#this is making me want to try and gif them...

[vampmira]

open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.2 – saja boys.]

they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.

paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader

warning(s:) EVERYTHING IN HERE IS A PART TWO TO THIS !! some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative, a little angst at the beginning

request | tags: @blueberrysquire @akariis4snowball @j0ykill

a/n: this is part 2 !! i had sooo many ideas for huntrix that i had to make another part for the saja boys so that it wasn't so long . this part isn't as good but i liked it so ☆☆☆

that night huntrix defeated gwima was a blur. all you remember was the zombie mob of fans, half of the fight, and the use of your aura vision to raise the saja boys above the honmoon before it glimmered in gold. jinu, who gave his newly found soul for rumi, was practically reincarnated through her sword – standing in front of her post-concert, arms open for her to fall into with tears from the both of them. everyone else? well, they felt lost.

the saja boys weren't sure what to do anymore. jinu was overjoyed, of course, but the boys knew nothing more beyond gwima and their mission. they didn't care much about music, nor their fans – which huntrix still couldn't wrap their minds around – and it's not like they had secret human hobbies. they never had time for that. until now.

post-gwima, they stayed in an apartment near the huntrix penthouse, trying to figure out their new lives. for the most part, they spent most of their time under your watch – to make sure they didn't go cause chaos – but also .. under your study.

you were weird to them

they weren't used to someone other than them.. knowing them

their capabilities, their knowledge, their origins.

actually jinu found your extensive understanding of what he is to be kind of comforting

he noticed how you never really drooled over them

you'd stare, sure, but in the same way an art critic would stare at a painted blue canvas with a smeared red dot in the middle

he felt like that red dot – unexplained but you somehow understood

when he told you about his past, it was a lot for him – talking about his cruel choice

but you.. didn't judge him.

in fact, you wrote it down in your notebook immediately, the one you never let the boys get too close to

he accepted you into his life when he entertained your interest in his history

unlike him, however, the other boys were uninterested

at first anyway

thank jinu for getting them to talk to you btw

it took a little bit of convincing – telling them that you wanted to give them something more than just gwima

even though they didn't want it ...

REGARDLESS they hang out around the penthouse

because they're no longer saja boys (uninterested and unsupported by any demon staff anymore)

they really had nothing to do but mildly annoy your personal space

including being the center of your attention when the girls are out

mira gave you one rule, "living room and bathroom. only." and you've succeeded so far. abby and romance were talking by the large scale windows, mystery was playing some game with baby (and obviously winning), and jinu sat in the middle of the couch, watching whatever movie rumi put on for him. you sat beside him, sketching in your one and only personal researcher book. your pencil drew out what you felt like was the final line in mystery's hair ... before you huffed, erasing it, and trying again.

that was... until the littlest demon startled you.

"mystery, they're drawing you." bored of his game, baby peered over your shoulder, only passively curious and really wanting to mess with you. heads turned at your exposure to the room, especially jinu, who looked over your other shoulder at the sketch you did of him earlier.

"you're.. sketching us?" the direct ask made you a bit nervous, especially being under so many eyes. (kind of. mystery was more just.. generally facing your direction.) "'weakness.. chest?' are you taking notes on us?" you stood up, nearly defensive, turning around to face the couch trio.

"if it weren't for your old friends, i wouldn't have to write it all down again." the boys went quiet, remembering the origin of your knowledge and powers. "i'm just.. tired of keeping it all inside. i need to get it out somewhere."

romance, true to his name, leaned over your shoulder, putting you both in a proximity much closer than you've ever had to experience before.

"then why don't we do something.. a little more fun .. to help you get it all out?"

normally sentences like that from him sound way more suggestive than he means them to be

but this time he came up with an actual solution to release your closed up, ready-to-pop-out-of-your-skin knowledge

they gave you a one way trip to infodump station ! an interview !

they wanted to learn more about you anyways

their fellow demons down below were the ones to wipe out your ancestors

not them

and they make sure you know it too

but they can't help but feel .. a little, tiny bit bad that you're now just a living library

a time capsule, holding onto so much information that you're about to burst 24/7

they had never met a researcher honestly

you intrigued them as much as they did for you

how much did you really know ?? did you know anything or is all this antsy behavior a ploy to make it look like you knew everything when you really knew nothing ??

their disguises were perfectly created to make every little fan fall for their attractiveness the second they looked at the boys

but you never drooled at them or had your eyes pop out of your head

you just always... stared. processing. tracing mindfully.

they didn't know what you were really abut. but they were about to find out. and really test your persona.

romance sat relaced in a chair as you circled him, pencil taking note of everything you noticed. how his markings were sharp, not rounded like rivers, how his skin was cooled, not burning hot. all things you already knew, but you found small comfort in knowing not much changed. you took a deep breath around his hair, nose scrunching up. he smiled, taking your cheek in his hand.

"new cologne." his voice was smooth, gentle. traditionally alluring. "just for you. do you like it?" he turned up his flirtatiousness, pulling you in closely, testing the waters of your focus.. before you turned away to start writing, completely uneffected.

"so many generations and you guys still smell like flames.." you mumbled to yourself.

"would you rather we smell like bubblegum?" baby tried to sass you, but you were too focused on the sharpness of his teeth to care. you stepped towards him, eyes widened.

"can demons still tear apart brick with the force of their canines?" you asked, rather close to his face. for a moment, he almost felt like the flustered one.

"yes..? no? i-i don't know." he crossed his arms, childishly. "i don't go around biting bricks." you jot it down still as you move towards abby. he's deeply relaxed, leaning back on the couch, comfortable shirt riding up to expose his famously toned abs. your eyes trail off of your notebook and they think.. they've got you.

"like what you see?" he teases. "you can touch them, you know." a bold move that brings you closer, nails tracing his skin. they're almost disappointed that abby is the one who stole your attention.. before they realize you're attention isn't stolen at all. you're drawing his markings with careful detail.

"where did yours come from? rumi's started forming on her arm when she was a kid, but they haven't reached her stomach yet. they grow with time, right? how old would that make you then..?" you dissolve into mutters they can barely decipher. "oh!! mystery!" he almost jumps behind the couch when you race over to him, making jinu laugh from the sidelines of their attempts to flirt with you. "i've never seen a demon sparkle! that's new.. is that just you? or is there a whole subspecies of sparkling demons? or is it your human disguise..?" your questions nearly overwhelm him, enough to make him forget how he's supposed to flirt with you, but romance pulls you away, whispering in your ear.

"it's not just him." he smiles, hand on your shoulder. "you're sparkling, too, sweetheart." if anyone could fluster anyone, it'd be him, even if it takes two rounds. his thumb runs against your chin. "you look so cute in this lighting, like a rose."

"speaking of which, what's the flora like down there? are there any? do they eat demons or are they like.. regular flowers? we knew more of demons than of gwima's realm. did they smell? i bet they might have.. would it be nostalgic or torturing?"

the boys share a look, and sigh. you went off into high speed muttering again.

you really were everything you said

uninterested in their flirts and more in knowledge

that almost made them like you more..

in the following times after the interview, they greeted you a bit more casually – sometimes cheerfully, asking if you had any new drawings or trivia you wanted to get off your chest

how did you . tame them !? does the whole hard to get thing actually work !?

it confused the girls wildly

but to see them adjusting to being here through someone who actually understood them instead of lying around, empty and lost, was a pick-me-up in the mornings

one morning, after being delivered a coffee, handsigned by the boys, you felt something click in your head, a sensation you had never felt before, and reached to put it in your notebook immediately

"demons, when properly befriended, like to be understood. they brought me coffee. do demons like coffee??"

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

New Purpose | Yandere Saja Boys x Reader

“You want me to do what?!”

The call from your awkward and friendly acquaintance in the idol-managing business leaves you in an unreadable ball of confusion. Typically when Bobby did call you it was to brag about his girls or about the latest resort he was gifted by the girls. But this time he needed your help and you weren’t sure if you were going to give it. 

“Please please (Y/n)! You taught me everything I know; if there’s anyone who can handle them it’s you.”

Bobby pleading on his knees doesn’t change your reluctance but the pleading gazes of the boy-band in question made you slow to voice it. It also was harder to refuse when you could see the shining blue shackles on each of their wrists. A marked hand slides onto your shoulder with a stealth you haven’t felt in a long time and instinctively you reach for the holster under your coat, locking eyes with the one you once deemed to be an enemy.

“It can only be you. Mx. (L/n).”

It’s the purple-haired idol who not only was rumored to have once endangered the Honmoon but mended it with strength that surpassed her ancestors. Here she was glowing with her shining demon marks in broad daylight. A part of you still found it wrong.

She took your blatant staring in stride; sending Bobby out of the room,”Mind giving us some space? I think it might land better y’know? Idol to idol?”

“Oh, sure thing Rumi! In fact, I’ll go get the celebratory ramyeun now!”

He dashed as if his life depended on it, leaving you and Rumi with the shackled demon idols. Looking warily at the hunter you slowly pulled your hand away from your holster. The fakely wide smile on her fades into something more concerning. Pressing her purple-painted lips together, it’s time to address the real elephant in the room. 

“Why are they still here?! I thought you killed them all when you made the Honmoon golden.”

She nervously smiles, “I–thought I did too. But it seems that they were sealed in the upper world instead. The only one who….didn’t make it was thanks to Gwi-Ma.” She steps away from you, putting her hand out as if to pet the “baby Saja boy.” Previously he looked as though he was dead; standing with a face that epitomized boredom. That all changed when Rumi came close. His eyes glowed that sinister yellow and his fangs were bared as he chomped at the air her hand used to be. The blue chains clink with golden chains that shine in a ripple like the Honmoon itself. 

“You must mean the leader. Jin.”

You were playing with fire. For all the shipping edits that the idol leaders were put through, anyone could’ve guessed that they were close. While you don’t have eyes and ears close to her domain, it still got back to you just how close she’d gotten with him. During Huntrix's report of the event, Jin’s returned soul was what gave the trio the power to completely exorcise Gwi-Ma. A feat that was impossible even for the first hunters to exist.

“Yes…Jin,” she spoke his name with a heavy resonance. A respect that hadn’t dulled at all because it still felt raw.

”He saved me by showing me how to accept this part of myself rather than hide.”

She held her hands in front of her playing with the light against her marks, “Still he’s showing me there’s more to this side of myself I never really understood before.”

You watched her close her hands into fists and turn to you with a fierceness in those brown eyes you’ve never seen in person,” Which is why I think we should try helping them before we kill them.”

Stopping your laughter you finally spoke, “We?”

“We. Huntrix can’t do this on our own. You’ve been handling the otherside of the hemisphere well and now that both sides are sealed all that’s left is to care for the demons that slipped through.”

“Then why not just kill them?” The one with abs tries to jab at her which she skillfully dodges,” They clearly aren’t fond of you.”

Pausing she looks at them and then at you. 

“I have to try…if Jin saw something worth using maybe…maybe there's more to them that I haven’t seen yet. That no one’s seen. I’m hoping you can do that.”

“I’m retired. I don’t think I can do much of anything now.”

Rumi gives you a look. That glare of determination that makes you feel exposed.

“I’ve heard you before. You can do this.”

You turn, prepared to refuse but she grabs your hands.

“Please (Y/n).To protect our reign of peace….please.”

______________________________________________________________

“Alright, Saja boys. Listen up you live and breathe to be the idol group I demand you be, you hear me?!” 

The collective groans of the demon boy band, the sound makes you smirk. In an instant, you begin to hum an old song you used to sing unsheathing your whip from its holster. Romance is the one who perks up, the only one who seems to catch on that you are about to obliterate them.

“AcK!”

“OW that burns!”

“Please don’t!”

“Okay okay, we’re all listening p-please contine.”

It’s over in seconds. Everything but their faces is covered in disgusting blue welts. 

“As I was saying. I expect my perfect idol boy band to be smiley, friendly, and to say 'yes (Y/n)' whenever I ask you questions. Is that clear?”

“Yes (Y/n)!”

“That’s good now have a good show just like we practiced!”

It’s been interesting taking on the Saja boys. Their image that had Jin be their cool and calm collected leader was very much the truth. Without you breathing down their necks you found they were quite awful to all around them.

“Abby did you or did you not hit that PA with a button of yours, on purpose?”

“I mean they were looking too hard anyway it’s not my fault.”

“It is your fault that they went to the hospital thanks to your stupid little stunt.”

“It’s whatever they got a souvenir they’ll never forget!”

CRACK!

“Not the whip please, I’ll make a public apology! Sorry!”

You’ve dealt with idols that had a kamidere complex or outright narcissism but you haven’t dealt with literal demons who barely grasped that humanity was anything more than a population of overgrown bugs. 

“Alright, Bae Bee what’s going to be the right response if someone asks how you feel about the subject of turtles?”

“Goo Goo Gaga?”

“No. Try using real words please.”

“It’s…whatever?”

“I did that whole slide show and you didn’t gather anything from that?!”

“....”

FWHIP!

“Their…mid?!”

CRACK!

“Wahhh!”

But you wouldn’t continue with this farce if you didn’t realize there was a learning curve to be had. The first time it dawned on you was when Romance came to you in the dead of night, clutching the book you’d gifted them your second day: How to be a Human for Dummies. You were lounging on the large couch watching your shows when he walked in. He stood awkwardly by the door like a child who’d come to woefully inform his parents he’d wet the bed. You pretended not to know he was there; gauging if he’d actually ask for help like you offered.

“Why should we try?”

You muted the TV. Giving the pink-haired demon your full attention, you turned as he stood at the opposite end of the couch.

“Because you’ll die if you don’t.”

His nails dug into the paper cover,” no I mean why do we have to…I’ve already tried doing that before. I don’t want to go through that again.”

His marks flashed and you couldn’t see his face clearly; his hair making a curtain you so desperately wanted to peek past. 

Sighing you stood, “Follow me.”

Doing as he was told he followed you over rooftops, skillfully swinging through the concrete jungle to end it bumping into your back. He opened his mouth to insult you, to whine about how you couldn’t just answer the question to following your gaze. Down below in a window that flashed with all matter of colors, was a girl surrounded by friends singing terribly into the microphone as they cheered her on.

“You see her” The girl with the red bow in her hair?”

“...yeah.”

“She used to wonder that too. She used to walk home every day from school to her room. Locking herself away because she once listened to the same voices you do. Frankly, if she had continued listening she would have ended up just like you.”

“Then why isn’t she…like me that is?”

“Because she kept trying. Worked hard to find those she could care about; though it was hard she found them. Only because she tried.”

“So what?! I try and everything will be fixed?”

“I didn’t say that but no matter what you’ve done. Trying to make amends. Trying to be better is what makes it, you, worth it in the end.”

“Even if it took 300 years?”

“Even if it took 300 years.”

They certainly had their moments and that was enough to not exorcise them when their third month existing in the idol world rolled around. Much to your displeasure, you had no choice but to inform Rumi you’d continue to manage the Saja boys. If only to help them reconcile with themselves. To instead use their talent and influence to strengthen the Honmoon and continue to keep the positive energy that the fans permeated alive and well. 

If you worked hard, you could save the remaining Saja boys.

____________________________________________________________

“I hate this.”

Mystery was the first to voice this opinion. Finally left alone and unsupervised the Saja Boys were able to speak without the threat of being whipped, stabbed, or otherwise ground into a pulp on the shining golden Honmoon. Backstage just before another performance.

“Yeah, this just such a bummer. It was more fun when we worked for Gwi Ma!” Abs spoke leaning against the walls of the hidden stage. 

“Was it actually fun or were we just happy not to be reminded of who we are?” 

Romance turned still maintaining the front position of the band just as they’d been instructed, looking into the golden eyes of his fellow demons. Looking for the same confusion he’d been saddled with since they started this.

“I don’t really care, I just don’t like feeling…like this.” 

“Like what, Myst?! What exactly do you feel?” 

Abandoning his position, he closed in. Holding the quiet demon by the neck and slamming him into the wall. The infrastructure of the stage shook and dented but Romance was careful. He wasn’t certain why he cared so much to know his answer. He’d been asking the same thing of himself for all this time.

Mystery pursed his quivering lips. Romance growled and threw the demon to the ground, rolling into Abs’ feet. The muscular demon deflated when Romance turned to him expecting an answer, his eyes darting around as if the moving walls would have it scrawled somewhere. 

The lack of response only made the pink-haired demon angrier. Fangs beared and marks on full display he charged narrowly scratching at Abs’ face. Mystery got up to intervene, fully prepared to bite the neck of the completely wild Romance. Until his voice broke the silence.

“Purposeless. That is what we are feeling.”

His real voice was much deeper than his human one which is why when the late Jin led the group he was specially instructed to keep it hidden. But they had no leader. They have no Gwi-Ma. All they have in this hidden stage is each other. 

Romance retracts his claws, the marks still glowing bright, and he pulls at his locks.

“He’s right. W-we have nothing anymore! All we have is ourselves and that’s worse than nothing. W-w-we can’t even go back!”

His shaky declaration makes everyone unsettled. Placing a name to their fear—to their reality made it far too true. Their marks all begin to glow with an anxious throbbing. Mystery retreats into himself huddling into the corner. Abs freezes, willing his body to move and failing miserably. Even Baby lets the cap he’s wearing cover his face as he slowly slides to the floor.

“What’s the use of trying to change if I don’t even know why I’m here?! You’ve seen these humans!? They don’t know so what am I supposed to do?!”

The Honmoon throbs at his cry. 

“How can I try when I don’t want to face who I am?!”

Demon marks flaring in tandem with the flickering gold.

“What good can come from someone as far gone as I?!”

The Honmoon dangerously touches the color pink. 

“What am I supposed to do with myself!? Without any voice what am I supposed to do!?”

Multiple tears of the barrier are forming and joining at the seams around each of the separate Saja boys. Each one is influenced by their pain and about to damage the sanctity of the Honmoon.

~kzzt~

Like a heaven-sent. The comms in their ears buzzed to life.

~kzz~He~kzztz~

The pink fades and the healing blue returns to the barrier.

~kz~Hey can you guys hear me in this thing? It’s me (Y/n).kzztz~

It’s your voice. Their guardian. Their manager.

“As expected these walkies are crap. Anyway, I expect you boys to give me your best because I know you can do it. Can you do that for me Saja?”

The voice in their ears answered the only remaining questions.

“Yes, (Y/n).” “Yes, (Y/n).” “Yes, (Y/n).” “Yes, (Y/n).”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now wow that crowd and no soul stealing.”

The silence of the stage was lighter. More defined. The long turned-off comms burned into their ears. All of them replaying the echo of their manager’s voice—soothing, uplifting, commanding.

“It is them. That will be our purpose.”

Baby’s voice spoken with clarity confirmed what they all decided. As the stage begins to rise and the cheers of their fans increase even more. The Saja Boys are in position, prepared to perform just as their manager demands it. 

______________________________________________________________

“So how’s it gone, managing them?”

All of Huntrix was over for the day, enjoying some bubble tea as they looked at the golden-covered city. The barrier glowed strong with a healthy pulse fully powered by their fans.

You were glad that you’d convinced the boys to attend their shoot solo. Otherwise, you would’ve risked having this conversation with them around. Which wouldn’t have been a good idea considering how close they’ve gotten.

“It’s going great. They haven’t had another incident since I last called.”

The girls shared a look. 

Mira sneered at the promotional material for the group scattered on the table, picking it up like it was dirty laundry. 

“By great do you mean, like the Honmoons not broken great or that there's an uptick in murders in the last month—all where you guys were going on tour–great?”

Zoey chuckled anxiously, “We don’t want to accuse but the numbers don’t look great.”

Shooting a look at Rumi, you settled in your chair. Looking out at the city below carefully putting pressure on the plastic cup in your hands.

“Look I wish I could definitively say it’s just a coincidence but I looked into those cases myself and most of them seem airtight. But I’m not entirely sure there wasn’t some demonic influence.” Zoey and Mira shared a look before turning back to you with a grimace.

“I’m saying there’s just no way to tell for sure if it was them and without evidence I can't exactly ‘convict’ anyone.”

“So you're saying there’s no way not one of those boys slipped through your grasp?”

“Yeah (Y/n)...we know you’re technically retired and there’s five demons and one of you…it can’t be easy.”

Rumi finally looked ready to speak and you had a feeling you weren’t going to like it. 

“We were thinking maybe you should take a break!” She didn’t look entirely convinced, looking between Mira and Zoey. “We’re going on a break for a little while so maybe we can look after them for you.”

“I’d love that,” you studied their faces for some kind of joke,” but I don’t know if you can handle the boys any more than I could.”

The girls confidently laughed.

“Are you kidding?”

“We nearly killed them the last time we met!”

“Yes, Huntrix has got this in the bag!”

The girls cheered with pride as they whooped and hollered at one another. You admired their spunk, something you felt came far too less now that you’ve outgrown the group you used to hunt with. 

“Alright then girls, I’ll take you up on your offer–”

“Yes!” “The-Best-B-ab-y Sitters in the wooorldd!” “Yeah, this is going to be a piece of cake!”

“---a word of caution girls.”

Your words had them stopping in their tracks, their triumphant smiles only softening to acknowledge you. The only one it completely faded from was Rumi, who almost looked afraid to see you step on the elevator.

“The Saja Boys are a lot more determined than you’d think. Try not to be an obstacle for them.”

With that, the metal doors slid closed, and for once in a long time you were alone. Now came the hard part—telling them. 

______________________________________________________________

“You have got to be kidding me!?”

It was Bae Bee taking his usual spot at your back, his fanged sneer hissing into the side of your head he was previously nuzzling against. His nails had gotten longer penetrating the T-shirt you were wearing, a single flick to his wrist had him retract his claws but not loosen his grip.

Speaking of claws you could feel the demon on your lap allowing his to emerge and grip at your jeans all the tighter. The practiced action of oncoming tears soaking through the denim told you, Mystery was having a similar reaction. Across the room were Romance and Abby both dressed in their custom robes were drying with their respective blow dryers after using the dressing room’s shower. Both appliances were crushed and melted onto the floor within seconds of your announcement. The demons-responsible, flashing their marks and fangs at you. Romance immediately straightens up, adjusting his hair and robe before glaring down at you.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“YEAH A PROMISE! WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BREAK THOSE.”

Abby was worse for wear marks and teeth on full display; you mentally noted to pay the venue for the damage he’d cause. Already a partition was torn through, a wall successfully punched into, and a microwave was effectively torn apart. If you didn’t ease his worries the staff would be next.

“I’m not leaving you guys. The deal was that if you all made an effort to change, I’d never leave.”

“Which is what you’re trying to do,” Mystery muffled protests had everyone nodding.

Romance stepped forward again, arms crossed and amber eyes glowing deviously down at you. 

“Then that would mean our deal is off!”

“No, it’s not! We never said anything about time off or leaving and coming back.”

“Didn’t have to,” Bae whispers into your ear with a smirk on his face, ” You are the one who agreed.”

It’s then you feel the need to reach for your whip, reaching for your beloved weapon underneath your coat. Searching for your saving grace next to your waist you only to find its empty holster. Looking over to Abby who’s suddenly stopped his violent tirade to pull at the much sought after weapon. 

“Then if you go that means we don’t have to abide by the rules anymore.” He looks at you like a puppy, one who’s done something awful and hopes you understand. The boisterous Abby was no longer there, a serious look on his face. 

You want to soothe him. To deny it. But the truth of the matter was just that, you had to leave and at this point,t it wouldn’t do you any good to demand they accept otherwise. Your whip across the room, your body held in place by a smirking demon, your legs held down by another, and your attention on the one you were sure had made the most progress. 

“We have changed if it helps. We’ve upheld our end of the deal. For you to go against us now…well we’ll just try to preserve our purpose.”

By now you were in no place to make demands.

“So go enjoy your…trip. We’ll be waiting and by then we’ll have changed some more just as you commanded.”

No trip to the Maldives would erase those words from your head.

______________________________________________________________

When you return from any kind of holiday there’s a moment of great depression. A crushing sense of reality from the joy you experienced comes in full force as you unpack and reenter your tiresome schedule. In your case it was no different, for two whole weeks you could ignore the haunting reactions of the demons you guarded to lounge with a poolside cocktail in hand. Of course, your return would be tumultuous. 

In the darkness of the condo you’d begun to call home, was Rumi. Sat crossed-legged in the mess of sliced furniture, just as worse for wear as the decor around her. You called to her, almost unsure it was she until she looked up. Her eyes were swollen, her marks an ugly black and the typically brown and golden eyes were red. 

“I…didn’t think anything would change,” she finally spoke carelessly musing as you tried to nurse her wounds, “that I would still be strong enough to beat them…I just wasn’t ready for them to…change like I did.”

You want to question her. To ask what she meant but the four pairs of golden eyes smiling back at you explained more than anything she could have said.

“A deal’s a deal.”

Out of the darkness limp bodies clattered to the floor. Battered and bruised it was Zoey and Mira. Unconscious and scarily still you watched Rumi struggle to carry them both, limping to the elevator. She spared you a single glance; eyes filled with too many apologies to ever speak.

“I…can’t be an obstacle to you anymore. Goodbye (Y/n).”

With the broken jingle of the elevator, you were left with your boys once again. Gripping the handle of your whip, you wait for them to reveal themselves to you…fully. Without a word, they emerge in their original forms circling around you with smiles on their marked and purple faces.

“So what are we doing now that I’ve returned?”

Their distorted chuckles don’t settle your unease.

“You said you changed do you plan to show me?”

“Of course, (Y/n).” Abby’s voice was the loudest and when you turned prepared to strike, your arm was held in place by the demon. 

“Whatever you demand of us.”

You dropped the whip catching it with your opposite hand, rearing to strike again only for your other hand to be caught and pried open. Your whip forcefully fell into the hands of Bae who smiles cruelly as he snaps your beautiful weapon in half with a ripple of magenta smoke. Of course, you struggle but the hands holding you in place are firm, warping your struggles so that you fall to your knees. Your chin is being held so gently by the new lead of the Saja Boys.

“We are always at your command, (Y/n). Because you are our purpose.”

You open your mouth to speak, to finally give a proper command since they demand it of you. Only for your lips to be covered in Dutch tape, which is played with as Romance comes even closer. The dark blue blush on his face shows just how much he relishes the glare you have for him.

“Since you broke your deal with us, we are free to change. To finally be free to serve our purpose however we see fit.”

It’s then you feel something monstrous intertwine itself with the barrier of the Honmoon pink and orange demon hands replacing the idol demons’ hands. Allowing them to look down on you as well all of them casually caressing your sealed lips.

“You right (Y/n), we have changed.”

There were hands in your hair.

“We’ve grown stronger and it’s all because you gave us a chance. Because you taught us to care.”

There were hands on your back.

“Encouraged us to try.”

Somehow they were in your brain.

“Even if it takes 300 years.”

You sleep in the arms of the Saja Boys—Your boys because you’re all they work for. All they try for. All they’d think to change for. 

You are their purpose and they’ll do anything you they demand.

Totally forgot some of these guys died on screen Whoopsie!

Kofi → Here Masterlist → Here Commissions → Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤

[em1i2a3]

Glide

Pairing: College AU! Frat Boy!Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader!

Summary: When your friends drag you to a frat house party during spring break you weren’t expecting much, but when you go to seek out a moment of silence and end up accidentally stepping into someone’s room, you end up forming an odd connection with one of the fraternity members.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Some Angst, Mentions of Alcohol and Drug Use, Reader gets a little anxious in the crowd and mentions agoraphobia, Swearing, Reader has beef with one of the fraternity members, Reader is a Chemistry Major, Bobs in Aerospace Engineering

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (Female and Male Receiving), Handjob, Bob is Inexperienced (but he’s enthusiastic to try everything), Bob talks a lot during sexual acts, Dirty Talk, Praise/Worship Kink, Breast Play, Making Out and Dry Humping, Bob is super sensitive.

Author’s Note: Frat Boy Bob y’all. This was technically a request, but I dashed away with it and truly came to enjoy this so so much. Also just as a side note lol, Frats aren’t really a huge thing where I am, they’re so subdued it’s not even funny, though if you go to party schools you’re definitely going to get an experience and a half (I did not go to a party school so I’m going off of my friends experiences at this point 😂)

Word Count: 17,352

”Tell me again why the hell we’re going to this party?” Your voice cut through the late evening air, low and flat, edged with irritation as you pulled your windbreaker tighter across your chest. The nylon rasped beneath your fingers, a poor excuse for protection against the sharp spring breeze. The smell of your dorm clung to it–laundry detergent, stale coffee, and whatever perfume your roommate had sprayed on in the vicinity of it.

The sidewalk beneath your sneakers was still damp from a passing rain shower. Faint streaks of moisture glimmered on the concerte, catching the fractured yellow light from the street lamps above. You stepped around a crushed beer can and kept your head down, following the clacking of heels and bare legs that were moving a few paces ahead of you.

Jess, Monica, and Sue, your friends by proximity. You had met them during welcome week and never managed to shake them–even though you didn’t really want to. They existed in a different orbit entirely, but they took you in with open arms and tried to crack the shell that you had built around yourself. They were the people that convinced you that college didn’t have to be all about studying and going to class and that it could also be fun too, despite the hefty tuition bill.

The girls had built a three person wall along the sidewalk, pushing against each other as they chatted and laughed about something you hadn’t heard, keeping balance on their heels, skipping cracks in the pavement. They were dressed like the party was going to be a runway show instead of an absolute chaotic mess. Jess wore a short leather skirt and a cropped corset top under a trench coat she wasn’t planning to keep on. Her hair was up, slick and sharp, gold hoops brushing her jaw. Monica had on a silver halter top that sparkled under every porch light you passed, paired with high-waisted jeans and glossy lipstick that matched the cherry polish on her nails. Sue, as always, looked like she’d stepped out of an editorial spread–draped in a backless silk dress and strappy heels that should’ve been impractical, but somehow weren’t.

You, on the other hand, were the outlier–and it was obvious.

Black low-rise jeans hugged your hips, the waistband dipping just enough to expose a sliver of your stomach where your t-shirt stopped. The top was fitted and a plain navy blue, not short enough to be bold, and not long enough to be considered modest–though it was enough to remind you of the cold every time the wind shifted. Your black sneakers were scuffed at the toes, laces uneven, but they were practical for the walk home.

Technically, you were dressed for the weather, but standing next to your friends made you feel underdressed in a different way. Not because you didn’t look good, but because you just didn’t meet the same standard they had set for the group.

Your question had interrupted whatever conversation they were tangled in. Jess glanced over her shoulder first, her earrings catching the light at the turn.

”Well, Jake personally invited us,” She explained, like that was a valid reason, “And you’ve been holed up in your room almost all of spring break studying. You needed to get out. Breathe some fresh air, get social contact apart from us…Maybe drink something that hits a little better than three iced coffees a day.” You groaned immediately at the name Jake, ignoring the rest of the comments she had made about what you had been doing during the break.

”Not that meathead…If I knew that moron invited you guys, I would’ve locked my door and turned off my phone.” Monica sighed.

”C’mon, Y/N, he’s not that bad.” You let out a short laugh–dry and humorless.

”He’s a douchebag. And he thinks I’m a cockblock because I don’t let him get handsy with you guys when you’re half a drink in. I think he’s exactly that bad.” Jess gave a low laugh.

”He’s just a flirt.” You hummed.

”Right, and I’m just a buzzkill.” You muttered. Sue looked over at you now.

”We appreciate the defense. Really. But tonight…We’ve got a bit of a bet going.” You raised an eyebrow.

“What, like who’s gonna bed him first?” There was a pause, and the silence was telling. It caused you to stop walking.

”Oh god.” You rubbed your fingers into the corners of your eyes like you could physically wipe the idea out of your brain. Monica didn’t even flinch.

”He’s hot! How can you not be curious?! I’ve heard a lot of good things…” You dropped your head, staring at her.

”You better make that guy bathe in hand sanitizer before he touches you. God only knows where he’s been.” That got a laugh–sharp, unapologetic. Jess bit back a grin. Sue let out a quiet, breathy chuckle behind her hand, and even Monica smiled.

They didn’t deny it. They didn’t defend him, either.

The four of you continued to walk, your pace catching up to them so you could get involved in their conversation a little more, as your ears caught a hint of bass echoing through the streets.

Campus was surprisingly crowded for a week that should’ve been quiet. Most students hadn’t gone home–not for lack of desire, but practicality. A three-day visit to your hometown wasn’t worth the bus ticket, the packing, and the return. The majority of people who didn’t travel long distances had quietly agreed to stay put, which caused a social pressure cooker of chaos. Parties bled from one house to the next, yards were flooded with empty kegs and pool floats, and of course people were out till all hours of the night taking in the extracurriculars.

You were one of the people who chose to stay, but it was for different reasons.

You had a chemistry midterm that was going to hit you on the Monday right after break, and you needed peace and quiet to get the thirty five page study guide your professor had emailed. You had been hunched over your laptop, dragging a pen across every other line and downing iced coffee like it counted as fuel. Your residence hall had been silent–peaceful in the way only empty buildings could be. No thumping floors. No bathroom chatter. Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional door shutting down the hall.

And honestly, you liked it that way.

Which was why walking up this street, with the scent of cheap body spray and beer already creeping into the air, made your skin itch.

Jess, Monica, and Sue weren’t wrong–you had wasted half your break studying. But a frat party was a far cry from the kind of break you would’ve chosen. You would’ve taken a quiet bookstore, a blackout curtained room, maybe a hot bath. Instead, you were heading straight into the epicenter of campus chaos.

The house came into view like a rising tide–inevitable and loud.

Theta Rho Alpha Sigma Heta.

TRASH, for short.

It was a reputation as much as a name. It was burned into every party story, every Camus warning, and every early morning regret that started with “so we went to TRASH last night.” Ten fraternity brothers lived inside, and every square foot off the place bore evidence of that fact. It was a massive, century-old house–once regal, now abused. Three floors, five bedrooms, two makeshift attic spaces, a finished basement that doubled as a moldy second living room. The paint on the siding had faded into a blotchy, sun-peeled gray, warped by years of weather and neglect. The porch sagged under the weight of too many bodies. One of the support beams had been duct-taped after someone fell through it last fall.

The front steps were uneven, patched with mismatched bricks and sagging plywood. Two of the railing posts were zip-tied together in a last-ditch effort to pass housing inspection. The fraternity’s letters were bolted crookedly above the door, one hanging loose on a single screw. Half-lit from a porch light that flickered like a dying candle.

Light poured from every window–yellow, blown out, too warm. It cast strange shadows across the lawn, catching in the curls of smoke that drifted from blunts and vapes and burning firewood in the backyard pit. The music pulsed through the siding—more vibration than melody. Heavy bass that flattened everything it touched, beating into your chest like an arrhythmic second heartbeat.

The lawn was packed–shoulder to shoulder, people overflowing onto the sidewalk, the flowerbeds, the hood of someone’s car parked at a bad angle. Plastic cups were everywhere, crushed or half-full or abandoned in the grass. The scent of spilled beer hung in the air, warm and sharp, mixing with sweat, weed, fast food, gasoline from a knocked-over jerry can, and the stale breath of a thousand unwashed Red Solo cups.

Someone was blasting a megaphone from the porch steps–a guy in a backwards cap, red-faced and laughing, trying to shout over the music. You caught pieces of it: something about jello shots, something about the beer pong table being “winner stays,” and something that sounded suspiciously like “naked mile.”

Two guys were wrestling in the grass by the mailbox, one of them missing a shirt, the other holding a can of whipped cream like a weapon. A girl stumbled past them in glitter boots and a bikini top, waving a phone and yelling at someone you couldn’t see. Another was throwing up behind a bush while her friend held her hair and nodded along to the music like it was a shared ritual.

From the second-floor balcony, a makeshift banner drooped crookedly on a frayed bedsheet:

TRASH FEST 2NITE - NO RULES. NO EXCUSES. NO SLEEP.

“Jesus,” Jess muttered under her breath, pausing at the edge of the lawn. “It’s already booming and it’s not even 9:30. We are so late.”

You followed a few paces behind her, stepping carefully around a puddle of cheap beer that had soaked into the grass. “Didn’t know we could be late for a frat party,” You mumbled, eyeing the porch like it might collapse under the weight of the crowd.

But the girls were already in motion, rushing toward the chaos like it was gravity pulling them in. You hung back just slightly, weaving your way around the worst of the lawn–dodging a guy hurling glow sticks into the crowd and stepping over a discarded takeout container that looked like it hadn’t survived the walk from the sidewalk. Your shoes slipped slightly on the wet grass as you moved toward the porch steps, where cigarette butts and crushed cups had collected like driftwood on the edge of a rising tide.

You stepped up, sneakers hitting the warped planets, hand grazing the rickety railing as the music began to rattle your teeth at full force. The door was open, the entryway wide and glowing with overexposed yellow light. You could smell it all before you even crossed the threshold–booze, sweat, pot, deodorant masking body odor, and something burnt that might’ve been food or someone’s hair.

The second your foot crossed the threshold, it hit you all at once–the heat, the crowd, the crush of music and smoke and too many bodies packed into too little space. The entryway smelled like spilled tequila and cheap cologne. Someone’s hoodie brushed your shoulder, sticky with sweat, and you recoiled instinctively, scanning for your friends. Jess’s trench coat disappeared into the living room. Monica’s glitter top flashed once, then vanished into the blur. Sue was already at the bar cart in the corner, snagging plastic cups.

You were still deciding whether to follow–or leave–when he stepped in front of you.

Jake Seresin.

Leaning casually against the wall near the stairs, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

He looked the same as always–clean cut and cocky, like a walking recruitment poster that never had to try too hard. His hair was neatly styled, strawberry blonde in colour, and slightly dampened from either sweat or a shower. You didn’t know and quite frankly you didn’t care.

He wore a snug black t-shirt that clung to the curve of his biceps, jeans slung low on his hips, worn-in boots planted like he owned the floorboards. A silver chain peeked from under his collar, catching the glow from the overhead bulb. The smirk on his face arrived before he spoke.

“Y/N…I see you’ve decided to come out of your cave.” Jake’s voice cut through the heat and noise like he owned the damn place–which, unfortunately, he sort of did, especially because he was the head of the house. His smirk was smug enough to slap off his face, and the way he looked at you–lazy, head tilted just slightly–made your blood itch.

“Didn’t realize you were doing doorman duty tonight. What’s the matter–couldn’t con a freshman into kissing your boots on the way in?”

Jake laughed, low and amused. He shifted his weight, arms crossing, biceps flexing like it was involuntary. “Cute. But if you really wanted to see me, you could’ve just said so. No need to pretend you’re here for the punch.”

“If I wanted to see you, I’d schedule a lobotomy first,” You said, eyes scanning past him to where the party stretched out like a sweaty nightmare, “You’re like athlete’s foot. Persistent. Itchy. Impossible to get rid of.”

That earned you a flash of teeth, the smirk sharpening. “Damn. Must’ve missed that sparkling charm of yours. Thought maybe you’d chilled out since fall semester.”

“Nah,” You replied, smiling without warmth, “You don’t know me well enough to assume something like that.” He hummed.

”You always this feisty, or do you just save it all for me?”

“I save it for pests,” You shot back, “Like you.” And with that, you pushed past him–your shoulder clipping his lightly–just enough to make it clear you were done. You didn’t wait for a comeback. You didn’t care what his smug ass had to said next. The music hit harder in the next room, and the humidity had already begun to creep under your clothes like steam.

Sue caught up to you almost instantly, already grinning like she’d watched the whole exchange from the sidelines.

“Thanks for buttering him up,” she said, patting your arm. Her tone was teasing, but not mocking. “I’m going in for the first interaction of the night.”

You raised your cup-less hand and gave her a small salute.

“Good luck,” You shouted back over the bass, smirking. She gave you a wink before disappearing into the crowd, swaying through the bodies with ease. You peeled off toward the kitchen, dodging a couple making out near the coat rack and stepping over a few abandoned beer cans. The kitchen was a warzone of overturned shot glasses, and a group of architecture students stacking some of the spare red solo cups in a tower. To your left, a half-empty bowl of lime wedges was slowly withering beside an array of crumpled napkins, and then your eyes found the coolers.

There were three of them, stacked neatly along the wall beneath the fogged kitchen window–white Igloo coolers with duct-tape labels stuck to their lids like someone had planned this out. You paused for a second, brow lifting slightly. It was the first thing you’d seen in this entire house that resembled forethought.

POP / ENERGY / SPORTS DRINKS

It was handwritten in black Sharpie, a little smudged from condensation, but legible. Organized.

You flipped the lid, expecting warm cans swimming in brown ice water and maybe the scent of something that had once been fruit punch. Instead, it was ice cold. There were cans lined up in half-hearted rows–soda, sports drinks, a few scattered energy drinks, and even a rogue seltzer tucked in the corner.

You spotted the ginger ale immediately and grabbed it, the can blessedly cold against your hand. You popped the tab with a low crack, the fizz whispering up as you turned around and leaned back against the counter. The metal felt cool through your jeans, a shock of comfort against your overheated skin.

You brought the can to your lips and took a sip–dry, sweet, clean. The carbonation hit your throat gently, but the cold grounded you.

The nausea that had been curling in your gut since you stepped into the house–maybe even since you left the dorm–began to quiet under the fizzy bite. Not completely. But enough.

Your eyes scanned the room as you sipped. People buzzed in and out like bees. Music bled through the drywall. There were beer pong shouts from the living room, someone screaming off-key to a pop remix from the basement, and a girl in the corner of the kitchen trying to convince her friend that no, taking another shot wouldn’t fix the situation.

You took another sip of your ginger ale, but this time it caught in your throat.

You coughed into your arm, quietly at first—then once more, harder, sharp enough to make your eyes water. The fizz didn’t settle your stomach like before. It turned sour, bubbling too fast. Heat rose under your skin, too much of it. The air felt wrong—like it wasn’t going in properly, like the room had subtly tilted without warning and your lungs were working against it.

Maybe it was the noise. The press of people. The humidity clinging to every surface like a second skin. Or maybe it was you.

You blinked slowly, dragging in another breath through your nose, but it didn’t go deep enough. Your chest tightened instead. Like a pressure band had cinched beneath your ribs, subtle at first, then steady, then sharp.

Shit.

You glanced around again, searching for something—a signal, maybe. A reason to leave. A place to bolt to. But everything looked the same: sticky floors, laughing strangers, red cups tipping on every flat surface. Too much noise. Too much movement. You couldn’t catch your footing in it. Couldn’t ground yourself.

You didn’t know if you were going to throw up or have a panic attack, and honestly, it didn’t matter—because either way, you needed out.

You pushed off the counter. The cold had left your jeans, and your hand trembled slightly as you set your can down, half-full and already forgotten. The kitchen was a blur behind you, the music thudding harder now, bass lines vibrating in your teeth.

You moved fast, weaving through the main floor with quick, shallow breaths. Eyes down. Shoulders tight. The living room passed in a smear of sweat and cheap cologne, someone’s laughter bouncing too loud off the crown molding. You didn’t stop to said anything. Didn’t look for your friends. You didn’t want to worry them–not yet. Not until you figured out what the hell was happening.

Going outside wasn’t an option. Not with the yard full of people. If one of your friends saw you slipping out, they’d follow. Or worse–they’d worry. You didn’t want that either.

So you made for the stairs.

The banister was sticky and warm under your palm as you took the steps two at a time. Your breath hitched halfway up, chest clenching like your ribs were welded shut. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to keep going.

The second floor was marginally quieter, but the walls were still too thin. Bass leaked through every inch. Laughter echoed from behind doors, and the smell of weed hung low like a fog.

You moved fast–hand grazing doorknobs, cracking one open only to find two people already tangled on a futon, backlit by LED strips. You didn’t pause. You just kept going.

Next room: a circle of guys smoking out of a gravity bong made from an Arizona bottle. One lifted his hand in greeting, eyes bloodshot and lazy. You shut the door.

Another: a girl crying on the floor while two of her friends huddled around her with shot glasses. You closed that one a little more gently.

The hallway seemed endless. Your chest was still too tight. Like there wasn’t enough air on this floor either.

Then finally the last door on the left creaked open to a well lit, completely empty room. You stepped in, fast, and shoved it shut behind you, the slam loud in the sudden quiet. Your back hit the wood, hard enough to jolt your spine, and you didn’t care. The silence was immediate, muffled and warm and blessedly still.

Your eyes adjusted to the sight in front of you and almost immediately you were absorbing all the details.

The room was bright in contrast to the rest of the house–lit by a desk lamp angled toward a bulletin board cluttered with index cards and printouts. The overhead light was on too, not dim or tinted like the others downstairs, but clean and soft and yellow, illuminating the space in a way that made everything feel more grounded. Less warped. Less unreal.

Your eyes scanned the details, cataloguing without meaning to.

A twin XL bed sat tucked in the corner, sharply made with a green-and-navy plaid duvet pulled taut at every corner. The sheet edges were squared, the pillows firm and aligned. Not a wrinkle in sight. There was a subtle indent on the right side of the mattress—someone had been sitting there recently. Maybe even within the hour. But whoever it was, they weren’t here now.

You stared at the bed like it might steady you. Like if you focused hard enough, the room would stop spinning entirely.

Beside the bed, a heavy oak bookcase ran nearly the full height of the wall. It was packed with titles, every shelf brimming. Not decorative either–thoroughly read. Dog-eared paperbacks leaned into thick hardcover editions, grouped not by color or aesthetic, but by subject. Biographies. Math. Novels. Non-Fiction. Chemistry and Science. A few textbooks on differential equations, stacked beside a worn copy of Dune and a boxed set of The Lord of the Rings. Your fingers twitched, instinctively wanting to trace the spines.

You blinked slowly. Breathed in through your nose. The room smelled faintly like pine and laundry detergent–clean and muted. No sweat, no beer, no weed. Just detergent, and the faint dry scent of paperback pages.

A corkboard hung above the desk, pinned with exam timetables, lab schedules, a few biology notes, and what looked like a printed-out list of citations in 12-point Times New Roman. The chair tucked neatly beneath was ergonomic, not cheap. Beside it sat a large, dented water bottle and a stack of neatly bound notebooks.

Posters lined the wall–nerdy ones. Retro Star Wars prints. A 2001: A Space Odyssey poster framed in black. There was a NASA diagram of the solar system pinned above the desk, annotated in ballpoint pen like whoever lived here used it to actually study, not just decorate.

You took a step forward, the floor creaking under your weight.

“…Geeky,” You muttered to yourself, voice hoarse, quiet. The sound came out more like a breath than a statement. Your knees nearly gave out when you reached the side of the bed. You sat down slowly, hands braced on the plaid comforter, fingers splayed across the dense fabric.

It gave a little under your palms. Still faintly warm.

You let out another breath–long, uneven, but better than before.

Your heart was still pounding, but it was loosening its grip. Slowly. The walls weren’t closing in anymore. Your lungs weren’t seizing.

You tapped your fingers against the mattress and started listing what you could see.

“Desk lamp. Physics textbooks. Star Wars poster. Clean sheets. Plaid pattern.”

Another breath.

“Water bottle. Books on aerospace…Math. Scent’s clean. No body spray. No beer.”

Another breath.

It wasn’t magic. But it helped. saiding it all aloud gave your mind something to anchor to.

You swallowed, eyes fixed on the corner of the room. “Big bookshelf. Index cards on the corkboard. Neatly folded blanket on the chair.” You paused, blinking. “Shit,” you whispered softly, dragging your hand down your face.

It wasn’t that you were weak. You knew what this was. You’d never been diagnosed, but the signs were hard to ignore. The panic. The way crowds made your body feel like it was misfiring from the inside out. How your throat closed up in packed rooms. How every party ended with your head spinning and your jaw locked in quiet dread.

Agoraphobia. You’d read about it. Dismissed it. Then quietly reconsidered it. And then dismissed it again.

But tonight? Tonight your body had decided to remind you it was real.

You leaned forward, elbows to knees, head in your hands. Not crying. Just breathing. For a long moment, you stayed like that–drinking in the quiet, letting the static in your limbs slowly begin to fade.

The sound of the door handle turning ripped through the quiet like a thunderclap.

You jolted upright–spine snapping straight, fingers braced against the mattress, breath catching mid-inhale.

The door creaked open slowly, a rectangle of warm hallway light spilling across the floor, cutting a golden line through the carpet and up your jeans. And then he stepped inside.

You blinked hard.

He froze halfway through the threshold. One foot in, one out, like he hadn’t meant to walk in on anyone–and certainly hadn’t expected to find a stranger perched on his bed.

He looked about your age, maybe slightly older. Tall but not imposing, lean in the kind of way that came from long hours of running or lifting–not bulking. His face was unmistakable even in the soft light: gentle features, tousled light brown hair that curled slightly at the ends from where it had dried naturally, no product. A strong jaw softened by the faintest dusting of stubble. He had a pair of glasses perched on his nose–simple, silver rimmed, they looked similar to aviator glasses, just a little more rounded off in the lenses. They were crooked but he didn’t reach up to fix them.

And those eyes…Wide, bright, and startlingly blue.

Like the ocean under a cold sky. The colour made your stomach turn, and the way they reflected in the light made your head spin.

He wore a navy crew neck sweater with the university crest stitched over the chest, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, revealing ink stains and a faint red pressure mark on his wrist where a watch probably used to be. Grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, worn at the knees, soft enough that they must’ve been his go-to. A can of sprite was in his hand, dripping from the ice that had melted over it.

“Oh. Oh god–I’m sorry.” The words rushed out of your mouth quickly, breathless, “I didn’t mean to–I wasn’t…” His brows lifted slightly, but there was no alarm on his face. Just surprise. His voice was low, quiet, and careful.

“It’s okay…I–uh–it’s alright.” He hesitated, eyes flicking across the room, landing briefly on your curled posture, your flushed face, the slight tremble in your hand as you pushed back from the bed. “Are you…Okay?” You blinked. Your heart was still hammering. Not from fear anymore–but embarrassment. Humiliation. He didn’t look like he thought you were stealing. He didn’t even glance toward the desk or the bookshelf. He was looking at you. Really looking. Reading the panic that hadn’t quite drained from your body yet.

You felt your shoulders curl in instinctively, defensive. But there was no judgment in his expression–just a quiet, earnest concern that felt way too soft for someone who’d just found a stranger in his room.

“I–” You swallowed, hand hovering mid-air like you weren’t sure whether to stand or bolt. “I didn’t know anyone was here. I just–I needed out. I was–I had to get out of the kitchen.” He nodded once, like he understood completely. He stepped the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him–not all the way, but enough to soften the noise from the hallway. It was strange how quickly the room felt like a bubble again. A barrier. A pause from everything that came before it.

“I figured…” He said quietly, “The parties here get pretty loud and overcrowded, so I don’t blame you for wanting to get some peace for a minute.” You swallowed thickly, your throat still tight with leftover nerves, and exhaled through your nose.

“Yeah,” you murmured, voice quieter now, “I can’t imagine living here, to be honest.” He smiled—not cocky like Jake, not smug or practiced. Just a small, self-deprecating curl of his lips, as if he agreed with you more than he was willing to admit.

“Noise-cancelling headphones really come in handy.” That earned a low breath of amusement from you.

“I guess you’re right with that one…”

He took a sip of his Sprite, the faint crackle of carbonation filling the small silence that followed. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly–just heavy with all the things neither of you were sure how to said yet. He stayed near the door, not wanting to hover or crowd you in any way. You watched him for a second, and then another, noting the way his shoulders shifted under the weight of the conversation–or maybe just the attention.

Then, softly, like he was testing the waters:

“I’ve seen you around before…In the science building. You’re in Chem 241, right?”

Your brows lifted slightly, caught between surprise and guarded curiosity. “Yeah… it’s my major.” You tilted your head. “How do you know what class I’m in?” He gave a sheepish, quiet laugh, the kind that curled at the corners of his mouth without ever really reaching full confidence. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion making it stick up slightly in the front.

“You’re in the class before mine. You’ve got kind of a familiar face.”

You paused, eyes still on him, your heart starting to settle into something else–less fight-or-flight, more puzzled curiosity. He didn’t look embarrassed exactly, but there was a warmth in his cheeks now, visible even in the soft lighting. A flicker of nervous energy vibrated at the tips of his fingers as he shifted his Sprite to the other hand.

Then, like the thought had only just occurred to him:

“Oh–Jesus, sorry. I’m Bob, by the way. Bob Floyd.” He grimaced slightly at the awkwardness of it, wiping his damp palm against the thigh of his sweatpants before offering it out to you, fingers curled slightly.

You hesitated for only half a second before reaching out and slipping your hand into his. His palm was warm, slightly chilled from the condensation of the can but dry now. The grip was gentle, just enough to be firm without overcompensating.

“Y/N,” You said quietly. Your name sounded softer in this room than it had downstairs-like the sound itself respected the quiet.

He smiled again. “Y/N,” He repeated, a little slower this time, like he was filing it away in some meticulous corner of his brain. “Nice name,” Bob said, quiet and genuine. The words weren’t perfunctory–they landed with a softness that didn’t feel like filler. More like a real compliment, shaped by how he said it. You blinked once, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded.

Before either of you could speak again, a sudden crash reverberated through the floorboards beneath you–so loud and forceful that your feet actually lifted a half inch from the mattress. Something heavy had toppled on the first floor. Maybe furniture. Maybe a person. Followed by a cascade of laughter that barely muffled the groaning bass still pounding through the walls.

You flinched, eyes widening, then looked toward Bob with a raised brow.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a frat house, by the way?” You asked, your voice dry but curious, brushing your palms down the front of your jeans. “You seem too…Sane.” Bob took another slow sip of his Sprite, his glasses catching the overhead light as he tilted his head slightly.

“It’s pretty good to have on a résumé,” He said mildly. “Minus the parties, of course.”

You hummed, the sound low in your throat as your eyes flicked toward the ceiling like you were scanning for divine confirmation. “Yeah…I think if any future employer found out the type of parties TRASH throws, I’m pretty sure you’d be hired immediately. Just for surviving them.” That earned an actual laugh from him–low and warm, the kind that started in his chest and curled up into his mouth like it surprised even him. It settled something inside you. Not the panic entirely, but the vulnerability that had followed it. His laugh made the room feel a little more human. Less clinical. More like a moment you weren’t intruding on, but sharing.

“I don’t participate in them, evidently,” He claimed, gesturing lightly toward his desk. “So I’d be lying.”

You followed the motion with your eyes–the papers, the water bottle, a perfectly aligned mechanical pencil, and what looked like a cracked-open packet filled with printed slides and diagrams.

“Evidently,” you echoed softly, tilting your head a little as you looked around again. “What were you doing?” Bob exhaled–half sigh, half breath of frustration–and stepped toward the desk. He reached for the study packet, flipping the top corner up between his fingers to show you the first page. It was already heavily marked–some in black pen, some in red. Diagrams had been annotated, circled, dissected line by line. Across the top margin, written in neat, even letters, was the course title: Space Systems Design – Midterm Review Packet.

“Studying,” He said. “I have the test on Monday, and I’m nowhere near done with this thing.” His tone was tired but not bitter, just resigned in the way that only students deeply familiar with academic despair could be.

You gave a quiet, knowing laugh–one that felt more like release than amusement. “Of course. I guess every professor gets off on torturing science and engineering students,” You muttered, stretching your arms briefly. “Because I’ve got a very similar packet sitting on my desk right now for my Chem Midterm.” He placed the packet back on the desk with a soft tap.

”Misery loves company, I guess.” He offered.

“More like intellectual suffering,” You replied dryly, crossing one ankle over the other where you sat at the edge of his bed. There was a beat of silence, the kind that settled into the warmth between two people who hadn’t yet decided if they were strangers or acquaintances.

Bob leaned slightly against his desk, fingers still resting on the edge of the study packet. He tilted his head just enough for his glasses to slip down his nose for a moment, then asked softly, “So…Who dragged you out of your studying and brought you here?”

You huffed out a breath, half a laugh. “My friends got personally invited by your frat brother Jake,” you said, tone flat and unamused. “I’m assuming you know him well.”

That pulled a low, genuine laugh from Bob–his shoulders lifted slightly, the sound soft and disbelieving. “Well… I guess he’s trying to expand his roster again.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little on your palms. “Guess one of my friends is getting lucky tonight then, if he’s looking to score.”

Bob let out a hum, lips twitching toward a grin. “As long as they have a pulse, they’re fair game.”

You groaned. “Figured that…”

Another crash exploded beneath your feet–some combination of broken glass and furniture legs giving out–followed by a howling cheer from the crowd downstairs. You both winced slightly, shoulders tensing at the same time.

Bob exhaled a sharp breath, then straightened. He looked at you carefully–not with pity, but consideration–and then asked, quiet and steady:

“You wanna maybe…Get out of here?”

You blinked.

He shrugged one shoulder, casual but sincere. “Denny’s is 24 hours. We could sit there for a bit, get something to eat. And I’m sure if we stay long enough, the party’ll start to die down. Then you can get your friends when they’re all done here…” It was such a simple offer. No pressure. No weird edge. Just a safe, open hand held out toward the exit sign.

And god, it was tempting.

“Yeah…” you said almost immediately, your fingers already moving to unlock your phone. “Yeah, that sounds great, actually. I’ll just text them and let them know I’m going.”

Bob smiled–wide this time, soft and relieved. “Great.”

You glanced back up at him, still a little breathless from the past hour, still not sure if this was all a fever dream or the best part of your spring break. But you smiled back.

And maybe, just maybe, your night was finally starting to turn around.

———————————

The walk to Denny’s wasn’t long, but it was everything you needed.

The fresh air hit your lungs like a blessing–not sharp, not cold, just crisp enough to wash the smoke and sweat from your senses. Each breath cleared your head a little more. The bass from TRASH still thudded faintly in the distance, but the further you got from the house, the more it faded into the background noise of a quiet college town on a restless spring break night.

The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional burst of laughter echoing down from a distant porch or a cluster of bikes propped against a lamppost. The rain from earlier had left the sidewalks glistening, catching the glow from streetlights and shop signs like scattered glass. Bob walked beside you, not too close, not too far–just an easy, steady presence. Every now and then, his shoulder would sway slightly toward yours, like gravity had its own opinion on the distance.

Denny’s sat at the edge of campus like a low-lit promise. The sign flickered faintly overhead, buzzing with the tired hum of fluorescent tubes, casting a pale glow on the nearly empty parking lot. It was a local staple–open all night, slightly grimy, and universally understood to be the unofficial overflow space for students who couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to go home, or just needed somewhere to exist without judgment. You’d studied here before. So had everyone. It smelled like syrup and fry oil and burnt coffee, and for some reason, it always felt safe.

Inside, the place was quieter than usual. A couple of booths were filled–one with a pair of students whispering over open textbooks, another with two guys splitting a plate of mozzarella sticks and arguing over a March Madness bracket. But the energy was muted. Dimmed. Like the whole place had taken a collective breath and decided to chill.

You and Bob slid into a booth by the window, vinyl seats squeaking under your weight. The table was slightly sticky with syrup residue–standard–but the lighting overhead was warm and soft. You could actually hear yourselves talk. You could actually think.

The waitress–a woman with tired eyes and a pen stuck behind her ear–dropped off two mugs and a full pot of coffee without asking. She must’ve pegged you both as regulars, or at least as students. Bob gave her a soft “thank you,” and you echoed it before she disappeared behind the counter.

Bob poured the coffee first, filling your mug before his. The gesture was small, automatic, but it made you pause for just a second.

“I think breakfast is one of the only meals I actually enjoy at any time of day,” he said as he handed you the sugar packet holder.

You hummed softly, stirring a little cream into your cup. “Pancakes, waffles, French toast–all sweet things,” You replied, voice a little lighter now, “But I do agree…Breakfast foods are definitely better than most.”

Bob nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he reached for a menu. “Haven’t eaten much today, so I’m probably going to order a lot,” He said, deadpan but with a flicker of a smile. “Just warning you now.”

You laughed, slouching into your seat as you wrapped your hands around the warmth of the mug. “I won’t judge. As long as you don’t judge me for ordering an extra order of bacon. And possibly ham…And maybe another round of home fries.”

He looked up at that, a glint in his eyes beneath the lens glare. “Definitely won’t.”

Then, leaning forward just a little, voice conspiratorial and soft, he added, “But I will probably steal some of those home fries though, so…By all means, order away.”

You grinned, lifting your coffee to your lips. “Fair trade.”

And just like that, the tension that had wrapped itself around your ribs for hours began to unravel–for real this time.

It took a few minutes for both of you to confirm your orders–too many good, greasy options, too little brainpower left to commit. You squinted at the menu through the soft overhead glow, half your focus still caught in the feeling of warm coffee and the unexpected calm of the moment. Bob, meanwhile, flipped his menu once, then again, lips twitching like every option looked equally dangerous.

The waitress returned, pad in hand, looking only marginally more awake than when you walked in.

“I’ll have the fruit-topped pancakes,” You said, “With a side of bacon, ham…And an extra order of home fries…For the table of course…” You offered a small smile, like you were trying to excuse your own hunger, but she didn’t blink.

Bob, on the other hand, cleared his throat like he was preparing to read an oath. “Ultimate omelette, please. A side of pancakes, just the normal ones…And…A side of French toast, with bacon.”

She paused. Just slightly.

Her gaze slid over him like she was doing mental math on how someone built like a straight-laced study boy could possibly demolish what would equate to three breakfasts at once. Her brow lifted–just for a second–but she didn’t say anything. Just jotted it all down with a faint scribble of pen on paper, nodded, and disappeared with both menus in hand.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Bob let out a short, quiet laugh, leaning back in his seat. “I think I freaked her out a bit with all the food.”

You stifled your own laugh behind the rim of your mug. “Yeah, maybe a little. She’s probably wondering how you’re going to eat all of it.”

He shrugged, lifting his coffee. “We’ve got a bit of time. I think I can manage.”

That earned a proper laugh from you, low and genuine. You settled back against the booth as the hum of Denny’s buzzed softly in the background—silverware clinking, someone flipping a page from the next table over, a soft beep from the kitchen.

Bob took another sip of his coffee and set the mug down, fingers tracing the rim absently. “So…” He began, voice still gentle, “what’re you doing on campus during spring break?”

You exhaled slowly, watching the light catch the small glint of moisture still clinging to the window beside you. “My parents’ house is… A little chaotic,” You admitted. “And I really wouldn’t be able to study if I went back. So I just figured I’d stay in my dorm. Easier to focus. Cheaper, too.”

Bob nodded, listening like he really meant to. “Do you work?”

You reached up to scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. “Yeah. I work at Beans To You. Part-time barista. It gives me some extra spending money–enough to keep me caffeinated through exam season, anyway.”

That pulled another smile from him. “Do you like it?”

You lifted your hand and made a so-so motion in the air. “It’s fine. Tips are decent. My manager’s a nightmare, but I like the regulars.”

He nodded like he got it, then said, “I don’t really work…Not officially, anyway. Sometimes I write essays for a few of the frat guys and they pay me.” He gave a small shrug. “So I don’t know if you’d count that as a job or just…An Academic crime.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest like you’d just been personally betrayed. “You? Violating academic integrity? I’m shocked.”

Bob laughed, tipping his head down in mock shame. “Yeah, well…I can’t really keep a normal job while studying. Too much going on up here.” He tapped the side of his temple with a finger. “But I commend you for being able to juggle it.” You can feel your face heat up slightly.

“Thanks…” The silence between you and Bob stretches for a few seconds–comfortable, not strained. Outside the Denny’s window, a streetlight flickers, casting faint gold shadows across the table. The warmth of your coffee mug seeps into your palms, grounding you even as your thoughts turn over the night like a loose coin.

You glance over at him, chin tilted slightly, voice soft. “So why are you still on campus during spring break? Since you asked me…”

Bob’s hand curls around the coffee pot again. The ceramic glugs quietly as he refills his mug, steam rising faintly into the warm air between you. He doesn’t speak right away–just watches the dark liquid settle.

“Same as you, pretty much,” He replied after a beat, setting the pot back down. “But… I also don’t have a lock on my door, and the guys go into my room pretty often to steal things, so…” He shrugs one shoulder, faintly sheepish. “I figured it was better to be there. Y’know–stand guard.”

You smirk and lean forward slightly, grabbing a little plastic creamer cup from the holder and rolling it between your fingers. It clicks softly as it spins. “Interesting that you have a bunch of thieves in your presence.”

That earns a laugh from him–low and rough with amusement. “Well… they’ll always give the stuff back, of course. But only if I remind them.” He lifts his mug, lips quirking slightly as he takes a sip.

You hum, raising a brow. “Still sounds like thievery to me.”

His cheeks tint pink as he glances down into his cup, swirling it once before replying under his breath, “Touché I guess…” The silence slips in again—brief, like a shared breath—and you let your gaze settle on his hands for a moment. They’re long-fingered, a little ink-stained around the knuckles. Gentle, despite the size. His nails are clean but bitten at the edges. Tired hands. Capable ones.

Your voice cuts through the quiet again, this time softer, almost curious: “Your girlfriend must not like the guys coming in and out of your room, though.”

Bob pauses mid-sip. His lips part like he’s going to reply quickly, then he stops. A flicker of surprise crosses his face. He sets the mug down gently.

“No girlfriend,” He confirmed finally. His voice is steady, but there’s a faint guardedness behind it. “Kinda stopped trying with the whole dating thing. It was a bit… much.”

You blink at that. “Too much of a line-up?”

That draws a real laugh from him–quiet, exasperated, a hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. His glasses slide slightly down his nose again.

“Oh, please…” He chuckles. “No. No line-up for me. I mean—look at me.”

You do, pointedly. “I am.”

He goes redder. You smirk.

“It’s just…” He exhales, shoulders relaxing as his fingers stir the coffee absentmindedly. “It’s complicated, y’know? I’m not very good at the whole–putting yourself out there thing. And I think people expect something when you show up to a date all prepared and polished. It gets weird. You have this whole pressure to perform. To be ‘on.’”

You tilt your head slightly. “Well, you seem to be outgoing. You’re doing pretty good with this conversation. I don’t know how it could be complicated.”

Bob stirs the sugar in his mug, the spoon clinking gently. He looks down at it, not quite meeting your eyes, but not avoiding them either.

“Maybe it’s because you’re pretty easy to talk to,” He explained. “It’s different when there’s no pressure. No expectations. You didn’t show up tonight wanting something from me. We just…Met. You don’t have a picture in your head of who I’m supposed to be.”

That strikes something in you–a truth you hadn’t quite realized was sitting at the edge of your own thoughts. You nod slowly, leaning a little further into the table.

“That makes sense,” You said softly. Your hand brushes the edge of the sugar packet holder again, fingertips tapping faintly. “I also think you walking in on me having a bit of an anxiety attack probably helped. With you staying calm, I mean.”

Bob’s head lifts slightly. His blue eyes catch yours again–bright, steady, warm. “That too,” he said, with a small smile. “It kind of cut through the usual noise. I knew what it was the second I saw you.”

You raise a brow gently. “Do you have experience with that kind of thing?”

He nods once. “I’ve had my moments. I’m…Pretty familiar with what it looks like. What it feels like.”

You feel your chest loosen–just slightly. There’s something in the quiet way he said it that wraps around you like a thread. Honest. Matter-of-fact. Not dramatic. Just shared.

You sip your coffee again, letting the silence settle in a way that feels companionable now, like you’ve both earned it.

Then Bob lifts his head a little more, his glasses catching the light as he looks at you across the table. His voice is lower now. “You’re okay now though, right?” You could feel your heart catch–not in that suffocating, chaotic way from earlier, but in a softer, almost stunned kind of ache. Because here he was: Bob, a stranger only hours ago, asking with quiet sincerity if you were okay. Not out of obligation. Not to get something from you. Just… because he cared. And somehow, that mattered more than you were prepared to admit.

“Yeah,” You replied, your voice light, but genuine. “I’m definitely feeling much better. I think it was just…How cramped the house was, to be honest.” You gave a soft, sheepish smile, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Wasn’t really a fan, I guess.”

Bob nodded, the corners of his mouth curling faintly. “That makes sense,” He murmured. “I think TRASH is like… the physical embodiment of a migraine.”

You snorted, and it broke the last of the lingering tension between you.

Before either of you could respond, the clatter of ceramic and the faint shuffle of sneakers announced the return of your waitress. She placed your food down with the weary grace of someone who’d balanced plates through hundreds of midnight shifts.

“Alright,” She said, eyeing the table, “Round one.”

She set down your fruit-topped pancakes–stacked high, glistening with syrup and dotted with blueberries and strawberries. The bacon was curled and crispy, the ham thick-cut and slightly charred at the edges. A steaming mountain of home fries followed, golden and peppered with bits of caramelized onion.

Bob’s first plate came next: a monstrous omelette, folded tight and stuffed with peppers, ham, cheese, and something else that looked like it might have once been alive and screaming. French toast followed, dusted with powdered sugar and still steaming, then the final plate of classic pancakes–plain, but perfectly browned and stacked like they belonged in a diner commercial.

“Damn,” You muttered as she walked away to grab another pot of coffee. “You weren’t kidding.”

Bob gave a faux-serious nod. “I take breakfast very seriously.”

Conversation flowed easily now, spilling over between bites and swipes of syrup, the low hum of the diner cocooning you in soft sounds: the hiss of the kitchen, the occasional ding of a timer, and the quiet scrape of forks over ceramic.

You talked about everything and nothing. Favorite professors. Weirdest drink orders you’d ever made at work. Other times, he said things you hadn’t expected: like how he wanted to work in aerospace design someday, or how he didn’t sleep well unless there was white noise playing somewhere nearby.

Somewhere between your second helping of home fries and Bob’s last piece of French toast, your phone buzzed. You picked it up mid-chew and glanced at the screen.

Jess: we’re heading back. dorms are too far but jake’s breath is worse. I’m tapping out.

Monica: don’t wait up <3

Sue: text when you’re home safe pls 🫶

You thumbed a quick reply, a warm smile tugging at your lips.

You: i’ll be good. i’ll text when i get back to the residence so you know i got home safe <3

When you set the phone down again, Bob was watching you–not in a weird way, just casually, curiously, like he could tell something in your expression had shifted.

“Friends bailing on you?” He asked, reaching for the last bite of his pancakes.

You nodded. “Yeah. Party must’ve worn them out.”

“Probably for the best,” He started, “It starts getting rowdy at around this time.” You snorted.

”What’s new? It’s like y’all don’t sleep, I’ve heard enough stories that it literally feels like when I don’t go to one of your parties I still attended.”

Bob laughed so hard he almost choked on his coffee.

By the time your plates were mostly empty and the coffee pot had been drained down to lukewarm remnants, you realized just how late it had gotten. The booths had began to thin out even more–there was just one table of students left, dozing over half-finished pancake stacks. The quiet was deeper now, but not uncomfortable.

The waitress returned to your table just as you were lifting your mug for one final sip, now half-cold and slightly bitter. Her pen was already poised, her notepad loose in one hand, her face unreadable behind the faint sheen of a night shift glaze.

“It’ll be one bill,” Bob said before she could even ask, his voice smooth but casual.

Your head jerked slightly in surprise, a protest already rising in your throat. “Wait, no–Bob, come on, you don’t have to–”

He shook his head gently, cutting you off with nothing more than a glance and a small smile. “It’s all good,” He murmured, already pulling out his wallet. “You got me out of the house for the first time this week. I owe you.” Your cheeks warmed, a slow bloom of heat rising into your ears. You blinked down at your mug, then back at him, and that’s when the sky opened.

A sudden roar of rain crashed against the diner’s roof, pounding like a thousand thrown pebbles. The windows misted almost instantly, a sheet of water streaming down the glass and distorting the world outside into a watercolor blur.

Bob flinched slightly, twisting in his seat to look outside. His shoulders hunched on instinct, and a low, resigned sound escaped from his throat. “Well…” he said, squinting past the droplets, “That doesn’t look good.”

You turned your gaze to the window and let out a dry laugh, exhaling softly as you looked down at the windbreaker you had draped over your lap. The nylon was thin and practically useless, more aesthetic than functional, and the idea of stepping into a monsoon in it was laughable at best.

“Guess I’m gonna be taking a second shower tonight,” you muttered.

Bob laughed—a soft, tired huff that carried the warmth of shared annoyance. He reached for the debit machine the waitress had just placed down, brows furrowing slightly at the glowing screen.

“I mean…” he began, eyes still on the numbers as he typed in a 20% tip with practiced ease, “TRASH is closer than your residence, I’m assuming…”

You stilled, your fingers lightly tapping the rim of your coffee cup. You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head toward him, a smirk flickering at the corner of your mouth. “Are you asking me to stay over at the frat house for the night?”

The question hung in the air, playful but open-ended, wrapped in something more vulnerable beneath the teasing. Bob’s fingers hesitated only a second on the keypad. Then he cleared his throat, his jaw flexing faintly as he focused a little too intently on the screen.

A tinge of pink crept into his cheeks, barely visible in the soft overhead glow, “Well,” He started, still looking at the machine, ““I don’t think it’ll be as chaotic as it was when we first left. It’s…”

He pulled his phone out of his hoodie pocket, thumb swiping the screen quickly before glancing at the time. His voice was slightly rough when he spoke again. “1:58…So most of the party crowd’s probably passed out or Ubered home.” You let the moment linger, your gaze resting on him as you traced the edge of your mug with your fingertip. The rain was still coming down hard, a near-constant shushing against the glass. You could feel the chill creeping in from the windowpane behind you, but your fingers were warm.

Your tongue flicked out to dampen your upper lip–an unconscious movement. “Okay,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes as he finally looked up. “You’re right.”

Something flickered behind his glasses–relief, maybe. Or hope.

“So…” He asked, voice gentler now, “Is that a yes?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it for dramatic effect. Then you nodded, slow and sure, your smile small but certain. “Definitely.”

———————————

By the time you reached the frat house again, your windbreaker had clung to your frame like a second skin–useless, soaked through, plastered to your arms and back. Bob hadn’t fared much better; his sweatshirt was darkened with rain, sweatpants sticking to his legs, curls dripping water down the sides of his face. You both half-jogged the final stretch of the walk, laughing breathlessly as puddles splashed beneath your sneakers, your jeans growing heavier with every step.

The porch light still flickered above the sagging steps of TRASH, casting its usual jaundiced glow across the warped wood and the crowd that lingered despite the downpour. The music inside had dulled to a murmur now–more background hum than bassline. A few people still lounged on the porch and by the windows, some wrapped in borrowed blankets or wearing half-soaked hoodies, clearly unwilling to brave the rain to get home.

You and Bob didn’t say anything as you stepped back inside. You didn’t need to.

The shift in temperature was immediate. Warmth hit you like a wall–sticky and musty from the remains of the party, but comforting after the rain. Your wet clothes clung to your skin, and you blinked against the fog that immediately fogged up Bob’s glasses.

He muttered something under his breath and took them off, reaching blindly for the nearest surface. A tissue box sat crookedly on the edge of a table cluttered with empty bottles and a half-eaten slice of pizza. He snagged one with a quiet “thanks,” as if the house had done him a favor, and carefully wiped the raindrops from the lenses.

You stood beside him, dripping gently onto the floorboards, ignoring the damp squish of your socks in your shoes.

“This is your fault,” You murmured dryly, nudging him with your elbow, pointing down at your shoes.

Bob smiled behind the tissue, his glasses still in hand. “Can’t control the way I splashed the puddles, it’s not my fault.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth of the exchange settled between you like steam, softening the cold still clinging to your back.

The climb to the second floor was quieter than before–no bodies spilling down the stairs, no screams from behind doors. The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of a nightlight near the bathroom and the soft hum of a TV still playing somewhere behind a closed door. You padded side by side, shoes squelching softly, until you reached the door at the very end.

Bob stopped and looked down at the wet prints you’d both left on the wood floor. “Wait,” He said, hooking a finger into the heel of his sneaker. “Let’s not trash the room on the way in.”

You mimicked him without question, tugging your own shoes off and stepping gingerly onto the dry patch of carpet just outside his door. Your barefeet were cold against the wood, but you followed his lead as he opened the door and ushered you inside.

The warmth of the room embraced you immediately–soft light still glowing from the desk lamp, books undisturbed, bed still neatly made. It looked exactly as you’d left it, like the universe had paused while you were gone. A pocket of calm in the storm.

Bob shut the door behind you with a quiet click, and you both stood there for a second, wet and shivering, taking in the familiar scent of detergent and paper and pine.

You turned to him, wringing out the bottom hem of your shirt slightly. “So…What’s the protocol here?” You asked, gesturing vaguely to your soaked clothes. Bob cleared his throat, the sound soft but a little strained as he shifted in place. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead from the humidity of the rain and the faint warmth of the room.

“Um… I have some spare clothes you can wear,” He said, gesturing vaguely toward the small closet on the far side of the room. “They might be a little big, but…”

You shook your head immediately, brushing a few wet strands of hair back from your face as water dripped quietly from your sleeves. “I don’t mind,” You murmured. “Not really trying to impress anyone.”

That earned the faintest smirk from him, quick and crooked–just a twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He turned away and opened his closet, the wooden door creaking faintly on old hinges. Inside, everything was neatly stacked or hung: flannel shirts, hoodies, folded sweats, a few plastic hangers twisting slightly from where they’d been jostled. It wasn’t much, but it was organized–just like the rest of him.

After a second of deliberation, Bob pulled out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms–soft-looking, forest green and navy plaid–and a white t-shirt with faded navy lettering stretched across the front.

You tilted your head, brows lifting slightly. “‘The All-State Mathletes’?”

He sighed. “Yeah…It was a math team I was on in my first year. Don’t ask.”

You grinned and took the bundle from his hands, brushing your thumb across the worn fabric of the shirt. “I’ll take anything at this point.”

“I figured,” He muttered with a low huff of a laugh. Then, with a tilt of his head, “Bathroom’s two doors down. Towels are in the top drawer if you need one.”

“Got it.” You nodded, stepping back into the hallway barefoot, flannel bundle tucked under your arm and your wet clothes slapping faintly against your side with every step.

The bathroom was empty–thank god–and you wasted no time peeling off your drenched clothes. The fabric clung stubbornly, cold and limp against your skin, your jeans making that awful suction sound as you dragged them down your legs. The windbreaker hit the floor with a wet slap, your socks not far behind.

The dry fabric of the borrowed clothes was a godsend.

The pajama pants were big, predictably, and you had to roll the waistband twice just to get them to sit above your hips. The t-shirt hung past your thighs, thin and worn soft with age, the letters cracked and faded from a thousand washes. You caught your reflection in the mirror briefly as you towel-dried your hair–still damp–but a little steadier now.

You bundled your soaked clothes into a loose pile in your arms and padded back down the hall, feet cool against the hardwood. The party had dulled into something sleepy and distant. A door creaked open somewhere behind you, but you ignored it, your focus set entirely on the quiet golden glow spilling from the crack beneath Bob’s door.

When you opened it, your hand halfway full of damp denim, you froze in the doorway.

Bob was halfway through pulling on a clean shirt, the fabric bunched in his hands as it hovered just below his collarbone. His back was to you, bare and still slightly damp, pale under the soft overhead light. And god–he was lean, sure, but he was defined. His shoulders tapered into the strong slope of his spine, the muscles along his back pulling tight with every breath as he raised his arms. His skin was smooth, but the planes of him were lined with quiet strength–faint dips and ridges casting gentle shadows across his shoulder blades and the curve of his waist. You hadn’t expected him to be built like that.

Your throat went dry.

You coughed–a soft, involuntary sound that slipped from your chest before you could stop it.

Bob startled slightly and turned, shirt still bunched in his hands. His glasses were back on, fogged faintly from the warmth of the room. His cheeks went pink almost instantly, like the realization had only just hit him. “Oh Jesus,” he muttered, yanking the shirt over his head in a single, awkward movement. “I didn’t know you’d be back already.”

You took a cautious step in, one hand tightening around the bundle of wet clothes clutched to your chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just walk in–didn’t really expect you to be…Changing.”

Bob shook his head as he adjusted the hem of the shirt, tugging it into place at his hips, smoothing it over the faint damp patches on his new pair of navy sweatpants. “No–it’s fine. Really. Uh…Let me get you a towel for your pillow…And I can throw your clothes in the dryer so they’ll be good by morning.” He moved quickly, brushing past you with careful steps, warm air trailing in his wake. You caught the scent of him as he passed–faint detergent, piney body wash, something subtle and clean that clung to the soft cotton of his shirt.

He opened a small drawer near the dresser, pulling out a thick grey towel and handing it to you without making eye contact. Then he glanced down at the soaked bundle in your arms and gently reached for it.

“I’ll toss these downstairs now,” He offered. “Give me five minutes and they’ll be spinning.”

You nodded, lips parting slightly. “Thanks. Really.”

Bob’s expression softened as he looked up at you–his blue eyes still wide behind the lenses, but a little calmer now. “Do you want a drink or anything?” He asked as he backed toward the door. “I’m probably gonna grab some water before…Sleep.”

You hesitated, then gave a small, grateful smile. “Yeah. Water is fine…Thank you.”

He nodded once and slipped out the door, leaving you alone again in the soft glow of his bedroom. The sound of his footsteps faded down the stairs, and you sat slowly at the edge of the bed again, towel draped across your shoulders, the smell of his room slowly working its way deeper into your skin.

You thumbed open your group chat as you sat at the edge of Bob’s bed, the thick towel still draped over your shoulders like a shield. Your wet clothes were gone–already clunking softly in the dryer downstairs–and the cold had mostly left your skin, replaced by the slow radiating warmth of his room.

The group chat lit up under your fingers:

You: made it back to the frat house safe. staying here tonight—will explain tmrw. love you guys. <3

A second later, Sue reacted with a heart. Jess sent a gif of someone raising an eyebrow dramatically, and Monica just wrote: “knew it 😉”

You rolled your eyes and let out a soft breath of amusement, then set the phone down on Bob’s desk, the screen glowing faintly for another second before fading to black. You turned back toward the bed and let yourself sink into the mattress, exhaling slowly as your shoulders dropped. The towel slipped from your frame, and you folded it carefully, placing it over the pillow before lying back, arms stretched loosely at your sides.

The room hummed around you. Softly. Comfortably. A distant thump of music still pulsed from the floors below–muted now, a sleepy echo of chaos already starting to dissolve into morning fog. Somewhere, a door clicked shut. Pipes murmured in the walls. And the desk lamp bathed the room in a low, golden glow, casting soft shadows against the bookshelves and the edge of the closet.

Then, the door opened again.

Bob entered quietly, closing it behind him with the same practiced care he’d used all night. His hair was slightly less damp, the ends curling gently around his ears. A bottle of water was tucked in each hand, condensation trailing slow rivulets down his fingers.

“Here,” He said, holding one out to you.

You sat up slightly, taking the bottle with a soft “Thanks,” and cracking it open. The cap clicked beneath your fingers, the cool water a sharp contrast against your warm skin. Bob twisted the top off his own and took a quick sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. Then he lowered it and glanced toward the bookshelf with an unreadable expression.

“I’m just going to grab a blanket,” he said casually, “and take the spare room.”

You paused mid-sip, brows lifting. “What?” you said, letting the cap snap gently back in place. “You don’t want to share a bed?”

Bob’s eyes darted to yours, surprised. His lips parted faintly. “You…want to share a bed?”

You shrugged, voice light but steady. “Well…yeah. I don’t really mind. There’s enough room, isn’t there?”

His gaze flicked to the mattress like it needed to be double-checked. “Yeah, there is,” He admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Just thought you wouldn’t want to be sleeping in a bed with a stranger.”

You tilted your head, the edge of a smirk tugging at your lips. “Hey now,” You teased softly, “Come on. We aren’t strangers.”

Bob huffed out a breath–a laugh, almost. “We met less than twelve hours ago and we’re already sleeping in the same bed. Seems fast.”

You stood slowly, the blanket falling back in soft folds behind your legs. “I’m fine with fast if you are,” you said, tone flirtier than before, the words curling at the edge like steam rising from pavement.

Bob looked at you for a long moment. His eyes flicked down your frame briefly–respectfully–but you caught it. Just the faintest breath of a glance at the oversized shirt, the rolled waistband of his pajama pants on your hips. Then he swallowed, the movement subtle but visible.

You climbed under the covers, placing your towel-topped pillow against the headboard and leaning back into it. The sheets were soft–cotton, a little warm from the dryer, carrying the faint scent of his detergent. Your body sank into the mattress like it remembered the panic you’d felt hours ago and wanted to nestle into something still, something safe.

You patted the empty space beside you, eyebrows raised in invitation. “Well?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He just smiled–shy and a little stunned–and shuffled toward the bed like he didn’t quite believe this was real. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he climbed in beside you, his long legs folding under the blanket, which he pulled up to his shoulders like muscle memory.

His shoulder brushed yours–barely–but the heat of it lingered.

You reached across your chest and handed him your water bottle without a word. He blinked once, took it with a murmur of thanks, and leaned over to place it gently on the nightstand beside his own. The lamp clicked off a second later, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint sliver of moonlight that slipped through the small window of his room. A silver-blue sheen spread softly across the edge of the comforter.

The quiet pressed in, not heavy or stifling, but thick with awareness.

Your bodies didn’t touch, but the heat between them curled like smoke.

You could hear the shift of the covers when Bob adjusted his legs, the soft whisper of fabric against skin as he rolled slightly toward you on instinct–then seemed to catch himself and settle again on his back. The bed creaked faintly beneath the motion, and then stillness returned.

The air smelled like clean cotton, pine body wash, the faintest trace of rainwater clinging to the ends of your hair. You turned your head on the pillow slightly, voice just above a whisper.

“Still awake?”

“…Yeah,” He said quietly. “You?”

You nodded in the dark. “Mm-hm.”

The quiet stillness wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, warm but buzzing with something new. It had shifted—gently, imperceptibly—but it was there now. Not the panic. Not the awkwardness. Something softer. Something waiting.

You turned over slowly, your arm sliding across the blanket as you rolled onto your side, the mattress giving slightly under your weight. The movement made a faint rustle, just enough for him to hear.

Bob shifted too.

His silhouette turned toward you, quiet and careful, until you could make out the soft rise of his chest beneath the covers, the faint slope of his shoulder, and the curve of his jaw in the pale wash of moonlight. His glasses were gone, probably folded on the nightstand with your water bottles, but even in the dim light you could see the glassy reflection of his eyes.

Blue. Gentle. Wide. Fixed on yours.

“Do you maybe want to maybe…Do something?” You asked, voice soft, watching as he swallowed hard.

”…What…What do you have in mind?” You didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence stretch between you like silk. Then your gaze dipped, slow and deliberate, to the shape of his mouth.

Soft, parted slightly. Waiting.

His breath caught–just the faintest hitch–and you saw his eyes flick down to your lips, mirroring you. Like instinct. Like gravity.

You leaned in.

It was tentative at first–your chest barely grazing his, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the pillow as you crossed the final few inches. Bob didn’t move, but his breath deepened, a quiet exhale drifting over your cheek as your nose brushed his. Then you closed the distance.

Your lips met his, soft and feather-light.

He froze for half a second, as if stunned–but then he kissed you back. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but so gentle it almost made your ribs ache. He moved like he was afraid to shatter you, like this moment was too fragile to claim outright.

His hand came up slowly–hesitant at first, then steady. His palm cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone. The contact lit a slow-burning warmth across your skin. He let out a breath–long and unsteady against your lips, like the kind you exhale when you’ve been holding it too long.

He pulled back just a little, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he hovered, eyes open now, close enough that you could feel the faint tremble of his breath. You opened your eyes too.

And then you leaned forward again.

This time it wasn’t tentative. Still soft, still slow–but heavier now. More certain. You kissed him with your full mouth, with the weight of everything the night had built. Your lips parted slightly and so did his. The kiss deepened, quiet but lingering, the kind of kiss that said I see you. I feel this too.

Bob responded with a quiet sound in the back of his throat, like the breath had been pulled from him again. His hand shifted from your cheek to the base of your skull, fingers slipping into your damp hair, holding you with a gentleness that made your stomach flutter.

Your other hand found his forearm beneath the blanket, the heat of his skin a slow thrum against your fingertips. He tilted his head slightly to meet your mouth more fully, deepening the kiss just enough that you felt your body lean in instinctively. His lips moved against yours with the kind of reverence that made your breath catch–slow, aching, as if he didn’t want to stop.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by an inch. Just enough for air. Just enough to look at you.

The moonlight caught in his lashes, his irises shining like sea glass. His lips were redder now, parted slightly, the corner of his mouth trembling faintly from restraint or disbelief. His thumb brushed along your jaw as he studied you, breath still coming a little faster than before.

“Is this okay?” He whispered.

Your heart twisted at the softness in his voice. You nodded–barely a motion–but it was enough.

“Yeah,” You whispered back. “It’s perfect.” Bob stared at you for a breath longer, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like this whole thing might vanish if he blinked too fast.

Then he leaned in again.

The kiss that followed was deeper–hungrier. Less tentative. His hand was still cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing under your eye, but there was a new weight behind the way he kissed you now. A heat that curled up from the pit of your stomach, spreading like honey beneath your skin. His lips parted a little faster, like he was giving in to something he’d been holding back.

You pressed in with him, lips slotting together again and again, and then you moved–your body shifting under the blanket as you brought one leg over his hip, slowly, testing.

Bob froze for half a second–just long enough for you to hesitate–but then his hand moved. The one on your cheek slid down, dragging lightly along your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder, until it found your thigh. His fingers curled around the back of it, firm and warm, and pulled you gently closer.

You moved instinctively, hips settling into the cradle of his body, your leg draped loosely over his, pressing in. The blanket bunched around your waists, forgotten. The worn cotton of his borrowed flannel pants brushed against your skin as you rocked forward, just enough to feel the heat between your bodies catch.

His breath hitched.

The kiss deepened again, your lips parting just slightly, just enough to taste his breath. And then you felt it–his tongue, tentative but sure, slipping past your lips to meet yours. It wasn’t sloppy or rushed. It was slow and searching, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth from the inside out. You responded in kind, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt, gripping the soft cotton as you rolled your hips again–just once.

Bob gasped against your lips.

It wasn’t loud, but it was raw–half breath, half sound, the air from his lungs catching in his throat. You felt the heat of him through the fabric, the slow, aching tension building there. His fingers dug into your thigh just slightly, not enough to hurt–just enough to pull.

You did it again. Slower this time. Your hips moved in a slow, steady circle, the friction sweet and hot even through the layers of borrowed clothes. Bob broke the kiss suddenly, his lips parting with a soft huff of air as his head tilted back against the pillow.

“Fuck–” He breathed, almost inaudible, as though it had been dragged from him by accident.

You pulled back slightly, brushing your nose along his cheek before pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Get on top?” he asked, voice rough, uncertain but yearning.

You nodded, lips still brushing his.

He shifted beneath you, back arching slightly as he rolled onto his back, adjusting the blanket so it slipped lower across his hips. You followed the motion, moving carefully, straddling him with slow, deliberate movements. The oversized shirt you wore fell forward slightly, hanging off your shoulders as you adjusted your weight over him.

His hands settled instinctively on your thighs, fingertips flexing gently as you leaned down to kiss him again–this time firmer, more desperate. It was less polished now, more honest. You kissed like people who hadn’t had something like this in a long time. Like this was a secret you weren’t supposed to be sharing but needed anyway.

You began to move again, hips rocking gently against him in a slow rhythm that made his jaw slacken beneath your mouth.

Bob groaned–quiet, tight–and his hands moved to your waist, holding you just a little more firmly now. His breath was hot against your mouth as he kissed you harder, sloppier now, letting go of some invisible restraint. Your thighs squeezed around his hips, the pressure sending heat curling down your spine. You could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants now, the heat of him pressed up between your legs with every slow drag of your hips.

His moan broke the rhythm.

Soft and helpless. It slipped into your mouth like a secret.

You pulled back, barely, kissing the line of his jaw and the soft, exposed skin of his neck. He tilted his head just enough to give you more space. His throat flexed when you kissed him there–gently, again and again–before murmuring softly:

“Are you okay?”

His fingers tightened just slightly where they rested on your hips. His breath came a little faster now, chest rising against yours in shallow waves. And then, softly, almost embarrassed:

“I…I’m a bit sensitive…”

You paused, still straddling him, your hand smoothing lightly over his chest. The thump of his heart was rapid beneath your palm.

You looked down at him, eyes searching in the dark. “Are you…A virgin?”

He shook his head quickly, cheeks flushed red even in the faint light.

“No…No, not a virgin. But it’s…It’s kind of been a while. And I haven’t… I haven’t had sex with many people.”

Your heart softened at the honesty. The way he said it, not ashamed–just cautious. Like he wanted you to know what you were working with. What you were holding in your hands.

You leaned down, brushing your lips gently against his jaw.

“We can stop if you want,” You murmured. “I don’t mind just doing this. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Bob shook his head immediately, voice quiet but steady. “No…No, we can keep going. I want to. I really want to.”

You smiled, slow and reassuring. A gentle hand slid down to his chest again, your thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt as you spoke.

“If you want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

He nodded, eyes wide and warm. “Okay.” You leaned down again, your lips brushing the corner of his jaw, then trailing lower, slow and coaxing. Bob tilted his head back, just enough to expose his throat to you, and you took the invitation without hesitation–pressing soft, lingering kisses to the curve of his neck, the warm hollow beneath his jaw. You let your tongue flick out lightly, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint tang of piney body wash and rainwater still clinging to him.

His breath hitched again when your lips ghosted over the edge of his collarbone.

You kept moving downward, slow and deliberate, your hips still rocking gently against his as your kisses followed the slope of his body. The heat between your legs pulsed against the firmness beneath his sweatpants with each subtle shift, each teasing grind of pressure. You could feel him trembling slightly under you–barely noticeable, but there.

Then, without a word, he shifted.

He leaned up just enough to grab the hem of his shirt and peel it over his head in one fluid, unhurried motion. His hair stuck up in damp little curls as he tossed the shirt aside, chest rising and falling more quickly now, bare and flushed under the faint light.

You paused.

Your gaze swept over him–up close now. Every inch of him laid out before you. His chest was broad, lined with soft muscle, not overworked but strong. The subtle lines of his ribs shifted with each breath. A faint trail of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his sweats, and your mouth went dry again.

“Jesus,” You murmured, almost to yourself, your fingers ghosting over his sternum. He shivered under your touch. Your hands traced down slowly–past his chest, over his stomach, feeling the flutter of his abs tensing beneath your palm. You kissed each inch as you moved, warm and open-mouthed, pushing the comforter lower as you went.

He was breathing harder now, lips parted, one hand fisting the sheets beside him as he fought to stay still.

When you reached the waistband of his sweatpants, you looked up.

“Can I take these off?” You asked softly, fingers already hooked into the fabric.

Bob looked down at you, eyes glassy with heat, and nodded. “Yes… Please.”

You pulled them down slowly, dragging them past his hips, down his thighs, then off entirely. Your breath caught as he was finally exposed to you–fully, completely. He was big. Thick and flushed and already twitching under your stare, the head glossy with arousal, a vein pulsing visibly along the underside.

Your eyes widened just a little.

He saw it.

His face went red immediately, arms twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to cover himself or not. “Is…Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly–so quickly it made your hair shift. “Yes. Oh my god…Yes.” You reached up, wrapping your hand around him carefully. His whole body reacted–his hips stuttered and his eyes fluttered shut, a choked gasp leaving his lips. His thighs tensed beneath your knees.

“Still okay?” You asked gently, your hand already stroking him in slow, reverent pulls.

He opened his eyes, dazed and breathless, and nodded. “Yeah. Fuck–yeah.”

You leaned forward then, dragging your mouth along the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen, kissing just above the base of him. His hips jerked slightly under you. And then you took him into your mouth.

The reaction was immediate.

Bob let out a sound–high and broken, something between a moan and a whimper–and his hand flew up, grabbing at the pillow behind his head like he needed something to hold on to. You started slow, letting your lips stretch around him, your tongue tracing every inch you could reach, eyes flicking up to watch the way he unraveled.

It was messy. Your lips were already slick, your breath hot against him as you took him in deeper, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t manage. You let spit slide down your chin, let your tongue swirl at the sensitive underside of the head, and when you pulled back just enough to suck softly–he whimpered again.

“Fuck–Fuck, you’re–” He didn’t finish.

His chest was heaving now, one hand clenching the sheets, the other twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare. You glanced up again, your eyes meeting his as you took him back into your mouth, deeper this time. His head fell back.

He tried to warn you. “I–I’m gonna–shit–”

You didn’t stop.

You kept going, messy and steady, humming softly around him. That was what pushed him over.

He came hard.

It hit like a jolt–his thighs tensed, a full-body tremble ran through him, and his hips jerked once, deep and involuntary. You swallowed everything, kept your mouth on him, letting him ride everything out with soft, wet pulls until he was gasping, his voice broken and breathless.

“Holy shit…” He whispered, “Holy shit.” You pulled off slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, then kissed the inside of his thigh gently. He twitched under the touch, already so sensitive.

You looked up at him.

His hair was wild against the pillow. His chest was still rising and falling fast. He looked wrecked–in the best way. Flushed and dazed and entirely undone.

“…You okay?” You asked softly, your voice a little hoarse. He nods. His chest rose and fell in shallow waves, a light sheen of sweat just beginning to bead at his collarbones. His voice was rough when he finally spoke.

“You’re…” He swallowed, almost like he didn’t believe it himself. “You’re so good at that.”

You smiled–lazy, warm, lips still glistening from where you’d had him in your mouth. “Glad I didn’t disappoint.”

Then you began kissing your way back up, slow and teasing, your mouth trailing over his thigh, the curve of his hip, the faint dip of his navel. His body tensed in small waves under you, his hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to grab you or ground himself.

By the time you reached his chest again, your lips hovered above his, your palms pressed flat against his ribcage as you straddled him once more. The moment your mouths met again–softer now, slower–he kissed you like he could still taste himself on your tongue. Like he didn’t care. Like it made him hungrier.

Then, without a word, he shifted beneath you.

His core tightened–subtle but strong–and his hands slid firmly up your sides. And in one smooth, steady motion, he turned you both. Rolled you right onto your back, his body pressing down over yours, careful but deliberate. The mattress dipped beneath the change in weight, the blanket twisting around your waists as he settled on top of you.

You gasped, then laughed, the sound half-breathless. “Oh, okay,” You whispered, grinning up at him in the moonlight. “You’ve got muscles after all.”

Bob smirked–still shy, still pink in the cheeks, but he liked that reaction. You could tell.

His hands skimmed up beneath the oversized shirt, fingers warm and reverent as they rested just below your ribs. His thumbs rubbed slow, uncertain circles into your skin.

“Is this okay?” He murmured, already breathless again, eyes locked on yours like he’d stop the world if you flinched.

You nodded slowly, voice quiet but steady. “Yeah. Let me take it off for you.”

Bob leaned back just enough to let you sit up, his hands sliding down to brace your waist. You grabbed the hem of the shirt and peeled it up and over your head in one swift motion, the cotton catching briefly at your wrists before falling in a heap beside the bed.

The second you were bare to him, Bob’s eyes darkened. Not with anything aggressive–just wonder. Awe.

Then his mouth was on you immediately.

He leaned down, lips brushing the curve of your breast, then the center of it, then closing over your nipple with a gentleness that made your breath stutter. His mouth was hot–wet and reverent–and when he sucked, slow and careful, your back arched instinctively off the bed.

You heard him moan against you.

It was low and quiet, but you felt the vibration hum through your skin, straight down your spine. One of his hands came up to cup the other breast, thumb flicking across the nipple, just barely grazing it–testing your reaction. You gasped, thighs shifting beneath him, and his fingers twitched in response.

He liked that. He really liked that.

Bob switched sides without warning–his lips moving from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of kisses behind. He sucked more firmly this time, tongue circling your nipple before pulling it into the warmth of his mouth. You couldn’t help it–you let out a soft, broken moan, your fingers threading into his hair.

You tugged. Not hard, but enough.

His breath hitched again, and he groaned into your skin.

The sounds he was making were softer than you’d expected–gentle and desperate all at once. As if pleasuring you was more overwhelming than being pleasured himself. He took his time with your chest, letting each kiss linger, letting each flick of his tongue draw another gasp from you. He alternated pressure, learning what made your back arch, what made you squirm, what made your thighs tremble against his hips.

You tightened your fingers in his curls and whispered, “Bob…Fuck.”

He pulled back, lips red and wet, his breath warm against your breast. His eyes flicked up to yours.

“Can I go down on you?”

The question hit low in your stomach–immediate, electric.

Your lips parted before you even thought. “Yes…” A breath. “Yes, please.”

His smile broke through slow and stunned, like it had just dawned on him that he’d get to do this–that this was real. He kissed your sternum once, then lower, reverent as he worked his way down your body. His hands slid beneath the waistband of your pajama pants, fingers brushing your hips gently.

You lifted your hips in silent offering.

The flannel was untied with fumbling fingers–more eager than graceful–and he tugged it down with care, eyes glued to your body like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. You helped him, pushing the fabric past your thighs, letting it fall in a heap somewhere at the end of the bed.

Bob shifted between your legs, hands bracing your thighs as he kissed the inside of one, then the other. His short strands of hair brushed your skin, his breath hot and unsteady against the most sensitive part of you, and when he glanced up–eyes wide, lips parted–you thought you might actually combust.

He settled lower. Breathed deep. And then tasted you.

The sound he made was immediate—a choked, guttural moan that vibrated through your entire pelvis.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice wrecked already. “You taste so good…”

Then his mouth was back on you.

Hot, open, eager.

He didn’t know what he was doing at first—at least not perfectly—but he learned fast. Every whimper, every shift of your hips, every breathless moan was something he studied. His tongue flicked, then flattened. Lapped broad and slow, then circled tight and precise, adjusting to your reactions like he was memorizing you.

The warmth of his mouth was overwhelming. It was everywhere. Wet and insistent and so good.

Your back arched and your hips rolled forward on instinct, chasing the pressure, and he groaned into you again—into you—like the weight of your pleasure was his. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading you open for him, holding you steady like he needed to stay here, buried here, like he couldn’t risk missing anything.

“Bob–oh my god–”

You felt him moan at the sound of his name, his tongue dragging slow and deep, lips sucking just enough to make your breath catch and stutter. It was dirty and worshipful all at once. Sloppy and reverent. It had you squirming against his mouth, your legs trembling on either side of his shoulders.

Then he paused.

Pulled back just barely–just enough to catch his breath and speak. His voice was thick and panting, his lips shiny, chin wet.

“I’m gonna…” He swallowed. “Add fingers.”

You let out a breathy, desperate moan, hips twitching up toward him involuntarily.

“Fuck, Bob…Please.”

He dipped his head again, kissing your clit once–soft and wet–before trailing lower with his tongue as his hand slid between your thighs. You felt the first press of his fingertips at your entrance–tentative, reverent–and then one slipped inside, slow and gentle, curling just enough to make you cry out.

“God,” He breathed, kissing your thigh as he moved. “You’re so wet…”

He added the second without warning–easing it in slowly, stretching you around his knuckles, and you swore the breath left your body in a rush. His fingers filled you, thick and warm and so good, and he started moving them–slow and firm, curling upward just right, just right–and then his mouth was back.

This time, he devoured you.

Messy, hungry, moaning against your clit as his fingers worked inside you, finding a rhythm that had your entire body going taut. You were writhing now–hips lifting, thighs clenching, voice catching in your throat as you tried to stay grounded, stay still, but he was relentless. Determined.

Like he’d waited years to do this and he was making up for lost time.

You felt it building–hot and sharp and inevitable–and your hands found his hair, pulling tight, holding on for dear life as your body surged forward.

“I–I’m gonna–fuck, Bob, don’t stop–”

And he didn’t. He just moaned into you, tongue flicking faster, fingers pumping deeper, curling as he groaned in response to your tightening around him.

You shattered.

Your thighs clamped around his head, heels digging into the mattress, your hips twitching against his face as you came with a full-body spasm, mouth open in a silent cry. You heard yourself babble his name, hips bucking helplessly as the orgasm tore through you, hard and fast and blinding.

Bob kept going. Gentle but steady. Lapping you through it, moaning into you like your pleasure was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

You finally collapsed back into the sheets, breathing ragged, hair clinging to your forehead. You laughed–soft and winded–still twitching every time he brushed too close.

He lifted his head slowly, face flushed, lips slick, chin glistening in the low light. His pupils were blown, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.

“You okay?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You blinked up at him, dazed and completely blissed out.

“You’ve been blessed…” You dragged in a breath. “With such raw talent.”

Bob blinked–then laughed. Hard. Giddy. His smile broke wide across his face, messy and flushed and so proud. “Yeah?”

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Definitely. You were so good… So, so good.”

His cheeks turned red. “Like, uh… Good enough for a second round?” He teased, voice low. Your smile widened, slow and a little wicked, still flushed and catching your breath. “I think…” You murmured, voice soft but laced with heat, “I want to feel you. Actually.”

Bob’s breath caught. His eyebrows rose just slightly, like the words had short-circuited his brain. “Yeah?” he asked, half-disbelieving.

You nodded, lifting your hand to trace a lazy finger along the line of his jaw. “If you want to, of course.”

His eyes softened instantly. “I want to.” His voice was rough again, thick with desire, but gentled by the way he looked at you. With care. With hunger. With awe.

He crawled slowly up your body, his hands braced beside your ribs, his chest brushing softly against yours. His lips found your collarbone first–featherlight and reverent. Then your neck, where he pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below your ear, tongue flicking briefly against your skin.

You could feel him, hard and hot, dragging against your inner thigh as he moved. It made your hips roll on instinct.

“Going down on you really got me going…” He breathed into your skin, voice low and desperate, hips twitching slightly. His body was shaking with restraint.

You giggled–a breathy, warm sound that made him smile as you turned your face toward him. Your mouths met again, lips pressing together, and you tasted yourself on him–your own slickness still clinging faintly to his lips, his tongue. You kissed him deeper, your hand sliding along his spine.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “You really want to?”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his. “Do I need a condom?”

You watched his pupils dilate at the question, a harsh breath catching in his throat. “I’m on the pill, and I haven’t had sex in a bit but my recent STD test was clean.” You added, voice even softer now.

“Fuck…” He breathed, voice cracking a little. “Okay.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time–urgent but not rushed. Like he needed to feel you everywhere before he could push in. One of his hands slid down between your bodies, finding the heat between your thighs with instinctive precision. He nudged the tip of himself against your folds, dragging it up and down–slick and hot–through your wetness.

You both groaned.

Your hands gripped his arms, fingers curling into his skin as he slowly began to push in. His body trembled above you, the pace careful but steady, like he wanted to feel every second of it. The stretch burned in the best way–deep, hot, slow.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob whispered, his voice completely wrecked. “You feel so good… You’re so fucking warm…”

You gasped when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, every inch of him buried deep inside. The fullness made your toes curl, your whole body responding with an involuntary tremble.

He didn’t move right away. Just hovered above you, his breath ragged, his eyes searching your face. He kissed you–softly–his mouth trembling slightly as he whispered:

“You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.”

You moaned at that, your thighs tightening around his waist, your hands sliding up his back and digging in just enough to make him gasp. His hips drew back and rolled forward again–deep, grinding, slow. Each thrust pressed his pubic bone against your clit, and the sensation made your breath stutter.

“Oh–fuck–“ You gasped, your voice catching.

Bob stilled immediately, looking down at you through glassy, blown eyes. “You okay?”

You nodded frantically, hand gripping his bicep. “Yeah. Do it again.”

He did.

Again. And again. A slow, sensual grind that hit exactly right every time. Your hips began to twitch under him, your breath breaking in little gasps as you chased the rhythm with your body.

He moaned into your mouth as he kissed you–lips sloppy now, too lost in the moment to care. Every sound he made was raw: gasps, whimpers, soft broken curses whispered against your lips and skin.

“Fuck… You feel so good, so good around me, sweetheart,” He rasped. “You’re squeezing me—God, you’re… You’re perfect…”

The praise was relentless. You could barely breathe from how hot it made you.

You tightened around him, fluttering involuntarily with every thrust. You were close again–dangerously close–and the next roll of his hips sent a bolt of heat straight through you.

Your orgasm hit with a choked moan, your nails digging into his back, your body clenching tight around him as your hips bucked helplessly. Bob groaned as your walls squeezed him, loud and unfiltered.

“Fuck–I’m gonna–” He gasped, hips stuttering.

Then he buried himself deep, letting out a ragged, whimpering moan as he came inside you, face pressed into your neck. You felt his teeth graze your skin, his whole body trembling with the force of it.

For a moment, you both just lay there–panting, gasping, covered in sweat and warmth and each other.

Then he slowly lifted his head, eyes dazed but bright, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised.

“…Do you,” He began, breathless, “Do you want to go out to dinner with me tomorrow?”

You blinked, and then started laughing–a soft, disbelieving, breathless laugh.

“That would be really great,” You murmured, your voice thick with affection.

Bob grinned, wide and flushed, before collapsing gently beside you on the mattress. Your legs tangled. Your breath slowed. The room hummed in the quiet aftermath, soft and safe and one with the both of you.

[cherrygirlfriend]

──── ALL TIED UP ♡

♡ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

♡ summary: you tie up rafe for the first time.

♡ warnings / tags: smut. dryhumping. sub!rafe. dom!reader. rope play. coming in underwear. MDNI WC: 1.1k

♡ author's note: this is my last 5k fic, but this is also another entry for @zyafics MRGA campaign, i feel like this fic fits it!!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST l

all of this started with one simple sentence that you'd muttered against your boyfriend's collarbone.

"could we try something new?"

now your boyfriend's hands were tightly bound into his wooden bedframe with baby-pink rope, his legs separated, both of his ankles bound to the end of the bed with the same pink rope. rafe tugged on the ropes around his wrists only for them to not move an inch, the boy softly mumbling, "these are... weirdly well done..."

"i was a girl scout." you called out from the small toilet attached to rafe's dorm room, "you ready?!"

"i'm ready!"

oh.

rafe soon realized that he definitely wasn't ready to see you walk out of the tiny bathroom with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as a you untied the sinfully short pink, silky robe, letting it fall onto the ground while you walked towards him.

you let out a soft, seductive chuckle when you saw the tent in rafe's dark blue plaid boxer shorts, straightening your back even more to let him get a good look at you, and your chest.

rafe swore he could get drunk on the way you looked; the pink, lacy bra just sheer enough to let him see your nipples, a small, wet patch in the matching panties. "i don't think you were ready..." you stuck your bottom lip out in a pout and tilted your head to the side, trailing your manicured nail down his sharp jawline, rafe's cock twitching in his boxer shorts "poor baby. y'gotta be suffering, huh?" you cooed.

you let your finger trail down rafe's bare chest, the boy's hands once again tugging against the restraints when you brought your lips to his red nipple, twirling your tongue around it and sucking the hardened bud into your mouth, letting out a quiet chuckle against the sensitive skin before you pulled back, a whine leaving rafe's lips.

"why are you teasing me?" your boyfriend looked at you through his long dark brown lashes, making you shrug as you sat yourself on the edge of his bed, your fingers continuing to explore until they came across the sandy-colored happy trail leading into his boxer shorts.

you lifted the waistband of rafe's boxer shorts, a sigh of relief leaving his lips, interrupted by the snap! of the elastic meeting his hips as soon as you let go.

"have you ever thought..." you moved your hand to the head of his cock, standing at attention even through his boxer shorts. "that maybe..." you started sliding your hand down his shaft painfully slowly through the fabric, rafe's hips bucking up, searching for more friction as you leaned closer to him, your words quieting down into a whisper "i like making you all cute and whiney like this?"

"it's... nnngh... crossed my mind a few times..."

you grinned as you boosted yourself up onto the bed, moving to straddle rafe, his eyes on your ample cleavage. you chuckled, trailing your hand on the lace of your bra, "you want me to take em off?" you purred, the boy fervently nodding, making you chuckle softly as you leaned closer into him, your breasts nearly in his face, "bet you wish you could take them off yourself."

once again, rafe tugged on the restraints around his wrist, only for you to chuckle as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide down your arms before discarding it onto the floor.

"i bet i could make you cum in your underwear..." you purred, rafe's eyes glued onto your bare chest until you lifted his chin up so he was looking into your eyes, a small "hm?" leaving his lips and it became clear to you that the boy hadn't listened to a thing you'd said.

"nothing..." you mumbled, positioning your clothed cunt over the head of his cock, starting to draw slow circles over his tip, rafe's eyes rolling back in pleasure. each time you could hear him struggle, each time rafe tried to get out of the pink ropes binding him, your clit throbbed.

"please..." the front of rafe's boxer shorts was covered with a mixture of your arousal as well as rafe's, your boyfriend's mouth open wide as if he was in heaven. "please what?" you asked with a breathy voice, your boyfriend letting out a petulant whine. you brought your hand to his chin, forcing him to look up at you, "tell me what you want with words, or you're not getting anything."

"sorry..." rafe mumbled like he was an injured puppy, making you chuckle as you pressed a soft peck on his lips, "tell me what you want." you whispered against his pink lips, "i... i wanna come..." the boy whispered.

you pulled back slightly, only to see that rafe's beautiful, freckled cheeks were turning red. "okay." you said softly, cupping his jaw reverently, "well, i'm gonna make sure my boy gets to cum."

positioning your entrance at the head of his cock, you started circling your hips, held back by two separate layers of fabric. "you're- ngggh... you're not gonna take any of it off?"

"no." you mumbled simply before you sunk yourself down on him, letting out a moan, still able to feel rafe's cock even through both sets of underwear, both of you breathing shakily, and although many layers were separating you, you could feel his cock twitching. "you're close, aren't you?"

"n-nouuugggghhh...." rafe's protests quickly died down once your hand moved to fondle his balls through the plaid fabric, his hips bucking up into you.

you moved yourself up, the front of your boyfriend's boxer shorts completely soaked, rafe's eyes pressed closed tight. "i bet..." you mumble, rolling your hips, your entrance positioned just above the head of rafe's cock, his hips bucking up to meet you, begging for some kind of friction, his wrists and ankles begging to be freed, "you'd cum if i just sink down on you right now."

"no..." rafe mumbled, yet when you let out a soft chuckle, you could see the full-body shivers ravaging through him. "let's test that."

you let yourself sink down on rafe's clothed cock once again, moans leaving your lips with every inch that you felt inside of you, but once he'd bottomed out, rafe started grunting, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, curses leaving his lips as his hips involuntarily started thrusting up into you.

you chuckled as you got off his cock, rafe's breathing slowly getting steadier as you pulled up the waistband of his boxers, the inside of them covered in sticky white cum.

"i won." you grinned, sitting back. "alright, what do you want as your prize?" the sandy-haired boy asked, "are you sure you wanna know?"

taglist: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @littlelamy @dollyfiles @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @digitaldiary111 @constantsadness

join my taglist! 💕

[kdh-tally]

Huntr/x and The Saja Boys being Jealous

Prompt : How Huntr/x and the Saja Boys would react to their partner being flirted with. @erisanix

Author’s Note : I’m so sorry it took me so long to get to this 😭 Hope you enjoy!!! So it was only after writing this (and preparing to publish this) that I realised you probably meant partner as in the reader... I'm so sorry- and will rewrite this if you want

Abby when someone flirts with Mira

The two of them are working out.

Neither of them need it but Abby insists that they work to keep their muscles in shape (insert unnecessary flexing here)

Some dude decides to work out next to them and when abby leaves to grab them water, the person takes their chance to talk with Mira. 

His first reaction is to laugh. 

Like, genuinely finds it funny.

How did anyone have the audacity to flirt with Mira???

“You’re trying to flirt with her?”

“Oh… you’re serious.”

He’d walk over, arm casually slipping over her shoulder as she glares at the person trying to make a move on her

He wouldn’t say a thing first and would just stand there smiling.

Normally, most people would use their brains and back off once they see that:

1. Mira isn’t interested

2. This huge guy with muscles in standing by her like a body guard and could very much easily beat them up

However, lets say the person keeps going

While Abby knows fully well that Mira can handle herself, he likes playing knight-in shining armour.

“She’s taken” he’d smirk condescendingly at the person (who is now shaking in their boots) 

He doesn’t get jealous so much, but will get competitive.

It also gives him an extra EXTRA confidence boost knowing that he (and romance ig 😒) is actually Mira’s boyfriend.

“You think she’d want you? Try again in your next life.”

(He wouldn’t say this in front of Mira of course cause she would obliterate him)

Once they’re gone, he’s gentle and playful again.

“I feel bad for them”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember how long it took me and romance to convince you to go out with us?”

“Yea-”

“And you liked us” he pointed out in disbelief “That poor person bro. They stood no chance” he’d shake his head dramatically watching the flirter walk away defeatedly.

Romance when someone flirts with Mira

They were both in the practice room. Mira testing out new lyrics with him and Romance just watching her.

A new staff member, who wasn’t briefed on any of the relationships between the groups, attempts to make a move on Mira.

Romance is smiling the whole time.

He doesn’t take the person seriously.

“Oh, you like her? Cuteeeeee. Same.”

Would hug Mira from behind mid-conversation (knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to attack him for the PDA in front of the innocent (and flirty) bystander), his chin resting on her shoulder as he more or less stares at her in awe.

“Isn’t she just perfect?” he’d say, looking smugly into the flirter’s eyes.

He, like Abby, is so confident in his position as Mira’s boyfriend that he has no need to be jealous.

And to be honest even if he did feel jealous, he used to be a powerful demon. Hiding a dead body wouldn’t be that difficult for him.

He wouldn’t mind outflirting the flirter to their face.

He would also let Mira do most of the rejecting.

He lowkey finds it attractive when she goes all “Sorry but I’m already in a relationship”

His head is filled with hearts and flowers and all he can think of is  ‘she loooooooves me~~’

But, If Mira gets visibly annoyed or uncomfy (and that would take a lot to happen), his smile turns sharp.

“You can leave now,” he’d say, eyes narrowed as he more or less forces the person away with his sharp gaze.

His tone is so obviously threatening.

Later, he’d make Mira and Abby laugh about it.

“You know I’m prettier than them, right?” he’d tell the two while laying across their legs on the couch.

Mira would roll her eyes but she wouldn’t disagree.

Abby would give romance a proud high five (or whatever it is bro’s do…)

Definitely throws in some extra flirty lines that night, just to remind her of the whole encounter.

Mystery when someone flirts with Zoey

The only Saja boy that would get seriously jealous.

This could go two ways though. 

He could either get super protective over Zoey to the point where it’s lowkey animalistic…

I’m basically saying he might start barking at whoever is flirting with her 😭

Based off of his behaviour in the movie i’d feel like he’d try to freak the person out so they’d leave 💀

The more likely option would be for him to just freeze.

Doesn’t speak. Just stares.

You can feel how uncomfortable he is with the entire situation.

Lets say the two are hanging out after practice hours and they encounter a group of fans, one of them thinking they actually have a chance with Zoey.

I feel like Zoey would be completely oblivious to the fans' intentions cause she just wants to believe in the good of everyone. 

Remember how she said the Saja boys were magicians even though it was really obvious they were demons 💀

Mystery, after attending to his own fans, just stands behind Zoey and watches,

He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him but it obviously does.

He can’t stand still.

Crosses his arms. 

Shifts weight between his legs. 

Backs up a step only to come back up.

He won’t interrupt the conversation. Honestly he might just leave.

But Zoey usually finds him sulking in a corner later.

“You okay?”

“Why must you be so nice to people?” he be all frowny while flopping around on the floor”

“Thank you? she let out a small laugh before sitting by him and moving the hair out of his face.

“I don’t want you to be nice to everyone…” he’d be all flustered but still very upset. “Just me.” a small pause, “and huntr/x and the saja boys i guess…”

She ends up comforting him because his jealousy would manifest as confusion and anxiety.

Poor boy fears she’d still leave him because he used to be a demon.

Starts to lowkey improve his posture and fix his hair next time they're out. 

He thinks no one notices but zoey does.

Jinu when someone flirts with Rumi

The pouty jealous one.

Not in a sad and anxious way like Mystery, but more in a ‘stop giving them attention Rumi~’ way.

Doesn’t react at first. He’s quiet, watching and assessing how serious the situation is. 

If Rumi laughs at something the flirter says?

His jaw drops in disbelief. Like her audacity??

“Wow. Guess I’m just a background character now.” • Said this to no one but himself. He said it outloud.

Will walk up after the conversation ends like:

“So… did you have fun Rumi?”

“Who was that?”

“Do you like them more than me? Be honest. I can take it.” (He cannot.)

Rumi: “You’re literally the only person I want Jinu.”

Jinu, perking up instantly: “Okay :)”

Still clings to her for the rest of the day, just in case.

He could get super protective though.

They’d probably be out on one of their dates that apparently aren’t dates…

They’d stop for food at a restaurant and the guy taking the order is just so annoying and persistent about getting Rumi’s number.

At this his eyes sharpen, jaw clenches slightly. You’d only notice if you knew him.

He does not interrupt. He’d look to see how Rumi handles it.

If she looks uncomfortable?

He steps in immediately with that low, casual tone he has “You okay Rumi?”

He’s not even trying to be threatening. He’s kinda just making in known that he is the boyfriend.

Even Rumi is flustered with just how protective he’s being.

When they’re walking back to the company, his hand hasn’t left her waist at all.

“Some people just don’t seem to know when to stop talking” he’d mumbled under his breath.

Mira when someone flirts with Abby or Romance

If they flirt with Abby:

Someone’s trying to compliment his abs and muscles.

The person is being all sweet n touchy like

“Omg! You must work out really hard~~”

And he can see Mira seething in the background so he tries to make the interaction seem as friendly as possible. 

She's watching it all happen with the flattest expression known to mankind.

Abby's being polite. He’s all smiles like “ooh thankyou :D” 

Mira’s patience is running out FAST.

She's standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows twitching.

In her brain she’s absolutely berating the person. 

“Can’t they tell that he’s taken??’

However she’d also be in denial about her jealousy. 

“Like what do you mean jealousy? I was just worried that the person was wasting their time on you muscles brain” is what she would say if ever confronted about the situation.

She’d eventually calm down until Abby chuckles at one of their jokes.

Her head slowly turns and her eyes are comically wide.

She lowkey looks deranged…

“You think they’re funny?” • “No– I was just–” • “Mm.” 

She’d kick him out of her car and leave him stranded on the street.

Eventually walks up casually, a hand on Abby’s bicep.

“Sorry, this one’s taken. But nice try.” Smile = threat.

Later in private?

She’s berating him.

“You’re such an attention seeker”

“I didn’t do anything..” he’s flabergasted

If they flirt with Romance:

Mira doesn’t even pretend to be calm.

The issue here is Romance is the type to flirt back. Not cause he’s a man whore or anything but he just loves when Mira acts all possessive about him 💀

She’s standing behind Romance while the flirter is mid-sentence, her arms crossed, lips pursed.

She’s giving them the look she normally uses to scare off demons before killing them off.

Romance obviously finds it hilarious and adorable.

Mira does not.

She doesn’t speak, just raises one brow at the poor soul.

This person must be blind or something cause they just keep talking???

Oh yea- Where did they meet the flirter?

The two went shopping for books. Yes. Books.

Romance thinks the best way to learn about human culture would be by reading as many novels as he can get his hands on. 

This leads to the shop owner flirting with him as they try to recommend good books to read.

The flirter slides him a very steamy looking book and winks at him “This looks like something you’d enjoy if you know what I mean”

When the person keeps talking, Romance is smirking. • “You’re gonna die~” he whispers, all happy.

Mira steps up between them. • “If you value your ability to walk and want to keep your store, I suggest you shut up.”

Romance: 🥰

He won’t shut up about it later.

“I’ve never felt more loved.”

“You threatened violence for me.”

“Tell me again how you’d break their legs.”

He’s just a girl.

Actually he’d probably love saying “I’m just a girl” 💀

Zoey when someone flirts with Mystery

She’s oblivious at first.

Like I said up above, she’ll probably think the person is just being friendly.

“Oh my god, Mystery, they said you have pretty hair! Isn’t that sweet?” • Mystery is trying not to freak out

Eventually, she catches on.

She’ll see the flirter get all up in his space. They’d try to touch his hair, or interlink their arms, literally anything to have physical contact.

Mystery is physically recoiling.

“Wait a damn minute…”

Her whole vibe changes.

Remember how she “ended” mystery in the movie?

“You’re just my type 🤩 Oh well” stabs

Yea that switch up is how she’d treat the flirter.

Her voice is still sweet, but it’s weaponized sweetness.

“That’s my boyfriend.”

One sentence. That’s it.

The air gets colder. The fan who was flirting? Gone.

She then turns to Mystery like nothing happened.

“You okay?”

“You scared them away.”

“Good.” sips her drink

She becomes extra clingy later too. Not because she’s insecure.

She’d do it to reassure him that she wouldn’t be going anywhere regardless of how many people try to flirt with him.

Random compliments and forehead kisses.

“Your hair is pretty by the way.” she’d say this while tying it up into a bun to admire his face. “I’m the only one allowed to touch it though”

“Of course Zoey,” his voice is practically a whisper as she clings onto him.

Rumi with someone flirts with Jinu

They went to the movies together. A new lego movie came out and the last one Jinu saw was years ago so he begged Rumi to take him to see the new one.

She goes to collect popcorn, leaving Jinu to take his seat, and when she returns, someone is in HER chair. Flirting with HER boyfriend.

She’d try really hard not to react.

She wants to be chill. Really, she does.

But the moment someone says “Hey, what’s your name?” and reaches out to his arm?

She’s considering summoning her weapon and wiping their head off clean.

My girl is staring daggers.

Probably the most over protective in the group (could rival Mira)

After all, the guy died for her. Why would anyone even think they could try to flirt with him???

Stares daggers.

Jinu is too polite (and oblivious. The guy used to be a 400 year old demon. Anything he used to know about flirting is now irrelevant)

He smiles. Maybe even giggles just because of how nervous he is. • That is what breaks her.

She walks over calmly, “Sorry. That seat’s taken.”

If the flirter protests? “By who?

“By me. Go find another one.” Rumi’s losing her patience and the movie is about to start.

“I actually like it here,” they’d lean a tad bit closer to Jinu to spite Rumi.

Let’s not forget that Rumi is half demon though!! “That wasn’t a suggestion.” Her voice gets a bit more dangerous and unstable.

Once they’re alone again, she teases him about it.

“Did you like the attention?”

“Nooo– Rumi, no, I was scared. ☹️”

“You were giggling.”

“IT WAS A PANIC GIGGLE!!”

The next time they go out, she’s in his hoodie. Hair down (out of the braid 😋). Holding his hand. The message is clear: • Don’t even look in his direction.

[dawnfire12]

Bedroom Revenge

Sequel to Dressing Room Hookup

Pairing: Jinu (Kpop Demon Hunter) X You (female)

Summary: You are Rumi’s youngster sister and a part of Huntrix. The last time you saw Jinu, he had you bent over your dressing room table and made you forget your own name. You left you a total mess before you had to go on stage so now you truly want to kill him. But sometimes plans don’t go as accordingly as they should.

Warning: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, breeding kink, creampie

You sneak onto the balcony that’s connected to Jinu’s bedroom with a sword in your hand. You are going to end this tonight. His lights are all out signaling to you that he’s asleep. You open the door softly making sure to not make a sound. He doesn’t seem to react, just breathing in and out as one does when in a deep sleep. 

You lightly press down on the bed, having your legs straddle him with your sword against his neck.

“You should know you can’t sneak up on a 400 year old demon.” He comments without even opening his eyes.

You pressed your sword into his neck, “How are you even awake?”

“Puh-lease. I heard you land on the balcony. You’re not as smooth as you think.” He still has his eyes closed but raised his hand to shift his hands behind his head.

“You think you’re just so good. You’re not going to get away with this!” You seethe. 

“Oh is that what this is about?” He finally opens his eyes and has a big grin.

“What?” You ask.

He pouts at you, “Oh someone needs some more of my dick in them.” He brings one of his hands to your waist and starts moving it up and down.

“No, that’s not what this is about.” You protest and move up, trying to get away from his hand.

He groans,”Do that again.” 

You could feel the vibration of his groan going straight towards your pussy and you unknowingly grind into him again. His other hand knocks your sword away and both of his hands grasp your hips, pulling you to and from him. He’s using you as his own personal doll to get him off.

You moan,”This is not what I came for.”

He cocks on eyebrow, “Oh yeah? Well let’s see how wet your pussy is.”

He slips his fingers into your skort and feels how wet you are and moans.

“You’re not even wearing underwear, you dirty girl.”

“I forgot.” You shutter out as you try to rock yourself on his fingers.

“Mmhmm. Just admit that you came here for this.” He circles your clit.

“Hngh, no. Oh fuck.” He curls his fingers into you. He knows where your g spot is and targets that. Your legs start to shake a bit and you bite your lip.

“Fuckk! No,” You rip his fingers out and put one hand around his neck, choking him,”We are doing things on my terms today.” 

You moved down a little to pull his pants down to see his fully erect cock. You spit on it and stroke it up and down a few times. He groans, gripping his sheets and you push your skort off you with your other hand.You lower yourself onto him and whimper as you feel him stretch your walls. He feels so much bigger and deeper this way.

“Take off your shirt.” You demand as you sink onto his cock. 

He leans up and both of you moan from his movement as he whips his shirt off. He stays sitting up to pull yours off and lays back down, leaving you both fully naked. You put your hands on his chest and start moving up and down. You get wetter each time you pull yourself up.

All that can be heard are moans and slapping of skin. You gasp as your clit rubs a certain way. 

“You look so good like this. Taking me so well. Taking what’s yours.” He grips your waist. 

You whimper,”Don’t say that.”

He cocks his head,”What? How pretty you look on my cock, rocking yourself against me?”

You moan and move your hips faster. He groans and leans his head back. You lean down to lick his neck and bite him. He hisses and you grin. His nails and teeth start to elongate. Your legs start to get sore as you whimper.

“Oh does my girl need help?” He coos. 

You bit your lip and nod.

He grins, “Good girl.” He leans up, wrapping one arm around your waist and the other in your hair and brings his knees up. He slams you down on his dick repeatedly while moving his hips up against you. You wail and cry his name. He sucks on your tits, leaving you hickies for days.

“Oh Jinu!” You cry, the familiar pressure of your orgasm rapidly building.

“Be good and cum on my cock!” He orders you as he furiously rubs your clit. Your orgasm crashes over you so quickly you barely can react and can only cry his name. He carries you through it and pumps faster, cumming in you.

“Oh fuck!” He moans as he spills his seed, “Mmhhmm so good.” He pumps you up and down a few more times before laying down with his dick still in you. 

You try to catch your breath by breathing in and out slowly. You feel a little light headed.

“That’s my girl.” He licks his lips while looking at where you two are still joined.

“Not your girl.” You whisper. 

He narrows his eyes,”Guess I didn’t fuck you hard enough.”

He flips you over onto your back before you can react with your legs wide open and drills himself into you. You thought you were loud before, well now you’re even louder. Your nails grip his arms as he pushes his dick in and out of you.

He grunts,”I love your moans. But you have to keep quiet or else the rest of the boys will hear.”

You unconsciously grip his dick a little tighter when he says that. Being a little turned on at being quiet.

“Oh you like that?” He asks.

You reply with a moan.

“Well, maybe I should invite them over. To see how well your pussy takes cock. I bet you would like that.” He thrusts harder.

You cry out,”MMhmm! No Jinu! Only you!"

He grins,”Only me? That’s right! Only me! My good girl!”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm crashes over you. Your legs start shaking from the force of the orgasm and how hard Jinu is still going.

He hisses,”Fuck you’re so tight. Can’t wait to cum in this pussy. Cumming in you twice, no way you won’t be carrying my seed. Can’t wait to see you full of my cum.”

He bites your neck as he empties his seed into you and you wail, still sensitive from cuming. He moves slower before pulling out. You breathe heavily, trying to keep your eyes open. You feel him leave the bed and come back with a wipe cleaning you a little bit, making sure to keep some of his cum in you by pushing it back in you. 

He slips into bed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispers in your ear,”Sleep. Tomorrow you’re not leaving this bed till you’ve cummed as many times as I tell you.”

You fall asleep towards the end of his sentence, too exhausted from the activity to listen and too tired to comprehend that tomorrow will not be a rest day.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

you kiss the tip before giving them head —jjk edition

Satoru Gojo—He’s already cocky, sprawled out and smug like he’s doing you a favor. But the moment your lips press a soft, teasing kiss to the very tip of his dick, his entire body jolts like you just hexed him. “…The hell was that?” he breathes, raspy, desperate. Then you do it again. Satoru hisses, his cock twitching against your tongue. He fists the sheets, pupils blown wide. “You—You can’t do that. You can’t be cute and nasty. That’s my job,” he pants, already losing composure. You don’t even have your mouth around him yet and he’s already twitching like he might fall apart. “Holy shit, you’re evil. I’m gonna fall in love again.”

Suguru Geto—He watches you with reverent eyes, one hand brushing your hair back like you’re something holy. But the moment you press a soft, worshipful kiss to the tip, his breath catches. “…You’re unreal,” he mutters, almost more to himself. You swirl your tongue against the slit, tasting him, and his composure fractures. “You don’t have to tease. Unless you want me to forget all my manners.” But he doesn’t stop you. He watches, bottom lip caught between his teeth, his cock throbbing in your hold. “Go on, baby,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “Show me how sweet you can be.”

Toji Fushiguro—You expect a grunt. A curse. Maybe a cocky smirk. But when you kiss the tip of his cock? He goes still. “…The fuck was that for?” he growls, low and confused. Then you smile, sweet and innocent, up at him, and do it again. Toji’s jaw locks. His hips twitch forward involuntarily. “Cute little tease,” he mutters, eyes dark. “You’re playing a dangerous fuckin’ game.” His hand curls into your hair as you lick a slow stripe down his length. “You better finish what you start, brat,” he growls. “Or I’m fucking your throat ‘til you cry.”

Kento Nanami—He��s neat, precise, composed, even in bed. But when you drop to your knees and press a single, reverent kiss to the flushed tip of his cock, all of that shatters. Nanami exhales harshly, like you just knocked the air from his lungs. “That’s… unnecessary,” he murmurs, trying and failing to stay calm. But you kiss it again, slow and teasing, and his hand immediately fists in your hair. “…Correction,” he says, low and trembling. “It’s completely necessary. But if you tease me like that again, I’m going to fuck your mouth like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.”

Choso Kamo—He already thinks you’re an angel. So when you kiss the tip like it’s something precious, he melts. “O-oh…” he gasps, looking down with wide, stunned eyes. His hands tremble slightly as they brush your cheeks, unsure if he should hold you or let you take your time. “Y-You’re really doing that… just for me?” You smile and kiss him again. His hips jerk, and he lets out a sound so pretty, it makes you want to ruin him. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, dazed. “But please… don’t stop.”

Ryomen Sukuna—You dare kiss his cock like it’s sacred? He laughs. A dark, guttural chuckle that rumbles through his chest. “Well, well… look who learned manners.” You kiss the tip again, and his reaction is instant. His hand tangles in your hair, forcing your eyes up to meet his. “Think you can tease the King of Curses?” he hisses, cock twitching against your lips. But there’s a twitch in his jaw, a stutter in his breath, a crack in that sadistic smirk. “Fine,” he snarls. “Be sweet. I’ll ruin you for it.”

Yuji Itadori—He was already blushing, thighs trembling, nervous from how hot you made him feel. But when you look up at him with those innocent eyes and kiss the tip, he whimpers. “A-Are you serious right now?” You swirl your tongue just under the head and he nearly loses his balance. “I’m—I’m not gonna last,” he stammers, a hand clutching your shoulder like it’s the only thing anchoring him. “Why’d you have to do that? That’s cheating!” He’s flushed down to his chest, panting before you even wrap your lips around him. “I might die happy.”

Megumi Fushiguro—He tries to keep his cool. Really, he does. But the moment you softly kiss the tip, his entire body tenses like a string pulled taut. “Don’t…” he warns. His voice is strained, rough. “Don’t do that unless you’re ready for what comes after.” You do it again, just to see what happens. Megumi exhales a shaky breath through his nose, eyes darkening. “You’re going to regret that,” he mutters. His hand comes to cradle the back of your head, almost gentle, until he forces you closer. “…Open your mouth.”

Inumaki Toge—He watches you with wide eyes, the faintest “nori…” tumbling out of his lips when you kiss the tip with a wicked little smile. His whole body jerks in surprise, and he clamps a hand over his mouth like he might moan out a cursed word. “Oh…” he gasps, hips twitching as you lick him. When you hum sweetly against the tip, he damn near collapses. His fingers twist in your hair, his breathing ragged. “…Don’t stop,” he finally whispers in your ear—real words, low and husky. “Please.”

[alinathinkstoomuch]

CLOCKED IN

pairing: aaron hotchner x fake!fiancee!reader summary: hotch is trying his hardest to keep it together when your so-called friends crash the night out, good thing the bau are world class shit stirrers, based on this request. warnings: fluff, protective hotch but also protective bau!! brief reference to them meeting which can be read here word count: 1.3k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Hotch was, against all odds, and probably his own expectations, actually having a good time. Shocking, really. But he knew exactly why, it was you. You sitting under the glittering mirrorball light, talking with your hands mid-explanation. 

It was your first official time meeting the team, and he wasn’t even a little bit surprised by how quickly you charmed every single person at the table. You had that effect on people. It was something he’d always admired about you, and okay, maybe envied a little too. He wasn’t exactly known for being warm or approachable. His voice didn’t magically pull smiles from strangers. Yours did.

And yet somehow, you—completely out of the blue—had walked into a bar similar to this one and asked him, a total stranger, to pretend to be your fiance for the night. Still one of the most absurd things he’s ever heard and he deals with absurd for a living.

Maybe that bit of envy came from a selfish place, though. Because he liked to think that the effervescent side of you was something you saved just for him, but it wasn’t because you were like that with everyone. All grins, all giggles, all theatrics because that’s who you were. And it made him furious inside to imagine anyone taking advantage of that. Like those awful friends who made you feel like you had to lie in the first place.

Still, in a roundabout, slightly messed-up way, he guessed he owed them one. Because their cruelty had delivered you straight to him.

He was mid-sip of his drink when he caught the way your smile wobbled. And when you did a double take towards the front door, his eyes were inclined to follow to see who or what he was going to have to glare at for sucking the light from your face that fast.

He didn’t even try to hide the exasperated sigh that left him.

“Oh boy,” you muttered, eyes still on the door.

“Do you know them?” JJ asked, leaning forward over a cluster of empty cocktail glasses. “Because they’re pointing.”

“And coming over,” Morgan added, eyebrows raised.

You straightened in your seat. “That’s…the quarter of the group responsible for me meeting Aaron.”

“No!” Penelope gasped, hand flying to her chest. “You mean those friends? The ones you had to lie to? The whole fake-fiancé saga?”

“In the flesh,” you confirmed, grabbing your drink and taking two very necessary gulps as Aaron braced himself for the evening to dissolve into performative lunacy. 

You shifted in your seat beside him, shoulders going stiff in that I’m fine, this is fine way that meant the opposite. And yeah, his jaw clenched. Because the idea of you having to perform just to feel safe, or liked, or respected? Made his blood run hot. Especially when you were surrounded by people who actually saw you—really saw you—and didn’t need a single performance to adore you.

“Oh my god! Okay! We all have very important parts to play,” Penelope whisper-yelled at the table.

“Just don’t make it weirder than it has to be,” Emily muttered, toying with her paper straw.

“You want another drink?” Rossi nudged Aaron who just glared at the older man. “Come on, lighten up. I didn’t get to see you in fiancé-action last time.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Hotch said dryly, reaching over and resting his hand over yours in a squeeze.

You turned to face him and the panicked look on your face made his stomach knot. “I’m sorry for this. I had no idea they’d be here, I haven’t even spoken to them in months.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, just like you don’t owe them a damn thing.” His tone softened. “But if you want an out, just say the word, I’ll make up an excuse and we’re gone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but it was too late.

“Wow,” came a voice you knew all too well. “Look who it is.”

“Veronica.” You offered a perfectly polite, perfectly fake smile. “Dani,” you added, glancing at her tagalong.

“Mind if we sit with your fiancé and friends?” Veronica asked, already pulling a chair over from the table behind because she wasn’t actually asking or waiting for permission. She wedged herself in between you and Emily.

Dani copied her motions, plopping herself down between Penelope and Spencer. The poor genius looked like he was calculating the fastest way to disassociate, especially when Dani’s manicured hands rested a little too close to his drink. 

“So,” Veronica said, all teeth. “Are you going to introduce us?” She glanced around the table. “How do you all know the happy couple?”

“We work with Hotch,” Morgan answered smoothly, lifting his glass. “FBI.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s… intense.”

“Depends on the day,” Emily chimed in, “But yeah, keeps us busy.”

Veronica’s icy gaze slid to you, her mouth twitching. “Must be nice. All that… structure and stability. Probably pays off a little more than fashion, huh?”

You barely had time to get a word out before Penelope jumped in for you. “Oh, sweetie. One campaign of hers pays more than my entire annual salary. And I’m not exactly working for peanuts.”

You let out a sheepish laugh, just as Aaron’s thumb pressed gently against your hand, as if reminding you to breathe. 

“Anyway,” Dani piped up, suddenly remembering she had both a voice and a personality, “how’s wedding planning going? You must be deep in it by now, right?”

“Weren’t you just looking at venues?” Rossi added with a grin, like he’d been personally waiting for this moment. Hotch made a mental note to get him store-brand whiskey for his next birthday.

“We were,” Hotch replied as casually as he could manage. “She wants a beach wedding. I want one where her dress doesn’t blow into the ocean.”

Morgan snorted while JJ shook her head, trying and failing to hide a smile. 

“Tell the truth,” Emily grinned. “You just don’t want sand in your shoes.”

“I don't want sand in my everything,” Hotch said flatly, taking a sip of his drink at the involuntary conversation. 

“Fair,” Morgan laughed, tipping his glass towards him. “Sand gets everywhere. Man’s got a point.”

“Well, the guest list must be pretty large then,” Veronica went on, smiling just a little too sweetly. “Half the FBI, and of course us, your best friends. You’ll need something that can accommodate everyone.”

“We’re keeping it small,” Hotch almost snarled, his tone landing somewhere between polite restraint and you’re not fucking invited. Not that there was an actual wedding, but if he ever did marry you, those two would be the last names on the list.

“Oh! But you have to have bridesmaids, right?” Dani pressed on, gesturing between herself and Veronica. “I mean, you’re probably thinking of us, your best friends—”

“We haven’t gotten that far,” you cut her off.

“Besides,” Emily added with a shark-like smile, “it’s so hard to find dresses that don’t clash with fragile egos.”

Your eyebrows shot up before you could stop them. Morgan was grinning like a man thoroughly entertained. JJ stifled a laugh behind a cough. And Spencer? He just looked politely baffled, having subtly nudged his drink as far away from Dani’s claws as possible without making it look like he was giving it to Rossi. 

Hotch, meanwhile, added a new line to his growing mental list: whatever bottle Emily wanted for her birthday, she was getting the top shelf version. Hell, maybe two. 

Some of the tension in his chest eased a little and he hoped yours had too. Because if there was one thing his team excelled at, it was rallying around someone they’d decided was theirs. And judging by the grins, side-eyes, and Emily’s very intentional lack of filter, the BAU had officially clocked in.

Not for a case. 

For you. 

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @star-crossed-sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp  @lovelystrawberry @imissaaronhotchner @justyourusualash @alexxavicry @storiesofsvu @ehedrick012110 @hopelessromantic727 @piatosniathenie @averyhotchner @softtdaisy @khxna @thehotchners @tinythebunni @violettablackwood @starsmoonn @kajjaka

join my taglist here 💌

please fill out the form if you'd like to be tagged for specific readers or send me a dm if you'd like to be removed from the list!

[lilolebambi]

tap out. . . m.s.

You're a mess. Sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, palms clammy as you hang onto the sheets for dear life—trying to take everything Matt's giving you. He made it very clear he wasn't letting up until he had enough of you.

You whine as he kisses you, silencing your complaints. "I can't—" You gasp as he kisses down your jaw, "Matt, I can't take anymore—"

He laughs softly, spreading your legs to watch his cum leak out of your messy cunt. "Y'tired already, baby?" He teases, settling between your legs again. "I can fuck you like this for hours.."

"Matt—" He ignores your protests, already rubbing his cock through your sensitive folds. "Shhhh, jus' one more, sweetheart. You can take it." He pushes inside slowly, groaning at how easy it is to slide into your soaked pussy. "Fuckkkk.. I love this pussy.." You gasp, trembling at his slow, deep pace.

"You're so fucking tight, even after all that cum. Can't get enough of me, huh?" You mewl, "S-shut up."

He chuckles darkly, leaning down to nip your ear. "Make me." He thrusts deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. "Or do you want me to keep talking about how perfect this pussy is?"

You shake your head, desperately. "Nononono— embarrassing, embarrassing, so embarrassing-" You babble out, Matt just smirks. He spreads your legs wider, going even deeper. "Y'sound so dirty when you take it, your little whines just make me wanna pound this little pussy harder." He slows down his thrusts, making them slow and torturous.

He leans down to suck a mark on your neck, his tongue swirls around your skin. "Like this? Like feeling every inch of me?" You're unable to answer, hot tears running down your face as he snaps his hips forward.

Both of you can feel yourself growing wetter, your body betraying you to show off how much you're enjoying this slow, deep fucking. He reaches down to rub your clit in tight circles, his voice low and husky. "That's it, gonna make you cum so hard, baby. Gonna make you a mess..."

He can tell you're getting close, your walls fluttering around him. "Matt—" He shushes you, "Shhh, let go for me..." He increases the pressure on your clit and starts pounding you harder, hips pressing against yours. "Make a mess on my dick."

You see white, a choked sob leaving your mouth as your orgasm crashes off of you like a tidal wave. "Fuck yes," He groans deeply, enjoying the mess of your and his juices between you. "That's it..."

You pant heavily, eyes locking with his as you come down from your high. "One more?"

a/n: MAKE HER TAPOUT, TAPOUT.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @sirensdollesque @courta13 @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @sugarraez @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @cayleeuhithinknott @h3arts4nat @angelyearner @pink1man @mi-co-uk @slvt4subchratt @tezzzzzzzz @chrisbratt333 @izzylovesmatt @chrisowenmuncher @bluestriips

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Bad Idea (1)

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary- Natasha proposes that the two of you become friends with benefits.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Friends with Benefits, Fingering, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Face-sitting.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List Ch2 | Ch3

“What?” your eyes widened at the spy’s words as she stared at you from across the table. Her piercing green eyes watched you with an intent as you took in her offer. “You want to be friends with benefits?” It was your turn for your eyes to watch her now as she leaned forward on the table to grab a shot of vodka before sitting back, her eyes never leaving your own.

“Yes,” she purred, “There can be nothing more than sex.”

You subtly clenched your jaw at her words, unsure if this was going to be a bad idea. Is it smart to be friends with benefits with the woman you secretly love? Probably not but the way she was looking at you knocked all sense of reason out of you. Slowly, a smirk made its way onto your face as you took a shot before finally answering her question.

“Yes,” you rasped out, “I’ll take whatever you offer me.” You walked around the table to stand behind the assassin, your body still not touching hers as you leaned down to murmur in her ear. “And I’ll take you however you want me to.”

Her breath hitched at your words before she turned her head so you could see her dilated pupils and parted lips. “And if I want to take you?”

Your lips ghosted hers as you teased her, both of sets of eyes trained on each other’s lips, “Then I’ll beg you to fuck me.”

“It’s a deal then,” she whispered before pulling out her chair and walking away towards the door, her hips swaying as she looks over her shoulder at you. “See you later,” she purrs before slipping out the door leaving you to smile to yourself. This was definitely a bad idea.

***

“Fuck,” moaned Natasha as you pressed her up against her bedroom door, your knee slotted between her legs and pressed against her core. You crashed your lips back to hers and ran your tongue along her bottom lip seeking entrance. Her hands threaded themselves in your hair as she gasped and panted into your mouth, her hip grinding along your toned knee for friction.

“What do you want?” you husked out while moving your kisses along her jaw and neck. Your whole body felt on fire as she squirmed in your grasp, desperate for some sort of relief. A relief she could only get from you. Your hands settled of her hips to stop her from moving causing a low whine to leave her lips. “So needy,” you mocked while moving a hand to tangle in her fiery locks so you could tug her head back. With her neck bared to you, you placed hot, open mouthed kisses along her pulse point while murmuring, “I asked you a question darling.”

“Please,” she begged while trying her best to move her hips despite your super soldier strength grip on them. “Please fuck me,” her tone sultry as you watched react to your touch. Suddenly you ripped the shirt she was wearing cause a loud gasp to escape her lips.

“Sorry,” you murmured earning a chuckle from the pinned woman that was quickly replaced by a moan as you kissed the top of her breasts. Swiftly, your hands made their way to beneath her thighs so you could pick her up and take her to her bed. Her legs wrapped themselves around your toned stomach as you busied yourself on leaving small bites at the top of her breasts. As soon as your knees hit the bed, you placed her down and crawled on top of her while removing your own shirt. Slithers of green were left in her eyes as she stared at your body before reclaiming your lips. Your hands immediately went to unclasp her bra. You quickly took a breast into mouth and swirled your tongue around her sensitive nipple, making her back arch. “You’re so beautiful,” you muttered while switching breasts causing a blush to appear on her face. “So pretty,” you continued while biting a mark onto her chest earning a sinful noise from the woman beneath you, “And you're all mine to ruin.”

“Please,” she begged and you only chuckled into her skin at her impatience. Your hands slipped under her joggers before sliding out again to rest on her abs earning a frustrated groan. “Stop teasing me and fuck me,” she muttered out while you kept your eyes on her.

“I was going to say if you want to stop, I’ll stop,” your tone gentle earning a small smile from the spy. Her hands tugged you back up to her face and her lips immediately connected to yours as she whimpered into the kiss.

“Thanks,” she whispered, “Now fuck me.”

You returned to your position of above her core and swiftly pull down her remaining cloths making her gasp as the cold air met her exposed cunt. You didn’t give her chance to beg you again before sucking and licking at her clit, her hands tangled in your hair as you ate her out. Your tongue explored and tasted her as her hips moved in search of more across your face making you put a steady hand on her waist to hold her still. “Be a good girl and stay still.” A low moan left her lips at the praise and you knew she liked that. “Oh you like that?” you teased as your finger ran along her folds, her fae turned to the side to hide her blush from you. “Be a good girl and look at me Natasha.” As soon as her eyes met yours you thrusted a finger into her and watched her face contort in pleasure. Your mouth went back to her clit and you gradually increased the pace of thrusting your finger in and out of her. Feeling her walls clench around your digit, you added another finger and felt her hips buck at the action. You hummed into her core earning a strangled moan from her and pulled back to watch her throw her head back. Deciding she was wet enough, you slipped in a third finger and felt her stretch around you whilst whimpering at the feeling of being so full.

“Please, faster,” she moaned while tightening the grip she had on your hair. You willingly listened to her and started pumping your fingers in and out of her at a brutal pace causing her legs to tremble around your head. “I’m so close please,” she begged and begged as you kept her on edge with teasing kitten licks to her pussy.

Sensing she couldn’t take it any longer you doubled up your efforts and she almost came instantly. Her whole body tensed before trembling with the after shocks of her intense orgasm. You let her ride her high before crawling back up her body to gently kiss her. Natasha panted against your lips as she tried to regain some composure but that quickly vanished when she heard your next words.

“Please ride my face.”

She groaned into your mouth at your request and she happily moved to straddle your face. You looked up at her with a look of pure desire as she settled herself above you. As soon as your tongue met her cunt, you both moaned and her hands gripped the headboard for support. You slipped your tongue into her making her hips stutter on your face before continuing to grind. Her juices were dripping down your chin at this point but you didn’t care as long as she was moaning on top of you and chasing her high. Her hands once again tangled themselves in your hair and you let her take complete control as she tugged your head to where she wanted you. The sight of her riding your face made you groan into her soaking cunt and the vibrations along with your tongue working wonders, quickly sent the spy over the edge once again. Slowly, you ran your hands up and down her thighs as she calmed down and placed small kisses along her inner thighs. Once she had finished, she moved off your face and laid down next to you, still trying to catch your breath.

“Holy fuck,” she chuckled out while moving her hair out of her face and turning to look at you. “We should have done this a lot sooner,” she joked and you laughed along with her while moving forwards to gently press your lips together.

“How about I make up for lost time then?” you mused while moving back down her body, a smirk on your face as you knew this night was far from over.

[boypied]

𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

HENRY CAVILL x M!READER

MDNI + FDNI, mature content ahead.

WARNINGS: work environment, unprotected anal sex, breeding kink, spanking, bondage kink, anal fingering.

SUMMARY: you're his new intern, and it didn't take long for him to take a liking to you. henry wanted you in ways that would get both of you fired, he knew that you would be hard to get... but henry always got what he wanted.

You gently knock on the large glass doors as you purposely make yourself known to him as you make your way inside. “Y-You wanted to see me?” You nervously stutter out as his dominant demeanour can be quite intimidating, especially since he is your boss and has quite the power over you.

Your eyes flicker up to meet with his, and the moment that happens, your heartbeat picks up, “Mr Cavill... Sir, did you n-need something?” You ask him in a gentle tone, trying to fill up the silence with some sound, but he remains quiet until he reaches his arm out and points to an empty seat opposite his desk that he is sitting behind.

You take the hint, and you immediately sit down, and he continues staring you down, completely intimidating you until a small yet dark smile grows on his face. “Call me Henry... Mr Cavill is too formal for me.” His quite manly features soften the moment he relaxes, and once those words leave his lips, his eyes locked with yours.

Henry stands up and steps away from his desk as he makes his way around it and over to you. He walks past you at an incredibly slow pace as he stands behind you and places either hand on your shoulders as he leans down closer to you and all that you can focus on is his hot breath against your neck. You gently bite at your lower lip as he begins talking.

“Is there anything you needed, sir... I mean Henry.” You repeat yourself again, but you slipped up and called him Sir instead of Henry, and you feel his grip tighten on your shoulders. “Did you listen to anything I say...tut tut tut.” he grunts out in your ear as he releases his grip from you and steps away coming up in front if you and gripping his belt.

Henry begins unbuckling his belt and just stares down at you with a smirk plastered across his face, “Listen... I'm not going to get you to do anything that you don't want to do, but by that look in your eye, it seems like you won't need much convincing.” he says in a dominant way as he pulls off his belt entirely and lets it drop to the floor.

Something just comes over you, like you've just lost control of your body as you immediately slide off the chair and onto your knees in front of him. Your hands slid up his leg and reached the hem of his trousers and slowly pulled them down, revealing his bulging cock, pushing against his underwear. Your eyes widen in shock as you take the sight in.

The thought of him being your boss and how wrong this is slowly disappears from your mind as you grip either side of his underwear and yanking it down letting his thick and long cock spring free. You gently wrap your hand around the tip, and you gently pull back his foreskin to reveal his pre-cum soaked tip, the weight of his cock in your hand was insane.

Your eyes flicker up to meet with his as he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing his hairy chest and his god-like body. “holy shit.” You mumble out to yourself as you maintain eye contact, but you lean forward and slowly rub the head of his cock against your lips, coating them in his pre-cum. Henry throws his head back from the sudden contact, and his hands reach behind him as he holds onto the desk.

You slowly open up your mouth, parting your lips as your tongue drops out, tasting his pre-cum. You run your tongue back and forward against his slit, getting a salty-like taste that sends shivers down your spine but your cock twitches in your underwear, pushing against your suit trousers.

Henry's hands wrap around the back of your head, and you gently feel his hands pushing on the back of your head, and you can tell that he wants you to deepthroat it so you do it. You push your head forward feeling his cock curve down your throat and your eyes flicker up to meet with his and you see his pecs pushing in and out as his eyes are closed.

Henry is enjoying every single moment of you deepthroating his cock, you continue doing this for a while until you feel his cock start twitching in your throat nearing his release so he pulls out and lifts you up. “I'm going to fuck you... so hard.” he mumbles through his gritted teeth as he practically tears your clothes off your body leaving you naked beneath his touch. Your eyes soften as you bite your lower lip.

Henry bends you over his desk and pulls your hands behind your back as he leans down and grabs his belt, typing up your hands. He spreads your cheeks open as he spits on your hole, lubing it up for himself. He wraps his hand around your mouth and pushes two fingers in, lubing them up as he brings them round and gently pushes them inside your hole.

“So fuckin' tight.” he grunts out through gritted teeth as he pushes past his knuckle and curles them inside of your hole, hitting your g-spot perfectly. He doesn't finger you for long, just doing it too make sure you're stretch enough that his fat cock stretching you won't hurt as much.

Henry pulls out and lines his spit soaked cock up with your tight hole and pushes himself inside whilst holding onto the belt that has restrained your wrists. “Such a....good. fucking. boy.” he grunts out as his thrusts speed up, becoming harder and rougher, and the sound of slapping echoes through his entire office, you push your face against the desk and bite down on your lower lip. “H-Henry!” You whimper.

Time passes on but Henry doesn't slow down, your cum soaked tip rubs against the desk into the puddle of cum that you shot out only moments prior and you finally hear those words that you've been dreaming of him saying, “I'm gonna fuckin' cum!” he yells out as his thrusts become rougher and sloppier as he shoots his thick ropes of cum inside of you.

You gasp out as you feel his cum flood your asshole, your eyes flutter back as you feel him continue pump his load deeper inside of you as he breeds your sloppy hole. He finally pulls out, and you quietly whimper at the feeling of emptiness. He doesn't say as words as he gets changed back into his clothes, and he covers you up in your clothes and carries you bridal style out of the office.

The office is pretty much empty, so no one really notices, as Henry takes you to his car and gently lays you down in the passenger seat as he gets in the drivers seat and he turns to smirk at you, “I hope your ready for round two.” he smirks as he starts the engine and starts driving away from the office.

taglist ' @starboye @dqrkhold @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @twinkedupman @gaefaeyae @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived @lucerowrites1 @ghostinboys

[cherrygirlfriend]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: spencer x reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: morgan thinks that spencer has been closing himself off more than usual, so him and garcia come up with a plan to get him to meet someone new.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff. first meetings. nerding out over edgar allan poe.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this layout took an embarrassing amount of time but i wanted to try something new 😭

SPENCER MASTERLIST ♥︎ 5K MASTERLIST

everyone at the BAU had noticed the way spencer had been acting. sure, he was never the most social person in the world, someone could tell that with one glance at him. but lately... he was more withdrawn, more distant. when the team tried to coax him to go out with them, spencer simply smiled and told them that he was tired 'but maybe next time'.

"baby, you think reid's been acting more doomy and gloomy lately?" derek asked, cocking his head to the side, his eyes on spencer, the curly-haired man deeply immersed in his paperwork. derek then turned to look at garcia, the woman sitting at the edge of his desk with her unicorn mug in hand, narrowing her eyes, "maybe it's seasonal depression. now that i think about it, i've also been feeling a little low-energy."

"you? low energy?" derek raised his brows in slight amusement before turning to look back at spencer, "i dunno, mama. i think he's lonely." "lonely? why would he be lonely, he has us." "yeah, but does he have anyone else? i mean, outside the BAU, i don't think he has anyone other than his mom."

"true..." garcia looked at spencer with a frown, "what should we do? i think we should do something." she thought for moment before letting out a gasp, "maybe we should suggest a blind date!"

"hmm..." derek chuckled lowly, "that's not a bad idea. but he'd never agree if either of us suggested that he goes on a blind date."

the two turn to each other with matching grins, "are you thinkin' what i'm thinkin', handsome?" "if you're thinking of setting him up, then yeah, i am. now we just have to figure out who we could set him up with."

garcia smiled, "i think i know just the person."

although penelope adored theater with her heart and soul, you practically had to beg for her to attend a play based on a few of edgar allan poe's short stories, your friend never too fond of the macabre. but now, as you were standing in the middle of the lobby of the theater, she was nowhere to be seen.

your phone pinged with a notification, and you pursed your lips, pulling it out to see a text from her. 'so so sorry! the cat i'm catsitting started throwing up and i have to take her to the vet :( please try to have fun on your own! tell me how it goes <3' you frowned, but after sending her a quick message telling her it was okay and that you hoped everything was alright with the cat, you started to make your way towards the auditorium.

although spencer was bummed that morgan had to cancel due to a pipe leaking in his apartment, especially since morgan had been the one to get the ticket for him, spencer couldn't help but buzz with excitement; he could remember all the times when he was young and he’d lay under the covers, holding up a flashlight to a copy of poe's compiled short stories.

"sorry." a woman mumbled to him apologetically as she walked past him, and spencer simply nodded to her with a tight-lipped smile, but instead of sitting a few seats away, the woman sat right next to him. on the seat that was supposed to belong to morgan.

as you were settling down on your seat, the curly-haired man on your left cleared his throat, "i'm sorry, i don't mean to be rude..." he said quietly, making you turn to him with a soft hum, "that seat's... supposed to be reserved. my friend was going to sit there."

"no, this is my seat." you said with a slightly stunned chuckle, showing him your ticket that indeed showed that you were in the right seat, your brows furrowing when you realized something. he was sitting on a seat you'd reserved for penelope, "actually, the seat you're in was supposed to be my friend's seat."

"what?" the curly-haired man said, taking his ticket out of his jacket pocket and showing it to you; he was also in the right seat.

"oh, i know what this is!" your furrow eased up and you rolled your eyes, "they must have double booked these seats. this has happened to me before, the computer sometimes messes up."

"that's why i don't trust technology." he mumbled quietly, but you caught his remark, your lips quirking up into a tiny smile, "really? me neither."

"well, in any case, my friend can't make it, so if there are seats available, i can just move over once your friend comes." the man smiled warmly, "oh, she can't make it either. vet trip."

"well, i promise i'm not the kind of person who talks during shows. i'm spencer." "thank god, i can't stand those kind of people. nice to meet you, spencer." you chuckled softly, telling him your own name, "so, spencer, which story are you the most excited to see?"

"i'd say... the tell-tale heart. it's been my favorite since i was young. always made me shiver. what about you?" "i thought i was the only weirdo who read poe as my bedtime story." you laughed softly, "but i'd say the oval portrait. i always thought there was something romantic, yet... inredibly depressing about it."

"this is indeed life itself." spencer quoted softly, your smile widening as you looked into his hazel eyes, the man looking right back into yours as if you were having a conversation without words.

"oh my god!" you laughed softly as you and spencer walked out of the auditorium together, "your face was so pale when the knocking started!" "to be fair, it's very different to experience it right in front of you than just read it as words on a page!" spencer laughed softly, "and don't think i didn't see the way your eyes glistened when he was painting her."

"it was sad! imagine having a husband like that!" you sniffled, still continuing to laugh, "i'll admit, it was sad." spencer smiled softly, "uh, are you... are you in a rush?" he asked, and you pretended to check the time on your watch, already knowing your answer.

"no, i should have some time. why?" "you don't have to, but i was just wondering... if you wanted to get a cup of tea, or something?" you pursed your lips in thought, "i think i could go for some tea. i know a lovely cafe nearby." you smiled softly.

"great. great." spencer's lips turned up into a goofy smile, "uh, if you give me your coat check ticket, i can go get our coats."

you took the ticket out of the pocket of your cardigan, handing it to spencer, the man nodding before turning around and walking towards the coat check. once you were sure he wasn't looking, you took out your phone, biting down on your lower lip to contain the smile threatening to take over as you went to your message thread with penelope.

'i think i just met a great guy. we're going to a cafe.'

"oh!" penelope exclaimed when her phone pinged, quick to open it to your text thread, a pleased grin taking over her face as she turned the phone to show it to derek. "told you. dream team, babygirl." derek winked and lifted his glass of whiskey, penelope clinking her own glass of wine with derek's glass.

taglist: @purpleplumpudding @cinnamoncunt @nonietosay @bawstruly @scatorcciobabe @cynbx @ariieeesworld @dramioneforevertilltheend @esotericcangel @jjmaybankmylovee @lillied31 @finnickodairslut @lexasaurs634 @lacelottie @piatosniathenie @harryscherrysugar

join my taglist! 🤎

[mona-risms]

hear me out.. polytrix x reader where fem!reader doesn't know about the whole demon hunter thing and is still under the hypnosis from the saja boys and the girls try their hardest to snap her out of it. 🫦

◆ MAIN COURSE: poly!HUNTR/X x fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: This might've SLIGHTLY teeny tinily missed the point but I hope you still like it!! I can't make a full-blown fic without getting paid bc I'm broke as hell and I'm lazy so the most you're getting is the usual hcs and snippets I fear 💔. But anyway I LOVELOVELOVE POLYTRIX 😩😩😩😩😩 I think they should all kiss together and kiss me too

This is the funniest shit ever and no one can tell me otherwise bc you've got three ninja popstars and one perfectly normal human being who just really really loves K-Pop. And you all LOVE each other????? #holyfcknairball no one would believe you until you show full proof that yes you do in fact kiss those celebrities on the mouth! Every day actually! Unless they're on tour but still! Yes you are a girls only poly couple! You couldn't be happier!

Unfortunately bc of the fact that you're normal, you won't even know that the hot new boy band, Saja Boys, are all drawing people in via brainwashing to sacrifice your souls to a Demon King named Gwi-Ma that looks like an oversized wildfire. Said people includes you I fear 💔💔. Imagine you were out coincidentally and you got to witness their debut performance and you were so drawn to them!! Why wouldn't you be??

They hear your voice before they see you—right there, right near the front row, right in front of them.

"What's she doing here?" Mira hissed, though despite her tone, the concern was glaringly obvious.

"I think she wanted to buy something? She said about baking," Zoey answered, her own concern matching up with Mira as she bounced on the balls of her feet in an attempt to both alleviate her sudden restlessness and to see you from the crowd. "But-- But what if they try to grab her? [Y/N]'s at a very grabbable distance! And the worst thing is I won't even blame them—she's really grabbable in general!"

Zoey doesn't even finish before Rumi's weaving through the crowd in an attempt to reach you, "Either way, no one is getting grabbed, least of all our girlfriend."

When Rumi does reach you, she taps your shoulder to gain your attention. Without fail, you turn around and smile widely in recognition, "Ru-- Ahem, babe! Did you see how good this new band was? They're called the Saja Boys!"

"Yeah. I heard."

Usually, you would've noticed her sudden deadpan, but you were buzzing too much under your skin from the sudden excitement of this new debut so you barrelled on, "Maybe you and them'll even collab one day! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"Yeah, awesome, now c'mon, we need to get out of the crowd," she effortlessly twines her fingers in yours, which you reciprocate happily as you follow her while still going on about the Saja Boys. But when she dares to look back at the boy band, she noticed the black-haired demon in disguise's eyes on you.. and then on her, as if he knew very well what was going on.

When you finally get out of the crowd, you rejoin your other two loves of your life with a cheek kiss for Mira and then a squealing hug with Zoey.

Mira doesn't hesitate to ask as you and the shortest HUNTR/X member basically wrapped yourselves on each other, "Are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Yeah, like, did they ever, I dunno.. suck your soul out or something?" Zoey asked, and then quietly winced as Mira and Rumi both signalled not to say anything with exaggerated expressions and hand gestures behind you.

You giggled at the line of questioning, "What? No? My soul definitely felt like it ascended while watching them, though! You guys are funny."

While you and Zoey were busy clinging onto each other, Rumi pulled Mira in to whisper to her, "They know."

"Know what?"

"That we're linked together in some way? That she's a normal human? I don't know, but they know and I don't want to risk her to find out. Do you?"

And their gazes drift to you as you spoke animatedly with Zoey, equally rambling to you and matching your energy in turn—probably both invested in the situation and also well-aware of the much-needed secret debriefing.

And Mira shook her head with furrowed brows, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

Whenever the girls are all "DON'T FALL FOR THEM" you're so confused bc like. Why?? What's up with them recently???? Ever since the Saja Boys popped up, they've been so weirdly pressed about them every time you brought them up. Like, sure, rivalry's one thing, but you've seen them with rivalries before!!!!! It's not like the Saja Boys have like killed people or smth lmfao it's okay the world's not gonna end if you stan them too (cue the scene with them and Bobby looking at the same city and seeing Two Completely Different Views)

Every time you're ever with them one way or another and the Saja Boys are around/involved they are LOCKING THE FUCK IN. Constantly trying to redirect your attention and theirs like "Do Not Look At Her" and if you ever get too close they'll be all "back the FUCK up actually". And whenever thry try to pull all that hypnotising shit on you they are DRAGGING YOU AWAY and kissing you until you run out of air and forget what you were even thinking about like a min ago 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

They're so much more attentive towards you, and during the two weeks of the Saja Boys being there, you are NOT allowed to be without at LEAST one of them. Why?? Ohhhh yk cuz they just really really miss you, that's all!!!!! They did just come out of a world tour so like they wanna be with you for as much as possible ahahahaha definitely bc the boy band you're fawning over rn are actually demons that want to consume your soul!!! Especially yours!!!!!! Bc they know you're special to them all ahahahahaahahahahahahaahahhaa

Oh but it'd be devastating if Mira and Zoey saw you with the crowd after Rumi's breakdown. Not only Bobby was brainwashed, but so are you, mindlessly following the masses. And as much as they want you to fight it, to remember, they can't even blame you or find the strength; they failed, Rumi hid she was part-demon the entire time, it's over

You'd be one of the people closest to Gwi-Ma's flames on purpose I think—a twisted way for Jinu to make your sacrifice quick and painless. But when Rumi and then Zoey and Mira both clock it? Absolutely the fuck not dude Gwi-Ma just made them even fucking MADDER

At the end of it they know they'll definitely have to explain everything to you, considering. From the Saja boys to Rumi explaining herself properly ALLLLL the way to how they're Hunters and what they do. But at the very least you're not dead thank GOD

"You guys know I don't actually know how to feel right now, right? Finding out that my girlfriends have been constantly getting into near-death experiences as, like, idol ninjas with magic weapons isn't really for the faint of heart—let alone finding out demons and supernatural whatevers are real."

The four of you migrated to Rumi's bed after that whole ordeal at the Tower, tired and exhausted and in need of a good cuddle pile. Right now, you and Rumi were cuddled up against each other, her patterns casting a soft glow on your skin, while Mira was spooning you with her tall frame and Zoey clung onto Rumi like a koala.

The trio had the decency to wince a little, and Mira spoke first in defence, "To be fair, we did get trained for, like, years not to give anything away, including our Hunter profession."

"And I'm your girlfriend," you sighed as your hand traced the jagged glowing lines across Rumi's skin, "I thought we weren't going to hide anything. No wonder sometimes you lot disappear without any explanation—this whole time, you've been.. slaying demons?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You hummed.. before putting your attention on Rumi, "And you. You really think we were going to love you any less because of what you're mixed with?"

"Um. Kinda?" Rumi looked to the side, averting your gazes, "It's-- I was raised to think that I should be ashamed of it, that I need to hide. It's--"

"Why you always have a separate green room?"

"Why you don't go into the batthouse with us?"

Rumi nodded, though not without a flush on her cheeks, "..yeah."

Your gaze softened as you lightly bit your lip before cupping her face for a short but tender kiss, "You think that's gonna really scare me—us—away? Mira and Zoey came back to you after the shock, and I sure as hell don't care if you were part-turtle or whatever--"

"Being part-turtle would be cool! ..Or super slow, depends--"

"My point being," you interrupted Zoey with an affectionate chuckle, "we love you because you're our Rumi. Not an idol, not a demon, just our Rumi—the one that overthinks, overworks and gets so into her head that we'd have to shut it for her. ..No more hiding, yeah?"

Rumi doesn't respond, not for a long while, and thre three of you are content in just laying there in silence, with her patterns casting a brighter yet softer glow on all of you. But eventually she buries her head in your chest, muffling her eventual answer, "..Mhm. Thank you."

Zoey's hold on Rumi tightened as she practically nuzzled into the latter's back, all while Mira reached over to hold Rumi's hand, now back to its human shape compared to the claws she had briefly before. No one else says anything, and that's perfectly fine for the four of you.

"..So I guess I'm retiring from stanning anyone but you guys."

"Obviously!" "Duh." "You are."

[jamiewrites-stuff]

Hypnotic

[002] [003]

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE😭 WHERE DID Y'ALL COME FROM- Thank you for enjoying my fic so far, I'm overwhelmed-

Anyways, here's another one. I'll try to make the chapters longer but no promises 😗✌

Please make sure to comment on what you think so far, I love reading the comments, it motivates me to write more💕���

Btw, I gave them names to this- well, I didn't come up with the names. Credit goes to: @filijester (I think? Please correct me if I'm wrong) , I just picked these because it seems like the names a lot of people agree on, plus I think it fits them.

Abby Saja: Beomseok

Romance Saja: Jae-Hyun

Mystery Saja: Garam

Baby Saja: Daeun

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

They descended from the ground, their feet gently planting on the stone pavement.

Luckily no one was around to witness such a sight.

They didn't want to be bothered by the trouble of humans seeing them appear from the depths of Hell.

"This is.. much different from what I was expecting"

Beomseok muttered, letting out a small whistle as he looked around. It's been a while since he visited the human realm, its the same for all of them.

"What now boss?"

Jae-hyun asks in a teasing manner, leaning an arm against Jinu's shoulder.

The Leader of this little group stayed silent, eyes carefully observing the area around them.

The Tall buildings, the blinding lights, the loud noises. He was in unfamiliar territory.

He didn't want to admit it.

But he didn't expect to get this far.

He had a plan in order to defeat the hunters, but he didn't think far enough ahead on what they'll do in between.

"You'll need a place to sleep"

A familiar voice said, as the ground in front of them opened up a portal, a silhouette of a familiar woman made her appearance before them.

But she looked more solid.

More human.

She wore a Black suit along with a matching pencil skirt and heels, though some of the top buttons of her suit were open, revealing more of her cleavage.

Her eyes lingered at the group.

She did all that she could to improve their appearances, but she could tell that her work wasn't finished yet.

"What are you doing here?"

Jinu questioned, not expecting her to join them on the surface, especially in that outfit.

"I figured you needed a manager"

She smirked, making some eye glasses appear at just the flick of her wrists, calmly putting them on.

She had to look the part if they were gonna pull this off.

"And based on what I'm looking at, I'm right"

She stated, giving them one final glance before turning around, she snapped her fingers, gaining their attention as she walked on ahead.

"Come."

With one simple command, the group looked at each other hesitantly before following after her.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

They arrived at a Hotel, it seemed like it was the expensive kind based on the decoration.

They just walked right in, None of the guards didn't bother to question their identity and just allowed them entry.

Their appearances immediately caught the attention of nearly all of the people in the area, yet they paid them no mind.

Beomseok glanced over at a group of women gazing at him from the waiting area, he couldn't help but send them a little wink, causing one of them to dramatically faint into another's arms.

He smirked, getting the confidence to walk towards the counter.

"A room for 6, please"

He said, placing a hand on the marbled surface as he looked down at the person behind the reception counter.

She only gave him a look of unamusement, despite her coworkers practically drooling at the mouth at just the sight of him.

"Do you have a reservation sir?"

She questioned, moving her gaze down at her computer screen, typing away at the keyboard.

Beomseok's smirk faltered at her attitude towards him.

That wasn't right.

He couldn't understand.

Why wasn't she reacting like the rest.

He glanced at the others beside her, seeing that familiar desire in their eyes, before his gaze went back at the Woman, who looked at him with complete disinterest.

It took a toll on his growing ego.

But before he could say anything, he was pushed aside by their self proclaimed Manager.

He let out a small shriek at her rough push, making him stumble back until his group mates caught him just in time.

"Excuse him, he's new"

She chuckled, leaning her body against the marbled counter. Her voice definitely caught her attention as the Woman looked away from the screen to look at her.

The woman took in Y/n's appearance, how the suit hugged her figure perfectly, that seductive gaze, her hair perfectly in place, not a single flaw in sight. The receptionist's body tensed up a bit as a swell of sudden nervousness overwhelmed her.

"I apologize if we're drawing in unwanted attention.."

Y/n muttered, placing her chin against her palm, referring to the crowd that was beginning to form behind them.

"It was.. Never our intention to cause trouble.."

Her said, a soft smile appearing on her lips.

The woman's ears turned a light shade of pink, as she tried her best to keep her focus on her eyes and nowhere else that was deemed... inappropriate in the workplace.

She cleared her throat, fumbling a bit on the keyboard.

She couldn't afford to get distracted.

"That's.. Quite alright, but we still need a reservation Ma'am."

Y/n smirked, her hand reaching over to the computer, grazing her fingers lazily along the screens edge.

"Oh, I'm sure we do..."

She said, keeping the woman's attention purely on her, the computer screen glitching for split second before reverting back to normal.

Y/n smiled innocently, leaning back a bit as she tapped the monitor.

"Y/n L/n, care to type it in for me Doll?"

She instructed, sticking out her bottom lip just a bit in a slight pout, drawing the other woman's gaze for just a split second.

Before she grew stiff and awkwardly typed in the name.

As if by a miracle, her name appeared on the screen, assigning her and the group to the penthouse, located at the very top floors.

She cleared her throat, turning back to Y/n who was wearing a patient smile.

"Yes, I see that you have a room reserved"

She nodded, grabbing the room card and handed it to her. Ignoring how the moment their fingers brushed against each other, it sent shivers down her spine.

Y/n grinned, happily taking the room card key, while her little demons leaned closer to her to get a good look at the key.

"Thank you so much"

She smiled, subtly bumping her elbow against Jinu's stomach.

He stammers, glancing at their manager then at the receptionist, quickly catching on.

"Yes, thank you"

Jinu said, politely bowing at them with the rest of the group mimicking his actions.

Y/n glanced at him with a hum, it was good that he caught on fast, but not fast enough.

That needed work.

With that thought in mind she walked on ahead, the boys swiftly following close, stepping inside one of the Elevators.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Once they were inside, Y/n lift herself off the ground and went to the couch, a large cloud of history formed around her body for a split second.

Changing her clothes into something more comfortable.

Jinu watches Y/n drift down on the plush mattress, now wearing a Bathrobe that loosely hung on her body.

He took off his shoes, placing them in the shoe compartment near the door before stepping further inside, the rest followed his actions, just purely by instinct.

"Why are you helping us?"

He couldn't help but ask, that question has been ringing in his ears for a while.

Why did she agree to help him?

He would've left the topic alone, if it weren't for the fact that she's here with them on the surface, instead of falling back into a deep sleep.

Actually going out of her way to become their manager.

Y/n flicked her wrist, letting a glass of red wine appear in her hand, she didn't answer his question right away.

She let's his thought linger, she lifted the glass to her lips and carefully drank from the glass, her body melting against the couch in utter relaxation.

"Ease up Jinu"

Jae-hyun said, patting their leaders shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, the others were already making them selves at home.

Daeun and Beomseok were raiding the kitchen for something to eat.

Garam quietly made his way to the couch, casually sitting down beside Her, staying perfectly silent as usual.

"You'll get wrinkles from thinking too hard"

Jae teased, placing a finger on the others forehead, pretending to smooth out the imaginary wrinkles.

Jinu scoffs, lightly slapping his hand away with a small glare, Jae chuckles before walking away to go join the other two in the kitchen.

Y/n sighed, still feeling the man's gaze linger at her for some sort of answer.

"I told you didn't I?"

She says with a playful smirk

"I needed some good entertainment"

She chuckled to herself, her eyes hiding a mystery to them that Jinu couldn't seem to solve, at least not yet.

Her eyes flickered to the side, flickering with amusement as she pointed the glass at the spot beside him, where a familiar Tiger with quite a derpy expression made his appearance.

On top of his head sat another familiar face of a bird wearing a cute Gat.

"I was also interested in that little cub of yours"

She says, cooing when the Tiger slowly made his way towards her.

"Sweetest baby"

She whispers, letting the large Tiger practically lay himself on top of her, he let's out soft purrs nuzzling his head against her chin.

The bird cawed at his companion, flying over to sit on the backrest of the couch.

His eyes glaring at the Tiger, silently judging him for being so oblivious to the obvious danger, who was currently smothering him with scratches.

Jinu raised an eyebrow at the sight, not knowing how to feel about his large cat getting swept away so easily. So much for loyalty.

Garam slowly turned his head to the side, watching how Y/n smothered the Tiger with pets and small forehead kisses, unintentionally covering his blue furr with red lip marks.

His lips twitched a bit.

She didn't even notice how he slowly scooted closer to her on the couch.

"You're just the sweetest little thing, yes you are~"

She praised, finding a spot underneath his chin that made his purrs grow louder. Oblivious to the fact that the Saja next to her was quietly trying to get her attention as well.

Jinu shakes his head, letting out a deep sigh before turning around

Quite possibly to find a room where he could plan more clearly without any distractions.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Taglist💋: @gremlinartstudio @nisarelle @enerofairy @ajunoiseee @whodis-26

[muxshwriting]

bruises and a backache

max verstappen x teammate!reader

summary: hiding an injury from your teammate and then proving yourself beyond his overprotective-ness || warnings: bruises, past injury || word count: 1790 || masterlist

Max was pounding at the bathroom door, his blood rushing hot and fast through his body like he’d just stepped out of the cockpit mid-race. His palm slammed flat against the wood again. “Y/N,” he said, voice tight, bordering on frantic. “Open the door.”

The sound of the shower was still running, steam curling out from the cracks in the doorframe, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise he’d heard, the unmistakable sound of you stifling a scream. “I’m fine!” you called out, your voice thin and shaking as you tried to steady it. “It's just… a spider.” You try to make it sound casual but it comes out confused and as an almost question.

“A spider?” he repeated, disbelieving. “You’re not scared of spiders.”

You paused, eyes trained on your reflection in the fogged-up mirror. “It just surprised me,” you added quickly, the lie tasting stale on your tongue.

But Max wasn’t letting it go. You could hear him draw in a slow breath through his nose, trying to rein in the panic in his chest. “Please just… unlock the door,” he said, softer now. “Let me see you. Are you hurt?” Your words did nothing to calm Max's racing heart, only serving to make him more concerned. His body slumps forward, trying to be closer to you as his forehead rests on the door. "Can you unlock the door? Let me check you're alright?"

You stared at the lock, heart thudding. You didn’t want to lie to him. Not really. But you also didn’t want the storm you knew was waiting on the other side of that door. “You can't come in,” you tried again, voice light, teasing, desperate. “I'm changing.”

“It's nothing I haven't seen before. I’ve seen you change,” he shot back. “You've got to lie better. What's happening?”

There was a moment of silence before you gave in with a small sigh, walking over and unlocking the door with a soft click. Max watches the shadow retract and as soon as the lock is turned, he was already pushing it open.

You stood there, in your underwear, staring into the mirror, eyes flicking to his reflection as he entered. His gaze dropped to your skin instantly, like it always did, but instead of wandering hands and a smile, all that crossed his face was alarm. Your back still had the scars of childhood races etched onto it but it was now a mess of blooming bruises, angry purples and fading yellows. But Max could instantly tell which ones were new.

You hadn’t even made it into your shower and you were frozen in place like a deer caught in the beam of his attention. Max didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

Then, quietly; “Where did you get those, schat?”

You closed your eyes for a second and reached for your shirt, fumbling with it as you gave up on pretending you were fine. The ache in your muscles was too much tonight, and your stupid scream had ruined the last of your cover. “They’re from the crash last week,” you said softly. “It’s nothing serious. We checked everything- the medical team checked, everything’s okay. I just knocked them weirdly when I was changing.”

Max’s brows furrowed hard. “We checked?” he echoed. “Who’s we? Does Christian know?”

You hesitated. That was enough of an answer.

“Are you kidding me?” he barked. “Everyone knew except me?”

“I didn’t want to hide it from you-”

“Then why did you?”

“Because you would do exactly this,” you said, voice sharp but tired. “You’d panic. You’d hover. You’d worry and forget how to focus. And I couldn’t do that to you.”

Max exhaled harshly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You should’ve told me.”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t want you to stop seeing me as your teammate first. I didn’t want to become a problem to manage.”

His expression twisted at that, something between frustration and heartbreak. He stepped forward, his hand brushing your arm carefully.

“You’re never a problem,” he said. “But you are my-" His mind jumped for something that didn't compeltely give the game away to his feelings. There were the countless nights of binging tv shows with you, culred up on on sofas and slipping away into each other's motorhomes. "You're my person. Do you get that? If you’re hurt, I need to know.”

Your shoulders dropped, the weight of the truth finally settling between you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Max pulled you close, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other ghosting over your bruised skin like he wished he could draw the pain out of it. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmured. “Just don’t make me find out like this again. I want to worry with you. Not because you shut me out.”

You nodded against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily under your ear.

“Okay,” you said. “I promise.”

The paddock buzzed with its usual pre-race energy, mechanics moving like clockwork, journalists circling like flies, engines humming in the distance. You walked toward the Red Bull garage in your race suit, helmet in hand, eyes focused ahead.

Max, of course, was already there. He spotted you immediately and beelined across the garage like a heat-seeking missile. “Morning,” he said casually, walking beside you. “Sleep okay?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Max. Still fine.”

He nodded once, like he didn’t quite believe you. “Did you take the painkillers Christian gave you?”

You gave him a look. “Max.”

“Just checking.”

He hovered as you moved to your station, watching as you adjusted the strap on your suit and flexed your shoulders, testing the pain quietly, discreetly. It twinged, sure, but nothing that would stop you from racing.

Max narrowed his eyes. “Was that a wince?”

“No,” you lied with the confidence of someone who’d already practiced it twice in the mirror. “Just adjusting.”

He didn’t look convinced. “We can still switch you out for Liam, you know. It’s not too late.”

You scoffed and turned to him fully, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Don’t start with that again. I passed medical. I’m cleared. I'm racing.”

Max lifted his hands in surrender but stepped a little closer. “I know. I know. It’s just… I watched the replay again last night.”

You paused. “Why would you do that to yourself? It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a racing incident.”

He looked at you like you’d said the dumbest thing imaginable. “Racing incident or not, I nearly lost you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than the sound of pit tools and shouting engineers. You softened, resting your hand on his forearm. “You didn’t. I’m right here.”

He looked down at your hand, then at you again. “Yeah, but I also wasn’t there. I didn’t know. You were hurting and I didn’t see it.”

“And now you do,” you said. “So let me drive, Max. Please. Don’t let this be the thing that makes you forget who I am.”

He stared at you for a moment, searching your face like he could read every inch of emotion you weren’t saying aloud. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you so much as blink weirdly on the radio, I’m calling it in.”

You rolled your eyes, lips quirking. “Deal.” You're both hiding small laughs as you part.

As you turned to leave, Max called after you, “And don’t worry about carrying your helmet and your pre-race things again. I told the interns to do it.”

You turned over your shoulder, walking backwards with a smirk. “Max, are you trying to seduce me with team orders?”

He smirked right back, eyes gleaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

When you cross the line in first place, the throbbing of your back seems to fade away with the joy of the occassion. Max rounds off the podium but when your parked up in parc ferme, his first thought is to crouch by your car, take your helmet in his own hands and his eyes scanning you like he was reading telemetry. He didn't say anything at first, waiting, not with champagne or celebration in mind.

Just walked up, hands hovering until he gently pulled you into his chest. Not a crushing hug, he knew better, but a steady one. Solid. Careful. Like he was trying to hold you together without hurting you.

“You’re walking a little stiff,” he murmured near your ear, voice just for you.

You let out a soft breath, arms around his waist. “It’s fine. I’m just sore.”

Max pulled back to look at you, eyes narrowed, like he could spot every lie beneath your skin. “Sore how?” he asked, tone more measured now. “Like regular ‘I just drove 300 kilometers’ sore, or ‘I haven’t told my teammate my back’s killing me’ sore?”

You sighed, cheeks flushing. “Don’t do that thing where you read my mind.” He didn’t smile. Not this time. He reached out and gently, so gently, brushed his fingers against your side. When you flinched just slightly, his jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t have pushed it that hard,” he said softly, not angry, just concerned.

“I needed to prove-”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he interrupted. “I don’t care if you finished first or dead last, I just need to know you’re not hurting worse because of it.”

You looked down at your hands, pulling your gloves off gently. “I never need to prove it to you. But it wasn’t that bad, I paced myself, I didn’t take risks. I just… I needed to feel normal.”

Max exhaled slowly, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “You are normal. Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean weak.” His voice dropped even lower, quieter now with the noise of the crowd fading in the background. “If you’d told me it was too much, I would’ve been proud of you for stepping out. I need you to remember that, okay?”

You nodded slowly, eyes flicking up to his. “I was careful, Max. I promise. I know I’m not back to 100% yet.”

He searched your face for a long second, then finally gave a small nod of his own. “Alright,” he said. “But you’re icing your back the minute we get to the motorhome. And I’m carrying your suitcase. And I’m not negotiating on either.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, Captain Verstappen.”

He smiled this time, just a little. “You can win the race, but I’m still calling the recovery strategy.”

You lean in and almost want to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for watching out for me.”

“Always.” He tilted his head to your waiting team. “Go get 'em.”

[bcksbarnes]

one and only

pairing: husband!bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky decide to take the next step, afterwards you both reflect on your choices, and your love.

word count: 3.3K

cw: thunderbolts* spoilers

a/n: i was recently in a wedding and forgot how much i love true love, this is inspired by that. this is just straight tooth rotting fluff! enjoy!!! ✨

Marriage was always in the cards for Bucky — well, it was when he thought that life had a time limit and wasn't something that could be delayed. He had imagined returning from the war to find a partner, a house with a white picket fence, maybe 2-3 kids, and, hopefully, a good paying job.

None of that came true.

None of that would ever be the case for him.

So he gave up his dreams and realized that life had dealt him a brand new hand. He had spent many years running, hiding, now it seemed like all he could do was try to make his way back to at least some of his old life. Marriage didn't seem to align this time around, and he was okay with that.

Or at least, he pretended to be.

Imagine his surprise when you made your way into his life. Bucky didn't know if the universe was playing some fucked up trick on him, or if he had been reading this new hand of cards wrong this entire time. He knew you were special. Life changing, even.

There was never a doubt about it, that you were someone worth fighting for — someone that he was meant to love. It felt foreign at first, he had gone so long without the kind touch of another human being, but the two of you eased into it as if it was the most natural thing in this world.

Because it was.

You never explicitly spoke about marriage, not even when things shifted from fun to serious.

There was always a reason not to:

Bucky dealing with the loss of Steve

Him and Sam weren't seeing eye to eye for a while

He decides to have a midlife crisis and become a Congressman (which you happily supported, even if you weren't entirely sure where it came from).

Now, he was finding his footing with a new group, the Thunderbolts — er, New Avengers (there were some legal issues with the name that Bucky didn't want to get into, he was usually too tired, too stressed, it wasn't important enough).

Which is why it surprised you that one night, after dinner, Bucky's leg seemed to be shaking more than usual — a clear sign that he had a lot on his mind. He was pretty good at not wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but tonight seemed different

"Everything okay?" you ask, your hand resting on his knee under the table.

Bucky turns his head in your direction with a look that said he saw you, but that his brain was in an entirely different place. There were dark spots on the shoulders of his gray t-shirt, he had taken a shower as soon as he got home and the droplets of water were falling from his still damp hair.

For a man so large and brooding, Bucky looks so small. He's hunched inwards, his elbows resting on the table as he holds his head in his hands. He barely touched his food, instead just moving it around with a fork. Holding secrets to himself.

"Things have been crazy," he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Walker's been driving me up a wall every single day asking the dumbest questions. Alexei asked me if we could experiment with doing a double dosage of the serum. Yelena's been talking me off the edge so I don't bust everyone's heads in."

Your lips curl into a soft smile as you squeeze his leg, offering him your silent support. The team was still semi-new and most days Bucky didn't have the patience to deal with them — even if silently he enjoyed their presence.

"You're all still working out the kinks."

"It's been a year, you'd think we'd have it figured out by now. Sam does, Steve always did."

"Sam didn't for a while," you remind him. "And Steve never did, he was just confident. You will work it out, you always do."

Bucky's head lolls to the side to look at you. Even in the smallest moments you never gave up on him, you always told him it would find a way — you were usually right, he just hated waiting for it.

"I love you, you know that?" he asks quietly, his hand moving to grab yours and bring it up to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the palm of your hand before he intertwines your fingers together.

"I do," you nod. "I love you, too."

Bucky uses his free hand to push away his plate of untouched food, then he grabs the bottom of your chair and drags you over until you're next to him. Leaning over his hands wrap around the underside of your legs and lifts them up, letting them drape over his lap. He watches you intently, always memorizing your features — always scared one day he won't recognize them anymore.

"That's not the only thing that's on my mind tonight," he admits, his voice soft.

"Care to share?"

"Maybe."

You chuckle as you lean your head against the back of the chair, the amount of love in your eyes could make the Earth shatter.

Whatever is going on in that big, beautiful brain of his is taking a toll on him, his fingers playing with the tips of yours as he purses his lips. It's obvious he's trying to figure out what exactly to say, or how to say it.

"We should get married," Bucky finally comes clean, exposing his thoughts right then and there.

You wish you could say you were surprised by his admission, but the truth is you and Bucky had known from the very start that this was where your lives were headed together. It didn't need to be said audibly, no one needed to make sure. This was it.

"When?" you ask.

"Now."

"Right now?" you chuckle again, shaking your head with a playful eye roll. "The courthouse is closed, we'd need a witness."

"Too many logistics," he huffs. "Tomorrow, then."

"I'd have to check my calendar."

It was Bucky's turn to laugh, his head tilts back as he lets out a hearty bark, one that he only reserved for you. His hand runs up and down your leg, you can feel the calluses on his hands from where he held his gun or gripped his knife too tightly, but you didn't care. You loved the feeling of him.

"Mean."

"Tomorrow might work," you say, your eyes examining his features. "I don't have anything to wear."

"I don't care. You could wear that ratty old t-shirt you've been hanging onto for too long. I just want to marry you."

So that's exactly what you and Bucky did.

The next day the two of you called Sam and asked (pleaded) with him to meet you at the courthouse that afternoon and be the witness. He put up a little bit of a fight about the whole Avengers thing but you managed to remind him that this wasn't about petty arguments.

Bucky managed to scrounge up a suit from his time as a Congressman and you found an outfit that would work — it was slightly off white, maybe a little less traditional, but it did the job.

"Wow. And you we were worried about having nothing to wear" Bucky says as the two of you meet at the top of the steps in your home. "Give me a spin." You take his extended hand and he spins you around, whistling in admiration as he does. "Beautiful, as always."

"Not too bad yourself," you say as you face him again, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Are you ready to marry me, Barnes?"

"I've been ready since the day I met you," he whispers your name before he kisses you again, his lips lingering a few seconds longer this time.

Deep down he doesn't want to leave, he wants to take those clothes right off of you and worship the ground you walk on. He wants to hear you moan out your vows and promise to be with him forever. He'll settle for the courthouse instead.

The wait is longer than you had anticipated, apparently trying to get a marriage license was more of a hassle than either of you had expected (which wasn't very high since you both did a quick search on the computer the night before than hoped for the best).

Sam showed up as promised, albeit a little late, and now the three of you waited in the lobby of the courthouse, your leg bouncing in anxious anticipation.

"You're going to start an earthquake," Sam teased, earning a playful nudge from you.

"It's not everyday that you get married, Wilson."

"Can't believe R2-D2 over here found a soulmate," his chin nods over in Bucky's direction.

Bucky flips Sam off in a way that's both brotherly and full of hate, a perfect balance that only the two of them could master. You turn your head to the side to hide the amused smirk on your face, Sam was always getting you in trouble with his jokes.

"Don't egg him on," Bucky mutters.

"I'm sorry, R2-D2 is funny."

He grumbles something under his breath about being lucky he was going to marry you, but it doesn't matter because at the same time you hear your names being called out by one of the staff members.

It was time.

You wish you could say that you remembered every detail of what happened. That it was this beautiful, over-the-top ceremony filled with tears and wishes of love. In truth, it was quick and your mind sort of blanked out during it. There were no rings, no exchanging of pre-written vows, Sam watched a few feet back, with a quiet smile. It was intimate, quiet, exactly what you wanted.

A few signed documents, one cranky judge and a kiss later and the two of you were officially married. Not in the traditional sense that everyone grows up to dream about, but in a way that still promised each other the world and more.

"We're married," Bucky says.

It was hours later, the sun had now set, the world was dark and still. The two of you were now sitting on the floor of the kitchen, your legs draped over his. There was a skylight on the ceiling that let the moon and stars shine through illuminating the floor.

Bucky had gotten rid of his tie and suit jacket at some point in the night, the first button of his shirt was undone and his hair was a mess — but he was your husband, and he was beautiful. Your own hair was a mess and your strap had fallen down your arm, though you didn't care to fix it, there was a mysterious stain right under your chest and for all intents and purposes it was exactly how you pictured your wedding night.

A few feet away were a few empty bottles of champagne and a cake that you picked up from the grocery store on the way home. The white box was opened revealing what was left of a chocolate cake (which was now some crumbs) and two forks because of course you and Bucky fed each other and laughed about how weirdly dry it was.

"You keep saying that," you tease, biting down on your bottom lip.

"Can you believe it though? We're married." He grabs the open bottle of champagne by the neck and tips it to his lips, taking a long sip. It's not like he would ever feel the effects of the alcohol, but getting time to sit here with you and bask in your love made it feel like a celebration. What was a celebration without a little booze? "I never thought I'd be married, not after everything that happened."

You nod your head and give him a sad smile, grabbing the bottle that he was now holding out for you and taking a much smaller sip, the bubbles popping in your mouth.

"I wrote vows," you say, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

"When did you have time to write vows?" he asks, his eyebrow raising.

"Not last night, a while ago," you admit. "Do you want to hear them?"

There's a knot in Bucky's stomach at the idea that you had laid everything out on a piece of paper. He thought of his name in your neat handwriting, and how you must have taken time to reflect on this relationship — this love. He doesn't tell you he's done the same, that sitting in the breast of his suit pocket is his own set of vows. Ones that he wrote years ago.

But right now he wants nothing more in that moment than to hear what you have to say, so he nods his head. You stand immediately, using his shoulder as leverage, and patter over to the steps, soon finding your way to the bedroom. You kept the vows in the nightstand next to your side of the bed, a folded up piece of paper that you scribbled on the nights he was away.

They served as a constant reminder of his undying love for you.

The paper is tight in your hand as you make your way back to the kitchen, taking a seat on the floor in the same position that you got up from, your back now resting against the cabinets. Your eyes find Bucky's and when he gives you a soft smile you unfold the paper and begin to read:

"I'm not going to pretend that these are perfect, or even close to describing the love that I feel for you, but I would be a fool not to reflect on our story, and hope that I've had nearly a fraction of the impact on your life as the one you've had on mine.

"When we met for the first time, I knew at that moment that I would never be the same. Neither of us were searching for the other, but there we were, standing a few feet apart at that dirty dive bar that Sam brought us to …"

Bucky laughs.

"And the world seemed just a little bit brighter — like something had changed. Well, something did change. We were both scared of the world, of each other, and of falling in love. But we ignored those little voices, we leapt into this and no matter how scary or hard it was, we did it together. Hand in hand. Head first.

"Life isn't linear and our stories are never what we expect them to be, but with you by my side I know that we are unstoppable. You've shown me how to be brave and what true unconditional love looks like. If I've never said it before, then I am saying it now: thank you.

"I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your soulmate in this lifetime and every one. We will find each other no matter where we are or who we become, because our stories are now one. It's not just you and me, it's us.

"And at the end of our days you will not just be Bucky Barnes the hero, you'll be James Barnes, my husband, my one true love. And I hope by the time I'm reading this that we decide to get married, or calling you my husband will be kind of awkward."

Bucky laughs again, you join him as you try to get the rest of the words out, trying to hold back tears. Your voice is now shaking.

"And if we did get married, then I hope we did it like we do everything. Together, hand in hand, head first."

You fold the paper in your lap, a few tears sliding down your cheeks as you meet Bucky's gaze. His eyes are glossed over and there's a fondness on his face that he only reserves for you — like most of them are.

"I love you, Buck," you whisper.

Bucky nods his head a few times as he leans back, reaching out for his suit jacket that was behind him on the floor. If you were going to read him your vows, it was time for his. He pulls the crumbled paper out and holds it up. Your eyes widen in surprise, you did not expect him to have his own ready.

"I keep this thing with me wherever I go, I think I've crossed off a lot of things that didn't sound right," he says, showing you the paper for a moment. "May I?"

You nod your head. Bucky clears his throat, then begins:

"I'm not a man of many words, though I'd like to be, because life has passed me by and my only regret has been not telling you that 'I love you' enough. I know that you'll argue and say that I do, but I don't, because I should have told you the second we met and every moment after. Every single silence should have been filled with me saying those words to you.

"I knew it, I always did. What is there not to love? Your kindness? Your intelligence? The way you make sure to always keep my side of the bed warm when I get home late because you know I hate when it's cold? If I am the man worthy of your love then I have done something right in this world. I'll never take this love for granted, not ever.

"Maybe in another lifetime we found each other sooner, but in this lifetime we found each other exactly when we needed it. I always needed you. My life has been a constant tidal wave and you were the only one to swim me ashore. Now I can breathe, and you and I sit in the sun and bask in the warmth, where we belong.

"I'm sorry there aren't many words to explain how deep my love for you is, but I hope that every single day I can show you instead. I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your protector. And from now until my dying days I love you, I love you, I love you and I love you."

The paper in Bucky's hand is now splattered with teardrops, the once black ink now smudging across the off white paper. But it doesn't matter, none of it does, the vows are just a promise, one that the two of you had already made years ago.

You crawl over to him and wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. There's a few silent tears shed as you hold each other close, but nothing neither of you haven't seen before. It’s a rare moment of intimacy between lovers.

When Bucky pulls away to look at you there's a smile, not a sad one, but a grin so wide the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"We forgot rings."

"I know," you nod. "Do you have a pen?"

Bucky nods, reaching back into his suit pocket again and pulling out a ballpoint pen. You grab his hand and click the pen to expose the tip, writing your initials on the inside of his ring finger. He does the same shortly after — not a permanent solution, but a symbolic one.

He kisses the back of your hand a few times then begins to stand, lifting you to your feet and into his arms. Neither of you untangle from each other, instead opting to slowly sway back and forth in the middle of the kitchen, never wanting to let go. There was no music playing, there didn't need to be.

You and Bucky were starting your forever with whispered I love you's, hand in hand, head first.