#its okay he's in good hands!!! ....for the most part | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emmcfrxst · 22 hours ago

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OHHHH MY GOD THIS WAS SO TENDER I’M GONNA CRY !!!!!!! this was so delicious,,,, i need to talk about some of my favorite lines because this was. wow. a masterpiece.

"And now," you say, voice subtle, "you're the one peeling oranges for someone else."

He shrugs again. "Only for you."

You raise an eyebrow.

"I mean it," he says. "Everyone else can deal with the sticky fingers. You get the napkin and everything."

this part had me gasping into my hand like i just learned some sort of scandalous, life-changing secret!!! the pacing!!! the casual way in which he basically admits to being head over heels in love with you!!!! the explanation of how he hated peeling oranges himself as a kid and admitting to you that you’re the only one he would ever do it for!!!!!! this was so beautifully tender and so well executed <3

"God," you croak. "I think I'm dying."

Clark shifts immediately, one knee bent, his hand brushing against your arm like he's checking for tremors. "You're not dying," he says gently. "You're just sick. Classic human stuff. I Googled it to make sure."

"You Googled my flu?"

"Yeah. Also called my dad."

the thought of clark calling his dad because he’s so worried about you/because he wants to understand human illness better made my heart grow about ten times its initial size. the implications there are just so incredibly heartwarming—like i said, the fact that clark immediately wants to understand how your immune system works to make sure that you’re not in any real danger is already such an “aww!” moment, but for me, what really does it is the implication that he didn’t even hesitate to call his dad to not only talk about you, which is already incredibly intimate, but the fact that it’s to ask such a pure, innocent question about his worries made me feel warm all over <3

Clark reaches over to adjust your blanket, tucking it up under your chin with careful fingers. "I just thought it might be nice.

Something familiar. It's kind of like comfort food, but for your brain."

i can’t even begin to explain the absolute comforti felt when i read the “it’s kind of like comfort food, but for your brain.” line, it completely rewired my brain in the best way possible. it scratched my little brain just right and somehow managed to make me feel so safe which is ?????? something i don’t usually feel this strongly when reading fiction but hey. you did it! clark is so earnest and thoughtful and he’s made of love and sunshine and rainbows and GOD I’M SO IN LOVE WITH THE WAY YOU WRITE HIM!!!

"I don't really even know all the right things," he continues. "But I'm gonna stay right here until you feel good again."

god. another line that completely fucking rewired my brain into feeling a deep, deep sense of safety. clark wanting to stay by your side despite not knowing what to do is just so good at the core. he cares so much and he doesn’t let his inexperience have any incidence on his desire to stay and help you. i don’t even know if i’m making any sense at this point honestly because my brain is 100% mush and love for clark. you write him so well it’s like you’ve managed to dive deep into his mind and pulled out all of the little facets of his personality into your pieces.

The mattress shakes around you as he grinds up into the air, barely concealed want and need and everything he hasn't said before, teeth gently scraping at your cunt. You can hear it too, the way his mouth works against you, his moans rising above it all. And god, the tension— the fucking strength of this man-the fact that he's letting you ride his face like there's no tomorrow.

okay the tone of this one is most definitely different from the others but with me being me i HAD to mention munch!clark and the absolutely scrumptious visual of him being so aroused by the act of giving you head that he instinctively/subconsciously feels the need to grind up into the air. like that is the epitome of hotness and i’m never gonna get tired of this specific hc for him because it’s just so in-character for him and it’s also one of the hottest things someone can do tbh. still barking, lunging at the air and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog over this.

honestly there were a dozen of other little moments i could have mentioned and analyzed but i fear that if i truly let myself start to rant i’m never gonna stop. another absolute banger from you mara, unsurprisingly so because you’re one of my favorite writers, and i cannot wait to see what you have in store next !!!! <3

mystery of love

pairing: clark kent (superman 2025) x reader summary: clark is light in ways the world doesn’t always notice. he makes breakfast for dinner, reads to you when you’re sick, peels oranges like his mom used to, and sunbathes on the fire escape like a houseplant that loves way too hard. he doesn’t say “i love you” until the light is just right and you’re wrapped up in him like a second skin, but he shows it every day in the way he stays. inspired by the orange poem by wendy cope. (or alternatively: 4 times he showed you he loves you + 1 time he says it) listen to the playlist here. word count: 11.1 k. oops. i swear this was only supposed to be 8k words but unfortunately, i'm insane. content warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, established relationship, piv sex, character study, dom/sub undertones, switching (reader and clark take turns domming/subbing), marking kink, hair pulling, big soft men who are whipped for you, soft but kind of unhinged sex, size kink (clark picks up the reader/pins them down), nipple play, unprotected sex, oral (fem!receiving), outdoor sex (sex against a tree), face riding, public sex, use of pet names, tooth-rotting fluff, my love letter to midwest summers!

Your boyfriend photosynthesizes.

Well, that's the joke, anyway.

You’ve said it so many times now it might as well be printed on a T-shirt. My Boyfriend Is Solar-Powered! in Comic Sans. Or maybe Papyrus. Whatever will annoy him the most. Haven't really decided yet.

It started out as a throwaway line, one of those things you kind of just say when you’re half-awake and fully-annoyed because he’s hogging the sunny spot in the kitchen again like a smug, six-foot-four housecat with insane shoulders and even more insane bedhead.

But the first time you said it—like, actually really said it—he was standing by the window, shirtless, holding his coffee in that chipped blue mug that says "My Son's a Smallville Elementary Grad!" and somehow survived a farm, a college dorm, three apartments, and a move cross-country.

The light was doing that thing it loves to do in the morning, all golden and warm and syrupy, catching on his collarbones and the slope of his neck like he was painted by fucking Michelangelo. He had one hip braced against the counter, the other leg crooked, like someone told him to look as unintentionally hot as possible while waiting for the kettle filled with your guys' tea to boil.

You blinked at him, still clutching your own mug and not yet caffeinated enough to regulate your mouth, and said, “Do you ever feel like… like a plant?”

He raised an eyebrow. Blew on his coffee. You can see the way his breath fogs up slightly, that super breath of his doing just enough to cool down his coffee to the perfect temperature. “That a dig?”

“No. It’s just. You—" You waved vaguely in his direction. "Well, you just kinda look like you’re charging.”

That got a huff of a laugh. “What, like a phone?”

“No,” you said, and grinned into your mug. “Like I said, a plant. Like you're photosynthesizing.”

After that, it became a thing.

He always smiled when you said it. Looked down at himself, half-amused, half-embarrassed. “I mean,” he’d say, “you’re not wrong.” Or: “Someone’s gotta keep the plants company, y'know?"

But he never corrects you. Never laughs it off like it’s ridiculous.

Because it isn’t.

You’ve seen the truth of it, slow and subtle and layered in all the small things. The way he’s just a smidge lighter on his feet after a sunny day, how he runs warmer, more golden, like someone turned the saturation up to a hundred. The way his voice softens, deeper, when he’s been in the sun too long. The way the shadows under his eyes seem less sharp after just an afternoon spent lying on the roof, pretending he’s napping when you both know he’s just... breathing.

And the bruises. That’s the part he thinks you don’t see.

You do.

They heal so much faster when he’s been drenched in the sun. You’ve watched the inky blackish-purple fade to this sickly yellow in the span of a couple hours and tried really, really hard not to stare.

You’ve said nothing when he limped into bed one night after a particularly difficult battle and rolled out of it the next morning like absolutely nothing had even happened. Sometimes he winces and pretends it’s nothing. Sometimes he… forgets to pretend.

And still, you never say that’s not normal out loud, even though it’s not. Because he isn’t. Not in the way that matters. Not in the ways that make you love him.

You love him like a long exhale. Like a secret that’s safe with you. Like the song you play on repeat in the car, the one you never get sick of, even though it makes your throat tighten every time.

Sometimes it’s peaceful, like when your ribs finally uncages and let someone else in for the first time in your life. But sometimes, sometimes it's just so fucking devastating.

Because he’s Clark. And Superman. And most importantly, he's yours.

And it feels too big. Too fragile. Like trying to hold water in your hands. You want to keep him safe, but you also want to keep him. The real him. The him that leaves you sticky notes that say “eat something, please” and walks around humming old Mighty Crabjoys songs and insists you don’t have to fold my socks, seriously, who folds socks?

But you lie awake sometimes watching him breathe, thinking to yourself, How do I love someone that belongs to the world?

And the answer is: you just do. One day at a time. One morning at a time. One sunlit moment in the kitchen at a time.

That Monday morning, it’s the same as always.

You pad into the living room half-asleep, dragging your feet and wearing one of his T-shirts that hits you mid-thigh. He’s already up, standing barefoot by the window, coffee in hand, arms folded loosely across his chest like he’s holding himself together in case he gets pulled apart again later.

Pause in the doorway. Watch him for a second. The way the light pools around his ankles. The way his shoulders lift, just barely, when he hears your steps.

He doesn’t turn.

“Guess what,” you say.

He smiles, small and crooked. “Hmm?”

You cross the room. Slide your arms around his waist from behind and press your face between his shoulder blades, where the sun’s been warming him for at least half an hour.

“You’re glowing again,” you murmur. “Must be that high-potency sunlight. You hogging the sun again?”

He laughs, the sound low and warm. “You caught me.”

“You’re a danger to local crops,” you whisper. Feel the goosebumps rising underneath his skin. “The corn’s jealous.”

“Oh no. Not the corn.” He turns a little, just enough to look down at you. His eyes are so fucking blue at that moment. “Should I apologize to the corn?”

“Absolutely. It’s your fault they can’t compete. You're literally the reason why Iowa's GDP is going down.”

He leans in. Brushes a kiss to your temple. “I’ll draft a formal statement for them later.”

You stay like that for a minute. Him holding you. You pressing your nose into the slope of his back, breathing him in—sunshine and laundry and that faint green note that’s uniquely Clark. Like basil, or clean leaves. Like something still growing.

And you think: This is the part he doesn’t say out loud.

This is how he tells you.

Not with words. Not yet.

Your boyfriend photosynthesizes. And maybe it’s not the kind of love you can pin down, or explain, or protect. But it’s real. It’s alive.

And you love him.

And he, quietly, completely, loves you back.

(He hasn’t said it yet. But you don’t really need the words to know.)

Clark shows you he loves you in ways so small, they’d be easy to miss if you didn’t know how to look for them.

But you do. You catch them in those quiet little corners of the day.

The way he folds down the corner of your book before you can reach for a receipt or a pen. The way he touches your wrist, not yanking, just there, when you step into the street without looking. The way he makes a soft sound of protest—ahem, maybe more like politely exasperated—when you try to carry six grocery bags at once like you, too, are invincible.

And then there’s the orange.

You’re curled into the couch, one of his sweatshirts swallowed over your knees, watching—but not really, to be honest—some long-winded documentary about volcanoes or Icelandic horses or some other quietly majestic subject that definitely feels at odds with your mood. The narrator has this super calm, soothing British lilt and the lighting is very National Geographic: all muted blues and wide drone shots and crashing waves. You haven’t really spoken in close to at least half an hour.

Clark doesn’t push. Never does.

He just lets you sit in it, whatever it is, as long as you need to.

But eventually, he nudges your ankle with his socked foot, like a hello, and when you glance up, he’s setting something on the coffee table with a kind of shy precision.

An orange.

Already peeled.

Not just peeled. Sectioned. Arranged.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how careful it is. No torn rind, no mangled wedges. The peel’s just laid out like a ribbon, one continuous spiral that speaks of time and gentleness and someone who took this seriously. Each segment is placed on a napkin, still glistening with juice, like a little offering.

You blink at it.

Then at him.

He’s pretending to watch the TV, but his body betrays him. His shoulders just slightly angled toward you, eyes flicking sideways like he’s checking the weather.

“I didn’t know if you were hungry,” he says after a beat. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed to say more. “But it’s one of the sweet ones.”

Your throat does something stupid. You reach for a slice and hold it for a second, too long, then pop it into your mouth.

It’s still cold from the fridge. Bright, juicy, perfect. Like summer broke through the haze in your chest.

You make a noise you don’t mean to. Something between surprise and relief.

Clark shifts, trying to look casual, but you catch that familiar smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted one,” he says, still mostly facing the TV, his face painted in blue. “But you looked kind of… I don’t know. Stuck. So I figured I’d just do it.”

“You peeled it for me?”

He finally looks over at you, eyebrows lifted. “Well, yeah.”

And somehow that—that—is what catches in your chest. Not the orange, not the care. The way he says it like it’s obvious. Like of course he did. Like there’s a whole world of things he would do just for you without even needing to be asked.

You swallow. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging a little. “But that's kind of the point.”

You don’t say anything for a minute. Just reach for another slice.

When you bite into it, something in you loosens. Maybe it’s the juice. Maybe it’s the tenderness.

Clark, watching out of the corner of his eye, shifts a little closer and says, voice low, “When I was a kid, my ma used to 'em for me.”

You glance over. He’s staring at the documentary again, but the way he says it, it’s not for the Icelandic horses on the screen.

“She knew I hated the sticky part,” he goes on. “Didn’t like having all that juice on my fingers. So she’d do it before school. Wrap ‘em up in plastic, tuck ‘em in the corner of my lunchbox next to whatever sandwich she made that day. Tuna on Fridays. Always with too much mayo.”

You smile, just a little. “You were a picky eater?”

“Not picky,” he says defensively. “Just—just particular. I didn’t like when my food touched.”

“Mhm.”

“I was seven!”

You laugh, and he finally looks at you, sheepish and warm.

“She used to write little notes sometimes too,” he adds. “On the napkin. Stuff like ‘remember your science quiz’ or ‘you’re stronger than you think.’” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sometimes just a heart. Sometimes that was enough.”

You watch him as he says it, and you think, Of course. Of course you grew up like that. With kindness taught into you like table manners. With love folded into your lunchboxes.

“And now,” you say, voice subtle, “you’re the one peeling oranges for someone else.”

He shrugs again. “Only for you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean it,” he says. “Everyone else can deal with the sticky fingers. You get the napkin and everything.”

You press a slice into his hand before you can talk yourself out of it.

He pauses, then leans forward and bites it from your fingers, playful but gentle. A little juice escapes down the corner of his mouth. He licks it away without breaking eye contact.

It shouldn’t make your heart ache. But it does.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For the orange?”

“For the orange. And the napkin. And, you know. The general care and keeping of me.”

He smiles at that. Tilts his head toward you until your shoulders brush.“Well,” he says, “you’re pretty high-maintenance. Comes with the territory.”

You scoff, gently ebow him. “I am not.”

He raises his brows. “Okay. Yesterday, you made me reheat the tea because it was two degrees below your ideal sipping temperature.”

“That’s not high-maintenance. That’s just me having standards.”

“Sure,” he murmurs, bumping your knee with his. “And your standards include expertly peeled fruit on Tuesdays, apparently.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “I just mean…” You trail off, unsure how to say it without sounding too serious, too much. You chew your lip, watching the way the light hits his profile. “I hope,” you say softly, almost to yourself, “you never stop doing that.”

He leans his head against the back of the couch, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “What, feeding you citrus?”

You huff out a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then he says, simple and sure, like the truth it is:

“I won’t.”

You don’t even really remember texting him. You think you might’ve. Maybe. Who knows.

In the middle of your 2 a.m. sick delirium, burning up and freezing at the same time, with every single cell in your body screaming and staging some sort of mutiny, you vaguely remember opening your phone with bleary eyes and typing something half-coherent.

A string of emojis. A sad face, a skull, a wilted flower. Vomit emoji. You might’ve hit send. You might’ve just passed out mid-thought.

Either way, Clark’s there when you come to.

He’s on the floor beside your bed, cross-legged, slouched a little in that way he always is when he’s trying to make himself smaller than he actually is. He’s doing this thing he does similar to when he's reading out his first drafts—voice low and even, a little scratchy like he hasn’t used it much today, or maybe just because it’s the middle of the night and the Metropolis is quiet for once and so is he.

You blink, once, twice, groggily, and he doesn’t even look up as he says:

“…and then I told Jimmy that if he was going to hide in the cafeteria instead of facing Eve, he should at least clean up after his brooding, because no one wants to sit next to a scone that’s been glared at for thirty minutes."

That's when you make a sound—half a groan, half a breath—and he glances up.

“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Hey. You’re awake.”

God, you swear your head's a pressure cooker. Your throat feels like someone lined it with sandpaper and regret. You’re pretty sure you’re covered in sweat, and not in a sexy, cinematic way, but more in a swampy, bedraggled, my skin might never be clean again kind of way.

And yet here he is, reading from what you now realize is his work notebook.

Not even a novel. Just… Clark, narrating his week.

“God,” you croak. “I think I’m dying.”

Clark shifts immediately, one knee bent, his hand brushing against your arm like he’s checking for tremors. “You’re not dying,” he says gently. “You’re just sick. Classic human stuff. I Googled it to make sure.”

“You Googled my flu?”

“Yeah. Also called my dad.”

Your lips twitch. “Of course you did.”

“He said tea, soup, and don't try to touch your toes.”

You blink at him slowly. “I wasn’t gonna—”

“I didn’t think you would. But he insisted.”

He presses a glass of water into your hand. Holds it there, actually, like you might forget what to do with it. You sip slowly, mostly because he’s watching you with the intensity of someone monitoring the nuclear launch codes. His hand stays curved behind your back the whole time, steady and warm, his thumb sweeping once over your shoulderblade.

“Still tastes like shit,” you mutter, grimacing.

“That’s just your fever lying to you,” he says. “Give it time. I brought supplies.”

Which is how, ten minutes later, you’re propped up like a limp marionette with three pillows, wearing one of his hoodies, while Clark, bless him, is rumbling around in your kitchen making the world’s most dramatic instant ramen.

He hums while he works, something mellow and vaguely twangy—something that sounds like wide-open spaces and Sunday mornings and the kind of radio stations that only exist halfway between here and Kansas.

When he brings the bowl back, he sits on the edge of the bed and feeds you, spoon by spoon, blowing on each bite first like he thinks you might scald your tongue.

You watch him through a fever-glazed blur. “You’re really committing to the bit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What bit?”

“The Florence Nightingale… Florence Kent thing.”

He grins, bashful. “It’s not a bit. I just… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Your stomach flips. It has nothing to do with the soup.

“And also,” he adds, “I brought a book, thought you might like something to listen to in the background.”

You blink at him.

“I figured I’d read to you once the soup’s done. Unless you’d rather I make more toast. I could do toast. Or try. I mean, it’s technically one of the few things I can’t mess up.”

You take the spoon from his hand. “Baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Sit down before you vibrate out of your flannel.”

He obeys instantly, because Clark is nothing if not obedient when you sound just a tiny bit bossy and ill. You laugh a little. Then cough a lot.

When you stop hacking, there’s a glass of water in your hand again, and he's looking at you like he’s trying to mentally calculate your temperature based soely off your pupil dilation. You wave him off until he settles down again, until his work stories blur into white noise and you feel yourself drifting.

Later, when the room is dark except for the glow of the bedside lamp, and your fever’s burning lower, no longer trying to boil you alive but still leaving your limbs really heavy and wrung-out—you stir, blink groggily, and find him exactly where he’s been all day: back on the floor, this time leaning against the bed frame like he’s trying to become one with the carpet.

There's a book in his hands.

You squint. “Is that… Star Wars?”

He doesn’t look up right away. Just flips a page, calm and unbothered, like this is a completely normal Wednesday night activity. “Yeah. From a Certain Point of View. It’s like… like—little side stories. People on the edges of the main stuff. Background characters getting the spotlight. I thought you might like it.”

You blink slowly. “You’re reading me Star Wars fanfiction.”

Clark glances up, grinning. “Not fanfiction. It’s licensed content.”

“Clark.”

“It’s from Jimmy.”

“Clark.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, it’s kind of sanctioned fanfic. But it’s good. There's one from the point of view of Obi-Wan’s ghost and it made me emotional.”

You try to snort, but it comes out more like a croak. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Says the person who cried over an R2-D2 Lego set last Christmas.”

“That was a very moving gift and you know it.”

Clark reaches over to adjust your blanket, tucking it up under your chin with careful fingers. “I just thought it might be nice. Something familiar. It’s kind of like comfort food, but for your brain.”

You look at him—really look at him—glasses askew, hair flattened on one side from the couch pillow, sweatshirt stretched over his broad chest like it was never meant to fit a man built like a brick wall—and feel that weird, awful feeling twist in your chest again.

The one that always comes when he’s like this. Sweet and earnest and just slightly off-center in a way that makes your whole life feel gentler.

“Thank you,” you rasp, voice hoarse but sincere.

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Don’t mention it.”

Then, after a beat:

“I was gonna read the one about the cantina bartender next. He has some very strong feelings about the music.”

“. . . Okay yeah, you're weird.”

“Exactly.”

He closes the book for a moment and reaches for your hand under the blanket. His fingers wrap around yours, warm and firm and callused at the knuckles. He squeezes gently.

“I know I’m not good at this,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. “The taking-care-of-people thing. Not like my dad was. He used to bring orange Jell-O and put those cold cloths on my head when I got sick. He'd sit with me and hum old country songs like that could fix it. And sometimes, it kinda did.”

You squeeze his fingers back. He looks at your joined hands like they’re something fragile.

“I don’t really even know all the right things,” he continues. “But I’m gonna stay right here until you feel good again.”

You swallow. Your throat aches. Your heart does, too, but in a different way.

“Clark,” you whisper. “You’re doing perfect.”

He gives you this look—hazy and overwhelmed, like maybe he needed to hear that more than he thought. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, cool and steady and grounding.

“I got you,” he murmurs. “Always.”

He reads until your breathing evens out again, then switches to humming—barely there, just a thread of melody tracing the shape of the room. He doesn’t move from his place beside your bed.

You don’t think he even blinks when you stir, reaching a hand out for his. He’s just there.

So you dream of a cantina bartender with strong feelings about the music. Of a man with dark hair and horrendous posture and the kindest eyes in the galaxy, carrying soup and picture books and the whole weight of your heart like it’s not heavy at all.

It was supposed to be a date.

Like, a real date. One with proper shoes and napkins that aren’t made of recycled drive-thru material. A night where neither of you had to sprint, lie, cover for the other, or show up late with leaves in your hair because someone, cough, got caught helping rescue a tour boat from sinking off the coast of Maine.

Just dinner. Just one Thursday evening. A normal, honest-to-god, pre-planned, mildly fancy dinner.

You’d even made a reservation at that Italian place ou guys have been meaning to try.

Clark had combed his curls with what looked like actual intent and buttoned his shirt all the way to the top, then unbuttoned one (just one) like he’d read about the concept of casual in a book. You caught him practicing his posture in the hallway mirror before you left.

“Do I look like I own a belt?” he’d asked.

“You do own a belt.”

“Right, but do I look like I believe in it?”

You had rolled your eyes. He’d kissed your forehead. You’d both agreed, silently and aloud and silently again: This time, it’s gonna stick.

Just dinner.

Just you and him.

Just—

The sky, it turns out, had other ideas.

You’re only two blocks from the restaurant, your heels clicking rhythmically against the sidewalk. He’s saying something about dessert—about how he’s never actually had crème brûlée and how suspicious he is of any food that requires a blowtorch—and you’re about to tell him that he’s a coward and has terrible, horrible opinions when he—

Flinches.

Just slightly. A twitch, more than anything. Like someone tugged on the collar of his shirt from behind.

You stop. Narrow your eyes.

“Kent.”

He stills, then winces, and it’s over. The wind picks up just enough to ruffle his jacket and toss a strand of your hair across your lip.

“Baby,” you say, dragging out the vowels like you’re preparing to scold a dog who’s eyeing the Thanksgiving turkey.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know. I know. I just—there’s something happening in Hob’s Bay. I think it’s Parasite again.”

“Parasite?” you repeat, like that somehow makes it better. “The guy who eats energy and punches holes through cement walls like graham crackers?”

Clark winces again, guilt washing across his face like rain.

“I can take you home first,” he says quickly. “I’ll be fast. Twenty minutes. Tops.”

“You said that last time,” you remind him.

“Yes, but this time I mean it with—” he pauses, trying to sell it, “—I mean it. I've got improved time management skills. I’ve been working on it, I swear. I downloaded a calendar app.”

“Oh my god, Clark.”

“I even color-coded it!”

You cross your arms. “Clark.”

“I swear on my mom’s ceramic cow collection.”

“…The one on the microwave?”

“She dusts them twice a week.”

You sigh, but you’re already unhooking your arm from his. He’s practically vibrating now, trying to stand still. There’s a flash of green in the far-off clouds.

“I liked this dress,” you say.

“I love that dress,” he says, almost reverent. “I’m gonna come back and ruin it for you in much better ways.”

A beat. He realizes how that sounded. “I mean, like—because of pasta sauce. And maybe dancing? gosh, I’m terrible at this—”

You laugh despite yourself. Even as the first drops of rain start to hit your shoulders. “Go, Kansas.”

He kisses your cheek. Then the other. His hands linger against your face a half-second too long, his thumbs warm even through the chill.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, quiet now. “Promise.”

Then he’s gone.

“I know,” you reply to no one in particular, because you do.

You spend the next hour curled on the couch in the dress you never got to wear properly, the hem slightly damp from the rain and your eyeliner gently betraying you. The news cycles through static, then footage of Clark shielding a crowd with a dented bus stop sign like it’s a riot shield, eyes glowing faintly, shoulders squared. Calm. Measured. Still gentle, even in a fight. You eat a sleeve of saltines out of spite.

He texts you twice:

CLARKY <3: STILL FIGHTING THE SLIME GUY. HE’S YELLING ABOUT “THE SYSTEM” SO I THINK THIS IS POLITICALLY MOTIVATED. CLARKY <3: ALMOST DONE. PLEASE DON’T FALL ASLEEP. I OWE YOU SO MUCH CREME BRUILALAE 🍨

You don’t reply. He needs to focus. But you do leave the kitchen light on.

It's past ten when he gets back. He lands with a whisper on your fire escape—so quiet it takes you a second to realize he’s there. You’re already in pajamas at this point.

He taps gently on the window.

When you slide it open, he’s dripping. Suit ripped at the collar. A graze on his temple that’s already healing. Mud on his boots. Eyes wide and sheepish and a little desperate.

“You’re late,” you say.

“The Italian place was closed,” he says, holding up a crumpled brown paper bag like an offering. "But I brought dumplings?"

Your stomach betrays you with a loud growl. Fucking saltines. He smiles, relieved.

“They’re from that place you like,” he adds quickly. “The one with the crab rangoon that makes you make weird noises.”

You cross your arms. “You think you can just bribe me with steamed buns and flattery?”

“Yes?” he tries.

“…You’re not wrong.”

You step back to let him in. He shrugs off the cape, moving slower than usual. His shoulders dip lower. His steps drag a little. The exhaustion sits in him like weight.

“Sit down,” you say.

“I can—”

“Clark. Couch. Now.”

He obeys without question, settling into the cushions like a man unraveling. You grab a towel and a hoodie from your room—one of his—and toss both at him. Then you disappear into the kitchen.

After a beat, he calls after you: “I missed you, by the way.”

You don’t answer right away. Just finish plating the takeout, dividing the dumplings and the sticky rice and the rangoon with practiced ease. Your apartment smells like warm ginger and garlic. Familiar. Safe.

When you bring the food over, you find him curled sideways on the couch, legs too long, towel around his shoulders like a cape. He grins when he sees the plates.

“You forgive me?” he asks, hopeful.

You hand him a rangoon. “Chew before you talk.”

He does. Then says, with a mouthful of crab: “I really did want it to be a normal night.”

You look at him. At the tired, good man who flew across the city to keep someone else’s world from breaking. At the one who brought you dumplings and rainwater and apologies on the roof of his tongue.

“I know,” you say.

He finishes chewing, then leans forward, chin on your shoulder, voice curling around the edges. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

You snort. “You say that now that I’m in fleece pants with soup stains.”

“I stand by it,” he murmurs. “Always.”

You let him curl around you then, dinner plates on the coffee table, reruns of I Love Lucy playing low in the background. He eats with one arm around your waist. You steal his dumplings when he’s not looking.

Later, when you’re both too full and too warm and too tired to move, he says it again.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

You nudge his leg with your foot. “You already are.”

He hums, pleased but tired, and lets his head fall back against the cushions. “Still wish I hadn’t missed dinner. Not the food. Just—being there. With you.”

There’s a smear of sauce near his mouth when you glance over him. He’s so unbelievably warm around the edges like this—like the fight’s finally bled out of him and he’s just Clark again. Your Clark.

“You always say that,” you murmur.

“Because I always mean it.”

You reach up, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. He goes quiet. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

There’s a beat where neither of you speak. The kind that hums with the weight of something unspoken, blooming slow between you. Then, without moving your hand, you ask, “You gonna let me kiss you now, or are you still trying to be polite?”

That gets a smile. A real one. A little crooked, a little shy.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says. “You always could.”

So you lean in.

The kiss starts off like a warning.

Your mouth brushes his—brief, firm, no room for questions, not really—and then again, slower this time. He makes a noise, deep in his chest, something caught between relief and surrender.

When your fingers slide into his hair, he tilts into it instinctively. His hands stay right where they are, just one at your waist, one braced uselessly on the couch cushion like he’s reminding himself not to move unless you ask him to.

He huffs something like a laugh when you pull back for a breath. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

You smile. “Flatterer.”

His hand on your waist shifts slightly, pulling you in closer. Not rough. Not needy. Just—anchoring. Your knees bracket his hips and you kiss him again, open-mouthed this time, licking into his mouth like you’re starved and this is your first taste of real food.

And Clark lets you.

He lets you kiss him with all the frustration of the ruined date and the tension of waiting and the affection that’s been building in your chest for weeks, maybe months. He meets you where you are—mouth pliant, eyes closed, his breathing slowly unraveling under your hands.

“You always come back like this,” you whisper, teeth grazing his jaw. “All apologies and those puppy dog blue eyes and your make-up take-out. Like I wouldn’t crawl across glass to have you.”

He exhales, sharp and shaky, like your words hit a nerve. His hands tense slightly at your thighs, just for a second, then relax again. He doesn’t try to flip you, doesn’t shift to take control. Just looks at you.

“I mean it,” you murmur, kissing just under his ear. “You come in, wrecked and kind and too damn good, and I’m supposed to what? Sit next to you like my skin isn’t trying to crawl off my bones just to get to yours?”

Clark swallows. “You—” His voice is rough, halting. “You can have me.”

He says it so quietly you almost miss it.

“You already do,” he adds. “You don’t have to prove anything. You—”

Your mouth is on his before he can finish. You kiss him like you’re trying to breathe him in, to memorize the way his ribs rise under your hands. His lips part on a gasp, and you take it as invitation. He lets you tilt his head back even further, lets you set the rhythm—his hands gripping the couch cushions like they’re the only things that can possibly ground him.

You pull back, just enough to see his face. His hair’s still damp, starting to curl at the edges, his cheeks flushed. His glasses are askew, so you reach up, slow, deliberate, and slide them off. Set them gently on the side table. His eyes don’t leave yours for a second.

"Stand up," you say, and he does, wordless, chest rising fast under the hoodie. He's got the towel instead of the cape draped around his shoulders, like he's still half in hero mode. You take that off.

Your fingers go to the hem of the hoodie next, lifting it slow. He raises his arms obediently, eyes half-lidded, focused. He’s still in the bottom half of the suit, and your breath catches—because even now, even like this, he wears it like a second skin.

But you want the man. Not the symbol.

“Off,” you say, fingers brushing the slick, faintly scorched fabric of the suit’s torso. “I want you, not him.”

He nods. It’s so damn slight, like he’s not so sure his voice will work. His hands go to the hidden seams and he peels the suit down, exposing inch after inch of bare skin beneath—toned and marked from the night, faint purple bruises already turning gold where his healing has started. You trail your fingers and follow him down, down, down his sternum, then lower, across his ribs.

The suit hits the floor in a gentle whisper. Boots, too. The cape’s already been discarded—somewhere between the fire escape and your front door—and now he’s just standing there in front of you, bare and breathless and completely yours.

“Come closer,” you say. "It's my turn."

He goes to help you, but you stop him. Eyebrows raised. "Eyes up here. I'll do it myself."

Clark watches you the whole time, not rushing, not leading. His expression open, undone. His bottom lip's caught between his teeth, eyes trained on every single one of your painstaking actions. Peeling your shirt off, your ratty fleece pants, your bra, all of it. He's enjoying this way more than he should, those eyes of his glinting in the light, but that's the intoxicating part of it.

When you're done, he finally speaks up, voice reduced to a hush. Wills himself to look away from your body and just look into your eyes. "How do you want me?"

You hum, turning on your feet, pretending to think it over. Really, it's just an excuse to have him look at your bare body. Tempt him a little bit. It drives him insane. Still, he doesn't break eye contact.

"I think," you purse your lips. "I want you underneath me tonight."

He nods. Serious. "Of course."

You lead him back to the bedroom slowly. Not because he needs help walking, but because there’s something in you that just wants to savor the walk. He lets you guide him backward, his legs bumping against the edge of the bed.

He sits.

Then waits.

Clark just looks so… perfect like this.

Hard, aching, weeping, cheeks pink and pupils dilated. Hands, those goddamn hands, politely by his sides. Does nothing but lay down on the mattress, just waiting for whatever you feel like doing to him. The knowing—the seeing, does more to you than you'd like to admit.

You crawl, slowly, over his body. Fingers skirting over the freckles of his body, the light dusting of hair across his torso, the goosebumps that rise there. Anything but pay attention to his cock that's begging for you, until you're close to straddling his face, hovering there.

A pause. Those baby blue eyes, the cause of so many of your little deaths. His lips, pink and wet as his tongue swipes over them. A hint of a smile. You brush a curl away from his forehead, fingers slow and thoughtful.

"Okay."

Once you give him the go-ahead, he's all instinct, steady hands pulling your thighs more snug over his shoulders with all of the skill and quiet confidence of a man who's been breaking you down and laying you out for a long time.

It's so easy—so easy to lose yourself in it. So easy when you're on top of the world.

Clark knows. You've genuinely never met a guy who enjoys eating someone out more than him. He knows all the ways to make your legs shake and your head vibrate out of its skull, all the little skills and patterns and consistencies to get you to cum within minutes, but from the way he takes his time, mouth roaming everywhere—your thighs, your legs, the back of your knees—

He means to torture you. Make you eat your words. But you're gonna have the last say tonight.

You squeeze your legs around his face, bringing his attention to you, all blue-eyed innocence glancing up to you. Little shit. "Hey," you will your voice into something vaguely commanding. "How many times do you think you can make me cum tonight?"

All you get is a lopsided smile. "As many times 's you want."

"Ball park?"

He strums his fingers along your thigh. Pretends to think about it. Looking up at the corner of his eyes like he's doing mental math. "How about we start with five or six and go from there?"

"Perfect. Delightful, Kent. Alright, procee—"

His arms tighten around your thighs, and that's all the warning you get before he dives right in, parting your lips with his tongue and tasting all that you've got to offer, and god, if that doesn't make the slick accumulate even more in between your thighs, gushing, eyes falling closed.

A trooper always, Clark's mouth is warm, forming into a smile. "Baby, you taste so good. Needed this."

There's desperation in it, the way he sucks on your clit, two fingers finding themselves rocking against your cunt so that you feel nothing but full, boundless pleasure. You're so wet that his digits are sliding effortlessly, even more so as he licks you through it.

All you can do is whimper and whine, hands coming to rest up against the headboard. "Clark, Clark, so good. Don't stop. Please."

The mattress shakes around you as he grinds up into the air, barely concealed want and need and everything he hasn't said before, teeth gently scraping at your cunt. You can hear it too, the way his mouth works against you, his moans rising above it all. And god, the tension—the fucking strength of this man—the fact that he's letting you ride his face like there's no tomorrow.

Then his tongue sweeps hot across your clit, his two fingers curling inside you at the exact moment you squeeze. And fuck, you pulse hard and come until you've got nothing left to give, just a mantra of his name—"Clark, Clark, baby—"

He licks and sucks you through the aftershocks, shuddering through it all, and then it's back down to earth.

You fall down on the bed next to him, legs unable to hold you up. The only way to describe how you feel now is just—pure, fucking, boneless glee. And then you look over, and god, if that's not the best view in the world—Clark. The bottom of his face glistening, smiling in that stupid, boyish way of his, curls in his eyes and a twinkle there like he just won the lottery.

"What are you smiling about?"

Clark shakes his head, shrugging and looking up at the ceiling like it has the answers. "Oh, nothin'. Just happy."

This hunger, this love for him—you don't think it'll ever go away. You don't think you could ever get sick of it, you don't think you can ever get your fill of him. You're going to want him this badly for the rest of your life.

But before you could spiral down that terrifying staircase of thoughts, you're brought out your stupor with one large hand trailing up your thigh. Clark's shifted so that you're beneath him, world turned upside down. He's going back down for more.

"We've got at least four more to go, sweet girl. Made you a promise, remember?"

It’s honestly the quiet that gets you, at first.

That slow, rolling kind that doesn’t sit heavy so much as drape itself across everything like an old quilt. The kind of quiet that has its own rhythm. Space between sounds.

Not silence, never that, but it's more akin to a hush. A pause you didn’t know your life had been missing.

There are birds, sure. A lot of them, actually. There’s the wind, too, rattling through those wheat-colored fields, whistling past the house's warped slats like it’s trying to remember a song it used to know. But underneath it all is stillness.

A kind of breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, now slowly, slowly letting out.

Smallville wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You’d pictured something more… stylized. Romanticized.

A little more soap opera meets Hallmark original—maybe some mysterious family feuds and charming small-town antics. Some lingering drama about a pie contest. You fully expected someone with an old-timey name to pour you coffee at the local diner you guys stopped at and mention she “hasn’t seen Clark Kent around these parts in a while.”

Instead, you got: rooster at 5:30. Floorboard in the kitchen that creaks like it’s about to file a complaint against you just for exisiting. A guest room that smells faintly like wood polish and wheat. You got Clark, elbow-deep in chicken feed at seven a.m., wearing a white t-shirt that’s hanging on by a thread but you're not complaining.

You’re house-sitting for the Kents while Jonathan and Martha are on a cruise—a cruise, of all things. Clark’s voice had been thick with disbelief when he told you.

��Can you believe my dad packed four Hawaiian shirts?” Then later, when they called from the boat to say they’d already made friends with a retired couple from Branson and signed up for salsa dancing classes, Clark had stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed him.

“They deserve it,” he says eventually, a little quiet. “They’ve never done anything like this. I hope they stay gone the full two weeks.”

You’d kissed his shoulder and said, “Selfishly, me too.”

Because being here, just the two of you, it’s not glamorous. But it feels like something. Something good.

One morning, early on, you found yourself squinting into the haze of a Kansas dawn, clutching a cup of coffee that tasted like burnt hope, and whispering, half to yourself, “Do… do the cows have names?”

Clark, already in his work boots and wrist-deep in a feed bag, turns like you’d just offered to marry him.

“Of course they do!" he says, smug. “That’s Millie.” He points at a big black-and-white cow with the expression of someone who’d once gone on Twitter and got traumatized. “She’s real skittish when it rains but loves, absolutely loves cantaloupe rinds. That one’s Donnie—he’s dramatic. Moooos like he’s dying if you’re even five minutes late.”

You blink at him. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly,” he says, patting Millie with the same affection he uses on your lower back when you cook dinner barefoot. It makes you snort. “Also, we don’t call it breakfast here. It’s ‘morning feed.’”

You stare. “This is so not the rural romance novel I signed up for.”

He grins, boyish and crooked. “Let me guess. Thought it’d be Days of Our Lives but make it cornfed?”

“Exactly. Where’s the murder mystery? The barn dance? The family rival who wears all linen and says ominous things like, ‘You’ll never take the south pasture from me, you bastard.’”

"You forget. It's the Midwest. We're not in the South," He scratches behind Donnie’s ear. “But there is a someone with drama kinda like that here. Name's Barb, I think,” he says. “She runs the Dairy Queen and once hit a deer with her truck and cried about it for a week.”

You pause. “…Okay. That’s actually kind of sad. But wholesome."

“See?”

The days fall into a rhythm, eventually.

You weed the garden (poorly). He fixes the gate (obscenely well). You help collect eggs and try not to let on that the chickens genuinely unsettle you. Clark, that menace, just laughs every single time one flaps in your general direction and you flinch like it’s going to demand your wallet and keys and job.

One Friday afternoon, you find yourself washing strawberries at the sink while Clark scrubs paint off the porch railing—some old project Jonathan started and never finished.

You glance up and he’s standing there in the sun, t-shirt stained, face flushed, humming some old country song under his breath, and your chest physically hurts from how much you love him.

“You wanna do something dumb?” you ask, voice louder than it needs to be, just to get his attention.

Clark looks up, squints against the light. “Always.”

It’s not fancy.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both in the back pasture, far enough from the house that it’s just you and the cows and the sound of summer in every direction.

There’s a plastic grocery bag between you full of things neither of you should technically call lunch. Two kinds of chips (barbecue for you, cheddar for him). A Diet Dr. Pepper, sweating in the heat. One sad gas station brownie. And a couple of oranges, wrapped carefully in plastic wrap.

You lift an eyebrow as you start to unpack. “You know we have actual food, right?”

He shrugs, pulling the chips open. “The grocery store’s like forty minutes away,” he says, like that explains everything. “Didn’t wanna leave you.”

Your mouth opens, ready to toss something casual back—something about sandwiches, or homemade pasta salad, or literally anything with protein—but then you see how gently he’d wrapped the oranges. How he packed napkins, remembered your favorite chips, brought two plastic forks for the brownie like it was a birthday cake.

So instead, you say, “...I like barbecue,” and your voice is quieter than you mean it to be.

He glances over, chin on his shoulder, smiling like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I know.”

You eat like kids. Cross-legged on the blanket, crumbs everywhere, licking orange juice off your thumbs. You wipe your hands on your pants. He stretches out on his side, elbow propped, watching the clouds like they’re moving too slow. His knee brushes yours and doesn’t move away.

You think you feel a mosquito bite. You don’t really care anymore.

“I forgot what this feels like,” you say at one point, picking salt from the corners of your lips. “Just… doing nothing. On purpose.”

He hums. “It’s good for you. Stillness.”

“You sound like your mom.”

“She’s smarter than I am.”

“You said that last night when I told you to take a nap.”

“See? Pattern holds.”

You lean back on your elbows and look at him, really look. The way the light gets caught in his lashes. He’s watching you, too, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Like the world could ask for him and he’d still choose to stay here, sweaty and dumb and mosquito-bitten and happy beside you.

He peels another orange with a practiced hand, splitting it down the middle and handing you the sweeter half.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Sometimes I miss this, y'know?” he says, around a bite of an orange.

You glance over.

“Not the chicken poop or the mosquito bites,” he adds, “but the...quiet. The not-having-to-be-everything-all-the-time. Out here, you’re just...you. You fix the fence. You make a mess. You listen to cicadas and complain about the humidity and your ma yells at you for tracking dirt inside.”

You tilt your head. “You ever think about staying? Settling down here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just plucks a blade of grass and spins it between his fingers.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “But then I think—this is what shaped me. But it’s not all I am. The world’s loud, and it’s messy, and it needs things. But this…” He looks at you. “This is what I miss when I’m out there.”

You nod. Reduced to speechlessness, because it's so tender and perfect and so him that it hurts.

Clark finishes the orange. Wipes his fingers on a napkin, then on his jeans when that doesn’t do the trick. You lie back on the blanket with a quiet sigh, letting the sun press into your skin, the breeze lift the sweat at your temples.

It could’ve ended there. Could’ve been just a quiet kind of golden. But then you nudge his ankle with yours.

“Bet I could outrun you,” you say lazily, like you’re not poking a bear.

Clark huffs. Turns his head toward you, amused. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” you say, stretching. “You’ve been slacking. Porch paint and chicken duty’s got you soft.”

He squints at you. “You really wanna start this?”

“You said yourself, Kansas. Nothing to do out here but complain about the heat and cause a little trouble.”

He smiles slowly. The kind of smile that curls at the corners. Dangerous in the way only someone so gentle and kind can be.

“Alright then,” he says, sitting up. “You get a ten-second head start.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wait, really—”

“Nine,” he says, already grinning, already counting.

You scramble to your feet. “Oh my god, you are not serious—”

“Eight.”

You bolt.

The grass is taller in some spots and it catches at your ankles, slows you down. The air is thick with sun and the hum of everything living. You turn left, laughing, hair sticking to the back of your neck, and glance behind you just in time to see him loping after you, easy and unhurried, like he’s letting you win.

Which is worse. Infuriating. Fucking ass.

“KENT!” you shout over your shoulder. “I swear if you let me win I’m gonna trip myself just to spite you—”

“Then you better run faster!” he calls back, but he’s laughing too, bright and open and young in a way he doesn’t always let himself be in the city.

You make it halfway to the barn before he catches you, just a hand on your waist, barely a tug. You spin with the momentum and half-collapse against him, breathless, wheezing from the run and the heat and the sheer absurdity of it all.

“You cheated,” you gasp.

“I didn’t even use my powers.”

“That’s worse.”

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, both of you flushed and sweating and smiling like idiots.

“You’re fast,” he murmurs, voice low. “But I know how you move.”

You roll your eyes, still catching your breath. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you wanna get kissed.”

“Maybe I do,” he says, quiet now.

Oh, if that doesn't make you wanna ruin him. When you lean in, he tastes like oranges and sweat and something warm you can’t name.

“You’re always holding back,” you murmur against his mouth. “Let me have you.”

Clark’s breathing stutters.

“You have me,” he says, like it’s a promise. Like it’s been true since the first day you met.

Your teeth graze his lip, just enough to make him gasp. “Then act like it.”

Now that—that—does something to him.

His hands slip quickly under your sundress, palms mapping the curve of your back, hungry and greedy all at once. Your head tips back when his mouth finds your neck again, hot and open and just a little bit wild. His teeth scrape the spot just beneath your ear and your fingers clench in his curls, hard.

The bark digs into your shoulder blades. You can faintly feel the ground disappearing from under you. Grass sticks to the backs of your calves. The sky overhead is lazy and blue, clouds like pulled cotton, and none of it, absolutely none of it, matters.

Not the cows, not the heat, not the fact that you're pressed up against a pecan tree in the middle of a Kansas pasture—just this. Just him.

It doesn't take long for it to escalate.

You're not normally a fan of this—quickies, anyway, you'd rather take your time, break him down methodically, piece by piece, but you think you'd actually combust if you don't have him right there, right at that second. And damn it, you will.

You will.

Your hands scramble to wrench his shirt off, a mad dash to get as close to his skin as possible. He helps you, your pretty boy, your sweetheart, your sunshine—chuckling when the fabric inevitably gets caught between his head and shoulders.

"Clark—" you glare at him, not really annoyed with him but his stupid, stupid shirt. "Get it—please, get it off—"

"So impatient," He grins. He helps you anyway, giving you that final push to get the shirt off his head. And then ou're like a moth drawn to a flame, nipping at his skin, sucking little love bites that you know he adores into his chest. "Baby, sweetheart—"

"Sweetheart, baby—" You kiss his collarbone, hands going to undo his belt, the metal clinking from your actions. "Need you now."

Clark nods vigorously at that. "Yeah, yeah—okay."

He readjusts, free now from his belt, jeans dropping low, and he's scooping your thighs up so you're flush against the tree for leverage. The bark of the tree's rough and it'll leave some truly horrendous marks later, but he's pushing your dress up around your waist, cock situated and ready at your entrance.

A breath. A look between you. And then he sinks you down, no prep, no foreplay, just him and the burn of taking all of him bare.

You make an embarrassing noise when he bottoms out, yelping and wrapping your arms around his neck. Clark slows down, pressing kisses on your forehead and muttering small little praises. "You're doing so good. You feel amazing, baby, you just let me know when, I'll wait—"

Fuck, that turns you on more than it should've. You clench around him, mouth parting in a quiet moan. "Now, I'm ready now. Move, Kent."

His hand hitches your leg up higher for a better angle, and—yeah, if that's not the hottest thing in the world. The tenderness mixed with the way you know he's about to utterly destroy you. He rolls his hips, once, twice, until he sets a punishing rhythm.

He moves, hard and deep inside of you, always a stretch widthwise. Always feels like a rearrangement. Every single vein, every twitch, every agonizing inch as he gets to work fucking you like your life depends on it.

And the tree shakes—it fucking shakes, leaves falling all around you—when his pace gets punishing and relentless. All you can do is take it, legs shivering and hands scrambling to hold on to something, anything.

The strap of your dress has fallen down your shoulder at this point, and Clark takes the opportunity to wrap his hot mouth around your exposed nipple, eyes falling closed. "Tastes like heaven."

"Clark—" You shudder, his ruts turning more and more shallow. "Need more, I need—need help, please—"

He nods against your skin, letting go of your nipple with one wet pop. A hand skirts down between you, wordless, and rubs hard circles against your clit, never twisting, just a constant, almost vibrating pressure that wrenches more desperate gasps out of you.

You love him.

It hits you the hardest at that moment, when he grins and you can feel those tell-tale signs of your orgasm shuddering closer, so impossibly close that it makes your knees weak. Like your body can’t hold the thought anymore.

Months of this, this agonizing need to tell him, to show him. And suddenly it’s all you can feel—this pressure behind your teeth, this wild, unspooling thing clawing to get out. You didn’t plan on it. You don't meant to. But it’s already there, clawing its way up your throat with a kind of ferocity that feels unstoppable.

You pull back a breath. Just enough to get the words free. Try to get lucid fast.

“I—”

But then his hand’s on your cheek.

Soft. Certain.

“Wait,” he says, and it’s gentle, but firm enough to stop you.

You freeze, stunned. Like someone hit pause on your entire brain.

“W–W–What?” you whisper, barely breathing. His pace doesn't break. Still pounding into you like he doesn't see right through you. His eyes flicker between yours—quiet, careful, like he sees exactly where you were going. Like he caught the words mid-flight.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Not like this, baby. Not while I'm—not against a tree.”

“I don't—I don't mind,” you whine.

He laughs under his breath. "No.”

You must've pouted, must've frowned, or… or something, because Clark's expression goes soft. He tugs you closer, hips going deeper this time until your head falls back, like an apology.

You're so close, so goddamn close, and fuck, if he's not determined to make it up to you. Focus redirected to the sole goal of making you finish harder than you ever have before. Another broken moan slips out of you.

And you're still overtaken by this need to say something, something to encapsulate this feeling inside of you. So instead, you say the next best thing, “You’re mine,” you say, fierce and true and sure.

Clark nods. “Yours,” he echoes, like it’s gospel.

You come around him like that, muscles wound up tight, him working himself into you faster—faster, until he pulses inside you. It's all warmth, his shoulders shaking like a leaf, you holding onto him like the old tire swing on a tree. Chests heaving. Sweat pooling underneath your knees. But he doesn't let go.

He pulls back just a tad, just enough to rest his head against the crook of your neck. His curls tickle your skin, just slightly. "Hold me tighter?"

You're still quivering, traitorous legs twitching, but you do. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze until he sighs, relaxed and spent and all the things that you let go unsaid.

The cows, thankfully, have the decency not to interrupt.

He’s on the fire escape again.

You don’t see him at first—just the corner of his shirt sleeve through the window screen, fluttering gently in the breeze like a flag someone planted in a place they want to stay.

You step closer.

And there he is.

Sitting on the metal grate, knees drawn up, socked feet tucked against the warm steel, one arm draped loosely over the railing like he forgot the rest of the world exists. His head's tilted back against the sun, eyes closed, face subdued in that way it only gets when no one’s watching.

Or maybe just when you are.

His shirt—some washed-out old thing from Central Kansas A&M—is rumpled and crooked on his frame like he pulled it out of the laundry basket and shrugged it on without thinking. One sleeve's shoved all the way to his elbow, exposing the freckles on his forearm.

You’re barefoot, cradling a sweating glass of lemonade in your palm, still in sleep shorts and one of his too-big sweaters again. You hadn’t meant to come looking for him. You just woke up and felt the space beside you was empty, not in a sad way, just… hollow. Cool.

You followed the pull of it until it led you here.

He doesn’t move when you open the window. Doesn’t speak. But his eyes blink open, lashes catching the light. He looks at you, and that alone does something to your insides.

It’s the kind of look that hits low and blooms slow.

Not a spark, but a sunrise.

His smile when he sees you is small. A little crooked, like maybe he’s not so sure it’s okay to be this happy about something so simple.

Like you just standing there, sleepy and squinting and probably still with pillow creases and hints of drool on your cheek, is his favorite part of this whole Saturday.

He lifts a hand and stretches it toward you.

Palm up.

Fingertips flexing.

“C’mere,” he says, voice warm from disuse. “It’s nice.”

You don’t hesitate.

You climb carefully, your lemonade forgotten on the windowsill, and ease down between his legs. The fire escape creaks beneath you but holds. Of course it does. He shifts to make room for you like he already knew exactly how this would fit—your back against his chest, his knees bracketing yours, arms folding around you like second nature.

And you just sit like that, folded into him.

His chin hooks over your shoulder. His breath brushes your neck. One of his hands rests against your stomach, just above the hem of your sweater, warm through the fabric. The other finds your thigh, fingers drumming lazily against the denim there.

And you breathe. In and out. Slowly. Like maybe you forgot how before this.

“You been out here long?” you murmur.

He shrugs behind you. “I dunno. Long enough, maybe.”

You lean back into him, let your head fall onto his shoulder. “Get what you needed?”

There’s a long pause. Not like he’s unsure, just like he’s letting the quiet fill in some blanks first.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I think I did.”

You let the silence stretch after that. It’s not awkward. It’s just… Clark.

Which is to say: it’s safe.

The sunlight spills golden across the alley, catching in the curls at his temple. Today, he smells like clean cotton and cedar and whatever fancy soap he borrowed from your shower. His skin's warm.

You rest your hand over his where it sits on your stomach. His thumb traces a lazy circle just under your ribs, like he’s mapping out the shape of you in his mind.

“I used to sit like this back home,” he says after a while, voice soft. “Not on a fire escape, obviously. We had a roof. And a swing. My dad always left it out a little too long, so in the summer it was warm to the touch by the time I got to it.”

You hum, eyes slipping closed.

“He used to say it was good for me. Sunlight. Said I always looked like a weed after a storm when I stayed inside too long. Pale and strung out and grumpy.”

“Grumpy?” you smile, turning your face a little to glance at him. “You?”

“Oh yeah,” he grins. “Pouty little farm boy, hair sticking up, refusing to eat my vegetables unless they were corn.”

“Let me guess,” you say. “Martha snuck green beans into casseroles when you weren’t looking.”

He makes a pleased noise. “Bingo. Said it was her secret weapon for keeping me out of trouble.”

“That and the swing?”

“That and the swing.”

You settle again, your cheek to his shoulder, the metal warm beneath your thighs. You wonder if this is what he felt like, back then—sitting outside in the golden quiet, the weight of the sky pressing gentle on his shoulders, like a blanket he didn’t know he needed.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” he says suddenly, like it just occurred to him.

And it is.

But it would’ve been, anyway.

You twist slightly, enough to catch the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose. He’s not glowing. Not exactly. But something in him is bright.

And you—you love him so goddamn fiercely in that moment it feels like your ribs might crack from the inside. Like your heart is blooming against them, stubborn and wild and wholly his.

You lace your fingers with his where they’re still resting against your chest. His grip tightens. Not possessive. Just… sure.

He’s quiet a long time.

Then, like he’s been trying to time it right: “I love you.”

Just that.

Just the words, tucked into your collarbone. No fanfare. No build. Just truth. It roots into you like sunlight in soil. You don’t speak for a long moment, trying to get your lungs to work again. Your body. Everything else. Because it’s a simple sentence, but it feels like something tectonic and holy.

Eventually, you turn, slow and sure.

“I love you too.”

His head drops forward until his forehead presses to yours. You feel him exhale, shaky but smiling.

“I kept trying to find the right time,” he says. “I didn’t want it to feel like… I don’t know. A checkpoint. Like I had to say it because it was next on the list.”

You smile, thumb still brushing his skin. “So you went with the middle of the fire escape, during golden hour, while I’m in your hoodie and haven’t showered since last night?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Felt right.”

You sit like that for a while, sun on your skin, his breath on your neck. The world feels quieter with him this close. Still.

Eventually, when the light starts to dip low, painting the fire escape in rust and gold, you shift to get up.

He doesn’t let go. Not immediately. His hands stay at your waist, his fingers patient where they rest at your sides. Anchoring you.

“You look good in this light,” you murmur. “Like—too good. It’s kind of rude, honestly.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Like you belong in it.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something intimate and private in his eyes.

Then, “You’re not wrong.”

You tilt your head. “What, that you photosynthesize?”

But he just shakes his head, slow.

“No. Just… I think it’s you,” he says, almost like he’s surprising himself. “You make everything brighter.”

And it’s stupid, and it’s a little embarrassing, and you kiss him anyway. Because he’s warm and real and saying the kind of thing that would make anyone else roll their eyes—but with him, it just lands.

Tastes like the last light of the day and something sweet and earthy beneath it. Like coming home.

#clark kent x reader #fic recs

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heartyluv · 21 hours ago

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literally going FERAL at this caleb thought rn:

we all know that caleb is down bad for them drawals, would give his SOULLL for a whiff of them panties. heavily believe that caleb has a scent kink among many others but HEAR ME OUTTT.

imagine caleb catching mc taking deep inhales from HIS undies, thinking he’s still off at the gym with gideon & caleb nearly busses in his pants from the sight of it but he doesn’t say anything about it just to relish in the fact that you miss him so much that you’d do anything to have any part of him with you— but, you kept that a secret. at least, you thought you did.

with every breath you take, the most sinful moan leaves you as you whimper his name in hopes of just summoning him somehow. talking to his boxers like they’re HIM.

“caleb— i miss you.”

“caleb, you smell so good. need you back soon.”

“need to smell the real thing, caleb. need to smell you ..”

it takes everything in him not to burst in and relieve the pain of not having him there, not being able to endure his scent. but, he simply allows you to have your privacy with his laundry as he moves to get out of his work out clothes.

the moment you finally get your hands on him, you’re literally glued to him. your hands in his hair, your lips all over his face, but don’t think he doesn’t know how you smell him every time you nuzzle into his neck on the couch.

“c’mon, pips— i’m probably all smelly after today.” he tries to reason with you, despite you already pressing yourself against him & not even bothering to lift your head from his sweaty pecs.

“don’t care, missed you all day. lemme have this lebby, please?” you protest despite your voice being muffled against his strong chest. his smell invading your senses & fogging up your head with a need that’s indescribable.

he’s powerless when you beg, especially like that— for him.

soon enough, you’re getting on your knees and somehow finding the strength to pull his lower half closer to your face.

“shit, pipsqueak, what’s goin’ on with you, huh? goin’ all feral on me, honey?” he breathes out, chest heaving in anticipation as he looks down at you.

“i—i’m probably all sweaty down there. maybe you should lemme shower first—“

“i don’t give a fuck.”

your blunt words hit him like a deer in headlights as he blinks down at you, no longer able to hide the raging hard-on that ached against his shorts. “want you like this. don’t matter if you’ve been out all day, just need you so bad, caleb. won’t you let me have this, just this once? pretty please, baby?”

a groan leaves his throat as he feels the tip of your nose nuzzle so deep into his crotch, letting out such pleasant sounds of both relief & satisfaction as you let your mind be overcome with him— your caleb, your precious colonel.

he couldn’t ever deny you when you were so serious, so eager and needy for something so sinful and downright filthy. but, he also couldn’t deny how incredibly hot you were. the way you swing your hips as you nuzzle your face into your most favorite place, the noises that trickle out of your mouth and vibrates against his balls. he could only imagine how soaked you were from all this.

“okay, okay— no need to whine, baby cakes. c’mere .. caleb’s gotchu, pretty baby. ” he speaks so low, a tone filled with a carnal lust and adoration that makes you so utterly weak. he pets you so gently as he shuffles out of his bottoms until you’re on him again.

your cheek nuzzles against the shaft of his dick, the smell so strong and sweet in its own, strange little way. it nearly drives him crazy with the way you’re acting, almost like you were feral & trying to mark yourself with his scent.

he chews against his bottom lip as he enjoys the sight before him, a grin slowly forming as he taps his dick against your face.

“y’like smellin’ me, pipsqueak? don’t worry your pretty lil’ head .. i’ll make sure you get every bit of it, m’kay?”

i think i’ve just been out freaked. DID YOU JUST OUTFREAK ME WITH A WHOLE ASS DRABBLE?!?!

and what does that say about me that i.... liked it? WAITTTTT

baby, you've got me at a loss for words. like i think i just need to stand and give you a round of applause bc my GOD

she's actually feral for that omfg. BUT GIRL I GET IT!!! WHEN HE TAPS THAT DICK ON HER FACE?!?!? yeah, put it in my mouth, thanks!!!! i've always been addicted to the thought of a sweaty caleb but my mind never dared to go to these lengths

the nuzzling, his cockiness, HER DESPERATION.... i think you just did something to me that's never been done before... WITCH 🫵🏽🫵🏽 LMFAOOOO

and i kinda believe caleb smells a little like cinnamon... it's very faint, but he smells like it idc. even when he's been out and about. (please let me lick him)

bae, thank you for taking the time to grace us with this. framing it as we speak.

#heartyluv answers!#caleb x reader #caleb smut

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artigas · 5 hours ago

Note

Top 5 Rabbot fics?

This was the first ask I got and it's such a tough one because you're really spoiled for choice when it comes to amazing robby/abbot fics. here is a small sampling -- not in any specific order and definitely not an exhaustive list!!

All of Nothing by Alethia - this was the first Robby/Abbot fic I read and it is single-handidly responsible for taking me from curious about this ship to absolutely rabid about them. Jack does a wellness check on Robby and there's a moment in this one where he seriously considers the possibility that something seriously nightmarish has occurred, but faces it anyway because of the depths of his love for Robby. hurt/comfort perfection, gorgeous prose, lovely characterization.

Safe Haven by Alethia - you really can't go wrong with @alethialia's fics and I certainly can't choose favorites, but this one has a special place in my heart particularly because i'd just come back from an academic conference that's infamous for people hooking up at when i read this lmaooo. SUCH a gorgeous multichapter that perfectly balances internal and external conflict. so much pining that, when Jack and Robby finally do get together (spoiler!), you'll want to leap right up over the moon.

Healing Hands by Astronomical_Light - i've gone back to this fic a handful of times. @astronomical-light is such an incredible writer and i think this fic is one of many that showcases so much of what i love about her writing. i mean, okay, the premise of this fic is so fun and hot so that's a blast!! but also the vivid details are so evocative. i mean, i blush every time i read it because this fic takes its time building tension. it's so bodily in the most gorgeous way. truly like . . . gold tier example of how to write desire and sexual tension.

Through The Fall by Addandsubstract OOOH i love this one and cannot wait to re-read it after I post this. I'm someone who can read the same fic concept done a million times over, so the wealth of interpretations of how Jack and Robby would begin their relationship endlessly entertain me. This one is SO good for a million reasons, but I especially love the dialogue -- there's an understated, almost . . . careful quality to how Jack and Robby size each other up in this story, reading one another for tells before finally playing their hands. I can practically hear the dialogue. It's SO good.

Dawning by Sarapod - Another one of the first fics I read for this ship!! And I didn't even realize until now that it was a story written by the lovely @sarapod!! I adore the characterization here: writing a believable story where Robby goes to therapy is no small feat. I think it takes a really skilled writer to write this story in a way that doesn't get too hallmarky too fast and well -- Sara is that skilled of a writer! Part of what I love here is the realism: everything from Robby's relationship with mental health to his feelings for Jack feel so lived in and authentic and convincing. This is also a fic that imagines Jack as a gay man which I also really enjoy as a characterization choice; I cannot wait to read more fics of Sara's that dig deeper into Jack's identity and I can't waaaait to re-read this one.

Man of War by dreadthenight - okay you asked for five but I gotta give this one its roses as a bonus. A fic that centers on Jack Abbot, this one is written with such a profound and thoughtful attention to detail that I cannot get enough of; it really cracks open the small bits we know about Jack -- he's a veteran, he's a widower, he's got this uniquely intimate relationship with Robby -- and makes a world out of those details. There's a stunning second part to this that is equal parts tender, heart wrenching, and unsettling and everyone should bully @idreadthenight into writing a third installment!!

okay. again. there are SO many gorgeous fics I could've plugged in here --- several, in fact, from each of these authors alone!! picking a "top" five feels like picking favorites amongst your children. but i hope these selections are a fun place to start! if you have recs to share, my friend, please do send them my way!!

#top 5 #asks #the pitt #robby x abbot #fic recs

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nic-writes-sometimes · 17 hours ago

Text

Accidental Adoption

Ao3 Link

Fandom: KPDH

Word Count: 2,450

Chapter Three: Names

Summary: Minjae struggles with names.

a/n: thank you so much for the continued support on this fic, i am sooo grateful 🩷💜🩵

also keep an eye out for a poll ill be releasing soon. im indecisive and not sure which mini arc to do first. rn its between...

celine meeting the kids for the first time

the kid's backstory (how they escaped the demon realm

---

[excerpt from ch.3]

She had words for them now.

She had a family.

Minjae sat at the edge of the couch, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt while pretending to watch the cartoon flickering across the screen. Hwan was on floor, humming happily as he stacked blocks on the coffee table (though he had plenty of other toys, he ignored them in favor of the colorful blocks Bobby got him, a fan favorite), oblivious to the knot of worry growing in his sister’s stomach.

It wasn’t a big deal—not really. She’d called them all by their names for weeks now. Rumi. Zoey. Mira. It was simple, safe. But something about it felt wrong lately. Too formal. Too distant. Especially now that they were hers. Her family.

She didn’t know what they expected her to say, and worse, she didn’t want to get it wrong. She didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. She didn’t want to pick the wrong one, and make the others feel like she didn’t love them as much.

The pressure sat heavy in her chest like a stone.

“Hey Min,” Zoey’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft and warm from the kitchen. “Are you guys hungry? I could cut you up some apples?”

Though Zoey was the youngest of the three women, she never felt lacking in the ways that mattered. In fact, there was something about her lightness—her playful energy, her easy laughter—that made everything feel a little less heavy. She didn’t try to force comfort into painful moments. Instead, she wove joy into the cracks.

With Hwan, Zoey was the sun. Bright and silly, the source of all games and giggles. He adored her completely.

But it was different for Minjae. More subtle. Zoey never demanded anything from her. Never tried to fill spaces that weren’t hers to claim. Instead, she invited Minjae in: into fun, into play, into softness. Slowly, steadily, Zoey reminded her it was okay to laugh. To let go. To be a child again.

It used to be hard. Minjae had spent so long holding everything together for her brother, pretending to be older, stronger, and braver than she felt. Fun wasn’t something she ever had time for—it was a luxury she never believed she deserved.

But Zoey never treated it like a luxury. Just a right.

Minjae opened her mouth to answer—she was going to say yes, maybe even ask for cinnamon too, the way Zoey always sliced apples and dusted them with it like a treat—but before she could, a smaller voice beat her to it

“Mamaaaa!” Hwan squealed, his little legs kicking as he toddled toward the counter. “I want apple too!”

Zoey laughed, light and musical. “That’s one vote for apples!” she called back. “What about you, Min?”

Minjae blinked. Her gaze flicked to Hwan, then to Zoey. Mama.

Something eased in her chest. Minjae smiled before she could stop herself.

“…Yeah. Apples sound good, Mama.”

Zoey’s hands froze for a beat, then slowly resumed their rhythm, a grin spreading across her face as her eyes shimmered with quiet joy.

"Coming right up, baby."

~~~

Later that night, Rumi sat beside Minjae on the edge of her bed. It was still a little strange—having a room of her own. A soft comforter. A nightlight she picked out herself. She didn’t have to share a bed with Hwan anymore, though more than once, one could be found curled up beside the other by morning.

Rumi gently parted Minjae’s hair, fingers moving with practiced care. Braiding before bed had become their quiet ritual, a tether between them at the end of each long day. Most nights, Minjae would chatter about school, the new girl with sparkly sneakers, what she drew during art class, how Bobby waved at her from the studio window. And Rumi would listen, humming now and then, asking soft questions at just the right moments.

But tonight was a quiet night.

Minjae sat still, clutching one of the hair ties between her fingers, twisting it absently. She didn’t feel sad. Just…full.

Rumi didn’t press her to talk. She just braided. Slow and gentle. Her presence covering the room like a warm blanket.

Minjae let her eyes drift shut for a moment, feeling the cotton of her pajamas against her skin, the softness of the mattress beneath her, the weight of a warm dinner in her belly. She knew—really knew—how lucky she and Hwan were.

Rumi’s voice broke through Minjae’s quiet thoughts.

“There, all done.”

Minjae turned toward the mirror perched on her dresser. A single, tidy braid fell down her back, resting just below her shoulders. She tilted her head slightly, running a hand over it, feeling the soft pull of each careful weave. She looked… pretty. Grown-up, even.

She looked like Rumi.

They were alike in ways that ran deeper than hair or eyes. Both of them demon orphan girls, trying to make their way in a world that hadn’t exactly welcomed them. The kind of world that asked too much, too soon—demanding strength and control, even when they were barely holding on.

Minjae had always thought she had to manage everything on her own. Her brother. Her fears. Her future. But now, sitting in the soft light of her new bedroom, she was beginning to understand something else: she didn’t have to carry it all by herself.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey had shown her that.

Through patient hands and soft lullabies. Through firm boundaries and gentle understanding. Through showing up, again and again and again, even when Minjae was at her worst. Especially then.

She met Rumi’s eyes in the mirror. The older woman was already watching her, a quiet smile resting on her lips, waiting. Not expecting anything in return. Just… there.

Minjae felt the words rise up in her chest before she could second guess them.

“Thank you, Eomma.”

Rumi blinked, lips parting just slightly—but her eyes softened, glowing faintly with love and unshed tears.

She placed a kiss on the crown of her daughter's head, "Of course aeigi."

~~~

The next morning, Minjae was trying to get dressed when she noticed a tear in her favorite Huntr/x shirt. It wasn’t a big rip, just a thin line across the shoulder seam, but it felt like something in her chest had split, too. The shirt had all three of her parental figures printed on the front, from one of their early promotional posters. She’d worn it so often the fabric was thin from love.

Logically, she knew it wasn’t the end of the world. She had other shirts. Zoey could probably fix it. Rumi could probably get her a new one.

But she was only a kid. And sometimes, little heartbreaks felt huge. She was allowed to cry over stupid things.

Mira had just been walking past her door, balancing a cup of tea and one of Hwan’s stuffed animals, when the soft, uneven sound of sniffling made her stop. She knocked gently on the doorframe.

“Min?”

Minjae didn’t answer right away, but the silence gave her away. Mira stepped inside and saw her sitting on the floor, crumpled shirt in her lap, her shoulders shaking with effort.

Mira didn’t ask questions. She set the cup down and crossed the room in three strides, sinking to her knees beside her.

“Hey,” she said softly, pulling Minjae into her arms without hesitation. “What happened?”

Minjae buried her face in Mira’s shoulder, voice muffled and cracking. “It’s dumb. My shirt’s ripped. The one with all three of you on it.”

Mira smoothed a hand over the back of her head. “That’s not dumb. That shirt means something to you. Of course you’re upset.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Minjae hiccuped. “I just put it on and it tore. I hate this.”

Mira held her a little tighter. “Sometimes things break, even when we do everything right. Doesn’t mean it’s your fault. And it doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed.”

Minjae let out a shaky breath, her fists still clutching the ruined shirt. Mira just stayed there with her, a quiet, steady presence, her calm strength settling the air.

Mira was always good at that. At showing up, without needing to be asked. At reading the room—and reading Minjae—like it was second nature. She was always there. Always listening. Always knowing when to say something, and when silence would say more.

And her food? Unmatched. (But don't tell Rumi or Zoey.)

It wasn’t just about Mira’s cooking or her quiet strength. It was the way she moved through the house like a mountain that had learned to be gentle—solid and grounding, but soft when it mattered. Mira didn’t hover or fuss like Rumi, or crack jokes like Zoey. She didn’t always know what to say, but she stayed. That meant more than Minjae could explain.

For a long time, Minjae hadn’t known where to put Mira in her head. She wasn’t just one of the adults in the house. She wasn’t just the one who cooked meals for her family or carried Hwan on her back when he got sleepy. Mira was different. Steady in the way Minjae wished she could be. Someone who carried her fear in silence, but still opened her arms anyway.

Minjae had seen the way Mira flinched at raised voices, the way she shut down when arguments hit too close to home. She knew there were scars under that strength, the same kind that lived in Minjae’s own chest. But still, Mira stayed. She kept trying.

Minjae hesitated, her fingers curling into the hem of her shirt. “Can… can I ask you something?”

Mira looked directly into her eyes. “Of course, little one.”

Minjae’s voice was quiet, uncertain. “May I call you Appa? I know you’re not a dad in the traditional sense, but… you’re strong like one. And you're always there for me like one.”

The question settled into the room like a held breath.

Mira froze, her expression softening with something that looked dangerously close to awe. For all her composure, her voice wobbled at the edges. “You want to call me Appa?”

Minjae nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. “Only if it’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Gently, she tipped Minjae’s chin up so their eyes met.

“It would be more than okay,” she said. “It would be an honor.”

Minjae blinked quickly, trying to hold back more tears. Mira pulled her into another hug, wrapping her up in warmth.

“You can call me anything you need to,” Mira whispered into her hair. “But Appa… that means the world.”

So when Minjae whispered, “Thank you, Appa,” and leaned her head against Mira’s chest, it wasn’t just about the shirt. It was about all of it. The steadiness. The quiet love. The choice to stay.

Mira didn’t say anything at first, just held her a little tighter. And after a moment, she whispered back, “Always.”

~~~

The school gym smelled faintly of old rubber and cafeteria pizza, but it was filled with color and sound. Banners made of construction paper draped the walls, each one boasting crooked lettering like “Happy Parents’ Day!” and “Thank you for all you do!”. Rows of little chairs lined the makeshift stage at the front of the gym, where children had sung a song earlier that left most of the adults sniffling.

Minjae had not sung.

She had stood stiffly on stage with her classmates, mouth closed, eyes scanning the crowd until she found them—her people. Mira, Rumi, and Zoey sat close together, crammed awkwardly on those too-small folding chairs, waving with wide smiles like she was the only one who mattered in the whole room.

Minjae didn’t wave back, but her shoulders had relaxed.

Mira had a hat pulled low over her eyes and tinted glasses shielding half her face. Rumi wore an oversized hoodie with the drawstrings cinched so tight it was a miracle she could see at all. Zoey had tucked her hair into a bucket hat and swapped her usual designer lashes for drugstore basics. None of them looked like the global stars plastered on half the posters in the city.

Later, the event had moved to the crafts table. Students were supposed to decorate paper flowers and write short messages on them for their parents. Around her, other kids scrawled cheerful messages like “You’re the best, Mom!” or “Thanks for teaching me to ride my bike, Dad!” Some had only one parent, or a grandparent, or even a guardian who wasn’t technically family at all. No one asked questions—teachers just handed out extra markers and let the kids write what felt right.

Minjae had been staring at her blank flower for ten minutes.

Hwan was beside her, coloring in big, messy circles with a blue crayon and humming to himself. His flower already had three squiggly hearts drawn on each petal. He was content.

But Minjae wasn’t sure how to begin.

She glanced up at her family again. Mira stood, arms folded over her chest like a security guard more than a pop idol. Rumi crouched beside Zoey, helping her organize their coats and the half-eaten snacks Zoey had gathered from the treat table. They looked… normal. Like they belonged here.

The knot in Minjae’s chest loosened.

She picked up her marker.

In the center of the flower, she wrote:

"To my Eomma, Mama, and Appa."

She stood up.

Her hands trembled slightly as she walked toward them. All three turned as she approached, their expressions shifting instantly from public composure to full, unfiltered warmth.

“I made something,” she said, holding the flower out with both hands. Her voice barely rose above the shuffle and chatter of the room.

They leaned in to look.

Zoey read it aloud, her voice catching.

Minjae cleared her throat. “I… I wasn’t sure if I should say it out loud before. But…” Her eyes met each of theirs. “That’s who you are to me. That’s who you’ve been. And I wanted you to know.”

There was a breathless beat of silence.

Then Hwan tugged on Mira’s pants, waving his own crayon-covered flower. “Look, Appa!” he beamed. “That’s you! I gave you a cape!”

Mira’s laugh was short and stunned, like the sound had been knocked loose from her chest. She scooped Hwan up and kissed his cheek without saying a word. Rumi gently pulled Minjae into a hug. Zoey, already teary, kissed the top of her head and whispered something she couldn’t quite hear.

Minjae stood in the center of them, warmth blooming in her chest.

She had words for them now.

She had a family.

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walforz0 · 12 hours ago

Text

GUYS, GUYS, IT HAPPENED, IT FINALLY HAPPENED. I'M CRYING, THIS IS SO GOOD 😭😭 ALONDRA TE AMO. THEY HUGGED, AND MIGUEL STARTED IT 😭.

I swear I was like this when it happened, dude omg

I was jumping around, yelling, and sending voice notes to my friends, crying and screaming—thank goodness I was alone at home lol. Miss Alondra, you cooked and it won tons of Michelin stars, I swear.

Okay, I just want to put this here 'cause I feel it means sooooooo much for both Dulzura and Miguel. Him offering to tag along with her, the whole back-and-forth moment where he jokes he's gonna get offended that she’d even think he wouldn’t do something like that… especially for her. The whole “I didn’t expect anything less, but I also know you’re busy here.” and he just goes “Never busy for you.” That little phrase says a looooooot about how much Miguel has healed. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have said it out loud earlier in his relationship with Dulzura, and it’s just so damn SWEET. Oh my god, dude.

Now, when he was panicking about Harry maybe doing something to Dulzura? He almost lost it. But then— "He sees you; your sweet smile and those eyes that could make him fall to his knees." DUDEEEEE. COME ON. GO KISS YOUR WIFE. And not only that—but the cherry on top? “He misses you like the moon misses its stars in a starless night.”

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!

Regarding Harry… Let me just:

Dude gave me a whole headache. He has to learn to shut up and stop saying things so out of pocket, like dude, chill you don`t even know our Miguel. Alsoooo, Dulzura is way better than me 'cause I would’ve totally told him I was, indeed doing Miguel all night long, every single day, just to shut him up 💀.

Now, I was always curious if there’d ever be a variant of Dulzura. This soothed my curiosity perfectly. I love how Miguel took his time not telling her yet about the new universe. Of course, he’s aware of how complicated it would be for his best friends to know that a variant of her and Peter have the future she once dreamed of. Miguel is a cutie potato, and I love him.

It broke me into pieces when Dulzura was crying on the floor of her room at Miguel’s penthouse. My poor girl was going through it all, thanks to Harry. Miguel being the most calm, understanding, and soft soul—just for her. The way he acts on his feelings, the way he makes space for Dulzura between his legs, the way he holds her tightly in his arms, gently swaying back and forth, soothing her, calling her the most precious and loving nicknames... The whole "mi, mi, mi" (my, my, my)

The “preciosa” did something to me that I know you’re sooo aware of it too. As Spanish speakers we just KNOW that this one is a whole different type of nickname.

And then he cups her face, dries her tears with his thumbs... oh my GOD. The way Dulzura notices his scent—something she hasn't felt since Peter—means so much. I just know she’s gonna think about it later when their relationship moves past the platonic. Dios mío. Then the whole: “Don't let me go just yet.” DUDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The scream I left when I read that. The LOVE surrounding those two. It's too much. OH MY GOD. Too much. And they both dropped the L-word like it’s just another invitation to café de olla on a random Tuesday 😭. I swear, I just need them to—

And wait—I didn’t forget the totally random thought of: “Your hand tracing his bare skin…” I JUST KNOW MIGUEL WOULD ASK FOR BACK RUBS WHENEVER HE GETS THE CHANCE 😭. I'm going to cry, he's so precious to me, dude.

Also the “God, I love you…” PRKVMWSFPNVGWDNVWNDAVMQP`DVQMD DUDEEEEE. I dunno, don’t mind me, but I feel like that is 100% foreshadowing for a very spicy moment between those two 👀. Okay, I need to go touch some grass bro, JESÚS. Also the part where Miguel talks about Dulzura’s living arrangements—I love how he just loves to be the provider. THAT’S A MAN RIGHT THERE. That’s our man. I need him to exist so bad.

Then the whole puzzle-making part?? Miguel knowing exactly what look his best friend makes when she’s already sleepy and pretending she’s not... then shortly after she’s knocked out on his bicep and he just JCNADJKVNSADONA He lifts his arm to let her rest more comfortably on him, and respectfully wraps it around her. “Duerme, mi niña amada.” Bet those two would wake up cuddling and not move an inch this time. I'm going to cry again.

Once again, Alondra, you are just perfect with this. I don’t even have the words to say how amazing this is. I once sent you an anon ask haha—and I’m going to repeat myself here because JESUS CHRIST:

Thank you, really. Gracias mi vida hermosa, for creating something so soft, powerful, layered, and emotionally captivating. NC is honestly one of the most incredible pieces I’ve ever come across. The way you craft every moment—the pacing, the emotional intimacy, the connection—it all lives in my head and heart 24/7, rent-free. It’s perfection. I genuinely adore this fic with everything in me. If I could, I would personally gift you the moon. Besos pa' ti desde Colombia, mi reina. Ti amo, chau.

Nonviolent Communication - Part 24

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: You spend the day touring apartments, but it doesn't go well. Word Count: 14.8K Warnings: angst; mention of death; grief; minor mention of not wanting to exist; some Spanish Spotify playlist (updated) Masterlist

Part 24

“I can't believe they're doing this! My sister warned me they'd try to do this, but I didn't believe her,” you hear a woman say as you reach the lobby of your apartment building.

After spending the last two hours or so cleaning the apartment since you got time to do it today, you decided to come downstairs to pick up the mail as a little break. The last thing you expected was to find several other tenants gathered in small groups in the lobby, however, all with similar expressions of anger and disbelief as they converse about something.

“That can't be good,” you mutter to yourself, walking to collect your mail. Once collected, you quickly look through it, only to find a letter from the apartment landlord. Expecting the worst already, you open the letter and read it, learning exactly what everyone is talking about. You sigh as you finish reading and look around, understanding why everyone is angry and in disbelief.

“They pulled one on us, didn't they?” a younger woman asks as she walks past you, clearly upset and trying to vent to anyone who will listen. “We stayed with them even after the fire, and this is what they do? Sell the building off to some company. Unbelievable.”

Gazing around and continuing to listen to the tenants, you ponder about the situation. In hindsight, even if it hurts to admit, this makes sense. The main reason why Peter and you initially decided to live here was due to the rent. It was reasonable, not overly high nor low. The area is considered pretty safe and there’s plenty of small businesses and nice things to do around it. Plus, the building itself had its charm due to the older structure, something you appreciated.

Over the years, however, you noted the rent remained reasonable. It didn’t spike like it did in other places despite the economy, or simply increased because of greed. That also meant that tenants couldn’t demand for extra stuff, of course. It was as the saying goes, you get what you pay for.

It was the reason why you painted the apartment when you first moved in while Peter worked on other things like fixing the kitchen cabinets and such. Ironically, all but one of the cabinets needed work. Peter and you assumed the previous renter had barely fixed it before moving out and that that was the reason why it was in good shape. Years later, that very same cabinet’s hardware grew loose through daily use and Miguel was the one who fixed it on the first day he ever came to your apartment to check on you. With a small smile, you recall the screwdriver in his hand; how it had looked normal in Peter’s hand, but looked like a toy in Miguel’s.

Either way, the apartment has been, in a way, for those who cannot afford the other prices. It’s been a stepping stone for many, giving them a safe and decent roof over their heads before they can afford something better. That was also the plan Peter and you had, but alas, life takes many turns and you’re still here, even without Peter.

With that said, it makes sense that this is happening now. You imagine the landlord isn’t filthy rich due to the mere fact that they kept the rent reasonable all these years, and so, the fire probably made them pull money from their own pocket despite insurance. Perhaps, they tried to work through it, but the debt caught up, leading them to selling the building.

The unfortunate thing for tenants is that this is possible and legal due to the contract including a ‘lease termination due to sale’ clause, meaning the leases don’t have to be honored by the landlord since they're selling.

With a grunt, you turn back around to go back to your apartment only to run into a tenant you haven’t seen in years. You apologize and steady the old woman. With a smile you step back, recalling the times Peter and you helped her carry her groceries to her floor. If your memory suits you right, you recall that the last time you saw her was a few months after Peter’s death. After that, you never saw her again, so you assumed she had moved in with her relatives, or perhaps placed in a nursing home. To say you’re surprised to see her after so many years, is an understatement.

“My, my, I thought you didn’t live here anymore, sweetheart,” the lady says, smiling at you.

“I can say the same. I haven’t seen you in years,” you reply, amused. “But I’ve been here, you know, getting by. Are you still living in the same apartment?”

“Yes, the same. It’s a shame we haven’t seen each other in so long,” the lady replies still smiling. “We stopped running into each other and look, we assumed we had moved out, only to realize we’ve been here all along.”

“True. Life has its funny moments, but I’m happy to see you again. You seem well,” you respond, looking over her. She really does seem to be in good health, despite the years.

“I feel great! Thankfully, my health has improved since the last time you saw me,” she shares, looking around at the commotion.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you reply truthfully just as another tenant walks by, shooting you a look of bewilderment. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what their problem is.

“Maybe it is a good thing this place is shutting down. Too many freaks,” the tenant mumbles, shaking their head as they start up the stairs.

“The beauty of living in apartments,” the lady says, making you laugh softly. “But well, seems like this time we must go for sure.”

“Seems like it,” you answer, looking around the lobby you’ve entered and exited thousands of times now. “You have a place to go?”

“Yes, I do. I have a secured place, no worries,” the lady says with a small sigh before looking at you. “Maybe it’s a push from your friend to get you out of here.”

You smile at her, wondering if she doesn’t remember that Peter was your boyfriend, not just a friend. “Maybe it is, hm? Maybe it’ll be a good change.”

“Perhaps… I must go, dear. My favorite show is about to start,” the lady says. “Take care, alright? If I don’t see you again, I wish you the best. Don’t forget to follow your heart and keep your promises, no matter what people say.”

“Oh, um, yes. I will, thank you, but hey, I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Surely, we’ll run into each other in the month and a half we have left here, right?” you ask, caught a little by surprise by the woman’s goodbye.

“Perhaps, my dear,” she says with a little chuckle before going up the stairs.

You shake your head and go up to your own apartment after a minute or two, trying not to think too much about how you soon won’t be unlocking your door anymore and enter. Inside, you place the mail on the kitchen counter and look around, taking in the apartment. The fact that you must leave — for good — hits you like a punch to the stomach suddenly. It's not even the fact that this place is where Peter and you started a new chapter in your lives. Not anymore. While you cherish the place for that fact, you realized a while ago that you could move forward despite that.

The main thing is that this has been your home for so long. You lived some of the most wonderful moments of your life here, but also, some of the darkest after Peter's death. Despite the older design and structure, it has its charm, too. It has personality.

Still gazing around, you wonder if maybe, your chapter at this place ended with the fire from over a year ago now. Maybe that's why you've found it so easy to spend nearly every day away since then. Maybe it's why, a big part of you, isn't as heartbroken about this development like you would've been years before.

Perhaps, you've merely been holding on to this place because it was comfortable and safe. You were already here, why bother getting out of your comfort bubble?

“Maybe this is a push from you,” you say, gazing at one of Peter's photos. “Maybe, it's time… To truly move forward.”

With a sigh, you settle down on the couch. You have a month and a half to move out. That’s what the new owners are granting the tenants. It seems plenty of time, but you know the days go by in a blur, so it’s best to start planning. You must find another place, which means apartment hunting. That alone takes hours to do and the mere thought of it almost gives you a headache. Then, there’s the carefully packing of everything and moving it elsewhere with the fear that it might break along the way somehow.

Okay, stressing about that isn’t going to make it better, but at least… It’s keeping your mind away from the fact that you’re leaving this place. Sure, you’re already somewhat less attached to the apartment, but you’re still sad about it. You wish you could’ve made the decision to leave willingly, not ushered out the door by some company, who probably only bought the building to demolish it and set up yet another quirky office building, or worse, some kind of industrial plant that over time, will force everyone to move out of the area due to health reasons.

You stand up, thinking about buying boxes to pack, but first, you need to find another place to live at. With a groan, you decide to return to Nueva York. Maybe talking about it with Miguel will provide you some clarity, or at least, it will make you feel better.

You stop in your tracks as the lady comes back to mind. Maybe you should ask her if she needs help packing. With that thought, you leave your apartment and head to her floor, looking at the numbers on the doors until you find hers.

After knocking, you wait patiently for a few seconds before the door opens revealing an entirely different person. An older woman than you greets you, looking a little curious about the stranger at her door.

“Hii, good morning, ma'am. I'm sorry to bother, but I'm looking for…” you trail off. You don't even know her name now that you think about it. Peter and you never learned it. You offer an apologetic smile and decide to explain to the lady in front of you who you're looking for.

“Oh, yes. That was Mrs. Fernandez. She lived here before I moved in a year ago or so. I switched apartments,” the lady says. “I used to live across from her.”

“But she said she was still living in the same apartment as always,” you answer, confused.

“She did. She lived in this apartment until she passed away.”

“Wait, what?” you ask, shocked.

“She passed away before the fire happened. I'm sorry,” the lady says apologetically.

“I… Thank you for your kindness, ma'am. Have a good day,” you manage to respond before walking away. You struggle to wrap your head around this. You just saw and spoke to her.

Almost in a daze, you walk back to your own apartment, remembering that you indeed, didn't see her when the fire took place despite her saying she had been here all along. It didn't click in your mind at all earlier. A shiver runs over your body as you process this, but you don't let yourself get spooked. At least, not too much. After all, she was always kind.

As you head back to your apartment, you understand why it felt like she was giving you a final goodbye; it was. You also realize why the tenant gave you a weird look and said the place was filled with ‘freaks’: in their eyes, you were talking with no one the entire time.

You decide to keep this to yourself for the time being. Maybe you'll share it in the future, but for now, you store the moment away in your head and travel to Nueva York.

In seconds, you find yourself in Miguel’s lab, finding him fidgeting with some equipment. He looks up, seeing the colorful spots of the portal flood part of the lab. “Hey, done cleaning?”

“Yes. Mostly,” you answer, approaching him. “I cleaned for two hours before deciding to take a little break to pick up the mail, and… That’s when I learned of some unexpected news.”

“What happened?” Miguel asks, sensing your mood is different from before you left earlier today.

“The landlord sold the building off. I have a month and a half to get out,” you reply, frowning a little as you lean on the platform for support.

“What?” Miguel asks in slight shock. “They can’t do that. There’s laws to protect renters.”

“There’s a lease termination due to sale clause, so it was always a possibility. Peter and I didn’t expect to stay there for so long, so it didn’t worry us much when we first started renting. After Peter, I didn’t think much of it either. The apartments didn’t seem to be going anywhere,” you explain. “I’m certain the fire had to do with it. Perhaps, insurance didn’t cover enough and the landlord had to use money from their own pocket, or they took out loans and the debt is too much. The rent has been consistent over the years, so, they were likely making a decent amount of money to live off comfortably, at least, but with that happening, they were likely forced to sell.”

“Damn,” Miguel responds, his shoulders dropping. He’s always liked your place, even from the first time he stepped into it. There was a certain allure to it on top of how welcoming it is. If it wasn’t because it’s a one bedroom, Miguel would’ve probably asked if he could stay there with this arrangement you have now of being roommates instead of the penthouse. “I’m sorry about that. I know how much you love the place. It’s… It’s truly so welcoming and cozy.”

“Right? I really like the older style. All the new apartments are too modern. There’s really no personality to the buildings these days. Everything is a carbon copy of the rest.”

“You say that, but the penthouse is like that,” Miguel comments, smiling a little.

“Yeah, but it makes sense considering we’re in a futuristic universe. Plus, there’s still personality because of the unique shapes some of the buildings have. And, I have seen some of the new buildings are starting to include baroque features.”

Miguel chuckles. “I hadn’t even noticed that. You like your buildings with personality, hm?” He sighs, thinking about your place again. “So… A month and a half to move out?”

“Yeah,” you reply, mindlessly staring off while running your fingers over his platform, thinking. “I need to find somewhere to rent.”

Miguel nods, still thinking. He’s tempted to propose something, but he’s not sure you’d be up for the idea, so he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he offers his support. “Well, you know you can count on me to help you pack and move things. And I can tag along during your apartment hunting, if you’d like.”

“Really?” you ask, looking up at him with gratitude.

“Did you expect anything less from me?” Miguel asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going to get offended,” he playfully says, trying to lift your spirits.

“No, I didn’t expect anything less, but I also know you’re busy here.”

“Never busy for you,” Miguel replies. “I’ll be more than happy to help.”

“I’m grateful for your help and support,” you answer with a smile. “Truly.”

“Always,” Miguel answers with a smile. “Hey, how about some lunch? It’s on me.”

“I could go for some lunch,” you answer, suddenly feeling hungry now that food has been mentioned. “I think I burnt breakfast off with all the cleaning.”

Together — and after changing into regular clothes — Miguel and you head out to get lunch, opting for one of your favorite spots.

“I’m not gonna lie, this is making me feel a little better,” you say halfway through the meal. “Thank you for the pick-me-up.”

“I hoped it would boost your spirits, even just a little,” Miguel says, wiping his mouth clean. “I’m glad it worked. I hate to see you down.”

“Well, it worked,” you reply with a smile before you receive a notification.

“Something wrong?” Miguel asks, wondering if it’s someone from the spider gang.

“Uh, no,” you answer, looking at the notification to read it. “It’s from Harry. He says he just found out about the apartment building being sold.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow, lowering his utensil. “I wonder how he learned about it.”

“Maybe he went to look for me. There were a lot of people in the lobby talking about the news. I have no doubts people will be talking for the next two days about it, so it’s possible he overheard someone discussing it. Or, I don't know. Maybe it made it to the local news, or something like that.”

“Hm.”

“Oh…” You sigh and look up at him. “He’s offering to go with me tomorrow to see some places. He’s worried about the short amount of time I have to move out.”

“Well… That’s helpful of him,” Miguel begrudgingly states.

“And… He just sent me a list of places he knows are safe and affordable,” you continue, going over the list Harry just sent you. Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to the food.

“So, tomorrow?” Miguel asks.

“Yeah… I don’t know if I should accept, though. I was going to look online first and make a list from there. Then again, if I say no, I might make him feel bad by rejecting his help. Hm, I guess it doesn’t hurt to go look. Maybe it’ll give me a better idea about what’s out there. It’s been a hot minute since I went apartment hunting, I’m sure things are slightly different now,” you reply.

Miguel nods with a sigh. “It would be nice and he’s offering, so…”

You nod. “Yes… Ok, I’ll tell him after our lunch that I'd appreciate it,” you say, picking up your utensil to start eating again. You silently think about Harry’s offer, which you weren’t expecting at all. For some reason, you were only picturing Miguel coming along with you. You can even picture someone from the spider gang, but not Harry, so the thought of him being the one to accompanied you on your first day of apartment hunting seems odd to you.

Across from you, Miguel eats his food, thinking about the very same thing. It didn’t even cross his mind that Osborn would be helping you during this process, but he supposes that’s just because he doesn’t like to think about Osborn. Regardless of the time you’ve been in communication with him, Miguel can’t find it in himself to like him. He barely respects the man and that’s only because you’ve found it within yourself to give him a second chance. Miguel respects you and your decisions, including giving Osborn a chance, but that doesn’t mean he respects him after what he did. He just can’t and maybe he never will.

Taking a drink, Miguel convinces himself that tomorrow will be a fun day for you. Maybe you’ll have luck and find somewhere you truly like thanks to Osborn.

-♡-

The next day after breakfast, you say bye to Miguel and return to your own dimension to meet up with Harry. Full of enthusiasm, Harry drops by to pick you up in his car, driven by Mr. Kerr. Together, Harry and you visit various places from morning to noon. You keep an open mind, but inside, none of the places you visit fully win your heart. You hope to find a place that makes you feel like you did when you first found your current apartment, but despite looking at several locations, you simply don’t connect with any place.

It’s nearly three in the afternoon when Harry and you leave the last place on his list, feeling mentally tired.

“Oh, there’s another place I forgot to share with you. It’s close to your current place,” Harry says as you both get inside the car. “You wanna go?”

“Yeah, why not?” you answer as Mr. Kerr begins to drive, figuring that one more place won't hurt.

“Perfect, let me tell Felix the address. I think you may like this place a lot,” Harry states before he tells Kerr where to next.

Exhausted from touring multiple apartments, you don’t even process the address of the last apartment until Kerr pulls up. You blink as the apartment building comes into view, your heart filling with bitter sweetness.

“Come on,” Harry says, tapping your arm before slipping out of the car.

“Good luck, madam,” Kerr states.

“Thanks,” you reply, unbuckling your seat belt and climbing out.

“I hear these apartments are very nice. Plenty of room. You could even have an office here, or build a home library. Actually, that would be very cool,” Harry continues. “Imagine how much fun it would be to have your own library.”

“Ah, yes,” you say as you both walk to the apartment’s main offices. “That would be very cool,” you add, hearing Peter’s voice in your head. You shake your head, trying to clear your mind. A part of you almost wishes that no tours are available today, just to avoid having to see this place in the flesh, but to your luck, the manager is more than happy to show you around.

The tour starts with the exterior parts, like the gym and pool, before you're led to an empty apartment. You enter the space with Harry and the manager behind, barely listening to the latter as they tell you about the place.

You do a full turn, taking in the large open concept space that makes up the kitchen, dining, and living areas.

“Can you imagine a little you or a little me running around? Not here in this apartment. Somewhere bigger where we’ll have more space. Like that place a few blocks from here.”

You walk towards the windows and gaze out.

“The place with three bedrooms and the lovely view,” you remember saying, head pressed against Peter's chest while laying in bed.

“That one. One bedroom for us. One bedroom for each child.”

“And on this side we have the bedrooms. Three bedrooms to be precise,” the manager continues.

You nod and follow them, stepping inside the main bedroom that would be yours. You can almost see it, your furniture in this room and the clothes, both Peter’s and yours, hanging in the closet.

You exit and look at the other two empty bedrooms.

“So you want two kids?”

“I — Let’s skip that question,” Peter said one time with a small grin. “Just imagine for now, two kids. Two kids and walks to the park so they can play. Trips to the bookstore because if their mom likes to read, surely one of them will pick up the habit. And, a bigger apartment means we can have more bookcases. You’ve always wanted a little library, so we’ll have that there. You can go on patrols at night, and we’ll wait for you for bedtime. I’ll tell them stories about Spider-Woman and how I’m the biggest fan…”

“There’s a park nearby, too,” the manager shares. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with the area, but it’s a wonderful spot for families. Parents take their kids there in the afternoons to walk and play. It’s a truly safe area. And, there are many stores around here, so anything you could possibly need is within minutes of walking.”

“That’s… Really something,” you answer, turning to the kitchen area to inspect it. Your fingers trace the pretty counter before your eyes land on the stove and oven. You think about the cakes and other sweet treats you would’ve baked here once; the birthday parties you would’ve hosted for Peter and maybe, those two kids. You even see Peter by the stove, making pancakes in weird shapes for his family and making the little ones laugh.

“Any questions?” the manager asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you, but no. You seem to have covered all the bases,” you answer after clearing your throat.

“We look forward to receiving your application. Please don’t hesitate to let us know if you have any concerns,” the manager continues on as the three of you head out. Before the door is closed, you glance back one more time and for a second, you see a snippet of what could’ve, would’ve, should’ve been your life.

The ride back to your apartment consists of Harry talking, sounding more excited about the apartments than you are. You try to make conversation, forcing small smiles while your brain is stuck on the last apartment. Years have passed since those nights when you used to talk with Peter about such things. You’ve healed, yet seeing the place in person was different than merely imagining it like you used to with him.

Back at your apartment, you push the door open and turn on the lights with Harry behind you. As always, Kerr stays outside by choice.

“So, I think I’ve talked enough. What about you? Did any of the apartments we looked at caught your eye?” Harry asks, sighing.

“They were all pretty and the amenities are pretty great. Rent seems decent for the locations they’re in…”

“I sense a but…” Harry says, raising an eyebrow.

Sighing, you shrug. “None of them stood out to me,” you answer, avoiding telling him about the last apartment while fidgeting with the bracelet Miguel gifted you for Christmas.

With a scoff, Harry glances at the bracelets on your wrist. He noticed them the day you met with him after the holidays to celebrate, noting that he hadn’t seen them before. Harry’s mind was quick to pinpoint the responsible person for the new gift: Miguel. “You must find somewhere to live. Time is ticking, you know? I mean, what if you don’t find anything that stands out to you and when you do decide on a place, there are no apartments available there? Where are you going to stay? Is your plan to go live with that Miguel guy again?”

“That Miguel guy is my best friend,” you state firmly, raising an eyebrow at Harry’s tone.

“I haven’t even met him.”

“Harry… There will be a time for everything. Besides, Miguel is very busy.”

“What does he do?” Harry inquires, crossing his arms across his chest.

“That is not for me to say. When you meet him in the future, he can tell you himself,” you answer, turning around to walk to your kitchen, trying to avoid giving Harry any more information than necessary. “About the apartments, I’m sure I will find a place. I still have time.”

Harry follows you, standing across the main kitchen counter. “Why are you so secretive about him when he’s your ‘best friend’? Why can’t you tell me what he does for a living? Are you hiding something?”

“What?” you reply, confused by the shift in the conversation.

��Are you and him something else?” Harry asks seriously, staring you down from across the counter.

“What exactly do you mean by that, Harry?”

“Are you dating him?” Harry questions, going straight to the point.

Gazing back at Harry, you’re left speechless, even though his question shouldn’t affect you. After all, how many times have people mistaken Miguel and you for something? Too many to count, if you’re honest with yourself, that you’re no longer shocked. Even the first time, you don’t recall yourself being speechless, but rather worried about Miguel’s reaction. After seeing that he didn’t mind, you moved on from it pretty quickly.

So, then, why does the assumption coming from Harry make you feel different, and not in a good way? Swallowing, you realize it’s because it feels like you’re being accused of something immoral, which isn’t even true, and that is the great difference from all the other times.

“I’m sorry… What?” you question after a moment of silence, recovering. Internally, you hope you’re misreading his words after a long day of touring apartments.

“Please, Y/N. You go and live with this guy for God knows how many months after the fire and right now, you don’t even seem bothered by the fact that in a month and a half, you’ll have nowhere to go if you don’t find a new apartment. It’s like, you don’t even care. I can’t help but think that it’s because you already have a plan — you and this Miguel. You’re planning on staying at his place again, are you not?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” you respond calmly to reestablish your boundaries, to give him a chance to drop this.

“Well, guess what? I don’t appreciate that guy. I don’t appreciate you bringing him here,” Harry snaps suddenly, staring at you like he’s never done before. His eyes, usually relaxed and expressing care, are glaring at you with pure disbelief and anger. “You bring him here — to Peter’s home. He helps you assemble furniture, like Peter used to. You bake him treats and cakes, like you used to for Peter. You smile at him like you used to smile at Peter! It’s all in the photos. Then, you went and lived with this guy; had your little moments, like going out to buy groceries for the two of you while babysitting his friend’s kid — as if you’re his little wife. What would Peter think, huh?”

Harry continues on, his voice growing harsher. Behind him, the apartment’s door opens, revealing Kerr. A look of concern and shock is evident on the older man’s face, as if he can’t wrap his mind around this version of Harry, much like you.

“Sir — I think that is enough. You’ve had stressful days due to work, don’t say things you don’t mean and can’t take back out of frustration and exhaustion,” Kerr states firmly, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder to placate him, only for the latter to shrug it away with a scowl.

“Don’t interfere in this, Felix. I’ve had enough and she needs to hear this. This is unacceptable,” Harry spats, turning back to you. “What would poor Peter say about this? About you bringing some other man to his home, the same one you don’t seem to give a damn about nor spend time at anymore! Oh yes, I have noticed that.” Harry scoffs, noticing your confusion when he brings that up, still glaring at you. “Do you know how many times I have come over to hang out with you, only to not find you here? One of your neighbors, by pure luck, happened to tell me the other day that you don’t seem to be here much anymore after the fire. That you don’t seem to sleep here anymore. I mean, seriously? Do you not give a damn about Peter anymore, or what? Have you forgotten about him because of this guy you now call your ‘best friend’? I find that insulting, quite frankly. How you can replace Peter — Peter, for God’s sake — for that random man you’ve known all but three seconds? And for what? Is it because you’re fucking him, or are you still longing for some happily ever after with another man that isn’t Peter?” Harry shakes his head in disbelief, acting like he has never done before. He runs a hand through his hair, filled with an unexplainable frustration and anger. “What would Peter think?”

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. Everything about this moment is wrong, so wrong. In all the years you knew Harry before Peter’s death, you never once heard him raise his voice nor grow this angry. A rush of cold runs over your limbs, leaving you with an array of emotions; anger, betrayal, disappointment, hurt, and disgust. You question how the day turned into this, how Harry went from being all too happy to go with you to all the apartments to this version you don't recognize.

“What would Peter think?” you repeat quietly, holding Harry’s gaze. “What would Peter think?” A scoff escapes from your lips, your eyebrows furrowing. “You dare ask me that, Harry?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You dare ask me that? You of all people,” you reply, stalking closer. “If you have to question yourself what Peter would think, then, you either didn’t know him at all, or you’ve forgotten what kind of man he was. He would be happy — comforted even — to know that I moved forward and found someone to be with. He wasn’t a selfish man, the way you seem to be painting him right now with your silly and repetitive question. He was one of the kindest and sweetest men I’ve known in my whole life. He wasn’t selfish. Never was.” You state firmly. “About Miguel, know this. I have no obligation to tell you anything that I don’t want to. You forget that you and I are — were — still growing reacquainted after years of losing touch, and even if we were attached to the hip, that wouldn’t make you entitled to know what I’m doing, much less who I bed, but let me entertain you today, Harry.”

“Madam — That’s not necessary, please, Mr. Osborn is merely under a lot of stress —” Kerr tries once again, hoping to dissipate the argument.

“No, let me clear this up for him, Mr. Kerr. For your information, I’m not ‘fucking’ Miguel, but if I was, that wouldn’t be your business. The same way it’s not my business what you do in your bedroom, Harry.” You shake your head at him in disbelief. “It’s sad that you’ve harbored this dislike for him when you don’t even know him, but especially when he has been there for me. Miguel and my other friends have supported me, taken me in when I was all alone, Harry. They’re family, whether you like it or not. And guess what? I know in my heart that wherever Peter is at, he’s more than content to see me happy, surrounded by people who love and cherish me, so please don’t make these accusations when you don’t know anything, alright? Especially not when I could turn the question back on you.”

“Turn the question on me?” Harry asks in disbelief at your words, his demeanor faltering.

“Yes.” You reply agitated. “What would Peter think of you? About your actions, or rather, lack of?”

“I don’t —” Harry starts, his angry expression fading away and replaced by an anxious look.

“What would Peter think about the fact that you ghosted me after his funeral?” you interrupt.

“I — Y/N —” Harry tries, his face growing pale at your words.

“You ghosted me, Harry. You disappeared when I needed someone the most,” you state. “You… Do you know how much it hurt me that that day was the last time I saw you? Right after Peter’s funeral, when I was... At the lowest I had ever been in my life.” Inhaling sharply, you look away as you recall that day, all your memories flooding your mind like water through a broken dam. “I don’t know when it became day. I was physically here and yet… I wasn’t. I got dressed in autopilot, put on my black clothes and noted that it was raining. I couldn’t help but feel that it was Peter’s doing to help me through the day. He knew I love rainy days.”

“Y/N… Please,” Harry whispers, shaking his head.

“Did you know… I don’t even know who came to pick me up?” you ask, turning to face him with a faint yet bitter smile. “I don’t recall who ushered me out the door, who I walked down the stairs with, whose car I got in to get to the cemetery. To this day. Years later. All I know is that one moment, I was here, at our apartment. Our home, Harry. This was our home, holding all his belongings; his clothes in the closet, the record player with the last vinyl he listened to, his books, and so much more. Suddenly… I was at the cemetery with people’s hands on my shoulders trying to give me comfort and reassurance as I gazed at his casket. All that comforting and warm touch, yet none of it could mend my broken heart nor melt this icy coldness that clung to me from the moment he died.”

Tears spill down your face without your knowledge “I never expected I would be doing that so soon… Burying the man I thought I’d marry one day and have children with, but there I was; burying him and silently wishing — begging — the Earth would swallow me whole with him.”

“Please don’t — I can’t —” Harry mumbles in front of you, his eyes growing teary. Behind him, Kerr watches you, listening to your every word in silence.

“My heart was… Utterly shattered already, but when I saw the casket being lowered… It felt like my world was ending right before my eyes. He was gone. Just like that. I recall thinking, it was like a star in the sky that shone so bright, but no… Peter was more. He was the whole sky. And he was gone, somehow.” Your eyes close, tears streaming down your face. “Before I knew it, more people were offering me their condolences before departing. I remember you coming to me. I remember it well because it was the last time I saw you in years. Do you remember it?” you ask him, opening your eyes.

“Y-Yes…” Harry murmurs, his person entirely different from minutes ago.

“You held me in your arms, tightly. It was the first moment in that entire day that I felt a small sliver of comfort. You even kissed the top of my head as we both cried in silence and I thought in that moment, that you were probably the only other person who could understand my pain because you were like brothers. All too soon, however, you released me and stepped back with a single look I misinterpreted. Somewhere inside of me, I assumed we’d be there for each other, but in reality, that was your goodbye. You squeezed my shoulders after that and walked away from my life.”

“Y/N, I can’t — You don’t know—” Harry whispers, his eyes damp with tears.

“I didn’t know that was going to be the last time I’d see you in years, so I… I stood there in front of Peter’s burial site, under that rain I believed was a little gift from Peter himself. I don’t know how much time went by nor did I care. I could’ve stood there for a millennia and I wouldn’t have noticed. Vines could’ve grown and wrapped themselves around my feet, legs, waist, chest, and head… And I wouldn’t have felt a single thing because I couldn’t feel anything beyond hurt and heartbreak. I wondered how I could ever live life with that feeling; how could such pain ever cease from my heart? I questioned how I would survive when it felt like I was drowning in a sea of misery and sorrow, but most of all, I questioned why God stood me up,” you state hoarsely. “Why did it have to be Peter?”

“I know, Y/N, I wondered that, too,” Harry mutters, his voice shaking. “You don’t need to go on, please, I didn’t mean to bring this up.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand, pressing forward. “I didn’t get an answer then and I doubt I would’ve received one that day, anyway, but I’ve healed since then, which I’m certain Peter would be glad about, and have concluded that unexplainable things will happen in life. Good and bad moments. All we can do is continue to live and learn, if not for ourselves, then, for our loved ones who have departed all too soon. In their memory. That’s what Peter wanted, Harry. He once told me that,” you say, recalling your sweet Peter’s words before he died in your arms that fateful day. “He made me promise to move forward and that if I happened to find someone to love again, to love.”

Harry’s eyes widen, tears streaming down his face, when he hears your words. “I — I didn’t know he said that.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t speak about things you’re ignorant about,” you answer, struggling not to glare at him. “Despite my reluctance and heartbreak, I have healed and it allowed me to meet new people — people who have become a family to me, no matter what you think. They’ve been there for me; become my family. Where were you when I needed you the most? I’m not trying to throw back your words at you, but what would Peter think about that?”

“You don't understand — You were likely going to push me away, anyway,” Harry replies, attempting to defend himself and his actions. “Just like you pushed everyone else away.”

With a scoff, you raise your chin. “Maybe I would've tried to do the same, that is a possibility. Or, maybe I wouldn't have, Harry, had it not been so easy for you to walk out of my life when you knew you were significant to me as well. I knew you from childhood. I trusted and cared about you, yet you didn't seem to care.” You inhale sharply, deciding you've had enough. “I have nothing else to say nor do I feel like listening to you anymore. Please leave my home.”

“Y/N, please listen to me. Look, I know what I said was —” Harry starts, but stops when you raise a hand, gesturing for him to stop.

“You’ve insulted me with your accusations in my own home, Harry, despite the fact that I gave you a second chance to be in my life again. Please leave.”

“I… I understand,” Harry states with a solemn look on his face, resigned when he hears your tone. After a few seconds, he turns to leave with Kerr behind him. He opens the door, but before leaving, Harry turns one last time. “I always cared about you, too, by the way. I still do despite my hurtful words.”

Your eyes close when you hear the door close at last. You don't know if Harry was expecting a reply, or perhaps hoping for you to change your mind about him leaving. Either way, it didn't work. His words have hurt you by bringing back memories you hadn't thought about in a long time. Even when you first ran into him after years of not seeing him, you somehow managed to block out those parts from that day.

Finding yourself alone at your apartment, you let yourself cry freely as his words echo in your head.

“What would poor Peter say about this? About you bringing some other man to his home, the same one you don’t seem to give a damn about nor spend time at anymore!”

Is that what it looks like for others around you? You wonder if people around the apartment building are judging you if they have seen Miguel. Do they think you’re with him and find it distasteful despite the years that have passed since Peter’s death?

“… How you can replace Peter — Peter, for God’s sake — for that random man you’ve known all but three seconds? And for what? Is it because you’re fucking him, or are you still longing for some happily ever after with another man that isn’t Peter?”

Miguel is your best friend and nothing more, so Harry was wrong about that, but especially to refer to the possibility of something between you so cruelly and vulgar in your presence. The happily ever after comment… Is it so wrong to consider that one day with someone? To still long for marriage and maybe children, even if Peter will never have the opportunity to experience it?

Crying, a thought comes to your mind. Before you know it, you’re already stepping out into Miguel’s lab. Through your tears, you gaze at his platform where his computer is at, surrounded by several screens. Relieved that Miguel isn’t here, you approach the platform and begin to type, pulling up the database containing every single universe discovered so far. Your heart races as you begin to type your first name, pondering if this is even a good idea. It’s too late to turn back when only two results come up.

The first result is you, confirmed by a picture that was taken of you when you were first recruited to the Spider Society. The second result is a variant of yourself, the photo a courtesy of Lyla’s work. Your chest heaves as you look at the second result. You never felt the need to know if there was another you, but right now, you do.

The drumming of your heart rings in your ears as you open the variant’s file, only growing louder when you see it, or rather a photo of him attached to your variant’s file.

Peter.

Not just any Peter, but one that looks exactly like your Peter used to.

“No…” you whisper, dismissing the thought that comes to mind while erasing your search history. You know you shouldn’t, yet how did that old saying go?

Right.

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

Without a second thought, you open a portal and walk into it.

-♡-

Over an hour later, Miguel returns to his lab after a mission that came up out of nowhere thanks to an annoying and persistent variant of the Green Goblin, who refused to be taken back to his own universe. His steps are heavy as he reaches his platform, feeling exhausted after running around the city pursing the anomaly.

With a deep sigh, Miguel sits down and wonders how you’re doing. He knows touring a single apartment alone takes some time, so he didn’t expect you to be back so soon. Still, he checks his gizmo for any messages, but there are none. Well, at least not from you.

With a grumpy frown, Miguel turns to his screens, remembering that Lyla is going through maintenance. He decided to do it today because well, he hasn’t done it in a while, even though it’s necessary. If only he hadn’t done it today, though… He could’ve asked Lyla to check on you, that way his worries would be placated. A quick message from him would probably do the trick, too, but Miguel doesn’t want to distract you with his messages nor does he want to intrude on your time with Osborn.

With another sigh, Miguel rubs his chest lightly as he opens up screens to review, feeling something he can’t quite explain. Earlier, he had the same feeling during the chase of the anomaly, so sudden and deep Miguel almost felt like he was drowning. He pushed through it, certain it was probably only the adrenaline doing a number on him. That had to be it.

“Get to work,” Miguel tells himself begrudgingly, knowing he has a lot of work and reminding himself that you’re alright. There’s no reason to be worried. With that, Miguel starts working, reading and analyzing reports on his marigold-colored screens.

Despite his poor concentration at first, Miguel manages to eventually get into the reports, making time pass. It’s barely an hour later when Lyla’s maintenance is completed at last, reminding him to take a break from the reports to confirm that everything ran smoothly.

“I'm backkkk!” Lyla says in a singsong voice. “Better than before.”

Miguel rolls his eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “No bugs. Welcome back, Lyla.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Lyla replies, bowing dramatically. “You guys can calm down. I'm sure you all missed me, but no worries. The smartest AI assistant in Nueva York is back.”

“Yes, I'm sure everyone was doing a countdown for your return,” Miguel answers jokingly.

“Ha ha, very funny, boss. I bet you're the one that was actually waiting for me because you need me to be your eyes.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“It means,” Lyla starts, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “You're probably stressing out about Dulz hanging out with that Osborn dude all day.”

“I — I'm not — I've been working just fine,” Miguel responds, looking away.

“Right, so you're definitely not going to ask me to ensure that Dulz is safe and sound, then.”

Miguel huffs, annoyed that Lyla knows how he gets when you're away with Osborn. It’s not some weird friend jealously. It’s mere dislike and distrust for the man, even if you keep giving him the privilege of being part of your life. “Lyla.”

“You gotta ask nicely,” she replies with a smirk.

“Why are you like this?” Miguel questions.

“You're the one that created me.”

“Please, check on Dulzura,” Miguel answers instead, wasting no more time.

“I'm on it!” Lyla eagerly responds, humming as she starts working, but stopping abruptly. “Uh-oh.”

“What is it?” Miguel asks, immediately standing up, tense.

“There seems to be a problem…” Lyla replies, looking at Miguel with an expression that only means trouble.

“What’s going on?” Miguel asks, impatient.

“It seems… Dulz has gone MIA,” Lyla reveals.

Miguel feels like the air has been knocked out of his chest as soon as Lyla is done speaking.

MIA?

“Pull it up on the screens,” he orders, trying to stay composed.

There has to be a reason for that, surely. A bug in your gizmo, perhaps. Miguel’s maroon eyes snap to the screen, his heart sinking as he sees your icon for himself in grey, symbolizing your location is unknown.

“We need to locate Osborn,” Miguel states. “He's supposed to be with her.”

“Should we call for backup?” Lyla asks as Miguel opens a portal to travel to your dimension.

“No, no backup. We don't need to worry the others. Maybe her gizmo is simply malfunctioning,” Miguel answers, trying to be reasonable despite the alarms in his head.

Too impatient, Miguel rips the portal open with his suit’s spines, his heart beating heavily against his chest as he steps out on a rooftop across your apartment first to see if you're there, but the apartment is dark.

“Do you need the address?” Lyla asks, seeing the same thing before noting that his talons have extended at the sight.

“I already know where he lives,” Miguel states before swinging away, moving as fast as he can to Osborn's place. Perhaps it's wrong, but ever since you decided to give Osborn a chance, Miguel made sure to figure out where he lives. Something inside told him to do it, so he followed his instincts, hoping he'll never need to pay Osborn a visit.

“Is this the place?” Lyla asks as Miguel lands on a rooftop, immediately activating a holographic spider drone from his gizmo to spy through Osborn’s windows.

“Yes.”

Without a word, Lyla nods, understanding the implication; Harry has never been trusted by Miguel. To be fair, not even the rest of your friends do.

Fully locked in, Miguel maneuvers the spider gadget, getting a view through his gizmo. The spider crawls down the wall to the window and begins to record. Thankfully, there are no curtains to obstruct the view, granting Miguel clear visibility of Osborn's apartment, specifically his living room. He observes in silence, finding no movement, even though the lights are on.

“Where are you?” Miguel murmurs, his heart heavy as he thinks of you.

The spider moves to another window, this one displaying a bathroom. It's empty and dark. Miguel moves on to the next one, immediately spotting Harry sitting on the ground with his back against a wall. His knees are pressed to his chest, face covered by his arms. It doesn’t take longer than a second for Miguel to notice the way Osborn’s body shakes, seemingly crying by himself.

Seeing this, Miguel's eyes narrow into slits. He finds it harder to breathe as his mind goes to dark places. He immediately switches the spider back to a hologram in order to allow it to slip past the glass to gather any audio.

“I'm sorry, Peter, I'm sorry,” Harry cries, his entire body shaking. “I failed you before and I've failed you again. I hurt her… What you loved most in this world. I hurt her again — worse this time. There's no turning back now.”

“No…” Miguel barely whispers, eyes wide at Harry's words. “No, no, no… Dulzura.”

“Miguel —” Lyla starts before Miguel growls in anger and hurt.

“Ése hijo de su — [That son of]” Miguel grits out, finding it even harder to breathe now with the misinterpretation of Harry’s statement. His movement stutters when your face floods his mind. He sees you; your sweet smile and those eyes that could make him fall to his knees.

“Miguel. We need to approach this carefully,” Lyla states. “We can't act irrationally.”

“Irrationally?” Miguel snaps. “Did you not hear him? He did something to her.”

“Lyla is right,” another voice says, tearing Miguel's attention away from Lyla. He turns around, only to find every single one of your friends on the rooftop with him; from Jess, who spoke up, to Peter to Noir to Margo.

“Lyla informed us.” Peter clarifies. “We came as soon as we got the message.”

“I see.” Miguel doesn't even care Lyla sent for backup despite his preference from earlier. The situation has changed now and everyone is needed. “I'm going in,” Miguel states.

“No. You're too… Affected. We can't let things escalate,” Jess answers, using her second in command voice despite her own concerns about you.

“That man needs to be interrogated,” Miguel snaps, fueled by pain and anger.

“Not by you, though. We need someone calmer,” Hobie intercepts with a deep frown on his face. “I think some of us are more likely to act on our thoughts right now.”

With a grunt, Miguel knows exactly what Hobie means. He's a heartbeat away from simply gliding down the building’s wall with his talons and breaking into Osborn's place through the window to speak to him.

“I'll do it,” Miles volunteers, standing up straighter. “I'll say another friend and I were waiting for her and she never showed up. I'll tell him we knew she was going to spend time with him, so that's why we came to him.”

“Yes, good. I'm going in, too,” Miguel states again, but Peter shakes his head no.

“Your eyes would give you away. You're also wearing the suit. Miles and I are dressed in civilians’ clothes, so I'll go in with him. We can't let Harry see anyone dressed in their hero suits. It could expose Dulz's identity as Spider-Woman and we don't want to cause her any problems, Miguel,” Peter carefully says, attempting to drive home the idea that you're alive and well for everyone, especially Miguel.

“Please…” Miguel starts, his eyes narrowed but betraying his hurt and worry. “Go and talk to him. Find out everything you can. We need to find her.”

“I know,” Peter answers with a nod, determined. “We’ll be back.”

“Lyla, please check if Dulzura’s location has been turned on again,” Miguel commands as everyone else huddles around him to watch the live recording from the spider gadget, watching Osborn still crying.

“Her location is still unknown,” Lyla reports back.

Miguel sighs, gazing at the buildings around him and wondering where you’re at while trying to stay positive despite the circumstances. His attention turns to Harry again when he hears the door bell ring through the device, announcing Miles and Peter’s arrival.

“Get up and answer,” Jess quietly urges Osborn, betraying her own worry.

To everyone’s relief, Osborn wipes his face and stands up to check the door. Without trouble, Miguel orders Lyla to project the view from Miles and Peter’s gizmos just as Osborn opens the front door, looking confused by the two strangers.

“May I help you?” he asks with caution, his voice hoarse.

“Hey, there, buddy,” Peter starts, trying to sound like his usual friendly self, though everyone listening can tell that that’s not his real voice. “We’re sorry to bother you, but we’re Y/N’s friends. She was supposed to meet with us after she finished touring apartments with you, but she didn’t show up nor has she responded to our messages. Our other mutual friends haven’t been able to reach her either. Do you happen to know if she went somewhere else?”

“What?” Harry asks, taking a step back. “You can’t reach her?”

“No. She hasn’t reply to any of our messages,” Miles answers.

Harry sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “God, what I have done?”

“We’re just trying to figure out where she is… We want to make sure she’s alright,” Peter continues, fighting the urge to glare at Harry’s response. “Think you can tell us anything?”

Harry opens his mouth, but a voice behind Peter and Miles prevents him from saying anything just yet. “Good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Osborn has been under a lot of stress lately.”

“Who the shock is that?” Miguel mutters from the rooftop before he, along with everyone else, see the person behind the voice when Peter turns around, giving them a look through his gizmo.

“My name is Felix Kerr,” Kerr introduces himself, offering a small nod. “Forgive me for my interruption, but I went out to retrieve some food and medicine for Mr. Osborn. He’s been feeling unwell recently, you see, and today was… Not great either.”

“I see,” Peter replies simply. “We’re sorry to hear Mr. Osborn is doing unwell. We don’t mean to disturb, but we know you were the last known person to see Y/N. It’s been hours since any of us has heard anything from her.” Peter states, turning to look at Osborn again. “As stated, we want to know she’s alright.”

“Right…” Harry answers, giving Kerr a look before turning to face Miles and Peter. “Please, come in. I seem to have forgotten my manners. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his reaction raising eyebrows at the rooftop. He seems so polite, maybe too much. “If you wish to take a seat.”

“That’s kind of you, sir, but we don’t want to overstay,” Miles answers.

“Very well,” Harry states, inhaling sharply. “I… I don’t know where Y/N is, but I know she was upset when I left her apartment because we had an argument. An argument I started.”

“About what?” Miguel hears Peter question, prompting Harry to summarize what happened back at your apartment; from his accusations to your response.

“She was angry and hurt,” Harry says, lowering his face. “I don’t know what led me to say such horrible things. I promise I care about her. I really do,” he desperately says to Peter and Miles, his eyes showing remorse and guilt. “I’m not making excuses, but I haven’t been myself lately. I don’t know how I could say such things. I failed her once more.”

“At least, he admits it,” Miguel grumbles, his hands curled in fists. He has half a mind to go downstairs and give Osborn a piece of his mind for everything he said to you, especially when he thinks about how Harry’s version is only a summary and his own perspective. He’s probably leaving out details to save face.

“If she’s not with him nor at her apartment, then where is Y/N?” Pav asks, worried.

“With her location off, she could be anywhere,” Margo answers with a defeated sigh. “Anywhere in the multiverse.”

Hearing that, Miguel lifts his face to the sky. The weight of that reality is soul crushing. You truly could be anywhere right now, all alone and hurting because of this man.

“What if… She ran away and never comes back?” Spider-Ham states from somewhere, voicing an inner fear within Miguel, before receiving a hush from Noir.

That would end him, Miguel knows that. Even when it’s just a few hours away from you, Miguel misses you.

He misses you like the moon misses its stars in a starless night.

“We will find her,” Miguel says suddenly, turning to look at everyone. “We all heard the things he told Dulzura. She’s hurting and needs us. She needs comfort, just like she has comforted us over the years when we’ve been feeling down. We must find her.”

Your friends nod, their faces expressing their worry.

With that said, everyone on the rooftop returns to Miguel’s lab to decide who will search what universe in order to avoid overlooking one. Peter and Miles join the search a bit later after successfully convincing Harry to not make a police report just yet by reassuring him that you’re likely taking some time alone due to the argument. As to Miguel, he assigns to himself all the universes that the two of you have visited together, hoping to find you himself.

Universe after universe, Miguel searches the cities. He knows it’s useless, but mentally, he calls for you; asking you to, please, return home.

Desperation courses through Miguel. It seems to grow with every passing second and even more when the others report back with no leads. He stops on a rooftop, not sure if it’s the tenth or eleventh universe, and scans the city he’s currently at. There’s so many universes…

Feeling a knot in his throat, Miguel clears his throat loudly. He won’t cry. You’ll be back. You must, right? How many times have you told him that he’s stuck with you? You wouldn't just disappear and leave your life. You wouldn't just leave him behind. You will be back.

With determination, Miguel fixes his posture and continues looking through universes. He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he suddenly receives a notification. His eyebrows furrow as he realizes it’s your location; you’ve started to share it again.

The simple sight of that fills Miguel with such a great relief, so much his hands are shaking. He quickly opens a portal to you, the universe identification number looking oddly familiar. It comes to him then, making him stop in his tracks. The universe you’re in was only discovered two days ago and it’s not just any universe. His heart sinks, understanding why you’re there: It’s the only universe, in the entire database of the Spider Society, in which a version of your Peter exists in.

A strange fear forms in Miguel’s chest with this knowledge. What if, after all these years of healing, Harry’s hurtful words impacted you so deeply that you’re thinking of doing something you shouldn’t? Miguel swallows hard as the idea sinks in.

His thoughts are interrupted a second later by another notification. It’s a message sent directly from you.

“I’m home.”

Home.

That’s all Miguel needs to know before he travels back to his universe, directly to his home. He steps out into the living room, finding it empty. When he doesn’t hear any noise from the kitchen either, he heads for the stairs, climbing four steps at a time.

In a hurry, Miguel reaches your room, finding your bedroom door slightly open, allowing a sliver of light out into the hallway. Gently, he presses his fingers against the door and pushes it open. Miguel’s face softens as soon as his maroon eyes find you at last, sitting on your bedroom floor.

You look up at him, eyes puffy from crying with an open box in front of you, the one that contains Peter’s belongings.

“I’ll let everyone know she’s safe,” Lyla says quietly, appearing from his gizmo. “And that she needs time alone, at least for tonight.”

Miguel nods, his gaze glued to you. “Dulzura,” he whispers softly.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper back with a shaky voice. “I should’ve messaged you earlier, but I…”

“I know, Dulzura,” he answers, approaching you before dropping to his knees in front of you. The sight of your puffy eyes and visible heartache… Miguel wants nothing but to hold you in his arms and dry your tears.

“Harry…” you start.

“I know,” Miguel repeats. “We were looking for you and went to see him. Miles and Peter spoke to him. He told us what happened. A summary.”

You nod, lowering your gaze to the box. “I… I was so hurt, but also so angry. How he dared say those things to me,” you share before inhaling deeply, feeling a knot form in your throat once more.

“Rightfully so. He should’ve never said those things,” Miguel states gently, offering reassurance. “He had no right to and on top of that, he’s wrong. Everyone who knows you well, knows you love and care about Peter, just like Peter does for you from wherever he is.” Miguel scoots closer, his heart aching with and for you. “He looks after you, Dulzura. I know that. And, from everything you’ve shared with me, I know he’s more than happy to see you today like this; smiling and living your life because that’s what he wanted. Remember?”

Sniffling, you nod. “Yes. The promise.”

“The promise,” Miguel repeats, nodding. “You’ve honored part of his promise. You’re living life and making memories. You’re doing what you’ve told me before; you’re living for him, too. In his memory.”

You lift your gaze and smile softly, your eyes teary again. “Thank you for reminding me. I know he’s happy for me. He wasn’t selfish, never was, so I don’t know why Harry would say that. It made me angry… He said other things, too, and that got to me.”

“What things?” Miguel inquires.

“He asked if I was still hoping for a happy ever after with another man that wasn’t Peter,” you answer. “He asked if you and I were something else. If we were dating and if I was, if I had forgotten about and replaced Peter.”

Beside you, Miguel fights the urge to scowl. He silently wonders if Osborn expected you to remain alone forever as some sort of loyalty test to Peter when the man himself asked you a very different thing, or if it came from jealously. Could it be that Harry likes you more than a friend and sees Miguel as a threat?

Miguel swallows. That would be an unfounded jealously, at least to Miguel. You and him are only best friends. There’s no reason for Osborn to think anything else of your friendship. Then, again… The number of times you’ve been mistaken for a couple are high. Maybe that’s why Harry thinks that.

“Don’t let him get to your head,” Miguel says, his hands itching to comfort you as he watches you dry your tears.

“He succeeded,” you admit. “I wondered if it was wrong that I’m open to the idea of one day finding a man to start a life with once again, to experience parenthood when Peter didn’t get to.”

At your teary confession, Miguel’s eyes soften further. “Oh, Dulzura,” he murmurs tenderly, his own throat beginning to feel like barb wire. “It’s not wrong at all if one day you find someone. You…” Miguel continues, struggling to speak. “You of all people deserve to be happy, you hear me? You deserve happiness. Love. I know so, and I know Peter wanted that for you as well.”

“That — that means a lot to me,” you murmur, your eyes glistening. “I still… He put that thought in my head, which then led me to wonder if another version of me existed.”

Swallowing, Miguel nods. The other Peter.

“I checked in the database, I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I had to know. I needed to know. I found that there’s only one variant of me.”

“Yes,” he replies, treading carefully. “The universe was only discovered two days ago. I was trying to find a way to tell you. I… I didn’t know if it would cause you…” Miguel trails off, unsure how you feel about it, or what you’re thinking right now. He wants to ask if you saw the other Peter, if something in you has changed at the knowledge of his existence. The uncertainty is making him feel strange, in a very bad way.

“I…” you start, your tears beginning to flow more. “I’m sorry.” You apologize again, covering your face as you begin to cry harder.

The sight of you crying, your body curled inwards, and your chest heaving from such sentiment utterly shatters Miguel. He never wishes to see you like this again, ever.

Driven by his feelings, any last bit of restraint within Miguel evaporates.

One second, Miguel is kneeling by your side and the next one, he's sitting down and gently, but urgently, holding you by the arms. With care, he pulls you into him, his mind and heart determined. He makes space for you between his legs, his strong arms wrapping tightly around you.

Gently swaying back and forth, Miguel hears your crying stutter followed by a sharp inhale out of shock. Still, Miguel doesn't let go. He doesn't loosen his grip, not even just a little bit.

“Miguel —” you start in between tears.

“Shh, I'm here. I'm here. I'm here,” he whispers, feeling your head just below his chin. “I got you. Forever and always.” He whispers, his eyes threatening to spill tears. “Shhh, niña amada mía. Todo estará bien, te lo prometo [… my beloved girl. Everything will be okay, I promise].” He continues, gently trying to comfort you.

“Pe-Peter,” you manage to whisper through tears.

“I know, preciosa [precious],” Miguel whispers back, hugging you closer somehow. “I know.”

Sniffling, you pull back enough to gaze up at Miguel, meeting his maroon eyes full of understanding and tenderness. “He's… Happy,” you whisper with droplets of tears hanging off your lashes. “That variant of Peter is living a wonderful life. I'm so — I'm so happy at least one version of him got what he always dreamed about.”

At your words, Miguel's eyes soften. That's why you're crying, out of happiness that this other Peter had the privilege to live the life your own Peter always wanted with you. Tenderly, Miguel cups your face in his large and warm hands, staring at you as if you’re the very multiverse. He feels relief deep inside him, too, to know you are not sad nor bitter by this fact, which means you don't wish to interfere in this universe in any way.

“Mi Dulzura [my sweetness],” he starts, his voice steady and low. “You're the least selfish person I know, you know that?” he asks, gliding the pads of his thumbs over your skin to dry your tears. He smiles softly at you before hugging you again, comforting you.

Snuggling closer to him, you rest your head on Miguel's chest, calming down in his arms. The steady rhythm of his heart under your ear soothes you, bringing a tranquility you haven't felt all day, one unlike any other. You sigh in content, inhaling Miguel's scent. He smells wonderful as always, so warm and welcoming, and you can’t get enough of it right now.

Miguel smells like home.

Somewhere in your mind, a small thought pops inside your head. It goes as quickly as it comes to you, but you acknowledge it; you haven't come across a scent that makes you feel like this since Peter’s.

“My variant and Peter's variant are married,” you start softly, wanting to tell Miguel everything. “They have children. A boy and a girl. Have I ever told you that Peter hoped for two kids? One night we spoke about it.”

“Yeah?” Miguel answers, still embracing you while you talk. After all, some time ago you told him talking helps and as your best friend, he’ll happily listen to you talk all night long.

“Mhm… He talked about us moving to another apartment, which I toured today. It’s bigger and has two more rooms. One night, Peter mentioned two kids and how they could each have one of the rooms. How I could have a home library there.”

Miguel smiles. “Sounds like Peter had a wonderful vision,” he answers, imagining what you're saying. It was a pretty dream, a noble one to aspire. He mindlessly rubs your back, imagining you as a mother while you tell him everything about the last apartment you toured today and how you felt when you were there.

“With that already in my head and then Harry’s words… The idea weighted heavily on me; how Peter will never be my husband, have kids, or grow old. When I went to that universe, though, and saw that Peter,” you say, smiling softly. “I felt incredibly happy to see that at least one version of my Peter has the privilege of living that life. My variant, too. In another universe, we get to do the things we dreamed about. And for me, that’s more than enough,” you whisper, feeling like an invisible chain that you’ve been carrying around all these years has finally been lifted.

“You, too, will get to live it, Dulzura,” Miguel whispers. “One of these days, I promise.”

You hum in his arms, comforted by Miguel’s words and touch. Minutes pass and your tears cease. It’s uncertain how long you remain like that, but neither of you care, even when a comfortable silence falls upon you.

It’s not until much later, when your head is clearer, that your brain finally registers the reality.

You’re in Miguel’s arms.

He’s touching — embracing — you.

After years of healing and being reluctant to physical touch, Miguel is hugging you.

“Miguel,” you start softly, your grip on his bicep faltering as you suddenly remember his boundaries. What if he's internally struggling and you've been inconsiderate all this time with your crying?

The mere idea of you testing Miguel’s boundaries, even if he’s doing it out of kindness, leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Not wanting to put any more pressure on him, you begin to pull away only for Miguel’s arms to tighten around you.

He shakes his head, his arms wrapping entirely around your body, pressing you against him. “Please,” Miguel whispers, pleading. “Don't let me go just yet.”

With a smile, you hug Miguel back with the same intensity, reminding him what it’s like to be held once again.

Feeling your arms around him, Miguel sighs and rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes shut tight. “I forgot…” he murmurs. “How wonderful it is to be held by someone — someone you cherish, care, and love.”

Your eyes open at Miguel’s words, your stomach feeling a bit fuzzy before you close them again.

Meanwhile, Miguel inhales your sweet scent and relishes your warmth. He can't think of anything better than this right now. This is perfect, this right here with you.

Every step he's taken in his healing journey has led him here. From letting his walls down to baring his very soul for your eyes only. Every tear and smile. Every moment spent in your lovely, soothing, and endearing presence. Every little moment of touching, and so much more. It's led him to this moment.

With a smile, Miguel hugs you tighter. He reminds himself to not squeeze too much, or he'll crush you, so he hugs you tight enough to make his feelings known and perhaps, to make up for all the time he's gone without receiving and reciprocating such a simple human gesture.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes closed, knowing you'll treasure this moment forever.

“No, thank you,” Miguel replies in a whisper. “I would've never… Been here if it wasn't with you.”

You hum, slightly shifting your head on Miguel's shoulder. Gently, you run a hand down his back, feeling his warmth and back muscles flex under your touch, making Miguel's lashes flutter in silent comfort.

Your hand tracing his bare skin…

Miguel clears his throat, mentally shoving that totally random and odd thought away. Instead, he continues to hold you in his arms like his life depends on it.

Outside, the city life goes on. The moon is high above in the sky, accompanied by its lovely stars. Moonlight filters into the room from a window, partially bathing the two of you as time passes by.

“Are you tired?” Miguel asks a while later, softly.

“No,” you answer, still in his arms. “You?”

“Not even a little bit,” he replies in a murmur, but his stomach protests, making it known he’s hungry.

Hearing the growling from Miguel's stomach, you chuckle before your own copies his.

“It seems I'm not the only one that’s hungry,” Miguel states, unwillingly loosening his arms around you. He feels you pull away enough to look up at him, smiling softly. “You haven't eaten anything, have you?”

“No,” you confirm.

“I'll make you something to eat. Come on,” Miguel says.

Since hunger calls, you pull apart from each other and stand up, needing a moment to stretch after being in one position alone for too long.

Downstairs, Miguel has you sit down because it's his ‘treat’ to cook after the day you've had. You oblige, but not before putting on one of your favorite records since you’re in a great mood now. How could you not when the day is ending on a great note? And on top of that, Miguel makes one of your comfort dishes.

After a delicious dinner, you shower and dress into pajamas before heading back downstairs. You settle down on the living room’s floor to check the messages from your friends since you reached out to them while Miguel cooked. You apologized for worrying them, but most importantly, you thank them profusely for their love and care. With a smile, you put away your gizmo with thoughts of baking sweets for everyone soon as a way to thank them.

“You came downstairs just in time,” Miguel says behind you with damp hair from his own shower, entering the living room from the kitchen.

“I did?” you ask, looking up and finding Miguel already halfway to you, carrying two mugs with café de olla. Your smile grows wider at the sight as he reaches you. Carefully, you accept the mug. “Thank you, omg,” you state, inhaling the comforting scent. “God, I love you,” you add sweetly before taking a small sip, too preoccupied with the drink to notice Miguel’s flustered face.

He gazes at you, his mug in midair while his brain experiences a ‘504 Service Unavailable” error due to your last statement. It’s your little chuckle of happiness and satisfaction after a third sip that fixes said error. He clears his throat and finally places the mug on the coffee table, his face red.

“God, I love you…”

Miguel swallows, his stomach feeling fuzzy. “You like it?” he manages to ask.

“You already know I love it,” you reply, turning to give him a look that tells him he shouldn’t even ask anymore because you’ll love it each and every time.

Miguel smiles. If only you knew that he plans on continuing to make that question, even if ten years have gone by with the two of you doing this. With a soft sigh leaving his perfect lips, he silently prays for something; he prays he has the privilege of having you in his life for longer than that time. For the remainder of his life, to be precise.

“I can hear you thinking,” you murmur, holding the mug with both your hands.

“Just thinking,” Miguel answers, picking up his own mug and trying the coffee. “Despite everything that happened today,” he starts, keeping his thoughts to himself from just now. “Did you happen to like any apartments?”

“Oh… No,” you answer with a frown, turning to face him fully. “There were some pros everywhere, but also a lot of cons.”

With a laugh, Miguel turns to face you directly as well, crossing his legs to scoot closer to you. “I think it’s going to take some time, perhaps. You have lived in one place for so long. You’re used to the area and the style of the building.”

“I know. Or, do you think I’m being too picky?” you question, tilting your head slightly.

“You? Picky? Never,” Miguel answers with a teasing tone.

“Ah, I see,” you reply, slowly smiling at him as he chuckles.

“In all seriousness, you have the privilege to think about it. You don’t need to rush yourself into a lease, if your heart is not on it.” Miguel hums, gazing at you. “You already know, my home is your home. Besides… You’re already, basically, well…” He clears his throat. “We’re basically full on roommates at this point. And, you insist on contributing financially while still paying rent over there. I was actually thinking, if you want…”

You raise an eyebrow at Miguel’s words, getting an idea of where he’s going.

“Well, I was thinking… If maybe, you would consider — to save your money — moving in one hundred percent,” Miguel finally says, coming out with it. “Only if you wish to, of course. I’m only making the suggestion, so it’s something you can think about.”

“Oh…” you simply say, thinking about it. Silently, you wonder if it’d be okay; to not have a place at your own universe, or if it’d bring you problems in the future.

“Take your time. Just think about it, okay? You don’t have to do it. I understand if you still wish to have a place at your universe. I’m only worried about you spending twice when I have the means to handle everything financially. I don’t wish for you to be spending your money in both places,” Miguel says. “And, if you ever need money, you can count on me. Please know that. Although, I have a feeling you’d be stubborn about accepting my support.” Miguel takes a sip and smirks softly when he sees you raise an eyebrow, trying to deny your stubbornness. “Yes, you would. I know you.”

You sigh, playfully rolling your eyes before thinking about his offer again. “Fair enough. I will think about it, okay? Thank you for… Making that offer.”

“It’s an invitation,” Miguel clarifies, making it known that there wouldn’t be any expectations legally wise, or of any other kind. “Think about it, yes? You let me know what you decide. Either way, I’ll be here with you.”

With a smile, you nod, remembering his words from earlier when he first held you. You recall his emotion when he told you he’s here for you; that he got you, forever and always. Still smiling, you take a drink from your mug. “Hey, how about we work on a puzzle?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Miguel replies with a grin, placing his mug on the coffee table before pulling the piece of furniture closer to the two of you. “Which one should we do?”

An hour later of working on a puzzle, you both groan softly and fix your postures, exhausted from slumping over the coffee table.

“I think we need a little break,” you say with a laugh, leaning back against the couch.

“I second that,” Miguel answers, leaning back as well. He turns to look at you and smiles at the sight of you simply sitting there in your pajamas, looking incredibly endearing.

With a soft hum, you briefly think about Harry. You’ve tried not to think about him or the argument after Miguel hugged you, so you haven’t truly processed the situation. You’re uncertain if he will try to contact you again and if you will even deem it worth it to listen to him.

You push the thought away. Right now, you don’t want to think about that. You put all of that aside and cherish the now, or more specifically, you cherish the company from your best friend. Yes, your best friend, who you’ve known for years now, not three mere seconds like Harry said.

With a soft sigh, Miguel rests his head on the cushions. He smiles softly and gazes at you again, noting that look you always get when you begin to get sleepy. “Sleepy?” he asks, already knowing the answer. No.

“Hm? Oh, no,” you answer with a small grin, resting your head as well.

“I figured,” Miguel replies turning to look at the ceiling, knowing it’s actually a matter of time before you doze off. He wouldn’t be surprised, especially after the day you’ve had.

“May we stay here a little while?” you ask softly, not wanting to leave his presence despite the day catching up to you little by little.

“We can stay all night, if you want. Just like this,” Miguel murmurs a minute or two before he feels your head rest on his bicep. He glances down, finding you already asleep. Carefully, Miguel lifts his arm to let you slip into his side before respectfully wrapping it around you. He remains awake for a while, long enough that he hears the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the windows. “Duerme, niña amada mía [sleep, my beloved girl],” he whispers softly.

Previous ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next

A/N: Hiii, my lovely pookies!! THEY HUGGED!! 🗣 I repeat, THEY HUGGED! 🗣🗣

I've been waiting for this day for forever, like everyone else! I didn't plan on taking so long to update, but it's kind of cool how the opportunity to post it today was given, considering today is two years since this story started.🥹

I don't want to ramble too much, but given it's two years of this fic and me joining the fandom here on Tumblr, I just want to say thank you for still reading! 🥹💖

It boggles my mind how I'm actually still writing this fic that two years ago, I was unsure about sharing. On top of that, the original plan was for there to only be four-ish chapters. Now, there are twenty more chapters than originally planned, and we're officially past the 400k word mark (I told you guys to take my keyboard away so many times 🤣).

I almost forgot, too, that the first chapter was untitled because I suck at coming up with titles for my works (you'd think over ten years of writing would help, but no). It was until I heard the song "Nonviolent Communication" from the ATSV album for the first time that I fell in love with the idea of that as a title for this work. It felt right and captured Miguel so beautifully, so the fic finally got its title before the second chapter was posted. I wonder if anyone currently reading was here for that lol.

Either way, this fic truly grew into something more than I planned, and I'm deeply proud of it. It's not perfect by any means, but if it has brought even a little bit of happiness and comfort to you like it has for me, that's more than enough for me!

I know my updates have been nonexistent this year and I'm truly sorry about that. To put it simply, I lost inspiration to write due to everything going on around the world. I suddenly felt a spark earlier this month and finally started to write again little by little each day until I found my groove once more. With that said, I seriously look forward to updating again and completing Nonviolent Communication.

I can't say for sure how many updates there are left because once I'm writing, I get into it and things change (the way an author's story changes over years of writing and editing a book before it's finally published, hehe; not to say this story will take another whole year to be completed, but simply that the number of chapters may increase), but please know that I intend on completing this story, which has been so kind and healing to me in ways you can't imagine. 🥹

Alright, that's enough of my yapping. Thank you so much for reading, pookies! I truly hope you enjoyed this chapter and that I didn't dissapoint. And finally, happy two years of Nonviolent Communication! 💕

Alondra❤️

p.s. THEY HUGGED! Miguel didn't want to let go? 😭 The sweet nicknames? Their stomachs feeling fuzzy? Someone hold me, please! Also, Harry... 😐Should we forgive him?

Taglist: (post about this will be made soon, keep an eye out for it!)

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick

@arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi

@natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07

@nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01

@somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274

@vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9

@tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies

@coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme

@lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah

@muzansucker @theleftkittycollection

@kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l

@aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots

@l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese

@damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1

@darksidescorner @geminis93 @1800-get-alife

@hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife

@dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis

@f1-hoff @llumetrii

@nina-from-317 @kavimoo @heubstr

I missed NC Miguel so bad!🥹🥹

167 notes · View notes

bizarrelovetriangel · 3 months ago

Text

needy.

they joke about you being needy but you take it seriously so you stopped kissing and sleeping with them and suddenly they're not laughing anymore.

mdni. 18+ only. grinding. suggestive but no actual sex. reader enjoys being an insufferable tease <3

sylus.

You pushed him down on the couch and straddled his thighs while one of his hand runs up and down your back, and the other rests on your waist.

He breaks free from your deep kiss with a playful smirk on his face.

"You've been quite needy lately, kitten."

You paused.

Needy?

"Oh."

Sylus froze as soon as he saw the lack of amusement on your face.

"I didn't mean — "

"No, you're so right." You suddenly got off his lap and expertly dodged the hands that attempted to catch you and pull you back down. "I really should calm down, shouldn't I ?"

"No — "

"That's such a great idea, Sylus." you smiled and pinched his cheek. "Let's do something else instead. Let's make cookies!"

That was the start of Sylus' awful week, when he didn't get to touch you at all.

No hand holding.

No hugs.

No kisses.

No sex.

Sylus thinks he might actually go insane.

But he can't lose your game so easily.

He'll toughen up if he must.

He lasted years without you and he had successfully kept his distance from you, no matter how difficult and tempting, until the time was right.

His patience and self-control are not to be underestimated.

He'll be fine.

That's what Sylus keeps reminding himself every time he gets the urge to hold you. Every time his eyes fall to your lips, he tells himself that he'll survive without them.

You're trying to punish him for calling you needy, but he won't give in.

He'll wait until you give in.

It's more fun that way.

Okay, so this is harder than he thought.

It's day two and he's already weak on the knees from the very moment you walked out of the bathroom wearing the dress for tonight's date.

Sylus watched you put on your heels, flashing him a part of your thighs while doing so, and he wanted to run a hand on it to feel your smooth skin.

"Sylus?"

He blinked out of his trance to realize you just asked him a question. "What was that, sweetie?"

"I was asking if it'll be cold in the restaurant you chose, so I can know if I should bring a jacket or not."

He shook his head. "You'll be just fine."

That was a total lie.

It turned out to be cold as your table was specially reserved at a rooftop of a building.

However, it just so happens that Sylus has a jacket and the cold wasn't affecting him, so he was able to give it to you.

With a grin on his face, Sylus pulled your seat right next to his and gently put the jacket around your shoulders, making sure his fingers brush against your skin even if it's only for a second.

"Thanks." as you gave him a smile, you slightly moved closer to his face. "I feel much better now."

Sylus made the mistake of looking at your lips. Without much thought, his head tilted down and his nose grazed yours before aligning your lips.

"Wow! This wine is so good! Try it!" You shoved your glass of wine to his lips before scooting your chair back to its initial place, a couple of feet away from him.

Sylus almost choked on the alcohol but gladly accepted your offer. He put his lips on the same spot that had your lipstick stain on it.

At the very least, he got to enjoy an indirect kiss that should keep him satisfied for the rest of the week.

Or so he thought.

Day four.

The frustration has gotten to Sylus.

It's like owning the world's most valued weapon yet not being able to use it.

He can look, but he can't touch.

It's much more difficult than he thought.

Especially when you're doing everything in your power to make him cave in.

Well, technically, you aren't doing anything out of the ordinary.

Right now, all you're doing is hitting the punching bag in the exact way that he taught you, but the way you look at the moment is making him want to grab you and pin you down — or you can be the one to pin him down. It doesn't matter to him. All he wants is his body to be pressed against yours.

Sylus quietly growled under his breath.

He clenched his fist and started to hit the other punching bag, hoping to take away some of the tension burning inside him, particularly inside his shorts.

You tilted your head and watched curiously as Sylus' punches to the sandbag has gotten heavier, leaving such satisfying sounds at the impact.

"Whoa! So good! You look like you're getting ready to beat up some real nasty bad guys. Did anyone piss you off or something?" You picked up the clean towel nearby and held it up towards his face to wipe the sweat on his forehead. "You do look tense lately."

Sylus' left hand suddenly caught the one you're using to wipe his face. "You're a vicious little kitten."

He gave your hand a kiss before stepping back and patting your head before walking out of the room and leaving you alone.

"Hey, where are you going?! We haven't sparred yet!"

"Shower." He looked over his shoulder to give you a smirk. "Would you like to join?"

You almost agreed in a heartbeat.

But you have to stay strong.

"Nope, I'll just stay here and keep practicing so I can kick your ass the next time we spar."

Your own answer only disappointed the both of you.

Day seven.

You and Sylus went out for a ride on his newest motorcycle at night, on the empty, spatious roads of N109.

It was the worst idea of all.

As the one that's manipulating the vehicle, you're the one sitting at the front and you took advantage of the close proximity by pressing your ass right against his crotch.

Sylus had to concentrate on making sure his grip on your waist doesn't hurt you, with the way his body had gone stiff. Every part of him.

Every bump on the road slammed your hips against him and he had to hold his breath every time. His pants became tighter and tighter by the minute, and his breath had gotten unsteady.

He was sweating throughout the entire ride.

And once you finally made it back to his place, Sylus' patience finally broke.

From the moment you got off the motorcycle, Sylus quickly removed his motorcycle before taking off yours.

As soon as your face was in clear view, before you could even comprehend what was happening, Sylus' left hand caressed your jawline before locking his lips with yours.

Your eyes widened with surprise, though you didn't waste a precious second to kiss him back and pull him close by grabbing onto his shoulders.

Sylus didn't dare to pull away until he was out of breath. Even then, he'd only stop for a second before diving back in like a starved man.

Every time you'd pull back to gasp for air, Sylus would come after your lips and slip his tongue between them to capture yours.

"You win." he huffs in between kisses while your hands run through the strands of his hair. "I yield."

"Heh?" you can't help but grin. "What are you talking about? What are you yielding for?"

"Don't play innocent, kitten. You know what you've been doing." He tapped your forehead as you laughed. "I won't call you needy ever again, so if you could stop teasing me, I'd greatly appreciate it." he whispered against your ear before kissing it softly, "I don't know how long I can keep holding back."

"Since you learned your lesson...." you pressed your lips under his jaw. "You don't need to hold back anymore."

That was all he needed to hear.

Sylus wrapped your legs around his hips and kept you up against him as he made his way into his bedroom.

zayne

You're drawing random patterns with your finger on Zayne's bare chest as you cuddle with him when suddenly, he made a lighthearted joke.

"Your libido has been rather high lately. Based on my record, your premenstrual syndrome symptoms shouldn't be showing up for another two weeks."

You looked up to see the playful grin on his face.

"Oh, is that right?" you huff. "Must be my diet or something. No worries, I'll fix it."

Zayne blinked with confusion. "Huh?" But he received no more response for an explanation as you closed your eyes and drifted oft to sleep.

It was only until the very next day when he realized his mistake when he received absolutely zero kisses.

He was quick to figure out what brought on such an evil scheme.

"Oh, no..."

Day three.

You stopped by his work to join him for lunch, just as he requested.

Zayne observed that you're not angry with him and you have no problem spending time with him. You act normal for the most part. The one big change with your behavior is that you refuse to give him any physical affection.

You didn't even give him a hug as you greeted him.

It feels strange. It's like he's forgetting something as important like his wallet or his car keys.

"Are you punishing me for what I said the other day?"

"What you said the other day?"

"You know... about your high libido...."

He could've sworn a vein popped out from your forehead just now and he does his best to suppress a smile of amusement. He's already in trouble. He doesn't want to dig his grave any deeper.

"Nope! I don't care at all!"

Despite the words that came out of your mouth, you continued to make him suffer.

Later that day, you met up aftet work to drink milk tea while taking a night stroll around the city during such a lovely weather.

The way you were smiling the whole time made Zayne want to hold your hand and keep you close to him.

And yet, you were constantly moving around so much, either on purpose or due to all the sugar from your drink, so he ended the night feeling somewhat emptyhanded.

He hasn't realized until now just how much he enjoys even the little touches you grace him with.

Day five.

You and Zayne attended a formal event.

It's a banquet for the hunters association and you were obligated to come, and he was your date, so you two dressed up nicely to follow the dress code.

Although, if he was being honest, Zayne wishes you two are still in your apartment, where he can have you all to himself.

Ever since he had come to your home to picked you up, he couldn't keep his eyes off you. And throughout the event, he has been rather... uneasy.

As you're eating dessert, Zayne can't help but imagine tasting it from your lips. It has been days since he last kissed you, and he needed to be reminded of your sweetness.

He needed to feel the warmth and softness of your skin underneath your dress.

Zayne lets out a shaky breath before loosening his tie.

It seems that the room suddenly feels hot.

Or maybe it's just his racing mind and heart and the blood rushing down below his hips.

"Zayne, are you okay?"

You scooted your chair closer to him so that your legs are touching. You faced him and put a hand on his forehead.

"You feel warm. Are you sick?"

Zayne lets out a laugh that was half-nervous. "Are you teasing me again?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just worried about you."

He detected from your tone that you are indeed teasing him.

On the drive back, Zayne was clutching the steering wheel as his mind continues to race, imagining all the things that he'd been wanting to do with you. Sitting still became difficult with a bulge rising through his pants.

But yet again, he ends the night without a single touch from you.

And Zayne has decided, he'll never joke about anything ever again.

Day six.

On his day off, Zayne had taken you out for a picnic and the torture continues.

Whenever you two have a picnic, there's lots of cuddling involved. This time, there's none at all and there's the Happy Snowman plushie sitting right between you two as a barrier.

You two are playing kitty cards and Zayne seems to be on top of his game today.

After all, he had a special proposal.

"Whoever wins must do something that the winner wants."

It's a simple but classic prize that no one can ever resist, so you gladly accepted the challenge thinking you'd easily win.

But Zayne's focus is unshakeable.

He's consecutively dropping assist cards to take away your points, and somehow he's stocking up all the sixes.

He won't even let you switch cards by acting cute. That's how serious it is right now. The stakes are high.

After six rounds, Zayne comes out as the winner.

"How could this happen?!"

Zayne chuckles at your dramatic cries, aggressively shaking Happy Snowman as if it was the one responsible for your loss.

Unfortunately for Happy Snowman, it's Zayne's turn to have your attention.

Zayne snatched the plushie out of your hands and set it aside.

"Darling, it's time for me to claim my prize."

You sigh and bowed playfully. "Yes, yes, congratulations for being crowned as the King of the Kitties. What can I do for you, Your Highness?"

Zayne smiled and gently held your chin with his fingers before guiding you to look up so you can lock gazes.

"Kiss me."

Your mouth drops at his request, face immediately heating up.

"Oh."

He found a way to end your silly little game.

He really is a clever boy.

"Your wish is my command~"

At last, you stop holding back against your urges and brought yourself on his lap.

Zayne eagerly welcomes you into his arms and wraps them around you tightly, making sure you don't try to escape.

His lips meets yours with desperation and his hands slides down to your thighs, encouraging you to sway your hips back and forth.

Between the deep and heavy kisses, he mutters, "I joked about you being needy yet here I am, being the needy one. But it's all your fault. Are you going to take responsbility for it?" Zayne pressed you down against his hips to let you feel just how hard he is for you.

"...should we end picnic early?"

"We should end picnic early."

caleb

You stumbled into his room while removing his shirt and almost tripped on his feet as you reached the bed.

"What's the rush, Pip-squeak? And here I thought I was the needy one."

Your hands come to a halt.

"What did you say?"

"I said there's no need to rush, I'm not going anywhere — "

"No, you just called me needy just now."

Caleb chuckles at your furrowed brows.

"I was joking, Pip— what are you doing?" you picked up his shirt that you dropped on the floor and threw it at his chest before walking out of his room.

"Gonna be needy all by myself in my room. Goodnight."

"Wha — hey wait!"

It's too late. You stomped your way into your own room and Caleb is left all alone with a boner that remained standing until his mood died down.

Caleb sent you a bunch of stickers, hoping you'd come back beside him. Sadly, you ignored all of them and he was forced to sleep with a cold, empty bedside.

The next day, Caleb woke up early and prepared breakfast for the two of you as usual. You came out of your room and lazily greeted him a good morning, so he was relieved to know that you weren't really mad.

But once he tried to kiss you on the cheek after giving you a cup of coffee and you blocked his lips with the palm of your hands, he learned that he's not completely off the hook just yet.

"No."

"Huh?"

"No kisses."

"What?! Why?!"

You almost laughed at the way his face shifted, looking like a little boy who'd gotten his favorite toy taken away.

"Because. I don't want to seem needy."

"Come onnnn, it was a joke! I'm sorry!" he tried to embrace you from the back but you stood up and moved away.

"Wow, look how nice the weather looks today!" you exclaimed as you look out the window, admiring the clouds of Skyhaven.

Caleb pouts at the way you deflected him.

Knowing how you behave whenever you're being petty, he has to brace himself for the worst few upcoming days of his life.

Day two.

The pout hasn't left his face.

You two are working out together at his home gym and he's pouting as he's doing push ups.

You're not even sitting on his back and motivating him to do more reps. You're just doing your own sets of excercises in front of him while pretending he's not there.

"Pip-squeak, look. I'm doing push-ups with one hand."

"...."

"Now I'm doing push-ups with just one finger!"

"..."

No matter what he did to grab your attention, he just couldn't get you to look at him.

But what if....

"Whew, it's so hot in here."

Caleb took off his shirt and threw it aside.

He tries not to grin as he caught you sneaking glances from the corner of your eye.

Now, he'll do pull-ups on the bar right in front of you.

Or at least, that was the plan.

His shirt was thrown back at his chest just like the other night.

"Caleb you dummy. You'll get cold."

You walked out of the room and he was back to pouting.

Day four.

You went back to Linkon at Monday morning. Caleb couldn't believe he lasted four whole days without getting a single kiss from you. He didn't even get to hold your hand or pat your head.

The lack of physical affection and intimacy should be nothing to him since he always had to hold back from acting on his feelings for you. He was willing to wait forever for you.

But now that he thinks about it, he'd always been touchy with you.

Even before you were in a romantic relationship, he'd given you plenty of hugs, he'd given you lots of forehead kisses, he'd hold your hands whenever you let him, he'd hold you when you don't want to sleep alone, and he'd even kissed your cheek during the times whenever you pretended to be a couple.

Physical affection has always been a part of your relationship.

Taking it away is like taking away a pilot's airplane.

Well, maybe it's not that drastic but it surely feels that way to Caleb.

Now that he's able to kiss you and hold you whenever he wants, he can't stop. He loves being with you and becoming one with you.

He can't help but seek for your touch.

It's only been a few days but he misses your warmth. He misses how you taste. He misses the sounds you'd make.

Oh, he definitely won't survive for long.

This scheme of yours has to end now.

Day five.

You got a good jumpscare when The Colonel showed up at your doorstep at night, in his full uniform and all.

Before opening the door, you peeked through the peephole and took note of his serious expression, just as The Colonel often appears as.

But the scary demeanor vanished the moment you oppened the door.

His face lights up and you're flashed with the warm smile you've used to seeing.

"Caleb! What are you doing here?!"

"I just dropped by to bring you something you forgot at my house. It's pretty important so I thought I'd make a trip to Linkon so you don't worry about it."

You let him in your apartment, trying to recall what you could have forgotten. You were able to get through a long day at work without noticing anything missing, so what could've been that important that he had to give to you immediately?

"What did I forget?"

Caleb dug something from one of the pockets of his coat.

"Ta-da! Here you go~"

Caleb took your left hand and dropped something to your palm.

".....Are you being serious right now?"

A hair clip.

"What? It's something that you use every day, is it not? I know you were probably feeling weird without it. You're welcome."

"...I leave this behind on purpose. I always use it whenever I'm at your house, every time I'm doing my hair. It was meant to stay there."

Caleb laughs and scratches the back of his head. "Oh, my baaaad, Pip-squeak. Ah, but since I'm already here, might as well have dinner together!I'll help you cook~"

He removed his hat and coat before entering your kitchen. You're in the middle of making dinner too, so he somehow arrived perfectly on time.

You should've known he came in with a mission.

As he goes around the kitchen, he does everything possible to accidentally touch you.

He'd lightly bump into you and touches your shoulder as he apologizes.

His hand brushes against your waist to move you aside so he can pass by.

He stands behind you and reaching over you so he could get some containers on the cabinet, making sure to grind his hips against your ass just for a brief second.

Eventually, you found yourself cornered against the fridge.

"What are you doing?"

"Making dinnner." you glare at him and he was quick to give you a pout. "...And trying to win your attention because you've been so mean to me by neglecting me."

"Neglecting?" you tilted your head. "But I thought I was being needy."

Caleb groans before completely losing his patience.

He pulls you into a hug. "I'm sorry! I won't say it again! Please don't punish me anymore I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry — " his embrace starts getting tighter at every word, making you cough dramatically.

"Jeez, alright fine! I get it, now let me go — "

"Never!"

Caleb lifts you off the ground and nuzzles his face against yours. "So soft and so warm ~"

"Caleb, the pot is boiling!"

"The pot can wait. I'm busy."

"Caleb — " the sizzling noises from the stove forced him to jump away from you.

"Okay I'm coming!"

rafayel

"You don't need to be so needy cutie, I'm not going anywhere~"

You pulled away from his kiss and raised a brow at him. "Needy...?"

Rafayel's eyes widen as he realized what he just said. "I — I was just joking!"

"Right..."

You laughed along but five minutes later, the kisses suddenly stopped and your attention shifted to your phone to play a silly game (one that he recommended to you in the first place).

Rafayel didn't think much of it. He was able to cuddle with you as the two of you fell asleep that night.

But once he woke up, things started to seem weird to him.

As you left to go to work, you didn't give him a kiss. You always give him a kiss. You rushed out of the studio before he could even remind you about it.

He didn't get to see you for the rest of the day because the Wanderers robbed him all of your time and energy.

At the very least, he was able to videocall with you and chat with you about how your day went. Though, seeing your sleeping face made him wish he was next to you so he could comfort you and ease your exhaustion.

Day two.

You joined him for a stroll at the beach and helped him collect some shells. He tried to hold your hand but you not-so-subtly moved away from him.

The face he made was worthy of a drama actor award.

"Are you worried I'd give you a virus? Come here, cutie, I'm perfectly clean. I just took a bath an hour ago."

"No no, just don't wanna seem clingy, that's all."

Rafayel took a moment to figure out what prompted that response.

"Waaaait, you're not really mad about me calling you needy, are you? It was just a joke, Miss Bodyguuaaard..."

"Mhmm."

Rafayel sighs as he realizes you're going to prolong this cruel revenge of yours just a little further. It's good that you're not really mad, though he can't help but pout about it.

He had to walk through the beach with you so close yet so far from him, and his hands have never felt so cold and lonely.

You don't even always hold his hand, as sometimes collecting sea shells require all hands available, but now that he's aware of your punishment, he can't help but notice that he really loves holding your hand and giving you little kisses.

Without them, his day feels incomplete.

Day three.

You showed up at Rafayel's art exhibition and he's acting like you just dumped him.

"Oh, I didn't expect you to show up today, Miss Bodyguard. I thought you'd forgotten all about me."

He showed you one painting that you haven't seen finished until now.

"This is inspired by the gaping hole in my heart because my beloved has left me."

Trying not to laugh, you flicked his forehead. "Your beloved saw you this morning for breakfast and watched you get scolded by Thomas because you weren't ready for your event on time."

Rafayel huffs. "Well, I would have woken up early and would've been prepared on time if only I went to sleep early. But I couldn't sleep early because my beloved is being mean to me and won't let me kiss her."

"Weeeell, that sucks for you." you patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna go check out that lovely painting over there. See you later."

Rafayel followed you the entire time, walking so closely beside you so his hand would constantly brush against yours.

Once you reached an empty room, he stood right behind you and put a hand on the wall next to the painting that you're admiring.

His lips brushed against your ear after taking a whiff of your neck. "This perfume... it's the one that I really like..."

It was indeed the scent that makes him act like a cat that's high on catnip. You wore it on purpose, solely to get the reaction that he's giving right now.

Rafayel's lips brushed against your neck like a feather, testing the waters to see if you'd push him away.

So far, you do nothing but stare at the beautiful painting he worked months on.

His right hand landed on your stomach and gently nudged you back so that your body is right against his.

His kisses grew a little bolder, lingering on your skin a little longer.

But then, the sound of footsteps coming close forced you to spring away from him.

You held back a grin at his red face.

"This has been a wonderful exhibit, Sir Rafayel. Thank you for the tour."

"...Hmph..."

He crossed his arms and looked away, trying to calm down his racing heart.

Looks like his body craves for you more than he realized.

Day four.

"I got here as fast as I could! What's the emergency?!"

You slam the bathroom door open to find Rafayel chilling in his bathtub, naked body submerged in warm water mixed with pink foamy soap.

"...."

"Oh, good, you're finally here." Rafayel sighs with relief. "Miss bodyguard, you have to help me. I slipped from a paintbrush earlier and hurt my right arm, so I can't move it around easily because it hurts. Will you help me with my bath?"

"How did you get in the bathtub in the first place if your arm hurts so much?"

"Don't worry about it, cutie. That's in the past. I like to focus in the present."

You shook your head, though you're unable to hide a smile from his silly yet clever response.

You knelt down beside the bathtub and started petting his head. Right away, he closed his eyes and leaned in towards your touch.

You lowered your hand to his neck and brushed slowly your thumb against his skin just under his jaw, and you caught him gulping nervously.

Next, you slid your hand down to his chest, drawing random shapes between his pecs, causing his breath to stutter.

"But now that I think about it... how does one get help for taking a bath?" you asked. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Rafayel caught your hand before you could even think about pulling away and leave him hard, just like yesterday at the exhibit.

"I just need you... to move your hand... just a little lower...."

Your face heated up at his low tone. His face had turned into a dark shade of red, flushed from the warmth you've made him feel with just a few light touches.

"You better be careful." you whispered, moving your hands down as slow as possible. "With how you sound just now, someone might think that you might be a little....needy...."

Rafayel opened his eyes but didn't move a single muscle. His hand remained on top of yours, letting you wander to wherever you want to.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm the needy one." he kept his gaze fixated on you. "I need to have you close to me. I need to hold you. I need to feel you."

Your face burned.

As did the rest of your body.

At last, your hand reached where he needed you to be.

Stiff and twitching, just for you.

Your core clenched as you recall the way he feels inside you.

"If.... if I'm gonna help you take a bath, you better make some room for me."

Rafayel has never moved so quickly.

xavier

Xavier breathes heavily on his bed, face flushed and chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You're lying next to him, equally spent after getting lost in each other's bodies.

"We've been doing it so much lately, I'm starting to feel sore." he says with a chuckle, putting one hand on his neck and shoulder.

"....You're right." you softly tapped on his chest as if to give him comfort. "Don't worry, I'll let you recover. Let's not do anything for a while."

Xavier's eyes widen. "What?! That's that not what I meant — "

You let out a yawn. "I'm sleepy. Goodnight, Xavier~"

"Wait — "

"Goodnight, I said."

Day one.

You had to be joking, right?

You were probably just so tired and blurted out such a hasty statement.

You probably don't even remember what you said.

Xavier didn't forget, though. He couldn't, even if he wanted to.

When he woke up at noon, you were already at work. You made breakfast for him. If you were really upset with him, you wouldn't have cooked anything for him.

So, everything should be fine.

He arrived at work and the very first thing he did is greet you at your station. You're behind your desk, busy with a report on your computer.

"Good morning."

He leaned down to give you a hug. Although you didn't return it, you didn't deflect him.

That means you really were just bluffing. Everything is fine.

"Good morning, Xavier."

Fast forward to a couple of hours later, you two are investigating an abandoned but recently used building that's been raided by Wanderers.

There was a suspicious man on site, so you hid somewhere so that you can observe him for any possible leads.

Xavier pulled you into a room that looks to be a supplies closet, which was luckily clean enough to not contain any foul smell that would make it unbearable for you to hide in.

You stood by the door that's slightly cracked open so that you can keep an eye on the suspicious man.

Xavier stood right behind you with absolutely no space between your bodies. His left hand made its way to your waist while his lips brushes against your neck.

Before he could do anything else, you turned around and covered his mouth with one hand.

"Hmm? What are you — "

"Shhh. We need to be quiet."

Okay, so you rejected his attempt to makeout.

But that was only because you couldn't risk missing out on any leads and had to focus on the suspicious guy, right? That's all. Everything is fine.

Everything is not fine.

He caught you on a conversation with Andrew and you were touching his shoulder. Then you spoke with Simone and you were touching her arm.

But when he talked to you, you didn't touch his shoulder or anything. You didn't touch his hand and you even moved away when he tried to touch yours.

For the final check: the Pocky test.

Once you're back in his apartment after work, Xavier decided to share his last box of Pocky with you.

As you were eating one, Xavier quickly went up to you.

"Wait, let me check if yours is good."

He continued to eat the stick of Pocky until he's closer to your lips.

But then you suddenly pulled back and ate the rest.

"Wah — "

You gently patted his cheeks. "Nice try."

So, it turns out you knew what he was doing and no, you were absolutely not going to give him kisses today.

And so, sulky Xavier makes his return.

Day two.

Xavier decided to get revenge for taking away kisses and cuddles by showing you the most horrifying scary movie on both of your watch list.

You two are sitting on his giant bean-bag chair, sharing a blanket while your eyes are glued to the TV screen, unable to look away at the bloody scene of another character getting ripped apart.

Little did you know, Xavier is mentally cheering.

For every jumpscare, you scoot closer and closer to him. Around halfway of the movie, you're sitting on his lap yet you're too focused on the movie to realize it.

Xavier kept quiet and rested one hand on your thigh, while the other casually shoves popcorn in his mouth.

As the end credits started to roll, Xavier got up to refill your drinks so that you can have more for the next film, which is another horror one.

"Wait where are you going?!" you grabbed his hand before he could start walking towards the kitchen.

Xavier almost laughed at your expression. "I'm just going to get us more drinks. I won't be gone for long. Just sit here and relax."

"You're not scared even a little bit?" you murmured, tightly hugging a pillow. Right now, your brain is imagining the killer in every dark spot of the apartment.

"I'll be fine~"

Five steps forward and he suddenly turns around.

"Are you really that scared?"

He uses his evol to shine a bright light on his face while pulling a silly expression, mocking the one that the killer from the movie wore.

"Ah!"

His plan worked a little too well because now, you can't sleep alone.

"Are you really that scared?" he asked, walking up to the bed, watching you hug Bunbun with your dear life. "We fought Wanderers that are much worse. If you were in the movie, I bet you'll make a good final girl that'll outlive the killer."

He sat next to you and smiled as he put a hand on the plushie.

"Bunbun can go now. I'm taking over his job in protecting you while you sleep."

You gasped as he snatched the plushie and threw him across the room.

"Xavier!"

"Ssshh, I got you."

After turning off all the lights, he laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, with your back against his chest.

The second you closed your eyes, your mind starts replaying the scariest parts of the movies you just watched, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

You hear a faint gasp behind you, but you ignore it as you're trying to block off the scary images in your head.

"Ugh! It's no good! I need a distraction."

You turned around to get your phone on the nightstand, but then you come face to face with Xavier.

"A distraction?" he leans close to you so that your noses touch. "I can give you a distraction, if you want."

"....nope, I'm good." you turned back around with a huff. "Don't wanna make you sore."

Xavier laughs and nuzzles his face on your neck.

"I'll remember not to joke about something like that ever again. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"....are you also sorry for making me watch those really scary movies?"

"Well.... not really...."

They were excellent movies, after all. Aside from the scary parts, he could tell you enjoyed it overall.

"At least you're honest."

A few seconds later, Xavier starts to pepper kisses all over your neck and jaw.

"Do you still need a distraction? I can help you get your mind off of anything scary."

You let out a quiet moan as he softly pushed his hips against yours.

"Just focus on me."

From the moment he got on top of you, you forgot about everything — your silly scheme and the horror movies.

Right now, there's only Xavier.

13K notes · View notes

liliputkalin · 2 days ago

Text

#first of all i cant say i understand all thats going on bc its a two parter#and youre a lover of posting your several-part comics separately#and im a hater of you posting your several-part comics separately /aff

😔 I'd run into the pic limit if posting all at once.

#first of all loving the gang#the caterpillar man is taking all of my attention im sorry dude попей железа#his helmet resembles a heart more than the others' aw aww <3#my dear

<33 it straight up doesn't care. it too tired to care.

#loving the lighting on the first on the most bc they all have shiny metal helmets and shoulder pieces and all and it just works

yeagh i went ham on it and then gave up on the rest of lightning.... sad. it would look so good,.,

#little rocks falling from the sky#one fell on the caterpillar guy it doesn't give a fuck just look at him#pls can its second name base of a caterpillar im begging#i admit i misinterpreted its helmet i thought it didnt have the mohawk thingie but had two tiniest horns#it doesnt change anything to me. doesnt mean anything

ill probably do something like it, yeagh. but caterpillar is not a very menacing name phphphp

he had horns in the sketch but i decided it would be boring and gave null a unic hat. it could have just to little spikes in place of horns.... ill probably solidify it's design later though

#the guys on the bg are adorable too but its just bc of how toy draw the horns#kinda like what toothless has#the furthest one is giving that begging emoji face im killing myself#cool lettering#caterpillar guy is changing the course of my thought whenever i look at this frame sorry

yeaghhh they are the basic berserks design in my head. no details for them. there are already too many ocs here

btw the begging face one looks like a weir dog/bunny without the lines. my weirdooo

#is that the grumpy guy let me check#oh fuck youve posted a lot#sigh i dont know if this is the grumpy one who gave her proper clothing. eyebrows seem similar i want to think its the same person#caterpillar guy didnt appear back then </3 okey okey okey

yes!!! it is the grumpy one!!! catellpillar is a new one. spawned outta the neither. i should probably draw Liv's crew but then i won't make new oc's every time they come up </3

#the grump is the most based one on every occasion actually#aw he put a hand on her shoulder#they have a mental connection because theyre both geniuses and bc he may have taught her a thing or two

she’s lite a daughter he never had </33 she's like, the most adopted kid on the island. the only one who didn't try to get eaten by the dragons or to kill themselfs doing something dangerous. the most unbersrek kid ever.

and then she started hanging around Dagur XD

#WHOS SEAGUL </3 WHOS SEAGUL </3 WHOS SEAGUL </3 WHOS SEAGUL </3#OKAY ILL CHECK THE LORE FUCK OFF#WHERE. I JUST CHECKED I DIDNT FIND SEAGUL WHOS SEAGUL ive heard the name???? ? ? ? ? for the life of me i Cant Remember Whos Seagul#didnt find them on the blog its def not one of the two outcasts because the two outcasts are beetlejuisce /j and girmborn /j#im crying with this bighorn littlemustache person go get me seagul

he is new. there is a lot of new peoples. don' worry you aren't supposed to know him. shrimp is verry soggy and miserable one. he is just turned 20ish and fresh out of the training.

#part two lesgo#is seagul like чайка i dont rember#fuck it has two l-s nvm

чайка <3 i am bad at orthography and i forget.

#'you berserkers must be cowards' <- NASTY HSHAHSHA#srsly everytime dragons appear berserkers run whatsup w you guys have u never seen a dragon before huh ;))))0))#(they kinda do have 0 xp w dragons)#'HEY IM TALKING YO YOU' <- ДА ЗАВАЛИ ТЫ НЕ ПОЗОРЬ МОЙ ОСТРОВ

XD я позорю твой остров случайными камео. мы можем закинуть его в тюрьму. bersksers have experience with dragons. Just from the cotrolled disance. and with all the right tools. and not in the cofined spaces. and-----

and anyways an earthquake is scarier than a dragon. it doesn't eat you. it does not care. you can't scare it off. you can only run and pray it won't catch you.

#she stole keys did they capture seagul #AH THATS WHY YOU REWATCHED THE EP#main gangs dragons are epic <3 stormfly is straightup menacing and aw fishy w meatlug are speeding away on their timy wings i cant#this scene is always killing me why must they have put a fart joke in it </3

i completely forgot what they were doing in it. and the fart joke caght me so badddd

#DAGUR HIIIIII <3 <3<3<3<3<3<3<3 I ONLY SEE YOUR ASS AND THE TOP RIGHT CORNER OF YOUR HEAD HIII DAGUR HIIIII <3<3<3<3<

dagur <3 he is my favorite and i hate to draw him in all that gear </3 also i love the fact that him riding tooth like a bull is canon. he is so stupid <33

#wait is seagul a dragon#no. no#i think shell see like granite#like she was looking for a person but found her bby no? ahggh#why why are you freeing drag- okay OKay ill wait for the next part. ill wait#i need to see seagull. seaghoul. я потерял смысл слова seagul#wanted to add that i grew to adore the cyan-yellow palette of the final page as i tagged#yes cool

i think i should have made shrimp&seagull more different,,, but they wanted to have matching helmets </3

she is asking Seagull if there are other humans here, having went down prevously.

and even if he said there were no people down there she would have went anyway. i haven't draw it yet, but she spend some time near the trapped dragons and seen how most of it try to get free. and when she've understood that all of dragons were going to be trapped there (everybody out & not going back there)

in canon i think not one made it out - none of them appeared on screen getting out.

гнилец send free wds and started the earthquake and went up. sp she wanted to give them a chance of survival

The Accident part 1

#lin's ranbles #iiii have not decided yet whether shirm&seagul are siblings or friends or boyfriends...#thank you so much for your thoughts!!

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sugucide · 6 months ago

Text

two weeks.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

"two weeks is more than enough time for me to think about my actions," he tells you over dinner one night, eyes cast downwards at his plate. "...and to come up with a suitable apology."

you place your chopsticks down at his last words and look up at your husband. "oh? let's hear it then."

over the frames of his glasses, kento's eyes meet yours. "i apologise for worrying you and risking my life for my work."

you tap your fingers against the table. "and will you continue to do it?"

"yes," he admits. "it's my job, one that i do well. if i die doing it, i hope it's in place of someone who didn't sign up for it, like you."

kento reaches over the table and takes your hand. "i can't just stop being a sorcerer. that would be too selfish of me. but i do promise that i will make more of an effort to reduce my chances of getting hurt from now on: no more unnecessary risks. okay?"

though that was all you needed to hear from him, you start to wonder if lifting the sex ban was a good idea when your pent-up husband is swiping plates from the dinner table to make room for you to lay back on it. claiming he can't wait the few extra second to carry you to the bedroom, he has you stripped and laid bare on the dining room table in no time, and he's ready for his meal.

"missed her," he mumbles as he parts your legs with a strong hand and bends down to kiss once at your clit. that's about and gentlemanly as it gets, though, because soon after he's making out with your pussy like he's a virgin. no technique, no precision, nothing but unfiltered need and its so much hotter than you'd imagine it to be.

eyes locking onto yours from between your thighs, he adds two fingers and works you open. two weeks was a long time for the both of you, so he'll need to get you used to the stretch of him again. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curls them upwards to hit your g-spot and smirks like a saint when your back arches off the table in response.

"missed you ken," you ramble on as your climax nears. "missed you so much. hated doing this. love you. loveyouloveyou god i love you."

you cum hard, harder than you've cum in a long time and kento laps it up like he's never tasted anything so good. he savours your taste on his tongue like he would an aged wine, something expensive and delicious and worth keeping bottled. though he's harder than diamond and worried he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't sink inside of you soon. so he stands and undoes his belt in record time (with those lovely hands of his) and repositions you at the end of the table with his leaky cock already pressing against your wet entrance.

he leans over you and shares a kiss with you as he pushes in. he inhales the gasp you let out at the stretch and moans into your mouth as a gift in return. he pulls out almost entirely, so it's just his head nestled in your tight pussy, and then slams in again. hard.

"god kento—" you start, about to chide him for being so rough with you when you notice his face dip into your neck and the sudden warmth filling you from the inside. kento's hips stutter and he bites at the skin of your shoulder to muffle the heavy moans that ache to free themselves from his chest.

"did you just—"

"don't," he cuts you off, cock twitching inside of you with his release. he's plugging you up, keeping you full of him and his cum. "give me a minute and i'll fuck you so stupid that you forget that just happened."

"you just—"

"don't laugh."

"im not laughing! it's just, you know like our first time..."

"shut up." kento's hips pull away and then slam back into yours as he starts a brutal pace with you.

that shuts you up good.

#kento smut #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x you #nanami x you #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you

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screampied · 9 months ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 BIG BOOOYS!

☆ sum. it's cuffin’ seasooon, and now you’ve got a reasooon to get…stuffed? toji, sukuna, choso, geto, nanami, gojo.

warnings. fem! reader, BIG BOYSSSS like the sza skit song, unprotected, manhandling, dad bods (toji / nanami), size kinks, tf! sukuna, boxer! geto, spīt, full nelson, mating press, dp (sukuna), overstim, dirty talk, praise, marathons, p spanks, hair pulling, breedīng, this got kinda … long LOL sry.

an. will t*mblr let me post thisss …. ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.

“honey,” nanami warmly purrs, his body weight hovering right over yours. you’re met with the most softhearted eyes, watching cloudy puffy pants leave his mouth. you’d just rode nanami for countless hours nonstop, and with ruffled blond strands sticking to his face, he looked oh so feral for you. your eyes rover down toward his abdomen - so plump ‘n round, and you felt yourself throb the more you gawked at the vertical strip of his blond happy trail that ran down his chest. “hah- you want me to . . fold you like a chair? that sounds kind of painful, no?”

“ken, ‘s okay,” you reassure him, a hand sensually rubbing down his cushiony soft-padded abs. nanami was as soft as an oversized teddy bear, and he was always gentle with you during intimacy. you moan, feeling his split reddish tip gently smear a sloppy slope down your sopping entrance before he pauses to let you finish speaking. “y.. you can be a little rough. i can take it.”

nanami combs a hand through his hair before a coy simper tug at both corners of his thin pink lips. “okay, if that’s what my pretty wife wants- then. .” and you let off a jittery whimper once you feel his big hands start to gingerly shove both of your knees to your chest. his touch was forevermore tender, and nanami hoarsely groans as he watches your limbs gradually extend back. “i’ll . . stretch you,” he grumbles, a sandy brow of his furrowing once he starts to align his leaky cockhead once more. you’re throbbing, salivating from the mouth once the pointed crowns of your knees meet against your bare squishy breasts. leaning in, nanami’s just a few sultry centimeters apart before he sensually licks near your bottom lip. “hold onto me, sweetheart. ‘s gonna get a bit . . bumpy.”

once you’re laid flat on your back, nanami’s tubby tummy hovers over your entire frame. murky huffs of air shoot past his lips once he grabs ahold of your wobbly ankles. you’d already had your pretty laced panties shoved to the side, and oh how soaked you were. “naughty girl,” he huskily grunts, casually starting to rub his wedding ring against your folds. slow. . romantic strokes were all you felt. it lasts for a long few seconds, and he’s just smearing the frigid cold band of the ring around your bawling cunt before he finally gets to the real thing.

nanami grabs ahold of your legs—softly shoving them further into your chest. they meet against your bouncy tits and you moan, feeling the plump head of his cock greet your slobbering cunt with wet, slimy kisses of its own. the noises . . they were so damn loud, and you were already throbbing the more he teased you from just his full-sized tip alone. “ngh, ‘ken. don’t tease me. f.. fuck me,” you whine, another moan leaving from your parted lips the second he’s fully enclosed between your legs. you’re met with his rounded tummy that’s sooo perfect ‘n plump, and nanami’s just inches apart from the button of your nose. time stands still once he finishes aligning his thick cock, unhurriedly inserting himself inside.

oh fuck-

those same two words that ripped out of your whiny larynx repeated past your lips right as he started to ease his way inside. it didn’t take him long to quickly bottom out—and you were folded up like a chair. “s- sooo gorgeous for me,” he lowly groans, blond brows crimping together in needy want. your brief tightness that only lasts for a good three seconds makes nanami suck his teeth. so … damn … good, once he bottoms out all the way, you then hear the bubbly resounding ‘pop!’ that alerted you both that he was fit reaaaal nice ‘n snug. “god, the things you do to me, sweetheart.”

nanami tended to ramble mid-fuck, just spouting a bunch of nonsense against the shell of your ear. with barred, bare hands, he’s making sure your legs stay at the folded position you’re at. his cock’s just so fat though, and your eyes were almost cartoonish—widening like saucers at the precise moment he curves his way through that exact pathway of your cunt that makes you squeal. nanami’s sculptured hips drill into you ferociously, and his body that pounded on top of you after each impactful stroke was just so soft. you’d never get over it—he was like an actual plushie teddy bear.

sluggish arms of yours wrap around him, filling his entire ear canal with your continuous whimpers before he groans. “kento, fuuuckk- fuck!” you’d moan, feeling the bed frailly dip from both pounds of jerking weight.

pap after pap after pap, nanami’s stuffing you full with each mouth-watering inch, and your pussy constantly decided to torture you with its dramatic spasms and fluttering. filled to the very hilt, nanami’s making sure your insides got every single part of him.

he’s groaning, trying his hardest not to crush you with his weight. every few seconds, he’d cup your face with two sweaty palms before slowing down with a timid cunt-drunk grin. whispering out a shaky, “hah- you okay, sweetheart? ‘m not crushin’ my sweet girl, am i?” he’d lovingly caress a thumb across your face, acting as if he wasn’t currently fucking you stupid.

“ ‘m okay,” you’d breathlessly croon out in a sweet throaty tune, almost as if your sweet moans were high notes. nanami was hitting you deep, and with a sloppy pivot of his hips, the angle got even deeper. you’re filling up the four paper-thin walls of the bedroom with your trilling whines, purely engulfed by his loud manly musk. your cunt’s already starting to soak with dewy globs of your juices, even dribbling down your folds and oh it’s comin’ . .

“ken, kentoo—oooh!”

nanami felt his dick twitch inside of you at your dragged-out moan of his name.. but - it wasn’t just a moan—it was a pretty, elongated orgasm that caught you by surprise. his blushing tip was messily kissing your pulsating g-spot, circling all around it while casually feeding your grippy, wet walls. you clung onto him tight with your arms and also your insides. before you knew it though, your high was slowly but surely creepin’ up on you.

“i know- i knowww,” he murmured out of breath, and you could feel him starting to slow down. nanami’s rickety hips were passionate. they were steady, and as you were creaming down his weighty shaft, he planted a kiss on your temple. “thaaat’s it, let go. ‘m right here, kento’s here. i’ll clean you right up, sweetheart.”

his words warmed their way into the key of your heart . . slowly traveling between your legs also to make you throb. you’re whimpering the same repeated chant of his name as your arms were now wrapped around his sweat-glossed waist. nanami chuckles into your neck, and he can feel your arms pull his plump body closer. “mhmm, touch my body all you want, honey,” and you moan, feeling him release the grip on your numb legs. nanami brings his wedding ring toward your teary cunt after he pulled out, giving it one more loving rub. “ ‘m all yours,” he kisses near your lips. “always.”

✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYOMEN.

“keh, you make me laugh, woman,” sukuna grouses, slouching back against his notorious throne as you straddle him. eager ‘n all, you try to align yourself and he grabs your hips firmly with a smug scoff. “you can barely handle one, what makes you think you can handle both of me, hm?”

“ ‘kuna, don’t tease me,” you huff, and he hums once he sees the frustration marinating across your face. cute, sukuna knew you didn’t like being teased but he still enjoyed getting underneath your skin. after all, you were his favorite, and maybe just for tonight . . he’d oblige with your carnal desire to get double stuffed. sukuna folds two of hefty arms behind his broad neck, his other arms occupied by gripping your waist. oh, he looked so priggish. a wolffish grin remains plastered on his lips as he watches you wrap a hand around one of his cocks. they were fuckin’ big, both stacked on top of each other and you moan. “stop lookin’ at me like that.”

sukuna snickers. “heh. my apologies, little one. i’ll look away while you struggle, i guess,” and a fang pops underneath his sinister curled lips once your wet entrances start to slowly kiss against his tips. you’re weeping wet, and you moan with your other arm abruptly tossing around his broad shoulders. you felt your heart’s irregular beats pick up whilst you’re perfectly aligned with both of his thick twinned cocks. with a squelching ‘pop!’ the first one starts to delve inside of your cunt, driving its way past the loose ring of your dripping entrance. “fuuuck, atta girl.” sukuna gravelly grunts, his smugness starting to falter just a bit. as he’s bottoming out, his grip on your hips tighten more. your warmth catches him by surprise—but once you’re taking in his second cock, he smacks together his lips in awe. pink slit brows of his form together into a vexed arch once he growls.

“ ‘s fuckin’ big,” you moan, slightly turning your head to stare at your grinding perked ass. as a few seconds pass, you’re starting to writhe your ass against his lap. successfully, both fat cocks were filled inside each of your gummy orifices. the concise feeling of tightness makes you mewl, feeling sukuna’s overgrown nails gently dig into the plush flesh of your ass cheek. “god, so full ‘kuna, fuuuuck,” you continue to babble, and you already could feel your fluttering tummy starting to giggle with hoards of impatient butterflies. you can’t help but part your lips into a cute ‘o’, nearly drooling once he spanks your ass — his way of encouraging you to ride him faster.

sukuna’s big, and it’s not even about both of his lengthy dicks anymore. he’s a demon, an unruly one that could probably crush you if he wanted. but no . . he had a soft spot for you, an even more softer spot for your sweet, weak pussy. as he sits back against the creaking throne, you gulp, taking in just how big he is compared to you. bloody, ruddy eyes bore back into you as he started to break a cold sweat. “hng, good,” he groans, and you watch as his head gradually starts to fall back.

oh- you’ve got him whipped. once you started up your rocky pace, it was game over.

each towering cock plummets into both of your holes filthy, and the repeated dampened sloshes of your cunt resounded through the walls of his echoey domain. over and over and over. your rhythm starts to get more and more hectic as you progress—and you’re whimpering, continuously feeling one of his swollen tip’s french kiss near your pretty puckering rim. the other one’s messily making out with your g-spot, rudely thrashing its way against that same pulsating target like it was a dart aiming straight for the bullseye. “o- ohhh, fuck. ‘kuna, ‘m not gonna last, ohmygodddd.”

you’re just so full…too full- and before you knew it, you could already feeling your legs preparing to violently snap.

mewling out a sweet, exaggerated ‘oh!’, you end up spraying out a pretty streaming geyser right between your legs. your glossed lips quiver as your awaited high finally comes, whining as you try to continue to swerve your weak hips in gradual arcs. it felt so so good, being plugged full with each of his girthy cocks. fuck, it felt too good that you could almost taste your sudden overwhelming releases on your tastebuds. “fuck, fuuuck,” you whine out in tiny puffs of air, glancing back through fuzzy peripherals to stare back at your ass. honed, sharp fingernails bury into the fat of your bouncy flesh and sukuna snarls at the tasteful friction. “ ‘s good, ‘kuna, ngh!”

“h- heh,” the curse jibes, but even he’s starting to slow down. as your rhythm starts to finally come to a slowing stop, you sheathe your head near his broad chest. sukuna holds you close, quietly snickering at the size difference. you—a mere human, straddling him. it was almost laughable. “you humans are so weak . . so fragile,” he huskily groans, leaning in to pierce his fangs into your neck softly. as if marking his territory, sukuna then licks a stripe up your neck. you’re still stuffed to the very brim, and that’s when he makes you sit up straight. with a disapproving tsk, sukuna crosses all of his arms with a pout like he’s judging you. “cunt’s still too weak though.”

you’re just a babbling mess, the pit of your tummy was in knots as it's still taking in both thickset cursed lengths. from your quavery thighs, it’s a shimmering sap of your precious slick that slithers down between the sprawled crevices of your legs. it’s pretty - and sukuna can’t help but swipe a fat thumb down, getting a taste all for himself. “mhm,” he brings his finger up to his wry compressed lips, savoring your fresh flavor on his spiked tongue. you’re still trying to recollect breaths when the demon softly grabs your chin, boring his cold, scarlet eyes right into yours. “open.”

an overgrown black nail gives the corner of your lips a soft tap and compliantly, you pry open your mouth. sukuna leans in before . . spat! he spits right on the flatness of your pink tongue, hearing you lewdly moan in response. with your flapping lashes nearly blinding your entire view, you could spot that same wolfish grin from an early start to creep against his lips one final time.

“how filthy. my good girl,” and you moan yet again, feeling him press a hand against your tummy — a wee reminder of how stuffed you currently were. “let’s try that again. this time though, i’ll let you ride my stomach tongue, heh.”

✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“kinkiest shit i’ve ever heard you say, mama,” toji guffaws as his tense shoulders bounce up and down. you couldn’t help but notice the way toji was slowly growing a dad bod, especially after the two of you had another child. he’s still in good shape—and he continued to maintain his usual workouts but fuck, you’d always fawn over his cute round tummy. he’s like a bear, shaggy, chunky, and incredibly soft. every time he’d pound on top of you, his weight would gingerly press into you, rubbing back ‘n forth against your body and you’d just wrap your arms around him. “full nelson, eh? you sure this isn’t the baby fever talkin’ again?”

“tojiii,” you pout, and you watch as he groans the moment you’re aligning yourself on his maddened cream-covered tip. it’s fat - leaking from the top with buttery white droplets of pre. toji reclines back against the couch that sucks his heavy body in as his legs start to spread. once he gets comfy, he looks at you with a sly grin while zeroing his verdant eyes all over your body. “ ‘m sure, i want it,” and you playfully start to run a palm down his bushy hairy chest, stopping at his cute rounded tummy. “want you.”

toji lets out a smoky chortle before pinching a grip near your ass. “alriiight, babygirl. but ‘m not gonna go easy. better hold on tight.”

and oh- toji and full nelson was a deadly combo within itself.

saying he had you stuffed to the max was purely an understatement. one minute you’re on his lap and the next, he’s got you pressed up against his woolly chest with his burly arms pinned up underneath your legs. he’s fucking you silly, plummeting such thick inches inside of your hungry cunt that it makes you see stars. not just stars but the whole damn galaxy. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you’d gasp, feeling your cunt eagerly twitch at his sudden elastic-like stretch.

toji was strong, and he had no problem lifting you. each time he did, you’d bounce back on his lap, getting stuffed with even more mighty inches of his dick. it’s so wide, he’s merrily caressing through your gummy inner walls before rudely smacking his flushed crownhead against your tender needy cervix. that spot right there makes you shriek, and you can hear toji’s husky laughter from behind the shell of your ear.

“heh- yeah, baby. let me fuckin’ hear ya, take this . . hah, dick like a champ—fuuuck,” and he groans, a single smack of your ass making him briefly bite the inside of his hollow cheek. it’s a lot of weight that’s jerking back against him from you, and toji’s heaving breaths start to get heavier the more your cunt swallows him in wholly..

his virility was unmatched, and toji gave your pretty pussy addictively mean slams until it was squelching out his name. all syllables of it too—

you were loud, especially between your legs which were always toji’s favorite part. “t- tojiii,” you’d whine out his name again, continuously feeling that same caving dip arises near the middle part of your tummy. he’s in so deep, and your back remains to rub against his furry-covered chest. toji’s plump belly was so soft behind you, and the saltiness that started to coat your buds from your incoming release was almost too much to bare. “harder, f- fuck me. ooh! that spot, that f- fuckin’ sp—”

“if i wanted to hear my wife speak i’d ask her talkative pussy instead,” toji grunts, and you let off a bleating whine the second your bare wet cunt’s met with a spank. slap! and the entire sound makes your folds twitch. you moaned, desperately wanting him to do it again. not just once or twice—hell, even thrice. you ached for more of toji’s touch, and he knew that. he knew his wife. you watch as his scarred lips form into a smile, and he spanks your pussy again. “mhm, kinky girl. that turns you on, yeah? ‘course it does. bet if i fuckin’ spat on it you’d go crazy too, hm?”

“tojiii-‘m-gonna-cum,” you whimper out in a quick single second, trying to talk over his rant. you were a bobble head toy, bouncin’ up and down his fat cock. his long girthy inches had you hungry - slobbering from the mouth like a dog for more as he filled you to the very fuckin’ brim. easily, toji’s invading all through your spongy cunt with his thick thighs resting underneath you. your nails cling to his skin like velcro with your mewling whines only pitching louder. “tojiiiii, gonna cu— fuuuck!”

“yeah, i know baby,” he grunts, feeling his balls starting to tighten. toji’s head throws back at the sharp slams of your hips. each time you fall back into his vast lap, his guttural voice drops even deeper. every time it does—you end up throbbing. a cute ‘lil pulse that he always pokes fun at you for. “heh- there’s that cute throb, she’s so fuckin’ needy,” and as your pussy’s squelches cry out even louder, toji growls. “fuck. gonna milk me, s- so good, ‘s that what y’er tryna do?” and you moan, feeling the pad of his thumb ghost down your throat. “want me ‘ta make you a pretty mommy again?”

a whiny, “y-yesss,” slurs out from your glossed lips, and toji snickers. of course. you wanted him to fill you all the way up like always. plug the top until your cunt was just flooded with his hot thick ropes of cum.

and that’s just what he does—toji lets out a gruff groan once he feels himself reaching his limit. with his hips nudging quicker, he grunts at the final punctuating thrust. “f- fuck, take it then. take it like a hah- good girl,” and toji’s plush body underneath you starts to rumble. finally, your legs collapse down from the position they were in once he’s starting to paint the pasty walls of your cunt his whitish color. it’s a lot, ribbons of slick cum that splatter its way throughout the layout of your mottled-covered entrance. “shit,” he swears against your neck, growing quiet to hear the sloppy sounds.

you start to ooze between your thighs, and you moan once toji lifts your leg once more. the bush that glues against his chest hair continued to tickle against your back before you whine. “mhn, atta fuckin’ girl,” he huffs, smearing a thumb down your cunt that’s spitting out any remnants of his gooey seed. it’s hot, drooling down the cracks of your folds that he ends up giving your pussy one more final spank.

“heh, best we start thinkin’ of names again then,” and he nips a soft bite near your ear. “mommy.”

✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.

he’s the strongest, which also means the strongest in bed.

and satoru’s favorite thing to do was to have you being fucked senseless with your legs gracefully thrown over your head. you’d tease him constantly, saying how since he’s ‘the strongest’, surely, he can’t be the strongest in bed too… right?

wrong,

because that smug ‘lil grin of yours gets wiped off your face almost instantly the second he’s pushing your cute, weak legs over your shoulders. oh- he’d show just how strong he could be, especially underneath the sheets. satoru had stamina for miles, rarely running out of gas and he’d easily steal orgasm after orgasm out of you. after a plethora of pliable positions, you now found yourself laid flat on your back with your legs pinned right behind your head.

“aw! c’mooon, sweets. wanna see how flexible my wife’s pussy can get,” he hoarsely coos, and his playful demeanor slowly vanishes. satoru’s now feral - and he was always feral with you. especially whenever he was stuffed inches deep inside of your sloppy bear-hugging cunt.

you whine, staring up at the white-haired man and he’s still got his blindfold on. it’s halfway on, sexily showing a bit of his right eye as he runs a hand through his tangled frosty strands. satoru’s favorite thing was to manhandle you, toss you around the room ‘n treat your body like a rag doll.

“ ‘toru, fuuuuck,” you’d sob out, the inner pit of your tummy letting off a deep exhale once he’s buried in. the head of his dick’s now thwacking near the hilt, and you’ll never forget the feeling of his long, bulky cock sneakily massaging its way toward your gummy cervix. it’s repetitive, and you’re chewing on your inaudible whimpers at each luscious stroke he gives you. he’s an animal, and each merciless pound makes you trill out his name over ‘n over until your poor, poor vocal chords strain. “don’t stop, p- please. fuck me, fuh— fuuuck.”

“awwwh, my pretty wifey’s so talkative today, especially her too,” he whispers, and you moan once he’s practically laid flat against your bare chest. satoru snakes a hand between your legs, rubbing messy circles against your leaking pussy. a sly grin creases at each corner of his lips as he rubs near your full abdomen. satoru groans, moving his hand toward the middle part of your tummy before softly pressing down - feeling a prodding ‘lil bulge that he knew all too well. “mhm, that’s all me, baby. alllll fuckin’ me.”

your cunt was indeed loud, each sloppy thrust of satoru’s hips whacking into you at full collision makes you gush.

you couldn’t help but soak a portion of his cock with masses of your syrupy slick and it makes him hum. how cute, satoru could even feel your dripping pussy fluttering around his length. he’s thick—and more importantly, he’s fuckin’ big.

satoru’s sweating, and as he continues to hold your legs up over your head, you spot the spasming veins bulging in his arms. beefy, is the perfect word to describe him. every muscle within him flexed whilst he was pounding into you rawly, making sure your greedy cunt always remembered exactly who it belonged to. “mhm, such a pretty girl. gushin’ all on me, think i oughta train thisss—” and he pauses, giving your soddened entrance a playful pat. “—pussy jus’ a bit more, hm? could be a ‘lil stronger, especially since y’r dealin’ with me, baby,” and as he’s talking, he starts to lick near your neck. “fuuuck, ooh i love that fuckin’ grip. nasty girl. mmm, make me just as messy as you, uh huh.”

“fuh— ‘m gonna cum!” you squeak, the intense throbbing between your legs only increases whilst he’s giving you his all with his ragged strokes. into. each hit was more and more ruthless, your head’s spinning, and the beats of your heart only got quicker. you were sure that your pretty glistening slick had his entire cock to the base covered by now. needless to say, you were drenched. satoru even leans upright to your face, snickering once he feels your hands try to pull his blindfold off. “sato—ruuu, cum, ‘m gonna cum.”

“yes, princess i heard you the first time,” he coos, his tone full of smug arrogance. oh, how you wanted to wipe that cocky smirk right off his naturally glossed lips. his appetizing thrusts against you were the definition of straight insanity, and as his hips kept championing at such speedy strokes, you squealed. riiiight there, the mushroomy crown of his cock scraped against the target of your cervix and you nearly go crazy. “ooooh, there it is. there—she—fuckin’ is,” and as his voice grits lower, pausing each stroke to enunciate his sloppy hits against your cunt, it’s almost like he’s talking down to you. but in this case—satoru’s talking down to your cunt, because it’s the only thing he’s staring at.

openly, he snatches his blindfold off and his sparkly eyelashes flap thrice once he makes loving eye contact with your weeping pussy.

“mm, give it to me then, pretty girl. make a fuckin’ mess on me,” and you moan once he pulls your legs up even higher over your head. bringing his sheeny-coated lips up to your ear, he whispers hoarsely, giving your drenched cunt a doubting squeeze. “i dare ya.”

✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.

“that?” choso’s eyes widen, hearty irises glued to your phone. you’re showing him some one-minute-long video of a woman getting passionately hammered in what you told him was ‘mating press.’ choso wasn’t new to intimacy, and whenever you recommended new positions for him to try, he’d always get excited. maybe even a bit . . aroused. “o- oh,” and his voice lowly husks, watching at the deeply intimate angles. the woman lay underneath the man and his weight pressed all on her. he was giving her deep and thorough strokes, occasionally giving her sloppy hot kisses in between. choso could feel his heart race as he started to imagine himself doing that exact position to no one other than you.

and he did, because the moment he’s cutely staring at your exposed, nude body underneath him, he can’t help but moan. you’re so pretty, and as he’s feebly trying to align himself, he whimpers.

“mngh, b- baby, ‘s this okay?” and his darkened eyes flicker toward your face. he’s leisurely placing his weight on your body, bringing your legs up to go over his shoulders. glossy, pink lips of his quiver as he feels the weeping wetness of your pussy twitch and drench around his cock. “don’t wanna hah- hurt you, tell me if ‘m too heavy, ‘kay?”

“promise, ‘cho,” you softly coo, your voice as smooth as silk. indeed choso was a tad bit heavy, especially compared to you. he was around a staggering height that’s damn near over feet of six inches tall and he was just looking at you like he was ready to pounce. a needy pout stretches across the thin corners of his lips as he moans, watching openly as your cunt starts to swallow his stoutly pinkish tip. “mmh, that’s it, baby. nice ‘n slow- whenever you’re ready.”

your voice- choso got off from it alone. every sentence that came out of your mouth had him weak. as your legs remained hauled over his droopy shoulders, he’s slowly inserting his cock into your greedy walls. seconds past and it doesn’t take long before wanton whimpers slither their way past your lips. “f- fuck, ‘s fuckin’ warm for me,” choso shudders out a breath, the feeling of your gripping cunt hugging his length tightly sends him shivers. it’s an indescribable feeling that makes his sable-colored brows curl into an arch and within just a few simple thrusts, choso loses it.

within a few rigid beginning thrusts—he gradually starts to get the hang of it. pumpin’ his lanky cock in and out of you as labored breaths snatch from his lungs, he whines yet again. this time though, it’s far louder. you’ve got to cup his face whilst he’s pounding into you rigorously. nearly crushing you with his hefty weight, choso tries to hover a bit over your wet cunt, moaning for the grip as he’s casually rocking back ‘n forth into your warm, welcoming body.

“good boy, f- fuck me, choso- riiight there, mhm!” you’d whine, feeling your eyes starting to dramatically roll and flicker from just his sheer size alone. choso’s cock had such length that it expands allll through you, reading out every area of your cunt like a map. it knows the exact layout, all the secret crevices, and angles to locate and once he reaches there . . you’re fucked.

between you and choso—you honestly don’t even know who’s louder. the moment you call him a ‘good boy’, you can almost feel him melting in your hands like putty. choso’s bumpy hips start to accelerate quicker and you whine every time you feel one of his veins pulse down his cock. “f- fuck, think ‘m gonna hah- cum jus’ from lookin’ at you,” he cutely rambles, each thrust becoming more sloppy. his hips have such power that it makes the entire bed groan out whiny creaks of its own. “you’re so pretty baby, s- so pretty with your legs all over my shoulders like this- heh.”

choso’s fucking you with his pace never slowing, trying to remember how the guy in the video did it. slow and steady, deep but thorough strokes, massage the clit . . and as he’s stretching you out with the swollen head of his cock—you let off a soft shriek. ‘pop!’ and you felt his plump shaft slip out of you immediately.

choso’s pussy-drunken grin falters as he notices his dick fell out of you- but not only that, he’s cumming for real. .

it was so sudden, and as his entire body’s spasming above you, he whimpers whilst struggling to align his milky-covered tip back between the opening of your glistening folds. “f- fuck, ‘s no fair, came too early,” he whines, and you moan once he buries his face into the crook of your neck. he’s embarrassed. your legs were still raised in the air as he’s holding them both firmly, groaning against your skin. a fresh hot batter of oozing cum leaves out of choso’s blushing slit — splattering out lewdly on your puffed pussy folds. choso’s so frustrated that he even tries fucking his cum in between your flaps with the cutest unsatisfied scowl on his lips. “s- sorry, ‘m bein’ a little messy. ‘m sorry, sorry.”

“ ‘s okay, baby,” you let off a quiet moan, your body already starting to feel numb. already, you were starting to miss the gaping outline of his cock driving through your insides but he makes it up by smacking his tip against your cunt. with a wet ‘splash!’ choso ends up smearing his sweltering hot cum all over your entrance, panting the entirety of your twitching sex right his ivory-white color. as he leans in for a kiss, choso clumsily misses your mouth with his lips pressing on your chin instead.

it’s cute, and you had to guide his face with your own hands just to have him shove his tongue into your mouth. choso’s body weight was now starting to grind against you again—but by now, he was straight up jumping you. he wants more, and you could tell as he was moaning into your mouth, grunting from his drooling cock that was rubbing up and down between your pasty entrance.

still swapping cobwebs of spit as the both of you smashed lips on each other—choso’s continues to spank his aching cockhead against your cunt whilst his lips desperately crash against yours. it turns him on, a lot more than he thought- and choso thinks he may have just found out his new favorite kink.

you.

✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.

being in a relationship with a boxer had its perks.

suguru geto—he was known for his fights, but more importantly his flexible positions. you’d always tease him about it, pokin’ fun at how you wish he’d fold you like his opponents one time for once. but oh, you’re taken aback once he takes you up on that offer.

“nuh uh, don’t tap out now, baby. let’s see that cute form,” geto grunts, pressing a wet kiss near the inside of your neck. the two of you were in his private gym, specifically his private ring where he’d always train. today though, you were needy, teasing him at how you wanted him to be put in a chokehold like he did to his opponents. but, the moment he’s got you straddling his lap as you’re cockwarming him, you’re nothing but a wet babbling mess. you moan, letting off a breathy gasp once the top part of his boxing glove rubs against your sobbing cunt. you were soaked, making a mess on the mat and a soft gasp creeps out the back of your throat once he wraps a beefy arm around your throat.

safely, geto’s got you in a firm chokehold — the exact one you’d usually see him perform on his other opponents. embarrassingly enough, your cunt twitches almost instantly, and you were trying to grind your hips back into him. “hngh, suguru- fuuuck,” you purr out, letting off a weeping mewling whimper as you felt his fat pointed dick ream a path through your insides. the entire gym was quiet. the only sounds that could’ve been heard were the wet sloshing sounds of geto’s glove gently smacking against your sprawled open pussy. psh after pshh and it only gets louder as you squirm, your thighs parting.

he’s big, manhandling you like this while you’re in a mere chokehold. once you’re starting to sloppily bounce on his lap, you can hear him hiss from the enticing friction. the electric sting of both mounds of flesh slamming on each other ends up giving you both whiplash. “h- hah, fuck, good girl. ride it—move those hips, fuck me back- mmph,” he starts to groan, the weight of your ass getting more and more impactful. geto’s meaty thighs glue against yours and you moan, feeling the curve of his cock rummaging through your squashy insides.

he’s so thick, that his plump tip runs through your tremulous walls before it frantically jackhammers its way to your cervix. letting off a squalling ‘ah!’ of a squeak, your back ends up falling into his broad chest. geto’s sweaty, bare skin rubs off against your skin and he groans. the sly dark-haired boxer wore nothing but his thinly made everlast boxing shorts. “suguruuuu,” you cutely drag out his name, moaning at the way his beefy bicep still wrapped around your neck. you’re bouncin’ up and down repeatedly and it’s almost comical at how your eyes were bulging out of their holes. your tongue was fully lolled, and you’ve never felt more stuffed. hit after hit, by this point, you were sure geto’s cock was gonna give your pretty pussy a solid, fair K.O.

but oh, geto ends up fucking you round after round - literally. he went from having you ride him to him pounding you into his squishy, red mat. your face vigorously presses into the cushion as you’re moaning, desperately whining out his name while he’s ‘practicing’ his special techniques on your cunt. the entire scene was lewd, and as you continued to whine out pathetic cacophonies of, ‘suguruuu,’ — ‘riiight there,’ — or his personal favorite, ‘ooooh, hit it there baby!’ ‘s, he’d feel his dick twitch inside you every time.

your ass raises the second he grabs ahold of your hip, and he’s madly drilling into you raw. each sloppy stroke and twist of his hips makes your toes curl and the bittersweet taste of your saliva ends up trickling down the side of your mouth, landing face-first on the vermillion-colored boxing mat. “fuckin’ shiiit, ‘m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he huffs, resting his free hand on your arched spine. so pretty - the way your ass tries to thrust back into his sharp hips was oh-so-cute. your pussy only got more sloppy, and as he’s feeling his cock preparing to release itself, you could almost hear a whimper snarl out from his throat. “ah, tell me where, f- fuck. talk to me, pretty.”

“i- insiiiide,” you squeal out with short breaths, his cock merrily kneading through your walls. it’s almost filthy at how loud your cunt was. just drooling such molasses of sheeny slick on his length, making an even bigger mess between your legs and on the fighting mat too. as he’s giving you his final, victorious thrusts that make your mouth snap open — a fairly lewd K. O., geto grunts, losing the match with his opponent being nothing more than your sweet, slippery cunt.

instantaneously, wads of thin bubbly ropes mesh with your slick juices, a pretty white ring foamin’ around his base. your release slams into you like a semi-truck, and your eyes crossed almost instantly.

with his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he’s pouring in such slimy amounts that end up tearing straight down your pulsing bare slit. geto groans, hazed and all as his darkened eyes glance at how you were perfectly arched for him. this position was perfect for you in his eyes.

ass up — face down, “goddamn,” he grumbles through pearly gritted teeth and a slack jaw. mewing satisfied coos purr out of your spit-slicked lips as you feel him plugging you up to the brim, hearing the wet plops ‘n paps of his hot, sticky cum dripping onto the mat. you only imagined what it looked like, how much of a fuckin’ mess you were. “hah- aren’t you a champ,” he pants, and you moan once geto smacks your ass.

speedily, he now makes you flip over with a swift toss of a single brawny arm before picking you up. “mmhn, sweetheart. you did ‘s good for me,” and as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, geto gives you a chaste kiss. a few loose strands of hair stick against your forehead as his tongue curls its way inside of your hot mouth before he snickers, pulling away. “ah, there’s one more position i wanna try though.”

“w- what?” you heave, pouting the second his lips depart from yours.

geto re-aligns himself between your leaking cunt that’s still profusely spurting out clods of milky clumps of his cum before he lifts you just a bit higher against his chest. “hm, oh- i just fuck you while standing up,” and you moan, wrapping your arms around his broad neck. ravened, feral eyes meet yours one more time and geto lets off a husky grunt, his boxing glove sneaking between your legs. “you’re my big girl though, yeahh?”

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weeeyotch · 2 months ago

Text

eager to please ღ r.r.

robert reynolds x f!reader

pt.2

synposis: aside from a couple sexual interactions, bob has never really learned how to eat someone out. but he's eager to learn for you.

warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), oral (fem receiving), messy pussy eating, sub/dom dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

word count: 1.7k

a/n: bob my beloved

For being the strongest man on Earth, he looks downright nervous.

He can take the force of a thousand bullets without a single scratch and fly at the speed of sound. Shit, he even brought Manhattan to its knees in a matter of minutes.

But here, in front of you? With his large, calloused hands gently resting on your parted thighs like they're sacred?

He's trembling.

"I just. . ." Bob swallowed, a loose curl falling onto his flushed forehead, slick with sweat and nerves. "I watched some videos online and—and I just want to do this right."

You ran a soothing hand through his hair. "You will, baby. I'll teach you how. Just listen to me."

He pouts and nods furiously. It makes your heart ache a little bit. This man could fly you to the next galaxy and pluck the stars out of the sky for you, and he would still believe that he isn't good enough.

Lying half-naked on the bed with your thighs spread comfortably around his warm body, you lean back on your elbows. Bob is still dressed in his cozy forest-green crewneck sweater and cream-colored corduroy pants. You feel rather vulnerable being more exposed than him, but the thought of soaking his clothes with your juices and leaving your mark made you absolutely drip.

There is no doubting he could see how wet your pussy is. He seems too anxious to look directly at it, still wanting to play the perfect gentleman. Instead, he opts to take quick glances and then dart his eyes away before you can catch him staring.

You reach down and intertwine your fingers with his, trying to ground him. He offers you a shy, crooked smile that makes your heart leap. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to absolutely ruin this man; to make him cry, to make him scream, to turn him into your pliant little play-thing.

But that was for another time.

Tonight, you were teaching him how to worship you like a devoted acolyte at the altar.

"Okay," you murmur, "start with some kisses."

Bob leans down, practically folding himself over you. One of his massive hands snakes around your outer thigh, anchoring him in place as he turns his head inwards. He begins by nuzzling his nose against your inner thigh, breathing in the intoxicating scent of your soft skin. Then, he places a single, hesitant kiss.

And another. And another. And another, until he's trailing soft and reverent kisses all the way up to your core.

Just when he's hovering where you need him the most, mere centimeters away from your dripping cunt, he shifts to the other thigh to continue the exact same ritual. The way he's taking his time, so gentle and focused on doting on you, makes your head spin.

With each kiss, he starts to gain more courage. He brushes higher and higher until—

A sharp gasp escapes you as he finally kisses your center. There was no tongue yet. It was just sweet and tentative, like he was afraid to break you.

"That's good," you breathe. "Keep going. Don't be afraid to get a little messy, baby."

Bob's eyes flick up to you, tears already threatening to spill out while silently begging for permission. You nod.

That's all he needs.

He shifts in closer, parting your puffy lips with two thick fingers. Then, in a sudden burst of courage, he leans in and drags his tongue through you in one long, slow, mind-numbing stroke.

"Ohh—fuck."

He dives back in, repeating the motion. His head moves with growing enthusiasm, curls splaying against your tummy as he buries himself deeper within your thighs. It's sloppy. Unpracticed. But fuck, it feels so unbelievably good.

The way he groans against you is almost animalistic, like your taste shattered something in him and is currently rewiring his brain chemistry.

"Holy shit," he pants, pulling back just enough for air, his chin glistening with your slick. "You taste—fuck. Fuck you taste so good."

Before you can respond, he's back on you, devouring you like a starving man. He experiments with every flick and stroke of his tongue, eyes intently watching you—watching, listening, learning. He hones in on the spots that make your hips jerk or thighs clamp around his head.

Each moan you give him is answered by a deep, guttural sound from his throat, like he's getting off just from pleasing you. It's raw, unfiltered, and so undeniably desperate.

Then he pauses, breath warm and heavy against your skin. Slowly, carefully, he adjusts his position. His thumbs come up to gently pull back your hood, revealing the sensitive bundle of nerves underneath.

And then, ever so lightly, he starts to kitten-lick your clit.

He definitely learned that trick from the dozen of videos he watched for 'educational purposes'.

"Oh god, right there," you gasp, throwing your head back. "Right there. Just like that."

A high-pitched whine escapes him, almost as if he has been waiting his whole life to hear that he's doing a good job. His grip on your thighs tightens as he pulls you impossibly closer. He buries his face even deeper in your pussy, dragging slow and reverent strokes over your clit.

Wet clicking noises fill the air, mixing in with the grunts, pants, and your ragged cries.

You start to grind against his face, chasing that sweet, mounting pleasure in your abdomen. "A-ah—you're so good. Bob, you're doing so good."

He groans again, much louder this time. The vibration against your core makes your legs twitch.

His mouth is eager and deliciously sloppy, tongue flicking experimentally then circling with new precision when he hears your broken moans.

He's learning you inside and out—hungrily, obsessively. Every whimper and desperate cry to God you give him is fuel.

Then, his lips close around your clit and suck.

Your back arches. The sensation is pure electricity; it is magical yet almost painfully overwhelming.

"Fuck! Right there. Don't stop, don't stop."

He would rather die.

His fingers flex on the plush of your thighs to ground himself. This is the tightest he has ever held onto you. He's always worried about hurting you with his strength, opting for feather-light touches that never leave you feeling quite satisfied.

But now?

Now he's undeniably pussy-drunk, and the fear has vanished entirely.

"You're so pretty," he pants in between strokes, his words muffled against your cunt. "I want—to do this—forever. I'll—get better. Let me—make you come. Please."

You're already right there.

With your hips jerking, thighs trembling uncontrollably, and his name spilling out of your mouth like a prayer, you are coming undone. It's the worship in his voice, the way he presses adoring kisses to your clit between licks, and the primal desire he has to be good for you that sends you over the edge.

You wail, clutching his hair as your orgasm crashes over you. Your thighs clamp around him, your juices spilling out all over his lips and chin. He licks it up, greedy and reverent, not daring to waste a single drop.

But he doesn't stop.

Being as inexperienced as he is, he keeps going with the same eagerness and fervor. It helps you to ride out your high, but quickly leaves you feeling overstimulated. A part of you wanted to push through the pain and get lost in the pleasure again. However, that familiar sharp ache in your clit makes you flinch.

You squirm and push his head back. Only then does he finally pull away, eyes glazed over, like he just tasted heaven.

You're still catching your breath, thighs twitching as your body tries to recover from the storm he just dragged you through.

His voice cracks through the silence. Soft. Unsure. Raw.

"Did I do okay?" Bob asks, slowly rising.

You blink, trying to focus your vision on him once again. And fuck, he looks absolutely ruined.

His lips are pink and puffy. Your slick coats his chin and cheeks. His lashes are clumped with moisture, like he cried from overstimulation. Maybe he did.

Your chest aches again with that same devious desire to wreck him. The way he looks at you—like a sinner pleading for salvation—makes you feel like a goddess; divine and beautiful, with his animalistic devotion dripping from every glance.

You sit up on trembling elbows. "You did so good, baby. You were so perfect."

Relief washes over him. That same crooked little smile appears and his shoulders sag with solace.

"I wanna get better," he whispers, eyes flicking down to the damp spot on your bedsheets. "Wanna learn everything you like. Wanna be good for you every time."

That sends a pulse of heat straight through you. You reach out your arms in silent invitation.

He climbs up your body and you grab his jaw to kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth. You cradle his face as he hovers there. It is sticky and messy, but so painfully intimate.

"My good boy," you whisper against his lips, rubbing your thumbs just underneath his eyes where the tears escaped. "I adore you."

A blush spreads across his cheeks.

He gently lowers his full weight against you and shyly nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You stroke his hair, over and over, slow and calming. Every pass of your hand helps him relax, to feel safe and appreciated.

"You okay?" you ask softly, careful not to disturb his peace.

Bob nods into your skin. "Never been better."

You press a kiss to the crown of his head. "You're trembling."

"Only a little," he admits, arms wrapping around your waist. "Just can't believe I did that."

You lay there for awhile in the quiet afterglow. His breathing eventually evens out but your fingers never stop moving; they stroke his back, lightly scratch at his neck and scalp, and trace soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

Eventually, his voice breaks through the stillness again. It is low and timid.

"When you're ready. . ." he begins.

You hum, eyes still closed. "Yeah?"

There's a pause. Then, you can feel a bashful grin growing against your neck.

"Could you try sitting on my face?"

#robert reynolds #marvel #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds smut #bob reynolds #bob reynolds smut #bob thunderbolts #sentry #the void #new avengers #thunderbolts #robert bob reynolds #the sentry #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts*#lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader #smut

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ariichive · 5 months ago

Text

JEALOUSY☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

jealous scenarios ft. phainon, anaxa, and mydei!

gen. neutral reader

cw: anaxa is kinda crazy he puts his gun to reader, possessiveness, mentions of violence, fluff, not proofread im so tired :')

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

phainon

phainon was one to pride himself on his natural charm, he was a very easy going guy. the stark contrast between him in battle and off was admirable.

though as much as he hates to admit it, sometimes the warrior takes over his instincts. for instance, right now as he watched the droma’s caretaker openly flirt with you.

it wasn’t just the flirting—though that was annoying enough—it was the way you laughed, the way your eyes softened, the way you didn’t immediately pull away. phainon knew you weren’t his, not in the way that would justify this sudden surge of possessiveness. but logic had never been good at taming instinct.

his fingers twitched at his side, an old habit from years of battle. the part of him that thrived in combat, the part that didn’t hesitate when faced with a challenge, whispered at him to act. it would be so easy to step in, to slide an arm around your waist, to make it clear to everyone in the room—especially to the man standing too close—that you weren’t available.

but that wasn’t his place. not yet, at least. so instead, he forced himself to take a breath, to unclench his fists, to remind himself that he was phainon—charming, laid-back, not the type to pick a fight over something so trivial.

“phainon, this one likes me!”

his stoic expression softened when he realized, in fact, you were talking about the loving dromas and not that man.

phainon smiled gently at your joy, “i can tell, he sure does like you a lot!”

there was a certain edge to his voice that could’ve been missed by onlookers. you gave him a concerned glance, one which he smiled at and didn’t question further.

and yet, when the caretaker let out another laugh, explaining the most basic knowledge of dromas ever, his hand brushing against yours, phainon found himself smiling again. it wasn’t a friendly smile.

“having fun?” he asked, voice smooth but carrying an edge beneath it as he finally approached the two of you.

“yeah—!” you were quick to respond only to look up at phainon and realize his attention wasn’t on you. “phainon..”

“yes my lovely spouse, who i treasure more than any riches and i’d also kill for?” now his attention was focused on you, his smile bittersweet.

the thing with phainon is whenever he looked at you, there was always such intensity.

“don’t start, i’m okay i promise.”

there was a joking tilt to your voice, but it was enough to calm him down.

“now, come over and feed the dromas with me! this one’s name is castor, very sweet we should take him home!”

phainon let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart. "my love, as much as i would adore bringing castor home, i fear he would not fit through our door."

you laughed, reaching out to pet the dromas, who nuzzled into your touch affectionately. "we could make it work," you teased, "build a bigger door, you're strong enough. or, you know, just let him live in our backyard."

phainon hummed in thought, stepping closer until he was right beside you. "tempting," he mused, reaching out to pet castor. "but then i’d have to compete for your affection, and i don’t think my heart could take it."

you rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. "oh, please. you already know you’re my favorite."

his grin softened into something more genuine, his blue eyes filled with something tender. "good. because my dearest, you are mine." phainon swears the dromas narrowed its eyes at him (the caretaker did too but phainon was too busy enjoying the memoment with you to get mad all over again).

you burst into laughter as the dromas let out a soft sound, clearly pleased with itself. "maybe if you were as cute as them, you’d stand a chance."

phainon clutched his chest. "wounded. utterly wounded."

but despite his theatrics, he leaned in closer, his hand brushing against yours as you both continued to feed the dromas together, the warmth between you as steady as ever.

...

"y'know, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to take one home, then we wouldn't have to come back here. i can't believe that vile man had the nerve to even look at you..!"

"phainon, my dear, we are not actually going to take one home."

"...i like the name kevin, wouldn't you agree, [name]?"

the rest of the day was spent with phainon in your ear.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

anaxa

the carefully crafted lunched in your hands was the least of your worries as a soft click was heard from behind you followed by a pressure being applied to the back of your head.

just to think; you went out of your way to bring lunch to your oh-so-kind boyfriend and this is how he greets you?

you would say you're surprised but... this isn't the first time something like this has happened.

"do tell me, what's the foul mood for now?"

he didn't appreciate the snarky comment as the gun pushed against your head even more.

"my [name], you seemed to enjoy yourself outside with that man. would i be correct to assume so?"

so this is what he's mad about.

you exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "if you must know, i was just making conversation. you know, something normal people do?"

the gun pressed harder against your skull in response, the warning clear. anaxa hated being mocked.

"careful," he murmured, voice quieter now, more dangerous. "i'm already being generous by allowing you to explain yourself. do not test my patience."

you tilted your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. his expression was unreadable, but his grip on the gun was steady—too steady.

"allowing me to explain myself?" you echoed, amusement creeping into your tone. "and here i thought my oh-so-loving boyfriend would trust me a little more by now."

anaxa exhaled sharply through his nose, but he said nothing. the silence stretched between you for a few moments before the pressure at the back of your head finally disappeared.

anaxa let out a low hum, his voice smooth yet laced with something sharp—jealousy, possessiveness, something only he could wield so effortlessly. "you know how i feel about you entertaining the company of other men," he said, tilting his head slightly. "and yet, there you were, laughing as if you had no care in the world."

you sigh, "i promise you it was a very brief interaction. i even told him i was visiting you for lunch."

anaxa looked away in faux annoyance as he gently took the lunch from your hands.

"thank you, [name]." anaxa was genuine in his thanks, he understood how troublesome it could be to reach him in the grove of epiphany.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "i'd say 'you're welcome,' but i'm not sure you deserve it after that stunt."

he sighed dramatically, setting the lunch down on his desk before taking a seat. his movements were as measured as ever, graceful even in something as simple as this. "you wound me, truly," he drawled, undoing the buttons of his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up. "but i suppose my cruelty knows no bounds, does it? threatening my beloved over something as insignificant as a passing interaction."

"so you admit it was ridiculous?" you quirked a brow, leaning against the edge of his desk.

anaxa leaned back slightly in his chair, watching you with a gaze so heavy it felt like an unseen weight pressing against you. "i admit nothing," he corrected, voice as smooth as ever. "but even the most brilliant minds are prone to… lapses in judgment."

you let out a small scoff, shaking your head. "right. 'lapses in judgment.' is that what we're calling your absurd jealousy now?"

he exhaled through his nose, as if considering your words, before finally opening the meal you had brought him. "call it whatever you like, my dear," he said idly, plucking a piece of food with deliberate ease. "but tell me, if i were to flirt so freely with another, would you be so composed?"

your mouth opened, but the words died on your tongue. anaxa watched your hesitation with something akin to satisfaction, his smirk deepening ever so slightly.

"i thought as much," he said smoothly, taking a slow, deliberate bite of his food. "jealousy, my dear, is a universal affliction. i am simply more… expressive about mine."

you huffed, looking away, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. "you're insufferable and lucky i have the patience for you," you muttered.

he let out a soft chuckle, low and indulgent. "patience," he mused, reaching out to brush a gloved finger against your cheek, slow and deliberate. "such a rare and commendable virtue. though i must wonder..."

his touch trailed lower, tracing the curve of your jaw before finally resting under your chin. with the lightest pressure, he tilted your face ever so slightly upward, forcing you to hold his gaze.

"how much longer will that patience last, i wonder?"

you swallowed, refusing to look away. "depends," you said, barely above a breath. "how many more times do you plan on pulling a gun on me?"

anaxa’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, but his eyes flickered with something softer—something dangerously close to fondness.

"ah," he sighed dramatically, finally releasing you and leaning back into his chair. "a fair question. but, my dear, you wound me. surely you know by now that i only threaten the things i cannot bear to lose?"

you stared at him, feeling both shocked and flustered.

you huffed, shaking your head as you finally relented, letting the conversation settle into something resembling peace. and despite everything—despite his absurd possessiveness, his impossible nature, his maddeningly smug demeanor—you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

because somehow, against all logic, against every ounce of reason—anaxa was yours. and that was something even he, with all his sharp words and sharper wit, could never deny.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

mydei

mydei always found himself in petty competitions with phainon. whether it was who could pick the most apples to who could slay the most enemies, phainon always knew how to push his buttons.

though he might’ve pushed them a little too far..

“afraid you’ll lose? i would’ve never guessed that the great mydeimos was scared of talking to a girl. or are you scared [name] will end up liking me more?”

“deliverer,” mydei said with a scary amount of joy in his voice, “tell me, do you enjoy being humiliated by a kremnoan heir?”

“so is it a deal?”

“if that’s what you wish to call it, we’ll start now. try not to make an utter fool out of yourself. you won't even be able to touch them."

there was absolutely no way mydei was going to even let phainon breathe the same air as you.

phainon grinned, entirely unfazed by mydei’s sharp tone. “oh? possessive already? my, my, what will [name] think of this? surely they've noticed your crush on them by now.”

mydei exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “they will think nothing of it because you will not get the opportunity to so much as look at them.”

phainon laughed, tilting his head with an almost lazy confidence. “bold words. i wonder if you’ll still be saying that once they’re hanging off my arm instead.”

the barely restrained fury in mydei’s eyes was almost comical. “you delude yourself.”

“and you’re stalling.” phainon shrugged, already turning on his heel. “come now, mydeimos. unless, of course, you are afraid?”

mydei scoffed, stepping forward with an air of unwavering confidence. “i fear nothing—least of all a fool with an overinflated ego.”

the competition had begun.

mydei was the first to find you. he's always remembered the places you often frequented, the bathhouse being common among them.

mydei found you tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the bathhouse, steam curling through the air in delicate wisps. he approached silently, his footsteps barely making a sound against the stone floor.

he had always been observant—perhaps more than you'd realized. no matter how much time passed, he never forgot the places you sought comfort in.

"i thought i'd find you here," he murmured, his voice low and steady, cutting through the gentle trickle of water. "it's peaceful here," you said softly, returning your gaze to the water, watching a rubber duck float by.

after a long moment, you glanced at him, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

"you always find me."

mydei's crimson eyes softened, a rare hint of fondness breaking through his composed exterior.

"of course," he said quietly. "you're worth finding."

mydei had a huge advantage over phainon; everything that came out of his mouth was genuine.

you felt your body heat amplifying from his intense gaze, the steam from the bath worsening your situation.

the air between you two felt thick with unspoken words, the steam in the room only adding to the intensity. mydei’s crimson eyes were locked onto you with an unwavering focus, as if trying to read something deeper than just your expressions.

“you know, you really don’t make this easy,” you muttered, trying to divert your thoughts, the heat rising in your chest feeling like it might burst through your skin.

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving yours. "make what easy?"

you shifted uncomfortably, the faintest of blush creeping onto your cheeks. “this... this tension.”

mydei tilted his head slightly, the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. “tension?” he repeated, his voice smooth and calculated. “i’m simply speaking the truth.”

you shot him a glance, his words echoing in your mind. you’re worth finding.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard him say such things before, but this time, it felt different. There was no teasing, no veiled sarcasm—just the raw sincerity that mydei rarely offered.

“you never do anything half-heartedly, do you?” you said, a small sigh escaping your lips.

mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence looming like a silent promise. His gaze softened as he spoke, but there was still a quiet intensity behind it.

"only when it’s worth it," he said, his voice almost a whisper, but it still hit you like a wave.

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

he moment hung between you two, the weight of his words settling deep within you. mydei’s presence was suffocating in the best way—an intensity that seemed to radiate from him, the kind that made it impossible to think of anything else but him.

you opened your mouth, but the words stuck. something about his steady gaze and the closeness between you left you speechless, your heart thudding in your chest.

“mydei…” you whispered, almost as if testing the air, "would you like to join me in the bath? i'm sue it'll help relieve any sores you might have?"

mydei's gaze flickered to you, and for a brief moment, the quiet intensity in his eyes softened, replaced by a curious, almost amused glint. he took a step closer, the space between you two shrinking even more.

“you offer me company in the bath?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of surprise. “how… bold.”

you could hear the teasing undertone in his words, but it wasn’t as biting as usual. there was something more… tender in the way he spoke, something that made your heart flutter despite the calmness of the moment.

“i only thought it might help you relax,” you replied, keeping your tone light, though your pulse quickened slightly under his steady gaze. “and you’re always so tense. even the crown prince needs to rest now and then.”

mydei let out a quiet chuckle at that, the sound warm and soft, like the fleeting warmth of the bath. "i’m afraid i’ve never had much time for relaxation," he murmured, his tone shifting again, darker, but with an edge of something more vulnerable. "but perhaps you’re right. it’s been... a long time since i allowed myself the luxury."

there was a pause, and you could see the weight of his words settle over him, like he’d just made a decision. his eyes softened, and he took another step closer, his fingers brushing against your wrist as he gently took your hand.

"then, i’ll join you. for once, perhaps i could allow myself this."

as mydei settled comfortably next to you in the bath, he couldn't help but wonder where phainon had been all this time.

and there was a small voice in the back of his head, saying 'if phainon found you first, would you have invited him into the bath with you?'

he glanced sideways at you, his gaze unreadable for a brief moment as he tried to suppress the discomfort he felt at the idea.

as he took in your relaxed face, mydei realized how important such moments were to the two of you. this was just the start of many more scenarios he would spend with you.

if you enjoyed please consider following/liking/reblogging :)

i just love the idea of unhinged anaxa

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr anaxa #anaxa x reader #mydei fluff #mydei x reader #phainon #phainon x reader #phainon x you #hsr mydei #honkai star rail mydei #amphoreus #hsr #hsr fluff #honkai star rail x you #anaxa fanfic

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hyuckiefluff · 8 months ago

Text

dr dreamy | na jaemin

pairing: doctor!neighbor! na jaemin x fem.reader genre & wc: smut, fluff, crack (ish) | 18k summary: in which your infuriatingly hot neighbor ends up getting your box of sex toys delivered to his door by mistake content warning: explicit smut, breast play, oral sex (fem.receiving), brief mentions of sex toy usage, teasing, marking, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehaw), alcohol consumption, monster cawwwk jaemin (i didn’t make this up it’s real) a/n: hiiiii yes yes i know, it’s been forever and ive neglected you all so bad i’m so sorry ! i can’t even use the excuse of being too busy bc i was just in the worst writing slump of my life. but i hope i can make up for all those 10 months of radio silence with this long fic :) also it’s pretty different from what i’m used to writing. for once i wrote it all in lowercase bc i felt like this was lowkey a pretty unserious fic and that was the vibe it required lol it’s also my first time trying to write something “funny” but my humor is not that good still i tried lolz. also i'd like to add that i know as much about doctors as the next person so don't expect much accuracy in that regard. anyways hope you enjoy :)

read part two here

your leg bounced anxiously as you stared at the photo the delivery guy sent, trying to figure out which door your package had ended up on. every single door in your building was the same plain white with no decoration, no plants, no quirky doormat to offer a clue. just a long, boring hallway of identical doors, and somewhere behind one of them was your package.

"great," you muttered, already feeling the creeping frustration in your chest.

your phone buzzed in your hand, and you barely had time to glance at the screen before answering.

"sooo," came minnie's voice, far too chipper for this disaster, "did you like my gift?”

“i’m gonna strangle you,” you hissed, rubbing your temples.

“woah, you know i’m not into that freaky shit.”

“i’m serious, minnie,” you groaned, dragging a hand through your hair. “the package got delivered to a different apartment. you must’ve put the wrong number on it.”

“no way,” she gasped, already on the defensive. “i literally double-checked. triple-checked, even. it’s apartment 235.”

"what?” you yelled, nearly dropping your phone.

this can’t be happening. out of all the apartments in your building… it had to be that one?

“minnie…” you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm, "it’s 236. apartment 236.”

she paused. “oh.”

you heard her laugh nervously, and it took everything in you not to throw your phone across the room.

“minnie…” you groaned, pressing your forehead against the wall. “i swear, if it’s what i think it is based on our last conversation…” your voice trailed off as a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. “my next-door neighbor, minnie. MINNIE. jaemin…oh my god.”

“wait,” she said, voice sharp with interest. “is that the doctor you said is too hot for his own good?”

“i did not say that.”

“you did.”

“no, i said he’s just… a nice sight for my eyes, okay? in a building full of old people, sue me for appreciating the view.” you rubbed at your face. “but i can’t face him if he saw what’s in that package. i just can’t.”

“listen…” minnie drawled. “what if he’s into it, though? think about it.”

“i’m hanging up.”

“no, wait—” but you pressed the red button before she could finish.

the most mortifying experience of your 24 years on this planet, and it hadn’t even fully happened yet. but you could see it clear as day: the box, him opening it innocently, and its contents—oh, god, the contents.

the thing is, you and minnie had a dumb tradition. whenever life got a little too miserable or stressful, you’d send each other gifts. random, stupid stuff. a manga you’d been talking about, or a plushie of your favorite sanrio character. the catch was you could never reveal what it was until it was opened. it was supposed to be a surprise.

except this time, you were sure minnie’s idea of a "surprise" was directly inspired by your recent rants about being, well… frustrated. as in, the sexual kind of frustration. you had a strong hunch about what she’d sent.

you sank into the couch, letting out a long sigh. you had two choices: go over there and pray he hadn’t opened it, or stay here and hope the ground swallowed you whole. both seemed equally unlikely.

as you stared at the ceiling, someone knocked on the door.

three soft knocks.

your heart stopped, your body jolting so hard you nearly rolled off the couch. no. no, no, no. not him. please not him.

you tiptoed to the door like a cartoon burglar, eyes wide with panic. don’t answer. if you don’t answer, he’ll just leave it. you could grab it later. it’s fine. everything’s fine.

but as you got closer, you heard the softest shuffle from the other side. he was still there. you peeked through the peephole and there he was indeed… jaemin. your very handsome, very distinguished doctor neighbor. standing there, holding your box.

you backed away from the door like it was about to explode. no, nope, you’d just wait until he—

you bumped into the side table. hard. and in a moment of unfiltered pain, you yelled, “FUCK!” loud enough to echo down the hall.

a long pause.

“hello?” his voice was clear through the door. smooth, polite.

you shut your eyes so tight you saw stars. letting him think you weren’t home was six feet under now.

"just get it over with," you muttered to yourself, quickly checking your appearance in the mirror to make sure you didn’t look at destroyed as you felt.

you opened the door with the kind of smile you'd give a police officer who just pulled you over. "oh! good morning, neighbor!" you practically chirped, voice too high, too fake.

he smiled, sleepy but devastatingly handsome. his scrubs hung perfectly off his frame, and his hair was tousled like he'd just came from a long night shift…which he probably did. he had the kind of face that made you think life has favorites.

“morning,” he said, nodding his head. “sorry to bother you so early, but this…” he held up the box, fingers tapping the side of it. tap tap tap your eye twitched. “this got delivered to my place by mistake.”

he was so calm. too calm.

“oh,” you squeaked, your voice barely functional. “uh, yeah! no worries at all! my friend sent it, haha, she’s… forgetful like that. really bad with numbers. haha…” you trailed off. kill me now.

“right,” he said, eyes flicking to the box. “well, here you go.” he held it out to you.

you reached for it but your hands, slick with nervous sweat, betrayed you. the box slipped.

“oh no-”

thud.

everything.

everything spilled out.

time slowed. your heart dropped straight into hell.

boxes. bottles. wrappers.

and then the pièce de résistance.

a sex doll.

a life-size, anatomically correct, male sex doll.

you didn’t know what kind of sound you made, but it was something between a gasp and a whimper. your knees hit the floor as you scrambled to grab everything wishing you could somehow erase the last five seconds of reality.

“oh my god,” you whispered, cramming the boxes into your arms. “oh my god. oh my god.”

“uhm,” he cleared his throat and you didn’t even have to look up to know what kind of face he was making. there were no words for this. none. zero.

“thank you for bringing it to me! bye!” you choked out, voice cracking on the last syllable as you grabbed what you could and slammed the door shut with the force of a hurricane.

you pressed your back to the door, sinking to the floor, arms full of colorful boxes of shame. you stared at them.

a vibrator. a bottle of lube. a very, very anatomically correct doll still half in its box.

"minnie." you said her name like a curse.

your phone buzzed. it was a text from her.

minnie (6:18am): how’d it go?

“hell,” you muttered, tossing your phone across the room.

you sat there for what felt like hours, the weight of embarrassment crushing down on you. moving out suddenly seemed like the only reasonable option. scratch that, you were moving countries. or planets. was mars habitable yet?

♡ ♡ ♡

for the next few days, life was nothing short of miserable. you called in sick to work because there was no way you could leave your apartment and risk running into jaemin. the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist into knots. to anyone else, it might seem dramatic—after all, owning sex toys wasn’t some scandalous crime—but the sheer context of it all was unbearable.

the cherry on top was that the box had clearly already been opened. jaemin had definitely seen what was inside before you’d even dropped it. and the fact that he just pretended everything was normal while standing there with a straight face? it was almost worse. no, it was worse. because now he probably pitied you for dropping it in front of him even after he tried to save you from the embarrassment.

you groaned, burying your face into the couch cushions. where was the armageddon when you needed it?

you hadn’t left your spot in the couch days, and your body was starting to hate you for it. your back ached from the awkward angle you were lying in, and your stomach growled because you’d panic-eaten the last of your food last night.

“this is pathetic,” you muttered, grabbing your phone.

after scrolling aimlessly for a few minutes, you reluctantly opened your food delivery app. you ordered enough food for at least two days and prayed the delivery guy would bring it to your door. but of course, life hated you, so when you got the “can’t find parking” text, you sighed loudly.

“naturally,” you mumbled, dragging yourself off the couch.

you threw on the most disguising outfit you could find: a black beanie, your puffy winter coat, and oversized sunglasses. did you look like a wannabe celebrity trying to dodge the paparazzi? sure. but desperate times called for desperate measures.

you texted the driver a quick be right down and bolted to the elevator, keeping your head low.

when you reached the parking lot, you practically snatched the bag out of the driver’s hands and mumbled a quick thank you before rushing back inside. you were so close to safety now.

you stepped into the elevator and leaned against the wall, finally letting out a sigh of relief. but, as fate would have it, you celebrated just a tad too soon.

just before the doors closed, a hand shot through the gap. you froze.

you smelled him first.

that cologne. you’d know it anywhere.

your heart sank as jaemin stepped into the elevator, looking unfairly handsome as usual. you, on the other hand, looked like a fugitive.

“good afternoon,” he said politely, his voice calm and smooth.

“hi, uh…afternoon,” you mumbled, holding the bag of food up to your face like a shield. maybe if you hid behind it long enough, he wouldn’t notice it was you.

“y/n?”

shit.

you glanced at him reluctantly, offering an awkward laugh. “oh, hey, jaemin… didn’t realize it was you.” you pushed your sunglasses up onto your head. “these things are so dark.”

he chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “didn’t recognize you either. are you coming from an event or something?”

you blinked at him, realizing how ridiculous your outfit must look. “oh, no, i—uh… i have a cold,” you stammered. “just trying to stay warm, you know?”

“ah,” he nodded, his expression softening. “well, you should rest up. drink plenty of water and maybe some tea with honey, it helps soothe your throat. oh, and—”

he started rattling off doctorly advice and you could only stare at him, dumbfounded. because, of course, not only was he handsome, but he was kind, too. unfair. completely unfair.

“thanks,” you said, cutting him off before he could get too deep into his list of remedies.

he smiled at you again, and for a moment, you swore your heart skipped a beat. “i was actually a little worried,” he admitted, leaning against the elevator wall casually. “i haven’t seen you around the past few days.”

“oh. uh… yeah,” you said weakly, shifting the food bag in your hands. “just been laying low, don’t wanna get anyone sick.”

“i see,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “you’re not hiding from me, are you?”

your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. was it that obvious?

“what? no! why would i be hiding from you?” you forced out a laugh, but it sounded fake even to your ears.

he raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was fighting a grin. “hmm. just checking.”

“yeah, it’s because of the cold” you muttered, fidgeting with the handle of the food bag. “it’s nothing serious, though. i appreciate the concern.” you tried to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“good to hear,” he said, his eyes still on you. “but still, if it doesn’t get better in a few days, you should probably see a doctor.”

“right. definitely,” you nodded quickly, eyes glued to the little numbers above the elevator door, silently willing them to move faster.

but of course, the universe hated you lately. the elevator suddenly jerked to a stop, too soon for your floor. you flinched, and before you could even begin to hope it was just a regular stop, the overhead lights flickered once, then twice, and then… nothing.

darkness.

“oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groaned, tilting your head back against the cold elevator wall.

“well,” jaemin’s voice came through the darkness, and you could hear the grin in it, “this is bad timing, huh?”

“this is my villain origin story,” you muttered, crossing your arms as you slid down to sit on the floor. “this is how i finally snap and become one of those people who yell at customer service workers.”

he laughed, and you hated how nice it sounded. like melted chocolate. warm, smooth, and way too easy to get addicted to.

“guess we’re stuck for a bit,” he said, sitting across from you. you could only make out the faintest outline of him in the dim emergency lighting. “not a bad person to be stuck with, though.”

“yeah, lucky you,” you deadpanned, cradling your bag of food.

there was a pause. not an awkward one but it felt somewhat intimate and you didn’t like it. not because you felt uncomfortable but because you were scared of embarrassing yourself further.

“hey,” he spoke up again, softer this time. “about the other day…”

no. absolutely not. this was not happening.

“nope,” you cut him off, waving a hand like you could physically swat the topic away. “we don’t talk about that. ever.”

“but i think we should—”

“we don’t, jaemin,” you said firmly, pointing at him like a scolding parent. “it never happened. you never saw it. i never dropped it. in fact, none of it exists. it was a shared hallucination caused by gas leaks in the building. that’s my story, and i’m sticking to it.”

he snorted, hiding a laugh behind his hand. “gas leaks?”

“yep. toxic fumes. real health hazard,” you nodded, doubling down. “you should probably get management to check that out, doctor.”

“i’m a neurosurgeon, not an HVAC technician,” he shot back, amused.

“same difference,” you muttered.

another pause. you could feel him looking at you, even in the dimness.

“for what it’s worth,” he started slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully, “i wasn’t judging you.”

“good,” you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your coat. “because i’m not like ashamed of it, just… mortified, you know?” you finally glanced up at him, feeling a little braver in the low light. “there’s a difference.”

he nodded, eyes warm and understanding in a way that made your chest ache. “there is.”

you sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall. “i’m moving. i’ve decided.”

he laughed, full and bright. “you’re not moving.”

“i am, actually,” you insisted. “gonna change my name, get a new identity. maybe move to the mountains. live off the grid. it’s the only way.”

“you’re ridiculous,” he said, still grinning.

“you say that like it’s news.”

silence settled over you both again, but this time it was lighter. less suffocating. you could hear him shift, stretching his legs out in front of him. he tapped his fingers against his knees like he was keeping time to a song only he could hear.

“so,” he said after a beat, voice low and casual. “was that, uh… the first time you ordered something like that?”

your whole face went hot.

“jaemin,” you warned.

“what?” he asked, the picture of innocence. “just curious.”

“don’t make me call those toxic fumes back in here,” you threatened, pointing a stern finger at him.

he threw his head back laughing, and despite yourself, you smiled too.

"fine, i won’t bring it up anymore,” he said with a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. his fingers pressed into the muscle there, and he winced slightly.

“you okay?” you asked, glancing at him with concern.

“yeah, just a long day at work,” he replied, rolling his shoulder like it’d been bothering him for hours.

“yeah, i can imagine. the life of a doctor must be pretty hectic,” you said, eyes flicking to his hands as they worked over the tense muscle. “but you gotta know your limits too… you’re not made of steel, you know.” there was a hint of worry in your voice, and you tried not to let it show too much, but judging by the way he glanced at you, he caught it.

he looked at you for a moment, longer than usual, before nodding. “you’re right,” he let out a short breath. “i guess i’ve been burying myself in work lately. but it’s hard not to when it’s this time of the year… i’m a pediatric neurosurgeon and too many kids get sick and hurt during the summer.”

“oh, definitely. i’m not even a kid and i always get sick in the summer,” you joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

he laughed at that, his grin easy and genuine. “never too late to have fun during the summer,” he said, leaning back against the elevator wall. “just not too much fun. can’t party too hard with a cold.”

“do i look like the kind of person who parties too hard?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“hmm,” he tilted his head with a slight (cute) pout. “i wouldn’t know. we don’t know each other that well.” he glanced at you, eyes flicking over you just once before smirking. “but you’re young and pretty, so why not?”

your heart stumbled in your chest, and you fought to keep your face neutral. did he seriously just call you pretty so casually like it was a fact of life? the dim lighting of the elevator became your saving grace, hiding the warmth that crept up your neck.

"want a piece?" you asked, anxiously trying to change the subject, raising the bag of fried chicken in your hands. you shook it lightly to emphasize. "i have a feeling we're gonna be stuck here for a while, and it's still warm."

he raised an eyebrow, his grin widening into something a little playful. “don’t mind if i do.”

he moved closer, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed, and you set the bag down in front of you both. “dig in,” you said gesturing with your hands toward the chicken.

“so… you’re a doctor…” you said after a couple minutes of eating in silence.

“last time i checked, yeah,” he replied, glancing over at you with a faint smile.

“so why’d you move into this shabby building with elevators that haven’t been serviced since the stone age?” you asked, pausing to tear into a chicken wing with zero grace or subtlety.

he stared at you, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of your question or the feral way in which you were eating.

“i’m a resident, so i don’t make nearly as much as people think. plus, med school debt is no joke. this place fit the budget.”

“oh,” you muttered, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “sorry if that sounded kinda judgy. people tell me i’ve got a chronic case of big mouth syndrome.”

“it’s fine,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “at least you’re honest.”

“what about you?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.

“me? oh same story, different font. drowning in student debt, and this place was… available,” you said, popping another wing into your mouth.

he nodded, and after that, the conversation picked up, flowing so naturally you forgot you’d technically only been speaking to him for a week. before that you had only shared neighborly greetings in the hallway.

you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the elevator jolted suddenly, the lights flickering back on with a low, mechanical hum.

by then, the bag of chicken was empty, and you knew more about jaemin than you ever expected to learn in one night.

♡ ♡ ♡

“i thought elevators had some kind of emergency backup power for blackouts,” minnie said, her face pixelated on your phone screen.

“yeah but this building’s like 60 years old,” you muttered, adjusting the camera so she could see you better. you were sitting on the floor, painting your toenails a fresh shade of lavender. “the fact that it even has an elevator is a miracle.”

“true, true,” minnie nodded, chewing on a piece of candy. her eyes lit up suddenly. “by the way, why does your sexy doctor live there? i thought doctors were supposed to be loaded.” she propped her chin on her hand.

“he told me he just started his residency,” you explained, blowing gently on your freshly painted nails. “and he just started a new job at the hospital. they don’t get paid that well when they’re starting out.”

“hmm,” she hummed knowingly. “so you spend a few hours stuck in an elevator with him, and suddenly you’re an expert on the medical field, huh?”

you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “it’s called having a normal conversation, you should try it”

“i’m just saying,” minnie teased, tossing a gummy bear into her mouth. “you went in there hiding from him, and you ended up sharing chicken and life stories. i see you.”

“there is nothing to see,” you shot back, tossing a pillow at your phone screen like she could actually feel it.

“mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning forward “so, did he mention it?”

“mention what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“the box,” she said ominously, dragging out the word like it belonged in a horror movie trailer.

you froze. “he tried to,” you admitted, tapping your fingers on the pillow in your lap. “but i shut him down real quick.”

“oho, look at you,” she said, leaning back impressed. “miss assertive, didn’t think you had it in you.”

“i have more pillows to throw, minnie. don’t test me.”

“yeah, yeah, violent tendencies aside,” she waved you off, completely immune to your threats. “i hope this new confidence means you’re finally putting my gifts to use.” she tilted her head with the most innocent smile, which made it all the more sinister.

your face went hot. so, so hot.

“i haven’t,” you lied, voice a little too high.

“liar,” she sang, leaning closer to the camera. “i can see your shifty eyes. you definitely tried it.”

“okay, fine, i did!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “but it was a disaster.”

minnie perked up with curiosity. “oh?”

“yeah, oh,” you repeated, scratching your head. “it just… didn’t hit. it felt weird and i got frustrated, so i just gave up. plus i don’t know where you got that vibrator from but it almost burned my girlypop”

“rookie mistake,” she sighed shaking her head dramatically. “that’s why you need someone with experience to help you out.”

your brows furrowed. “what are you even saying right now?”

“i’m saying,” she grinned like the devil himself, “that you have a perfectly qualified medical professional living right next door. i’m sure dr. mcdreamy wouldn’t mind giving you a consultation.”

you blinked once. “minnie, you’re actually sick in the head.”

“oh, please.” she tossed her hair over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “he’s hot, he’s single, and you’ve already done half the work. you were sitting there eating fried chicken, and you’re telling me he kept throwing compliments at you? we all know you eat chicken like a truck driver, and he still thought you were pretty. use your resources, babe.”

“he was hungry and stuck. he was probably grateful i offered him food. what else was he supposed to do?”

“it’s so much more than that,” she said, holding up a hand, a clear signal for you to shut up and pay attention. “i know when a man is laying the foundation and trust me, he’s building a whole mansion with your name on it.”

“you’re fully overreacting right now.”

one of minnie's strengths was that she wasn’t one to give up easily. but that also ended up being one of her flaws. you knew for a fact she wouldn’t drop this jaemin thing until she proved he had a thing for you.

“seriously, though,” she continued, leaning in so close her face was the whole screen. “he’s a doctor which means he’s like literally obligated to help people. it’s in the oath or something.”

“your point is..?”

“you know” she raised her brows suggestively “experienced hands, medical precision, and he owes you one for that chicken dinner. it’s the perfect setup.”

“you’re insane… like actually seek help.” you shook your head, trying to sound firm, but you were laughing too much to sell it.

“i’m serious,” she laughed along, “you literally blush whenever you talk about him. oh and you can’t even say his name without smiling.”

“that’s not true,” you said, shifting your position on the couch like that would somehow make your denial more convincing.

“mmhm,” she squinted her eyes, clearly not believing you.

“and for the record,” you added, jabbing your finger at the screen, “not every attractive man i meet is getting sexualized in my head. i’m not a beast.”

“no, you’re just a liar,” she shot back with a wide grin. “be real for like two seconds. i can see you smiling so hard right now.”

“you can’t see anything,” you said, voice sharper now. “it’s the pixelation. your wifi is ass.”

“nice try,” she said, drawing out the words. “i know a bashful grin when i see one.”

“you stress me out,” you muttered, twisting the cap back on your nail polish with a little too much force.

“and yet, you call me every day.” she propped her chin on her palm, smile pure menace.

“i guess i’m a masochist,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch. “tragic, really.”

“mmhm, tragic is right,” she said, eyes narrowing into little crescents. “because now i’m gonna be your maid of honor at this wedding i didn’t even prepare for.”

“goodbye, minnie,” you deadpanned, reaching for the end call button.

“goodbye, future mrs. mcdreamy.” she winked at the camera, and before you could curse her out, she hung up.

you sat there for a second, staring at your phone’s home screen, lips pressed tight.

delusional.

she was delusional.

but that didn’t stop you from thinking about jaemin’s stupid grin. the way he’d looked at you while eating fried chicken, casual but present, like he was really there in the moment with you. the way his eyes lingered, just for a second too long.

you shook your head, shoving the thought away like minnie’s words had wormed their way into your subconscious.

nope.

you capped the nail polish, shoved your phone aside, and focused on literally anything else.

♡ ♡ ♡

over the next few days, something shifted. not in a big, dramatic way but in a way you could feel.

jaemin wasn’t just the polite neighbor you exchanged pleasantries with in the hall anymore. now, every time you saw him, there was this unspoken acknowledgment hanging in the air like: we shared fried chicken in a broken elevator for three hours.

this new attitude towards you was giving you whiplash. he was… extra friendly now. he smiled more, spoke to you first, acted like you were both in on some kind of inside joke. it wasn’t bad… but it wasn’t normal either.

“morning, y/n,” he’d say as you both waited for the elevator, eyes crinkling like he’d already thought of something funny.

“morning,” you’d reply, your gaze locked firmly on the floor. the tiles were suddenly fascinating.

but then you’d catch the faintest trace of his cologne—the same one you’d inhaled way too much of in the elevator—and suddenly, the tiles weren’t so interesting anymore. so you’d try to sneak a glance or two, and when he wore his doctor’s coat and glasses, you couldn’t help but ogle. he was so ridiculously handsome. everything about him practically begged for you to admire. his sharp jawline, his dark eyes framed by impossibly long lashes, his lips always pink and effortlessly moisturized, his hair neatly trimmed in the back but just a bit longer in the front, falling perfectly right above his thick brows.

and he had the most captivating smile, so white it almost blinded you, and despite thinking he was the serious type at first, you quickly realized he was incredibly expressive. he communicated so much with just his brows, and it seemed impossible for him to speak without a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. like what was so funny? that you were crushing hard on him and it was kind of disrupting your life?

he was also too relaxed around you. way too relaxed. how was he so calm when he’d seen you in your most unhinged states? meanwhile, you could still feel the ghost of that moment hovering over you like a neon sign flashing "dildo girl spotted."

the third time you ran into him that week, you almost turned around to take the stairs, but you weren’t fast enough.

“caught you,” jaemin said as soon as he spotted you, his grin sharp but not unkind. “thinking of bailing on me?”

you paused like you were actually considering it. “don’t flatter yourself,” you said, walking forward like you’d planned to all along. “the stairs are just bad for my knees.”

“oh, is that right?” he asked, stepping aside with a sweep of his hand. "good thing elevators exist, huh?”

“lucky me,” you muttered, slipping inside. he followed right after, too close for comfort but not close enough to call him out on it.

“lucky me,” he added, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, head tilted just so. "would’ve missed you otherwise."

you had to bite back the cough that almost escaped when he said that, his lazy smile firmly in place like always.

you glanced at him, squinting. "what's with you lately?"

“what do you mean?”

“this,” you gestured at him vaguely. “all this… talking. you weren’t like this before.”

“maybe i just needed an excuse,” he said with a nonchalant shrug “and three hours in an elevator with you was a pretty good one.”

you blinked, momentarily at a loss. what were you even supposed to say to that?

“did you rehearse that?,” you muttered, turning away before he could see the corner of your mouth twitch.

“why, is it too corny? but you’re smiling,” he pointed out, you could hear his smile.

“no, i’m not.”

“you are,” he said confidently, leaning in just a little like he was trying to see it up close. “it’s cute.”

you flinched back, eyes wide. “don’t say that.”

“why not?” he grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. “it’s true.”

“oh my god.” you turned so far away from him it was a miracle you didn’t phase through the wall. “stop talking.”

“can’t,” he said, all too happy to keep going. “we’re closer now. shared chicken trauma and all that.”

“that is not a thing.”

“it is,” he nodded confidently. “you can’t just sit in a powerless elevator with someone for hours and pretend you’re strangers afterward. that’s, like, scientifically impossible.”

“scientifically impossible?” you repeated, eyebrows raised. “you’re making things up.”

“and here you are listening to all of it,” he shot back, tilting his head toward you, his gaze a little too sharp.

checkmate.

you opened your mouth, ready to respond, but your brain was buffering..

"that’s what i thought," he said, his voice low and too satisfied, just as the elevator dinged.

the doors opened. he didn’t move right away, gaze lingering on you as if he was waiting for something…or maybe just seeing how long you’d hold it.

“you talk too much,” you muttered, stepping out with your head high like you had the upper hand.

“I think you like it,” he called after you, the amusement in his voice so obvious you could practically hear the grin on his face.

your heart did that annoying skip thing, and this time, you didn’t have an excuse for it.

♡ ♡ ♡

things only got worse after that.

jaemin, apparently, had decided that you were fun to mess with now.

he wasn’t over-the-top about it, though. no, he was too smooth for that. he played it cool, weaving little comments and actions into your interactions. a smile that lingered too long, leaning in just a little too close when he asked a question, throwing casual compliments like they didn’t mean anything.

it was unfair, really. he’d gone from the quiet, polite neighbor, the one who worked long shifts at the hospital and mostly kept to himself, to an actual menace in the span of three days. and somehow, you were the target of all of it.

the first time it happened, you brushed it off as coincidence. the second time, you thought maybe he was just being nice because you shared food with him so perhaps he thought that he owed you. by the third time, you realized: this man was having fun at your expense.

“new hair?” he asked casually one evening as you struggled with your keys outside your door.

you froze, glancing up at him in confusion. “what?”

“your hair,” he repeated, nodding toward you. “looks good.”

your brows furrowed. “it’s the same as always,” you muttered, turning back to the lock that was absolutely refusing to cooperate.

“huh.” he tilted his head, as if he were genuinely surprised. “then i guess it’s just you.”

what does that even mean?!

your hands fumbled, and the key slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor.

jaemin’s laugh was soft but unmistakably amused. “you okay there?”

“don’t you have patients to save or something?” you snapped, crouching down to snatch the key off the ground before he even had the chance to get it for you.

“off duty,” he shrugged, leaning against the wall next to you. his smile had that easy confidence you were beginning to associate with him now. “but i’ll step in if you need medical attention. emotional support counts too.”

you groaned so loud it echoed in the hallway. “i swear, i liked you better when you were quiet.”

“oh, you like me?” he asked, his grin widening just enough to make your stomach flip in protest.

“past tense,” you shot back, finally shoving the key into the lock and turning it with more force than necessary.

“if you say so,” he replied, drawing out the word like he didn’t believe you for a second.

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, turning around with your key in hand, gripping it like a weapon. “how do you live with yourself?”

“one day at a time,” he replied, dead serious.

you shot him a glare as you finally shoved the key into the lock. it turned smoothly this time.

“maybe you should try it,” he added, just as you opened the door.

“try what?” you asked, already regretting engaging.

“living with me,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. he even had the audacity to wink.

you nearly slammed the door in his face.

“goodnight, jaemin,” you snapped, stepping inside.

“sweet dreams, love,” he called after you, his voice warm and smug in a way that lingered.

you closed the door, locked it, and leaned your head against it with a groan that could only be described as deep emotional fatigue.

“then i guess it’s just you.”

you stayed pressed against the door for a little too long, thinking about it.

he’s the worst.

the absolute worst.

♡ ♡ ♡

then came the visiting.

you heard a quiet, rhythmic knock knock knock on your door one night. not frantic, not loud just steady enough to make you pause in the middle of scrolling through your phone.

you frowned. minnie wasn’t the “surprise visit” type, and you definitely hadn’t ordered food. so who…

when you opened the door, he was right there.

jaemin.

he leaned against the doorframe, one arm propped against it, the other tucked into his pocket. his posture was relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with that familiar glint of mischief.

“what do you want?” you asked, gripping the door like it was a shield between you and whatever ridiculousness he was about to say.

“so rude,” he said, mock-offended, though the lazy grin on his face betrayed him. “you invite a guy to share fried chicken once, and suddenly you’re heartless?”

“oh, please.” you stepped back slightly, but you didn’t close the door. “i offered it. don’t act like i saved you from a tragic famine.”

“true,” he agreed, his gaze dropping for a split second, flickering over you like he was trying to catch you off guard. “but since you brought it up, i was thinking about how we never got dessert.”

you blinked, thrown off by the randomness. “what?”

“dessert,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “fried chicken’s great and all, but it’s not a complete meal. we missed out.”

“and what, you came to my door at 9 pm to tell me that?”

“yep.” he rocked back on his heels, completely unbothered. “i figured you owed me by now.”

“owed you?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “for what, exactly?”

“emotional support,” he said, grinning like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “that elevator ride? life-changing experience. bonded for life. it’s only fair you buy me dessert.”

you tried to fight it. you really did. but the laugh slipped out anyway, betraying you.

his grin widened, the kind that wasn’t just smug… it was triumphant.

“fine,” you sighed, grabbing your phone off the counter. “but you’re paying next time.”

“next time?” he echoed, his voice tilting upward just slightly. he leaned forward, close enough that the space between you suddenly felt smaller. “so you’re already planning our next elevator date?”

oh, this man.

“don’t push your luck,” you muttered, pointing a finger at him while you tapped through your food delivery app. “i might close the door on your face next time.”

“you like me too much to do that,” he said softly, and this time his tone wasn’t teasing.

it was smooth, confident, and just low enough to make you glance up without thinking.

your thumb hovered over your screen for a second too long before you forced yourself to break eye contact. you picked the first dessert you saw just to escape the moment and right before you got to pay he snatched the phone from you and put in his card details.

“so annoying,” you muttered.

“gentlemanly,” he replied easily.

“you’re lucky i’m too tired to throw you out,” you shot back, already regretting how much you were letting him get away with.

“lucky?” he asked, smirking. “i’d say you’re the lucky one. who else brings dessert and great company?”

you groaned, loudly, just to drown him out.

♡ ♡ ♡

thirty minutes later, you were sitting side by side on your couch, barely an inch between you, sharing a container of chocolate lava cake like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“don’t hog it,” you grumbled, jabbing at his hand with your spoon when he took an extra-large bite.

“it’s called portion control,” he argued, entirely unapologetic as he went for another.

“it’s called stealing,” you shot back, scooping up a bigger piece just to even the playing field.

“maybe,” he said, glancing at you with that maddening grin. “but you’re letting me get away with it.”

“only because i don’t want to waste food,” you countered, though your voice lacked the conviction you wanted it to have.

he leaned back slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours in a way that felt too casual to be an accident.

“you’re really bad at lying, you know that?” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make you pause.

you turned to glare at him, spoon still in hand, but the words caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you.

he wasn’t grinning anymore. not exactly.

it wasn’t a smirk or a joke or one of those teasing little quips he always threw your way. it was… softer. almost curious.

your heart stuttered before you could stop it.

“and you’re annoying,” you said again, but this time it came out quieter.

his lips twitched, like he was holding back a laugh.

“you already said that but i think it loses meaning when you let me hang out with you for this long,” he murmured.

you didn’t reply. you couldn’t. not when the air felt so… different.

so instead, you turned back to the TV, grabbed another spoonful of lava cake, and shoved it into your mouth as an excuse to not say anything.

he chuckled softly, the sound barely audible over the hum of the TV.

♡ ♡ ♡

the next few days went by pretty much the same. whenever you bumped into jaemin in the hallway, the parking lot, or even at the local cafe, his eyes would lock on you like a heat-seeking missile, ready to tease you in a way that you hated to admit was starting to feel oddly enjoyable.

but everything escalated the day minnie came to visit you.

it had been a while since you two last saw each other, given that she lived in a different city. as soon as she arrived, you were buzzing with excitement. but you’d forgotten one crucial thing… minnie had a rare, borderline supernatural ability to drive you absolutely insane.

“i can't believe you had a second chicken date with him and still didn’t jump his bones… have i taught you nothing?” she said, exasperated as she popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. dawson’s creek reruns were playing in the background, and as if that show didn’t depress you enough, minnie’s relentless criticism of your non-existent love life was making it worse.

“it wasn’t a chicken date,” you groaned. “we had cake. and why would i jump his bones when we’ve only just started speaking more than two words to each other like, last week?”

“you don’t get it,” minnie said, turning to face you with the gravity of someone about to lecture you. “a man doesn’t just knock on your door asking you to have dessert with him unless he has a different idea of what 'dessert' is.” she raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“ew, don’t make that face,” you winced.

“i’m serious, y/n. if you keep shutting down every man that’s interested in you, the only dick you’ll get is that inflatable one i got you.”

“not even,” you sighed, slumping against the couch. “i haven’t taken it out of the box yet. and i won’t. that thing already embarrassed me enough for the next two lifetimes.”

“but if you think about it, if it weren’t for tom, you’d still be secretly crushing on dr. mcdreamy.”

“you did not just name the sex doll tom,” you said, eyes narrowing.

“i think we should at least go out tonight since you’re clearly not gonna put the moves on your sexy neighbor.”

“absolutely not,” you shook your head, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “ i’m not about to waste my night talking to any guy who thinks 'intellectual debate' means arguing about protein powder.”

“okay, harsh… no wonder you’re single,” she muttered as she got up and started tapping away on her phone.

“who’re you calling?” you asked, squinting at her suspiciously.

“there’s only one person who can drag you out of this apartment,” she muttered with a sly grin. "hold on—hello? jake? yeah, guess who i’m with right now?" she paused dramatically, glancing at you with a wicked smile. "your favorite girl, obviously!" she snickered, tilting her phone just enough to snap a photo of you mid-protest.

“dude, c’mon, i’m in my grandma pjs right now,” you said, pointing at the flowery pajama top you were wearing.

“how about we meet up at the neo club? yeah? awesome, and bring one of your hot friends,” she added, grinning like a cat that just cornered a bird.

she hung up, looking triumphant, but you folded your arms with a scowl.

“there’s no way i’m going out,” you said flatly.

♡ ♡ ♡

you still ended up going out.

but only because they offered to pay for all your drinks, and who were you to refuse such a generous offer?

it didn’t take long to spot jake. he was already stirring up trouble at the bar, his charm dialed up to 100 as he leaned in close, tossing out some line that had the bartender blushing so hard she had to look away just to keep it together.

“ugh, casanovas make me sick,” you grumbled, scrunching your nose as you watched him.

“stop harassing the lady, jake,” minnie said, grabbing him by the collar and tugging him away from the bar. he turned around with a mock-offended gasp.

“excuse you, she was absolutely enjoying that,” he said with an infuriating level of confidence. he wasn’t even wrong—the bartender was still grinning.

“whatever, tiger. look who’s out of her cave!” minnie announced, shoving you forward slightly.

jake’s eyes lit up the second he saw you. he practically lunged forward, wrapping you in a bear hug and lifting you off the ground.

“no way! my y/n! it’s been, what, four years since i last saw you?” he spun you in a small circle before finally setting you down.

“please don’t be so dramatic. we saw each other last year on your birthday,” you laughed, shoving his chest.

“too long for me, babe. you know seeing you is always a treat,” he said, giving you one of those overly saccharine smiles he knew would make you roll your eyes.

“when are you ever not flirting? is that your default mode? is there any way to reset you?” you said, tapping his forehead like you were trying to reboot a broken phone.

“you know you love it,” he winked, and somehow it was both annoying and charming at the same time.

“anyways, where are the drinks i was promised?” you extended a hand expectantly.

“here you go, princess,” he said, handing you a tequila sunrise with a flourish. “and here you go, troll,” he added, handing minnie a margarita.

“i’ll kill you,” minnie slapped his arm hard enough to make him flinch.

“ow, abuse! abuse!” he cried dramatically, clutching his arm as if he’d been mortally wounded.

“you’ll live,” minnie muttered, taking a sip from her glass.

the night was already off to a wild start, and you had a sinking feeling it was only going to get worse.

♡ ♡ ♡

“so you’re telling me the box with all the freaky shit minnie sent ended up being delivered to your neighbor?” jake was practically doubled over, clutching his stomach from laughing so hard. “and he opened it?”

“yeah, laugh it up,” you said, unamused as you swirled the straw in your drink before taking a long sip. you’d lost count of how many drinks you’d had, but the warmth in your chest and the slight buzz in your head told you it was definitely more than a couple.

“if i were you, i would’ve moved,” he said, wiping at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “i’m trying to think of a time i’ve been that embarrassed and not even my drunkest moments come close.” he shook his head like he genuinely felt bad for you, though the grin on his face said otherwise.

“believe me, i tried to avoid him,” you said, gesturing with your drink in hand. “but somehow, after that, he started sticking to me like gum on a shoe.”

“i’m telling you, he wants you!” minnie slurred, her eyes barely staying focused as she swayed slightly in her seat. clearly, she was the drunkest one at the table, her words carrying that telltale wobble of too many cocktails.

“don’t start with that again,” you shot back, tossing a napkin in her direction. “he doesn’t want me. he just likes messing with me because he figured out i’m an easy target.”

“oh, really?” she said, eyes narrowing like she’d just come up with the most brilliant plan. “then call him right now. and if he answers, put him on speaker.”

“like hell i will,” you snorted, glancing at your phone. “it’s-” you checked the time “…literally 3am. why would i disturb him just to prove your silly little theories?”

“coward! coward!” minnie started chanting, slapping the table. jake immediately caught on and joined her, their voices syncing up in a way that only drunk friends could manage. “coward! y/n is a chicken!” they sang in unison, making sure to drag out the last word obnoxiously.

“ugh, why do i have friends like you two…” you muttered, covering your ears as their chanting grew louder. “okay! fine! stop that right now, i’ll text him. once.” you jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis, giving them both a stern glare that did absolutely nothing to dim their excitement.

“what do i even say…” you groaned, staring at your empty chat with jaemin.

“send him a picture,” jake suggested.

you thought about it for a second, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “fine,” you muttered, lifting your phone. fueled by alcohol and peer pressure, you decided on the classic "oops, wrong person" strategy. you snapped a quick selfie, pursing your lips into a kissy face for maximum effect. you didn’t even care that it was blurry or that you looked very obviously drunk. in fact, that made it funnier. you snickered to yourself as you hit send.

“he won’t reply, guys,” you said confidently, tossing your phone onto the table face-down. but barely ten seconds passed before you heard the unmistakable ping of a new message.

“you were saying?” minnie arched a brow, crossing her arms in mock satisfaction.

“it’s probably just some random notification,” you said with a shrug, but your voice wavered as you picked up your phone. you tapped the screen, eyes widening slightly at the name that appeared.

jaemin neighbor (3:02am): ‘thought you weren’t one to party hard?’

the message was punctuated with a little smirk emoji that somehow made it worse.

“what’d he say?” minnie asked, leaning in so far you thought she might topple over.

you barely had time to answer before another message popped up.

jaemin neighbor (3:03am): ‘don’t drink too much though, you’re still recovering from that cold. and don’t let strangers hold your drink.’

your eyes stayed glued to the screen, heart doing an odd little flip that you refused to acknowledge.

“oh my god, he’s worried,” minnie gasped, hands flying to her face. “he’s literally whipped!” she squealed, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you back and forth with unhinged glee.

♡ ♡ ♡

after seeing jaemin's message, you decided you needed to get drunker to drown out the thoughts swirling in your head. by the time you got back to the apartment, your uber driver had to practically haul you out of the car. you were a complete mess, your feet barely cooperating with the ground beneath you. minnie ended up hitting it off with jake’s friend so she decided to leave with him to do god knows what dirty things.

“woah there!” you yelped as you stumbled, nearly falling backward.

“ma’am, what’s your apartment number?” the driver asked. all you could do was laugh and mumble some random string of numbers that didn’t come close to making sense.

“y/n?” a familiar voice cut through the fog in your mind, sharp and clear like a bell. it almost sobered you up on the spot. he was wearing his scrubs and his tired appearance told you that he was coming back from a long shift.

“mr. doctor is here!” you announced with unrestrained glee, throwing your arms up. the sudden movement made you lose balance, and you tilted sideways bumping into the driver.

“you know her, sir?” he asked, his forehead shiny with sweat, clearly desperate for an exit out of this.

“uhm, yeah, she’s my next-door neighbor. i’ll take it from here, thanks,” jaemin said, stepping in with the calm authority of someone who’s seen this exact scenario a dozen times before. with zero effort, he crouched down and hoisted you onto his back, his hands steady under your thighs to keep you secure.

“wheee!” you squealed, your cheek smushed against the back of his head.

“hold on tight, yeah?” he muttered, his tone dry but fond as he adjusted his grip on your legs.

inside the elevator, you got bold. maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was just you accepting your undeniable attraction to jaemin, but your hands found their way to his arms. you gave his biceps an experimental squeeze and then hummed, thoroughly impressed. “do all doctors got big, muscular arms or just you?” you asked, squeezing again as if conducting a very important scientific investigation.

jaemin’s lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “do you always get this touchy when you’re drunk?” he replied, shifting you slightly higher on his back.

“oh wow, you smell so good,” you said, burying your nose in his hair. “like… like one of those fancy candles you’re not supposed to light cause they’re too expensive.” you giggled against his head, completely oblivious to the way his ears flushed pink at the compliment.

“i told you not to drink too much,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “this is dangerous, you know.”

“sorryyyyyy,” you whined, dragging out the word. “but you know what they say about alcohol… uh, ‘wine before whiskey, you’re feelin’ frisky’?” you squinted, clearly thinking very hard.

jaemin tilted his head, giving you a side-eye full of disbelief and amusement. “that’s absolutely not the saying,” he said, his voice low and warm with a hint of laughter.

“no?” you pouted. “then it’s… ‘drinks before thoughts, memories get lost!’” you declared with absolute confidence.

he let out a full, genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking under you as he carried you down the hallway. “close enough,” he muttered.

♡ ♡ ♡

in front of your door, you squinted at the digital lock like it had personally wronged you. you pressed one button, then another, and frowned when the screen blinked angrily. your brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and trying to remember your code right was harder than trying to solve a riddle while underwater.

“ugh, whatever,” you groaned, letting out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down on the floor, legs sprawled out.

“what are you doing?” jaemin's voice came from above, and when you tilted your head back, you saw him crouched in front of you, eyebrows raised.

“can’t remember the code, so m’ sleeping here. duh,” you replied with the kind of lazy confidence and lack of urgency only drunk people have. you reached out and booped him on the nose simply because he looked cute like a bunny in your inebriated mind.

he blinked, clearly thrown, before a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “no, you’re not,” he said, shaking his head. he stood up, offering his hand. “come on.”

“ugh, fiiine,” you groaned, letting him pull you up, though you were basically dead weight. he slipped an arm around your waist to steady you, and the warmth of his hand pressed against the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. the touch was casual but it sent a sharp jolt of awareness through you.

you bit your lip to distract yourself from the sudden rush of heat. blame it on the alcohol. definitely the alcohol.

“i never sleep in a guy’s apartment ‘til…” you held up your hand and started counting on your fingers, lips moving as you mumbled to yourself. “like the 6th date.”

“that so?” jaemin glanced at you, his voice raspy in a way that made something flip in your stomach.

“mmhm,” you hummed, leaning your weight against him. “gotta have rules, y’know? safety first.”

“you’re not wrong,” he replied, guiding you toward his door with slow, careful steps. “but that logic’s got a flaw, don’t you think?”

you squinted up at him, skeptical. “what flaw?”

“you’re here with me, and we’re not even on date three,” he said simply, giving you a pointed look.

you tried to ignore the fact that he considered the elevator and that night at your apartment as dates.

“that’s different,” you countered, waving a hand like that somehow made you right.

he glanced down at you, eyes sharp but soft in the way they flickered across your face. “how?”

you blinked, suddenly too aware of the space between you two — or the lack of it. his arm was firm around your waist, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

“you tell me, doc,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

there was a brief silence, just the quiet hum of the hallway lights and the soft shuffle of your feet. his fingers curled slightly against your hip, the pressure grounding but gentle. when he spoke again, his tone had shifted — quieter, steadier.

“i’d never do anything to hurt you,” he said, voice sure like a promise. his eyes met yours, serious in a way that knocked the air right out of your lungs.

you didn’t have a quick comeback for that one.

he held your gaze for a moment longer before clearing his throat, eyes flicking away. “anyway,” he said, his voice back to its usual steady calm, “you can sit for a bit. i’ll get you some tea and food, sober you up.”

“huh?” you blinked, your tipsy mind still trying to catch up after that intense moment you just shared.

“sit,” he repeated, guiding you toward the couch like you were a stubborn cat. “tea. food. you’ll thank me later.”

you flopped onto the couch with zero grace, still buzzing from everything.

your head was throbbing, but that wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the rapid thumping of your heart against your chest. it wasn’t normal. it couldn’t be normal. you pressed a hand to your chest like that might somehow slow it down.

“what is this…” you muttered under your breath, tilting your head back against the couch.

you were spiraling, no doubt about it. overthinking everything. it’s just jaemin, you reminded yourself. your neighbor. your kind neighbor. of course he’d say stuff like that. he’s a good person, and good people say things like "i’d never hurt you" all the time, right? it didn’t mean anything. didn’t mean a single thing.

calm down, y/n.

you blew out a slow breath, trying to trick your heart into believing you were unbothered.

jaemin came back moments later, a cup of tea in one hand and a small plate of buttered toast in the other. he’d ditched his jacket, now in just a fitted black t-shirt and scrub pants. you weren’t sure what was more distracting… the way the fabric clung to his chest and arms, or the way the veins in his forearms stood out as he set the plate down. you stared a little too long, gaze following the flex of his muscles.

he’s just a guy, you thought, just a guy with arms that look like they were carved out of marble.

“okay, drink this,” he said, nudging the tea toward you. his voice had slipped into his "doctor tone", soft but firm, like he fully expected to be obeyed. “you’ll feel better. if you feel dizzy or like you’re gonna throw up, let me know. i’ll go shower real quick, and you can shower after.”

he disappeared into his room before you could respond

you sat there for a second, letting the silence settle around you. without him there, you finally took a proper look at his place. it was weirdly nice for a building as old and shabby as this one. sleek, modern furniture, spotless floors, a faint scent of something woodsy and clean. candles lined the windowsill, and he had an at-home gym tucked neatly in one corner.

of course he does, you thought, he’s probably too busy saving lives to hit a real gym.

you bit your lip, remembering the way his arms had felt around your waist. the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric of your shirt. and now, after seeing how built he actually was, it was starting to make a lot more sense.

“ugh, stop it,” you muttered, shaking your head. it was just the alcohol messing with you. that, and the fact that you were definitely ovulating because there was no way you’d be acting like this otherwise. the combination was lethal.

you reached for the tea, eager for something to snap you out of your head, but the second you took a sip—

“ah—!” you yelped, dropping the cup. hot liquid splashed onto the floor, the mug clattering after it. thankfully, it missed your legs but your tongue throbbed like you’d just bitten into molten lava.

“shit,” you hissed, sticking your tongue out like that might cool it down.

“what happened?” jaemin’s voice came from the bathroom, sharp with concern.

“‘s fine!” you tried to call back, but with your tongue still stinging, it came out garbled. “ihz ohkaay!”

the sound of the shower stopped. you barely had a second to panic before jaemin burst into the living room, dripping wet, a loose towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

you froze.

oh.

oh my god.

if this were an anime, you’d have shot out a nosebleed so powerful it’d blast you into another dimension.

“what happened?” he asked, eyes darting to the mess on the floor, then back to you. he crouched beside you, eyes scanning you likely looking for injuries. water dripped from his hair, trailing down the sharp planes of his face, his chest, his abs…

his abs.

your gaze locked on the V-line that dipped beneath the edge of his towel, and your brain short-circuited. every coherent thought you’d ever had dissolved on the spot. you didn’t even realize you’d spoken aloud until you heard your own voice.

“oh my god.”

jaemin blinked, eyebrows drawing together in worry. “what?”

“n-nothing!” you stammered, face heating faster than the tea had. you slapped a hand over your eyes like that might erase the image from your mind. it did not. it was burned in.

he frowned, his puppy-dog concern on full display. “i’m sorry, i should’ve warned you the tea was hot.” his gaze shifted to your tongue, still sticking out as you tried to cool it with air. his frown deepened.

“izzokay,” you said, or at least tried to. with your tongue swollen and numb, it sounded more like “iz okeh, iz my fauwt.”

“hold on,” he said, his tone dropping into doctor mode. “stay put. you might cut yourself on the glass.”

he moved with quick precision, ducking into the kitchen and coming back with a towel and some paper towels to clean up. you, unfortunately, had nothing to do but sit there and watch him. and watch him you did.

the way his muscles shifted under his skin with every movement. the flex of his back, the dip of his hips, the subtle pull of his abs as he crouched to pick up shards of glass. you sat there like a fool, cheeks blazing, unable to look away.

he could model for anatomy textbooks, you thought, completely mesmerized. like, imagine turning to page 47 and seeing this man labeled as "muscular system: front view."

every part of him moved with that annoying grace certain people just had. the kind of grace that was only possible when you were stupidly, unfairly attractive.

he wiped the floor clean and tossed the paper towels aside, giving one final glance at the spot to make sure there wasn’t a single shard left behind. then he turned to you.

“all clear,” he said, standing to his full height. the towel on his hips slipped slightly lower, and your gaze shot to the ceiling so fast you almost got whiplash.

“thanks,” you muttered, trying to keep your eyes anywhere but there. you still saw it in your peripheral vision.

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “you sure you’re okay?”

am i okay? absolutely not. your tongue was burnt, your pride was in pieces, and your brain was playing a slow-motion highlight reel of his abs. you were the furthest thing from okay.

“yep,” you croaked, voice cracking at the end.

“here you go,” he said, handing you a glass of cold water. “it should help your tongue.”

“thanks,” you mumbled, cradling the glass with both hands. you refused to look directly at him, eyes darting everywhere in the room. the slow drip of condensation on the glass suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world.

“are you hot? you’re sweating,” he asked, leaning forward, his gaze landing on you with that soft concern he wore too easily.

you nearly spat the water back out. of course you were hot. this whole situation was hot. the room was hot. he was hot.

“it’s fine,” you blurted, shaking your head a little too quickly. “i’ll just shower.”

“yeah, sure. go ahead,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “bathroom’s the door on the left.”

he glanced down at you, eyes flickering over your dress just briefly. instinctively, you tugged at the hem like that would magically make it longer. you should’ve known minnie was setting you up when she called this look “casually dangerous.”

“your clothes…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “they don’t look super comfortable to sleep in, so if you want, i can lend you something.”

there was no reason for your heart to leap into your throat the way it did. it was a normal offer. a completely normal, helpful offer. but your brain decided to be weird about it. suddenly, you were picturing yourself in one of his shirts, fabric hanging loose on you, the scent of detergent and him faintly clinging to it. god, you needed help.

“okay,” you said, trying to sound normal, but it came out too fast.

“i’ll grab them for you,” he said, already heading toward his room.

as soon as he disappeared, you collapsed against the couch, exhaling hard like you’d just survived a boss fight. you dragged your hands down your face, letting out a muffled groan.

“pull it together,” you hissed at yourself.

walking into the bathroom didn’t help. the warmth hit you instantly, soft steam curling in the air. it smelled like aftershave and clean skin, and if there was a single coherent thought left in your brain, it got drowned out by the sensory overload.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath, tilting your head back with a groan. “what am i, thirteen?”

the mirror was fogged up, so you wiped at it with your sleeve, only to be faced with your own reflection staring back at you like girl, really? you pressed your hands to your cheeks, feeling the warmth that had nothing to do with the steam.

“i’m normal,” you announced firmly to no one but yourself.

except you weren’t, and you knew it. it wasn’t just the alcohol making your brain short-circuit anymore. you were sober now, and this was just you being ridiculous. the neatly folded clothes on the counter didn’t help. a plain white shirt and a pair of sweatpants sat there, fresh and clean.

you eyed the sweatpants, then glanced down at your legs, already knowing how this was gonna play out. still, you gave it a shot, pulling them up your legs after taking a (very) long shower. unsurprisingly, they swallowed you whole, the cuffs dragging behind you. yeah, no. you’d trip over yourself in less than a minute. sighing, you snatched up the shirt instead and pulled it over your head. it slipped down past your hips, the sleeves flopping well past your hands, turning them into little paw-like stubs.

“this will have to do,” you decided with a sharp nod to yourself.

when you finally stepped out of the bathroom, jaemin was lounging on the couch, scrolling on his phone. his gaze flickered up at you, and for a split second, he just blinked, eyes tracking down your frame before quickly darting back to his phone.

“where are the pants?” he asked, lips quirking up just slightly at the corner.

“too big,” you said.

“hmm” he hummed, looking up and letting his gaze drag just a little slower this time, eyes sharp with mischief. his tongue pressed against his cheek, a lopsided grin threatening to break free. “i see”

if your heart was pounding before, it was in full percussion solo mode now. but you just flopped down beside him, acting like everything was cool, like you weren’t hyperaware of every inch of bare skin peeking out from under the too-big shirt.

you glanced at the clock on the wall — 4:30 a.m. blinked back at you in dim red light. too late to be awake but too early to call it morning. your eyes shifted to jaemin, and you could see the weight of exhaustion hanging on him. his blinks were slower, his body slouched deeper into the couch cushions.

“jaem…” the nickname slipped out without warning, soft but certain. his eyes lifted to you immediately.

“you can go to sleep. i’m fine,” you said with a small smile, hoping it was convincing. “and… thank you. for everything. you’re too nice to me.”

his gaze lingered on you, steady and unguarded, like he was committing you to memory. then, his lips curved slowly into a smile. not his usual teasing grin but something gentler, sweeter. it hit you square in the chest, and you had to physically fight the urge to lean forward and kiss him.

you did not win that fight.

instead, you moved on instinct… leaning in and wrapping your arms around him. the moment you did, you panicked. it felt stiff, clumsy, like you’d misread the whole situation. you were just about to pull away when his arms slid around your waist, slow but sure.

he pulled you in, pulled you all the way in, until you were practically draped over him. your breath caught in your throat, heart thudding so hard you swore he could feel it.

his head dipped down, face tucked into the curve of your neck. the warmth of his breath hit your skin in soft bursts, and his hold on you tightened just a little more.

“it’s my pleasure,” he murmured, voice low and raspier than it had been all night. his lips brushed against your collarbone as he spoke, “always.”

good god, you nearly let out a sound you’d never be able to live down. every nerve in your body was on high alert. it had been so long since you’d been held like this.

his nose nudged against your neck lazily. you felt the butterflies in your stomach riot, wings frantic against your ribs.

“jaem…” you said, but it came out too soft, too breathless to sound like an actual warning.

“you smell good,” he muttered, voice all sleep and satisfaction. “you always smell good.” he breathed you in.

lord, have mercy.

“i think we should both sleep,” you murmured, but neither of you moved. neither of you even thought about moving.

“yeah,” he said, voice low and uneven.

“yeah,” you echoed, but it sounded less like agreement and more like an excuse for staying right where you were.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, but his arms stayed firmly around your waist. his eyes flickered down to your lips. on reflex, you wet them with a quick swipe of your tongue, suddenly self-conscious. his gaze darkened and you swore you felt the shift in the air.

“stop me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

but stopping him didn’t even cross your mind. not when he was looking at you like that. not when his face inched closer, closer…

his lips met yours softly at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide. you decided quickly. your hands slipped into his hair, pulling him in as you kissed him back with everything you’d been holding in all night.

he responded instantly. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you in place, deepening the kiss until it wasn’t soft anymore.

his other hand found your hip, gripping you firmly as he shifted you on top of him, his touch guiding you like he knew exactly where he wanted you to be. dangerous. this was so, so dangerous.

because you were only wearing that stupidly oversized shirt and the flimsy scrap of underwear underneath it. and when you settled fully onto his lap, you felt everything.

he must’ve felt it too, because his breath stuttered, and a needy groan escaped him, muffled against your lips. you felt it vibrate through your whole body, made you shiver as if he’d pressed his mouth to your spine instead.

his hand on your hip squeezed, fingers digging in just a little harder.

the kiss grew messier, wetter, breaths and tongues tangled together in a way that felt far past the point of no return. it didn’t help that his other hand left your neck, sliding down, fingertips trailing along your side before slipping under the hem of the shirt.

his hand slid up and up until…

he froze the second he realized. his palm pressed against bare skin, no bra, no barrier. you felt his breath hitch at the same moment you heard it.

“fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, his voice rougher now, heavier. his fingers spread wide, covering as much skin as he could reach, his palm warm and steady against your ribs.

and when his thumb brushed up, grazing just barely under the curve of your breast, the sound you made was far too needy. his gaze flicked back up to yours. like he was asking. like he was giving you one last out.

you didn’t take it.

his hand moved again, bolder this time. his palm slid over the curve of your breast, warm and firm, fingers curling around it as if it belonged to him. you sighed at the contact, eyes fluttering closed as your head tipped forward. it wasn’t enough. you didn’t know what “enough” would be, but it wasn’t this.

he must’ve felt it too, because his other hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin in slow, soothing circles. he tilted your face up, and for a moment, you thought he’d kiss you again. you tilted toward him, lips parting, but he had other plans.

instead, he leaned in and pressed his lips just beneath your ear. the warmth of his mouth sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could even process that, he was moving lower. he kissed his way along your neck, slow and steady, with the kind of patience that made your heart feel like it was on a countdown.

and then the kisses changed. his teeth grazed your skin, his lips sealed over the spot, and he sucked hard enough to make you gasp. your hands flew up, gripping at his shoulders as he trailed love bites down to your collarbones, marking you in a way that felt possessive, the kind you’d see after he was gone.

“jaemin,” you whispered, your fingers digging into his shirt. his name barely sounded like a name anymore.

his only answer was a low hum against your collarbone, his hand still working under your shirt. his fingers traced lazy lines along the sensitive skin beneath your breast, and just when you thought he was going to stay gentle, he pinched your nipple between his fingers.

you gasped sharply, hips jolting forward on reflex. “oh—”

he didn’t stop. he rolled it slowly between his fingers, feeling out every little reaction you gave him, every twitch and shiver. your body betrayed you, arching into his touch, and the way he smiled against your neck told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

instinct took over before you could think it through. your hips rocked forward against his lap — once, twice — chasing relief from the ache that had been building low in your stomach for too long. you felt the slickness between your thighs, hot and damp, soaking through the thin fabric of your underwear and seeping onto his sweatpants.

he felt it too. you knew he did from the sharp intake of breath he took, from the way his hands squeezed tighter his fingers digging into your hip, his other hand cupping your breast with just a little more pressure.

“fuck,” he groaned, head falling forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. his hips shifted beneath you, his arousal impossible to miss now. he was hard, and every roll of your hips dragged against him perfectly, making him curse under his breath.

the heat of it all was unbearable, and you had no one to blame but yourself. but at this point, did it even matter?

he lifted his head, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded. his gaze flickered from your face to where your hips met his lap, his tongue darting out to wet his lips

“i don't know how much longer i can hold back…” his voice was strained.

you blinked down at him, heart thudding hard against your ribs. every nerve in your body felt like it had been lit on fire, but somehow, you still managed to smile.

“who told you to hold back?”you said, voice soft but sure.

“shit…” he muttered, his voice low and wrecked. his fingers dug into your hips, guiding them down against him with a deliberate pressure that had your breath hitching in your throat.

it wasn’t just you moving anymore. he was moving you, rocking you back and forth against him faster, tired of pretending you weren’t both desperate for it.

your head tipped back as a broken moan spilled from your lips. the friction was too good, just the right amount of pressure to have your thighs trembling. the heat between you had gone from warm to blistering, every grind making you more sensitive, more aware of the damp mess you were both making between his sweatpants and your underwear.

his eyes locked on you, not wanting to miss a single second of it… the arch of your back, the part of your lips, the way your breath caught every time you sank down a little harder.

“look at you,” he breathed, voice rough and half-laughing. “getting this worked up over a little humping”

you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “i’m clearly not the only one,” you shot back breathlessly..

his lips were back on you in an instant, rougher than before, all teeth and tongue. his hands slid up your back, under his shirt you were wearing, fingers dragging against bare skin. his nails scratched lightly at your spine, sending chills down your whole body, and you gasped into his mouth.

he didn’t let you pull away. his lips chased yours, like he’d been starving for this, like now that he’d had a taste, there was no way he was stopping. he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and your body moved on instinct, hips rolling harder against him.

“fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, head falling back against the couch as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. his hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them tight as if to ground himself, but all it did was spur you on.

you leaned forward, trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, biting just enough to feel him shudder beneath you. his pulse was wild under your lips, and when you grazed your teeth against it, his hips bucked up so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs.

“you’re making it so hard to be soft right now,” he said through gritted teeth, head tipped back, neck bared for you like an invitation. his eyes flicked down to where you sat on him, where the line between you two had blurred so badly it didn’t seem to exist anymore.

“then don’t be,” you whispered against his ear, biting down on the lobe just to hear him curse again. “nobody asked you to be soft.”

that was all it took. his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with purpose. his next move was fast—you were on your back before you could register it, his body hovering over you, his weight pressing you down in a way that made your heart race in your chest.

his eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, hair falling into his face. he looked like a mess and it was perfect.

“say that again,” he said, voice nothing but gravel and breath. his hands slid up your thighs, pushing them apart, the slow drag of his touch enough to make you squirm. “say it again so i know you mean it.”

your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, and you reached up, fingers threading through his hair.

“nobody,” you whispered, tugging his head down just enough to make sure he heard you, “asked you to be soft.”

for a second, he didn’t move. just stared down at you like he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to eat you up.

then he leaned in, and when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t soft or tentative or testing the waters. it was raw, hungry, and so deep it knocked the air out of you. his hands moved with purpose, sliding up your thighs, pushing his shirt higher and higher until the air hit bare skin.

everything was heat and pressure and need. he was all you could feel, all you could hear — his breath heavy and uneven, his name falling from your lips like it was the only word you knew.

and when he finally pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was fighting to hold himself together, you knew you’d both already lost.

the next thing you know, his hands are tugging your shirt up and over your head, the fabric barely brushing past your arms before it’s gone. the cold air hits your skin for half a second before jaemin’s mouth replaces it, hot and relentless as he traces the curve of your collarbone, his lips dragging lower, slower.

when his mouth finally closes around your right breast, it’s warm and wet and just enough to have you mewling. his tongue flicks over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, his teeth grazing it just lightly, sending a sharp jolt of heat straight down to your core.

his free hand slides lower, fingers trailing down your stomach, over your hip, and slipping beneath the waistband of your lace underwear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he moves without hesitation, fingers seeking out the slick mess waiting for him, and the second he finds it, he lets out a low, rough groan against your skin.

“god, you’re so fucking wet,” he mutters, pulling off your breast with a slick pop, his breath fanning across your skin. he glances down between your legs, his gaze so heavy you feel it like a touch. his eyes darken, his tongue darting out to wet his lips like he’s hungry just looking at you.

he hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear, dragging them down in one slow pull, eyes locked on you like he’s scared to blink and miss it. the fabric barely makes it past your knee before he’s already looking back up at you, his pupils blown wide, lips parted with the kind of need that makes your chest feel too tight.

“let me eat you out,” he says, and his voice is rough and desperate.

you bite your lip like you’re thinking it over, but you know you’re going to say yes. you just like seeing him like this — all unsteady and breathless, too far gone to hide it.

“please,” he says again, this time more ragged, his voice cracking at the end like he might actually lose it if you make him wait any longer.

“okay,” you say, and it’s all he needs.

he’s on you in a heartbeat, sliding down your body so fast it’s dizzying. his hands are firm on your thighs, pulling them apart, spreading you wide until there’s nowhere left to hide. his gaze flicks up one last time, meeting yours like he’s checking, like he’s giving you one last chance to stop him.

but you don’t. you won’t.

he presses his fingers to your folds, parting you slowly, exposing everything to him, and the breath he takes is deep, like he’s savoring the moment before the fall.

then he leans in.

his nose brushes against you first, just a soft nudge that has your hips twitching on instinct. then his tongue follows in one long, slow drag from bottom to top that has your breath stuttering in your chest. his grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging into your skin like he’s steadying himself as much as you.

he moans against you, a deep, satisfied sound that you feel as much as hear, and his tongue dives back in, licking at you like you’re his favorite thing to taste. the movements are slow at first, deliberate, his tongue exploring every part of you like he’s trying to figure out exactly what makes you fall apart.

and you are falling apart.

your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as you let out a shaky, breathless moan. your hips twitch up, and his hands are right there to hold you down, keeping you still as his tongue moves with more certainty, more purpose, licking you with long, messy strokes that make you gasp.

his mouth doesn’t slow, if anything, it grows more determined. his tongue moves with precision now, circling that sensitive spot before flicking against it in quick, teasing bursts that have your hips jumping despite his firm grip.

“fuck, jaem—” your voice breaks on his name, your hands gripping the sides of the couch, searching for something, anything to ground yourself. but there’s nothing. nothing but him, his mouth, the obscene, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat building low in your stomach.

he groans again, the vibration shooting through you, his tongue flattening against you before he drags it up,

“taste so sweet,” he murmurs into you, his voice muffled, every word spoken straight into your skin.

“could stay here all night.”

the heat in your belly twists tighter at that, something about the way he says it, like he means it, like he’d ruin himself for this… for you. you’re already too close, and he knows it. he can feel it in the way your thighs tense, in the way your breath catches and your hips press up into him like you’re chasing something you can’t quite reach.

he hums in satisfaction, his lips wrapping around that sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just once, just enough to make your whole body jolt.

“god, jaem, i’m—” you don’t even finish the sentence before it hits you, crashing over you in waves so intense you forget how to breathe. you squeeze your eyes shut, mouth falling open on a silent cry as the pleasure hits you all at once, white-hot and overwhelming. he doesn’t let up, his tongue flicking against you through it, coaxing every last tremor from your body.

your fingers find his hair, tugging hard, half to ground yourself and half to make him stop because it’s all too much. he groans at the pull, but it only seems to spur him on, his hands tightening on your hips, keeping you pressed against his mouth.

“jaemin,” you say it firmer this time, tugging again, and finally, finally he pulls back, his lips and chin shiny with evidence of what he’s done.

“couldn’t help myself,” he says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth like he’s savoring every last bit of you. his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide, his hair a mess from where you tugged at it.

“you look so pretty when you cum,” he says, voice low and husky, and you hate the way your heart lurches in your chest as if he’s just said something sweet.

“you’re crazy,” you mutter, still catching your breath, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

“crazy for you,” he fires back, grin widening like he knows how corny it is and says it anyway.

and for some reason, it makes you laugh. a soft, breathy thing you can’t hold back.

in one smooth motion, he’s crawling back up your body, his hands framing your face as he settles his weight over you. his lips press to yours, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. reminding you exactly where that mouth has just been. you taste yourself on him, and it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

“not done with you yet,” he says against your lips, his hips pressing down against yours, and fuck, you feel how hard he is, the thick, solid pressure pressing right where you need it.

“then don’t stop,” your fingers slide down his back, nails scraping lightly.

he flashed a wicked grin, and before you could process it, you let out a startled squeal as he hoisted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. his arms were firm around your legs, his shoulder pressing into your stomach, and you could feel the strength in every stride as he carried you from the living room to his bedroom.

"jaemin!" you protested, your fists lightly tapping his back, but it only made him chuckle.

"keep squirming, baby. see where that gets you," he teased.

he laid you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. the cool, fresh scent of his sheets surrounded you, soft fabric meeting warm skin. it was a fleeting comfort, though. you both knew they wouldn’t stay this neat for long.

jaemin peeled off his shirt with one smooth motion, revealing the sharp lines of his chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. you bit your lip as he kicked off his sweatpants, leaving him in just his boxers. his gaze was locked on you, dark eyes brimming with heat and amusement, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

you watched mesmerized as he pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fingers searching until they found a small foil packet. he ripped it open with practiced ease, and when the condom rolled out into his palm, your eyes widened.

"that’s not the right size," you blurted out, half-laughing. "no way."

his eyebrows lifted, a challenge sparking in his eyes. "oh? wanna bet?"

then his boxers hit the floor.

oh.

your breath caught in your throat as your eyes dropped, taking in the sight of his dick. heat flooded your face. what the hell.

“close your mouth, baby,” he said, smirking. “unless you’re planning to put it to use.”

"shut up," you muttered, glancing away, cheeks blazing. "are you gonna do it or not?"

“do what?” he asked innocently, even as he climbed onto the bed, caging you in with his body. he hovered just above you, his grin infuriatingly smug.

“you know what.”

“hmm. don’t think i do,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your lips. “wanna say it for me, pretty girl?”

you pressed your lips together, heart thudding in your chest harder every second. you could feel the weight of him, his warmth, the tension that hung in the air like a live wire.

“fuck… me, jaem,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “louder, baby. i know you can be louder.”

he wasn’t wrong. flashes of earlier moments filled your mind, the way you were moaning and whimpering definitely wasn’t quiet. you swallowed the last bit of your hesitation.

“fuck me. please.”

he hummed, satisfied, his grin softening as he hooked his hands behind your knees and tugged you down toward him. you let out a quiet gasp, suddenly flat on your back, with him positioned directly above you. his body hovered just close enough that every shift of movement made you feel him.

your eyes flickered up to his face, and for a second, he wasn’t teasing anymore. his gaze was steady, searching, his eyes dark but kind. he reached out, fingertips tracing your jawline with such tenderness it made you ache in a different way.

“you okay, baby?” he asked softly, letting you know he’d stop everything if you said no.

your heart swelled at the care in his voice.

you nodded, fingers curling around his shoulders.

he leaned in, close enough for his breath to fan across your face. “need words, love.”

“i’m okay, jaem,” you said more firmly, gazing up at him.

his eyes lingered on yours a moment longer before he nodded. he took a pillow and carefully placed it behind your lower back

"good girl," he murmured.

he shifted, his hands steady on your hips, grounding you as he lined himself up. the anticipation coiled tightly in your stomach, a nervous, thrilling buzz. you felt him prodding at your entrance, he swiped his tip up and down, the action made you clench in anticipation. he eased in, inch by inch, the stretch stealing every ounce of air from your lungs.

his head dropped, forehead pressed against yours, jaw tense as his eyes squeezed shut. a soft curse left his lips. “fuck, so… so tight,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still.

the moans spilling from your lips mixed with his name, coming out soft and unrestrained. every inch of him felt like too much, the kind of stretch that made your breath catch and your nails press into his shoulders. it had been so long since you'd had sex that you'd almost forgotten what it felt like, and even back then, no one had ever filled you like this. jaemin was thicker, longer, and the difference was impossible to ignore.

"baby, if you keep squeezing me like that…" he laughed breathlessly, his fingers drawing slow, steady circles on your hip like he was trying to soothe you. “i might not make it all the way in.”

“s’rry, you’re… just too big,” you muttered, voice coming out more wrecked than you intended.

he bit down on his lip, eyes flicking down to where you were connected. the sight alone was about to undo him. "yeah?" he breathed, a little too satisfied with himself. his hand slid up, fingers pressing into your waist just a bit harder, grounding you in place as he pushed in deeper.

the pressure was overwhelming, every slow inch making you feel like you might fall apart right there beneath him. and the deeper he went, the more you swore you wouldn’t last long. the tight, aching pull in your stomach was already coiling up, twisting tighter with every second.

“you okay?” his voice was softer this time, the restraint obvious in how still he stayed once he’d finally bottomed out. his forehead pressed lightly to yours, lips hovering just close enough to brush your skin.

“mhm,” you nodded quickly, legs shaking around him.

“words, baby,” he said, and his fingers tilted your chin so you’d look at him.

“i’m okay, jaem. just…just move, please,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

"since you asked so nicely," he said with a grin that was all teeth and trouble. his hands gripped your thighs, pulling them higher against his sides. his hips pulled back, just enough for you to feel every inch of him drag out slowly, before he pushed back in.

the breath punched out of you. you didn’t even have time to recover before he was doing it again, sharper, testing just how much you could handle.

"god, you’re taking me so well, princess," he groaned, eyes flicking down to where your bodies connected. his hands slid up your sides, the warmth of his touch a sharp contrast to the way he was slamming into you. "like you were made for me."

“jaem-” his name was the only thing you could manage, high-pitched and broken. your head tipped back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut, but that only made everything feel sharper.

“what's that?” he asked, voice rough as he leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. "love it this much, huh?"

you didn’t answer, didn’t need to. he could hear it in every shaky breath, feel it in the way your body reacted to him.

his mouth was on yours a second later, messy and hot, his teeth dragging over your bottom lip before his tongue slid past it. he didn’t kiss you so much as claim you, taking everything you gave and then some. your fingers knotted in his hair, desperate for something to hold on to. the sounds between you were wet, frantic, each one making the coil in your stomach twist tighter.

you were close… so, so close.

but then he pulled away again, leaving you gasping at the sudden loss. before you could even think to complain, he grabbed your hips, flipping you over like it was nothing. your cheek pressed into the pillow, hips lifted, and you barely had a second to brace yourself before he was back inside you.

the first thrust knocked the air out of your lungs. it was deeper now, sharper, because he’d found a whole new spot to ruin you from. your fingers dug into the pillow, muffling the sounds spilling from your mouth, but even that wasn’t enough. the angle had you seeing stars, the kind of pressure that made your legs shake with every thrust.

“feel that?” his voice was right at your ear, low and rough. “feels different, doesn’t it?”

you nodded frantically, too gone to answer, but that wasn’t good enough for him. his hand slipped up, tangling in your hair, gently tugging you up just enough so he could hear you.

“talk to me, baby.” his voice was a rasp now, barely hanging on. "tell me how it feels."

“s’good…so good, jaem,” you gasped, words rushed and jumbled but still clear enough. "i’m- i’m gonna…”

“go ahead, baby," he said, lips brushing against your ear before he bit down softly on your earlobe, making you jolt. "want you to cum for me."

your whole body shuddered as the release crashed into you, slow and unrelenting, like a wave that just wouldn’t let up. it didn’t hit and fade away like usual — it lingered, making your muscles seize and tremble with every pulse. you felt boneless, your limbs heavy as you sagged against the bed, head turned to the side, cheek pressed into the pillow. jaemin stayed inside you, his grip on your hips loosening just slightly but his eyes stayed locked on you, dark and intent. you could feel him watching every little twitch of your body.

“look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “so pretty like this.”

he eased out of you slowly, and the emptiness that followed had you sucking in a sharp breath. your thighs shook as you tried to press them together, but his were still on you, thumb brushing softly along your inner thighs admiring how your cum slid down your dripping core.

you glanced down, lips parting at the sight. his cock was flushed, standing firm against his stomach, the condom showing nothing but a hint of precum mixed with the mess you’d left behind. a slow heat pooled in your belly again, your body already responding before your mind could catch up.

“you didn’t—” you started, but the words dissolved in your throat, eyes flickering back up to meet his.

you didn’t wait for him to say anything. your hand shot out, fingers curling around his wrist, and you tugged him forward. he followed easily, letting you pull him in close, his lips already parting like he was expecting a kiss. but just as he leaned in, you braced a hand on his chest and shoved him down flat on his back.

“oh?” he breathed out a soft, surprised laugh, his eyes widening as his head hit the pillow. “what’s this, huh?”

“shh,” you muttered, climbing over him, one leg swinging over his hips until you were straddling him. your palms flattened on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your hands.

“bossy now, are we?” his grin stretched wider, his hands sliding up your thighs with a slow, deliberate touch. he squeezed just above your knees, fingertips pressing into your skin.

“quiet,” you said leaning forward, your breath warm against his ear. “thought you’d like a girl who takes charge.”

his head tipped back with a breathy laugh. “oh, i do,” he said, voice trailing off into a low hum as his eyes dipped to where your hips hovered just above him. “but i like it even more when she can keep up.”

the corner of your mouth tugged up into a grin. “we’ll see,” you muttered, reaching between your bodies to wrap your hand around him. he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his whole body going rigid beneath you. even with just the faintest pressure of your hand, you could feel him twitch, his hips bucking up slightly.

“s-sensitive,” he hissed, jaw tightening as he pressed his head back into the pillow. but he didn’t stop you, didn’t even try. if anything, his fingers dug harder into your thighs, holding you steady like he was afraid you’d pull away.

“thought you could keep up,” you shot back, glancing up at him. his brows furrowed, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before they flickered back open. the teasing look on his face was gone now, replaced with something hungrier, more focused.

you lined him up with you, heart thudding hard against your ribs. you’d done this before, but it felt different now… the weight of his eyes on you, the way his hands gripped you just a little tighter as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. the stretch was slow, inch by inch until you felt him fill you completely.

“f-f—” his curse broke off into a low groan, his chest rising sharply as his hands slid up to your waist. “god, you’re—” he didn’t finish. couldn’t finish. his eyes screwed shut, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard you thought he might draw blood.

you braced your hands on his chest, fingers curling just slightly as you adjusted to the feeling. the heat in your core burned brighter, the ache of it twisting into something sharper, more desperate. you shifted your hips just a little, testing it, and the friction hit you so perfectly you gasped, nails digging into his chest.

“you okay?” his voice was strained, barely more than a whisper, but there was a thread of concern woven through it. his eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded but focused on you.

“mhm,” you nodded, breathless as you lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him slide out before sinking back down just as slow. his head tipped back, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, a low groan rattling from his chest.

“yeah, just like that,” he muttered, his grip on you loosening as he let you set the pace. “take your time, pretty girl.” his words slurred just a little, as if he wasn’t fully in control of them anymore. “feels so…” his breath hitched, head tilting back against the pillow.

his hands never stopped moving, though. they roamed up your waist, across your ribs until they found your boobs, they played there for a minute before sliding down to grip your thighs again. every time you dropped your hips, you watched the way his face twisted — brows pulling together, lips parting, his eyes half-lidded and glassy. his fingers twitched, his grip faltering like he wanted to touch you everywhere at once.

“harder,” he breathed, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. his eyes flicked up to yours, gaze locked, lips parted and shiny with spit. “don’t hold back.”

you bit your lip, grinning through the burn in your legs as you shifted your pace and started going faster. the sound of it echoed in the room and you felt the warmth building low in your belly again, tighter and tighter with every roll of your hips.

“y-yeah, just like that,” he gasped, voice cracking, his eyes fluttering shut again. he pressed his head back, the veins on his neck on full display, and you watched the way his adam’s apple bobbed with every uneven breath. his hands slid to your hips, guiding you in sync with his shallow thrusts upward. the movement was messy, desperate, his body seeking more even as he tried to hold on.

“gonna—” he bit out, breath hitching sharply. his eyes flew open, wild and unfocused as he stared at you like he wasn’t even sure what he was about to say. “gonna— oh, fuck—”

“yeah?” you gasped, leaning forward, your hands braced against his chest, fingers curling into his skin. “feels good, hm?”

he didn’t answer with words. he answered with his body, hips snapping up to meet yours, his fingers dragging down your back, hard enough to leave little streaks of heat in their wake. his breathing grew choppy, his body locking up beneath you as his grip on your waist turned bruising.

“don’t stop,” he panted, his voice rough, broken. “don’t— oh, fuck.”

you didn’t. not until you felt every last bit of him give in. his whole body went taut, muscles straining beneath you, his grip locking you in place as he let himself go. he groaned so deeply it sounded more like a growl, his breath hot against your neck as he pulled you down to him, holding you close.

“what’s the verdict, doctor?” you asked, tracing circles on his chest, still sat on top of him.

“hm,” he hummed with his eyes still closed, lips tugging up at the corners as if he was fighting off a grin. “patient shows signs of extreme confidence. possible cause: being too good at driving me crazy.”

you snorted, tilting your head to look at him. “is that your professional diagnosis?”

“oh, absolutely,” he said, cracking one eye open to meet yours. “might need to run some more tests, though. you know, for accuracy.”

“yeah?” you leaned in, your lips ghosting over his jaw. “what kind of tests, doctor?”

his hands slid up your back, fingers splayed wide as they pressed you closer. “thorough ones,” he muttered, his voice rasping against your ear. “real hands-on approach.”

“sounds serious,” you teased, letting your nails drag lightly down his chest. “hope your credentials check out.”

“i’m overqualified, baby,” he breathed, tipping his head back against the pillow with a lazy grin. “let me show you.”

part two

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