten around him, fueling his own release. He growls, dropping his head to your neck as a shuddering groan rips through him and you feel him pulse inside you.

For long moments, he just holds you, his damp forehead pressed against your skin, breathing labored and his body wrapping you in a warmth that feels like home.

“Fuck,” he sighs, smiling softly when his eyes find yours again. “You,” he whispers, kissing your lips. “Are,” another kiss. “Magnificent.”

He peppers your face with soft kisses. “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” you smile, “never been better.”

He sweeps his thumb along your cheekbone then cradles your face in his hand. “Good. Because I’m goin’ to do whatever I can to keep that smile on your face.”

[monzabee]

hotch, hotchner and the other hotchner - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: sean meets jack’s nanny. aaron is not happy about it.  

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: girlies are fighting in this one, not much of sean i have to admit, aaron is a little bit of an ass but he comes around, almost crying but not, arguing (duh)

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Family is complicated. That much, at least, you and Aaron agree on. 

“What was I supposed to say?” You ask him, aggressively chopping up the remainder of the carrot in front of you. “‘Sorry, your emotionally unavailable brother doesn’t want to see you, it's because he's so emotionally constipated that he doesn’t know how to speak to you?’” 

Aaron's jaw clenches from where he stands across the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and his tie is tugged loose—an unspoken sign that he's not just here as the unit chief tonight. He's here as Jack's father. As Sean's brother. And, apparently, as the man who thinks you're out of line. 

“I'm not emotionally constipated,” Aaron says, slowly and evenly, like he’s trying not to bite. 

You raise an eyebrow, still focused on the chopping board. “Really? Because the last time someone tried to hug you, I swear I saw you glitch like a robot short-circuiting.” 

That gets a flicker of something across his face. Maybe amusement. Maybe guilt. It's hard to tell with Aaron—his expressions are like those security-locked doors at Quantico: hard to crack and probably booby-trapped. 

“You didn’t have to let him in,” he says, quieter now. 

You pause mid-slice and finally look up at him. “He’s your brother. Jack’s uncle. And maybe—just maybe—he was trying to make an effort. You don’t get to be the gatekeeper of someone else's second chance, Aaron.” 

The silence that follows is thick enough to chew on. You don’t break eye contact, and he doesn’t flinch. Typical. It’s been nothing but a war of wills between the two of you ever since he took you to that FBI gala. You’d expect things to be different, and not like this. 

“I trust you with Jack,” he says after a beat, voice gruff. “That doesn't mean I trust you with Sean.” 

The words sting more than you expect them to. Your hand tightens around the knife before you set it down with deliberate care. “Noted,” you say, wiping your hands on a towel. “Next time your brother stops by, I’ll make sure to usher him out with a smile and a cookie. Or better yet—maybe you should actually talk to him yourself instead of having me turn your family members away.” 

Aaron looks away first. 

The sound of Jack's laughter drifts in from the living room—light, effortless, untouched by the adult tension simmering just a room away. You both glance toward the hallway like you’ve been summoned, reminded of the reason you're even standing here, arguing like this. “I'm not trying to come between anything,” you add softly, more to fill the space than anything else. “I just... I care about your kid. That includes the people in his life.” 

Aaron exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. The defenses lower just enough for you to see the man underneath—the tired father, the conflicted brother, the maybe-something-more you haven’t dared to name yet. “I know you do,” he says, finally, but you can see his disapproving expression.  

You pause mid-slice, again, the knife hovering above the cutting board. “He was standing outside your front door with coffee and a damn toy dinosaur, Aaron. What did you want me to do—slam it in his face?” 

“Yes,” he snaps, and it’s the sharpest thing he’s said all night. “If it means protecting Jack from people who only show up when it’s convenient for them? Yeah. I’d rather you close the door.” 

Your hand tightens around the knife before you set it down with more force than necessary. “What is wrong with you?” You ask, eyebrows pulled together in a full-on frown. “He is your brother, and you can’t let him in? What kind of a person turns their own brother away?” 

Aaron’s expression hardens, jaw tightening like he’s grinding down whatever ugly truth is pressing on his tongue. “The kind of person who’s been burned by him more times than he can count,” he says. “The kind of person who doesn’t want his son waiting by the window for someone who doesn’t come back.” 

The words are flat. Final. And they leave no room for argument—but still, you don’t back down. “You really think Jack can’t handle disappointment?” you ask, voice rising now. “He’s a kid, Aaron. He’s going to face a hell of a lot worse in life than a flaky uncle, in fact, he has! What he needs is to see that people can try. That sometimes they come back.” 

“You think I don’t want that?” he shoots back. “You think I don’t wish Sean could be someone Jack can rely on? But he’s not. He never has been. And I won’t risk letting him in just so Jack can watch him walk away again.” 

You cross your arms, the frustration bubbling over. “So what, you just cut him out completely? Pretend he doesn’t exist? That’s not protecting Jack, that’s isolating him.” 

The silence hangs there, dangerous, and just when you think it might settle into something quieter, Aaron speaks again. His jaw clenches before he says, “It’s called setting boundaries,” he bites. “Something you might try sometime, instead of inserting yourself into situations you don’t fully understand.” 

You flinch. Not visibly, but enough that you feel it in your chest—a hitch in your breath, a spike of heat behind your eyes. You open your mouth, then close it again. Because what are you supposed to say to that? He might as well have slapped you. “I wasn’t inserting myself,” you say finally, voice low. “I was trying to help. God forbid someone else in this house give a damn.” 

Aaron exhales harshly, pushing a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about giving a damn. It’s about knowing when to stop hoping someone’s changed just because they showed up with a toy and a smile. You are not Jack’s mother, you don’t get to decide who enters his life for him.” 

You shake your head as the words bitter in your mouth. “You know what, Aaron? You’re not the only one who’s been disappointed by people. You think you cornered the market on pain? On family that lets you down?” He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The look on his face—tight, unreadable, frustratingly blank—says it all. You wait for something. A flicker of regret. A softening. Anything. It doesn’t come. You blink, once, then again, willing the burn behind your eyes to go away. You won't cry. Not in front of him. Not over this. You turn sharply, wiping your hands on the towel, more of a habit, one last time before tossing it onto the counter. “I’m going to my room, don’t forget to take the lasagna out.” 

Aaron doesn’t stop you. Just watches as you walk away, footsteps brisk and quiet down the hall. The moment your door clicks shut behind you, the tension in your chest snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. You lean against the door for a second, eyes closed, breathing in the silence. It’s thicker in here, somehow. Quieter. Still. 

Family is complicated. That much, at least, you and Aaron agree on. 

The immense need to cry you were feeling moments ago seem to have left its place to anger—it’s an emotion you try bury, but tonight, it claws its way up too quickly, too loudly. You pace the length of your bedroom, fingers curling into fists at your sides, jaw tight. 

Because how dare he. 

You’d stood by him through everything—through the sleepless nights after a case, through Jack’s nightmares, through the moments when he’d forget to eat and you'd wordlessly hand him a plate like it was nothing. You’d been there. Present. Steady. And now suddenly, you were the problem? Just for giving a damn about his family? 

You drop onto the edge of the bed, scrubbing your hands over your face. You don’t cry, but the sting lingers behind your eyes anyway. The thing is—you do understand. Maybe not the full scope of Aaron and Sean’s history, but you know what it means to be disappointed by someone who shares your blood. To want better. To expect worse. To still hold out hope anyway. 

And maybe that’s the difference between you and him. You haven’t yet figured out how to let go of people, even when you should.  

A soft knock interrupts your spiral, softer than you'd assume Aaron would prefer. 

You don’t answer. There’s a pause. 

Then, another knock, and a faint, “Y/N.” You jump up to your feet when you realize it’s Jack at the door.  

“Come in,” you say, your voice softer, hastily wiping at your eyes just in case. 

The door creaks open, and Jack steps in, his tiny arms wrapped awkwardly around a tray that's a little too big for him. There's a plate of lasagna, a fork tucked neatly beside it, and a juice box balancing precariously at the corner. 

“I brought you dinner,” he says, proud and solemn, like he's delivering peace offerings in a war he doesn’t fully understand. 

Your heart clenches. “Hey, bud,” you murmur, crouching down to help him with the tray and setting it aside onto the nearby nightstand. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know,” he says, shrugging a little. “But you didn’t eat. And you always make sure we eat, so I thought… maybe you needed someone to do it for you this time.” 

You don’t trust yourself to speak right away. Instead, you pull him into a hug, holding him tightly against you. His small frame relaxes in your arms without hesitation, and it makes your chest ache. “Oh, Jack,” you whisper, swallowing down the need to cry, “thank you. It means a lot.” 

When you let go, he settles on the bed beside you, legs swinging off the edge. You take a bite of the lasagna, if only to make him smile, and he watches you carefully like he’s checking to make sure you actually eat it. “Uncle Sean and Dad are talking downstairs,” Jack says after a minute, casual, but also not—he sounds like he is testing the waters as he adds, “like… actually talking. Not yelling.” 

You blink. “Really?” 

He nods. “I think it’s your fault.” 

“Jack,” You sigh as you throw him a sideways glance. “That sounds bad.” 

“It’s not,” he says confidently. “It’s like… the kind of trouble people get into when they care too much. You and Dad are good at that.” 

You snort lightly, setting the plate aside. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” 

Jack shrugs again, then yawns, his head tipping slightly toward your shoulder. You glance at the clock—past his bedtime by now—but you don’t have the heart to send him away. Not when things are so raw. Not when you could both use the company. He shifts a little, curling up closer to your side, and you instinctively reach for the blanket at the foot of the bed, pulling it over both of you.  

“Just for a bit,” you whisper, brushing his hair gently off his forehead. Jack mumbles something into your side that you can’t quite catch. Then he’s still, breathing soft and even. You don’t mean to fall asleep—but exhaustion always has a way of sneaking in when the adrenaline eventually fades with Jack by your side. Downstairs, you can hear the low murmur of voices. You don’t try to make out the words. For once, it’s enough to just know they’re talking. That some part of what you said might have broken through the ice Aaron insists on wearing like armor. 

Maybe tomorrow you’ll talk again. Maybe you’ll yell again. Maybe you won’t. You decide you don’t want to think about it right now—no, you want to fall asleep and just forget that this day ever happened.  

The hallway is dim when Aaron finally climbs the stairs after Sean leaves for the night—with a promise to drop by tomorrow before his train, Aaron doesn’t know what to feel about that. The house is quiet—too quiet—but the kind that makes him hope, not panic. The kind that tells him the storm passed, at least for now. He hesitates outside your door for a moment. Then, carefully, he pushes it open. 

The sight makes him freeze in the doorway. 

You’re fast asleep on the bed, turned slightly on your side. Jack is tucked into the crook of your arm, his head resting against your shoulder, one hand tangled loosely in your sleeve. The blanket’s half-slipped down to your waists, and the tray of now-cold food sits forgotten on the nightstand. 

For the first time that evening, something in Aaron’s chest eases. 

He steps inside quietly, his movements slow and deliberate. He knows he should wake Jack and take him to his own bed. He knows that. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he takes the empty tray downstairs and finishes the rest of the dishes. He tells himself that although there is a likely chance that you won’t be forgiving him for all the things he said tonight any time soon, at least you won’t need to deal with dishes tomorrow morning. It’s a peace offering, he decides, though he also decides that there is something therapeutic about doing dishes, so maybe he should consider adding it to his nightly routine. When he eventually makes his way back to your room, the hallway light casts a soft glow behind him, his shadow long and quiet across the floor. He pushes the door open just enough to slip inside again, his gaze immediately drawn to the bed. Nothing's changed. You're still there, curled protectively around Jack, both of you breathing slow and steady. 

He stands there for a moment, unsure of what he’s doing, only that he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. The room feels warmer now. Not in temperature, but in something else—something softer. Something that makes his shoulders finally drop from where they’ve been tensed all evening. Carefully, like the movement itself might shatter the fragile peace, he toes off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket. He folds it over the armchair in the corner, glancing once more at the bed before crossing to the other side and easing himself down onto the mattress. 

The space beside Jack is narrow, not quite wide enough for comfort, but he makes it work. He lies on his side, facing the ceiling, his hand resting just inches away from yours. Jack shifts slightly in his sleep, his fingers still tangled in your sleeve, and Aaron watches the way your arm adjusts instinctively, holding the boy a little closer. 

What he doesn’t expect is his eyes to meet yours when they move above. He can see the way you are looking at him sleepily, having just woken up by your slumber. For a moment, neither of you moves. Your eyes are wide, blinking in the dim light of the room, still adjusting. But as they settle on him, there’s something in the way you look at him that makes Aaron’s breath hitch—like you’re not sure what to make of the fact that he’s here, lying beside you, in the quiet space that’s become a little more complicated than it was before. 

He watches the slight curve of your lips, how they seem to want to form a question, but nothing comes out. The silence is heavy, thick with the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid between you two. “Hi,” His voice is low, hushed, as if saying it any louder would disturb the delicate moment. 

You blink a couple of times, your fingers still lightly grazing the edge of the blanket where your arm is draped. “Hi,” you murmur back, your voice hoarse from sleep. Aaron studies you for a beat longer, like he’s trying to memorize the way you look right now, sleepy and soft around the edges, with Jack tucked into your side like he belongs there. 

Maybe he does. Maybe you both do. 

Your eyes flicker down to Jack for a second, then back to Aaron, and you see something flicker across his face—something quieter than regret, gentler than apology. A kind of yearning that doesn’t need words to be understood. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, barely above a whisper. 

“You didn’t,” you reply, voice just as soft. “I think I was waiting for you.” That catches him off guard, just slightly, and you catch it. His brows twitch like he’s trying to hide how much that affects him, but he doesn’t look away. He never was good at hiding things from you—not the real things. “Are we going to continue to fight?” 

Aaron doesn’t answer right away, and you don’t push him for an answer either. When he does, it’s almost a whisper. “You’d make a good mother.” 

The words hit you like a punch you weren’t ready for. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “You don’t get to say things like that,” you murmur. “Not after tonight.” 

“I’m sorry,” his whisper breaks the silence, and you can see he means it—truly, deeply. There’s no defense in his voice, no sharp edges or clipped tone, just regret laced with sincerity. His eyes don’t leave yours, and the quiet honesty and regret in them makes it harder to breathe. 

“I shouldn’t have said the things I did,” he continues, softer now, like even speaking it aloud risks unraveling what little remains between you. “I was angry. Scared, definitely. And that’s no excuse, but…” He trails off, swallowing thickly, the words catching somewhere in his throat. “You didn’t deserve that.” 

You look at him for a long moment, your heart aching with the weight of everything you’ve both carried—what was said, what wasn’t, what hurt more because it came from him. “I’d never want to replace Haley—I've never tried, and I would never.” You glance down at Jack again, his tiny hand still curled into your sleeve, safe and unaware. The sight grounds you. Reminds you that some things, some people, are worth staying soft for, even when it hurts. “You hurt me,” you admit, voice thin with emotion. 

Aaron nods, his jaw clenching like he’s holding back everything else he wants to say. “I know.” 

“And I don’t know if it’s fixable,” you add. “Not all of it. Not overnight.” 

“I’m not asking for overnight,” he says. “Just… the chance to try.” 

There’s something fragile in the way he says it—hope, maybe, or fear—but it’s real. And for once, he’s not trying to control the outcome. He’s just giving you the truth, and waiting to see what you do with it. You let out a slow breath. “Okay.” 

His brow lifts, just a little. “Okay?” 

You nod, brushing your fingers lightly against his under the blanket and hooking your pinky finger against his. “Start here.” 

“Sean and I talked,” he sighs, “I think... I think it went okay.”  

You take a moment to go over his words. You know he’s waiting for you to ask him about it, you can see it in his eyes. You meet his gaze, quiet and steady. There’s a soft beat of silence before you speak again, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Okay,” you say, slow and cautious, “I’m tired. Tell me about it tomorrow?” 

Aaron hesitates, as if weighing your request, before giving a soft nod. “Tomorrow,” he agrees, his voice calm but still thick with emotion. He shifts slightly, trying not to disturb Jack, though the movement feels too large in the quiet room. Aaron shifts again, more carefully this time, and you feel his warmth next to you as he pulls the blanket up just a little higher, wrapping it snugly around all three of you. 

Family is complicated. That much, at least, you and Aaron agree on. 

But his feelings for you don’t need to be—in fact, they shouldn’t be. And he finally realizes that.  

[barnesonly]

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

bucky barnes x empath!reader

summary: You escaped Hydra. You got him back. Now, you’re free — learning how to live, how to love, how to be whole again. The world is quiet for once… but healing isn’t easy. Still, with James by your side, maybe softness isn’t something to fear.

word count: 2660

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: the original series contains dark themes which may be referred in the one-shot. read at your own discretion. hurt/comfort, trauma bonding, established relationship, curse words, smut; oral (f receiving), praising.

Sam’s BBQ — oneshot continuation of my “Little Dove” series although can be read on its own.

A/N: This happens before the very ending of “Little Dove”. Just after they got together and Dove finally met Sam in better circumstances. I said I’ll write a oneshot of this fic when I reached 1k followers so… here is the first one — cause yeah, I am definitely going to write more about them in the future. I just cannot let them go, they’re like my babies. Anyways I hope you’ll enjoy this! Also extra points If you noticed the changed banner (you definitely did) and the pairing title 🤭

You stare at the closet like it’s personally offended you.

Clothes are scattered on the bed. Jeans. Two dresses. One too casual, the other too much. You stand there in your socks, arms crossed, biting at the inside of your cheek.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.

It’s just a barbecue.

Just Sam Wilson.

Just other normal people.

Your chest tightens at the thought. The clink of silverware. Laughter that isn’t cruel. Children running around without fear in their eyes. People asking where you’re from, what you do, what you like. And you — with no answers, no practiced smiles, no idea how to be in this world.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and bury your face in your hands.

God. Why did you say yes?

You’re still spiraling when you hear soft footsteps behind you. Then the mattress dips beside you, and James’s hand gently covers yours.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Talk to me.”

You don’t lift your head right away. Your voice is muffled. “I shouldn’t go.”

He leans a little closer. “Why?”

“I don’t belong there.” The words come out too fast. “I don’t have friends, I don’t know how to talk to people, and Sam—he already met me once and it was awkward, and what if I say something wrong or weird or just stand there like a broken lamp?”

James exhales slowly. His thumb brushes the back of your hand. “First of all, Sam liked you. He told me so.”

You finally glance at him. “He pitied me.”

“No,” James says, gently but firmly. “He didn’t. You came looking for me. He respected it.”

You almost smile, just a flicker. “I was desperate to find you.”

“Exactly,” he says, lips quirking. “Very charming.”

Your face drops back into your hands, groaning softly. “James…”

He shifts, kneeling in front of you now so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

“You’re not a broken lamp,” he says. “You’re not weird. You’re just… still healing. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

You blink at him, heart fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

“I don’t know how to be normal,” you whisper.

His expression softens. “Who cares if you’re normal?”

“You do. You’ll bring me around your friends and they’ll think—”

“I’ll bring you,” he interrupts, voice low and warm, “because I want you there. With me.”

You swallow hard. Your fingers curl in your lap.

“You don’t have to talk much,” he adds, like he knows exactly where your thoughts are heading. “Just stay close. Let them get to know this version of you — the one I see every day.”

You look at him, really look, and realize he means it. So you take a breath. Then another. And you nod.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw.

“Good,” he murmurs, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Because I already told Sarah you’re coming. She said she’s saving you a seat.”

You blink, startled. “She what?”

James smirks. “You’re part of the crew now, Dove. Better get used to it.”

You roll your eyes and let out a tiny laugh — shaky but real.

And when he helps you up and stands behind you as you try on another outfit, his hands resting gently on your waist, you start to believe — just a little — that maybe you can belong.

———

The car hums beneath you, windows rolled down just enough to let in the warm breeze. The sky’s turning golden, sun dipping low like it’s in no hurry to set. You watch the trees blur past outside, arms folded, fingers tapping your elbow in a steady rhythm.

You’re chewing the inside of your cheek again.

James glances at you from the driver’s seat. One hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. He’s wearing that slightly-worn navy shirt you like — the sleeves pushed up — and sunglasses he definitely doesn’t need anymore now that the sun’s behind the clouds. But you don’t say anything.

He doesn’t either. Not yet.

Instead, his fingers nudge your knee gently.

“You okay?”

You hesitate. Then shrug. “Nervous.”

“You already said that three times before we left,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You sure you’re not secretly going for a record?”

You shoot him a look. “I might be.”

He chuckles. The sound settles something inside you.

“I just… don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Dove.” His voice is warm, firm. “You couldn’t. Even if you tried.”

“You say that now,” you mutter, looking out the window again. “Wait until I freeze mid-conversation and forget what a fork is.”

James snorts. “Then I’ll remind you. Politely. Like, ‘Hey, babe, this is a fork. It’s for eating, not stabbing.’”

A laugh escapes you, unbidden.

He glances at you again — and smiles, wide and real this time, like it physically lifts the weight off his chest to hear you laugh like that.

“You’re doing great,” he says. “Really. Just… be yourself.”

You pause. Then glance over, a little unsure.

“And if I forget who that is?”

James’ fingers reach for yours, threading together easily, like they’ve done it a thousand times.

“Then I’ll remind you of her, too.”

You swallow hard.

The wind picks up just slightly, brushing your hair against your cheek. The sky’s turning a shade softer now. Golden-orange sun rays spilling across the hood of the car.

You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t let go.

And for the first time all day, you start to believe — maybe tonight will be okay.

———

The smell of grilled corn and barbecue sauce hits you before you even step out of the car.

Laughter echoes from the backyard — kids running, adults chatting over iced tea and beers, the crackle of meat hitting the grill. It’s warm, loud, alive. The kind of normal James once thought he’d never get back.

As you step out, you smooth the fabric of your dress — nothing fancy, just simple and comfortable, but James looked at you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen before you left.

He leads you toward the backyard, his hand hovering at the small of your back like he needs to be touching you somehow.

“Heyyy!” Sam’s voice rises above the music and chatter as he spots the two of you stepping into the backyard. He’s by the grill, spatula in hand, wearing an apron that says ‘Grill Sergeant’ like he’s proud of it.

You try not to shrink under the sudden attention, but James squeezes your hand gently, grounding you. It’s you who speaks first.

“Hi again,” you say, offering a nervous smile. “We met that one time at the center. You, uh—“

“Oh, I remember.” Sam blinks — then breaks into a grin.

He looks at James now, eyebrows lifting with mock suspicion. “So this why you’ve been ghosting me all week.”

James rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been ghosting—”

“Don’t care,” Sam cuts in, already setting down the spatula and walking over. “C’mere.”

You’re caught off guard when he pulls you into a hug — warm, quick, and surprisingly comforting.

“Anyone who can put up with Bucky officially gets a gold star,” he says as he lets you go.

You laugh, your nerves loosening just a little.

Then Sarah appears behind him, towel slung over one shoulder and a lemonade in her hand. She eyes the two of you, then smiles.

“You’re Dove, right? Heard plenty about you.”

“Oh God,” James mutters behind you.

Sarah gives him a look. “Relax. It was all sweet. Except the part where Sam said you’re way out of his league.”

You let out an embarrassed laugh, covering your face. James just mumbles something under his breath and wraps an arm loosely around your waist — like it’s second nature now. Like he’s proud to have you beside him.

And just like that, the tension melts.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of warmth and laughter. James softens in ways you don’t often get to see — especially when the kids tug on his hand and beg him to join their game of tag. He loses. On purpose. You can tell.

You help Sarah in the kitchen for a while, slicing watermelon and listening to stories about Sam’s terrible teenage fashion choices. And all the while, you catch glimpses of James through the window — the way he smiles at the kids, the way he sits in the grass with his knees up and lets the sun hit his face like he’s finally letting himself breathe.

As golden light spills across the yard and the grill dies down, you find yourself curled up beside him on the porch swing. His arm is draped over your shoulders, your head resting against his chest.

Sam walks over with a plate stacked with grilled peaches and homemade vanilla ice cream.

“You’re officially invited to every cookout from now on,” he says, handing you a spoon.

You smile, soft and certain.

“I’ll come to all of them,” you murmur, glancing up at James, “if he’s there.”

He doesn’t say anything but he presses a kiss to your temple — slow, tender — and that says more than enough.

———

The apartment door clicks shut behind you, the quiet settling like a blanket. You kick off your shoes and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

James watches you from the doorway, his keys still in hand.

You glance over your shoulder. “That was… actually really nice.”

He raises a brow, teasing. “What? You thought I was setting you up for emotional ambush?”

You laugh, sinking onto the couch. “I thought I’d say something wrong. Or not say enough. Or be too weird, or awkward, or—” You wave your hand vaguely. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect to feel… welcome.”

James moves slowly, setting the keys down, walking over. “I told you they’d like you.”

“They didn’t just like me,” you say softly. “They were kind. Like, genuinely kind.”

His hand touches your hair, brushing it behind your ear. “Of course they were. You’re impossible not to love.”

You blink up at him — startled, a little breathless — and before you can respond, he’s crouching down in front of you, resting his arms on your knees.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he murmurs. “How easy it is to care about you. How strong you are. How much light you bring into places that should’ve broken you.”

Your throat tightens.

“I watched you today,” he goes on, voice lower now, rougher. “You laughed. You talked to Sarah like you’d known her for years. You helped the kids with lemonade and smiled like the world hadn’t tried to take everything from you.”

You’re blinking fast now, trying not to cry. But he doesn’t stop.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “And god—” His head dips slightly, forehead brushing your knee. “I’m so glad I get to call you mine.”

You reach for him before you even think, fingers sliding into his hair. He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours — soft, unwavering.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. “Always.”

His breath catches like the words physically struck him. Like they cracked something open inside him that he’d kept locked away for far too long.

James doesn’t say anything right away. He just stays there, on his knees before you, eyes fixed on yours like you’ve become the only thing in the world he believes in.

His eyes flicker, something molten pooling in their depths — and still, he doesn’t rush. He leans forward slowly, lips brushing against your knee, then higher. A trail of warm, aching kisses up your thigh, just beneath the hem of your dress.

Your breath catches as he lifts it gently, fingertips ghosting along the edge of your panties.

You don’t stop him. You can’t. You don’t want him to stop.

Your chest rises and falls in rhythm with his, shallow, uneven. You’re breathless already and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

His fingers graze your thighs, warm and steady despite the tremble in his breath. You feel him press the softest kiss just above your knee, then another, higher. The fabric of your dress bunches around your hips as he eases it upward, baring you inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something fragile.

“Can I?” he murmurs, voice low and reverent, like you’re something sacred.

You nod, already breathless. “Yes. Please.”

James leans in, pressing one last kiss against the inside of your thigh before carefully pulling your panties down. He’s methodical about it — almost ceremonial — sliding them past your knees, down your calves, letting them fall to the floor. He doesn’t break eye contact.

His mouth is soft against the inside of your thigh, and you feel it—how much this means to him. How much you mean to him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice barely more than a breath. “I hope you know that.”

You reach down, card your fingers through his hair. He leans into your touch like it roots him, steadies him.

And then he’s kneeling fully between your legs, hands on your thighs, parting you just enough. You’re already warm, already wet, and he hasn’t even touched you yet — not really.

“I want you to feel how much I love you,” he says, voice thick. “Every second of it. I want to worship you.”

You exhale shakily. “You already do.”

But he’s not satisfied with just words.

His hands slide under your thighs, pulling you gently closer. The skirt of your dress is bunched around your waist now, and he moans — low, broken — at the sight of you, glistening, waiting for him.

Then he looks up at you—eyes heavy, devoted—and lowers his mouth to you. It’s not frantic. It’s not about chasing release.

It’s about you.

His lips brush over you — soft, tentative. Then his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with a featherlight touch. Your hips jerk, a soft gasp spilling from your lips.

“Shh,” he murmurs against you. “I’ve got you.”

And then he dives in.

Slow at first, savoring it. His tongue moves in long, deliberate strokes, tasting you like he’s starved for it — like nothing else exists but the way you sigh his name, the way your fingers tighten in his hair. He flicks his tongue just right, then suckles gently at your clit, and your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

“James,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Oh my god—”

He groans in response, the sound vibrating against you. He’s messy with it now, greedy, like he can’t get enough. But every movement still feels controlled — not rushed, not careless. He’s worshiping you exactly how he promised: with every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every moan he gives like a prayer.

Your back arches, a broken sound escaping your throat.

He grips your thighs tighter. “That’s it. Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you. Always.”

Your orgasm hits like a wave — slow, then crashing. Your whole body clenches, your vision blurs, and you hear yourself cry out his name like it’s holy.

And even as you come down, he doesn’t let go right away — keeps kissing you, gentler now, like he’s soothing you through the aftershocks. His hands stroke your thighs, his mouth soft against your skin.

When he finally looks up, his face is flushed, his lips shiny, his eyes dark and full of something that looks like worship.

You’re still trembling when he leans in to kiss you — slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He holds your face in his hands like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

And when he pulls back, he whispers it again.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

tagging my little doves (tysm for ur love and support through the series, let me know If you still wanna be tagged in the oneshots! 🫶): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears @mistalli @blazeflays @storystorktwo @its-in-the-woods @blv3rd @starkglory @diabolicaldinosaur @elisha-chloe @miyababbby @cats-chaotic-mind @brooklynadoresdior @madsmikkelsonlvr101 @ifuckwithyouanyday @taqmari @syupakingcowbaby @iamthatonefangirl @schlattslonghairytoes @bloodmocha @lavenderslace

[meowdei]

female reader ; non curse au ; established relationship ; reader lays on sukuna ; written bc i’m moving and can’t help but imagine sharing an apartment with him (i want someone to help me carry heavy boxes with flexing muscles as i take in the view)

“I can’t find the box with my bras,” you whine. It’s miserable, the look on your face. It fills Sukuna with unbridled joy as he cracks a thickly amused grin.

“Good,” he grunts in approval, “you don’t need them, anyway.”

“I do,” you glare. It takes all of three seconds before the reality dawns on you—and then he’s snickering as your glare becomes harsher. “You put it somewhere, didn’t you?” You accuse him through narrowed eyes.

“Me? I’d never.”

“I should’ve known moving in with you was a mistake,” you snap, “I’m moving back.”

“Too late. We paid for the moving truck.”

“Well, technically you paid for the moving truck,” you correct him, letting your lips stretch into a smug grin.

He scowls, rolling his eyes before slumping onto the bed with a groan. You follow him, curling up beside him as your head finds his chest and his arm tucks under your body to cocoon you closer. You inhale, he exhales, and even if your paces don’t match, your uneven breaths form a pretty solid rhythm.

“I’m gonna need my bras,” you insist.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I’ll get the box from my trunk later. I’m tired, woman.”

“We still have to unpack—”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he clicks his teeth in distaste. “I need rest—I did all the heavy lifting, since someone refused.”

“It’s what the man is for,” you hum cheekily.

“So then why didn’t you do it?” He raises a brow. You shoot him an unimpressed look at his smart comment, a tight lipped, sarcastic smile splaying on your lips as you let out a humorless chuckle.

“You’re right,” you nod seriously, “it’s my job to treat the lady right. Sorry you had to sprain your back with my boxes, princess,” you pat his cheek.

“The fuck are you on about?” The look of pure disgust on his face makes you break out into giggles, leaning up to kiss his jaw as he grumbles something incoherently under his breath. You hear bits and fragments of it. Something along the lines of such a handful and give me migraines that you don’t fully catch, but they manage to amuse you all the same.

“You’re pretty enough to play the part,” you hum, shifting your body to roll on top of his. You hover over him, and Sukuna lets out a dramatic grunt. You pretend—and it’s only out of the goodness of your heart—that his cheeks aren’t slightly rosy from the comment you made.

“You’re heavy,” he says (to which you gasp, offended) as he squeezes your ass (you gasp again and smack his chest this time) and shoots you a grin with no shame (you stare for just a strict second—and a strict second only—at his dimples).

“Don’t lie,” you huff, “that’s an insult to that gym regimen of yours.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He asks smugly, mouth curving in that ridiculously annoying, yet stupidly handsome way as he adds, “bet you’re eye-fuckin’ me through that mirror as I life weights all the time.”

“I’m too busy worrying about those shaky arms giving out and leaving you to die under the weight.”

“Very funny,” he scowls, “you could pay our rent with stand up comedy alone.”

“Being my princess isn’t enough? Now you need to be my sugar-baby, too?”

“Enough,” he hisses, one hand coming to your face to keep you away as you break into a fit of laughs and try to give him a cheeky peck to the lips. “Stay away from me.”

“No, we’re roomies now.”

“We are not roommates,” he says, irritated by the idea. “That sounds like we’re fuckin’ strangers.”

“You’re right,” you nod thoughtfully, “I guess we can call it two mutually benefiting individuals that have decided to split costs to save money on a living space in an unforgivingly harsh economy—”

“You talk too much,” he mutters. And mainly just to shut you up (but maybe, perhaps, possibly for one of the mutual benefits, too), his hand grabs the back of your neck to pull you into a rough kiss. You cut yourself off by letting out a muffled gasp as his tongue presses against yours—messy, heated, and surprisingly gentle.

“Well, that was rather passionate. You know what they say about roommates,” you wiggle your brows as you pull away. He purses his lips in an agitated expression as he glares at your stubborn word choice.

“Stop callin’ me your fuckin’ roommate,” he demands.

You laugh. It’s soft—a light, airy noise. The sound bounces off the walls that are his and yours and echoes along the space between your pressed-up bodies. Along the boxes littered across the floor and the suitcases lined up in the corner. Along the clothes you insisted you needed that he hasn’t seen you wear in months as they lay in a heap on his closet floor. Along the kitchen table where you’ll have breakfast, and the living room where you’ll watch movies, and the bathroom sink where you’ll fight over space to brush your teeth.

He’ll never tell you directly (because he has dignity, of course) but he could really get used to living somewhere that houses a sound like that. A sound that makes him realize the difference between the space he lives in, and the place he calls home.

Home, he thinks to himself for a moment. Home is where your laugh echoes, ringing obnoxiously in his ear. Sukuna doesn’t think any living space will ever be the same again without it.

“Since we live together now—” you murmur, breaking him from his thoughts as you lean in to peck his lips. He hums in a rare, soft, content little sound that you don’t get to hear too often. “—I can finally decorate your plain ass apartment.”

His brows scrunch in horror as he registers your words. “Absolutely not—”

“Muah,” you cut him off with another peck to his mouth, “I’m thinking earthy tones, what about you?”

——————————

I carried like 20 something heavy ass boxes to and from my car nonstop today and every time I felt my poor arms get sore, I thought: wouldn’t it be so nice to have someone like sukuna and his four arms to do all the work while I sit and look gorgeous? He doesn’t have four arms in this fic, but that’s honestly his problem not mine. Just carry the damn boxes I’m just a girl

[sunday-bug]

The Celibacy Challenge

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky x New Avenger!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3k

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: You decide you want to try a celibacy challenge with your boyfriend, Bucky. Who caves first? The New Avengers place their bets.

A/N: Is this based off a challenge that I failed with my husband? Hehe. Also, shoutout to my girls for betting against me - @soelstress @buckybarnes82 @buckybarnesfic / yes, it was ME, you were right.

“Why though? I just don’t get it, honey,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s supposed to be a challenge, baby! It’ll be fun.” You’d just gotten through a poor explanation of a sex experiment you wanted to try with Bucky, and he was less than enthused.

You show him the article you have pulled up on your laptop - 30 Day Abstinence Challenge: A Battle of Wills - and smile. “It’s meant to be hard… no pun intended. And at the end when we can finally have at it, it’s apparently explosive.”

Bucky furrows his brow, clearly unimpressed with the idea, and lowers his voice, his expression growing more serious. “Is it not explosive enough for you?” He blushes, looking around the empty common room before he continues more quietly, “Because It is for me.” 

“Oh stop, it’s amazing, baby. You’re amazing. That’s not what I’m saying. Just try it with me? It’ll be good for us! And there’s this optional part that people add where they do yoga together at night. It’s supposed to help you relax and loosen your muscles.” You look up at him with a hopeful gaze, nearly begging.

He rolls his eyes. “I know how to help you relax and loosen you up already. We don’t need a sun salutation for that.” 

You cock your eyebrow at him. “Didn’t know you were a yoga man, Buck.” 

“I’ve dabbled… it was a long time ago - anyway, if you really want to try this, then I’ll do it with you.” 

“Yay!” You squeal. “Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So are you saying… ?” Bucky winks at you.

“Yes, Sarge. Take me to bed.”

DAY ONE

Bucky walks into the kitchen the next morning to you and Yelena at the breakfast bar nursing two coffees. 

“So, yeah, it’s supposed to help you feel centered and then at the end, it’s apparently incredible.”

Bucky stops short and looks at you, “Really? You’re telling everyone about it?”

You shrug and smile, “I mean, yeah? Why not? It’s not like they don’t know we have sex, Buck. We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“Yeah, and we hear you sometimes. It will be nice to have silence for a month,” Yelena quips, sipping her coffee and eyeing Bucky.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair and preparing his own cup. “Fine.”

By the end of the day, everyone in the Watchtower knows about you and Bucky’s little challenge. John gave Bucky a nod and flexed his bicep as Bucky walked into the gym that afternoon - a silent show of support. Bucky sighed and popped his headphones in. As he’s doing squats, a large body appears behind him and waves in the mirror. Bucky grunts and hangs up the bar, taking out an earphone. 

“What do you want?” He asks gruffly.

“Winter Soldier… I hear it’s going to be dry month for you! No snow in forecast,” Alexei jokes, his face turning red from holding back laughter.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky groans, returning to his workout.

“You can do it. You are strong - resilient. You survive Hydra. You can survive no lovemaking for month, eh?” Alexei elbows Bucky in the ribs.

Bucky glares daggers at Alexei and he finally takes a hint, walking off.

Meanwhile, you are working out on the opposite end of the gym, chatting through your jog.

“You’ll do great,” Ava says, running on the treadmill next to you. “It’ll go by fast. Plus, if we get called to a mission, it’s not like you’ll have time anyway.”

“You’re right. Honestly, though, I just love the thought of making him squirm,” you tease.

“You would,” she laughs. “You guys are cute together.”

DAY TWO

After dinner you walk into the living room to find everyone crouched down around the coffee table. Bucky had gone out to get more snacks for your movie night. As soon as you walk into the room everyone stiffens and Bob swallows as his eyes dart back and forth between the coffee table and you.

“What’s going on, you guys?” You ask suspiciously, walking quickly to the table to find any evidence. John puts a small notebook with writing you can’t make out in his back pocket and Yelena scrapes some coins into her hand. “Oh, hi girl,” she says, an attempt at nonchalance. “What movie should we watch tonight?” 

You narrow your eyes at them all - your teammates, your friends - and cross your arms. “Bob, what’s going on?” 

“Uh,” he stammers, looking around at everyone. “We were, uh, just… uh, making a list of movies we haven’t seen yet.” 

“Really?” You ask, putting your hand out and looking at John. “Give me the notebook.” John stands up quickly and backs away. 

“No,” he scoffs, backing into a wall. “It’s just a list of movies. I swear.” 

You see Alexei’s body shaking with laughter out of the corner of your eye and turn toward him. “What’s so funny?” 

“I cannot say,” he chuckles, running a hand through his beard. 

“Alexei Shostakov, tell me now,” you demand, walking over to him. Bucky walks in at that moment, two grocery bags of snacks in hand and assesses the room. 

“Is everything ok?” He asks, putting the bags down on the kitchen island.

“No!” You whine. “They are up to something!” You gesture to the team. 

“You mean the bets?” Bucky asks casually as he starts to unpack the bags.

Your skin heats and you crane your neck to look at him. “What bets?”

“The bets on our challenge,” he explains, and Yelena and Ava groan. John throws the tiny notebook on the coffee table. “What the hell, Bucky? She wasn’t supposed to know!” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s gonna lose.” 

Your heart skips a furious beat and you march over to him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You demand. 

“Our challenge. You’re going to cave first,” he explains calmly, handing you an Oreo.

“We place bets,” Alexei says, walking over to grab a bag of Twizzlers. “We all agree that you cave first. You lose.”

“Are you kidding me?!” You shout, looking at everyone. “Glad to know you all think so highly of me. I’m going to win just to spite you all.” The team laughs, knowing you aren’t truly upset. 

You turn toward Bucky and stand on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Prepare for the worst 30 days of your life.” Bucky chuckles, but you notice the hair on his forearm stand on end.

“I look forward to winning,” he quips back, his lips brushing your ear.

DAY THREE

Tonight you and Bucky head to the gym to do your new nightly yoga routine. You changed into shorts and a sports bra - your red set that he loves - and set your mats up. He saunters in, gym shorts slung dangerously low on his hips and no shirt. 

“Ready to get all stretched out?” He asks, dimming the lights. 

You scoff at his suggestive comment and settle onto your mat. “Yep,” you answer quickly, still annoyed about the bets.

“Good, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he mutters, sitting on the mat across from you. “Take it away, sweetheart.”

You lead, talking about each position and how to breathe through them. You glance over at Bucky during downward facing dog and see him checking out your ass in your yoga shorts. 

“Next up is called the happy baby pose,” you say, lying on your back. “You bring your legs up and grab your feet with your hands, like this.” You demonstrate, spreading your legs and grabbing your feet. Bucky’s throat bobs as he watches you model the pose and then he clears his throat.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re not slick,” he groans. “I’m not falling for your tricks.”

“You’re right. It’s not like you haven’t seen me in this position before. Many times,” you say with a wink. Bucky grabs his feet and follows your lead, stretching into the pose. His eyes find their way to you again.

“Enjoying the view?” You ask, looking over at him. 

“Fuck yeah I am,” he growls before shutting his eyes. “But I’m winning this damn thing.”

You groan and sit up. “Fine.”

Bucky chuckles and you finish your last few poses before rolling up your mats. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering his back and you lick your lips. Fuck - look away.

DAY FOUR

Bed sharing was not without its difficulties. Cuddling was second nature at this point in your relationship, and many times the spooning and soft snuggles led to more. But not this month. You were not going to break first. Bucky pulled you into his chest, still half asleep, and nuzzled into your neck as morning light filtered into your shared bedroom. His breath on your skin sent an immediate jolt of pleasure between your legs and you knew you were in the Danger Zone. 

“Time to get up!” You announce more loudly than normal, squirming out of his arms. You turn to look at him, and damn if he wasn’t a God among men. “Fuck,” you whisper, knowing this was going to be a lot harder than you thought. But it would all be worth it. Right?

You walk down to breakfast and see Yelena and John sitting at the table, while Bob is in the kitchen cutting up some fruit. 

“Morning,” they all three say in unison, and John stealthily removes his tiny notebook from his pocket. You see the movement from the corner of your eye and glare at him. “Really, John?” 

“Well?” Yelena asks, waiting for details. 

“Jesus, guys. Nothing happened,” you say, reaching into the pantry for a box of Cheerios. “Sorry to disappoint. We’re still holding strong.”

DAY FIVE

“You’re doing a hell of a job rearranging furniture,” Bucky quips from the office off of the living room. 

“I’m trying a new arrangement - the feng shui is off in here,” you mutter, pushing the couch a few inches to the left. “Everyone else will like it, too. Don’t worry,” you say. 

“Oh, I’m not worried, doll - I’m just watching,” he leans back in his desk chair and winks. “Maybe it’s not the feng shui that’s off. Maybe you’re just missing something.”

Just a wink - just that little smirk sends heat flooding to your core. Fucking Bucky. Well, you wish you were. But here you are, arranging furniture just to feel something. 

“Try moving the coffee table a little to the right,” he quips, fully watching you now, his legs spread in his chair, his arousal obvious. You want to pounce on him. 

“Stop teasing me, you prick,” you whine, turning your back to him. 

“Stop teasing me in those fucking leggings, then,” he says gruffly, walking out to you, eyes dark.

He looks feral. Like a wild animal - a hungry wild animal. A hungry, horny wild animal. Jesus. Your thighs clench together as he stands behind you, barely touching you. “You need some help with this?” 

“Yes,” you admit. “Thank you. And stop breathing so close to me.”

He smiles and walks to the other side of the coffee table, helping you lift it with ease. “Where to?” 

You groan under the weight of the table and nod your head to the right, “Just this way.” You let out a sigh as you both set down the table and Bucky’s lips twitch into a smirk. “I’ve been missing that sound.”

“What sound?” You ask, confused. Bucky walks to you and gets in your personal space without laying a hand on you. 

“All your little sighs, your groans and moans, your fucking whimpers, you saying my name… Hell, you not being able to say anything because your mouth is full. I need to hear it.” He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark blue eyes are stormy and full of want.

“Are you breaking first, then?” You tease, leaning up to softly kiss his lips.

“Never,” he whispers into your mouth before breaking away. He chuckles and adjusts himself before walking back to the office, leaving you there aching and full of need. Asshole.

DAY SIX

You walk to the garage to find Bucky working on his bike - tight black t-shirt, rag slung over his shoulder, and the smell of sweat and grease in the air. Nope. Nope nope nope. You turn back around, knowing you won’t be able to take this view without jumping on him. 

“Where you off to, baby?” He asks before you get back to the door, wiping his hands on the rag. 

“I was just looking for… a paintbrush. It’s not here,” you say, hand on the doorknob, eager to escape this honey trap.

“Could you bring me some water please? It’s getting hot out here,” he asks sweetly, and you now notice the sweat dripping down his temples and neck, pooling into the hollow of his throat.

“Uh huh,” you squeak out, rushing back into the compound to get you both some water. Your throat felt so dry all of a sudden - so thirsty. You steel yourself before walking back into the garage, and when you open the door you find your precious, evil man standing over his motorcycle, wiping his sweaty face clean with his t-shirt. His abs and biceps glisten in the sun shining through the open garage door. 

“Thank you,” he says gruffly, reaching for the water bottle. He takes the cap off slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and takes a long drink, humming quietly as the cool water goes down his throat. 

“You’re welcome baby,” you say, sitting down on an overturned bucket, feeling your knees getting weaker with each passing second.

“Would you hand me that wrench?” He asks, gesturing to the workbench covered in tools. You move your hand to what you think he’s asking for and he shakes his head. “The one to the left. There ya go. Good girl.” You pick up the wrench and promptly drop it on the floor at his praise.

“You okay?” He asks with a smirk. This motherfucker.

“Honestly?” You ask, about to combust.

“Honestly,” he encourages you with a wink.

“I need you to bend me over and make me forget my name,” you admit confidently.

He laughs and bites his lip. “You caving?” 

“I’m caving,” you say with a shrug. “I need you.”

“Get your ass upstairs, then. I’ll be up in a second,” he growls.

“But I can’t lose! Everyone was betting that I’d cave first!” You whine, standing up and kicking the bucket like a child.

“Then we’ll tell them I caved first,” he says quietly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’d do that?” You ask in amazement, ready to let him have you however he wanted.

“I just want to hear you sigh my name into my neck, baby. I could give a shit about some bets… Now, get upstairs. Take off that pretty dress. Lay on the bed. I’ll be there in five.”

You fly back inside and run upstairs to your bedroom, the ache building between your legs. You strip off your dress and get under the covers to wait for Bucky.

Bucky walks inside the compound calmly and washes the grease and grime from his hands. His dick is already hard, and frankly, he’s a bit pissed at the days that went to waste when he could have been buried inside you. He makes his way to your room and passes John.

“You look like a man on a mission,” John jokes, taking in Bucky’s focused saunter and dark eyes.

“I am,” he mutters, walking past John to your bedroom.

He walks through the door and closes it abruptly behind him.

“I’m sorry. This challenge was a dumb idea,” you admit, pulling the covers up to your chin. “I need you. I miss you.”

“It was a strange idea, love. I’ll agree, but the yoga has been nice. I love seeing you in all those positions,” he whispers, getting on the bed with you and pinning your wrists above your head.

“You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?” You ask, biting your lip and trembling. 

“Not even a little bit,” he growls.

–

After you both thoroughly and completely fail the challenge (twice to be exact), you head downstairs for dinner with the team. John already has his notebook on the dining table propped open with a pen. You try your best not to make eye contact with anyone. 

“You guys do anything fun this afternoon?” Yelena asks, raising a brow.

“Just watched a TV show together,” you answer almost too quickly. 

“What show?” Bob asks genuinely.

“Golden Girls,” Bucky says at the exact moment you say “The West Wing”. You clear your throat and correct yourself, “Golden Girls”, just as Bucky says “The West Wing”.

“We watched both,” you say with a nervous laugh, putting some green beans on your plate.

Yelena walks over to get a plate and looks at Bucky. “James, your shirt is on inside out.”

John snorts from the dining table and you look at him warily, then to Bucky. 

“Oh, yeah, it is,” Bucky looks down and shrugs, filling his plate and walking to the table. “What’s so funny, Walker?” 

“You guys obviously caved. We just need to know who,” Ava says quietly, rolling her eyes.

Bucky scoffs. “It was me. She’s just too cute. Couldn’t help myself,” he says as he plants a kiss on your head. “Everyone happy?” 

Bob’s eyes light up from the end of the table and he shouts excitedly, “I was right!” 

Your eyes flit up to meet him. “You believed in me, Bob? That’s so nice actually.”

“Of course I did. Barnes never shuts the hell up about you. I knew he’d cave first. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you to-”

“That’s enough,” Bucky interjects. “I caved first. Let’s move on and enjoy dinner.” He looks at you slyly and winks before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I’ll always take the blame for you, sweetheart. But you’re going to pay me back later with your mouth.”

Your thighs constrict and you gasp quietly. Poor Bob. Awful at placing bets, but he’d never have to know.