#one of the last things i remember hearing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

musingsofheaven · 1 day ago

Text

MOUTH HABIT

summary: Johnny comes home to find you already overstimulated and curled up on the couch with a popsicle in your mouth. He knows what you need before you can say it and knows exactly how to take care of you. He just has to put his fingers in your mouth and his tongue between your thighs.

pairings: johnny storm x afab!reader

warnings: 5.5k words. mature themes. oral fixation. oral sex. (f!receiving) fingering. dacryphilia undertones. emotional dysregulation. praise kink. body fluids. (drool/cum) d/s dynamics. overstimulation. read responsibly.

note: in honor of my ongoing oral fixation smuts… i wanna add johnny to the growing collection. this is very soft dom!johnny and i love how it turned out. hope you will like it too. (reblog to support me!)

It started on Monday. One small thing after another, stacked and silent. A forgotten class quiz. The weird look from your professor when you asked to reschedule. Your phone screen cracked. Even when your shampoo ran out, it pissed you off and maybe it’s your fault because you didn’t remember buying new stock in the first place. When you walk in the hallway, you couldn’t forget the way someone hit your shoulder and didn’t even apologize. You also almost cried when the bus left five minutes earlier than the practiced and memorized schedule you already knew. Your charger sparked when it plugged in. A guy catcalled you while you were walking with groceries.

Tuesday didn’t give you time to recover. Neither did Wednesday. By Thursday, you were sucking the sleeves of your hoodie again. Biting the plastic spoon from lunch until it split down the middle. Swapping it for a straw that left soft welts in your lip when you clamped down too hard. Everything started buzzing- skin, scalp, joints- like your body was trying to say something but you wouldn’t let it. Couldn’t.

Friday brought the storm. He was gone again, called away two nights earlier. Something about being him in the Fantastic Four. You already know what it means. No updates. No text. No voice note, even though he always sends one. But not when he’s on the mission. You were left pacing the apartment like it could summon him. Fingers twitching. Gums sore. Too afraid to bite your nails again. Not with how raw your skin already felt.

Now it’s late. You lost count of the hour after the third shower. The last popsicle is already half-melted, clenched between your lips while you curl into the couch cushions, legs pulled up loosely and a blanket slipping off your knee. You keep sucking. It doesn’t help. He finds you like that. The door unlocks with the quiet click you’ve trained yourself to hear. You don’t turn your head. You don’t move at all.

“Hey.” His voice is rough. Not like something’s wrong- just tired. Just used. There’s a bag drop, a zipper tug, keys sliding into the table, and then the creak of old floorboards as he moves closer. Your eyes stay fixed on the carpet. One sticky drip from the popsicle rolls down your wrist. “Baby…” You flinch when his hand touches your shoulder. It’s not because you are traumatized by him or he’s hurting you. It’s also not because you don’t want him. It’s about your body being sensitive and turned up too high for days. You’re overstimulated and don’t know how to turn it down yet.

“I didn’t get a chance to text.” He says to assure you that it was not his intention to ignore you. His fingers gently trace across your back and it’s warm through the thin shirt you wore since last night. “Sorry, baby,” Your tongue shifts the popsicle further in. It scrapes the roof of your mouth too hard. “Hey. Look at me,” he mutters before he drops to his knees in front of you. His white tee is fitted enough to cling to his chest and a little damp at the collar because of sweat and wrinkled at the hem. There’s soot smudged across his jaw, and a faint gash near his knuckle that looks fresh.

One hand is placed on your knee while he moves closer to you. His eyes look down at your lips as his voice turns lower. “Baby. Come on. What’s going on in that head?” You try to answer. Something stutters behind your teeth, but the popsicle muffles it. Your jaw feels so sore you don’t even want to open it to answer him. He reaches forward to take it out of your mouth gently. Slide it from your mouth with two fingers. Clear saliva stretches, then breaks.

“You've been like this when I’m gone?” That’s when your face crumples. No sound. Just the kind of cry that folds everything inward. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t freak. Just set the popsicle aside and lean in, palms on your thighs. His voice is soft and even now. “Want me to help you?” Your head jerks in a nod before your brain can catch up.

“You wanna feel good?” His thumbs trace lazy circles over your legs. “Let me help, baby. Just let me.” No answer leaves your mouth. Not right away. Not even when he tilts his head and waits for one. The popsicle’s long gone, set aside somewhere near the table, but the stickiness still lingers on your lips. He can tell. You haven’t blinked much. Haven’t breathed right in maybe hours.

The blanket shifts under your palms. One slow push downward and it falls off your legs completely, folding over the cushion beside you. You don’t break eye contact. Don’t say a word. The edge of your shirt lifts with the motion, and suddenly it’s all skin- your bare thighs, your stomach, the curve of your hip showing under the band of thin cotton. Just your panties. Nothing else. Because what for? You’d been alone and anxious.

This was comfortable. This was all your body could handle. Johnny takes a deep breath as if he saw the most softest thing in his life. Hand sliding higher from the knee up to your thigh. Knuckles are brushing the soft flesh inside. He doesn’t even look smug, considering he always looks smug. Doesn’t even look turned on. Just focused. Careful. One finger lifts the hem of your shirt, then lets it fall again like he’s checking if you’re still. “You want my help, baby?”

The question’s barely above a whisper. His thumb strokes your skin once. Then again. “I can make it better,” he adds, eyes tracking the lines under your eyes. “You don’t have to think. Just let me.” Still nothing from you. But your legs shift. Just enough. Not spread, not yet, but parted enough to breathe easier. Enough to let him fit his hands there without question.

He reaches for you again, this time higher. Two fingers lift toward your face. It’s slow and easy. His palm open. He waits. “You need somethin’ in there, right?” His voice stays low, coaxing. “It’s okay. Just this. I got you.” Lips part around his knuckles before he touches you. They slide in like it’s instinct, like your body’s been waiting for this exact shape. The moment they press against your tongue, your jaw trembles again- but this time, the tears don’t come.

Warmth seeps back into your mouth, your cheeks, your chest. “That’s it,” he murmurs, already pushing in further. “There we go.” His fingers move gently between your lips, never too fast, never choking. He watches you with that look again- not hungry, not impatient. Just still. It’s like he’s enjoying studying you- this very version of you today that welcomed him home. He also checks how deep he can go with you and how gentle he needs to be.

And then his free hand starts to trace the waistband of your panties and tugs it slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Just curling his fingers under the side, soft and slow, sliding them down your hips, inch by inch, until the cotton peels away from your cunt. He doesn’t even look yet. Keeps his eyes on your mouth, the way you’re sucking his fingers like you’ll shatter without them.

“You’re okay,” he says. “I got you, alright? Gonna take care of it now.” Fingers stay hooked inside your mouth even as the waistband is tugged down and off completely. Damp cotton clings for a second before peeling from your skin, leaving a faint string of slick stretched between the gusset and your cunt. His hand doesn’t leave your lips. Still pressing into your tongue. Still curled against it like he knows you’d cry if he stopped.

Both hands wrap around his forearm just to make sure it stays. Nails bite in. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to show it matters. Your mouth sucks around his fingers harder than you mean to, like they’ve replaced breathing. The taste of salt and faint soot lingers in your throat. Between your legs, he shifts. Thighs fall open as his palms guide them, spreading you wide enough to let him fit.

His eyes lift- just once, just long enough to check if you’re still there. That you’re still with him. Then he dips his head and presses his mouth to your inner thigh. Warm lips drag over skin still trembling from hours of tension. He placed a kiss just above the curve of your knee first. His breath warms it before he moves higher. It’s slow and steady, he’s taking his time. It’s also like a silent thing between the two of you that you already did before.

The scrape of his stubble leaves your legs twitching. His mouth never breaks contact, like each inch of untouched flesh is a wound that needs sealing. Another kiss. Then another, higher. Tongue flicking at the crease just beside your cunt. It’s so close where you want him but it’s also enough to make your hips jerk forward. Fingers fall away from him just for a few seconds to brace yourself. You whimper around the ones still in your mouth.

His thumb presses under your thigh to hold it higher. His other hand slides under your ass for leverage as he leans closer, lips grazing the inside of your upper thigh before finally nosing between your folds. Mouth opens, tongue slipping out to taste you slowly. The first lick is lazy. He doesn’t rush. Just a flat drag from bottom to top, soaking you with spit, letting your pussy twitch under it. Then he does it again, slower. A warm breath follows right after, cooling the slick he left.

The fingers in your mouth curl just a little. Your eyes flutter shut. Knees try to close, but his broad shoulders pin them apart. When he kisses your clit, it’s gentle. Almost sweet. Barely a press. Then the tip of his tongue traces it in a circle, patient, like he’s memorizing the shape. The muscles in your belly tighten on instinct. A soft “mmphh” escapes with the next suck on his fingers. He grunts low when you squeeze around him again, like he feels every flutter.

One hand keeps you open. The other dips back down. His middle finger teases your hole without pushing in, just slicking up the entrance. Tongue flattens over your clit again, firmer now, sliding side to side. The pace builds slowly- too slow, really- but you can’t form a sound to complain. His mouth covers you completely, sucking just enough to make the nerves spark and sizzle, then pulling back again like he’s keeping count.

Tongue flicks fast- once, twice, then slow again. It makes your back arch. The fingers in your mouth get wetter the more you drool, the more your throat tightens around the weight of them. He never pulls them out. Just lets you keep them there like a pacifier. A tether. You hold his arm with both hands again, anchoring him in place. Like you’re scared he’ll stop if you let go. He doesn’t stop.

Keeps licking. Keeps kissing. Keeps tasting you like it’s all he’s thought about since his boots hit the apartment floor. When his tongue dips down to your hole again, he groans softly into it, tongue pressing forward like it wants in. Then he drags it back up with a hum that makes your clit throb. Another low sound escapes you- wet, desperate.

Your hips roll against his mouth without thinking. One more lick. Then another. Then a kiss, deep and open-mouthed, tongue pressing hard into the same spot until your whole body tenses, but still, he doesn’t let you come. He just keeps going. One hand stays in your mouth. Warm fingers resting heavy on your tongue, wet to the knuckle now, almost too deep.

Your jaw’s already started to tremble from the pressure, and he can feel it. That little shake. That soft, tired flutter of muscle while your lips stay wrapped, trying to keep him in. There’s drool starting to slick his wrist, and you don’t even try to wipe it. He’s never pulled away when it happens like this. Never once told you to stop. Below, his other hand works between your thighs.

Sticky, swollen, dripping so much it’s hard to stay still on the couch. Every pass of his fingers through your folds sounds wet, filthy. There’s no space to breathe down there- not with the way he moves. Not with how slow his tongue is, how he doesn’t rush. Just sucks so soft, circles the tip of his tongue around that throbbing knot like you’re not already crying from how long you’ve been waiting.

“I know, I know,” he mutters, voice muffled against you, a little rasped at the edges. His tongue flattens, slides up, and presses hard just under your clit before wrapping around it. “I know it’s too much.” A few more sucks. Slow ones. Languid, focused, greedy. His mouth stays latched while he talks. “Couldn’t get back sooner,” he says between licks. “Wasn’t allowed.”

Your hips twitch under his grip, and he drags two fingers down your inner thigh to hold you steadier. Doesn’t stop eating you. His lips are slick. The sounds echo inside your apartment- mouth on cunt, fingers in mouth, soft breath hissing between your teeth every time your throat tightens around the need to moan.

Another slow lick. Then another. “You waited for me?” he asks, more of a murmur now, the heat of it spilling straight into your pussy. “Didn’t fuck yourself once?” You blink hard. His hands are holding his forearms tighter. Nails digging into it that will leave moon marks. Not rough, but desperate. It’s the only way you can keep his hand up near your mouth. You’re not sucking anymore- you’re just holding him there now. Letting him press down on your tongue like he owns your mouth.

He groans low, just from seeing it. Shifts a little closer on his knees, enough to press his chest against your calves where they hang off the couch edge. Then he mouths at your clit again. “This is what happens when I’m gone, huh?” The question’s slow, almost cruel with how softly it comes. Every word makes your chest cave a little more. Not from pain- just from too much. You’d already been dripping when he came in.

Already overstimulated before he even opened the front door. “You wait right here, suck your popsicles, and cry for me?” He lifts his mouth to breathe, fingers slipping lower to rub just around your entrance, teasing. “And I wasn’t even here to watch.” Your pussy clenches, but he doesn’t push inside yet. Just strokes his fingers there, so slow it makes your toes curl against the cushion. Then he lowers his head again.

His tongue presses flat again. Stays there. Lips suck right around your clit while he rubs two fingers just beside your hole, never giving more than that. The pressure is thick, cloying, a little maddening. You make a tiny noise around his hand, and he moans against your cunt. “Don’t stop,” he says low, voice sliding down your skin. “Keep my fingers in, pretty girl. I need that.”

Your chest jerks up again, like air doesn’t want to stay inside. He feels it. “Don’t hide your sounds.” One more lick. Then a slow suck. Then a kiss right against your folds like he missed them. “Let me say sorry properly.” His tongue doesn’t stop after that. Tongue dragging slow, heavy, wet- he sucks on your clit with his lips slack around it, mouth lazy like he’s drinking from it.

One hand remains underneath your thigh to hold it up and keep pushing it open so you won’t close your legs. He’s pinning you down while you threaten to close your legs around his head. He groans straight up into your cunt every time your thighs twitch and squeeze together like he wants his head to be crushed. Like the pressure turns him on more.

But the hand there didn’t stay for long enough. He sneaks it between your legs to slip his finger inside without giving you any heads up. You know how thick his fingers are so it makes you jumpy when you feel it. The pace is just slow and sliding effortlessly to your pussy like it belongs there. No buildup, no teasing, just in and it stretches you open, warm and full, his knuckle curling shallow on the first thrust. Then again. Then deeper. “You’re dripping,” he mumbles against you, tongue circling in tight, wet strokes. “Still fucking leaking.”

Suction pulls hard at your clit when he says it. He keeps licking even when he talks, mouth not stopping, like the words are just coming out through it- tongue messy, lips shining. “Missed how this tasted. Didn’t even get to-” He swirls his finger deeper and hooks it inside. “-fuck you properly last time.” Saliva coats his fingers as you keep sucking them. Lips stretched around his middle and ring, jaw sore and mouth warm.

Your tongue moves around the knuckles, sloppy now. Not neat anymore. Not teasing. Just needy. His forearm flexes under your grip when you tighten your hold on him. It’s not about balance anymore- you’re not steadying yourself. You need him to keep his hand up, or you might cry if his fingers slip off your mouth. The need to keep him stay there and to keep fucking your mouth like this is beyond measurable. There's a drool at the corner of your lips that keeps leaking out of your mouth. It slips down to your chin down to your covered chest. You don’t care at this point if it will get soaked.

Your eyes are barely open. Knees twitch every time his lips close around your clit and suck, and you choke around his fingers each time his finger curls inside your pussy a little harder. “Don’t close,” he mutters, voice low and thick as he pulls back just enough to talk clearly. “Let me- let me see.” A breath lands warm against your inner thigh. “I like when it’s open.”

Tongue presses flat against you again. He doesn’t waste time, just drags it up the full length of your slit, slow and deliberate, finger pushing in deeper like he’s guiding himself with every lick. Another groan slips out when your legs threaten to snap shut again, but he shoves your thigh higher, forces it wider, and plants a kiss right above your clit like a reward.

“Still so fucking pretty,” he breathes. His voice sounds almost lazy now. Wrecked, but in control. Like he’s just settling in. “You gonna stay still for me? Hm?” The finger inside you moves again, gentle this time. His tongue presses down with it, and your whole body jolts. Every nerve keeps lighting up brightly like electricity that is plugged directly into his mouth and hands. You don’t stop yourself from moaning- you don’t even try to silence yourself when your mouth is already full. It’s full enough to get muffled, let out wet sounds, and hum that pulls out from your throat. Your hips are bucking twice and desperate for something harder, but you know this is what you can take right now.

Your pussy clenches down hard around his finger. “Mmph- fuhhck…” It’s barely a sound with how wide your lips are stretched, but it’s there. It’s needy. It’s messy. He hears it. Hears you struggling. And laughs once, dark and low, before sucking hard on your clit again, tongue flicking fast underneath.

“Can’t stop now,” he says to you. His breath is wet, voice coming through your cunt like a vibration. “You’re close.” Finger still pumping slow inside, curling each time like he’s looking for something deeper. The drag of his knuckle makes you twitch again. Your legs lift. Toes curl. “Let me stay here a little longer, baby.” Another kiss against your folds, mouth lingering. “Don’t close. Keep her open for me.”

The more you try to keep your legs open for him, the harder it shakes and the muscles harden. They’re refusing to cooperate. You could feel how it clenched up tight like instinct. It’s too much, too fast- your cunt squeezing around his fingers again while your thighs twitch around his head. Every small shift only smears your slick higher onto his wrist, every squeeze of his knuckle-deep fingers pulling a sound out of your mouth that isn’t even a real word anymore.

“Mm-hm. Try to keep ‘em open for me,” he says, voice rough against your clit, lips grazing it as he speaks. “Come on. Thought you wanted to be good.” Your eyes roll the moment he pulls his fingers back until they reach the tip of his nails just to thrust them deep again. Drool didn’t stop slipping past the corner of your mouth as you kept his other hand’s fingers on your mouth. Lips stretched enough to fit his two fingers, and your chin feels wet but hot and stringy at the same time. It’s slicking his wrist too.

A wet patch darkens your shirt where it soaks in. “Still suckin’? Even like this?” he murmurs. His breath cools your skin when he lifts his head just enough to watch your face. “What the fuck am I gonna do with you?” Thighs press tight against his cheeks, crushing in when his tongue flicks fast and steady at your clit, tip dragging back and forth while his fingers curl hard inside you.

The pressure makes you clamp down so suddenly that your body jerks forward, shoulders curling in while you fight to keep your hips from escaping the pace. But he doesn’t stop. A fresh gush leaks out of you when he fucks his fingers deeper, and all you can do is moan around his hand. “Mmfh- nnnhg- ah-! fuck, fuhh-”

You’re drooling too much to breathe through your nose, wet and messy and shaking all over as you try to speak through it. “Please- please don’t stop- don’t- hahhn, I’m- I can’t, I can’t-” His mouth stays locked over your clit, tongue stilling just enough to suck on it like he’s trying to bruise it, then flicks again when your hips jump under him.

Your thighs twitch like they’re going to close again, but this time, he presses them apart at the knees with one wide palm, holding you down as you start to tremble harder. “Let it out,” he says low against you. The heat of his mouth returns so quickly you flinch. “C’mon. Give it to me. Let me feel you do it.”

Pussy tightening around his digits and there’s a sudden snap in your stomach that sends heat climbing up to your spine. Wet pulses grip him as your clit throbs between his lips. The orgasm punches through your stomach like it’s tearing something open, and your whole body locks up back arching, legs clenching, jaw slack around his soaked fingers. You don’t even realize how hard you’re crying out until your throat burns from it.

Every breath afterward is broken. You’re shaking, moaning, sucking air in through spit-slick lips as you ride it out, hips grinding into his face like your body’s forgotten what to do without him. Tongue stays buried against your clit. Not flat anymore. He’s fucking into it now- short, thick motions, tip stiff and flexing like he’s trying to push in, like he thinks he can make you feel filled there too. That soft flicking you could almost ride has turned brutal, all hips and thrust, and he’s still fingering you while he does it.

Still fucking you open down there like his mouth isn’t already dragging everything raw. You buck up into his face, thighs shaking, cunt leaking. The mess is loud now. Wet noises every time his fingers pump in deep, then curl. His wrist rolls to chase your spot with every thrust and you don’t even realize you’re grinding down harder, letting him push in all the way just to keep feeling full. His fingers don’t stop. They slip faster, twist, spread inside you when you clench too tight.

He groans low like he feels it in his mouth- tongue shoving hard against your clit as he holds you still by your thighs, his hand gripping down so firm your leg jumps. Heat rises up your chest again. You’re still sucking on the fingers in your mouth, wet and glossy from drool, barely tasting skin through the pulse in your throat. You can’t breathe right. Can’t stop moving. His tongue won’t let up.

He lets out a low grunt against your cunt, hot and rough, then pushes his face in deeper like he wants you to cum again. Like he knows you can’t, not yet, but he’s gonna ruin every second trying. “Mmf- shit-” You break around the fingers in your mouth, words falling apart in your throat. “Too- fuck, Johnny, too much-”

Doesn’t slow down. He just curls his fingers deeper inside you like he’s trying to scrape the high out of you early. Tongue still thrusting against your clit, wet and stiff and relentless, hips barely moving now except for the small grind of his face against yours. He’s hungry. Eyes half-lidded, breathing heavy through his nose, lips slick with spit and cunt.

Your leg kicks. Doesn’t matter. He shoves your thigh back open, forces it wide with his arm so he can stay right there. All you can do is sob around his fingers while cumming. It feels like a drop off a cliff. Your thighs twitch and lock in midair, feet sliding down the bed with no grip, toes curling against the sheets, and he’s still- fuck, he’s still- he’s still sucking and fingering and licking you like you didn’t just gush on his face thirty seconds ago.

Shudders rack your hips in quick, wet jerks while your pussy clenches down on his fingers. They keep moving. One curls hard, stroking along that sweet spot that’s already sore and swollen. The other presses just under your clit, not rubbing it but keeping it trapped, stuffed, filled so deep you feel him all the way behind your belly button.

Muscles spasm from the inside out, dripping slick around his knuckles, and it just won’t stop. Warm gush pushes out again, thinner now, messier, pattering between your thighs while your pussy tries to squeeze it back in. But he pulls out. Pulls out with a wet suck and a slap of his palm flat over your inner thigh to hold it open.

Then his tongue replaces his fingers. It dips right in, mouth sealing over your hole like he wants to kiss the cum back in. Nose smushed tight to your clit while he slurps and swallows everything you spill. The sound is obscene. Wet, hungry, like he’s starving. Tongue curling as deep as he can force it, licking into the center of every twitch while more slick leaks down the curve of his chin.

Something breaks in your throat. Not a cry. Not a moan. Just a thin, cracked ahhh- lost halfway out of your chest. Teeth bite down hard on his fingers still inside your mouth, just to keep yourself from screaming. “Mmf- ngh, fuck,” slips past anyway, drooling around the knuckles you’re trying to suck through it.

Drool keeps flowing out of your mouth like a waterfall. It goes straight to your neck and sticks to your wrist where your hand is pressing tightly against your face. It even lands in the collar of your shirt. It’s warm and slick, and soaking the fabric. He groans into your cunt. That low sound from his chest sends another pulse through your pussy, another twitch of your thighs, another roll of your hips like you’re trying to hump his face even though your muscles aren’t working right anymore.

Still licking. Still swallowing. Still sucking your hole like it’s feeding him. You clamp your thighs around his head and whimper into his fingers, still biting down hard, not to hurt him- just to keep from falling apart again. Tongue glides through the mess he made, slow now. Not teasing, not hungry- just gentle, warm strokes to catch the last of your cum and drink it down.

He kisses your pussy like he’s calming it, sealing over your folds with one last soft suck that makes your hips flinch again. Everything’s still twitching, sticky, wet, and swollen. Too much. When he finally pulls away, your legs don’t uncurl. They stay loose over his shoulders, knees bent and trembling. Breath comes thin and shaky. The space between your thighs feels raw, slippery, stretched open too long. His face is soaked. Mouth swollen. Chin slick with the wet that’s still dripping down from your cunt.

He looks up and gives you the softest hum, lips parting so you can watch him swallow all of it. Then he climbs up your body. Palms brace on either side of your waist as he moves over you, slow and careful like he doesn’t want to press too hard. The moment his face gets close, your hand reaches up on instinct. Fingertips smear against the wet on his cheek while your eyes meet, and then he leans down and kisses you.

Mouth warm. Tongue lazy. He likes the taste of you. It’s salty and sweet, just right for him. Your thighs are squeezing against his sides as he kisses you deeper. It’s slow like he doesn’t want to stop. Like this is the after. Not the cleanup, not the end just this, the kiss. You whimper into it when he starts to pull away. “Shh,” he breathes against your lips, brushing hair off your forehead. “I’m just getting something to clean you up. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Still makes you whine. Makes your fingers curl in the sheets where he used to be. The second his weight leaves the bed, your body feels emptier, colder, too bare. Cunt still wet and throbbing with leftover sensitivity, lips fluttering like they don’t know if they’re done being used. He moves fast. Crosses the room, grabs tissue off the desk, then glances around like he’s mentally taking stock of everything he needs. Comes back with water, too, a small bottle already uncapped.

One of his hands wipes clean the slick from his mouth as he sits beside you on the couch. “Lift your hips a little for me,” he asks you in a low and soft voice. It’s like he’s talking to a patient. The tissue’s warm from his hand. He dabs between your thighs first, being careful not to touch your clit. Cleans the mess dripping from your hole, the slick sticking to your inner thighs, the smear near your ass. Switches to a fresh one and folds it carefully, using the clean edge to blot around your folds.

Each motion is slow, delicate, respectful- but it still makes your breath hitch when the paper drags over the most tender parts. “Doing okay?” he asks while working. “Mm,” is all you manage. Lips sticky. Throat dry. Muscles useless. He smiles. Leans over to press a kiss to your hip while he finishes wiping you down, then tosses the tissues aside and holds the water bottle to your mouth.

“Drink a little,” he says, thumb brushing under your chin. “Just a sip.” Plastic touches your lips. Cold water slides into your mouth, and you swallow with your eyes closed. A second sip. Then a third. He lets you go slow. “You were amazing,” he says after a beat. “I mean it. I’ve never- fuck, I’ve never seen anyone fall apart like that. So pretty, baby. You made a mess all over me.”

Your hand tries to cover your face to hide your face, but he’s faster and catches your wrist before pressing a kiss there. Moves it away just so he can see you better. One last tissue is used to gently clean the edge of your mouth where drool had dried during your orgasm. Another soft wipe across your cheek. Then he tosses the rest aside and leans back in to kiss your forehead.

“Come here,” he whispers, arms curling under you to help guide you upright. He doesn’t let you do anything. Just pulls you into his lap, sits you between his legs, and wraps his arms around your waist like you’re breakable. Chin rests on your shoulder while your cheek presses against his. You can feel his heart under your hand. Still fast. Still thudding, even now.

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing your neck. “You did so good. Just breathe. Take your time.” Warmth blooms in your chest. Body still weak, mind still floating, but everything starts to settle. His voice makes it easier to come down. His arms, his hands, the soft rock of his lap while you lean into him- everything feels safe here. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs again, right next to your ear. “Every time.”

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⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

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bananapurincore · 2 days ago

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(Phainon, who can't stop bringing you up every second of the day and making you everyone's problem one way or another)

“Mydeimos! That's not very nice to say, is it? Do I really have to pick between ‘getting my tongue ripped out’ or ‘getting my windpipe crushed,’ because neither seem ideal.”

Yes, the prince thinks, he’ll even give Phainon the courtesy of doing both if he hears your name another time. Maybe he’ll put in “snap his neck” to the growing list of punishments he has planned and once that's done, be forced to get creative and add more, but that's in the non-zero chance it does get worse.

Miraculously, it does. Mydei shouldn't have been surprised.

They both put their hands in the Verax Leo, Mydei is decidedly not amused by this from the start, but this was allegedly supposed to be a team effort on their part. The prince doesn't exactly remember the stupid riddle this statue in particular decided to spout out—he does remember every gripe and complain his partner makes in response.

Before, it was “If [Name] were here, how would they’ve tried to solve it…”

“Y'know they always get these puzzles right? Haha, they're just good at everything, I don't know how they do it.”

“[Name] said one time that this was their favorite one to talk to. Which, fine, I think this one's the most fair, but he's also the most annoying, don’t you think?

Now, it's, "Mydei, you still haven't gotten an answer yet? If [Name] were here, they'd already have this figured out!"

The blond feels his whole body twitch. Not just his eyes, or his hand resting in the lion’s maw, or his nose as he tries not to lose his patience entirely. One page of creative reparations won't be enough. He'll need three. Even four.

"Then why didn't you bring [Name] instead of me, Deliverer?!"

Anaxa does not do any form of assigned seating because he knows his students are all adults, even when they don't act like ones.

But for the first time in a long time, he does consider when Hyacine does move to sit down, usually next to Castorice. This isn’t his biggest problem, they’re rather well-behaved on their own; it arises when you sit next to Castorice, and he is sat next to you, that this cursed lineup allows for decreased efficiency on everyone’s part.

But still, he doesn’t believe himself to be that petty (for his standards), the sage has much more proficient ways at getting desired results from his students.

“You,” Anaxa had murmured, leaning in closer to his student’s seat to distribute the work,“Cannot pick the same partner you had last time for this assignment.”

The Heir tilted his head slightly, eyes narrow in thought.

“That's fine,” Phainon assured quickly, “Can I have—”

“No,” He drawled, cutting off his line of thinking, knowing exactly where he was planning to go with it. “In fact, starting today, I've decided you no longer have the option to pick at all.”

This got the boy's attention, prompting the same nervous smile Anaxa remembered he made on the first day. A little pathetic. If not a calculative move (One that likely works on the softhearted, not that he'd know).

“Professor! Let's not be rash. You said this would take weeks to complete, right?”

“I did. And you're not worming yourself out of this, if that's what you're planning. Find someone else that'll humor your nonsense.”

The heretic hears him groan before moving on to the next desk.

✧.*

“You did a fairly decent job. But I can't help but feel as though this isn't aligned with what you normally give me.” The sage sighs, handing the content back. The room was quiet, no other sounds except you and the other girls talking outside the door, waiting for your companion to be dismissed.

“Must've not been using your good eye when you graded this…” The fainter edges of Phainon's silver snow hair dances in the draft flowing through the room, contrasting the disappointed look on his face.

“What was that?”

“Huh? What was what? You're always hearing things, Professor. It scares everyone, including me.” Amusing. Déjà vu, Anaxa is sure he feels. Who else taught him to talk like that?

… No matter. “You don’t think I don’t notice how… disinterested you are when you don’t get what you want?”

“I… don't suppose you'll tell me what that means.” Phainon smiles, as gently as ever (His ears are a different story, the tips flushing with warmth).

“Don’t look so lost. I meant your topic paper, obviously. You're upset because they were random.”

“Right! I just hate not knowing ahead of time.”

Right.

It was one of the casual conversations with the Chrysos Heir that Dan Heng has had frequently with him since arriving. This time, he was treated with some eatery at near the Market that he was thoroughly enjoying, nothing like on any of the other planets he’s been to so far. He had been able to gleam details about everyone else within the Deliverer’s inner circle, and it had eventually fallen to you. At first, they were helpful tidbits, like how they were for the other heirs before you, until they became less and less relevant as the discussion about you went on. Now, for whatever reason, Dan Heng knows exactly what kinds of sweets you like.

“[Name] likes everything cold. Anytime I get them something fresh, they always expect me to chill it first—and I do, of course. Even if it’s right from the oven, they’ll wait for at least half an hour before taking a bite out of it. They prefer ice cream over everything else, so in that regard, they’re pretty easy to shop for.”

Sure, why not. Maybe there’ll be an instance where he’s talking to you and this information can be appropriately applied.

“I’ll make sure to tell Stelle this, it seems they’ve been getting along well, and she’d probably like knowing that,” He responds, “I’m not sure what it is, but she’s been rather intent on impressing them.”

Phainon was chugging his water down mid-sentence, until it reached the end, and he had abruptly stopped. Blue eyes wide as he took the implication in, then narrow with a furrow as his brows as he looked off to the side, tentatively putting the glass down.

“Is that so?”

Oh, if only he knew. Anytime Curtain Hour would fall and Stelle would retreat to the chambers, half of what the trailblazer would talk about would be included, but not limited to, how she found something while taking a “quick” once over at the trash, how she got too full off of dinner and thought she was going to pass out, how she almost fell into the fountain near Kephale’s mural because some child tried to push her in and tried fighting them; and the other half being you.

“Dan Heng, I had the greatest day today, you’ll never guess what happened.”

“… What?”

“You’re so boring, you never try guessing! But whatever, they laughed at something I said. Like, knee-slapping, head on my shoulder, full laugh. It’s super cute, you should hear it one day. Do you wanna guess what I said?”

“No.”

“Ugh!”

“Yes, and we’ve had the honor of meeting a lot of people. I don’t think there’s been another time I’ve seen her as… giggly as she is now.” Which is saying a lot. Stelle giggles at a lot of things.

Phainon laughs quietly, perhaps amused at the notion of this poor outlander falling as much as she has in such a short span of time, or perhaps because of something else the Nameless wasn’t sure he wanted to get into the deeper meaning of for his own sake (Albeit much too late, even alluding towards anything has him caught in something he’s not sure how he got into).

"Mhm, that’s makes sense. I don’t blame her at all for feeling that way towards them. I mean, they’re smart, they always did well in class. It’s a talent, really, that they managed to stay on our professor’s good side for as long as they did. And they have the nicest smile too, don’t you agree? Especially when—"

Dan Heng wishes he never opened this box. Now there’s two of them (And he’s not sure what he got Stelle into, either).

#phainon x reader #hsr x reader #Sorry the anaxa one was a little long but I had a vision and had to see it through #tbh same with dan heng #“If phainon 1 was so good wheres phainon 2 ”#the humble trailblazer:#ok i think im normal now (lying)#i dare someone to ask me to write something else. i cant because any time i try i just see visions of my wife #and him calling me a cheater #hsr #☄. *. ⋆

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cece693 · 1 day ago

Text

I CAN READ THOUGHTS, REMEMBER?

pairing: batman x male reader synopsis: You can read minds—among other things—but it often gets overlooked for your more flashier powers. So, imagine your shock, when you accidentally overhear the Bat thinking sexually about you.

You never advertised your powers much. Sure, the League knew you could read minds, technically—it was listed in your official files, alongside your elemental control, teleportation ability, and minor healing. But everyone tended to focus on the flashier talents. Telepathy was something you only used in emergencies, recon, or when J'onn was unavailable and they needed backup on psychic shielding.

So over time, they forgot. They treated you like the teleporting brawler, not the guy who could peel open their skull with a whisper of thought. And you liked it that way.

Until the day you accidentally heard Batman.

You weren’t trying to listen. You never meant to dip into Bruce’s mind—not unless it was life-or-death or you were nudged in by psychic feedback. But it was hard not to hear someone when they were screaming at full volume inside their skull.

You sat across the conference table, elbows on the polished metal surface, legs casually crossed, half-listening to Diana as she gave a report on the clean-up mission in Themyscira. Bruce was beside her, silent. Observing. Classic.

Nothing unusual.

Until your powers—idly roaming the mental static in the room like they always did—locked onto him. And you heard:

“That suit is a crime. He knows exactly what he’s doing wearing that.”

Your head twitched slightly.

“Those arms—those thighs. Christ. If he stretches one more time, I swear to God I’m going to lose it.”

What? You blinked, pretending to check your comms, but the voice in Bruce’s mind continued, relentless, dark, and filthy.

“I want to bend him over that damn table and rip that uniform off piece by piece.”

You choked on your breath. Clark glanced over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you coughed. “Just—dry air.”

But it didn’t stop.

“He’s too damn pretty. Look at that mouth. Those lips could ruin me. And he has the audacity to laugh like that? Around Diana? She’s getting too close. If she touches him again, I swear I’ll break one of her wrists—”

Your heart hammered in your chest.

Nope. Nope. Get out. Abort. Leave the brain, thank you, goodbye—

“Focus, Bruce. You’re Batman. This is a mission briefing, not a wet dream. But God, if he ever—if he ever made the first move, I’d pin him to the wall so hard it would shake the Tower—”

You stood up so fast your chair screeched across the floor. Everyone turned. “Emergency,” you blurted. “Huge. Big. Immediate.”

“Now?” Barry asked, blinking.

“Yes. I’ll call. Or teleport. Or whatever.” You vanished in a blink of light, leaving Bruce to slowly narrow his eyes behind the cowl.

You ghosted him.

Completely.

Every sparring session? Canceled. Every group mission with Batman? Conveniently swapped with Green Lantern. Every time he entered a room? You made a strategic exit like it was a damn war zone.

Bruce noticed.

Oh, he noticed everything. From the sudden stiff body language to the way you wouldn’t look him in the eye, like he’d committed some cardinal sin.

Had he said something wrong? Had he done something?

You used to joke with him. Nudge his arm. Let your fingers brush his when no one else was watching. Now you acted like he was made of acid.

He couldn’t handle it anymore.

You were in the Watchtower's empty locker room, just done rinsing off after a solo mission. Hair wet. Uniform clinging slightly. You were alone—until you weren’t. You looked up in the mirror—and there he was.

Bruce.

Cowl off. Eyes sharp. Jaw set. “Why are you avoiding me?” he asked, voice low.

You gripped the edge of the sink. “I think you know,” you muttered.

“I don’t. Tell me.”

You turned, finally meeting his gaze. “I heard your thoughts, Bruce. During that last meeting.”

His lips parted slightly—just for a moment. “...Shit.”

“I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t trying. But you—you were broadcasting like a broken dam.”

He stepped closer.

“You heard everything?” His voice was rough now. Dangerous.

You swallowed. “Every word.”

“Even the part about—”

“Yes!” you snapped. “Every. Single. One. You want to rip off my uniform, bend me over furniture, strangle Diana with jealousy—do you want me to go on?”

Silence.

Then Bruce said, very slowly, “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

You scoffed. “Obviously.”

“But I’m not going to pretend I didn’t think it.” You froze.

“I’ve been biting my tongue around you for months. You’re smart. Strong. And don’t even get me started on the way you look in that suit.” His voice was darker now. “You’re a walking distraction. And I can’t afford distractions. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to fuck you every damn time you smirk at me.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You knew Batman could be intense—but this?

You stepped back. “You could’ve just told me.”

Bruce followed. “Would you have believed me?”

“Not if you acted like normal. But that—” You paused, then chuckled breathlessly. “God, Bruce. You really thought about pinning me to the wall during a mission briefing?”

He didn’t even blink. “More than once.”

You stared. And then—you kissed him.

A hard, heated, messy kiss.

His hands immediately went to your waist, gripping you like he’d been holding back for years. The kiss was all tongue and frustration and months of pent-up tension. It wasn’t clean or pretty. It was hot and possessive and everything.

When you finally broke apart, gasping, you rested your forehead against his. “You’re not going to freak out and start brooding more than usual after this, are you?”

“I’m Batman,” he murmured. “I brood for sport.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Idiot.”

His hand slid down to your hip, grip firm. “Still want me to keep my thoughts PG?”

You hesitated. Then smirked. “Only if you act on them next time.”

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buckets4win · 2 days ago

Text

Fast break

─୨♡─ Pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader

─୨♡─ Warnings: Explicit sexual content, alcohol use, confused sexuality / bisexual awakening, power play dynamics (consensual), locker room setting, light dominance/submission, mentions of orgasm, strong language, gay panic, emotional whiplash, top vs. bottom discourse, humor, Coach Geno yelling

─୨♡─ Summary: After a wild post-game party, you wake up with a hangover, hickeys, and a photo of you making out with Paige Becker — UConn’s golden girl and your sworn enemy. You’re straight… probably. She “doesn’t remember.” And now you’re both stuck in the showers together. Things get wet. And messy. And very, very confusing.

─୨♡─ Notes: idk if this is going to be a series but i’ll see, i don’t think i have the attention span for it , anyways talk to me in the comments . (im fun , i promise)

Being drunk is fun.

Dancing while drunk is fun.

Making out while drunk is fun.

Being too drunk to remember who you were making out with while drunk is… debatably still fun. And judging by the constellation of hickeys splattered across your neck like a galaxy, you had a hell of a time at last night’s party.

Shame you couldn’t remember any of it.

You were 95% sure you had fun. The other 5% was just vodka regret and lingering nausea.

But all of that dissolved instantly the next morning. Not because of the hangover — though that was murder.

No — it was the text message that ruined your life.

You didn’t recognize the number, and it had no message — just an image attached. You’d nearly deleted it, but curiosity (and an unhealthy sense of drama) made you open it.

Then you dropped your phone.

“No. Nope. Nope, nope—” you whispered in disbelief, locking yourself in a bathroom stall inside the women’s locker room. “That’s not me. That’s not me in the picture. Has to be fake. Or AI. Or Photoshop. I wouldn’t kiss her. I wouldn’t kiss a girl, period. Right??”

Your eyes didn’t leave the screen. Couldn’t. It was like a train crash in 4K.

The picture was taken at last night’s house party. You recognized the terrible LED lighting and the bottle of pink Whitney clutched in your hand. But most importantly… you recognized the girl you were sucking face with.

Paige fucking Beuckers.

Blonde, tall, UConn’s golden girl, America’s sweetheart, and the undisputed hottest person on the team. And, apparently, the person you had been very publicly tongue-deep with.

In the photo, Paige had one hand pressed against the wall behind you, the other wrapped firmly around your waist. You were gripping her neck like your life depended on it and had your fingers tangled in her annoyingly perfect hair. You could practically hear the moaning in the still image. It was passionate, intimate — and not at all like some drunk, joking kiss.

You looked… into it.

Really into it.

“This must be some kind of… of assault,” you said out loud, desperate to make it make sense. “I was drunk. I didn’t consent to liking it—”

Except you clearly did.

Three things were driving you into a full-blown sexuality crisis:

1. Who the hell took this photo?! What happened to “what happens at the party, stays at the party?”

2. Why the fuck would you kiss Paige Beckers?! You couldn’t stand her. She was smug, overhyped, perfect at everything, and made you feel small just by existing. And now your brain wouldn’t stop replaying the way her fingers looked around your waist—

3. Why the ever-loving FUCK did you look like the submissive one in the photo?! You’d never been with a girl before — and theoretically — you were definitely the top. Right? Right?!

“Bae? You good?” Azzi’s voice floated through the locker room. “You’ve been in that stall for like ten minutes. Coach Geno is about to come in here and throw hands.”

You threw open the stall door, sunglasses sliding halfway off your face, and snapped:

“If I was in a gay relationship, I’d be the top, right?!”

Azzi blinked. “I… you okay?”

“No. Answer the question.”

She shrugged. “I mean… love you either way, babe. But no. You’d 100% be a pillow princess.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?! I’m so a top! I dominate! I’ll prove it to you! Never call me a pillow princess again!”

“You’re literally about to cry about a girl kissing you,” Azzi deadpanned.

Before you could argue further, a terrifyingly familiar voice shrieked from the locker room entrance:

“YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE HAVING A GAY AWAKENING IN MY LOCKER ROOM! PRACTICE STARTED TEN MINUTES AGO!”

Coach Geno. 40 years of basketball wisdom and rage compressed into one 6-foot-tall walking aneurysm in a tracksuit. He may have been the winningest coach in women’s college basketball history, but he also put the fear of God in every player.

Azzi winced. “That’s your cue.”

You both sprinted onto the court, sneakers squeaking.

And that’s when you saw her.

Her.

Miss kiss-you-and-gaslight-you-into-questioning-your-entire-sexual-identity.

Paige stood in the center of the court, running drills with that infuriating “I’m not trying, I’m just naturally flawless” look. Her blonde ponytail swung behind her. Her skin glowed from the sweat. Her UConn tank was sticking in all the wrong (read: unfairly hot) places.

You glared before she even looked your way.

“You’re late,” Paige called. Her voice was smooth. Teasing. “Even for you.”

“I’m going to strangle her with a sports bra,” you muttered.

“Please don’t,” Azzi said. “Your mom already thinks I’m corrupting you. I don’t need more trauma.”

“They’re still mad about the 4th of July fireworks incident? We were eighteen.”

“Tell them that. Your mom still glares at me like I burned down a church.”

“Alright, team!” Paige clapped her hands. “Warm-ups are done. Let’s suit up for drills. Unless you need a little extra time, as always.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You think you’re better than me, Beuckers?”

“I’ve yet to see evidence otherwise,” she replied sweetly.

‘Oh my god I’m going to kill her,’ you thought. ‘And if I’m lucky, the gay panic will die with her.’

That thought — and only that thought — is what got you through the rest of practice with a smile.

Coach Geno made good on his threat.

You were the last one on the court, still recovering from practice drills that felt more like medieval torture than conditioning. So of course, he left you behind to clean up all the gear.

“Azzi got here on time,” Coach barked. “You didn’t. Do the math. Thirty push-ups if I find one cone out of place!”

So there you were, stacking up balls, wiping down mats, and muttering curses under your breath about blonde six-foot devils with blue eyes and hypnotic cheekbones.

You figured Paige would be long gone — golden girls didn’t clean up after practice — but apparently, fate hates you.

Because when you finally made it to the showers, ready to rinse off the sweat and shame… she was already there.

In your shower.

“Hey, fake blond!” you shouted. “Get out of my stall!”

Paige turned her head just slightly, water cascading down her bare back. “There are literally seven other stalls.”

“Yeah. But that one is mine. Ask anyone.”

“Well, no one else is here. So what are you gonna do about it?”

She turned to face you fully.

And now you were the one frozen.

Water rolled down her toned abs. Her skin glistened under the harsh locker room lights. Her hair was plastered to her shoulders. She looked like an underwear ad and a Greek statue had a love child. This was a violation.

“I’m gonna…” You blinked. “Do something.”

“That’s convincing.”

You stomped into the stall.

Paige actually looked startled that you did. Got her, you thought. She expected you to back off. She didn’t expect you to confront the demon in its natural habitat — a communal college shower.

“You think you’re hot shit,” you growled. “Bet you think you were the top that night. But you’re wrong.”

“What are you—”

You kissed her.

You slammed your lips against hers and shoved her into the tiled wall, water raining down on both of you. She let out a muffled gasp into your mouth — surprised, maybe — but she didn’t stop you.

You pressed your chest against hers, kissed her harder, deeper. Your tongue pushed into her mouth like you had something to prove.

(You did.)

This was about winning. About not being the blushing wreck in that photo. About taking control.

But Paige caught on fast.

Before you could even finish your internal monologue about dominance, she grabbed your wrists, twisted you around, and slammed you against the wall instead.

You gasped. “Jesus Christ—!”

She pinned your hands above your head with one hand and leaned in close, her mouth brushing your ear.

“You were saying?”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“I—I…”

You tried to get words out, but she was close. Too close. Her body pressed flush against yours, warm and slick from the water. You could feel everything — the curve of her hip against your thigh, her breath on your neck, the way her thigh slid just barely between yours.

You were losing.

And worse — you kind of liked it.

You struggled half-heartedly, twisting against her grip.

“This doesn’t mean you’re winning,” you gasped.

“Oh? You sure?” she whispered, trailing her fingers down your soaked tank top, over your abs, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.

Your whole body shivered.

She leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time — like she had all the time in the world to make you melt. You whimpered. Whimpered. A sound escaped your mouth that you didn’t even know you were capable of making.

Paige smirked against your lips. “Still think you’re the top?”

That did it.

You slipped one hand out of her grip — she hadn’t expected that — and slid it down her body, fingers wrapping around her hip, then lower, cupping between her thighs.

That wiped the smug look off her face.

“Oh?” you whispered. “What’s the matter, golden girl?”

She groaned.

Her head tilted back, hips pressing into your hand. You could feel the tension in her body, the low moan she tried to stifle as your fingers moved with more purpose, teasing, taunting.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered. “Bet you thought you had me all figured out.”

She reached for you again, mouth on your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

You let out a breathy sound you would deny to your grave.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you gasped. “I’m just… proving a point.”

“Sure,” she breathed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess.”

Your legs were trembling. Her mouth was everywhere — your throat, your jaw, your collarbone. Her hands had found their way under your top now, brushing the underside of your sports bra.

You were soaking wet — from the shower, obviously.

And maybe a little from the situation.

Just maybe.

Then her fingers slipped into your shorts.

And all bets were off.

You let out a broken sound, hand gripping her shoulder, legs weak. She was kissing you again and god, you should pull away. You should stop this. This was Paige. You hated her. You were straight. You were—

“Faster,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

She pulled back, lips swollen, eyes dark with hunger. “What was that?”

You gritted your teeth, face burning. “I said faster, okay?!”

She didn’t hesitate.

She picked up speed, and the pressure built until you couldn’t think anymore. You clung to her, mouth open, nails digging into her arm as your orgasm slammed through you like a tidal wave.

You bit her shoulder to keep from screaming.

Your legs almost gave out, and Paige caught you.

Of course she did.

The shower was still running.

Your head was resting against her shoulder. Your arms were around her neck. Her hands were still holding you, like she hadn’t just destroyed every lie you’d ever told yourself about who you were.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked quietly.

You didn’t answer.

Because Coach Geno’s voice boomed from the hallway:

“You two better not still be in there! Showers are for cooling down, not starting the goddamn Kama Sutra!”

You practically threw yourself off Paige, cheeks on fire, stumbling out of the stall.

You dried off, yanked on your sweats, and marched out of the locker room without a single word.

But the entire way back to your dorm, one thought kept echoing through your mind:

What the hell have I done?

#paige bueckers #wbb #paige beuckers smut #cennafic #fast break #paige bueckers x reader

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hazywrite · 2 days ago

Text

❝ somewhere only we know / ck.

━ ・ paring: clark kent x female reader. ━ ・ genre: fluff, smut, with a pinch of angst. ━ ・ word count: 5.6k. ━ ・ contains: childhood besties reliving the past, wholesome love making, unprotective sex (wrap it before you tap it!). ━ ・ summary: when clark kent makes an unexpected visit back in smallville, you realize that things haven't changed.

author’s note: hey... :) i saw superman last week and have been sucked into tsip, so i thought: childhood bffs with a bit of a past? longing? it's been a while since i've written anything so i hope you all enjoy regardless!

It was sunny today in Smallville—forecasted to reach the low nineties. You wipe a bead of sweat trickling down your forehead, tossing the dirt-ridden gardening gloves to the side and getting up from the ground. Even with weather that was less than ideal, life on the farm never stopped.

River Farm was your grandparents’ for as long as you could remember. Sitting just to the left of Lowell County’s waterway, it was known for its bountiful crops every season. It was the place that sourced most of the produce coming in for neighboring areas.

Needless to say, you were always busy. You’ve been helping out on the farm since you were eight years old, and it stayed that way twenty plus years later. While everyone you grew up with left town to move onto bigger and better things, you were stuck here, living the life you’ve always lived. And you weren’t one to complain—you’ve convinced yourself that this is what you’ve always meant to do. Carry on the family legacy.

“Honey, take this to the Kents will you?” your grandmother spotted you out in the fields, carrying a woven basket filled to the brim with freshly washed vegetables. “Tell Martha there’s extra cucumbers in there for her salad.”

Jonathan and Martha Kent were the owners of Kent Farm, who also happened to be your neighbors. They were considered family friends, the kind that have shared dinners every weekend. Once a week your grandparents send you over to bring over gifts too.

Nodding, you take the basket from her hands. “She’s probably going to hold me hostage until after dinner, so I’ll be back late. Are you and Pop going to be okay until then?”

“Oh don’t worry about us,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Your grandpa and I can manage just fine here. Make sure you lock the gate before headin’ out.”

There were times when leaving your grandparents alone made you nervous. While they ran the farm for decades, it was no secret that they weren’t getting any younger. As the years went by, you found yourself taking more of their responsibilities because they weren’t physically capable of a lot of things anymore. You didn’t resent them for it, in fact, this was what you wanted. You wanted to take care of them, like they took care of you.

The Kent’s were only a fifteen minute ride from the farm, so you decided to keep the overalls and rubber boots you wore from working. Basket securely strapped to the back of your bike with layers of twine, you then began to set off the familiar dirt roads. You knew this path like it was the back of your hand. It was the same trip you took time and time again growing up, and it never failed to make you sentimental every single time.

By the time you’ve reached the front of their farm, it was mid afternoon. The cows were still out in the fields, and you noticed a small, white dog attempting to befriend one from far away. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was about time the Kent’s adopted a furry friend—with their son moved out for years, your family was really the only company they had.

You led your bike down the open path and eventually let it rest on the worn, wooden fence by their mailbox. You then untangled the twine to grab the basket of produce, soon making the trek towards their front door.

“Martha? Jon?” you called out, loud enough so they could hear you come in. You looked left in right, just in case they were off working somewhere else. “Special delivery!”

Then, time literally stopped.

Because it wasn’t Martha or Jonathan who had opened the door for you, but their son. Someone who felt like a distant memory—Clark.

Silence fell between the two of you. You were frozen, in disbelief of who was standing right in front of you. It had to be years since the last time you’ve seen him here, in the flesh.

Superman was obviously the talk of the town and was seen in every piece of media for the last decade. But this person before you? This was Clark Kent. The one who’s been your best friend for all of your childhood and adolescent years, the one who’s known you inside and out, and the one who you still felt so much love for.

“Y/N,” he finally said. His smile was as addicting as always, especially when the dimples on his cheeks become more prominent. His jet black curls fell over his forehead, donning the same checkered flannel and white t-shirt you’ve always seen him in.

It felt like you’ve been dragged back to your past. Like the two of you were in high school, meeting up for another study session before a big exam.

Seeing him wasn’t easy. The last time the two of you were together was the day Clark announced that he was moving to Metropolis.

That was three years ago. You remembered that day vividly, the two of you sitting on top of a cluster of hay bales inside the abandoned barn near his house. You have been boyfriend and girlfriend since you were sixteen, and most importantly friends since birth—so when the two of you decided to end things that very night, your world came crashing down. Life without him wouldn’t be the same. It hasn’t been since he left.

Your eyes began to turn glassy, but you quickly stopped the initial tears by giving him a wobbly (at best) smile. You weren’t going to show it. Not now. “Hey, starboy. Are your parents home?”

He nodded, opening the door a little more to let you in. “Let me grab that for you.” He didn’t hesitate and reached over for the basket in your grip. Your hands brushed against each other in the process, and the two of you locked gazes, finally feeling the tension in the air.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Martha’s voice echoed from above before coming down the staircase. The two of you both looked up, and you flashed her a smile, waving. Once she was down, she came over for a warm embrace. “Jon’s fixin’ the tractor out back, but he’ll be in soon. Did you say hi to Clark already? He’s been wanting to see you. Go on now, give him a hug!”

You looked over at Clark and he smiled embarrassingly. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you opened your arms out for him, a silent invitation.

While towering over you, he still made his way over to accept the embrace. It lingered for a long while. “I missed you,” he admitted softly. His arm around your body was not tight but firm enough, and the feeling made your eyes water all over again.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Martha’s softened expression at the sight of your reunion, as if she had been waiting for this very moment too. Immediately, you pulled away first, clearing your throat to recover. He caught on, and rubbed the back of his neck before taking the basket to the kitchen.

Staying here was going to be harder than you thought.

The three of you spent the next two hours in the kitchen prepping tonight’s dinner. Clark was in charge of chopping up the vegetables, while you were in charge of making sure that the soup didn’t boil over. Martha was talking up a storm, essentially using the time to catch you both up on each other’s lives, rather than cooking.

You didn’t blame her. She was excited that her son was home. In a way, it seemed like she was excited about the two of you being together again too.

“She talks about you nonstop, you know,” you commented softly, stirring the pot with the ladle in your hand.

Clark was standing next to you, carefully chopping the vegetables, rag thrown over his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled about a third way up, the material perfectly hugging his muscles as they flexed when he worked along the board. “I know,” he smiled. “She talks about you nonstop too.”

“Did she tell you that I slipped and fell on cow manure when I swung by last week? Because if she did, I want that image removed from your head immediately.”

That made him laugh. You forgot how much you’ve missed hearing it. “No. But I would’ve helped you up… eventually.”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully with an elbow. “Don’t you ever get tired of picking on me? It’s been almost thirty years, we can pack it up now.”

He reached out to gently tousle your hair, something that he’s always done since you were kids. You looked at him and he only stared back, and you could’ve sworn that the way his touch lingered made you feel light-headed. “Never.”

. . .

“Remember when you and Clark wanted to hold a wedding ceremony out back? I think the two of you were around five years old then…” Martha shook her head and laughed, reliving that moment like it was just yesterday. “Jon and I had to put a bow tie on every single one of our cows because you wanted the wedding guests to dress all formal!”

“Jeez, ma,” Clark covered his eyes with his hand, a crimson tint forming on his cheeks. There was a smile on his face though. “She didn’t even say yes, remember? Broke my tiny heart.”

“You literally called me a clown after putting on some lipstick,” you argued from across the table. Hiding your laugh was tough. “You were the one who made me cry first!”

“Well, it’s not my fault I took one look and saw Ronald McDonald.”

“First of all, rude,” you commented. “Second of all, you ended up losing those paper rings I made for us anyway. We wouldn’t have been able to get married regardless.”

Dinner felt like a trip down memory lane. You couldn’t remember the last time the four of you shared the table, laughing, telling stories. Moments like this were always your favorite, because it felt comfortable. Like this was something you saw yourself doing for a lifetime and would never grow tired of it.

You wanted to savor this moment forever. Because you knew that tomorrow wouldn’t be the same—that the absence of that one person made a difference.

“She doesn’t look like a clown anymore, son,” Jonathan chimed in for the first time since dinner started. He looked towards your direction with a small, yet gentle smile. “She’s grown into a fine young woman now.”

He was never really much of a talker, so those words alone meant everything to you.

Clark’s eyes were now on you, analyzing every feature of your face carefully. The corner of his lips tugged up to form a half grin, and you felt your heart jump out of your chest. He was still capable of making you feel a certain type of way. “She has, pa. She has.”

. . .

Once dinner had finished, you offered to clean up. It didn’t feel right for you to just sit around, and you would much rather be a helper around the house. Matter of fact, you would sleep better at night knowing that you have repaid the favor for the meal. While Martha did her very best to protest against it, you insisted even harder.

So, you said goodnight to both Jonathan and Martha before they headed back upstairs to settle in for the evening.

It was just you and Clark, alone in the kitchen, finally facing the enormous elephant in the room.

“On vacation from saving the world?” you asked him. It was meant to be playful, but you did wonder why he was here in Smallville. The two of you were standing side by side behind the sink, with you scrubbing and rinsing the dishes and him drying them with a small towel.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not exactly. I…” he took a moment to pause to gather his thoughts. “I got hurt last night. Kryptonite poisoning. A friend from work brought me down here to heal, to be home with my parents.”

You felt your entire stomach drop at the mention of someone else. You weren’t expecting it to affect you so much—you and Clark haven’t been together for the last three years. He was entitled to make connections with others and tell them about his life. His secrets.

Still, why did it feel so awful?

“That’s real nice of her.” You tried to continue scrubbing the plate, but your hands couldn’t stop shaking. Thankfully, the bubbles on the sink were tall enough to conceal them.

The silence in the air was deafening. There really wasn’t anything substantial to say after that, and it was hard enough to keep it all together. Clark being here was overwhelming enough. You spent years trying to learn how to live without him, yet here he was.

“I asked her to take me here, you know,” he finally said, amidst the quietness. His voice was low, but in the years you’ve known him, you knew it was still sincere. When the last plate was handed over to him, he took your hands along with it. His gaze continued to fixate on you. “I wanted to see you. I wasn’t just hurt, I... I was feeling empty too.”

You thought you could hold it together for a little longer, just until you left the Kent’s. But this time, it was impossible. “We swore on it, Clark,” you whispered. At this point, a small tear had fallen down your cheek. “I was trying my best to move on without you. Your purpose is bigger than this small town, remember?”

“I know, I know,” he reassured. Reaching out with one hand, he cupped your cheek, using his thumb to sweep away the fallen tear. “I swear I’m not trying to make things difficult, but I just needed to see if this is what I’ve been missing. If you’ve been what I’m missing.”

You drew a shaky breath. It was hard for you to look him in the eye at the moment. How could someone feel so hurt but comforted at the same time? How were you supposed to feel about a ghost of your past making a random appearance in your life again, especially if it was someone who you’ve loved all your life? All the mental strength you’ve been harboring for years finally came falling down. It was no secret that this man had always been your weakness.

“What’s your verdict?” you finally, and bravely, asked. This time, you slowly looked up to meet his gaze. You saw hurt in his eyes too.

“It’s still you,” he refused to break steady eye contact. Your breath hitched at his words as he leaned in to gingerly press a kiss on your forehead. “It’s always been you.”

. . .

The full moon was out tonight. It was accompanied by the bright stars that littered across the dark sky, illuminating the world underneath. Everything was quiet, still. The only thing you could hear around you was the sound of stalks of corn being pushed around while you and Clark walked over to the old barn.

That barn meant everything to you. It was the place that held so many memories between you and Clark—starting with the very first time you played with him, to the last time you’ve ever seen him when he left for Metropolis. During the time he was gone, you avoided going in there at all costs. Because in your head, you thought that reminiscing would hurt too much.

Inside, everything stayed the same. There were blocks of hay bales stacked in the center, as well as the thick, woven blanket that you and Clark would share whenever the nights grew cold. You stared up at the roof and the large hole was still there, which gave a perfect view of the stars and the glimmering night sky.

You walked in almost cautiously, afraid to touch anything. To you, it felt as if a time machine had picked you up and dropped you off to three years ago, and you were going to relive one of your worst nightmares all over again. You took a deep breath to ground yourself, attempting to calm the nerves in your body.

“You okay?” Clark asked from behind. He was carrying two already lit oil lanterns he must’ve found laying around somewhere.

You could only nod, back still facing him. You were trying your very best not to show how much it was affecting you, because if there’s one thing you knew about Clark well, it was that he would do almost anything to make sure you were okay. “Doesn’t it feel weird being here? It feels like I’m reliving a part of my past,” you chuckled to mask the uncomfortable feeling.

“Not for me,” he replied simply with a shrug. You could hear him set the lanterns down and settle on a hay bale. “It feels like I’m back home.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly. Turning around, you found him sitting down on the ground, looking up at you. “This is a barn, silly.”

“Sure. But the memories we made here feels like home,” he smiled. He patted an empty spot beside him. “Come sit.”

In the back of your head you knew it was a bad idea. Revisiting things with Clark meant revisiting over twenty years of history that would be hard to erase. You still haven’t managed to heal and look back at these memories fondly—in fact, you still yearned for more moments like that. More moments with him.

Still, you slowly walked over to the empty spot beside him. Once you sat down, Clark took the other half of the blanket and draped it over your legs.

“What’s the forecast today, starboy?” you crossed your legs under the fabric, looking up at the open sky.

The stars were always so bright here in Smallville. Growing up, Clark loved to watch the stars. He was incredibly passionate about the constellations along with the stories behind them, and you were simply there to admire the way he spoke about them. From the time the two of you started hanging out in the barn, you never failed to ask him that very same question. You always found his answers endearing.

“Well tonight… we have Draco,” he closed one eye and pointed towards a series of stars that vaguely resembled a snake. He traced each line to one another, pretending to draw the outline with his finger. “A dragon that guarded a golden apple tree.”

As he continued with his usual rambling about said constellation, you could only stare at him with a smile on your face and eyes full of admiration. This is what you’ve missed.

He seemed to have caught onto you and stopped whatever he was talking about. “What?” he tilted his head, curious at what was going through your mind at the moment. “Do I have a piece of carrot stuck in my teeth?”

You laughed. “Nothing, I was just…” you sighed, smiling at him. “Enjoying the moment.”

The conversation continued to flow there. Both of you were engaged in each other, catching up like two long lost friends who have finally reconnected. You were telling him about life on the farm, how your grandfather was doing better after his recent hospitalization. He was telling you about the pieces he’d been writing for the Daily Planet—and of course, his excursions as Superman. Laughter filled the abandoned barn, and it almost felt as if no time passed between you two. That you’ve picked up right where you left off with him.

“Remember when I asked you to be my girlfriend when we were sixteen?” He looked up at the sky. As if it wasn’t a memory you held near to your heart. The barn could have almost burned down because of the dozens of candles he’d spread around, along with the flower petals on the floor, but it was still a meaningful gesture regardless. That day became one of the happiest in your life. “I was so nervous and I didn’t know… why. I’ve known you my entire life, and I was sitting there, trying not to crap my pants before you walked in.”

“It was sweet, Clark,” you reassured. If memory served you correctly, you cried so hard you became incoherent when he asked. “Did you think I was going to say no?”

Even in a million lifetimes, you would’ve never said no.

“No, but,” he took the time to gather what he really wanted to say, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I wanted to impress you real bad. I mean, I wanted to show you that I was going to be there for you for as long as you’d let me, and I was afraid…” he stopped momentarily to sigh. “Afraid it wouldn’t have been enough.”

His words touched you. It hadn’t crossed your mind that not being enough had been in Clark’s train of thought ever, because you never thought about it yourself. To you, the bond you’ve built over the years was enough to withhold everything. Even now, after being broken up for a while, your love for him never waivered.

“You were my best friend,” you gave him a smile, nudging his knee with yours in a playful manner. Still are. “I never once thought you weren’t more than capable enough to be the best boyfriend. I felt lucky having you in my life, and I still do.”

It was enough to lift his spirits. He smiled back, returning the nudge to the knee. “Why did I ever let go of you?”

“Because the world needs you, Clark. Way more than I do.”

Suddenly, time stilled. You knew that you pulled something in his heart you didn’t mean to, because when you looked at him, you noticed the glassiness in his eyes. Like he was reliving the day of the break up in his head in real time.

“Hey,” you immediately tried to remedy the situation by reaching over to place a comforting hand on his cheek. He instinctively leaned into it, eyes closed. “I’m not angry at you or what happened, okay? We knew it was for the best. You’ve done so much for the world already, and if anything I couldn’t be more proud. I’m doing just fine here in Smallville, Clark. Don’t beat yourself up over doing what you need to do.” Your fingers ghosted from his jaw and over to his chin, lifting it up to meet your gaze. “Chin up, alright?”

It hadn’t dawned on you that your faces were merely centimeters apart. You could feel his hot breath on your skin, along with the intensity in the air. The silence made it hard to hide the blood pumping through your veins, and the rampant beating of your heart.

“You make it impossible for me to stop loving you,” he whispered.

“It’s been hard for me too,” you answered back.

Two seconds. That’s all it took for his lips to find yours. They came to each other in a gentle, but full force, as if they’ve been deprived of one another. Like they needed each other. Both of your hands were now cupping his face amidst the kiss, and Clark’s hands were comfortable enough to land on the curves of your hips. His touch was electrifying.

Neither of you wanted to break it any time soon. Instead, Clark deepened the kiss, wanting to feel you more than before. He wanted to savor the softness of your lips and the way you tasted. This was what he was desperately searching for in his life.

In a swift motion, he took you entirely with one hand and placed you comfortably on his lap. He looked up at you as you straddled his hips with admiration in his eyes, as if he was graced by your presence at this very moment.

None of this felt awkward or new whatsoever—it felt like you were finding your way back home. Back to where you belonged.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked in a hushed, gentle tone. Your hand found its way to his hair, running your fingers across his curls.

His fingers were softly tracing lines on your arms. “Can I show you how much you mean to me?” The look on his eyes was desperate; pleading for you to say yes to his request.

The words made your heart, and core, beat faster than ever before. You could only nod, unable to speak for the sheer desire buzzing through you.

There was nothing you wanted more than him at this moment. And sure, you might wake up tomorrow and regret your decision, but this meant more to you than the consequences that may come with it.

Clark wasted no time and captured your lips again. He was a lot more gentle this time, savoring every second of this moment you shared together. His large hands found your face and he held you in place, like you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. He kissed you like this was his last moment on Earth, like he desperately needed something to remember you by.

His lips began to slowly move towards your jaw, peppering all the way down to your neck. You hummed in satisfaction, tilting your head a little more to give him even more access. Clark craved more of you. It was obvious. He reached up to push your overall straps and let them fall one by one. After, he skillfully undid each button until they were fully off, while still giving you that undivided attention to the sensitive part of your neck.

In your head, he wasn’t working fast enough. This time, you did him a favor by quickly pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor, leaving your top half bare and on full display. He looked at you full of longing and desire, like this was something he’s dreamed about. From the bottom of your neck, he continued his trail of kisses all the way down to your collarbone, and even further until his tongue found your hardened nipples, flicking them lightly.

Your breathing grew heavier at his touch, and you could feel a pool of wetness grow between your legs.

“Gosh, you’re breathtaking,” he mumbled as he worked your other nipple with his tongue. He wanted more, it was obvious. It wasn’t enough.

Your lips parted, wanting to say something, anything—but the pleasure he gave you was too strong that it left you speechless.

Clark has known you almost his entire life. The two of you have always shared some sort of insane mental telepathy, so much so that he didn’t need you to tell him what you wanted. He read your body so well that he knew exactly what you wanted, and where. And you having no words meant that he was doing something right.

In the next second, he propped you up on the hay bale behind you, unbuttoning the sides of your overalls in the process. He made it known to not stop touching you; kissing your bare skin every chance he got, like he wasn’t sure when he was going to have you again. Once they came loose, he pulled the rest down in one seamlessly, leaving you in just your rubber boots and panties.

Before he continued on further, you stopped him. “I can’t be the only one out here without clothes on, it ain’t fair,” you quipped playfully.

“Wanna help fix that?” he joked back. The dimples on his cheeks were evident, even in the dimmed lighting.

You rolled your eyes before taking the hem of his shirt and pulling it towards you until your bodies were pressed against each other. He was settled comfortably between your legs. You started with his flannel, helping him shrug it off before removing his t-shirt next.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his bare chest—forgetting how painfully gorgeous he looked standing before you. He then let you work on the button of his pants, not keeping his eyes off of you until they were kicked entirely off.

Now things were even.

A part of you thought and expected he was going for another kiss, but the next thing you knew, his knees dropped to the floor instead. His hands carelessly roamed across your thighs, and he slowly but surely began to pry your legs apart for him. He took his sweet time to tug the hem of your panties all the way down, until they were off and out of sight.

“I’ve missed this,” he told you softly, leaving short kisses along your inner thigh. Your back was already arching out of instinct. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

His tongue found your dripping, aching core, causing you to gasp at the contact. He worked his way delicately, drawing lazy circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves on top. His eyes never left yours, and god the sight of him eating you out did something to you. Another minute had passed, and he��s added two fingers in your entrance now, slowly pumping in and out of you.

It was sending you through multiple waves of pleasure, and you were whispering profanities.

“Clark, I… I can’t hold it anymore,” you breathed, gripping tightly onto the edge of the hay bale. There was that familiar feeling building up at your core, searching for a release.

“It’s okay, baby,” his voice was smooth, in a comforting way. “Let go. I’ve got you.” His tongue found your clit once again, working at an even faster pace this time. He was alternating between softly nipping and sucking, or taking it whole in his mouth. He used a free hand to grab onto yours, interlocking your fingers to his as an intimate gesture to make you feel comfortable.

It only took another second before your first orgasm washed over you. Your breathing was staggered while Clark continued to kiss along your thigh, and made his way up to find your lips. You earnestly kissed him back, allowing for the taste of yourself to linger on your tongue.

This didn’t end here, and you both knew it. Your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him even closer, because you wanted to show him how wet you’ve gotten. He groaned at how amazing it felt, wanting to free himself from the restraint of his boxers himself.

“I need more,” you pleaded in between kisses. “I want you to keep showing me.”

Clark obediently nodded at your request and plunged another finger into you. You moaned into his lips while he stretched you out over and over again. He only stopped because you were already trying to push his boxers down, wanting something else to fill you instead.

Once his length sprung free, your desire grew stronger. You used your tongue to run a strip of saliva down your hand before wrapping around him, pumping in a motion that always made him weak. He threw his head back and moaned your name like a prayer, and you could tell that he hadn’t been touched like that in a very long time.

He had to stop you before it ended too quickly. He eagerly grabbed your face and kissed you one more time, hungry for what came next. You took the lead and guided him to your soaked entrance, letting him push just enough for the tip to be between your folds.

The two of you made the same noise in unison. This was something that you’ve missed and long for—and it felt like you’ve caught a high that you’ve been chasing. You held him closer, arms locking around his neck, which only urged him to push deeper until he filled you entirely. Like he was the missing piece of a puzzle you needed before you were complete.

His movements started off slow. He clearly wanted to relish the feeling, just in case he’ll forget. You wrapped your legs around him to keep him from slipping out before moving your hands to his shoulders, and it only encouraged him to thrust even faster than before.

“I love you, Y/N,” he panted between thrusts, holding onto the back of your head to keep it from hitting the surface behind you. He made sure you looked into his eyes when he said it, tone laced with sincerity. “I never stopped. I never want to be apart from you again. Take me back, please. I would do anything to be yours again.”

You were overwhelmed by a plethora of emotions. The tears that were welling in your eyes were enough to prove it. “I love you too, Clark,” you whispered, though barely inaudible. You grabbed his face to pull him in for a kiss. “I would take you back ten times over. But promise me one thing,” you looked at him. “Promise me you’ll come home once in a while.”

The smile on his face was enough to let you know he was elated. “I swear,” he nodded, trailing kisses down to your chest while he continued to fuck you sensually. His mouth found your nipples once more, causing you to let out a whimper. “I swear on everything in my life.”

His movement was becoming sloppy and more erratic, which meant that he was close. Before he could finish, he reached down to rub his thumb around your clit, increasing its intensity with each thrust. That familiar feeling was building up inside you again as your walls fluttered around him, and before you knew it, your body jolted as your second orgasm hit. Even with your ears buzzed and eyes watered, he didn’t stop. He continued to kiss you over and over, mumbling quiet I love you’s like he wanted you to never forget.

It didn’t take long for him to follow suit. He groaned as he spilled entirely inside you, breathing heavily. You pulled him, pressing a kiss on his forehead as he waited to catch his breath.

“Still with me, starboy?” you asked, trying to hold in a chuckle.

“Gettin’ there, my love,” Clark smiled at you. The look in his eyes was different from the time you first saw him. It wasn’t full of sadness anymore, but of happiness. Uncontrollable happiness.

. . .

The sound of the roosters crowing from afar caused you to stir awake from your slumber. The sun was shining through the hole on the roof now—blearing directly towards your face. You rubbed your eyes open and only realized that you were still in the barn.

Last night felt like a dream. Yesterday in its entirety felt like a dream. After you and Clark shared intimacy, the two of you refused to go to sleep. Instead, the two of you settled into each other’s arms under the blankets and talked until both of your eyes’ felt heavy. You talked about the past, the present, and the future. By the time three in the morning hit, the two of you had finally fallen asleep, snoring softly under the stars.

He was yours again. You were his. That was all that mattered.

Looking beside you, you realized that his side was empty. You raised an eyebrow as you spotted a small folded note right next to his share of the blanket. As you picked it up to open it, you couldn’t help but grin wide at the sight.

Attached to it was a ring made out of folded newspaper.

Saving the world. Be home soon. - Starboy ☆

#clark kent fanfic #clark kent smut #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent x y/n #clark kent

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noblebynura · 2 days ago

Text

Threads of Nyx Trilogy

Part iii: Son of Nyx

Part i: Somewhere, The Stars Remembered

Part ii: I, Carrion

Pairing: Earth-828 Johnny Storm x Witch!Earth-616 Reader Synopsis: A reunion filled with grief. Genre & warnings: SPOILERS FOR FF:FS!!, Angst, Hurt/Slight comfort, Marvel level violence but its really nothing, sort of canon compliant? But this is more like an episode of What If...? but I'm the one driving this damn ship☺️ We don't know what is happening in the house of commons right now. Word count: 4.8k | masterlist a/n: I am going to hold your hand while you read this finale, okay?

It starts with a hum.

Soft, low, and sharp.The sound of reality pulling at its seams.

The Watch Tower common room is dim, lit only by flickering monitor light. Onscreen, red laced satellite scans bloom and fade. Emergency broadcasts loop silently in the background.

You barely hear them anymore.

The others are mid argument. Yelena lounges on the couch with arms crossed, tense despite her posture. Bucky stands near the window, unmoving, eyes locked on the sky. Even Walker’s pacing. Ava’s fingers twitch restlessly over a remote, trying to isolate dimensional signatures.

But you know.

You already know.

Because you saw the ship.

Because you remember it.

And then, it happens.

The air behind you warps with a shimmer, and a portal slices open the space just beyond the couch. The room stutters into silence as Stephen Strange steps through.

He doesn’t speak at first. He doesn’t need to.

His presence is enough. The ripple of restrained power, the tension in his shoulders, the weary edge to his breath. His eyes don’t scan the room. They land on you.

You meet them without blinking.

“It shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly, voice low and clipped. “That ship doesn’t belong in this reality.”

You stand slowly, jaw tight.

“You know why they’re here aren’t you?.”

“That doesn’t matter. The Sacred Timeline isn’t a refugee camp. If they remain here—”

Your suspicion was right.

“They’ll die,” you cut in, louder now. “If you send them back, or anywhere else—they’ll die.”

The silence fractures like glass.

Ava glances from you to Strange. “Wait—who exactly are we talking about?”

Strange doesn’t answer. He never looks away from you.

Yelena frowns. “If someone’s in danger, we don’t just send them off to die.”

“It isn’t about danger,” Strange replies coolly. “It’s about consequence.”

“And what, we’re supposed to just stand here while you erase them?” Bucky says, stepping forward, slow and deliberate.

“It’s not that,” Strange says. “It’s restoration. You don’t understand the scale—”

“No,” you snap. “They don’t. But I do. I know exactly what it costs.”

Strange exhales sharply. “You’ve walked this path before. You know the damage it causes. You know.”

“Then help me fix it,” you whisper. “Please, Stephen. Don’t make me fight you.”

He falters. For a second, you see it. That man. The one who once let you stay. The one who trusted you, even when he shouldn’t have.

John speaks, his voice edged and annoyed. “So what, we’re babysitting time refugees now?”

Yelena shoots him a glare. “If they’re people who need help, yes. That’s what we’re doing.”

“She’s right,” Bucky says quietly, standing beside you now. “We don’t turn our backs. Not after everything she’s done for us.”

One by one, they begin to shift. The Thunderbolts stepping behind you, not because they fully understand the stakes, but because they trust you.

Strange sees it. The flicker in his eyes says as much.

He opens another portal behind him, gold and spiraling, an exit wound in the air.

He doesn’t step through yet. Instead, he pauses, gaze steady on you.

“Count your time with him carefully,” he says. “The multiverse is merciless.”

And then he’s gone.

The portal flickers closed like a slow blink.

But the weight of what he left behind stays, pressing into the room like another gravity.

The only thing louder than the silence is your heartbeat.

And somewhere, far below, the ship still waits.

Carrying the last survivors of a world that no longer exists.

And one of them is him.

⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝

The sky was the color of bruised steel when the jets touched down.

You stepped out first, wind tugging your coat tight around your frame as your boots crunched into scorched grass. A tremor buzzed through the soles of your feet, something that is not magic, not quite, but something rawer. Gravitational. Like the world still hadn’t figured out how to hold its weight after what had just arrived.

The rest of the Thunderbolts fanned out behind you. Yelena moved like water, her stance sharp, Ava phased out of visibility before her feet even hit the ground, John and Alexei bickered half heartedly about perimeter lines, while Bucky and Bob stood silent at your shoulder, eyes trained on the vessel.

The military had already cordoned off the field. Drones hovered overhead, casting sterile white light over the deep, smoking crater where the ship had torn through the earth. It was unlike anything from this planet. Its surface curved in soft chrome, retrofuturistic and charred, like something out of a memory that didn’t belong to this world.

You didn’t blink.

A hiss. A groan of decompressed pressure. The hatch opened with a shuddering wheeze.

Reed Richards emerged first. His face was pallid, gaunt with the look of a man who had calculated every single way to win and still failed. His uniform was torn, coated with ash and something darker. Next came Sue, arms tight around Franklin, who didn’t lift his eyes. His hair was dusted with white. A silent child born from stars and endings. Ben followed, carrying the barely functioning H.E.R.B.I.E. against his broad, crumbling shoulder like a broken limb.

And then —

Your breath caught.

Him.

Johnny.

His silhouette emerged against the smoke, tall and worn, golden under the harsh floodlights. His uniform was scorched and soot streaked, his posture taut with unshed grief. His eyes were scanning the field with an edge of panic, until they landed on yours.

The moment cracked open.

The wind stilled. Your feet moved before your mind caught up.

He was already running, across broken earth, past soldiers and teammates and the fractured silence. Until he stopped just short in front of you.

You froze too.

A heartbeat.

Then two.

The world narrowed.

He stared at you like you were an illusion conjured from the smoke and trauma, something fragile that might vanish if he blinked too hard. His chest rose and fell with disbelief, eyes wide, glassy, reflecting every year, every memory, every second he had feared this moment would never come.

Slowly, he raised a hand.

It trembled as he reached for your face, hesitating just before his fingers touched your cheek, as if afraid the illusion would shatter beneath his skin.

But you leaned into it. Warm. Real.

A tear spilled down your cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

And then you closed the distance, pulling him into you.

Your arms locked around him with a desperation that cracked something inside both of you. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, the contact shattering whatever composure he had left. He buried his face into your shoulder and broke, not loudly, not messily, but with the quiet, aching sound of a man who had finally reached shore after drowning for years.

You gripped him like the universe might take him again if you let go.

But you wouldn’t. Not this time.

Not ever again.

You could barely breathe from the force of it. From the way your chest ached. From the way he gripped you like you'd vanish if he blinked.

“I thought you were gone,” he rasped, voice breaking around every word. “I thought you— I thought I lost you too.”

You held him tighter. Fingers curling into the back of his suit. “I’m not,” you whispered. “You’re here now.”

His hand rose to cradle the back of your head. His touch was desperate. Gentle. Like worship.

“I kept dreaming,” he murmured. “Of this. Of you. But then I’d wake up and it’d be gone.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His face was streaked with soot and grief, tears cutting clean lines down his cheeks.

“But you’re real,” he said. “You’re here.”

You nodded. “So are you.”

The world had collapsed.

But somehow in the wreckage, you had found each other again.

⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝

Later that afternoon, after the Fantastic Four had been stabilized and brought to the Tower’s private wing, you stood again in a circle of war weary faces. This time, no soldiers. No weapons drawn. Just uneasy silence and the scratch of boots on tile.

The Watch Tower’s situation room had been cleared for a private audience as per Valentina’s idea. No cameras, no press, no analysts. Just the Thunderbolts, Captain America, and a grieving family from another universe.

Reed spoke first.

He stood tall despite the weight on his shoulders. Explained, with clipped precision, how they had tracked Earth-616 using the residual multiversal dampener Johnny had crafted for you during your time in Earth-828. How they followed the field’s echo across dimensions. How they had to.

“There was nowhere else to go,” he said. His voice wasn’t cold. It was cracked porcelain.

Sue added gently, “We lost everything. We tried to stop it. We thought we could… slow it down. Divert him. But there’s no stopping something like Galactus.”

Franklin sat curled between her and Ben, silent, fingers twisted in H.E.R.B.I.E.’s scorched plating. His powers were dormant now having burned out by whatever it took to get them here.

You didn’t speak much. Just watched. Just listened.

It wasn’t until the end of the meeting, when Sam Wilson nodded his agreement to proceed to the summit at the White House, that Reed stepped aside. He didn’t follow the others to the airlift immediately.

Instead, he turned to you.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, quiet. “For the way things ended. For not listening to Johnny. For what happened to you.”

You hesitated, then stepped closer.

“I crossed into your world when I shouldn’t have. That’s on me. I started something that spiraled too far.”

His expression pinched. “You weren’t the problem. I was the one who told Johnny to let you go. I thought keeping him focused would keep us safe. But all I did was drive a wedge between him and the one of the things he cared for.”

You didn’t expect it to sting like that. But it did.

Still, you gave a small nod. “We both did what we thought we had to.”

“And now,” he said, “we have to do something else. Something better.”

You looked past him, through the Tower’s long hall of windows. The sun was already sliding west, casting golden streaks across the floor.

The moment wasn’t big. Wasn’t dramatic.

Just necessary.

You extended your hand.

Reed took it. Warm and steady.

A silent agreement between you two to do whatever you can now to help.

A beat later, Valentina called out from the other corridor.

“Let’s go. History’s waiting.”

You and Reed parted silently, and you followed the others toward the waiting airlift, the pressure of unspoken worlds loosening if only a little from your ribs.

And soon, the press, the war room, and the judgment of a planet would follow. But for now, you’d stitched shut one old wound.

That was enough.

⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝

Now, you stood in the glassy war room of the White House. Mirrors and polished steel. Oversized screens scrolling lines of dimensional data. Officials with tight faces and even tighter collars. Security bristled along every corridor.

Valentina walked ahead of you, her heels echoing against polished marble, flanked by the full Thunderbolts lineup. Cameras blinked behind the soundproof walls. The flag of the United States flanked either side of the chamber like watchful eyes.

On the far side of the room stood the representatives of Earth-616’s governing bodies, stern and skeptical. Beside them Sam Wilson, clad in his red-white-blue wings, arms folded over his chest. And beside him, Joaquín Torres, sharp-eyed and alert in his own upgraded Falcon gear.

Val cleared her throat. “Let’s begin.”

The initial explanations came from you and Reed. Quiet but honest.

Reed spoke in calm, exacting detail of multiversal signatures traced through decaying quantum threads, of a device left behind. How they had found your universe through it. How they had nowhere else to go.

Some of the information he recalled from the public. It only stays between you.

You kept your voice steady, even as your heart threatened to rattle apart in your chest.

“How can we be sure this isn’t an incursion waiting to happen?” one official barked. “Or that they weren’t followed?”

“They were,” you said simply, forcing yourself not to glance across the room. “But not by choice. They lost their entire planet. They tried to stop it.”

Your hands remained at your sides, clenched, unseen beneath the table.

Reed’s voice cracked ever so slightly as he spoke. “Galactus didn’t just consume it. He unmade it. We did everything in our power to stop the event. Everything. But in the end... we got out with one ship.”

“We had no other option,” Sue added, voice quiet but unwavering. “But to come here. We didn’t come to take anything from you. We just came to survive.”

Murmurs buzzed from every side. Tension rising like steam in the sealed room.

You swallowed it down. The instinct to move, to turn your head, to look at him.

Don’t look. Don’t break. Not yet.

Valentina, arms crossed, gave a short nod to her team. “Get them checked. Every one of them. Medical scans, vitals, dimensional residuals. If there’s even a trace of contamination—”

Finally, your resolve cracked just enough to look.

And Johnny…

Johnny was already looking at you.

Not like he had before. Not the blazing, youthful charm, not the devil-may-care grin in the time you spent together. This look was quieter. Worn. Raw. Like he had seen the edge of the world and now stared at the only thing that hadn’t fallen away beneath him.

Your eyes met, and the weight of it crushed the air in your lungs.

He didn’t speak. Just held your gaze like it was the last solid thing in a universe that had collapsed around him.

And then he turned.

Followed the med techs and his family out of the chamber, out of sight.

You stood still in the center front of that room, the voices and arguments resuming around you, your body anchored in place but your chest hollow and echoing, like something had just left that you weren’t ready to lose again.

You looked over at Val. Hard.

She held your gaze. Then relented.

The room tensed again as the policy meeting began.

“Bringing unknown multiversal beings into our world is a direct risk to national security,” one suited man said coldly. “Especially after Sokovia, after Westview, after the incursions—how do we know this won’t cause another catastrophe?”

“They escaped destruction,” Yelena snapped. “They didn’t come to start one.”

You hadn’t planned to speak. Not again. But the room was full of eyes. Valentina glanced at you. So did Sam.

So you turned to Yelena. And to all of them.

“They have nothing left,” you said. Quiet, but clear. “Not a home. Not a timeline. They lost everything, and they still came here to survive. They’re grieving, not invading.”

Yelena looked at you. And for once, her face softened.

She turned to Valentina. “They stay.”

Val opened her mouth. Paused.

Then nodded once.

“Very well,” she said. “As of now, the Fantastic Four are to be placed under Thunderbolt jurisdiction. They’ll be housed in the Watch Tower until further notice. Any investigation, threat analysis, or multiversal risk will be handled by my team.”

She looked to Sam. “In cooperation with Captain America and the U.S. Defense Forces.”

Sam nodded. “We do this together. Carefully. And humanely.”

You noticed Bucky nodding once to what he said. Hard lines on his forehead, deep in thoughts.

And the room finally, finally, began to settle.

⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝

Later that evening, the Watch Tower press room gleamed with cameras and microphones. Valentina stood at the podium, her sharp smile front and center. Behind her, you stood with the rest of the Thunderbolts. Sam Wilson and Joaquín flanked her on the left.

Valentina stood with a smile so sharp it could cut through steel. “The Thunderbolts are cooperating with all branches of government and our allies, including the current Captain America,” she’d said into the mic. “We will ensure the presence of the Fantastic Four causes no disruption to Earth-616, our earth. They will be under our watch, and this situation will be handled… peacefully.”

Cameras clicked. Lights flashed.

“This is not an invasion,” she continued. “This is a crisis we are working to resolve—peacefully, and with caution. We are committed to ensuring Earth-616’s safety without abandoning those in need.”

The press murmured. One hand shot up.

“Are the Thunderbolts equipped to handle multiversal threats?”

Yelena stepped forward. “We already are.”

And beside her, you stood silently, eyes scanning the flashing lenses.

The Fantastic Four were quietly escorted into the Watch Tower’s upper quarters not long after the press conference ended along with their med checkup. Val’s staff, efficient and tight-lipped, assigned them private rooms with enough distance between them for comfort, but close enough to feel like they weren’t alone in this strange new world. Johnny disappears behind a reinforced sliding door without a word, his shoulders tight, his fire dimmed.

In the Watch Tower, he sat in silence.

And the world turned.

⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝

Now, the lights were behind you. The cameras silenced. The performance over.

You rode the elevator back up the Watch Tower alone, still wearing the same coat from the crash site, its hem dusted in dried soil. The floor numbers blinked up one by one. Sluggish, almost reluctant. You leaned your head against the wall. The cool metal helped. Slightly.

The press conference had dragged like a knife. Smiling, explaining, containing. Words like “containment,” “risk assessment,” “interdimensional diplomacy” echoed like static in your skull. You remembered the flashes of the lenses’ barrels pointed at you, the dozen voices asking you what comes next.

All you had really wanted to say was: He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

Now the others were gone, dispersed like aftershocks. Yelena had took a moment to herself, leaning into the wall with a tired frown. Bucky and John argued somewhere in the hallway behind you, their voices low and without real heat. Ava had disappeared before the elevator doors even opened.

But you stood there, still.

Outside his room.

You stared at the smooth panel of his door for a long moment, your hand hovering just inches from it. And for the first time since the world tilted back on its axis, you allowed yourself to feel it.

The fear.

The relief.

The aching hope that maybe, somehow, despite everything… he was still him.

You hadn't let yourself look too long earlier. Not at the crash site, not in the White House, not when his eyes found yours across a room full of wolves.

But now, it was just you.

And him.

You breathed in, slow and full, as if bracing yourself for something more painful than combat.

You raised your hand.

And knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Silence.

You began to pull your hand back. Maybe he needs space. Maybe this isn’t the right time. Maybe you don’t get to want this anymore—

And then—

A quiet hiss.

The door slid open.

Johnny stood there in dim light, his shirt half-unbuttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His hair was damp, messy, like he’d run his hands through it a thousand times and still couldn’t smooth it down. His eyes… they were red-rimmed, dark with exhaustion, brighter somehow when they landed on you.

Like he was seeing something he thought he’d never get back.

You didn’t say a word.

You stepped in.

He didn’t stop you.

And as the door closed behind you with a soft click, it felt like something ancient exhaled. Like the universe itself allowed, for once, a moment of mercy.

And in the next breath, he collapsed into you.

Not gently. Not cautiously. It was like the last wall holding him together finally broke, and all that was left came spilling out into your arms.

His weight nearly knocked you off your feet but you didn’t move. You held him. Let him fall. Let his grief take shape in the curve of his shoulders and the way his hands fisted into your shirt like he didn’t trust the ground anymore.

He shook. Not from cold. From the pressure of everything.

From the end of a world.

From the fact that he survived it.

A sound clawed out of his throat. Not quite a sob, not quite a scream, and his fingers moved to his hair, gripping at the strands like he could wring the guilt from his skull.

Your arms fall to your side.

“I left them,” he gasped, voice cracked and desperate. “I left everyone. I should’ve—god, I should’ve been able to stop it. Reed told me to stay with the ship, to keep the exit open, but I could’ve done more. I should’ve.”

You pulled him in tighter, guiding him to the edge of the bed as you sat down, your arms never leaving his trembling frame.

His chest heaved with the effort of breathing. As if each inhale came with the weight of another name, another person, another city lost to the starless mouth of Galactus.

“I watched it happen,” he said, quieter now, but no softer. “The whole planet. Every place I’d ever flown over. Every rooftop I ever stood on. Everything just… just vanished. Like—like it was never real to begin with. Like we never mattered at all.”

He laughed. Choked on it.

“I used to say I’d die for them,” he whispered. “And instead, I lived. I watched.”

You raised your hand to his jaw, gently guiding his gaze to meet yours. His eyes were red. Hollow. Haunted in a way that made your stomach twist.

You brushed away his tears with your thumbs. But more followed. He couldn’t stop.

And neither could you.

“You didn’t run,” you said, voice steady despite the break in your heart. “You survived. You saved your family. You got them out.” Your hands now dropped to his shoulder, giving them a hold with enough pressure to let him focus on you, “That’s not failure, Johnny. That’s love. That’s sacrifice.”

His brow twisted. “I—” His voice caught in his throat. “I left behind billions. Whole countries. People who looked to us. Who believed in us. I keep hearing them — screaming, and... dying. Gone. Like they were never there.”

His fingers gripped your wrist, grounding himself.

You took his hand, placed it over your chest where your heart was hammering in defiance.

“You didn’t have a choice,” you whispered. “Even a hero can’t save everyone. You’re not a god, Johnny. You were a man who fought until there was nothing left to fight for. And now you’re here. Alive. And that means something. It has to.”

He broke then. A full, shattered sob into your shoulder, hot tears soaking the collar of your shirt as he held onto you like he didn’t know what else to do. Repeating his guilt like a broken record.

The grief in the room was thick. It pressed into the walls, into the floor, into the breath between your lungs.

Like a tide pulling both of you under.

You leaned in, kissed his forehead. Trembling and burning and cold, then rested yours against it.

His skin smelled like ash and ozone and something faintly like you remembered from a scent that used to mean warmth and mischief and youth.

Now it smelled like a funeral.

“I’m here,” you murmured, letting the words rest between you like a promise. “I’m here.”

He clutched you tighter, his breath hitching against your shoulder.

How cruel it was for the stars to give you a fate like this. Holding a broken man with his life erased.

“I tried to find you,” he said quietly. “After you left our earth… after you disappeared. I looked everywhere. I didn’t stop. Even when Reed said the trail went cold. I just… I couldn’t let it go.”

You didn’t move. You barely breathed.

“I needed to believe you were alive,” he said, voice breaking. “Maybe you made it somewhere safe. Like if I kept looking, I’d find you again. And now you’re here. And I’m—” He shook his head. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

You pulled back just enough to see him. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out. Not from lack of sleep, but from everything he’d carried.

“I thought about this moment a thousand times,” he said. “I pictured seeing you again. But not like this. Not after everything’s gone. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Johnny,” you whispered, “it’s not your fault.”

His hands moved to your face, holding it like he was afraid it would disappear if he blinked. His thumb brushed your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “That this is how it had to happen. That we’re here because everything else fell apart.”

You shook your head, your hands resting over his.

“You did everything you could,” you said. “You saved your family. You held on. You survived.”

He closed his eyes. His jaw tightened.

“I don’t feel like I survived. I feel like something’s missing. Like I’m still stuck there, watching it all go down.”

You leaned in, rested your forehead gently against his.

“You’re not alone now,” you said.

He nodded, slowly. His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I missed you every day.”

“I know,” you said. “Me too.”

And for a while, neither of you said anything. You just stayed like that. Close, quiet, steady. The world could wait. Right now, all that mattered was this.

Him. You.

Still standing.

Epilogue

The sky rippled, bending like heat haze across the upper atmosphere. Not a sound broke the stillness, but the stars shifted, subtle and strange, like they, too, were waiting.

Far beyond, suspended in another plane, Strange watched.

Hovering at the edge of this reality, his silhouette rippled with refracted timelines. The Cloak of Levitation twisted in the dark like it had a mind of its own, sensing what he already knew.

The multiverse was thinning.

He had bought them time. Bargained with forces most would not dare to name.

But not even he could hold it back forever.

Something was coming.

And yet, inside the Watch Tower, somewhere high above the sleeping world, you stood still.

The night was cool. Not cold. The kind of air that carried the weight of something just ending… or just beginning.

Beside you, Johnny leaned against the balcony railing, eyes lifted to the sky like if he stared at it long enough, it would give him an answer. But the sky of this earth is not the same as his. His sky was silent now, while yours buzzed with the billions of lives whispering their fates tonight.

His fingers grazed yours until you reached out, and laced your hand with his.

His palm was warm. Still.

Like he hadn’t burned out after all.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

Up above, constellations rearranged themselves across a canvas of unfamiliar stars. The stars that remembered had vanished. These ones will replace them.

The light that spilled through the dark was neither soft nor sharp, just changed.Like everything else.

Like you.

You weren’t the same person who had stepped onto this path months ago, heart half-missing, fractured by grief and memory.

He wasn’t the same man who had fallen through flame and guilt from a dying world.

But here you were.

Together.

Not whole in the way fairytales promised. But not broken, either.

Something else. Something real.

And whatever came next, whether it was a reckoning or a rebirth, you would meet it. Not with fear. Not with denial.

But with him.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“I know,” you say. “It might not. For a while.”

He nods, jaw clenched, eyes flickering with something unspoken. Not pain exactly. Not anymore. Just the shape of it. Something half-healed.

His voice came softly. Like a match striking in a quiet room.

“I keep wondering if we’re just dreaming again.”

You turned your head, eyes meeting his.

“If we are,” you said, “then don’t wake me.”

The silence between you grew thick, almost reverent.

And then, without a word, he rested his forehead against yours. Closing his eyes with a long exhale.

He was here. With you.

Outside, the wind curled around the tower like a whisper from a future still unwritten.

Inside, you stayed like that, bodies to bodies, hand in hand. Breathing together.

One heartbeat. Two lives. No longer fleeing the past.

The stars kept changing. But you didn’t look away. Because this time, you weren’t alone.

And when the end came, or something new began, you would face it.

Not as the girl who ran. Not as the boy who burned. But as something whole. As something more.

You are the ferry.

The hand that reaches back.

The guide who brings the fire home.

You are the Son of Nyx.

And tonight, you brought him through.

End.

a/n: Hi! How are we? Are we good? Please dont hate me HAHA. The original draft was him dying okay. But I'm not that evil.

This had been pretty fun to write! I haven't felt this much joy in writing after years but Thunderbolts brought me back to life. I want to say thank you for showing love and support for this series! I hope to write more longer fics in the future.

And of course we don't know whats going to happen in Doomsday and if you're wondering, FF:FS was set in 1960s and the Thunderbolts are in 2020s. While writing this I researched about how were they going to connect the time allignment and I came across this interview and article.

So this cleared up the timeline confusion.

If I am still writing by next year, you can remind me to make a continuation of this series! But we know damn well everyone is going to die in the end...

Now, let me nerd out with the title of this fic and how it relates to the storyline of you and Johnny because I CAN AND OH? YOU'RE TIED TO THE CHAIR?? NOW YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME!!!

1. Star and night themed: I'm a little Percy Jackson nerd right, hence the Greek mythology reference. And Hozier is the perfect artist for me to hyperfixate on the lyrics of his songs. Welcome I, Carrion and Son of Nyx.

2. Nyx is the goddess of the night. And the son of Nyx is Charron. The ferryman who guides the souls across the River Styx. In this part of the finale, you are the ferryman. You are guiding Johnny and his family transitioning from a dead world to a new life. But this life is also uncertain with the looming threat of the multiversal war that's going to happen in Doomsday. For now, you're on the boat with Johnny, flowing down the River. To where? I don't know. We need to wait until next year.

3. Again, thank you for reading the whole series and reading this rambling until the end! THANK YOU FOR 300 TOO OMG <3

Bye bye~

tags for this series: @theswingingsixtiess @imaginecrushes @saphhireplums @you-makeme-crazier @iguessiwritenow @thefandomplace @sadslasher13 @lafrone @sunnshinie @skyfallslayer @hcneyiced @starsanarchy @jenaatje @lazybot @sasukexnaruto333 @tootstoots @luckyplums1 @itevilhag @starry-night-lover1 @giona45-5 @mcdugglelol @aesthetic-reader413 @ridinnjeanssdichhhh @aureliaborea @random-fangirl001 @oceaneblvd @ponyosmom35 @daylabxg @bonnie-tz @scarlett-witchh @defenestracjaem @sorryimstupidrn @dearmarvel @radiantdanvers @damnzelsoul @dearwalker @narikang @ibelyss @piastri-pages @pick95 @itevilhag @moonsficrec @mcdugglelol

tags for all fics: @lady-violet

#johnny storm x reader #johnny storm #johnny storm angst #johnny storm imagines #johnny storm fanfic #fantastic four #fantastic 4 #fantastic four: first steps #marvel #thunderbolts #mcu #joseph quinn #johnny storm series

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rikiliu · 15 hours ago

Text

NICE GUYS ALWAYS FINISH LAST ─── SJY 𞥊ׅ ۪

( 𐂯ྀི ⊹ ) ⠀─── Blocking his number was easy. Avoiding the backup accounts? Not so much.

You thought one coffee would give him closure.

Instead, you left with a new problem: his hot older brother—calm, charming, and annoyingly good at physics.

What starts with a tutoring session ends with a kiss you shouldn’t have wanted.

And a boy you should’ve never met.

wc ꒱ 15.8k engineer major! jake ⨯ honour roll student! fem. reader

warnings! 18+ smut, angst, pwp , fluff ✸﹕oral(fem) slight stalking, emotional manipulation, violence & agression — reader gets shouted at, drinking, swearing, jake’s younger brother!oc

an ·˚ ༘ jakey only gets really involved later on in the story! I truly believe if jake was to choose between family or love, he would family — so i guess inaccurate sjy? enjoy x

“Girl, I swear to God—if you don’t turn that damn phone off.”

Your phone buzzed again. And again. The screen flickered to life with yet another notification, casting a soft glow that seeped through the cracks between the phone and the polished wooden surface beneath it.

With an exhausted sigh, you held the power button and shut it off completely.

“Leave the poor girl alone. We know who it is.”

“Eh? Jihwan? Girl, I thought you blocked his number.”

You looked up from your latte, eyes dulled from fatigue as you massaged your temples. Across the table, your two best friends—Jimin and Ara—were already shaking their heads, half amused and half exasperated.

“I did,” you groaned. “Then he found my Instagram. And my TikTok. I think he followed my Depop, too.”

“That’s what pussy girls get for not blocking a man properly,” Jimin laughed out.

“Ignore her. I get it,” Ara added gently. “He’s harmless, kind of sweet. You don’t wanna be cruel.”

You let your head drop to the table.

You’ve tried to be distant. You told him you were busy. You left his texts on read. Once, you even told him to leave you alone—not that he seemed to hear it. Jihwan had unrelenting persistence and a lack of social awareness.

Sweet? Maybe. But exhausting.

“He’s not even bad-looking,” you murmured into your sleeve. “He’s just… younger.

Ara snorted. “Exactly. A year below, clingy, insecure, jealous—do you want a boyfriend or a therapy client?”

“A man who knows how to shut up when asked the first time would be nice,” Jimin added.

You winced. You hadn’t even told them about the time he called you crying when you didn’t respond to his text message.

The truth was, Jihwan wasn’t just bothering you. He had spammed your friends, too. Desperate DMs, “please ask Y/N to reply,” crying emojis in group chats. Jimin blocked him. Ara muted his account.

And now, here he was again—texting from a new backup account. Probably made just for you.

You swirled your drink, already feeling the familiar guilt creep in.

You two had met during an elective tutoring session. Your professor had asked you, a junior, to guide a handful of sophomores falling behind in the class. Jihwan was one of them—quiet at first, sitting near the back, always scribbling notes. He was decent. Not dumb, not lazy. Just… there, looking around. At you, apparently.

That day, you stayed behind after everyone left, clearing the desk at the front of the classroom. Your arms were full of stray papers when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You ducked under the table for a fallen pen, then came back up—

Clunk.

“Ow—fuck!”

“Jesus—” You stumbled backwards, clutching your head just as he grabbed his jaw.

There he was. Jihwan. Rubbing his chin like he just bit the table.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—fuck, are you okay?”

“Maybe don’t sneak up next time,” you snapped, blinking through the pain.

“Y/N—yes! I mean—uh, sorry, I just wanted to ask you something—well, a few things actually—”

You exhaled through your nose, remembering his name from the sign-in sheet. “Jihwan.” you breathe gently, “What would you like to ask?”

He visibly froze under your attention. His gaze darted to your heels, then back to your eyes.

“Well, uh—at first I was going to ask about question five, but then you already explained that, and then I thought maybe seventeen because the diagram was confusing, but we didn’t get that far, so I just—uh—”

“The actual question, please.”

He swallowed hard. “I think you’re really pretty. And I was wondering if I could get your—”

The door creaked open. You both jumped.

Jimin poked her head inside.

“Hey. All sessions ended ten minutes ago. You guys wrapping up or…?”

Jihwan dropped his bag. “Oh—! Uh—no—I mean, yes! Sorry!”

In a lively and somewhat hurried manner, he quickly gathered his belongings and exited the door, reminiscent of a deer in a rush.

You barely had time to grab your bag before Jimin stepped in front of you, blocking your exit.

“What?” you asked, confused.

She shut the door behind her.

“Girl, what the fuck was that?” Jimin exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“What was what?”

“That boy had a boner talking to you.”

You froze.

“…No he didn’t.”

“Y/N, I’m telling you—he had a full-on tent situation.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

By now, Jihwan had become a punchline in your life. A slightly tragic one. Persistent, yes. Endearing, maybe. But boundary-challenged? Absolutely.

You left the café that afternoon after your usual debrief with the girls. They had class whilst you didn’t. You took the long path home, letting the wind sweep through your hair and the leafy sidewalks calm your nerves.

Until—

“Y/N! Wait up!”

You stiffened.

Turning around, you saw the same blur of messy hair and frantic limbs you were trying to avoid.

“Hi! I—sorry—I saw you across the street and I tried calling but—”

“Jihwan.” You gave him a polite smile, half-forced. “Hey. You okay?”

He was panting, hunched over slightly from the run. “Yeah! I’m great! I just—I texted you like fifteen times—did you see? I just wanted to say hi—”

“I’ve been busy. Sorry.” You tightened your grip on your bag straps.

“No, no! I just—I’ve been thinking about something and I wanted to ask you again, just in case you changed your mind—”

“Jihwan,” you said, gently but firmly. “I’m in a bit of a rush right now. I’ll respond to your messages when I can, okay?”

His face fell slightly. But he nodded.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Totally. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really. I’ll see you around.”

You turned before he could answer. Your footsteps clicked down the pavement, faster now.

From behind, you still heard him yell after you.

“Bye, Y/N! Text me when you’re free, okay?!”

you didn’t respond, only giving a half hearted wave before rounding the corner.

“What's with that face?”

“Is something on it?’

Jake strides into the living room, his laptop in hand, and zeros in on his brother lounging on the couch, his body sprawled out lazily across one half of it.

“Yeah, a big, fat, frown.’

Jihwan sunks further into the couch with a sigh. “I think she’s avoiding me.”

Jake opens his laptop and doesn’t look back up. “Most girls do, once you start stalking them.

“I’m not stalking her!” Jihwan protests, flopping face-first onto the cushions like a dead fish. “I just really want to speak to her properly…’

Jake is well aware of his little brother's crush—how could he not be? He can't escape the look of starry-eyed admiration Jihwan gets every time he glances at his phone. And those night monologues? They seep through the walls like a late-night radio show, filled with all of Jihwan's hopes and dreams, echoing into the early hours. It’s hard not to chuckle at the passion that spills out of him in the quiet of the night.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t she block your number?”

“She had a bad day, okay?”

“You’re the bad day.”

Jihwan springs up from the mountain of pillows that have absorbed his restless thoughts, locking eyes with Jake, who is engrossed in his typing, fingers flying over the keyboard in a rhythm of creativity.

“Yun, how do you do it?”

“Do what?”

‘I don’t know, get girls. Talk to them.’

Jake pauses before typing again.

‘I just do so.’

Jihwan whines at his older brother’s ambiguous response, the latter laughing at his reaction.

“Hyung, I’m serious, please help me out here,” the boy pleaded, his eyes wide with a mix of desperation and hope. “You can effortlessly talk to anyone, and I’m struggling to even start a conversation. I just need a few tips.’

Jake sighs and tosses his laptop aside, finally giving him full attention.

“Alright. Let’s start with the basics. What did you do?”

Jihwan blinks. “I said hi.”

Jake stares. “And…?”

“And I asked if she saw my messages. And then I tried to walk with her. She said she was in a rush, so I told her I’d catch up with her after.”

Jake leans back against the couch with a dry laugh. “You’re suffocating her, bro.”

“I’m just being consistent!”

“No, you’re being a dog. There’s a difference.”

Jihwan groans and throws his head back.

“I don’t get it. She’s so… pretty. And smart. She scolds me like a teacher, but I kind of like it.”

Jake lifts a brow. “So you want her to… step on you?”

“No! I mean—yes? Maybe? That’s not the point. The point is she used to smile at me sometimes, and now she looks at me like I’m a speed bump.”

Jake rubs a hand over his face. He’s half-exasperated, half-amused.

“Have you tried giving her actual space? Like, intentionally?”

“She’ll forget about me.”

“That’s kind of the goal.”

Jake’s smirk deepens when Jihwan scowls.

“Okay, okay. Fine. You want my help? Be honest. What do you want from her? A date?”

Jihwan hesitates. “I don’t know… I just want her to talk to me like before. Without sighing. Or walking away mid-sentence.”

Jake shrugs. “Then maybe stop cornering her in public like a solicitor.”

Jihwan shoots him a glare. “You’re so unhelpful.”

“I’m realistic. But…” Jake leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “If you’re that desperate, let me meet her.”

Jihwan blinks. “Wait. Why?”

Jake shrugs again, casually. “I’ll observe. Figure out what she responds to. Maybe there’s a way in that doesn’t involve emotionally waterboarding her.”

“She’s not a lab rat.”

“No, she’s worse. She’s a college girl who’s tired of your clingy little puppy act.”

Jihwan bites the inside of his cheek. “I just… I don’t want her to think I needed backup.”

Jake lifts a brow. “It’s not backup. It’s me being a wingman.”

Jihwan doesn’t answer at first. His grip tightens on the sleeve of his hoodie, jaw twitching slightly.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the floor. “If she gets even a little bit impressed by you… I don’t think I’d stand a chance after that.”

Jake doesn’t tease him. Doesn’t smile. Just watches him, suddenly a little quieter.

“I’m not trying to make you lose,” he says softly. “I just don’t want you to keep playing a game that’s rigged.”

The room stills for a beat. Jihwan doesn’t answer — but the look on his face says everything.

You sighed, typing the last line of book barcode numbering into your laptop and sending the email without proofreading it.

Midterms were coming up, libraries were packed, and study rooms were booked solid with groups of students tutoring or cramming.

As a teacher’s assistant, you didn’t mind helping out. You were doing well in your classes, balancing studying, assisting, and extra curricular with no worries.

But the lack of available books, booked IT suites, and your busy schedule meant you’d spent almost three hours as your professor’s referencer assistant—digging up materials for classes and sessions.

It was getting late. You packed your things, pushed open the heavy oak doors, and let the evening’s cold breeze kiss your skin.

Before you even reached the library stairs, you felt it.

That subtle, nervous energy you’d come to associate with fast, clumsy footsteps behind you—someone trying to catch up but not wanting to be noticed.

You didn’t turn right away.

“Y/N!”

You closed your eyes and exhaled.

Of course.

“Wait up!”

You slowed just enough to be polite, not enough to encourage. Didn’t matter. Jihwan caught up anyway, panting softly as he fell into step beside you.

“I saw you leave the library and—sorry, I just—I’ve been trying to talk to you.”

“I noticed,” you muttered, pulling your hoodie tighter around your shoulders.

He looked sheepish. His hair was wind-ruffled, his oversized crewneck swallowing him whole—almost boyish, like he didn’t belong on a college campus yet.

“I know I’ve been… kinda blowing up your phone,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “and your Instagram. And, um—probably Ara and Jimin’s too.”

You shot him a look. He immediately cringed.

“I swear I stopped after Jimin told me to ‘eat concrete and walk into traffic.’”

You couldn’t help the twitch of a smile.

“That sounds like her.”

He smiled at the small win, then sobered fast. “But seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… didn’t want things to fade before I had a real shot.”

“Jihwan…” you sighed. “We talked about this. Kind of.”

“I know,” he said gently, like he’d rehearsed it a dozen times. “I know I probably come off as too much. But I just want one chance. One real one. Not over DMs or in a tutoring session.”

You stopped walking. He stumbled, realising, and turned to face you.

“Look, I don’t want to keep leading you on,” you said quietly. “I don’t think we’re on the same page about… us.”

His gaze dropped.

“Then let me catch up.”

You blinked. He looked up again—eyes softer now, still desperate but quieter.

“One hour,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking. Coffee. No pressure. If it’s weird, you never have to talk to me again.”

Your instinct screamed no. Immediately.

But the way he said it—not demanding, not whining, just quietly pleading—made your chest tighten.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“What’s the point, Jihwan?”

“So I can stop wondering,” he said honestly. “And so you don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

You stared at him, speechless.

The wind fluttered the hem of his sweatshirt. He looked like he was holding his breath.

You looked away first.

“One hour,” you repeated. “And you’re paying.”

His face lit up like a damn sunrise.

“Anything you want.”

You rolled your eyes, already regretting it.

“We’ll see if you say that after you see my order.”

He didn’t care. Not even a little.

Because in his head, he’d already won.

Jihwan was ecstatic, to say the least.

What felt like months of planning had somehow squeezed into just two days — and now he was sitting in a café, legs bouncing under the table, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie.

He’d picked the spot carefully. A charming place near campus, quiet but not empty. Jazz fusion hummed through the speakers, setting the tone — mellow, effortless, exactly the kind of place that said this is chill, not a date-date, unless you want it to be. Plants framed every corner, lush and leafy like a greenhouse exploded in all the right ways. The air was warm with vanilla and rich coffee, a scent that hugged you when you walked in.

And then you arrived.

And Jihwan almost forgot how to breathe.

That white dress hugged your frame just right — clean and simple, sharp without even trying. A slouchy grey cardigan hung off one shoulder, softening the look, giving you this relaxed, glowy appearance like you hadn’t even tried and still looked unfairly good.

Then there were the yellow sneakers — faded and loud in the best way. Paired with frilly socks, they made you look like someone’s daydream.

You glanced around, scanning the café until your eyes landed on him. And then you smiled. Just a little.

“Hi, Jihwan. Have you already ordered?”

“Uhm—no, not yet. Shall we?”

The barista took your orders — iced lattes, a slice of cake to share — and Jihwan didn’t hesitate to pay, just like he’d promised. You returned to your seats, trays in hand, settling in across from one another.

He was trying not to let it show, but his face was flushed. His palms still clammy. He was here. With you. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a fantasy.

Okay. Remember what Jaeyun said: be cool. Be distant.

“You don’t owe me anything, you know,” he said, leaning back in his seat with practiced ease, arms crossed just loose enough to seem casual.

“If this is just a pity thing… I’ll live. Just figured I’d shoot my shot while I still had the guts.”

It wasn’t cocky. If anything, it was refreshingly self-aware. Honest. He wasn’t over-explaining for once.

You smiled slightly, easing into your chair.

The conversation flowed. He asked about your tutoring, your favorite classes, your plans for the summer. You asked about his hobbies, how he was finding university life, who he looked up to.

For a while, it felt like talking to a friend. You started to wonder if maybe… you’d misjudged him.

Until he opened his mouth again.

“Not gonna lie… the guys are gonna flip when they see I finally landed a date with you.”

You looked up from your drink, slow and deliberate. “Pardon?”

Jihwan grinned sheepishly. “I mean, you’re really pretty. One of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen here. And when I found out you were in my tutoring class, I just knew I had to get to you before anyone else could.”

Your stomach tensed. A quiet shift in the air. “I see…”

Then, too casually:

“You know, I always thought the only reason they made you a TA was ’cause you’re pretty.”

He laughed like it was harmless. A throwaway line. Something he expected you to smile at.

But it hit like a slap. Subtle, but sharp.

Your gaze snapped up, one brow lifting. “Excuse me?”

He laughed again, this time a little too nervously. “No, I mean—you’re smart too. I just meant… people notice you, y’know? Professors, students, everyone. You kinda stand out.”

He thought it was a compliment. Maybe.

You stared at him for a second. Just long enough to wonder if he’d realize what he said.

“So… I’m only the TA because I’m pretty?” You said it low. Calm. Dangerous.

He shrugged, as if the words couldn’t possibly carry weight. “I mean—come on. Everyone says that. You could probably fail the next two exams and they’d still keep you.”

That was it.

You exhaled, not a laugh, but a cold breath through your nose — the kind that meant you were done.

Carefully, you set your coffee down. “Right,” you said, pushing your chair back. The sharp scrape of the legs dragged heads in your direction.

“Wait—where are you going?” Panic finally entered his voice.

“I have a class in ten minutes.” You rose without hesitation. “Can’t be failing my classes, right?”

“Wait, Y/N—come on, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You did.”

You looked him square in the eyes. “And that’s the problem.”

No yelling. No drama.

But by the time you walked out, Jihwan looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

Jake was so close to skipping class today.

Jay and Sunghoon had gone too hard last night, starting their pregame early and not stopping until the club’s lights flickered off. Add in the mystery bruises, dehydration, and the crick in his neck from sleeping on the floor — thanks to Jay stealing his bed for no apparent reason — Jake was running on an energy drink.

Still, the lecture hall buzzed with a familiar kind of chaos: students half-asleep before the projector even warmed up, headphones in, side conversations humming like static. He could’ve asked someone for the class attendance code and slept through it all. But he needed the grades. Fall off the academic radar, and he’d fall off the hockey team too.

The lecture hall doors swung open mid-scroll through his notifications, a small group filtering in. A few wandered down the aisles, scanning for empty seats. One of them slid into the chair beside him — a girl he didn’t recognize from class.

But he’d definitely seen her before.

Achievement ceremonies, most likely — her face on the dean’s list glowing on a projector while Jake and the team stood off to the side, sweaty and grinning, holding up trophies.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her rummage through her bag, her movements slowing before she turned slightly toward him.

“Hey, sorry — do you have a spare pen I could borrow?”

Jake glanced up, meeting her gaze for the first time. And then—froze for half a second.

He hadn’t meant to stare, but her presence had that effect. Her expression was calm, her features effortless — fluttery lashes, plush lips, and skin that practically caught the light. Her features existed in harmony together.

He cleared his throat and slid a pen from in front of him.

“Yeah. Here. You can keep it — I’ve got extras.”

“Thank you so much,” she said, visibly relaxing.

Jake turned back to his screen, but her voice broke through again a moment later.

“Sorry, again — is this Mechanics 2A?”

He blinked. “Nope. General Physics II.”

Her lips parted in mild horror as she looked around, confused. Jake couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out.

“Don’t tell me you’re still getting lost when the year’s almost over.”

“I’m not!” she defended quickly. “I was across campus for something and got a last-minute text about a room change. I must’ve read it wrong.”

He smirked. “Can’t have you losing valedictorian now, can we?”

That earned a small smile… before it faded just as quickly. She sank slightly in her seat.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset over missing one lecture.”

“Well, no… never mind.”

Jake frowned. “Hey, don’t do that. You can talk to me — I’m not gonna judge.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “I don’t even know you.”

He grinned. “Sometimes that makes it easier.”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “l know this guy — he’s liked me for a while. I figured maybe I’d give him a chance…”

“Very noble of you,” Jake said lightly.

“I thought so too — until he said something that just… completely threw me. Like, I think he implied I’m a bit of a dumbass.”

Jake’s smile dropped, his brows drawing together.

“Well,” he said, voice steady but sincere, “we both know that’s not true.”

He looked at her again, and his tone softened just slightly. “Between the two of us, I’m pretty sure I know who’s smarter.”

She gave a quiet laugh, lips curving, but her eyes still held a flicker of doubt.

Jake leaned back in his chair. “You know who you are. What you’ve earned. Don’t let someone insecure try to rewrite that.”

She gave him a small nod, her smile a little more real this time. “Yeah. I guess not.”

By now, thirty minutes had passed — still with no sign of the professor. Students were packing up, murmuring about cancellations and wasted time. She reached for her phone, glancing back at Jake.

“Mind if I get your socials?”

He raised a brow. “I thought we were strangers.”

She shrugged. “Just in case I need to trauma-dump on someone again.”

He handed her his phone, amused.

The walk back to the family home was quiet—too quiet for Jake’s liking. His phone buzzed with a call from his mum, already reminding him dinner was waiting, which meant Jay was stuck cooking for a hungover, whiny Sunghoon back at the dorms.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft thud, and spotted his little brother sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to his phone like it held all the answers.

“Woah, you’re dressed up. Wait—is that my hoodie?” Jake raised an eyebrow.

Jihwan barely looked up. “Oh, ‘yun. Hey.”

Jake dropped his backpack with a thunk, flopped onto the armrest of the couch, and studied his brother’s gloomy expression.

“Okay, spill it. Did you push the girl or did she push you?”

Jihwan sighed, finally looking up, his face clouded with something close to misery. “I took her on a date.”

Jake blinked, shocked. “Damn. When was this?”

“Earlier today.”

“And you didn’t text me? No pep talk?”

Jihwan shut his eyes and took a deep breath like he was trying to deflate a balloon inside his chest. “No… I think if I did, I’d have just made it worse.”

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, what went wrong?”

“I tried to act distant, like you said. Like I didn’t care. But I think I just ended up talking too much. She got upset, walked out of the café.’

Jake groaned and shook his head. “Alright, we definitely need to work on that. But it’s not the end of the world, okay? I’m here for you.”

Jihwan gave a small, reluctant smile and looked down. “Yeah. I know. Thanks, hyung.”

Jake ruffled his brother’s hair before standing and heading upstairs to his room. He flopped onto his bed and scrolled through his phone, chuckling at the group chat blowing up with Jay and Sunghoon sending photos of the latter drooling mid-sleep, and one epic live shot of Sunghoon falling out of a chair.

17:34 Jay [ yoo how’s little man doing then?

17:35 Sunghoon [ Tell your mum I said hi

17:35 Jake ] no shut up hoon

17:35 Jake ] icl he fumbled it she walked out on him 😭

17:36 Jay [ youre lying..

17:36 Sunghoon [ my guy 🤣🤣

Just as Jake was about to reply, his phone buzzed again—this time from an unknown number.

17:37 [ Hi, is this the boy from GenPhys?

Jake smiled, fingers flying over the keyboard.

17:38 Jake ] hi pretty

Putting the vacuum away, Jake surveyed his room with pride. It wasn’t like he was messy, but it had definitely been due for a deep clean.

You were coming over to study — something about him needing help from his favourite ‘top student.’ And conveniently, as fellow engineering majors, your modules overlapped just enough for it to make sense.

Not that Jake cared about just the academics. The growing connection between you two was undeniable — obvious enough that even Sunghoon and Jay caught on to Jake’s sudden attachment to his phone and his habit of vanishing mid-afternoon without explanation.

“Where you off to now, lover boy?” Sunghoon had teased once, catching Jake buttoning his top and readjusting the necklace he usually kept tucked underneath.

“Hot pot. With Y/N,” Jake said, barely glancing up as he straightened out his outfit. Last time you saw him, you’d laughed your ass off after noticing his jeans unzipped — his Lightning McQueen boxers on full display. He wasn’t taking any risks this time.

Sunghoon tried to stifle a grin. “Wasn’t that the place Jay was begging us to try?”

Jake smirked through the mirror. “She beat him to it. Guess you two gotta go on a date now.”

A dramatic groan emitted from Sunghoon.

Jake grabbed a cologne bottle, spraying it on the heat points of his neck and wrists.

Sunghoon squinted. “Wait—yo, that’s my cologne, you dick.”

Jake grinned, slipping on his shoes. “Gotta smell good for my lady.”

Sunghoon shoved him out the door, yelling curses down the hallway as Jake laughed his way out.

But today, he went for something more comfortable — grey sweats, a plain white tee, and his favourite hoodie. Put-together enough to seem intentional. Relaxed enough to keep things… casual.

Sunghoon and Jay were busy at the dorm, so Jake chose to use his family's house instead. His parents were working, and Jihwan — mercifully — was out with friends.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He jogged down the stairs and opened it to see you.

You stood there with glasses perched on your nose, soft hair framing your face, and a grey jumper slipping messily off one shoulder. The hem of a denim skirt peeked out over your thighs, with chunky brown shoes adorning your feet.

You looked cute. Then again, Jake thought you’d look cute in a trash bag too.

“Hi, Jakey,” you said sweetly, eyes scanning his face.

“Hi, pretty. You ready to teach me?”

You hummed in response. He took your bag and led you upstairs.

His room was clean, warm, and familiar. You paused to look around — eyes catching on the Polaroids taped above his headboard, little LEGO figurines arranged on his dresser.

You both sat on his bed, cracking open your textbooks and pens. The study session began in earnest — Jake proving himself to be an active listener. He nodded when you explained things, asked questions, and leaned in close whenever he was lost.

He was good at physics — it was his best subject. But you didn’t need to know that.

Just for today, he was very good at pretending to not understand kinematics, especially when your voice dipped into that soft, patient register.

“Okay, so… this is supposed to be a projectile motion problem,” he mutters, brows furrowed as he squints at the worksheet. “But I swear it looks like alien code.”

From across the mattress, you suppress a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s not alien code. You just skipped half the steps,” you reply, reaching for his notebook.

You lean over, pulling the paper toward you and circling the numbers he misread. Jake stays still as your arm brushes his, catching a faint trace of your perfume — soft, warm, like honeyed tea.

“You forgot to square the velocity,” you say, your voice steady. “That’s why your answer looks like you launched the ball into orbit.”

Jake lets out a sigh, his lips twisting into a grin. “Right. Of course. Rookie mistake.”

Your eyes flick up, and for a second, he’s already looking at you. That familiar glint is there — not arrogant, not rehearsed — but something else. Curious. Focused.

You sit back down on the bed beneath you, stretching your arms back slightly.

“How did you even pass the last midterms?” you ask.

Jake shrugs. “Charisma. And… occasionally crying in my room after practice.”

That earns a small laugh from you — just enough to lighten the air between you.

You explain something again — energy conversion this time — and Jake’s eyes flicker to your mouth as you talk. You pause mid-sentence, catching him.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you say.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend to listen but you’re actually staring into space.”

He smiles, slowly. “Not space. Just… your lips move a lot when you explain things.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“Jake,” you warn gently.

He leans back in his chair, palms raised. “I’m just making an observation.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“And yet, here you are. Still tutoring me.”

You shake your head, but your smile lingers. You both fall into a lull — the kind that feels natural, unforced. His knee brushes against yours on top of the duvet. Neither of you move.

Then Jake speaks, quieter this time.

“Can I say something?”

You glance at him. “You’re already talking.”

“For real, this time.”

You nod slowly.

“I used to think people like you didn’t care about guys like me.”

You raise a brow. “Jake, you’re a campus athlete with a full scholarship. Pretty sure everyone cares about you.”

He gives a crooked smile. “Yeah, but… not like this. Not when I’m struggling. Not when I don’t have the answers.”

You stare at him for a moment. And then, gently: “Well… now you do.”

He looks up.

You push his pencil back toward him, your fingers brushing his. “Try again. I’ll help you if you get stuck.”

And he does — this time slower, more focused. When he finishes the question right, you smile.

“You got it,” you say.

Jake lets out a breath, “Look at that. My first real answer.”

“Your handwriting’s still terrible, though.”

He grins. “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to be a TA. That’s your thing.”

You pause, the compliment hanging between you.

“You’re fading,” you say flatly, leaning over to flip the page for him. “Again.”

“I’m conserving energy,” he retorts, eyes flickering to yours. “Smart people call it strategic rest.”

You scoff, snatching the pencil from his hand. “Smart people don’t need me to explain the same equation three times.”

“I was distracted,” he says, blinking up at you with a lazy grin. “Something about the way you say ‘centripetal’—gets me every time.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach tightens.

He’s close now. Not just physically, but the way his words hang between you both—light, but with weight beneath them. You feel his gaze settle, more pointed now, no longer skipping.

“You're always this bossy during tutoring?” Jake says lowly.

“Only when the student’s trying to flirt his way out of doing the work.”

His smile deepens. “Can’t help it. You look kinda cute when you’re trying to school me.”

You try to fire back—something sharp, something witty—but your breath stalls a little when he shifts forward, propping his elbow on a pillow that sits between you two. He’s close enough now that you can smell the faint citrus on his hoodie, feel the warmth of him reaching you.

The silence stretches. Not awkward—just thick.

“You’ve got that look again,” he murmurs.

“What look?”

“Like you’re about to run… or kiss me. Not sure which.”

Your throat tightens. His voice isn’t teasing anymore. It’s softer. Slower. Like he’s testing the air.

“Depends,” you say, heartbeat in your throat. “Would you stop me if I did either?”

His jaw flexes subtly.

“No,” he says, so quiet you barely catch it.

And then his fingers brush yours—light, tentative. Like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away.

But you don’t.

You lean in first, just barely—and Jake meets you halfway.

The kiss is soft, almost cautious at first. His lips press against yours like he’s trying to memorise the shape of them. But when you don’t pull back, his hand finds the side of your jaw, thumb brushing beneath your cheekbone—and it deepens, slow and deliberate, like he’s been waiting for the exact second you’d let him.

When you finally part, there are still inches between you—but the air is charged.

“You gonna fail your exam ‘cause of me now?” he says, voice slightly roughened.

You smile, eyes still on his. “Only if you keep talking.”

Your lips met again — firmer, hungrier. Jake’s hand found your back, the other slipping to your waist. The moment curled inwards, coiling around you both.

As your lips gently part, a string of spit connects you two. You both catch your breath, the warmth between you intensifying like a sudden surge of emotion. Holding each other tightly, there’s a palpable sense of urgency, as if the world outside might intrude at any moment, pulling you apart.

‘You look so pretty like this, Y/N.’ he breathed out, rough fingertips trailing up your waist under your jumper.

Your head felt heavy, but there was a comforting warmth in his touch as his hands gently explored further. He drew closer, resting his face in the crook of your neck, creating a sense of intimacy that made you shy away from meeting his gaze. You worried that the depth of your feelings would overwhelm you if you looked into his eyes any longer.

Plump lips and a wet tongue suck and nibble on the slope of your neck. His hands sneak themself under your bra, holding and massaging your breasts lightly.

Then—

Bang.

The front door slammed open. You flinched, clutching at Jake instinctively.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered, face screwed in frustration. “Wait here.”

He slid out from under you, adjusting himself before closing the bedroom door behind him.

Halfway down the stairs, he spotted his little brother.

“Oh. Hi ‘yun. What’s there to eat?” Jihwan asked casually, slipping off his shoes.

Jake sighed. “You came back early.”

“Yeah, the place we were going to closed early so—”

“Cool. Just—go to your room for now?”

“Why?”

“I have someone over. I thought the house would be empty.”

Jihwan blinked. Then his eyes widened.

“Oh. Yeah. Got it. Going now.”

Jake watched him scramble upstairs, then returned to his room, firmly shutting the door behind him.

You were curled on the bed, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.

“It’s getting late,” he said gently, checking his phone.

You nodded. “Yeah. I should probably go.”

He helped you pack your things, walking you to the front door and making sure you had a way home.

The front door shut with a soft thud. Jake stood there for a second, frozen, hand still resting on the doorknob.

Your perfume still clung faintly to his hoodie, your warmth still imprinted on the bed upstairs — and his pants now doing absolutely nothing to hide what the makeout session had left behind.

He groaned under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

Not ideal. Definitely not ideal.

He adjusted his sweats, huffing out a breath and leaning back against the wall. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed down — neither had the rush of heat low in his stomach.

That kiss wasn’t supposed to go that far.

But the way you melted into him? The way you tugged his hair, rolled your hips?

No amount of cold air or deep breathing was fixing that problem.

Jake locked his bedroom door behind him, leaning against it for a second like he needed something solid to hold him down. His head fell back with a quiet thud against the wood.

He blew out a sharp breath through his nose.

Your lipgloss was still faintly on his mouth.

He dragged a hand through his hair and walked to the bed — sheets crumpled, your handwriting still visible on his notebook, the spot where you straddled him still warm. The memory hit all at once. The weight of your hips. The way you looked down at him. That soft gasp when his hands moved beneath your sweater.

Jake exhaled a curse, low and ragged, fingers already tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

It wasn’t even a decision — it was instinct. His body was already aching, hard and pressed tight against the fabric, throbbing with tension he couldn’t carry anymore.

He laid back on the bed, head hitting the pillow where your scent still lingered, and wrapped a hand around himself. The groan that left him was barely a whisper — like even his body was trying to stay quiet in case you were still close enough to hear.

His hand moved slow at first, hissing at the sensitivity of his tip, aggravated and leaking with pre. Closing his eyes, he took himself back to moments ago, matching the rhythm of your kiss, the grind of your hips. He imagined you — perched on his lap, breathless, fingers tangled in his hoodie, whispering his name like a secret.

It didn’t take much. Just the thought of you. The sound you made when he kissed the corner of your mouth. The softness of your thighs around his waist.

Jake’s brows pulled together, chest rising faster now as his other hand gripped the sheets. The tension climbed quick, curling deep in his stomach, coiling tighter with every stroke.

“Fuck…” he muttered, almost like a prayer.

And the way you moaned his name, how you caressed him as if he was the most delicate thing in the room—

Jake spilled over with a muffled groan, hips stuttering up into his hand, chasing the high that had been building since the second you leaned in.

The room fell quiet again, save for the soft ticking of the clock.

Jake lay there for a moment, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving. His hoodie was pushed up, sweat clinging to the back of his neck.

He stared at the ceiling, a small breathless laugh escaping.

“Yeah,” he murmured, wiping his hand on the hem of a nearby shirt. “Definitely not over this.”

16:43 Jake ] where are u pretty

16:47 [ library !

16:49 Jake ] thought so

Walking up the library stairs and pushing the heavy oak doors open, the scent of dust and old leather hit instantly.

Jake’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on you; perched at a small table, laptop open, books scattered around you as you curated materials for your professor, unbothered by the quiet chaos around you.

Since that night at Jake’s house, the kiss hadn’t been mentioned. But the tension still hung between you — light brushes of hands, lingering glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. Neither of you brought it up. Neither of you needed to.

Jake slid into the chair beside you. You jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

“I was already on my way here,” he said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Knew you’d be here.”

“You calling me a nerd, Jakey?”

“I’m calling you resourceful, pretty.”

You giggled under your breath, watching as Jake leaned back in his chair, eyes still on your face — searching for something unspoken.

“You busy next week, scholar?” he asked.

“That depends,” you replied, eyes flicking up from your screen. “Who’s asking?”

“There’s a party. At The Furnace,” he said, casual but hopeful. “Hockey team’s throwing it — pre-playoff thing.”

“You’re part of Phi Xi Rho?”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. “No. But most of the team is.”

You hummed in response, thinking. “Sure. Why not. I haven’t been to a rager in a while.”

Jake smiled — wide and genuine. “Nice. I’ll text you the details.”

The conversation softened after that, fading into comfortable silence. Under the table, your fingers found his — tentative at first, then lacing gently together as you finished typing out an email to your professor.

Afterwards, he helped you reshelve the books. Two of them crashed loudly to the floor when he misstepped on the ladder, causing heads to turn. Jake looked around sheepishly, muttering something about gravity being out to get him.

Once finished, you left together, walking across campus with tall concrete buildings casting long shadows as students drifted by in the golden afternoon light.

You came to a slow stop near the edge of the quad when Jake suddenly lit up beside you, a spark of excitement crossing his face as he remembered something.

“You know how I went camping with Sunghoon and Jay on the weekend, right? Well there was a small artisan market.’ Jake recalls, pulling something out of his pocket.

It was a small square box, the edge sealed with a grey sticker. Gently, he passed it to you, the box sturdy in your palm with a bit of weight to it.

“Here,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “I, um… saw this and thought of you.”

You blink, glancing between the gift and his face. His eyes flick down, suddenly unsure. Like giving you this feels more vulnerable than he expected.

Unveiling the lid, a thin, gold, anklet chain sat in cream paper, glinting in the overhead lights. Strung on the chain was a green teardrop shaped bead, and a small gold star charm, luminous in the low light.

Your breath hitches. “Jake…”

He swallows. “I know it’s kinda random. I just— I don’t know. You’ve been on my mind lately. Not just because of tutoring or whatever. It’s more than that.”

He watches as your fingers trail the jade charm, delicate and slow.

“I asked the shop lady,” he continues, eyes fixed on your reaction. “She said jade’s for harmony. Love, too, sometimes. And strength. Like… not loud strength, but the quiet kind. The kind you carry without anyone really seeing it.”

You glance up, throat tight.

“And the star?” you whisper.

His lips tug into a small smile. “That one’s for me. So I don’t forget how far above me you are.”

Your laugh comes out shaky, your heart aching in that sweet, aching way it does when someone really sees you. Jake shifts closer, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“There’s space to add more,” he murmurs. “If you ever feel like it. I just wanted… I don’t know. Something that could grow with you.”

Your voice is soft. “You mean us.”

Jake meets your eyes—open, unguarded. “Yeah. I do.”

Jake’s eyes don’t leave yours.

Not even as the box sits open between you both — anklet still cradled in your palm, the little jade charm catching the light with every tiny shift.

He’s closer now. Not in some clumsy, obvious way. It’s slow and thoughtful, like he’s giving you every chance to step back, to breathe. But you don’t. You don’t want to.

The space between you shrinks until your knees are brushing again, until his gaze dips once to your lips and then back up to your eyes.

“Can I—?” he starts, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod before he even finishes.

And Jake leans in.

His hand brushes yours first, fingers curling gently along your wrist as he leans closer, the warmth of his breath meeting your skin just before his lips can.

But just then—

bzzz. bzzz.

You phone vibrates in your pocket, a ping ringing out in the still air between you two.

You both freeze.

You blink, startled. Jake pulls back slightly, his face still so close, his brows furrowed—not with annoyance, but hesitation. Like he’s wondering if he should’ve waited. Like he’s already missing what almost happened.

You glance at the screen. A message preview flashes:

18:02 DO NOT ANSWER] Hey, i’m almost there

Your stomach flips.

Jake shifts back a little more, the moment dissolving softly between you.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice careful.

You close the lid of the gift box slowly, heart pounding. “Yeah… just—someone I promised I’d see.”

Jake nods, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Got it.”

You hesitate, the weight of everything you aren’t saying suddenly loud in the room.

Blinking and chest tightening, you look up at Jake, regret filling your chest.

“It’s that guy I told you about, the one that won’t leave me alone. He wants to apologise for the date, but I’m going to properly end things tonight.”

Jake’s chest feels tight but lightens at your honesty. Seeing shame fill your face, he reassures you.

“You’re human for wanting an apology.” Soft eyes staring back at you. “You want me to walk you there?”

You shake your head, telling him it was fine and that you were going to opposite way to him.

Smiling, you both take your leave, not without fingers holding onto each other, before disconnecting from the distance.

Now: Jihwan.

You find him by the far edge of campus, near the art building’s sculpture garden where the grass is overgrown and fewer people pass. He’s standing beneath a jacaranda tree, backlit by the purple blooms, clutching a small bouquet of yellow tulips — bright and soft against the gloom in his eyes.

He spots you instantly.

“Y/N!”

You approach slowly, heartbeat still muddled from the almost-kiss you left behind. Jake’s warmth still clings faintly to your sleeve, but you blink the memory away.

Jihwan steps forward, holding out the flowers with both hands.

“I… I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”

You offer a stiff smile, accepting the bouquet gently. “I said I would.”

The scent of tulips is faint, almost sugary. They droop slightly, like they’ve been clutched too tightly for too long.

“I wanted to apologise,” he says, voice quiet and uncertain. “For what I said during our date. I know it came off wrong. I was trying to sound cool, but I just sounded like an idiot.”

You nod once, glancing down at the bouquet.

“I appreciate that,” you say honestly. “It hurt, what you said. But… thank you. For apologising.”

For a second, the tension thaws. His shoulders lower, and he almost smiles.

“So… we’re good, right?” he asks, stepping forward. “I thought maybe we could start over. I really want to try again, Y/N.”

You look up, steady. You’ve rehearsed this part in your head.

“I forgive you,” you say softly. “But… I don’t think trying again is a good idea.”

His brows knit together. “Wait, what?”

“I came today to clear the air. I think it’s better we stop here.”

His smile vanishes. His whole posture shifts, upright and tense.

“Why?”

You shake your head gently. “Because I’m interested in someone else.”

He flinches like you struck him. “You’re serious.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” he snaps. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have led me on.”

You freeze. “I didn’t lead you on.”

“You said yes to the date.”

“I said yes because I wanted to give you a chance. And now I’m being honest.”

Jihwan’s jaw tightens. His hands curl into fists.

“Who is it?” he demands, stepping forward. “Who are you seeing?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he says, his voice rising now. “Tell me. Who is it? Who’s the guy?”

You back away, bouquet still clutched in your hands. The stems tremble against your palm.

“It’s not about him—this is about me. What I want.”

Jihwan laughs, but there’s no humour in it. Just disbelief. “So I’m not good enough, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

He moves forward fast, too fast — grabbing your shoulders before you can step back again.

“I’ve been trying,” he hisses, eyes sharp. “I’ve done everything I could. And you’d rather throw it away for some other guy?”

You stiffen. His grip burns through your sleeves. You gasp — not from pain, but from shock. His hold isn’t gentle. It’s desperate.

“Jihwan,” you whisper, voice shaking, “let go.”

But he doesn’t. Instead, his hands tighten. He gives a rough, frustrated shake — not enough to hurt, but enough to scare. His voice cracks as he yells:

“Tell me who it is!”

Your fingers go limp.

The bouquet falls from your hands, hitting the ground with a soft, muffled thud. The tulips scatter, petals bruising as they roll against the concrete.

You look up at him, breath caught in your throat. Your heart is pounding so loudly it rings in your ears.

“Let me go,” you whisper. “You’re scaring me.”

Something shatters in his expression. Guilt floods his face as he pulls back immediately, hands dropping as if burned.

“Shit. Y/N—I didn’t mean to—” His voice is cracking now, panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, I just—I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer.

You’re already stepping back, breath shallow, tears pricking your eyes.

You look at the bouquet on the ground. Crushed. A petal stuck to your shoe. You don’t bother picking it up.

“Don’t follow me,” you whisper hoarsely.

And before he can say another word, you turn and run.

Jake’s lounging on his bed, one arm behind his head, aimlessly scrolling through his phone — until a sudden vibration lights up the screen, a call cutting through the quiet.

He doesn’t even check the name before answering.

“Hey pretty, you alright—”

But the voice on the other end stops him cold.

“Jake,” you whisper, barely audible over a shaky breath. “I don’t know where I am.”

His body goes rigid. He sits up instantly, heart dropping like a stone.

“Y/N? What—what’s going on? Are you hurt?”

Silence. Then: a stifled sob.

“I need to see you.”

He’s already moving. “Send me your location. Right now. Don’t move, okay? I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He throws the phone on speaker, tossing on a hoodie and barely jamming his feet into shoes before he’s out the door.

“What the fuck— where are you going?” Jay shouts from the kitchen, halfway through a mouthful of leftover noodles.

“Yes!” Jake yells, sprinting down the hallway. Jay’s left blinking, chopsticks frozen midair.

The cold night air slaps him in the face as he jumps into his car, glancing at the location pinged to his phone — a park not far from campus, tucked between two residential streets.

Ten minutes. That’s all it’ll take. But his fingers grip the wheel like it’s thirty.

His headlights finally flash across the bench.

And then he sees you.

Hunched over, curled into yourself, your arms wrapped tight around your knees. Your bag’s slipped onto the ground beside you like an afterthought. You’re shaking.

He slams the brakes and jumps out, car barely in park before he’s sprinting toward you.

“Y/N—”

Your head lifts, eyes wide and swollen, tear tracks painting your cheeks. The moment you see him, your mouth opens like you’ve just remembered how to breathe.

Jake drops to his knees in front of you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, hands reaching out instinctively but pausing just short of touching you. “You’re freezing. What happened?”

You choke on another sob, reaching for him. That’s all it takes.

He gathers you into his arms, jacket wrapping around your shoulders as he tucks your head against his chest. Your fingers grip the front of his shirt like it’s the only solid thing in the world.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Jake doesn’t let go — not even for a second.

You’re pressed against his chest, trembling, your fists curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt. His arms cocoon you like he’s shielding you from the world, his breath steady against your temple, grounding.

But then your voice breaks through, barely more than a whisper.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you murmur, pulling back just enough for him to see your face — flushed, tear-streaked, and aching. “He just… he wouldn’t let it go. I told him I wasn’t interested, but he kept talking like it wasn’t real. Like I owed him something.”

Jake’s expression tightens, jaw flexing, but he stays silent.

“I tried to leave,” you go on, voice cracking. “But he grabbed me. Just my shoulders, but—he shook me. Like it was my fault for not liking him back. Like I’d led him on or—”

You suck in a breath, and Jake instinctively brings a hand to your cheek, brushing away a tear with the softest touch.

Your eyes dart away, filling again. “Was I wrong? Did I give him the wrong idea?”

“No.” Jake’s voice cuts through instantly — low, firm, unshakeable. His hand stays on your cheek, thumb still moving.

You glance at him, startled by how certain he sounds.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says again, quieter this time, like he’s trying to soothe the doubt clinging to your ribs. “You gave him a chance, but that doesn’t mean yes. Not reciprocating feelings back doesn’t make you a villain.”

“But he said I was cold. That I embarrassed him—”

Jake’s eyes darken. “He embarrassed himself. And you don’t owe anyone softness just because they asked for your time.”

You blink, another tear slipping out, and this time, he leans forward to catch it with a kiss — a soft, barely-there brush against your temple.

“I’m glad you called me,” he murmurs, his breath warming your skin. “I’d come find you a thousand times over.”

You nod, lip trembling, eyes fixed on the curve of his jaw as he holds you like nothing else matters.

And in that moment — the way his arms stay wrapped around you, how fiercely yet gently he listens — it finally sinks in:

You’re safe.

And you’re not alone.

The journey back to your dorm is quiet — not in an awkward way, but in the way silence feels when it’s shared with someone who doesn’t need you to explain. Jake drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near yours, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knuckles as if to remind you he’s still there.

By the time you get inside, neither of you want to let go.

That’s how he ends up in your bedroom, door gently closed behind him, the air soft and still. The moonlight spills through the slits in your curtains, casting pale, silver lines across the floor. The world feels quieter here — like it’s finally giving you space to breathe.

You’re tucked beneath your sheets, warm and cocooned. Jake lies beside you, his chest pressed against your back, one arm draped securely around your waist. His other hand slips beneath yours, fingers curling in slow, gentle comfort. His nose grazes your shoulder — a quiet, grounding touch. Each breath he takes brushes against your skin in a way that makes your pulse ease.

There’s no rush for sleep. Just soft silence. Just him.

His thumb begins to trace slow circles over the back of your hand, and it makes something in you unclench — like your heart had been in a fist all evening and only now has started to relax.

Your voice breaks through the midst of the dark, barely above a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Jake shifts a little closer, as if to fold himself around you entirely.

His answer is immediate. Warm. Steady. Real.

“Always, Y/N.”

And you believe him.

As the week passed, something between you and Jake shifted — quiet but certain.

It wasn’t just the way he lingered after study sessions now, or how his jokes softened when they were meant only for you. It was the subtle, unspoken things. Like how his hand always found the small of your back in a crowded hallway. Or how his texts came in the morning before your first class — don’t forget your charger, you always leave it behind — and again at night, always ending in sleep well even if he was still wide awake.

He became the person you looked for without thinking. A constant.

You weren’t dating. Not officially. But when you sat next to him, knees pressed together, when you leaned into his shoulder without asking, when your fingers tangled in his hoodie sleeve just because — no of you questioned it.

Whatever this was, it was growing. Quietly. Organically. And neither of you seemed in a rush to define it.

Because sometimes, the right things don’t need names right away — they just need time.

Today was the night of the playoffs party, Jake already entering the frat house with Sunghoon and jay in tow.

He didn’t even get to the door before the bass hit him. It vibrated through his chest, through the soles of his sneakers, shaking the bones in his ribs. He could already tell the place was packed — people spilling out onto the porch, red cups in hand, some already drunk enough to stumble into each other and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world.

He ducked through the door, brushing past a couple making out in the doorway, and immediately regretted not taking a shot before coming.

The house was hot. Bodies swaying to a remix he didn’t recognize, LED lights flickering violently in sync with the beat. The air was thick — part sweat, part weed, part sugary perfume that stuck to the back of his throat. It smelled like something unforgettable and completely traumatising all at once.

All he could think about was your voice from earlier that evening — soft and tired, warm even through the speaker. You’d laughed when he told you to hurry up and pick your outfit and instead promised him you’d show up with Ara and Jimin. Said “save me a drink, Sim.” And now, here he was, cutting through a sea of strangers, searching for you like his night depended on it.

He met back up with Jay and Sunghoon at the kitchen, where beer was being spilled as much as it was drunk. Somewhere behind them, someone broke a glass. Cheers erupted.

Jake grabbed a drink, something to help him adjust. Jay was already mixing something lethal while Sunghoon dug around a cooler. The three of them eventually drifted toward a couch, nodding to a few familiar faces.

‘Sim! Been a while!’ came a familiar voice.

Jake turned to see Jungwon, lifting a cup with a grin.

They dapped each other up, slipping easily into conversation. Jungwon was chill, always had been — observant, grounded, with that trademark quiet confidence that made people naturally drift toward him. Jake liked him. Trusted him.

But as they talked, Jungwon cocked his head, narrowing his eyes.

‘You keep looking around. Trying to find candy tonight?

Jake smirked, snapping his gaze back. ‘Nah. Someone I invited.’

He thumbed at his phone — no new texts, no i’m here. Still, he had a feeling. You were around here somewhere.

Then came the first crack.

‘I didn’t know you invited Jihwan!’ Sunghoon called from across the room, beer in hand, eyebrows raised.

Jake blinked. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Oh— I did,’ Jungwon chimed in casually, glancing between them. ‘He’s been kind of… off lately. Thought I’d get him out of the house.”

Jake hummed, distracted, already unsettled.

‘Still sulking about the girl?’ Sunghoon chuckled.

‘Yeah. Said it was bad. She ghosted him after one date.’

Jay returned with another drink, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well he’s not sulking now. Dude’s got his arms all over someone.’

Jake looked up. ‘Who?’

‘Her,’ Jay nodded toward the living room archway, pointing with his chin. ‘She’s hot.’

Jake followed the direction — and then the world kind of tilted.

Because there you were.

Pressed up against a wall. Jihwan standing close, too close. His arm wrapped across your stomach like he owned you, leaning in with something to say — his mouth way too close to your ear. You weren’t looking at him, weren’t smiling. You were looking down, unmoving.

And Jake… froze.

His drink suddenly felt too heavy in his hand. His stomach turned.

That’s you. His Y/N. The girl who wore his hoodie in the library. The girl who kissed him like she meant it. The girl he’s literally jerked off to in the middle of the night.

‘That’s Y/N,’ he said.

The guys all froze.

Jay nearly choked on his drink. ‘You’re joking.’

‘That’s the girl?’ Sunghoon gaped. ‘That’s the one you’ve been with?’

Jungwon’s expression shifted slowly. ‘Wait. That’s the same girl Jihwan’s—’

Jake’s vision blurred for a second.

Every scene from the past few weeks played in a loop. Jihwan in his hoodie after that failed date. The bouquet of flowers. The sudden slump in his mood. His weird absence. Jake brushing it off, assuming it was someone else. Anyone else.

But now it was clicking. Every piece snapping into place with horrifying clarity.

He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spotted you across the room, but it sure as hell wasn’t his little brother’s arm wrapped around your waist.

Not you — not the girl he’d been losing sleep over, whose voice still echoed in his mind in the quiet moments, who he’d held in his bed just nights ago.

You knew him. You’d touched him like you meant it. Whispered his name like a promise.

And yet there you were — wrapped in the arms of someone who shared his blood. The one person in this world Jake would’ve done anything to protect. Like he and Jihwan were just toys in some twisted game, pawns in something he never saw coming.

The ache in his chest deepened. He didn’t want to hurt Jihwan — never. But the thought of walking away from you now. In a moment of selfishness;

It physically hurt.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Maybe the lights were messing with him, or the alcohol was hitting harder than he realized. But no.

It was you.

And it was Jihwan.

And then your expression changed.

Jake’s eyes locked onto your face.

Your brows furrowed. Eyes closed like you couldn’t bear to see where you were. You said something—fast. Shook your head. Tried to put space between your bodies.

Then Jihwan stepped in, gripping you tighter.

You pushed him back.

He stepped closer.

Jake didn’t think. His body moved faster than his brain could catch up. The drink was gone. His breath was short. His hands clenched at his sides.

He shoved past Jay, past the couch, past the laughing crowd who had no idea what they were witnessing across the room. But at the center of it all, like a crack in the universe, was you and Jihwan.

Jihwan, swaying just slightly, red-faced and drunk off whatever the hell he’d been handed. His hand was still on your arm. You were frozen, eyes down, lips moving — Jake couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he saw the way you recoiled when Jihwan leaned in.

Jake’s heart split. And still, he didn’t stop walking.

He slipped between two guys mid-shoulder bump, and then he was there; sliding in between the two of you, placing a protective arm around your waist, angling you behind him.

“Hey,” Jake said quietly, voice low but cutting through the noise like steel. “That’s enough.”

Jihwan blinked like he was seeing double. “Hyung?”

Jake didn’t let go of you. He felt your hand tighten against his shirt.

“She doesn’t want this,” Jake said evenly, barely raising his voice. “Let her go.”

Jihwan’s brows furrowed. His hands dropped but his shoulders stayed tense, fists half-formed. “What are you doing?”

Jake’s jaw clenches. “No— What the hell are you doing, Jihwan?”

“I—She said she didn’t want to see me anymore,” he mumbles, gesturing toward you without looking. “But I know she’s lying. I know she still likes me, she—”

Jake steps forward, voice still low but trembling with restraint. “Jihwan. Look at her. She’s terrified.”

Jihwan’s face twitches. “She’s just emotional—”

“No,” Jake snaps, but then catches himself—inhales sharply, runs a hand over his face, and tries again. Softer this time. “You’re drunk, man. You need to take a breath. You’re not seeing straight.”

You feel Jake’s hand press lightly against your back, grounding you.

Jihwan shakes his head. “I was just trying to fix it.”

Jake’s eyes flicker between his brother and you. His chest tightens —your trembling, the way Jihwan is looking at you.

His throat goes dry.

“…You’re the girl?” he mutters under his breath, turning slightly toward you. “The one he’s been talking about?”

You freeze.

“I didn’t know you were brothers,” you whisper.

Jake’s breath catches. His stomach drops.

Jihwan laughs bitterly, eyes glassy. “Wait. You two know each other?”

Jake is silent.

You slowly let go of Jake’s hoodie. “I met you first… but I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know until just now.”

Jihwan’s face twists, pain cutting through the drunken fog. “So what, you dropped me for him?”

Jake immediately steps between you again, hand up now. “Stop. Don’t talk to her like that.”

“I should’ve known,” Jihwan mutters, voice rising. “You always get everything first, don’t you?”

“Jihwan.” Jake says his name with finality—low, but loaded. “That’s enough.”

For a long moment, the music thuds around them like background static. No one moves. You can only hear the echo of your pulse in your ears.

Jake turns to you. “Go wait outside. I’ll be there in a sec, okay?” His voice is gentler now, eyes meeting yours. “Please.”

You nod wordlessly and slip past him, tears still clinging to your lashes.

Once you’re gone, Jake turns back to Jihwan—his brother—who’s slumped against the wall now, eyes dull and sad.

Jake exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, heart heavy. “You need to go home, Jihwan.”

“But do you like her?” his brother asks suddenly, voice small.

Jake doesn’t answer right away.

Jihwan’s expression twists.

His gaze shifts from his older brother, to you leaving the house, shaking. Trembling.

“You,” Jihwan spits, pointing a finger at Jake. “You knew.”

Jake shakes his head, calm but alert. “I didn’t, Jihwan. I didn’t even know she knew you—”

“You’re lying.”

The words come sharp. Loud.

People around flinch, looking at the pair. Jake doesn’t.

He stands still, steady, the only calm thing in the chaos. “I didn’t lie to you.”

But Jihwan’s too far gone — drunk, humiliated, betrayed — his hurt twisting into something uglier.

“You just had to take her too, huh?” he laughs hollowly. “Is that what this is? Some fucked up competition?”

“No. It’s not like that,” Jake says quietly, trying to take a step closer.

‘You can have anything, Jaeyun — anyone, but you picked her?’

Jake tries to reach out for his brother, but then—

Jihwan punches him.

Hard.

Jake stumbles back into the wall, catching himself just before crashing into the hallway table.

Jay and Sunghoon immediately surge forward from the couch, heads snapping at the movement, while Jungwon steps in from the side, his smile gone, expression stone cold.

“Yo—yo!” Sunghoon shouts, grabbing Jihwan by the shoulder.

“Chill the fuck out!” Jay growls, stepping between the brothers with wide eyes. “What the hell are you doing?!”

But Jihwan’s chest is heaving, fists balled like he’s ready for another swing. His eyes are red — not from anger, but from heartbreak.

Jake wipes the corner of his mouth, standing straight again, his hands still open. Unarmed. Still not fighting back.

He just looks at Jihwan, voice low but firm. “I’m not going to hit you, Jihwan.”

“Why not?” Jihwan shouts, voice breaking. “Come on, Jaeyun! You gonna act like you don’t deserve it?!”

Jake’s throat bobs. “Because I love you.”

That silences the room.

Even the music seems to dim.

Jihwan stares at him, chest rising and falling, like the words punched the wind out of him harder than any fist could.

Behind them, Jungwon gently pushes Jihwan back by the shoulders, firm but gentle. “That’s enough, Jihwan. You’re drunk. Let’s go.”

Jay and Sunghoon hover nearby, ready if it escalates — but the fire’s already dying in Jihwan’s eyes, replaced by something worse. Shame.

His voice cracks when he says, “You always win, Jake.”

Jake exhales. Not victorious. Not relieved. Just tired.

“I never wanted to win,” he whispers.

Jihwan shrugs out of Jungwon’s grip and stumbles out of the room, shoving past the wall of people gathering at the sound of shouting. No one tries to stop him now.

Jake watches him disappear down the hallway, heart hammering in his chest like it’s trying to crawl out. His jaw clenches. He doesn’t move.

Only when Sunghoon rests a hand on his shoulder does Jake blink again, grounding himself in the moment.

Jay glances toward the door where you disappeared. “She’s outside, Jake.”

The porch was quieter now, the chaos of the party dimming into the background as Jake stepped out into the cool night air. His heart still hadn’t slowed, his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, every breath shaky as he scanned the lawn.

Then he saw you.

You sat curled up at the edge of the driveway near the curb, legs tucked into your chest, arms wrapped tight around yourself like you were holding yourself together. The streetlight above painted your skin a pale gold, catching the sheen of tears down your cheeks.

Jake’s steps were quiet, but you looked up the second he was close.

“Jake—” your voice cracked immediately, breath hitching. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were brothers. I swear.”

He didn’t say anything. Just crouched down in front of you, eyes scanning your face — the red around your eyes, the tremble in your lip.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice crumbling as you reached for him. “I should’ve told you. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Please—please believe me.”

Jake gently helped you to your feet, saying nothing as he guided you toward his car, one hand on your back as he opened the passenger door. You sank into the seat, rambling softly, still trying to explain through your tears.

“I just—he was just so persistent I thought maybe if I gave in he would lose interest… but I didn’t even know you two were related, I didn’t know until tonight, I would’ve never—”

“I believe you.”

The words cut through the panic spilling from your mouth.

You blinked, looking over at him as he settled into the driver’s seat, not starting the engine. His voice was low, calm, but laced with emotion.

“I believe you,” he said again, turning to face you fully. “You don’t need to explain. Not tonight.”

You pressed your hand over your mouth, your body shaking as more tears spilt down. “I just feel sick, Jake. I feel so fucking sick.”

Jake leaned closer, reaching out with both arms to pull you into his chest. You let him. Fell into him like you were falling off a ledge — like he was the only thing keeping you from breaking open completely.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your temple. “Okay? You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

You hiccuped another sob, forehead buried into his shoulder. “Are you mad at me?”

Jake exhaled slowly, resting his chin lightly against your hair.

“No,” he said honestly. “I’m not mad at you. I just… I wish I had found you first.”

You broke at that — a soft, shattering sound that had him hugging you tighter, eyes closed, pain and affection folding into each other all at once.

The car ride was quiet save for the low hum of the engine and the soft whir of the heater. Jake’s knuckles were pale against the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road — but not really seeing it. The streetlights passed in blurs, shadows moving across his face like passing thoughts.

You sat beside him in silence, your hands wrung tightly in your lap, his jacket draped over your shoulders like a shield. Your breathing had slowed, but the air between you hadn’t. It felt thick, pulsing with something neither of you wanted to name yet.

You turned your head slightly, watching the way Jake’s jaw flexed, the twitch in the corner of his mouth — like he was holding back words. Or maybe something else entirely.

“I can’t believe this happened,” you whispered, voice fragile.

Jake didn’t respond at first. Then, quietly: “Neither can I.”

The streetlight flickered over his profile again — the faint bruise of emotion beneath his eyes, the slope of his brow, the line of his throat when he swallowed hard.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” you said again, almost to yourself. “You didn’t deserve this.”

“I’m not thinking about that anymore,” Jake replied, voice low, deeper than usual. “I’m just thinking about you.”

You looked over at him. “Me?”

He nodded once, eyes still fixed ahead — but his grip on the wheel loosened slightly. “You, sitting on that curb, crying your eyes out, apologising like you’d ruined the world. You didn’t. But you looked like it.”

The car stopped at a red light.

Jake finally turned to look at you. His eyes were darker than you remembered, molten under the shadows — full of feeling he didn’t know how to word.

“I wanted to fix it for you,” he said. “I still do.”

The light turned green, and the car moved again — but the silence that followed was charged. Not awkward. Not empty. It buzzed between you like static.

You shifted slightly in your seat, heart beating in your ears. “Jake…”

He glanced at you again — but this time, his eyes dropped. To your lips. Just for a second. Then back up.

That was all it took.

Suddenly every inch of space between you felt like it shrank tenfold. His hand was twitching on the gearshift. Your elbow brushes against his accidentally when the car hits a bump. The tension in his neck, the silence in your throat.

And from the corner of your eye, you could see him clenching his jaw, breathing through his nose, like he was fighting something back.

“I shouldn’t want this right now,” Jake muttered under his breath, more to himself than you. “But I do.”

Your breath hitched.

“Want what?”

The car rolled to a soft stop outside his shared dorm. Jake parked, his hand still resting on the gearshift as he turned to you slowly.

“You,” he said, voice hushed. “Even after tonight. Even after everything.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You just looked at him — and for the first time since the party, you felt something other than guilt.

That hot, reeling, pool of desire.

So you leaned in.

Slow at first, testing, your breath catching as you closed the distance. Your hand brushed his forearm on the centre console, fingertips grazing his skin. Jake didn’t move away — if anything, he leaned in too, the space between your mouths disappearing like it had never existed in the first place.

Then you kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed you — you weren’t sure who reached who first, only that the moment your mouths met, it wasn’t soft or tentative. It was messy. Starved. Jake’s hand instantly came up to cup the side of your jaw, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deeper.

You shifted in your seat, practically climbing over the console just to feel more of him. His other hand gripped your waist, the tension in his body melting into something hotter, more desperate. His lips moved hungrily against yours, like he’d been waiting — aching — for this since the moment he saw you on that bench.

Your hands pawed at his chest, tugging him closer with little to no space left between. The kiss turned sloppier, more breathless, lips sliding and parting as your breaths intermingled.

“Jake,” you whispered against his mouth, the sound of his name ragged and needy.

He groaned softly, barely pulling away — just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut. His thumb stroked your cheek with that same tenderness he’d shown back in your room, back on the curb. But this? This was different.

“This feels like betrayal,” he whispered, his voice rough. “But I want you so fucking bad.”

You kissed him again, not letting him finish, not letting him doubt. You kissed him like you meant it — like your heart had already chosen, even if your mind hadn’t caught up.

His lips were plush and urgent, and his hand slid up your spine, anchoring you to him. You could taste his breath, feel the tremble in your thighs from the way his fingers gripped them.

In that car, parked under the dim light of your dorm lot, everything else faded — the party, the guilt, the chaos. All that mattered was Jake. And the way he was kissing you like you were the only thing left in his world that made sense.

The air inside the car grew too hot, your skin too tight. You shifted, breath hitching as Jake’s hand trailed under the hem of your shirt, not quite touching, just waiting — like he was asking, Are you sure?

You nodded, and that’s all he needed.

“Come with me,” he breathed out, voice hoarse. His fingers laced with yours, firm and sure as he guided you out of the car.

The cold air outside hit like a wave, but neither of you noticed — too focused on the sound of your quick footsteps, the tension humming between you like a live wire. Jake unlocked the apartment door, the hallway dark and quiet except for the distant sound of someone laughing down the hall.

Then the door shut behind you.

And the silence pressed in.

Jake turned to face you in the narrow hallway, shadows falling across his face, his jaw tense and eyes soft. “Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly, not out of hesitation, but care. Deep, rooted care.

You stepped into him. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

Jake kissed you again — slower this time, like he wanted to remember how you tasted. Like he needed to map every part of you with his mouth, every inch of your skin with his hands. He backed up slowly, guiding you towards the living room in between kisses, fumbling with shoes and jackets on the way.

The second it clicked shut behind you, the room swallowed you whole — dim and quiet, lit only by the soft streetlamp glow filtering through the blinds. You could barely catch your breath before his hands were on your waist again, lifting your shirt just enough to feel skin.

You tugged at the collar of his shirt, pulling it off, revealing the muscle and warmth beneath. His hands found your hips again, anchoring you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear.

He kissed your neck, just below your ear. “You feel like a dream,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

As you both gradually sank onto the well-worn couch in the living room, a tangle of limbs and warmth enveloped you. The air between you was thick with intimacy, breaths intertwining as if in a silent conversation. His hands explored your skin with a tender reverence, each touch deliberate and gentle. Yet, it was his eyes that captivated you—fiery and intense, they burned with an urgent desire, revealing depths of emotion that words could never capture.

Every kiss, every stroke was laced with the weight of everything you’d both been avoiding. Lust, yes. But something more dangerous, more potent. A quiet, growing ache that had been brewing since that first study session.

Jake carefully guided you to sit up on the couch, his intention clear as he slipped down to kneel between your parted legs. Instead of the fervent desperation you had anticipated, he approached with a gentleness that took you by surprise. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. As his fingers glided softly over your thighs, there was a tenderness in his touch, as if he feared that if he moved too quickly, you might dissolve into thin air.

He sinks lower, knees brushing against the hardwood floor.

And then he speaks — not loudly, but just enough for you to feel it.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, fingers moving to the knot of your shirt, “so many times.”

He starts to untie it slowly, his knuckles grazing the soft skin just above your waistband. The fabric loosens, the tie slipping between his fingers.

“I thought about what you’d sound like,” — he kisses just above your navel — “how soft your skin would feel.”

His lips drag up the centre of your stomach, reverent, as if every inch is sacred.

“I thought about how I’d take my time.” Another kiss, this time just beneath your ribs, where your breath catches.

Each word feels like a vow. His voice lowers, velvet against your skin. “How you’d look when I finally got to feel you.”

You can barely breathe. The shirt parts further under his careful hands, the warmth of his breath rising with each open inch of skin, until his mouth finds the centre of your chest — and rests there, eyes fluttering shut.

He presses a slow, lingering kiss.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

With deliberate care, Jake’s hands find your hips, gripping firmly yet tenderly as he guides you to the edge of the sofa. His touch is strong, grounding, making you feel both safe and desired. Your skirt slips off with a slow shimmy, leaving you exposed just for him.

He lowers his gaze to meet yours, eyes dark with a mix of hunger and reverence. His breath fans softly over your soaked underwear, the cotton clinging to every sensitive curve and fold of your trembling cunt. The sight makes his chest tighten, a deep longing simmering beneath the surface.

Jake’s tongue slides out, pressing gently against the fabric, tracing slow, teasing circles. The friction sends a shiver through you — a low, breathy moan escapes your lips, delicate and vulnerable. It’s a sound meant only for him, a quiet surrender to the pleasure building between you.

Encouraged by your response, he parts his lips and moves with purpose, gliding his tongue side to side on top of the wet fabric, inching closer to your core. He nestles his tongue between your folds, his warm breath stirring a fire that’s been burning inside you.

Then, with a softness that contrasts his intensity, he presses his lips to your clit, sucking gently at first, then with increasing hunger. The sensation is electric — your body arches instinctively, fingers gripping the edge of the sofa as a fresh wave of heat courses through you.

You squeal, breath hitching, your muscles tightening in delicious anticipation. Jake groans softly, drinking in the taste of your slick through your underwear, the subtle salt and sweetness that makes his desire spiral deeper.

Hands skimming down your waist, his fingers curled under the band of your underwear.

“Lift for me,” he murmurs.

You obey. He slides the cotton down slowly, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin like a promise.

And when he settles between your thighs again, it’s not rushed. It’s not messy or hungry.

He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other. His nose grazes over sensitive skin, making you shiver. You try to close your legs instinctively, but his hands press gently against them, keeping you open.

With both thumbs, he parts your lips, opening your folds wide and watching every small muscle twitch under his gaze. Wetness only continues to build and leak out of your hole, and he gives a gentle blow, just to see you jolt.

“I’ve been dying to do this,” he says softly, voice like velvet. “Let me make you feel good.”

Then his mouth finds you.

His tongue is slow at first — exploratory — like he wants to learn you. The way you gasp when he swirls against your clit, the way your hips twitch when he flattens his tongue and drags it lower. He adjusts with every sound you make, humming against you like he likes the way you taste. Like he needs it.

One of his hands moves to your stomach, holding you steady as your thighs begin to tremble. The other slips down, a teasing finger sliding through your arousal before scooping a string and tasting it.

He groans softly when he feels you clench.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “So wet for me already.”

Your hands find his hair, tangling in the strands, and he moans when you pull — the vibration sparking straight through your core. His tongue moves faster now, precise and rhythmic, as his finger joins a second, matching his pace.

Your legs begin to shake.

Jake doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down — locking his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer, refusing to let you go.

His tongue slides down, a languid movement that seems to stretch into eternity, descending lower to your entrance, the tip of his tongue prodding the hole.

With deliberate care, he slowly eases himself inside, feeling the warmth envelop him as the embrace tightens around his taste buds, curling in and out of your tight cavern.

With one thumb slowly rubbing your clit, and a playful finger gliding down to tease your asshole, you're overwhelmed, trembling as waves of pleasure crash through you, concentrated in one electrifying spot.

As you reach your breaking point, a resonant moan escapes your throat, raw and unrestrained, and your hips arch off the bed, Jake stays there — guiding you through it, mouth never leaving you, like he wants to feel every second of your high.

When he finally pulls back, lips slick, face flushed, he kisses your thigh once more — a soft, lingering press of his mouth that feels almost reverent.

As you slowly descend from the blinding pleasure, the world around you begins to take shape once more. Jake is already gazing up at you, his tousled hair falling in wild disarray around his face, and his lips glistening with a sheen that catches the light. There's an intensity in his eyes that reflects the heat in his heart — the absolute awe he has for you.

Gently, he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carrying you to his bedroom.

You’re still panting, legs splayed open on the sheets, heartbeat racing in your chest as you try to recover.

Jake crawls up slowly, kisses trailing up your stomach, chest, and neck. He doesn’t rush. Just takes you in — the dazed look in your eyes, the flushed warmth of your cheeks, the rise and fall of your chest under his.

“You okay?” he whispers into your skin.

You nod, barely catching your breath. “Yeah.”

But he sees the way your lashes flutter when he presses a soft kiss under your jaw. The way your body jerks slightly when his hand returns to your waist — gentle, but firm.

And then you feel him again. Hard. Against your thigh. Still aching for more.

Jake exhales slowly, resting his forehead against yours. “I was gonna stop,” he admits. “But the way you looked when you came…” His hand slides down between your thighs again — and his breath catches. “Fuck. You’re still so wet.”

You gasp when his fingers slip back inside you, already sensitive.

“Jake—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs.

His fingers graze the inside of your walls, relishing in the heat you provide and the gummy feeling tightening and pulsing around his digits.

He kisses you again — deeper this time, all tongue and heat and groaned-out hunger. And as he pulls your legs around his waist. Holding his girth, he hisses at the sensitivity, pumping his shaft slowly, his mushroom tip swollen and aching.

Positioning himself right at your entrance, he looks down at you with something feral in his eyes.

“Think you can give me one more, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

He slides in slowly — deeper than you expected, stretching you all over again. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging in as you gasp his name.

You feel the delicious stretch of his cock, that prominent vein on the underside of his rubbing sweetly against your walls, making you cry.

Jake groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “Shit, you feel even tighter.”

He starts slow — thrusts deep and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. He kisses you between every motion, praises spilling from his lips like confessions.

“You’re so good,” he murmurs against your skin. “So pretty when you take me like this. Wanna stay inside you all night.”

Your legs tighten around his hips, hips grinding to meet his thrusts, your moans turning into soft whimpers as he picks up the pace.

And then Jake leans back just enough to look down at you again — sweat-damp curls hanging in his eyes, chest rising and falling fast.

A soft shimmer in the periphery of his gaze suddenly captivates him, causing his movements to falter and his thrusts to stutter.

Draped gracefully around your ankle, the ornate gold anklet shimmered brilliantly in the soft light, its delicate charms dancing playfully with each movement, creating a gentle symphony of soft clicks against your skin.

However, there was a new addition — a small initial pendant, spelling ‘J’.

You barely notice the way his breath stills — not at the way your back arches beneath him, not at the way you moan his name — but when his eyes catch the piece of metal.

Jake blinks, his hand, once gripping your thigh, brushes the charm instead — thumb grazing over the curve of the letter.

“Fuck, you didn’t,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

You open your eyes, breath hitching at the sudden tenderness in his voice. “Of course I did.”

He stares at it like it’s sacred, like it’s grounding him in a way nothing else has. Then, slowly, he lifts your ankle to his shoulder, lips pressing to the charm, then your skin — slow.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your leg, gaze rising to meet yours.

You cried out in pleasure as Jake pushed your thighs to your chest folding you in half as he thrusted harder.

“Fuck, Jake, right there.” you moaned, eyes tearing up from the swell of stimulation travelling across your body.

“Yeah? Right there, baby?” Jake gasped out, hand travelling to your breast to roll a nipple, kissing the other one lightly. “You gonna let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”

You clenched around Jake’s length in response, a high-pitched whine emitting from his throat at the feeling

“Shit baby, you’re killing me here.”

Without warning, your hand shoots out, fingers curling around Jake’s necklace. You twist your wrist, drawing him closer, and before he can react, your lips meet his in an intense, passionate kiss.

Relentless with his thrusts, he speaks against your lips, “I’m gonna make you come again,” he says, almost a warning. “Wanna feel you lose it on my dick this time.”

Jake looked down to where you two were connected, watching the way your whole engulfed down his dick, walls sucking and gliding along his every time he pulled out.

Circling his hips, he whined into the pillow behind you, whilst you bit down on the meat of his shoulder, body trembling as you got closer to the edge.

“Gonna make you cum so hard you forget his name.”Jake gasped, kissing your neck tenderly, as you drooled, “You’re mine baby.”

And you do — not long after, not with the way he knows your body now, the way he holds you like something both fragile and irresistible.

Falling apart, loud and messy, rapidly twitching around his girth as you hold him tight, your mind going blank from pleasure.

He kisses you through it, holds you as you clench around him, and doesn’t stop until he’s right behind you — stuttering into your mouth, buried to the hilt, filling you with warmth.

Afterwards, you collapse into each other — limbs tangled, breaths shared, skin sticky with sweat and satisfaction.

The quiet of the night seeps into the bedroom, lying, heavy with warmth and damp from sweat.

Jake leans back on his elbow, watching you through the low light. Your hair’s a mess, cheeks still flushed, lips kiss-swollen — but it’s the look in your eyes that hits him the hardest. The softness of it all.

You turn your face into the pillow, shy under his stare, and he lets out a quiet laugh — not mocking, but warm. Then he reaches down and pulls the blankets up, draping them over both of your bodies as the cool air hits your skin.

And for a moment, it’s silent.

Jake lies down beside you again, facing you, his fingers toying with the hem of the sheet near your shoulder. Then, barely audible, he asks:

“Do you regret it?”

Your brows knit, but you don’t answer right away. Instead, you just reach out — hand finding his on the bedspread, intertwining your fingers without hesitation.

“No,” you say. “Do you?”

Jake shakes his head once, definitively. “Never.”

You both stare at each other for a beat longer than necessary, until the weight of everything — the months of tension, the confusion, the way you fit so easily into his arms — starts to settle into something unspoken but understood.

And then he leans forward to kiss your forehead. Slow. Intentional.

“Sleep here tonight,” he says, voice thick. “Don’t go.”

Your hand squeezes his.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You shift closer, fitting yourself into his chest, and he exhales like he’s finally allowed to breathe. His arms wrap around you again — not out of lust this time, but something else entirely.

You’re not sure what tomorrow will mean. But in this moment, under warm covers and Jake’s quiet heartbeat against your ear, you don’t feel lost anymore.

In his arms, you felt like you belonged.

266 notes · View notes

pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 19 hours ago

Text

When You Have a Toxic Mother| Hyungline

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼Featuring actual things my mother has said and/or done because why not.

If you’ve grown up with a narcissistic parent, a toxic blended family, or have felt completely ostracized by the people who were supposed to love you most - or, like me, all of the above - I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You never did. I hope and pray that healing finds you in quiet, soft ways - and that the love you deserve finds you tenfold.

Trigger Warnings: Suicidal ideation (mentioned), emotional abuse, verbal abuse, parental neglect, death wish toward child, feelings of abandonment, family exclusion, toxic family dynamics.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

Bangchan

You weren’t even scrolling for long.

Just a few seconds on Instagram. A few innocent swipes.

Then the photos appeared.

The lake. The matching hoodies. The firepit. The sisters you never got close to. The cousins from out of state. All smiling. All together.

All without you.

At first you just stared. Confused. Cold. Then your fingers went numb. Then your ears started ringing. You checked your phone history - again. Messages left on read. Calls never returned. Nothing said about a trip. Not even a fake excuse.

Something in your chest twisted - a feeling you thought you’d buried already. But it surged back, ugly and hot. You weren’t included. Again. Not because they forgot. But because they chose not to.

You should’ve stayed silent. Let it eat you up like always. But this time, you didn’t.

You hit call.

She picked up. Too quick. Too light. Like everything was fine.

“Hey, what’s up?” she said, chipper.

“Did you go on a trip?” Your voice was paper-thin.

“What?”

“I saw the pictures.”

A pause.

“Oh. Yeah. We went to the lakehouse. Just got back a few days ago.”

“And didn’t tell me?”

“Well, we figured you wouldn’t want to come. You’ve been distant lately.”

You scoffed. “Distant? I texted you three times last week. You didn’t even open it.”

“You always say that, but it’s exhausting. We shouldn’t have to chase you just to keep the peace.”

“I’ve called, I’ve texted, I try. I have countless screenshots of me trying. A whole fucking folder of evidence! And I still get nothing back-”

“You’re always so dramatic-”

“NO, I’m not!” Your voice cracked. Your throat burned. “I’m not dramatic. I’m hurt. I try and you still treat me like I’m invisible-”

“You always make things about your feelings. You want us to feel bad for you. You’re selfish.”

“You left me out of the family vacation!" You were shouting now. Your whole body trembling. “You flew people in from other states but didn’t even text me-”

“Because you’re mentally unstable. You’d have made it uncomfortable for everyone else. You’re lucky we even let you call at all.”

Your voice collapsed into a sob. “What did I do that was so wrong?”

“I don’t even know why you’re calling,” she snapped. “You just want attention. You act like the world owes you something.”

“Stop,” you whispered. “Please stop-”

“You make everything about you..”

Your breath started to pick up. Hot and ragged.

“You never call,” she added. “You never text.”

Something inside you snapped.

“I’m always the one who reaches out! Matter of fact I'm the ONLY one!” you screamed. “Do you think I don’t notice? That none of you ever text first? That I sit there, waiting, wondering if I’m worth even a fucking check-in?”

Your chest heaved. The phone shook in your hand.

“I remember birthdays. I ask about your day. I try so hard just to feel like I exist to you! And I get silence! Or attitude! Or guilt tripped because I didn’t come crawling fast enough!"

You didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t notice the sound of a bag dropping by the hallway.

“You know what?” she hissed. “You're just exhausting. Even when you do call, it's always about you. It's always some meltdown or some guilt trip. You can't just have a normal conversation without making it heavy.”

You blinked, the rage in your chest boiling over.

"Because when I do call, you keep it under two minutes! You say you're busy. You rush me off the phone like I’m some telemarketer you didn’t mean to answer. Or you say you’ll call me back - and you never do!"

You could hear yourself getting louder, spiraling.

"You never check in. You never just text me first to ask how I’m doing. And when I do reach out, I get some cold one-liner or silence or sarcasm. And then you act like I’m the one who let go?"

You choked on a sob. "You think I want to be like this? You think I like crying on the phone with my own mother like I'm a problem you never wanted? Have to fucking beg to be treated like your daughter?"

“Y/N.” A voice behind you. Warm. Firm. Urgent. “Give me the phone.”

You gasped in a sob and spun around. Chan was in the doorway, eyes wide, chest heaving like he’d run up the stairs. You must’ve been screaming.

Or maybe just breaking.

“Y/N,” he repeated, stepping closer, “Please. Give me the phone.”

You shook your head, still clutching it, your breathing sharp and ragged.

“She said- she said- ” You couldn’t even finish. Just repeated, “Am I selfish? Do I make everything about me? Am I exhausting?”

“Y/N.” He gently reached out. Didn’t grab. Didn’t rush. Just waited. “I need you to give me the phone.”

Your hands were trembling. Your heart was barely functioning.

“Please,” he said. Voice softer. “Let me help.”

You gave it to him.

He brought it to his ear, not yelling, not raising his voice - but there was steel behind every word.

“Don’t call her again,” he said into the speaker. Calm. Clear. Cold. “Don’t text. Don’t message. Don’t even think about rekindling anything. You’ve said enough to her for a lifetime.”

And then he hung up.

The silence afterward was deafening.

You stood there, shaking. Sobbing.

And Chan stepped in. Just held you.

He didn’t say “it’s okay.” Because it wasn’t.

He didn’t say “don’t cry.” Because you needed to.

He just let you fall into his chest. Let your tears soak his shirt. Let your grief tear out of your lungs like it had claws.

His hand ran slowly down your back. His voice broke as he whispered,

“You didn’t deserve that. None of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

And when your legs gave out, he caught you. Lowered both of you to the floor. Rocked you back and forth like you were the most precious thing he’d ever been trusted with.

Something you wished you mother would have done, maybe even just once.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Minho

You didn’t want to go back. But you needed those documents - birth certificate, social security card, insurance papers - the things that proved you existed.

You’d texted your mom ahead of time, kept it polite. Just said you’d be by for a few minutes to grab the folder. You asked if she could leave a spare key under the mat or behind the planter like she used to. It was a safe neighborhood. Familiar. She said no.

"No one leaves keys out anymore. It’s not safe," she snapped over the phone. And that was that.

So when you showed up to the locked front door, you weren’t surprised - just tired.

You called her again.

"Where is it?" you asked.

A pause.

"Check the grill."

You blinked. "The grill?"

"I put them there this morning. They’re fine. Just grab them."

You hung up and walked around to the backyard. The dogs barked through the window when they saw you. You smiled and waved.

"Hi babies," you said softly, tapping the glass with two fingers. "Missed you too."

You popped the grill lid open - and sure enough, there were your documents. No folder. No bag. Just loose, government-issued papers shoved between the cold grates. Soot clung to the edges. Grease spots stained the corners. Your birth certificate had a smudge across your middle name.

You didn’t even flinch. Just pulled them out carefully and dusted them off the best you could on your jeans. Shrugged to yourself.

Figures.

You arrived at Minho's apartment just in time for your dinner plans - a little sweaty, a little late, and smudged with soot you hadn’t fully noticed yet. You rang the bell. A second later, the door swung open, and Minho stood there in slacks and a soft button-down, eyes scanning your face - and then immediately, your clothes.

He blinked. "Y/N...what happened to you?"

You gave him a tired smile, still holding up the wrinkled, smudged stack of papers like a prize. "Oh, I had to pick up some documents for my new job."

He frowned. "That doesn’t explain why you look like you crawled out of a chimney."

You laughed lightly. "They were in the grill."

Minho's eyebrows pulled together. "Why would she put them outside?"

"Well, no one was home," you said, brushing soot off your fingers as you put the documents on the counter, and washed your hands.

He tilted his head. "Couldn’t you just let yourself in?"

You hesitated - then said, almost like it was obvious, "I don’t have a house key."

Minho’s face fell.

You continued, still trying to sound casual. "She said leaving a key out wasn’t safe. But apparently, leaving sensitive documents in a grill is perfectly fine. So. Mission accomplished."

"Mission accomplished?"

"Mmhm," you said, dropping onto a chair at the dining room table. "Apparently it’s the new filing cabinet."

He blinked. "She put your identity in the grill, but wouldn’t leave you a key to the house? A key she could have put in the grill if she thought it was a safe enough space for your legal papers?"

"Yup."

There was a long silence. Then:

"I’m gonna say something mean and then immediately follow it with love."

You smiled. "Okay."

Minho exhaled sharply through his nose. "You're mom is a bitch. Probably why her first marriage failed. Your're the only thing that is good that came from that wench. I love you."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Oh Minho..."

He turned back to you while plating the food. "0801."

You glanced up. "Hm?"

"That’s the code to the door," he said casually. "Should’ve given it to you earlier..."

He hesitated, then added, "I'm also getting a backup key made. You know, in case I’m not here or the code pad fails or something."

You frowned. "Minho, the code is enough. Even that was something you didn't have to do...you're always home when I'm over."

He gave you a half-smile - soft but unflinching. "Then come over when I'm not. Make it as much of your home as mine." He softened. "You deserve permanent. You deserve in. For someone to have their family...I...I'm sorry Y/N. So just...just let me be home now. Please?"

You didn’t speak right away. Just looked at him like he’d rewritten the meaning of something small and sacred.

"You deserve to never be locked out of somewhere you belong again."

You laughed softly - more disbelief than humor - then looked down.

Then quietly, you said, "You know what hurts the most? Even my aunt - who doesn’t live within a hundred miles - has a key to that house. My mom’s church friend. My brother who chose to leave, who didn’t even want to be around, has one."

You swallowed. The lump in your throat ached.

"I can’t even be there for three hours without her asking if I have anything else to do. Or suddenly remembering an errand. Or needing to 'rest' before dinner. It’s always some excuse to get me to leave without having to say it out loud."

Minho stayed quiet, but his arm curled tighter around you.

"And then she hid my birth certificate in a grill. But no key. No trust. Not even for ten minutes."

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t try to talk over the moment. He just walked over rested his forehead against your temple and said, "You never have to prove you belong here. You don’t have to earn it. You’re not a guest, Y/N. You’re mine. I'm yours."

And thats all you needed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Changbin

It started off light - a quiet moment between the two of you on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, the TV playing something neither of you were really watching.

You were talking about things that stick. Words people say to you that never leave.

Changbin had shared something first - a coach in middle school who said he was too short to ever be taken seriously. He laughed about it now, but you could still hear the pinch in his voice. The way it stung. The way it stayed.

"It’s funny how you remember the exact tone, too," he said, his thumb tracing idle shapes over your knee. "Like, I can’t even remember what I had for lunch last Tuesday. But that guy’s voice? The way he laughed when he said it? Burned into my brain."

You nodded slowly. "Yeah. It doesn’t even matter if they forget. You don’t."

He looked at you. "What about you? Something someone said that’s still stuck?"

You didn’t answer right away. You felt your throat start to close.

"You don’t have to tell me," he said gently, his hand giving yours a slight squeeze.

You swallowed. Then spoke.

"I was seven. We had just gotten into an argument - I don’t even remember what it was about. Something small. Something dumb. And my mom… she looked me dead in the eye and said she wished I had been a stillborn instead of my baby brother."

Changbin didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

You laughed once. Hollow. "Isn’t that crazy? Seven years old. I don’t even think I understood what the word meant at first. But I figured it out. Real quick."

The air changed.

His voice was low, rough. "She said that after an argument?"

You nodded. "Like she had that locked and loaded. Like it was waiting. Like she’d been holding it in until the right moment to make it land."

You turned your head to stare at the ceiling. Anything to avoid the pity in his eyes. "And I still don’t get it. What could a kid do - a seven-year-old - that would make a mother wish they hadn’t lived?"

"Nothing," he said immediately. No hesitation. No pause.

"Changbin-"

"No. Nothing. You could’ve cried too much, talked too loud, slammed a door or forgotten to say thank you — I don’t care. You were seven. There is nothing you could’ve done to deserve that."

You blinked fast. Vision blurry.

He shifted so he was facing you fully, hand resting gently over yours beneath the blanket.

"That’s not a wound, Y/N. That’s a scar she put there. That’s not something you carry because you earned it - it’s something you carry because she couldn’t love you the way she was supposed to."

Your lip trembled.

He took a slow breath. "You were a child. Children are supposed to be messy and loud and growing. You were becoming. And she... she wanted you gone. That’s not something a real mother says. That’s something someone says when they don't want to be held accountable for their own hate."

He looked right at you.

"I wish I could go back," he whispered. "I wish I could hold that seven-year-old. Tell her she didn’t do anything wrong. That she was good. And smart. And lovable."

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"And I wish I could tell her she’d grow up into someone I care about more than she’ll ever know. That she’d meet people who would never, ever let her feel like she had to earn the right to be alive."

You let yourself fall forward. Into his arms. Into the kind of safety no one had ever made room for before.

He wrapped his arms around you tight - not in a way that crushed you, but in a way that said I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.

And when his hand curled gently around the back of your head and he whispered, "You deserved better - you still do," something inside you finally, quietly, exhaled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hyunjin

The studio was quiet except for the soft hum of Hyunjin’s playlist, some instrumental track with strings and breathy vocals drifting through the air. You were curled up on the couch against the wall, legs tucked beneath you, watching him paint.

He stood at the easel with his hair tied back, brush dancing across the canvas like it knew exactly where it was supposed to go. He didn’t look at you, not because he wasn’t paying attention - but because he always waited for you to come to him in your own time.

Your voice broke the silence first. Something that had been on your mind for a while. Your brain did that sometimes, just made you remember.

"Have you ever said something out loud that made you feel disgusting for even thinking it?"

Hyunjin turned his head slowly, brush hovering mid-air. "Yeah," he said quietly. "More than once."

You hesitated. Then, staring at your own hands, you whispered, "I told my mom once that I didn’t want to be alive anymore. That I was thinking about ending it."

He froze.

You swallowed hard. "She didn’t even blink. Just said, ‘Don’t make it messy.’ Like I was a problem she didn’t want to have to clean up."

The brush in his hand dropped to the palette with a faint click. Still, he said nothing.

You laughed weakly, eyes burning. "I don’t know what’s worse. That she said it. Or that part of me expected it. Like some part of me knew there wouldn’t be concern. Just…inconvenience."

Hyunjin stood silently for a moment, then picked up a blank canvas from the corner of the studio and brought it over to you. He set it gently in your lap - a fresh white square waiting for color, for chaos.

Then he crouched in front of you, looking up so your eyes had nowhere else to land but his.

"Make it messy," he said.

You blinked. "What?"

"The canvas," he repeated. "Mess it up. Smear it. Rip it if you want. Paint with your fingers, your fists — I don’t care. Let it out. Whatever's in you. Make it ugly. Make it honest. Make it real."

You stared down at the untouched white space. It looked too clean for the way you felt inside.

"She told me not to make it messy," you said quietly. "Like I was something she’d have to wipe off the floor."

Hyunjin’s voice didn’t rise, but it deepened - solid, warm. "Then we take that back. Right now. We reclaim it. Because messy doesn’t mean bad. Messy means alive. It means feeling. It means truth."

He tapped the edge of the canvas again. "This? This isn’t about her. This is about you. And I want your messy. I want your chaos. I want you, exactly as you are."

His smile then - soft, steady - landed on you like sunlight.

It wasn’t pity.

It was permission. With arms around you saying, ‘I’m so sorry you’re feeling this - we’ll get through it.’"

Your lip trembled.

"That sentence - what she said - it doesn’t get to stay in your head without context," he continued. "Because here’s the truth: you were crying out for help. You were offering your life to someone who should’ve cherished it, and she stepped on it. That’s not your shame to carry. That’s hers."

You looked down. But he reached up gently, fingertips brushing your chin until you met his gaze again.

"You have never been disposable, Y/N. Not to me. Not to the people who see you. And I swear - I swear - if I had been there that day, I would’ve sat on the floor with you and held your hand and told you how important you are until you believed it."

He didn’t ask for permission. Just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, tight and certain, like anchoring a ghost back into its body.

"You’re still here," he murmured against your hair. "And I am so, so glad you are."

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time in a long time. It felt safe.

Like you were allowed to be here.

Like you were meant to be.

Even if the person you wished loved you most didn't believe so.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @staytinyarmy @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy @lezleeferguson-120 @enhacolor @madirye062

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#skz x reader #skz stay #skz imagines #stray kids reactions #skz angst #christopher bang #skz #skz fluff #skz reactions #stray kids #Lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #hyungline skz #pnutbutternjelyy

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mourvii · 3 days ago

Text

michael kaiser — crybaby

⤷ summary: you knew michael kaiser had a past—he was a heartbreaker, a player, a man built for the spotlight. but you didn’t expect it to hurt this much. and you didn’t expect him to choose you this softly.

⤷ content: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, romance, emotional healing, insecure!reader × protective!kaiser, established relationship

michael kaiser was a lot of things before he met you.

and everyone knew it.

a heartbreaker. a flirt. a man who left lipstick stains on his collar and never remembered the name of the girl who left them. they called him the emperor for a reason—not just because of how he ruled the field, but because of how he ruled hearts, only to toss them aside when he got bored.

and you? you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly who he was before you even let him touch you. you weren’t supposed to fall for him. but somehow, you did.

somehow, he made you feel like you were the only girl in the world.

but that didn’t mean the fear went away.

especially not tonight.

it started with a tweet. one you didn’t mean to see. you were just scrolling through your feed to distract yourself from studying, and there it was—#kaiserxamelie trending in bold letters. a blurry photo attached: michael, supposedly laughing with some model at an event you didn’t know he went to. she was stunning. the kind of beautiful that made you shrink in your seat.

people were already eating it up. shipping them. calling them "perfect together."

you stared at your screen until the words blurred. until your stomach twisted and your chest grew tight and you couldn’t breathe around the ache.

you tried to convince yourself it meant nothing. you tried so, so hard.

but your mind was a cruel thing, feeding you every 'what if' you’d been avoiding since you met him.

what if he found someone better? what if you were just another one of his phases? what if he never really stopped being a playboy—just got better at hiding it?

and worst of all:

what if he leaves you, too?

like the last one did.

so you cried. you cried the way you always did when the world felt like it was closing in. quiet and curled up under your sheets, pillow pressed to your face, trying to suffocate the sobs.

—

you spent the whole afternoon lying in bed, phone clutched in your trembling hand, that trending hashtag burned into your memory like a scar. you tried to look away, to distract yourself, to reason with the ugly voices clawing inside your brain—but nothing worked. every time you blinked, you saw his name next to hers. saw the photos. the quote retweets. the laughing emojis. the assumptions.

“kaiser and amelie confirmed?”

“i knew he couldn’t stay loyal for long.”

“poor girl, whoever she is.”

you felt like a fool.

every doubt you tried to bury started digging itself out of the grave. all the smiles he gave to others. the way girls still looked at him like he was god. the way he sometimes flirted just to win. and you—how could someone like him ever want someone like you? someone who cries when overwhelmed. someone who flinches at love like it’s a loaded weapon.

you sat there in the dark, curled up under your blanket like it could protect you from a heartbreak that hadn’t even happened yet. but god, it felt like it had. your chest ached. your stomach twisted. your brain wouldn’t shut up.

what if he really was tired of you?

what if you were just another name on a long list of girls who thought they were special?

what if he was already planning to leave?

you bit your lip until it bled just to stop yourself from sobbing again. but the tears came anyway, hot and endless, like they’d been waiting for this moment. you cried until your head throbbed. until your voice went hoarse. until your pillow was soaked and your hands felt cold and useless.

—

by the time michael got home, you were a mess.

"schatz?" his voice echoed down the hall, casual and light. "i brought your favorite—"

he stopped when he saw you. you didn’t even hear the bag drop to the floor. your head was still buried beneath the blanket.

"hey... hey, baby," he was kneeling by your bed in an instant, his hand gently tugging the sheets down. "what happened? why’re you crying like this?"

you turned away from him, biting back another sob. your voice was hoarse and small when you mumbled, "it's nothing."

"don’t do that," he said quietly. "don’t lie to me. talk to me, schatz. did someone hurt you?"

you shook your head. but your shoulders were trembling. he could see it—hell, he could feel it. his girl, the one who cried when she dropped her favorite mug, who got weepy over sad commercials, was breaking in front of him.

and he had no idea why.

"was it me?" he whispered. "did i do something wrong? please—please just tell me."

you finally turned to him. your eyes were red and swollen, lashes wet, cheeks blotchy from crying for hours. your lips trembled as you tried to speak.

"i saw a tweet..." you started, voice barely there. "they said you were with someone. some model. and—and everyone was saying you looked good together and i... i know it’s stupid, i just..."

more tears spilled.

"i got scared. i thought maybe you’d realized you could do better. that you’d leave. that you’d cheat."

and there it was.

the wound you’d kept hidden. the fear that festered quietly behind your smiles and soft kisses. it all spilled out in broken pieces.

michael was silent.

for a second.

then, gently, he cupped your face with both hands. thumbs wiping your tears away like they were poison on your skin.

"hey," he said, forehead pressing to yours. "look at me. look at me, schatz."

you tried, even through the tears.

"do you really think i’d ever do that to you?"

you hesitated. he kissed the corner of your eyes, soft and slow.

"do you really think i’d ruin the best thing in my entire life for someone i won’t even remember the name of tomorrow?"

you hiccupped, sniffling. he kissed your other eye.

"i know i used to be a dick. a dumbass, even. but i’m yours now. completely. every messy, chaotic, obsessed part of me. i’m yours."

his lips found your cheeks, warm and damp with salt.

"i don’t want anyone else. i’ve never wanted anyone else since the moment you looked at me like i mattered. since the moment you kissed me like i wasn’t just another pretty face."

his hands curled around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

his arms tighten around you, like he’s trying to convince your bones that they belong here—with him. he rests his cheek against the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“i don’t care what the world says about me,” he murmurs, voice low and scratchy, “but it kills me that you think i could hurt you like that.”

you sniffle, still curled against his chest, fingers fisting the fabric of his hoodie. “i—I didn’t mean to. i just... i got scared.”

“i know, baby,” he says, rubbing slow circles on your back. “i know what that kind of fear feels like. i hate that you felt it because of me.”

he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes—those pretty, watery eyes he swears he’d fight the world for. then, with the softest voice he’s probably ever used in his life, he says, “you’re my person, okay? no one else. no one ever comes close.”

he presses another kiss to the tip of your nose. “even when you cry so hard your nose turns red and you sound like a little hiccup machine.”

you sniff, letting out a shaky laugh through your tears.

“there she is,” he smiles. “still the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

"and if you ever see shit like that online again, please—please just come to me. don’t cry alone like this, schatz. my heart can’t take it."

your arms looped around his back. you felt so small in his arms.

"‘m sorry," you mumbled. "i just... i got scared. my ex—he cheated on me, and i keep thinking you’ll get tired of me, too."

he pulled back, just enough to kiss your lips.

"never. you hear me? never. you could cry every day, snore in your sleep, burn toast every morning, and i’d still pick you in every lifetime."

that made you choke on a laugh.

"...i don’t snore."

"you do. like a baby walrus. but it’s cute."

"kaiser—"

he kissed you again. slower this time. sweeter.

"go to sleep, crybaby," he whispered into your hair. "i'll be right here. always."

that night, for the first time in what felt like forever, you fell asleep in his arms. safe. loved.

and michael kaiser held you like you were his entire world.

because you were.

—

his grip stays gentle even as your breathing evens out, soft and steady against his chest. he brushes your hair away from your face, pressing one last kiss to your forehead, then shifts slightly—just enough to free one hand and reach for his phone on the nightstand.

his other arm never moves from around you. he won’t risk waking you. not when you look so at peace. not when you finally let yourself rest.

and god, the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks still makes something violent twist in his chest.

he's angry. not at you—never at you—but at the world for putting that look on your face. at the people online who think they know him. at himself, for ever giving you a reason to doubt how completely, utterly his you are.

he taps on his screen, presses call, and waits.

“hey,” he mutters when the line picks up, voice quiet but laced with steel. “get those fucking posts taken down. now. all of them.”

a pause.

“you hear me? i want everything wiped—tweets, tags, articles, reddit threads, burner accounts—everything. i don’t care if it’s 1 a.m. i don’t care if you need a damn lawyer. fix it.”

another pause. his jaw tightens.

“i don’t care if you have to contact the platform or sell your damn soul, i want every single photo and rumor wiped. i’m not asking again.”

his tone leaves no room for negotiation. he may be a player on the field, but off it? he’s a king, and he doesn’t tolerate disrespect. especially not toward you.

another pause.

“good.”

he ends the call with a sigh, sets the phone face down, and curls his arm back around you like that was where it always belonged. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath syncing with yours, finally letting himself fall asleep.

he’ll deal with the rest of the world tomorrow. the fans, the press, the rumors. he’ll face it all with his chin high and his crown steady.

but tonight? he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters.

and if the world was gonna try and make you doubt him again?

then he'd burn the whole fucking thing down before he ever let it touch you.

“and if the world ever dares to hurt you again, may it know the wrath of the boy who once swore to never let go.”

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser fluff #kaiser fluff #michael kaiser x you #⊹₊ ⋆ vyen · 🎐

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sajakissed · 2 days ago

Text

saja boys x gn!manager!reader (sfw)

tags: sfw, fluff, slight tension, pre-relationship

sfw version of anon's request. read the poly nsfw version here

Request | Rules | Masterlist

🎐 Mystery

Mystery is the first one there when you arrive with the coffee tray. He’s dressed in his usual training clothes, lazily stretching while watching himself in the mirror.

He turns his head slightly. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” you say. “Rehearsal’s not for another thirty minutes.”

He walks over anyway. Stands just a little too close as he reaches for his americano — his fingers deliberately brushing yours.

“You always bring mine black.”

“You always drink it black.”

He studies you for a beat, bangs covering the way his eyes trail your features like he's memorizing them. “That’s not in the manager handbook.”

You raise an eyebrow. “No, but you get real cranky when someone puts sugar in it.”

“And you care?”

“I have to.”

“Hm.” He takes a long sip, eyes never leaving yours. “You always remember the little things…even when you're tired.”

You pause.

“I guess…I like that about you,” he adds, so quiet you almost don't catch it.

Your heart gives a traitorous little thump.

He steps back before you can say more, turning to face the mirror again. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

You stand there for a long moment, clutching your cup, trying to remember how to breathe.

🌷 Romance

You’re pacing outside the dressing room, trying to fix a miscommunication with event organizers over some last-minute changes. You are in the middle of an argument when Romance steps out, freshly styled, shining in his stage outfit.

He pauses, watching you with a little frown. The other person on the phone is so loud that Romance hears them berating you for being “unprofessional”. Without warning, he pulls your phone from your hand and presses it to his ear.

“Yoboseyo. This is Romance. Of the Saja Boys. Please don’t talk to our manager like that. She’s actually busy right now taking care of us. I’m sure this can wait till tomorrow, right darling?”

You gape at him, mouthing what are you doing?! But just like that, Romance’s charms worked and the person on the other end actually agrees.

Romance hangs up, then turns to you with a smug smile. “You need to breathe, sweetheart.”

“You can't just—”

“I can,” he says, grin softening. “And I will. Every time you forget how much you do for us.”

You’re trying not to melt. You really are. But he tilts your chin up and adds, “You look too good when you’re mad, though. Kinda unfair.”

Your heart’s racing by the time he walks back into the room, humming like nothing happened.

🍿 Abby

“Abby, I said I’ve got it.” You struggle to carry a box of merch over to the setup table. You’re short-staffed today, and you being the perfectionist that you are, decide to help with staff work. Abby’s large hand effortlessly takes the box from you.

“You don’t,” he says simply, balancing it against one shoulder like it weighs nothing. “You didn’t even bend your knees.”

You huff. “You’re not supposed to be heavy lifting five minutes before fans see you.”

“Then stop doing everything alone.”

His voice is low and quiet, almost scolding. You glance up and catch him watching you with something too soft, too serious for how casual his tone is.

“You didn’t even sleep last night,” he adds, eyes flicking to the dark circles under your eyes. “Do you think I don’t notice?”

“I’m fine. You’ve got a show to think about.”

He leans down. “And yet you’re the one in my head.”

You feel like you’re going to combust. “Abby—!”

“Let’s finish this. Don't wanna keep the fans waiting.” He walked ahead, leaving you breathless and flustered.

🎶 Jinu

You are fussing with his mic again.

“Jinu, stop moving.”

He flinches as your fingers brush the curve of his jaw, but didn’t say a word.

You are all focus, all business, completely unaware of the fact that you have been the softest presence in his life these days. Always remembering how he likes his tea, always patting his shoulder when he looked too far away in his own thoughts, always telling him “You did well” like it wasn’t a line on a checklist.

“I’m not moving,” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

You pull back, brows knitting. “You’re trembling, Jinu. Are you cold?”

He clears his throat. “…No.”

You stare at him a second too long. Long enough that he can’t breathe right. Long enough that he feels a terrifyingly strong urge to lean forward and confess something he isn't supposed to.

You reach for his collar, smoothing it gently. “You’ve got this, okay?” And just like always, you smile at him like he matters so much to you.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “You’re always looking out for me.”

You give him a warm smile that makes his stomach do flips. “Of course I am.”

That’s why it’s you, he thinks. That’s why it’ll always be you.

🌀 Baby

The moment your clipboard slips from your hands and your ankle twists on the step, Baby is there. One arm catching your waist, the other holding your elbow, like he was already watching you before it even happened.

“You got two left feet or what?” he snorts. “You’re supposed to keep us alive, remember?”

You swat at him. “It was one step.”

“And I saved your clumsy ass. You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t let go right away. His fingers sliding down to your wrist long after you've steadied yourself. His grip is careful. Almost tender.

Then he leans down, voice suddenly lower. “Next time you fall, just fall into me. Less paperwork that way.”

"Wha—?"

He lets go and walks back to his spot without looking at you. Later, he drops a banana milk into your lap during break and says gruffly, “Eat. You get shaky when you skip lunch.”

You don’t remember ever telling him that.

#join the pride #saja boys #saja boys fluff #saja boys headcanons #saja boys kpdh #kpdh #kpop demon hunters #saja boys x reader #saja boys x you #abby x reader #mystery x reader #jinu x reader #baby x reader #romance x reader

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mustyrosewater · 1 day ago

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 '𝐛𝐨𝐛' 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: robert 'bob' reynolds (thunderbolts*) x afab!reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,859 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: when bob goes searching for something in his camera roll, he finds a video that sentry left behind for him, feeling frustrated and insecure about his ability to please you, you offer a solution to bring back his confidence. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: SMUT, filming, sex tapes, oral (m! recieving), sentry is an asshole but he is so so delicious. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: in between doing some prompts i thought i'd release this one that's been sitting in my docs for awhile, its a concept i've had in my head for awhile now and i've been wanting to write more bob for you guys! - 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Balancing a relationship between the three versions of himself hadn’t necessarily been something that Bob had ever thought he would need to do, but when he’d met you, he realised there were definitely some things that needed to be established.

He’d maintained a balance thus far, initially expecting the void and sentry to be making it as difficult as possible for him, trying to sabotage him at every step.

While it had been surprising to find that the void kept himself relatively quiet about you, it was sentry that truly surprised him.

There was some getting used to when it came to the spotty memory, he realised pretty quickly each time that sentry had made himself known, mainly because most of the time it was because he didn’t remember the last twenty four hours.

When it happened for the first time, he’d been immediately concerned, expecting you to have been hurt or scared by him, but what you’d reported back had been the complete opposite.

It made sense for the sentry to be the way he was with you, upon further realisation, the sentry was after all, still him, just an extension of himself, he supposed.

So it was only logical that sentry’s feelings towards you were just Bob’s feelings towards you, just a little bit more intense.

Just a little bit.

“Bobby, please, I promise i’m okay, just.. a little sore..”

Your phrasing left him perplexed, sitting across from you in bed where he’d woken up with no knowledge the night before or all of yesterday for that matter.

“..Sore..?” Bob questioned, which resulted in you unable to hide the slight blush that came across your cheeks, sighing softly before you pulled part of your collar down, treating him to the painting of marks all across your neck and chest.

“You were um.. a bit enthusiastic, last night.”

While he knew it was him, technically, it still felt odd, having no clue what he’d done to you last night, yet having enough of an idea as to why you were now ‘sore.’

“God, i’m sorry..” he started, reaching forward to run his finger along one of the dark purple marks on your collar.

“Why are you apologising, Bobby? i didn’t say it was bad.” you shrugged, “quite the opposite actually.” you laughed softly, running your fingers through your hair.

Of course there was insecurity, he was only a man after all, but there wasn’t a whole lot that could be done, he would just have to live with the fact that for better or for worse, he’d given you a package deal.

There were more instances, times where he woke up with a sore and punished dick and the sight of you completely exhausted and sleeping away.

Times where he’d go into the bathroom and spit the scratches going down his back that he knew weren’t because of him, per say.

You had embraced him without question when you became aware of his, affliction, and you were continuing to be okay with all of the weird stuff that came along with him.

There had been instances where he definitely felt sentry pulling at him, almost whispering in his ear as he looked at you.

He could literally hear his own voice saying words about you that he’d never say or even dare to think.

It had all come to a head when he’d been scrolling absentmindedly through his phone while out to dinner with the other members of the thunderbolts while trying to find a picture to show Ava, that he spotted it.

A video, only about a minute and a half long.

Even if the thumbnail was small, he recognised the colour of your skin, his mouth falling open for a moment as he looked at the small square hiding amongst all the others.

“Uh, just.. gimme a sec..” he excused himself, shuffling through the chinese restaurant to the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he tapped on the video and pressed play.

He kept the volume at a minimum and watched the scene unroll before him across his phone screen, the sound of your moans and cries filling his ears in an instance.

Accompanied by the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, he watched a pov shot of his own cock ramming in and out of you, your ass bouncing against his hips as he took you from behind.

He watched his own hand come out and lay a firm slap against your ass which only seemed to have you moaning even louder.

The sound of his hips slamming against your ass as he fucked you were deafening, hearing his own moans accompanying your own.

“Bobby doesn’t fuck you like this, huh?” his own voice rang out, though it was breathless, gruffier and deeper, he knew exactly who it was fucking you in the video, and it certainly wasn’t him, a given considering he had no recollection of this whatsoever.

He listened to you moan out in response, the back of your head showing that your face was pressed into the sheets, another slap coming down on your ass which had you crying out.

“Say it, fucking tell me how much better i fuck you.” he growled, ramming into you even harder and using his free hand to grip your hip.

“B-Bobby doesn’t..aagghh.. fuck me like t-this..” you whimpered out, your words feeling like a small sting for him as he watched himself moan louder and fuck you harder.

“Fuuuuck… good girl..”

It felt wrong, as much as he knew it was him in the video, it was so different from the sex he himself had had with you previously, as much as he wasn’t a big softie by any means, he still hadn’t fucked you the way sentry was fucking you, he’d never had you on the brink of tears before.

Just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he heard the sound of shuffling and watched as the camera turned round to see his own face, brown hair falling over his face as he leaned forward and your face came into frame, continuing to fuck into you mercilessly as his hand wrapped around your chin and forced you to look at the camera which he grinned at.

“Smile for the camera, baby, thaaats it..”

The sight of you with your mouth hanging open, your eyes rolled back matched with his own smiling face next yours had him shutting off the video and putting his phone face down on the bathroom counter, needing a moment to catch his breath.

He’d bitten back all the jealously, he’d made a point not to say anything, because he knew deep down that there really wasn’t anything to get jealous about, it was still him, right?

Dinner had ended promptly enough, with him trying to hold himself together at the table for the rest of the evening, even if he’d been sitting there much less quiet than before and occasionally balling his fists under the table.

Getting into the uber that Yelena had called to get back to your apartment for the night, he looked at the time on his phone screen, reading at nearly 9:34 by the time the car was finally arriving in your neighbourhood.

Making sure to thank the driver as he exited, he shut the door behind him and looked up at where he knew your window was in the apartment building, seeing the dim light of a lamp.

By the time he made his way inside and into the elevator, he could already feel his cock twitching at the thought of the video again, trying to will away what he believed to be sentry coming out all over again, especially after what he’d seen.

His hands sat in his pockets as he exited the elevator and began to trudge down the hallway to get to your apartment door, reaching out to tap his knuckle against the wood as softly he could manage, some part of him scared to wake you up in case you were sleeping.

The sound of shuffling behind the door was what told him that you were in fact awake, listening as your footsteps approached the door with a nervous anticipation that he hadn’t actually felt for quite awhile with you.

When your smiling face greeted him, part of him had trouble mustering one to give back to you, which you had seemed to notice instantly as he walked inside and flopped onto your couch.

Just as was always the routine, you shut your door and stepped over to the couch, coming behind Bob to run your hands over his shoulder and lean forward to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Dinner was good?” you asked softly as you ran your thumbs along either side of his face, letting him nod and tilt his head back so you could give him a soft kiss against his lips.

“That’s good.” you mused, tilting your head to lay another kiss on his cheek.

With a small grunt, Bob suddenly leaned forward away from you, resting his elbows on his thighs as he stared ahead.

Furrowing your brows, you walked around the couch and sat at Bobs side, reaching to put your hand on his back.

“What’s going on, Bobby?” you pried gently, tilting your head so that you could try and see the parts of his face that were covered by his hair when he leant forward.

He didn’t answer you at first, just sat there in silence while you rubbed his back and waited patiently for him to speak.

You knew he got like this sometimes, upset but not able to voice it; and you knew that continuing to try and guess usually overwhelmed him more than he was already likely was, so you simply stayed silent and pulled him into your arms, letting him rest his head against your chest.

Whenever you would hold him like this, it would usually be anywhere between minutes or hours before he was able to speak again, usually unpredictable considering that you weren’t a mind reader and had no idea what he was thinking.

Most of the time he just laid his head on your chest and let you run your fingers through his hair, yet you felt his hands starting to glide over your sides, his head tucking into your neck quicker than you were able to react, his lips beginning to run across your skin.

Only able to let out a small squeak of alertness before Bob was moving on top of you and his hands were reaching for the end of your shirt, you let your legs open so he could lay his body between them, feeling a semi hard tent pushing against your thigh.

This was far bolder than you’d have given Bob credit for, even when he did initiate, he was so shy most of the time, almost too nervous to even touch you without express permission.

Letting out small sounds as he ran his lips across your throat and laid kisses over your skin, his hand disappeared under your shirt to grab a handful of your tit, leaving you arching your back when he rolled your nipple under his thumb.

Stopping for only a split second, you half expected that sentry had taken over again, gearing yourself up to tell him to leave, you wanted Bob tonight, as much as Sentry did things to you that make you feel like you were on cloud nine, you just wanted your Bob.

Placing your hands in his face, you pushed him back slightly and looked into his eyes, peering to try and decipher who exactly was presenting at the moment.

Bob panted as he looked down on you, and the quick flash of nervousness told you everything you needed to know, leaving you the slightest bit surprised, it was Bob after all.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, only causing you to furrow your brows, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby, not at all.” you began, shaking your head and leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth softly, “I’m just worried about you..”

Even if he was trying to touch you, trying to initiate something in a way he never had before, there was an obvious anxiety to his eyes, a lining of fear that he seemed to be trying to hide.

“You’re not acting like yourself.”

Your words seemed to strike a nerve, with Bob leaning back and sitting in front of you, running a hand through his hair with a huff while you sat up.

“I was trying..” he paused, looking away for a moment before looking back at you, “I was trying to act like him.”

Initially you were confused, furrowing your brows and tilting your head, when you opened your mouth to ask for clarification as to who ‘he’ was, Bob seemed to know exactly what you were asking.

“I found a video on my phone that he took.”

All too quickly you understood exactly who he was talking about, a sigh leaving your lips as you shut your eyes and hung your head.

You were certain this was going to come up sooner or later, you’d already battled with yourself internally over whether or not you were meant to feel guilty over this.

As much as it was still technically your boyfriend, you knew that Bob didn’t remember what happened whenever either Sentry or the void were presenting, leading to you juggling your moral compass for guidance.

Technically, it was still Bob, just a very different version of him, but with the starkly different personalities paired with the memory loss, he might as well have been a completely different man in Bob’s body.

“Bobby.. I..” you weren’t sure if this was meant to be an apology or an admission of guilt or what, whether or not you were meant to ask for forgiveness or not.

“I know.. I shouldn’t be upset..” he started, “It’s still me.. but..” as he let out another shaky sigh, you could see the frustration coming to light, the anger and the jealousy.

“He left it for me to find, he knew.”

Now you truly did feel guilty, you could recall when that video had been taken now, almost completely forgetting about its existence.

You tossed up deleting it, but then that would have absolutely been an admission of guilt, total admittance that there was something to hide and that you’d done something wrong.

It killed you to see Bob look so upset and frustrated, the way he was clenching his fists, Sentry had made a conscious effort to embarrass him, to belittle him, this was something you definitely wouldn’t stand for.

Reaching across the coffee table to grab Bob’s phone, you placed it into his hand and slid off the couch, coming to kneel in front of Bob between his knees.

“What’re you doing?” he sighed, clearly frustrated and putting across that he wasn’t in the mood for any antics.

Reaching your hand forward, you ran your palm against the semi that was still pressing against his pants, leading to a small jolt from your boyfriend and a strained sound leaving his throat.

You didn’t give him much time to react as you reached for his belt, pulling it open and reaching for the zipper of his pants.

“Hey, hey, wait-“

“Let’s give him something to find next time he tries to go snooping on your phone.” you encouraged, pulling down Bob’s pants along with his boxers to hang under his hips, leaving enough room for his progressively hardening cock to fall out and land against his stomach.

Already there was pre cum beginning to leak from the tip, the exposure to the cold air making him let out a small hiss, only for his hand to hesitate before hitting record on the phone screen, positioning to hold it at his chest and capture you in the frame.

You looked at the lens and smiled softly, your eyes already layered with a haze that was paired with the slightly dim lighting on your lamp.

Gathering the shaft in your hand, you could hear Bob beginning to breathe in sharply through his teeth at the sensation, running your thumb over the tip only for his hips to thrust up slightly out of reflex.

Teasing Bob felt cruel half the time, especially when he always seemed to want you so badly, so you wasted no time before you were peppering open mouthed kisses over the shaft, able to see his eyes shut tightly and his head tilt back behind the phone.

It was beautiful in a way, the way that Bob would just fall apart under your touch, the way that he moaned, all of the little things that made you love him as much as you did.

There was definitely something to unpack with the idea of another version of himself bullying him, and you could discuss the notations of internalised feelings that it seemed to imply another day, but for now, you were only focused on comforting him and making him feel good.

As you took his tip into your mouth, closing your eyes as you ran your tongue over the small thin slit at the end, Bob was already a mess, his hand shaky as it tried to hold up the phone, which you didn’t doubt was going to end up being very shaky footage.

It didn’t matter though, you could see that despite the shaking, he was making an effort to keep the camera focused on you, even moving it closer when you started to take him deeper down your throat, getting a close up of the way your lips engulfed his cock.

You maintained a slow and steady pace, taking more of him down your throat bit by bit and ignoring the soft gags you could feel coming up; Bob was thick, causing you to need to outstretch your entire mouth just to take him in, letting out a small whine as you felt the tip tickle the back of your throat.

Beginning slow movements of your head up and down, you felt Bobs free hand touch the back of your head, not pushing by any means, but guiding you carefully, his thumb running across your soft hair as he did.

Pulling away for a moment, you gasped softly and stroked his cock to make up for the lack of attention as you caught your breath, smiling past the camera lens and up at Bob, who was meeting your gaze with half shut eyes as he panted.

“That feel okay baby..?” you asked, always making an effort to check in with Bob every so often.

He had an awful habit of not voicing when it got too much, leading to lots of unexpected facials, so you made a point to see how he was travelling.

Even if he couldn’t speak at first, Bob nodded his head at you, taking in a breath through his teeth.

“It’s.. it’s good..” he whispered, the hand on the back of your head going from soft guiding to a hint of a push, signalling to you that he definitely wanted you to keep going.

You could already feel the way his hips were beginning to thrust up into your mouth as soon as he touched the back of your throat again, gaining more confidence, especially when you looked up at him while your mouth was stuffed with his cock.

Whining softly, you shut your eyes and tried to take him down further, gagging softly as he moved his hips with the movement of your head, starting to meet you halfway every time you brought your head back down.

“Oh fuck, please, please, please..” He whispered, his thrusts starting to speed up until he was entirely in control, fisting some of your hair softly and holding you in place as he fucked your mouth.

Letting him drive, you let him take out his frustration on you, tuning into the way his soft whimpers were starting to turn to grunts, as his treatment of you became the slightest bit more aggressive and desperate.

You didn’t mind in the slightest, just as his mood changed, so too did the way he wanted to have you, some days he wanted you to take full control while he just laid there, other times he needed to get his energy out, you were happy to let him.

Looking up at him, you moaned helplessly against his cock and felt it twitching inside your throat, squeezing his thighs to fight back against the gagging and keep going for as long as you could.

“Thank you, baby, thank you, oh my god..”

The thanking and the praise, it just helped you persevere, opening your mouth as widely as it would go, blinking the tears away.

“Shit- I’m gonna cum, can i cum in your mouth, please baby.. please..”

With the best assurance you could muster while your throat was being fucked mercilessly by Bob, you gave his thigh as squeeze as confirmation, just as you felt his hips stilling, pushing his cock as far down as you could bare as he started to shoot hot ropes of cum into your throat.

His moans were beautiful, the way they would start out deep and just get more high pitched and whiny as he came, the way he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped your hair so tightly.

When he finally set you free, your head pulled back quickly as you gasped for air, as much as you’d swallowed every drop he gave you, there was still a milky line of spit mixed with his cum connected his tip with your tongue.

Bob brought his hands forward to rest on your bottom lip, bringing the camera closer to your face as he pushed your lips apart to show where you’d swallowed everything.

“Oh my goooddd…” he groaned at the sight, letting out a small throaty laugh as you shut your eyes and nuzzled your cheek against his palm.

Pressing the button to stop the recording, he threw his phone to the side on the couch and pulled you off the floor and onto his lap, stealing a deep kiss from you, tasting himself on your tongue.

Grabbing fistfuls of your ass, he gave it a hard squeeze which had you squeaking softly, pulling your lips off of his and jolting softly.

“So you definitely feel better then?” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he smiled up at you.

“How did I get so lucky with you?” he breathed, sliding his hands up from your ass to hold you by your waist gently.

“I guess I just like dating super powered cuties.” you sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

With a roll of his eyes, Bob quickly flipped you onto your back, laughing as you let out a squeal, before climbing on top of you.

“What’re you doing Bobby..” you sighed, unable to stop the small whimper that left you as you felt his hand sliding into the waistband of your pants.

“Returning the favour.”

#marvel #marvel thunderbolts #thunderbolts marvel #thunderbolts*#marvel smut #marvel bob reynolds #bob reynolds marvel #sentry #marvel sentry #thunderbolts the void #thunderbolts sentry #bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #x reader #sentry smut #bob reynolds smut

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