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jungkoode · 4 months ago

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Strings Attached (to my heart) #2

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: February 13th, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 3: 1500 notes on part 2.

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish),, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, sexual content, explicit content, breast play, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting, oral sex, oral receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, face sitting, sexually inexperienced jungkook, post-coital confession, afterglow, blowjobs, swallowing, sexual education, jungkook has supportive friends, explicit sexual content, friends giving sex advice, being walked through sex, spidey stamina, tender sex, first time giving oral, first time receiving oral, learning sex, being taught sex, breast worship, nipple play, handjobs, naked cuddling, confessions, jungkook is a shy baby, soft smut, explicit nsfw, comfort and reassurance during sex, superhero secret identity reveal, bathing/washing, caretaking.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 13.5k

→ A/N: Welcome back to part 2 of our Spidey!JK saga, where things get even steamier and somehow even more emotional?? 😭 Y'all's response to part 1 absolutely blew me away, so I had to deliver on that promise of exploring certain... scenarios... with those spider powers 👀 This part really dives into the tender dynamic between our confident noona and her adorably earnest hoobae as they navigate his first time(s) together. Fair warning: this is probably the softest explicit content I've ever written?? Like, I didn't mean to make it this emotional but here we are, sobbing over Jungkook being the most precious baby while getting railed walked through his first experiences. Special shoutout to Jimin and Taehyung for being the real MVPs with their mortifying but ultimately helpful "sex ed lesson" 😭 . Also can we talk about how Spiderkook thought he was being subtle this whole time?? Sir, you're about as subtle as a brick through a window, but it's okay because you're cute. As always, enormous thanks to my cat who encouraged me to finish this through my 7th cup of cofffee of day 6. Your enabling is appreciated 🫶 Hope you enjoy part 2 of this wholesome filth! 🕸️

→ PREVIOUS

He's trailing behind you again.

You don't even have to turn around to know it's him—his footsteps are too eager, too bouncy, like a puppy who hasn't quite figured out how to walk without tripping over its own paws. Something in your chest tightens at the familiar sound, a mix of fondness and guilt that you try to squash down.

"Noona!"

You sigh, but it's the kind of sigh that's more amused than annoyed, even if you'd never admit it. You should shut this down. You really should. After what happened in the library closet, you shouldn't be encouraging whatever this is.

"Jungkook," you say without looking back, your voice flat. "We've talked about this."

"About what?" he asks, his tone all wide-eyed innocence, like he doesn't already know.

Like he hasn't been following you around campus with those doe eyes and nervous energy ever since that day.

"About you following me around like a lost duckling," you reply dryly, finally glancing over your shoulder.

The moment you do, you regret it.

Because there he is: Jeon Jungkook, Yonsei University's most persistent freshman, clutching yet another plastic convenience store bag like it's a peace offering. His hair is a mess—floppy and windswept from the autumn breeze—and his big doe eyes are practically sparkling with excitement. He looks so young, so earnest, that it makes your stomach twist with guilt.

You're his sunbae. You should be setting boundaries, not letting yourself get caught up in the way he looks at you like you hung the moon.

"I'm not following you!" he protests immediately, though the way he trips over his own feet as he rushes to catch up kind of undermines his argument. "I just… happened to be walking this way! Totally normal! Not weird at all!"

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Right. And the snacks?"

"Oh! These?" He holds up the bag like it's Exhibit A in a court case. "They're for you!"

"Jungkook," you groan, stopping in your tracks so you can turn to face him fully. "You keep giving me snacks, and I'm gonna get fat."

The gasp he lets out is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. This is the problem—he's too endearing for his own good, making it impossible to maintain the professional distance you should.

"Noona!" he exclaims, looking genuinely horrified by the very idea. "Your weight is literally perfect! And even if you gained weight—which you're not just because I bring you snacks sometimes—"

"Every day," you interject pointedly, trying to ignore how your heart flutters at his earnest defense.

You shouldn't find it charming. You're supposed to be the mature one here.

"—you'd still be beautiful and—uh—you—it'd be okay!" he stammers, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to reassure you. His cheeks are already turning pink, and it only gets worse when he realizes what he just said out loud. "I mean—you're already—uh—"

You should stop this. Should remind him that you're his sunbae, that this kind of attention isn't appropriate.

Instead, something reckless and wanting unfurls in your chest as you watch him flounder.

"Well," you interrupt with a smirk, deciding to mess with him despite the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, "if I gain weight, maybe my boobs will grow."

The way his eyes widen is almost comical.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he struggles to find something—anything—to say that won't make this worse for him. You know you shouldn't enjoy his flustered state this much, shouldn't feel this rush of power at how easily you can reduce him to a stammering mess, but...

"Your boobs are already per—uh—ah—" He cuts himself off with a strangled noise, his face going beet red as he realizes what almost slipped out. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—I mean—"

The library closet flashes through your mind—his desperate sounds, the way he trembled against you, how beautifully he fell apart. You should feel worse about that than you do. Should regret taking advantage of his obvious crush.

Instead, you find yourself saying: "Jungkook."

"Yep?" His voice cracks on the word, and his big doe eyes dart between yours like he's waiting for some kind of divine punishment to rain down on him. He looks ridiculous—and ridiculously cute—and it takes everything in you not to let your fondness show too much.

You roll your eyes and snort softly, warring with yourself. The responsible thing would be to send him away, to maintain appropriate boundaries.

Instead, you hear yourself saying: "Come by my apartment tonight."

His eyes somehow get even wider. "Your… apartment?" he echoes weakly, like he can't quite believe what he just heard.

The pure shock in his expression should be a wake-up call—a reminder that you're his sunbae, that you shouldn't be inviting him into your personal space like this.

"At eight," you add anyway, watching as his brain visibly short-circuits trying to process this information. "Yeah?"

"Y-y-y-yeah," he stammers, choking on his own spit in the process because of course he does. "Your apartment? At night?"

You nod slowly, biting back a smile as his face flushes an even deeper shade of red.

There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is dangerous territory—that after the library incident, you should be putting distance between you, not drawing him closer.

"Okay," he says quickly, nodding along with you like some kind of bobblehead doll. "Yeah! Okay! I can—I can do that." He swallows hard, his voice strangled as he adds, "Eight o'clock. Your apartment."

He looks so flustered—so completely overwhelmed by the mere idea of being invited into your personal space—that something mischievous sparks in your chest, drowning out the guilt.

You shouldn't tease him any more than you already have today—you really shouldn't—but the way he looks at you, all eager desperation and nervous energy, makes you want to see just how far you can push him.

"Bring condoms," you say offhandedly as you turn back around and start walking again, even as your conscience screams at you that this is crossing a line.

The sound Jungkook makes is somewhere between a gasp and a choke—a strangled little noise that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.

You don't have to look back to know exactly what expression he's wearing: wide-eyed panic mixed with sheer disbelief and just a hint of something else... something darker that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet.

You should feel worse about this. Should feel guilty for teasing your hoobae like this, for playing with his obvious feelings. Instead, you find yourself turning back, unable to resist watching him fall apart.

"I—I—what?!" His voice cracks so hard on the word that it echoes slightly down the street.

He's standing there frozen in place, clutching the snack bag like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

His mouth opens and closes uselessly for several seconds before he finally manages to croak out: "Condoms?"

"You don't want to?" You tilt your head innocently, watching as his entire body stiffens at the question.

There's a twisted satisfaction in seeing how easily you can affect him, even as a small voice in your head reminds you that you're supposed to be the responsible one here.

"I want to!"

The words burst out of him so fast they practically trip over each other on their way out of his mouth—and then his eyes widen in horror as he realizes how eager that sounded.

“I mean—I—uh—yeah? Yes? I really—I really want to." He bites his lip nervously before adding in a much quieter voice: "...Please."

The way he looks at you then—like some kind of kicked puppy who just admitted all its secrets—makes heat pool in your stomach. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake, barely out of his military service and looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.

But instead of letting him off the hook (because where's the fun in that?), you raise an eyebrow and say simply: "Good."

He nods frantically at that—as if agreeing with you might somehow save him from further embarrassment—but then hesitates when something seems to occur to him.

The guilt starts creeping back in as you watch him fidget, so obviously inexperienced and eager to please.

"Noona?" His voice is soft now—almost shy—as if whatever he's about to ask might actually kill him.

"Yes?" You stop walking again and turn fully toward him, trying to ignore how your heart clenches at his nervous expression.

"Where... where can I... uh..." He trails off awkwardly before finally blurting out: "...Buy them?"

This time, you choke on your spit.

Because fuck—the reminder of just how unversed he is hits you like a punch to the gut.

You're terrible for this, for teasing him when he's so clearly out of his depth. For wanting to see him fall apart again, even knowing you should be protecting him instead of corrupting him.

"Jungkook," you say after a long moment of stunned silence, your voice softer than intended.

"Yes?" He looks at you hopefully, and god, you're going straight to hell for the things you want to do to him when he looks at you like that.

"I was joking."

The look on his face when those words sink in is priceless—a mix of disappointment and relief so intense it almost makes you feel bad for teasing him this much.

Almost.

Because underneath that relief, you can see it—the way his eyes darken slightly, the subtle shift in his posture that tells you he wanted it to be real.

"...Oh," he says softly after another long pause, and something in his tone makes your chest flutter.

"But not about coming over tonight!" You call back as you start walking again, before you can do something stupid like take it back. Before you can give in to the urge to tell him you weren't entirely joking after all. "Bring me jajjangmyeon!"

Behind you comes another strangled noise—and then hurried footsteps as Jungkook scrambles after you once again.

"Noona!"

You keep walking, trying to ignore the way your heart races.

Jungkook bangs his head against the wall of Taehyung's apartment, each thud punctuating his words: "I. Hate. My. Self."

"Why?" Taehyung doesn't even look up from his game controller, thumbs moving rapidly as he dodges an attack on screen. "You're gonna get laid."

"Finally," Jimin adds helpfully from his spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he mashes buttons. "About time someone popped that cherry—"

"It's NOT like that!" Jungkook's voice cracks embarrassingly, and he seriously considers webbing both their mouths shut. Why does he have friends? Who allowed this? "She just wants to hang out!"

"At night?" Taehyung snorts, still focused on the game. "In her apartment?"

"Alone?" Jimin adds, grinning as his character lands a critical hit. "Just the two of you?"

"She literally said she was joking!" Jungkook protests, sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest like some kind of oversized puppy. "About the... you know."

"The condoms?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"Shut up!"

"Maybe," Jimin says thoughtfully, pausing the game to turn and look at Jungkook properly, "she was joking about joking."

Jungkook freezes. "No way."

"Yes way."

"...You think so?" And god, he hates how hopeful his voice sounds. How pathetically eager.

"Bro," Taehyung says, finally setting down his controller to fix Jungkook with a look. "You already nutted in your pants grinding against her in a library closet."

"DIE." Jungkook buries his face in his hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I hate you. I hate both of you. So much."

"I mean," Jimin continues, completely unbothered by Jungkook's death threats, "she obviously knows you want her. Like, it's not exactly a secret."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers, suspicious.

"Dude." Taehyung gives him a flat look. "You follow her around like a lost puppy."

"I do not—"

"You bring her snacks every day—"

"That's just being nice!"

"You literally stalk her as Spider-Man—"

"I'm PROTECTING her!"

"From what?" Jimin snorts. "Paper cuts? Bad coffee? The dangers of journalism?"

Jungkook makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I hate this conversation. Can we go back to you two failing at Mario Kart?"

"Nope," Taehyung says cheerfully, turning to face him fully now. "This is way more entertaining. So, what are you gonna wear?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks. "What do you mean, what am I gonna wear? Clothes?"

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look that makes Jungkook's stomach drop.

"Oh no," Jimin says slowly. "No, no, no. You are not showing up to your potential deflowering wearing your usual disaster outfit."

"My WHAT—"

"The oversized hoodie and ripped jeans combo," Taehyung clarifies. "It's cute for class, but for this? Absolutely not."

"I'm not getting deflowered!" Jungkook protests, his voice reaching a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "She just wants jajjangmyeon!"

"Right," Jimin drawls. "Because girls always invite guys over at night for noodles."

"Some do!"

"Name one time—"

"I don't have to name anything! This isn't—she's not—we're not—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "She probably just wants to talk about Spider-Man again."

Another loaded look passes between his friends.

"What?" Jungkook asks suspiciously.

"Nothing," they say in unison, which is never a good sign.

"What?!"

"It's just..." Taehyung starts carefully. "Maybe she wants to... confirm her suspicions?"

Jungkook's blood runs cold. "What suspicions?"

"You know..." Jimin waves his hand vaguely. "About your... nighttime activities?"

"My what—OH." Jungkook's eyes widen in horror. "Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh god. You think she's gonna—"

"Interrogate you?" Taehyung supplies helpfully. "Probably."

"While you're vulnerable?" Jimin adds with a grin. "Most likely."

"Post-orgasm?" Taehyung continues. "When your guard is down?"

"I'm going to throw up," Jungkook announces, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "I'm actually going to be sick."

"Relax," Jimin says, reaching over to pat his knee sympathetically. "Maybe she just wants to fuck you."

"That's not relaxing!" Jungkook squeaks. "That's the opposite of relaxing! That's—that's—"

"Hot?" Taehyung suggests.

"Exciting?" Jimin adds.

"Terrifying," Jungkook corrects weakly. "What if I... what if I'm bad at it?"

Another loaded silence fills the room.

"Well," Taehyung says slowly, "you've already set the bar pretty low with the closet incident—"

"I'm leaving." Jungkook starts to stand up, but Jimin grabs his arm and yanks him back down.

"No, you're not," Jimin says firmly. "You're going to sit here and let us help you not completely fuck this up."

"I don't need help!"

"You came in your pants from some light grinding."

"That was—it wasn't—she said it was cute!"

"And that's great," Taehyung says patiently. "But maybe this time we aim for something a little more... impressive?"

Jungkook groans, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. "I hate this. I hate all of this. Why couldn't I just be normal?"

"Normal is overrated," Jimin says sagely. "Now, about those clothes..."

"We're not having this conversation."

"We absolutely are," Taehyung declares, standing up. "Come on, let's raid my closet. You're not showing up looking like a freshman who just rolled out of bed."

"But I am a freshman who just rolled out of bed!"

"Not tonight, you're not," Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook's other arm to haul him up. "Tonight, you're going to look like someone who might actually know what to do with a woman."

"But I don't know what to do with a woman!"

"That's what we're here for," Taehyung says cheerfully, already heading toward his bedroom. "Sex Ed with Taehyung and Jimin, now in session!"

"Kill me," Jungkook mutters, but he lets himself be dragged along anyway. "Just... someone please kill me."

"After you get laid," Jimin promises. "Now, let's talk about foreplay..."

The noise Jungkook makes is probably audible from space.

But then he’s sitting cross-legged on Taehyung's bed, face buried in his hands as his friends settle on either side of him.

The game controllers lie abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of what Taehyung has dubbed "Operation: Don't Let Jungkook Embarrass Himself (Again)."

"Okay," Jimin says, his tone shifting from teasing to something more serious. "First rule: stop overthinking."

"I'm not—"

"You are," Taehyung cuts in gently. "We can literally see you spiraling. Your whole face does this thing when you're in your head too much."

"What thing?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers suspiciously.

"Like you're trying to solve quantum physics while having an existential crisis," Jimin explains. "It's not cute."

Jungkook groans. "How am I supposed to not overthink? She's—she's her, and I'm just—"

"A superhero?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"That's different! That's not—I mean—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise. "Spider-Man is cool. I'm not cool. I'm just... me."

"And she likes you," Jimin says firmly. "Not Spider-Man. Well, maybe Spider-Man too, but she doesn't know that yet. She likes awkward, rambling, snack-bringing you."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Taehyung says patiently, "girls don't usually let guys they're not into grind against them in library closets."

"Can we please stop bringing that up?"

"No, because it's important," Jimin insists. "She initiated that. She guided your hands. She told you it was okay. That means she's attracted to you."

Jungkook swallows hard, his face heating up at the memory. "But what if... what if she expects me to know what I'm doing now?"

"Then be honest," Taehyung says simply. "Tell her you're nervous. Tell her you want her to show you what she likes."

"Girls love that shit," Jimin adds. "Being all vulnerable and asking for guidance? That's hot."

"Really?" Jungkook looks between them skeptically.

"Really," they say in unison.

"Plus," Taehyung continues, "she already knows you're inexperienced. And she still wants you there. That means something."

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip nervously. "Okay, but... what if... what if I..." He trails off, face burning.

"What if you what?"

"What if I... finish too fast again?" The last words come out as barely a whisper.

"Then you use your mouth," Jimin says matter-of-factly.

Jungkook chokes on air. "My what?"

"Your mouth," Taehyung repeats calmly. "Seriously, learn to eat pussy. It's like, the number one life skill."

"Oh my god." Jungkook falls backward onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Better us than you figuring it out on your own," Jimin points out. "Now sit up. This is important."

"I don't want to."

"Jungkook."

"No."

"Fine," Taehyung sighs. "Then we'll just let you go in blind and probably accidentally bite her cl—"

"OKAY!" Jungkook bolts upright. "Okay, I'm listening. Just... please be less graphic."

"No can do," Jimin says cheerfully. "This is detailed instruction time. Now, the most important thing to remember is—"

What follows is possibly the most mortifying yet educational thirty minutes of Jungkook's life. His friends, for all their teasing, are actually... helpful. They explain things clearly, answer his (extremely embarrassing) questions without judgment, and even draw diagrams that make him want to die but also kind of make sense.

"And remember," Taehyung says finally, "it's okay to laugh if something awkward happens. Sex isn't like porn. It's messy and weird sometimes."

"And communication is key," Jimin adds. "If you're not sure about something, ask. If something feels good, say so. If something doesn't, speak up."

Jungkook nods slowly, processing everything. "Okay. Yeah. I can... I can do that."

"And for fuck's sake," Taehyung says, "breathe. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I might," Jungkook admits weakly. "This is... a lot."

"It is," Jimin agrees, patting his knee. "But you've got this. And hey, maybe nothing will happen tonight. Maybe she really does just want to eat jajjangmyeon and talk."

"Right," Jungkook says, though his voice wavers slightly. "Just... normal hanging out."

"But if something does happen," Taehyung adds with a grin, "at least now you know where the clit is."

"I hate you both so much."

"You love us," Jimin corrects. "Now, about those clothes..."

Jungkook flops back onto the bed with another groan, but this time, it's less panicked and more resigned. Because yeah, okay, maybe his friends are right. Maybe this won't be a complete disaster.

Maybe.

Probably.

Oh god, he's going to throw up.

"Stop spiraling," Taehyung says immediately. "I can see you doing it."

"I'm not spiraling!" Jungkook protests. "I'm just... mentally preparing."

"For what? The worst possible scenario?"

"Yes!"

"Which is?" Jimin prompts.

"I don't know! Everything? What if I trip and break her lamp? What if I say something stupid? What if I accidentally web her ceiling fan? What if—"

"Okay, new rule," Taehyung interrupts. "No spider powers in the bedroom unless explicitly discussed beforehand."

"Oh my god."

"He's right though," Jimin says thoughtfully. "Save the web-shooting for later. That's like, advanced kink territory."

"I'm leaving," Jungkook announces for the hundredth time. "I'm actually leaving this time."

"No, you're not," they say in unison, each grabbing one of his arms to keep him in place.

"We still haven't picked out your outfit," Taehyung reminds him.

"Or talked about protection," Jimin adds.

"Or—"

"Fine!" Jungkook throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Just... please stop saying 'web-shooting' in relation to... that."

His friends exchange matching grins that make him immediately regret everything.

"No promises," they say together.

Jungkook screams into a pillow.

The doorbell rings, loud and obnoxious, startling you out of your focus.

You pause mid-sentence, fingers hovering over your laptop's keyboard as you glance toward the door. When did the bell get so loud? It's like it's mocking you for forgetting—or pretending to forget—that you invited him over.

You sigh, pulling off your headphones and letting them rest around your neck as you shuffle toward the door.

Your bunny slippers scuff softly against the floor, and you tug at the hem of your tank top absentmindedly. You're not exactly dressed to impress—grey sweats, a loose tank top, hair probably a mess—but whatever. It's your apartment. Comfort trumps everything else.

(Though a small voice in your head reminds you that maybe you should've put on something less... revealing. Something that doesn't show quite so much skin, doesn't blur the lines between sunbae and…)

You open the door, and there he is.

Jeon Jungkook, standing in the hallway in his own grey sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking like he just stepped out of a cozy loungewear ad. His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he'd rushed to shower before coming over. He's holding a plastic bag in one hand, and his other is shoved awkwardly into his pocket. For some reason, he's staring off to the side, like he's too nervous to look directly at the door.

But then his gaze shifts—quickly, immediately—and lands on you. And just like that, it's like all the tension in his body melts away. His shoulders drop slightly, and there's this soft little exhale that escapes him as his lips curve into a sheepish smile. The pure relief in his expression makes your stomach twist with guilt.

"Brought jajjangmyon as you requested, noona," he says, holding up the bag like it's some kind of peace offering.

The way he says "noona," all shy and reverent like it's some sacred title only meant for you—it shouldn't make your chest feel warm, but it does. It really shouldn't.

You bite back both a smile and the urge to tell him to go home, to forget about whatever this thing between you is becoming. Instead, you step aside to let him in, watching as he hesitates for half a second before shuffling past you into the apartment, his sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.

You close the door behind him and turn to find him standing awkwardly near the entrance, clutching the bag like it's a lifeline. His eyes dart around your apartment—taking in the cluttered desk with your laptop still open, the half-empty mug of coffee on the table, the blanket draped over the back of your couch—but they always seem to come back to you.

Like he can't help himself, like you're some kind of magnet he can't resist.

And then there's this moment—a brief flicker—where his gaze lowers slightly, catching on your tank top and sweats. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you notice it anyway. The way his jaw tightens just a fraction before he quickly looks away again, like he's afraid of being caught staring.

It reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, all desperate want and nervous energy.

He clears his throat. "Uh... nice place."

You snort softly, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under his gaze. "It's a mess."

"It's cozy," he says earnestly, and when he looks at you again, there's something warm in his eyes.

Something that makes you want to push him away before you do something stupid like pull him closer.

You shake off the feeling and motion for him to follow you further inside.

"C'mon," you say over your shoulder as you walk toward your desk, needing distance. "I need some help with something."

"With what?" he asks immediately, trailing after you like an obedient puppy.

Always so eager to please, so ready to do anything you ask. It would be easier if he wasn't so genuine about it.

You glance back at him briefly and smirk, falling back on teasing because it's safer than acknowledging whatever happened. "Carrying all this food to my desk."

His lips twitch upward into another sheepish smile as he holds up the bag again. "I can do that."

Of course he can.

You roll your eyes but don't say anything else as you plop back down into your chair and gesture for him to set everything on the table beside your laptop. You need to focus on something—anything—other than how domestic this feels, how naturally he fits into your space.

As he unpacks the containers of jajjangmyon with meticulous care—like each one is some kind of precious artifact—you can't help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There's something about seeing him here—in your space—that feels... different.

Dangerous.

Like this is some kind of alternate universe where Jeon Jungkook isn't just that awkward freshman who follows you around campus with snacks and stammered compliments but someone who actually belongs here.

It's stupid. You know it is. But still.

"You didn't have to bring all this," you say finally, breaking the silence as he sets down a pair of chopsticks beside one of the containers. Your voice comes out sharper than intended, an edge of defensiveness creeping in.

"You asked for it," he replies simply, glancing up at you with those wide doe eyes of his.

Always so earnest, so sincere. It makes something in your chest ache.

"I was joking."

"I know." He smiles softly—just barely—but there's something about it that makes your guilt surge.

“Then why’d you bring it?”

“Because…” He hesitates for half a second before shrugging lightly. “Because I wanted to.”

There's something so simple—so pure—about his answer that it catches you off guard for a moment. You don't know what to say to that, so instead, you just grab one of the containers and pop it open with a quiet "thanks," trying to ignore how your hands shake slightly.

He sits down across from you without being asked—like this is normal now—and starts unpacking his own food while sneaking occasional glances at you when he thinks you're not looking. Each glance feels like a weight on your conscience, reminding you how badly you're handling this whole situation.

The silence stretches between you as you both eat, broken only by the soft clicking of chopsticks against containers.

Something’s... off.

Jungkook's usually endless chatter is conspicuously absent, replaced by this heavy quiet that makes your skin crawl.

You glance up from your food to find him staring intently at his container, his fingers fidgeting with the chopsticks like he's trying to work up the courage to say something.

There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, a nervousness that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, and—

Oh.

The guilt hits you like a slap on the fucking face.

Because what kind of sunbae are you? Getting off on making your hoobae squirm? Letting him grind against you until he came in his pants? Who even are you? Was it worth the power trip?

God, you’re insane. You are out of your depth. You are disgusting.

And now he's sitting here, all quiet and nervous, probably thinking about it too, probably wondering if you're going to acknowledge it or pretend it never happened and—

Something ugly and defensive rises in your chest, a need to push him away before he gets too close. Before you can fuck this up any more than you already have.

"So," you start, your voice deliberately casual as you type random nonsense just to look busy. Your fingers move across the keyboard without purpose, just needing something to focus on besides the way he keeps sneaking glances at you. "Did you tell your friends about our little encounter?"

Jungkook chokes on his noodles, face immediately flushing red. "I—what?"

"You know," you continue, still not looking at him because you can't handle those doe eyes right now. "The closet thing. Did you brag about it? Tell all your freshman friends how you got felt up by a senior?"

God, you sound cruel even to your own ears. But it's better this way, right? Better to push him away now before this gets even more complicated. Before you let yourself get used to having him in your space, all soft smiles and eager eyes.

"N-no!" he stammers, sounding horrified. "I wouldn't—I mean, I did tell Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, but—"

"Of course you did," you cut him off with a sharp laugh that doesn't sound like you at all. "Bet they were impressed, huh? Their baby Jungkookie getting action in the library?"

His breath hitches audibly, and you hate how the sound makes your chest tight. You're doing this for his own good, you remind yourself. He deserves better than some senior who gets off on making him cry.

"It wasn't like that," he says quietly, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. "I just... I needed advice—"

"Advice?" You finally look at him, raising an eyebrow even as your nails dig into your palms. "What kind of advice? How to last longer than three minutes?"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see him physically flinch. His eyes go wide, glassy with unshed tears, and something in your chest fractures.

You're the worst. The absolute worst.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—I know I was pathetic—"

"Stop," you say immediately, panic rising in your throat because you can see it coming—the way his lips tremble, the way he's looking at you with such raw emotion.

Don't say it. Please don't say it.

But he's already spiraling, words tumbling out between hiccupping breaths: "I know I'm inexperienced and awkward and probably really bad at everything, but I—I really like you, noona, and I—"

"What's next?" You spit out, desperate to stop the confession you don't deserve, nails drawing blood from your palms now. "Gonna cry? Beg? Whimper noona until I take pity on you?" A harsh laugh scrapes your throat. "What would you even do if I told you to get on your knees right now?"

Silence.

You snort, turning back to your laptop, relief flooding through you because finally, finally he's going to realize what a terrible person you are and—

Fabric rustles. The soft thud of denim hitting floorboards. Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

He kneels between your spread legs, palms on his thighs. The overhead light catches the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Okay."

Your pulse thunders. "Okay what?"

"However you want me." His voice quivers but doesn't break. "However you need."

The cursor blinks mockingly on screen. You suddenly can't remember your Wi-Fi password. Your thesis topic. Your own name.

"What are you doing?" Your voice comes out strangled.

"You asked," he whispers, voice trembling but determined. "If I would get on my knees for you, noona."

"I was being cruel," you say quickly, but your mouth feels dry. "I was trying to hurt you."

"I know." His hands shake where they rest on his thighs, tears tracking down his cheeks. "But I'd still... I'd still do anything. Even if you're just being mean. Even if you're trying to push me away."

Your breath catches. "Jungkook—"

"I bought them," he blurts out suddenly, face burning red. "The condoms. Even though—even though you said you were joking. I just... just in case. Because I wanted—I wanted to be ready if you..." He hiccups, more tears spilling over. "If you ever actually wanted me."

The guilt chokes you. "Stop it."

"Please don't push me away," he begs, voice cracking as he shifts closer, forehead pressing against your knee. "I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm just some stupid freshman who came in his pants the first time you touched him, but I—I can't stop thinking about you. About how good you made me feel. About how much I want to make you feel good too."

You stare at him, caught off guard by his desperate honesty. "You don't know what you want."

"I do," he insists, looking up at you through wet lashes. "I think about you all the time. When I'm alone, I—" He cuts himself off with a hiccup, shame coloring his cheeks. "I touch myself thinking about your hands. Your voice. How you said I was good for you."

A broken noise escapes you—something between a laugh and a sob. "Jungkook, we can't—"

"I'll be better," he promises frantically, hands hovering near your thighs like he's afraid to touch. "I'll last longer. I'll learn how to... how to please you properly. Just please don't—don't regret what happened. Don't hate me for wanting you so much."

You drop your head into your hands, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. He's still crying, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs as he kneels before you like some kind of devoted supplicant.

"I practiced," he confesses in a broken whisper, and you can hear how much it costs him to admit this. "After... after the closet. Trying to—to last longer. Because I was so embarrassed about... about how fast I..." He hiccups, pressing his burning face against your knee. "Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, they tried to help. Gave me advice. Told me how to... how to be good for you."

"Jesus, Jungkook," you breathe, because what are you supposed to say to that?

"I know it's stupid," he rushes out, words tumbling over each other between hiccups. "I know you probably think I'm just some dumb kid with a crush, but it's more than that. You make me feel... you make me feel like I could be good enough. Like maybe being inexperienced isn't... isn't the worst thing in the world."

Your fingers find their way into his hair without permission, and the broken sound he makes at the contact nearly kills you. He leans into your touch like he's starving for it, tears still flowing freely.

"When you touched me," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "in the closet... it was the first time anyone ever... and you were so gentle. So patient. Even though I was pathetic and came too fast and probably squeezed your breast too hard—"

"Stop calling yourself pathetic," you interrupt, tugging gently at his hair until he looks up at you. His face is a mess of tears and vulnerability, and something in your chest breaks. "God, Jungkook. You weren't pathetic. You were adorable."

He makes this wounded sound, like your words physically hurt him. "But I—I ruined it. Made it weird. Got too desperate and needy and—"

"That's what made it beautiful," you admit softly, thumbs brushing away his tears. "How honest you were. How much you wanted it. Wanted me."

His breath hitches, fresh tears spilling over. "I still do," he whispers. "Want you. So much it hurts sometimes. Even if you're being mean, even if you're trying to push me away... I just want to be close to you."

Your hands tremble slightly as you cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His skin is feverish under your palms, tears still flowing freely as he looks up at you with those devastating doe eyes.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, watching as he blinks in confusion. "For being cruel earlier. I just... I felt so guilty. About taking advantage of you. About wanting you when I shouldn't."

"You weren't," he says immediately, desperately. "Taking advantage. I wanted it so bad, noona. Still want it. Want anything you'll give me." His voice cracks on another hiccup. "Even if—even if it's just this. Just letting me be close to you."

"Jungkook..." Your thumbs brush away fresh tears, but they're quickly replaced by more.

"I know I'm not good enough," words spilling out between quiet sobs. "Know I should probably be with someone my own age. Someone who won't have to teach me everything. But I—I want it to be you. Want you to show me how to... how to make you feel good. How to be what you need."

Your heart clenches at his words, at how earnestly he offers himself up to you.

“Baby," the endearment slips out again, making him shudder. "You don't have to try so hard."

"I want to," he insists, hands finally settling on your thighs, grip trembling but determined. "Want to learn everything. How to touch you. How to... how to use my mouth. How to make you cum. Please, noona."

His voice breaks on the honorific, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I like you so much. So—so much it hurts. Can't focus in class because I keep thinking about you. Can't sleep because I keep remembering how you touched me, how you looked at me like I wasn't just some stupid freshman."

"Jungkook—"

"Please don't tell me to stay away," he chokes out, panic clear in his voice. "I know I should. Know it's wrong because you're my sunbae and I'm just—just me, but I can't. I can't." His fingers dig into your thighs desperately. "I'll do anything. Be anything you want. Just please don't push me away."

Your heart aches at how broken he sounds, at the raw desperation in his voice. "Baby..."

"I dream about you," he confesses in a rush, like he's afraid you'll stop him. "About—about your hands. Your voice. The way you said I was good for you. Nobody's ever—nobody's made me feel like that before. Like I’m good enough. Just Jungkook.”

He's rambling now, words tumbling out between hiccups and sobs. "I know I'm probably terrible at everything. Know I should've lasted longer, should've touched you better, should've—should've been more in control but I couldn't. Can't think straight when you look at me like that. When you call me 'baby' and touch my hair and—"

You can't take it anymore. Can't handle how earnest he is, how desperately he's trying to convince you not to reject him. Your hands slide from his tear-stained cheeks into his hair, and he makes this broken little sound that goes straight to your heart.

"Noona," he whimpers, looking up at you through wet lashes. "Please."

You lean down, your heart thundering in your chest as you press your lips to his.

It's soft at first—tender, careful, like you're afraid he might shatter if you push too hard. His lips are warm and slightly salty from tears, trembling against yours as he makes this tiny, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

When his mouth parts on a shaky exhale, you can't help but deepen the kiss. Your tongue slides against his, and the way he gasps—soft and surprised, like he can't believe this is happening—makes heat pool in your stomach. His hands clench against your thighs, fingers trembling with nervous energy as he tries to match your rhythm.

God, he's so fucking precious. So earnest in the way he responds, letting you guide him with gentle pressure and encouraging hums. When you thread your fingers through his hair, he whimpers into your mouth, tears still tracking down his cheeks even as he kisses you back with clumsy enthusiasm.

You press harder, something possessive and hungry unfurling in your chest at how pliant he is, how desperately he tries to please you. Your other hand cups his jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, and he just melts for you. His mouth is sweet and eager, and you want to fucking devour him—want to swallow every little hiccupping sob and breathy moan he makes.

You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake—this eager, crying freshman who looks at you like you hung the moon. But the way he trembles under your touch, the way he gives himself over so completely... it makes you want to wreck him. To take him apart piece by piece until he's sobbing for an entirely different reason.

When you finally pull back, he chases your lips with a broken whine that goes straight to your core. His eyes flutter open, glazed and desperate, tears still clinging to his lashes like diamonds.

"Noona," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked—all raw and pleading in a way that makes you want to kiss him stupid again.

You shouldn't.

You really, really shouldn't.

But god help you, you do.

Jungkook's brain is absolutely short-circuiting.

Like, full system failure, blue screen of death, please-restart-your-computer levels of malfunction.

Because this? This can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream or maybe he hit his head on the way over here because there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that you just kissed him.

But you did. You actually did. Your lips were on his, soft and warm and real, and now he's kneeling here like an idiot, staring up at you with what he's sure is the most pathetic expression ever because holy fuck.

He hadn't expected any of this. Really. After the whole teasing thing earlier (and the mortifying sex ed session with Taehyung and Jimin), he'd convinced himself nothing would happen. That's why he wore his comfy clothes—his safe clothes—even though yeah, okay, maybe he did buy condoms. Just in case. Because he's pathetic and hopeful and maybe a tiny part of him wanted to believe...

But no. He was fine with just bringing jajjangmyon. More than fine. He would've been happy just sitting here, watching you work, existing in the same space as you. That would've been enough.

Then you started pushing him away, and he just... broke. Started crying like some kind of oversized baby because apparently that's who he is now—someone who sobs at the first sign of rejection.

God, he's such a mess. Such an absolute disaster of a human being.

He apologized (between hiccups and tears because of course he did), but then you apologized too, and then—and then—you kissed him. You actually kissed him. With your mouth. On his mouth. While he was crying. Which should be embarrassing (it is embarrassing), but he can't even care because holy shit, you kissed him.

And now you're looking at him with this expression he can't quite read, your hands cradling his face like he's something precious instead of just some awkward freshman who can't keep his emotions in check.

"Stand up," you murmur, thumbs brushing away the remnants of his tears.

He scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process because apparently his body has forgotten how legs work. His knees protest after kneeling for so long, and he sways slightly, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides because he doesn't know what to do with them.

Should he touch you? Is he allowed to touch you? What are the rules here? Is there a manual for this? Why didn't Taehyung and Jimin cover proper post-crying makeout etiquette in their weird sex ed lesson?

"Breathe," you remind him softly, and oh—right. That's a thing he should probably be doing.

He takes a shaky breath, then another, trying to calm his racing heart as you look up at him with those eyes that make him feel like he's simultaneously floating and drowning.

This is real. This is actually happening. Somehow, his pathetic, crying, disaster self has achieved... something. He's not sure what exactly, but something.

And he really, really hopes he doesn't fuck it up.

His tears haven't quite stopped—because of course they haven't, he's a walking emotional disaster—when you look up at him from your chair. His breath catches in his throat, expecting... well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More kissing maybe? You to stand up? To tell him to stop being such a crybaby?

What he's definitely not expecting is for you to slide out of your chair and onto your knees in front of him.

His brain short-circuits completely when your hands find his hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweats. A gasp escapes him—embarrassingly high-pitched and needy—because holy fuck, are you—is this—what is happening?

You look up at him through your lashes, and his heart actually stops. "Is this okay?" you ask softly, thumbs rubbing circles against his hipbones through the fabric.

He nods so fast he probably gives himself whiplash, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks because he can't seem to get his body under control. Words fail him entirely—his vocabulary reduced to a series of choked sounds as you hook your fingers into the waistband of both his sweats and boxers.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

This is actually happening. This is—

The fabric slides down his thighs, and Jungkook wants to die immediately because his dick is already hard. Like, embarrassingly hard. Because apparently his body is determined to humiliate him at every possible opportunity today.

A strangled whimper escapes him as cool air hits his exposed skin. His hands flutter uselessly at his sides, trembling with the effort not to cover himself as more tears track down his burning cheeks.

He's never felt more exposed in his life—standing here with his pants around his thighs, dick straining eagerly toward you like some kind of desperate compass pointing true north.

God, could he be any more obvious? Any more pathetic?

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice cracking. "I—it just—you just—"

“You’re okay.”

Your words are so gentle, so soothing, that it only makes Jungkook cry harder. Because how can you be this understanding? This tender with someone like him who can't even stop sobbing long enough to form coherent sentences?

But then—oh god—your thumb brushes against the underside of his cock, a slow, deliberate stroke from tip to base that makes his entire body shudder. And when you squeeze softly, testing, exploring? His knees nearly buckle.

He watches, transfixed, as your hand glides up and down his length with careful precision. Slow, so, so slow. The movement is hypnotic, making his breath catch on every upstroke, forcing tiny whimpers past his lips that he tries desperately to muffle behind his hand.

"Eyes on me," you command softly, and his gaze snaps to yours immediately.

His chest heaves with hiccupping sobs, tears still falling freely as he tries to process that this is real—that you're actually touching him, that this isn't just another fevered fantasy. His free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, unsure where it's allowed to land.

You chuckle—a warm, tender sound that makes his heart flip—and murmur, "Don't hold back those pretty sounds, baby. And here..." You guide his hovering hand to your hair. "Hold onto me if you need support."

The permission—both to touch and to be vocal—makes him whimper pathetically. His fingers thread shakily through your hair, careful and reverent, like he still can't quite believe he's allowed this.

"That's it," you encourage softly. "Just like that."

He can barely breathe as you maintain eye contact, your hand working him in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. Every touch feels electric—too much and not enough all at once.

"I'm s-sorry," he chokes out between sobs, fingers tightening reflexively in your hair. "For the—hic—crying, I can't—hic—stop—"

"Shh," you soothe, your free hand stroking his hip. "You're being so good for me."

The praise makes him whimper, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. His cock twitches in your grip, already leaking precum, and he feels his face burn hotter with embarrassment.

"Noona," he whines, voice cracking. "I'm—hic—I'm already so—"

"I know, baby," you murmur, and then your tongue flicks out to taste the bead of precum at his tip.

The noise he makes is absolutely wrecked—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His hips jerk forward instinctively before he catches himself, mortified.

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to—hic—to—"

"It's okay," you assure him, looking up through your lashes. "You can move if you need to."

He shakes his head frantically, still hiccupping. "Don't wanna—hic—hurt you—"

Your response is to take him into your mouth properly, and Jungkook's entire world narrows to the welcoming heat of your tongue sliding against his length. His legs shake so hard he has to grip your hair tighter just to stay upright.

"Oh god," he sobs, watching through tear-blurred vision as you take him deeper. "Oh fuck, noona, I can't—hic—it's too much—"

You hum around him in response, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. He's babbling now, unable to stop the stream of desperate praise and broken pleas falling from his lips between hiccups.

"So good," he whimpers, "you're so—hic—perfect, I can't—please—hic—noona—"

Jungkook’s brain is mush. Absolute, scrambled, incoherent mush.

Because he’s seen porn—obviously he’s seen porn, military barracks aren’t exactly monasteries—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of your mouth on him. The heat, the suction, the way your tongue swirls just beneath his tip every time you pull back—it’s obscene.

He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Or dying. Or both.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, a choked sob tearing from his throat as you take him deeper.

“N-noona—hic—’m sorry, I can’t—hic—can’t hold—”

You pull off with a filthy pop, and he nearly collapses right there.

But then you’re looking up at him, lips glistening, and saying the words that unravel him completely: “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. Noona wants to taste you.”

His vision whites out for a second. You want to taste him. Want him. His pathetic, trembling, overeager self.

The thought alone makes his cock twitch desperately, more precum beading at the tip as he fights the urge to just—

"Please," he chokes out between hiccups, his filter completely gone. "Can I—hic—down your throat? Please, noona, I've wanted—hic—for so long—"

Oh god. Oh fuck. Did he really just say that out loud?

Taehyung and Jimin's voices echo in his head—focus on her comfort, ask what she wants, don't be selfish—but his horny brain has completely taken over, reducing him to this desperate, begging mess.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified tears streaming down his face. "That was—hic—so stupid, I shouldn't have—you don't have to—"

Then you swallow him back down, all the way to the hilt, and his brain restarts completely.

"F-fuck—hic—noona—" His voice breaks as his orgasm builds, violent and overwhelming. His grip on your hair tightens, probably painful (god, he's the worst, he's so fucking inconsiderate, he should let go, should—). "I'm c-cumming—hic—'m so sorry, I'm—hic—ah—!"

He tries to pull back, he really does, but you hold him in place, humming around him like this is exactly what you wanted.

His vision blurs with tears as he comes harder than he ever has in his life, a broken groan tearing from his throat that would normally send him into a spiral of embarrassment.

Stupid stupid stupid, his brain chants as he shakes through the aftershocks. So fucking selfish. So desperate. She probably thinks you're disgusting. Probably hates you now. Probably—

But then you're looking up at him through your lashes, swallowing deliberately, and his spiral breaks at the soft, approving sound you make. Like this is good.

Like he's good.

Your laugh—warm and tender—cuts through his panic as you pull off to press a gentle kiss to his sensitive tip.

"That's exactly what I wanted," you murmur, and his heart stops completely.

God help him.

Jungkook wipes at his tears with the back of his wrist, sniffling softly as he tries to gather what's left of his courage. His voice is still shaky, still thick with tears, but there's a determination in it that surprises even him:

"Please let me—hic—eat you out," he manages, his face burning but his gaze steady. "Want to make you feel good too. You've done it twice for me now, it's not—it's not fair."

"Jungkook," you start gently, "I'm fine, you don't owe me—"

"It's not about owing," he interrupts, surprising himself with his boldness. His hands tremble, but his voice stays firm despite the lingering hiccups. "It's not fair that—hic—that you get to taste me and I don't get to taste you."

The words come out needier than he intended, more desperate, and he feels his face heat further. But he doesn't take them back. Can't take them back. Not when he's wanted this for so long—wanted to know what you taste like, what sounds you'd make, if you'd guide him with your hands in his hair like you did in the closet.

"Please, noona," he whispers, eyes wide and earnest despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. "Let me try? I—hic—I'll do whatever you tell me to. I'll be good, I promise."

Your eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on your face, and Jungkook realizes you'd misunderstood—thought he meant it wasn't fair to you, when really... god, how could he explain that getting to taste you would be the biggest privilege of his life?

A soft chuckle escapes you, warm and amused. "Since when are you so bold, young mister?"

His face burns hotter, but he doesn't back down. Can't back down. Not when the thought of tasting you is making his head spin with want.

"Since—hic—since you let me have something I never thought I'd get," he admits, voice wavering but sincere. "And now I just... want more."

The last word comes out embarrassingly needy, but he's beyond caring at this point.

"More?" you echo, that amused smile still playing at your lips.

"Everything," he breathes, the word tumbling out before he can stop it. "Anything you'll give me. Please, noona. I just—I want to know what you taste like. Want to make you feel good like you made me feel good. Want to—hic—learn how to please you properly."

Your expression softens at his earnestness, at how desperately he's trying to convey just how much he wants this—wants you.

"You really want to taste me that badly?" you ask, standing up and pushing back the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

He nods frantically, leaning into your touch like a touch-starved kitten. "More than—hic—anything. Please?"

The way he says 'please'—all breathy and desperate—makes something in your expression shift. Your thumb brushes across his bottom lip, and he parts them instinctively, wanting to show you just how eager he is to learn.

"Such a good boy," you murmur, and his whole body shudders at the praise. "Always so polite when you beg."

Your words go straight to his dick, which—obviously—twitches back to life because apparently it has absolutely no shame when it comes to you. Zero self-control. None. Especially when you say things like "good boy" in that voice that makes his whole body feel like it's on fire.

"Oh, hi again," you chuckle, glancing down at his rapidly hardening length.

Something possesses him then—maybe it's the lingering high from his orgasm, or maybe it's just the way you're looking at him like he's actually worthy of your attention—but his hands move on their own, fingers trembling slightly as they cradle your jaw. He guides your face back up, wanting to see your eyes, needing to see them.

Then he's leaning down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft it makes his chest ache.

When he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, his voice comes out as barely more than a whisper:

"Can I please, then?"

You nod with a smirk, and Jungkook's entire nervous system goes into overdrive.

Okay. Stay calm. Everyone stay fucking calm. His brain is firing signals in every direction like a broken switchboard—hey blood cells, maybe focus on making his tongue work instead of rushing to his dick again? Thanks.

You help him pull his sweats and briefs back up (and he tries very hard not to combust at how domestic that feels), then grab his wrist. His heart leaps into his throat as you lead him through your apartment, past the living room and—oh.

Oh.

That's... that's definitely your bedroom.

His eyes dart everywhere at once, trying to memorize every detail like he's studying for the most important test of his life.

There's a small plant on your windowsill (note to self: you like greenery), some photos on the wall (maybe he could get you a nice frame?), books scattered on your nightstand (he should ask what genres you—)

His mental catalog screeches to a halt as you sit on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your palms and looking up at him with that expression that makes his knees weak. Your eyes flick meaningfully to your sweats, and then:

"Take them off for me, Jungkook-ah?"

He actually chokes on his own spit, because what the fuck. How do you do that? How do you make simple requests sound like commands that make him want to drop to his knees and pledge eternal devotion?

Jungkook crouches down in front of you, his fingers trembling as they find the waistband of your sweats.

Oh god. Oh god. Is this happening? This is happening. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Or pass out. Or maybe combust entirely. His dick is already twitching against his thigh, and he’s genuinely terrified he might actually cum just from looking at you.

He swallows hard, trying to steady himself as he pushes the fabric down, watching with wide, reverent eyes as your sweats slide over your hips and down your legs. It feels surreal—like he’s in some kind of dream sequence or shooting a luxury lingerie ad. The way the fabric clings to your skin, catching briefly on your foot before sliding free under his careful fingers—it’s too much.

Too elegant. Too perfect.

And then they’re off, and he’s back on his knees, staring at you like you’re a goddess descended from the heavens. His gaze trails up your legs, over the soft curve of your thighs, until it lands on the black panties that cling to you in a way that makes his mouth salivate.

Oh god oh god oh god. He’s going to die. He’s going to die right here on your bedroom floor because there’s no way his body can handle this level of perfection.

But then—your fingertip touches his chin, tilting his face upward until he meets your gaze. His breath catches as you make a small beckoning motion with your finger, and he stumbles forward without hesitation, letting you guide him.

"You should start with kisses," you murmur softly, your voice low and inviting. "Come here."

His breath hitches audibly as you part your lips slightly, leaning back just enough to wait for him. He scrambles up a little higher, hands planting themselves awkwardly beside your thighs for balance as he leans in.

His lips meet yours again—soft at first, hesitant—but then you hum against his mouth, and it’s like something inside him snaps. His hands grip the bedspread tightly as he kisses you deeper, pouring every ounce of devotion and desperation into the press of his lips against yours.

Because this? This is everything. You’re everything. And he wants—no, needs—to show you just how much he means that.

Your lips move against his, slow and deliberate, guiding him like you’re teaching him a language he’s desperate to learn. Jungkook tries to follow your lead, tries to match the way your mouth parts just slightly, the way your tongue brushes against his bottom lip before retreating. He’s clumsy—he knows he is—but you don’t seem to mind. Every time he falters, you hum softly, tilting your head to show him how to angle his better, how to deepen the kiss without rushing.

It’s intoxicating. The way you taste, the way you feel—like you’re pouring all your patience and care into this one moment. He can barely keep up, his breaths coming in short, shaky bursts as his hands grip the bedspread tighter, knuckles white with the effort of not touching you anywhere else.

“Slower,” you murmur against his lips, and he nods frantically, trying to remember how to breathe as he adjusts his pace. Your tongue slides against his again—not too much, just enough—and it sends a shiver down his spine so intense he nearly collapses onto you.

He pulls back slightly, gasping for air as his chest heaves. His gaze flickers up to meet yours for a split second before snapping downward—and that’s when he sees it.

Your tank top has shifted slightly in all the movement, and now your nipples are peaked against the fabric, straining in a way that makes his brain completely shut down.

Oh fuck.

He’s going to cum in five seconds if he doesn’t look away—if he doesn’t—

“Jungkook,” your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a lifeline, and then your hands are cradling his face again, forcing him to look back up at you. Your thumbs brush gently over his cheeks as you smile softly.

“Take it off for me,” you say simply, nodding toward your tank top.

His breath catches audibly as his hands twitch at his sides.

"I—I—” Words fail him entirely because what the fuck is happening? Is this real? Are you actually asking him to—

“Go on,” you encourage gently, your voice steady and patient in a way that makes him melt. “You can do it.”

He swallows hard and nods shakily, his trembling hands moving toward the hem of your tank top like it’s some sacred artifact.

He almost fumbles the hem of your tank top. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he grips the fabric and starts to lift it, moving slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift in existence. The soft material slides up over your stomach, then your ribs, and then—oh god—your breasts.

He freezes for a moment, tank top bunched awkwardly in his hands as his gaze locks onto you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

They’re perfect.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

Round and soft and exactly how he remembers them from the closet incident—how they felt in his hands, how they fit so perfectly against his palms like they were made for him. He’s revisited that moment in his head a hundred times since it happened, but seeing them now? Bare and right in front of him? It’s so much better than anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

His mouth goes dry as his eyes trace every curve, every detail. The way your nipples are peaked just slightly, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath—it’s mesmerizing. He feels like he should say something, do something, but all he can do is stare like a fucking idiot.

“Jungkook,” you chuckle softly, breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. “Go on.”

Your voice snaps him out of his trance, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s still holding your tank top halfway up your body like some kind of moron. His face flushes bright red as he scrambles to pull it the rest of the way off, nearly tangling it in your hair before finally tossing it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out immediately, his voice cracking as he looks back at you with wide, panicked eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt gently, reaching out to cup his cheek again. “It’s okay.”

He nods frantically, still blushing furiously as his gaze flickers downward again—just for a second—before snapping back up to meet yours.

“You’re just—you’re so—” He cuts himself off with a strangled noise because there aren’t words for what you are.

Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You tap one of his hands where it's gripping the bedspread, and his gaze follows the movement before understanding clicks.

Oh.

You want his hand.

You're reaching for his hand and—oh fuck—pressing it against your breast.

He swallows thickly as his palm makes contact with soft, warm skin. It's exactly as perfect as he remembers from the closet, maybe even better because now he can actually see what he's touching.

His hand twitches automatically, squeezing slightly, and you hiss.

"Sorry!" he yelps immediately, trying to pull back, but you just chuckle and hold his hand in place.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice gentle but firm. "Don't grab. You need to knead." Your fingers guide his, showing him how to massage properly. "And brush your thumb... here." You move his thumb to your nipple, and the soft sigh that escapes your lips makes his cock twitch violently against his thigh.

Fuck, that was hot. That was so fucking hot he might actually die.

"Roll it between your thumb and forefinger," you instruct softly, "and do the same with the other one."

Okay. Okay, he can do this. This is fine. This is totally fine. He's just touching the most perfect breasts in existence while trying not to cum in his pants. Again. No pressure.

His other hand moves up hesitantly to mirror the first, and when you make another pleased sound, his nonexistent tail practically wags. Each soft sigh that falls from your lips feels like a reward, like proof that he's doing something right for once.

He can't help himself—he leans in to kiss you again, unable to resist the way your mouth parts slightly with each breath. His hands work in tandem now, one kneading gently while the other plays with your nipple, and the moan you let out against his lips?

Yeah, that's getting filed away in his brain forever. Right next to his most precious memories, ready to be replayed approximately ten thousand times when he's alone.

Because holy fuck, the sounds you make. The way you feel. The fact that you're letting him touch you like this, teaching him how to please you—it's almost too much. Almost overwhelming in how perfect it is.

But he wants more. Wants to earn more of those sounds, more of those sighs, more of everything you're willing to give him.

"Noona, I'm gonna cum," Jungkook stammers against your lips when you finally let him breathe.

He doesn't even know why he says it—except that it's absolutely true. His cock is twitching violently against his thigh, ready to explode at any second because apparently that's just what his body does around you now.

You chuckle warmly, and he almost starts crying again because god, he's so fucking embarrassing. But then your hand is in his hair, stroking gently, and your voice is so soft when you ask:

"Is this your first time? With breasts?"

He looks away, cheeks burning as he nods shyly. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes, too afraid of what he might see there.

"That's normal then," you assure him, fingers still carding through his hair. "Everything feels more intense the first time."

He glances back at you, heart stuttering at the gentle understanding in your expression. There's no judgment there, no mockery—just warmth and something that makes his chest ache.

"You can cum while sucking and playing with my tits if you want," you murmur, and the eager moan that escapes him should be mortifying but somehow isn't. Not when you're looking at him like that, like his enthusiasm is endearing rather than pathetic.

You lean back onto the bed, and his mouth goes dry as he watches you position yourself. He follows eagerly, hovering over you before leaning down to take one nipple between his lips. The moment his mouth makes contact, your back arches slightly and your fingers find his hair again.

Oh fuck.

The sound you make—this soft, breathy thing—nearly sends him over the edge right there.

His hand finds your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his fingers like you taught him, while his free hand fumbles desperately with his sweats, shoving them down just enough to wrap around his leaking cock.

He's so close already, pre-cum making his fingers slide easily as he strokes himself. Every little gasp and sigh you make sends sparks down his spine, making his hips buck into his own grip as he sucks and licks at your nipple like his life depends on it.

"Can I—" Jungkook chokes out between desperate pants, "Can I cum on your—your tits? Please?"

You nod softly, and he almost sobs with relief as he positions himself, straddling your waist. His hand works frantically over his length as he stares down at your perfect breasts, and then he's cumming with a broken moan, painting white stripes across your skin.

"I'm sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified at the mess he's made. But you just shake your head, reaching for some wipes from your nightstand.

"Stop apologizing," you murmur, but before you can clean yourself, he's already grabbing the wipes from your hand.

"Let me," he insists softly, carefully wiping his traces from your skin with reverent attention.

Once you're clean, he can't help himself—he leans down to press soft kisses against your breasts again. And again. And then he's back to sucking and kissing your nipples because how could he not? The content hum you make only encourages him further.

But then you're tugging gently at his hair, making him look up at you. "You can start kissing your way down," you tell him, and his face flushes crimson even as his cock twitches with renewed interest.

Yes. Fuck yes. Thank you god and jesus and buddha and whoever else is listening.

He starts trailing kisses down your stomach, each press of his lips deliberate and worshipful. When he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, moving to kneel between your thighs at the foot of the bed. His hands shake as he hooks his fingers in the waistband, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

Then you spread your legs, and holy fuck. The sight of your pussy—bare and glistening and so fucking perfect—draws a deep groan from his chest. You're so wet, so ready for his tongue, and he's pretty sure he's actually died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Because you are. You absolutely are.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, and his breath catches when he sees you propped up on your elbows, watching him with a soft, almost amused look. Your fingers slide into his messy hair, carding through it gently, and his heart stutters in his chest. He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks,

“Can I…?”

You nod, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yes.”

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He just has to remember what Taehyung and Jimin told him—don’t overthink it, listen to her cues, focus on what she likes—but oh god, he really doesn’t need to think about Taehyung and Jimin right now. What the fuck, brain? Not helpful.

He shakes his head quickly, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as he refocuses on you—glistening and beautiful and so fucking damp it makes his heart race. He did that. He got you like that. The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through him, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“Start slow,” you murmur softly, your fingers still threading through his hair. “Use your tongue first. Just… explore.”

He nods eagerly, leaning in closer until he can feel the heat radiating off you. His tongue flicks out tentatively, tracing a slow line up your folds, and the quiet sigh you let out makes him shiver.

“Good,” you hum encouragingly, and he nearly preens at the praise. “Now try circling around my clit—gently.”

He follows your instructions immediately, his tongue moving in slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your hips shift slightly in response sends a thrill through him, and he presses in just a little harder.

“Not too much pressure,” you warn gently, your hand tightening slightly in his hair to guide him. “Keep it soft for now.”

“Okay,” he mumbles against you, adjusting his movements until your soft hum of approval tells him he’s doing it right.

“Now try flicking your tongue,” you instruct softly. “Just there—yes, like that.”

The sound you make when he obeys is enough to make him moan into you, his hands gripping your thighs for support as he loses himself in the taste of you. Each little noise of pleasure that escapes your lips feels like a reward, spurring him on as he tries to remember everything you’re teaching him.

“Good boy,” you murmur again, and fuck—he’s pretty sure he could cum just from hearing those words alone.

Jungkook’s tongue moves with trembling focus, every flick and stroke guided by your soft instructions. The taste of you is overwhelming—sweet and musky and perfect—and he can’t get enough. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps at you, and the way your thighs tighten around his head makes him dizzy with pride.

“Slower,” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He obeys immediately, easing the pressure as he circles your clit with featherlight strokes. The whimper you let out sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock, which is already leaking against his thigh again. God, he’s so fucking sensitive right now.

“Use your fingers,” you murmur, your voice strained. “Just one… inside me. Slowly.”

His breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, his lips glistening. He’s shaking so badly he can barely coordinate his hands, but he manages to press a single finger against your entrance, sliding it in with painstaking care. The way you clench around him makes his head spin.

“Good,” you gasp, hips lifting off the bed. “Now curl it—there—”

He obeys, crooking his finger upward, and the choked moan you release is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. His cock throbs, but he ignores it, too focused on watching your face—the way your brows knit together, the way your lips part as you pant.

“Add another,” you say, your nails scraping gently against his scalp.

He slides a second finger in, marveling at how you stretch around him, how impossibly hot you feel. Your hips grind down against his hand, and he scrambles to keep up, curling and scissoring his fingers the way Jimin had described during their mortifying “lesson.”

“Fuck—Jungkook—” Your voice cracks, and he looks up to see your back arching off the bed, your free hand fisting the sheets. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t if he tried. Not when you’re falling apart above him, your thighs trembling as he works you closer. Your clit is swollen under his tongue, and he flicks it faster, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“I’m close,” you warn, your voice pitching higher. “Keep going, just like that—”

He moans against you, the vibration making you cry out. Your hips stutter, and then you’re clenching around his fingers so tightly he can barely move them. The sound you make—a raw, unfiltered gasp—echoes in his bones as you shudder through your release.

He keeps licking, keeps fingering you through it until your hand yanks his hair back gently.

“Enough, baby,” you pant, chest heaving. “You’ll overstimulate me.”

He pulls back immediately, fingers slipping free as he stares up at you in awe. Your skin is flushed, your hair fanned out around you like a halo, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Come here,” you murmur, patting the bed beside you.

He scrambles up, still trembling, his sweats clinging to his hips. You reach for him the moment he’s within reach, pulling him into a searing kiss that tastes like you. His hips jerk forward instinctively, his cock grinding against your thigh, and he breaks the kiss with a whine.

“Shh,” you soothe, your hand sliding down to palm him through his sweats. “You did so well. Let noona take care of you now.”

He nods frantically, his breath hitching as you tug his sweats down. Your hand wraps around him, and he nearly sobs at the contact.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and his teary eyes snap to yours. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”

It takes three strokes. Three strokes and the way you’re looking at him—proud, affectionate, hungry—and he’s coming with a broken cry, stripes of white painting your stomach.

He collapses against you, boneless and spent, his face buried in your neck as you stroke his hair.

“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So good for me.”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, but he nuzzles closer, his heart swelling so big it threatens to burst.

Twenty minutes later, after cleaning you both up with trembling hands and bringing you water, he's curled around you in bed, his nose buried in your hair. His cock is already stirring against your thigh because apparently his body has absolutely no chill when it comes to you.

"Noona?" he whispers, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

"Hmm?"

He swallows hard, gathering his courage. "I need to tell you something."

You shift slightly to look at him, and his heart stutters at how soft your expression is. "What is it?"

"I'm..." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm Spider-Man."

There's a pause, and then you... laugh? Not mockingly—just this warm, gentle sound that makes his chest tight.

"I know," you say simply, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead.

His eyes widen comically. "You—what? How long have you—?"

"Jungkook-ah," you interrupt softly, "you pulled me away from a bus from five meters away. And you're literally always wherever I am. And you bring me the exact snacks I mention wanting, even when you weren't there when I said it."

"Oh." He flushes, ducking his head. "Was I that obvious?"

"Extremely." Your fingers card through his hair, and he melts into the touch. "But it's cute that you finally told me."

He peeks up at you through his lashes. "You're not... mad?"

"That you're Spider-Man? No." You smile. "That you stalked me? Maybe a little."

"I wasn't stalking!" he protests immediately. "I was... protecting!"

"Uh-huh." Your tone is teasing, and he pouts until you lean in to kiss him softly. "Sure you were."

When you pull back, his expression has shifted to something more... heated. His cock twitches against your thigh, and you raise an eyebrow.

“So… since you’re not mad…”

“Yes?”

“Can we… go again?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Yeah,” he blurts. “I’ve got—uh—stamina. Like, a lot. Super… stamina. From the… you know.” He gestures vaguely at nothing. “Spider… stuff.”

You snort, clearly fighting a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” He nods frantically, hands flailing as he tries to explain. “I can go for hours! Days! Well, not days, but—I mean, I could eat you out again right now if you let me. Please? You don’t even have to touch me! I’ll just—I’ll jerk off while I do it. I can cum three or four more times, easy. Maybe five? Let’s try five.”

You stare at him.

He wilts slightly. “Or… two? Two’s good. Two’s cool.”

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

He scrambles up immediately, eyes bright and hopeful. You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his pouty bottom lip. “You want to taste me that badly?”

He nods so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Please.”

“Okay,” you say, flopping back onto the pillows. “But slowly this time. I’m not a superhero.”

He’s already scrambling down the bed, eyes gleaming. “Yes. Yes, okay, slowly. Got it. Thank you. Thank you.”

You snort as his lips find your inner thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously grateful,” he mumbles against your skin, and the vibration makes you laugh again.

Not done, he thinks, and this time, he’s grinning.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

TAGLIST:

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @ahgasegotarmy116 @chloepiccoliniii

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sleepyhoon · 6 months ago

Text

SAY YOU LOVE ME. — TRAILER

starring lee heeseung, park sunghoon, and you.

“ i know you like her, so do something about it „

syn. your once bold and confident figure skating partner — park sunghoon — has grown shy, stiff, and timid around you now that your routines have crossed the line from friendly intimacy to borderline sensual. with an upcoming performance at the annual figure skating convention on the line, you’re worried your partner’s incompetence could cost you opportunities to further your careeres. your boyfriend, heeseung, however seems to have the perfect solution to get sunghoon back on track.

running time. est 15k+

release date. mid to late january 2025

tickets. taglist open — reply to join or join my perm taglist here

rating. NC-17 :: mentions of dieting and harsh workouts, mentions of anxiety. swearing, alcohol consumption & drinking games. sexually explicit content in the form of — voyeurism, rough sex, cunnilingus, spit, fingering, multiple creampies, cum eating, slight mxm content, soft dom!hoon, mean dom!hee.

director’s note. surprise!! in honor of hitting 2.5 billion followers here is a teaser of my gift to you all! possibly my fave thing i’ve written in all my years of writing fanfics so this is extra special to me! hope you enjoy it, and special thanks to my angel @intromortal for designing the banners, dividers, and layout <3

— TRAILER

running time. 500+ || rating. PG-13

“I have a theory,” Heeseung pauses, taking a sip from your Stanley Cup as you quirk a brow at him, “about Sunghoon.”

It’s not often that Heeseung actively engages in conversations regarding your skating partner, so your curiosity is piqued. “What about him?”

Your boyfriend shrugs, setting your tumbler on the ground before slipping his boxing gloves back on, “About his, uh…date. I don’t think he’s into Jisu like he said he was.”

You snort, leaning your head against the rugged brick wall as you watch Heeseung give the punching bag a few light taps. “Trust me, I figured that out by now. I just don’t understand why he’d lie about liking someone.”

Heeseung glances at you for a moment, shaking his head at the fact that you clearly didn’t understand Sunghoon’s dilemma. “He definitely likes someone, just not her.”

“Then who?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

You throw your arms up in mock frustration, “How am I supposed to? He doesn’t talk to me about girls or his love life.”

Heeseung chuckles, mumbling “I bet” under his breath as he lands harder hits on the punching bag. “Sunghoon likes you, YN, that’s why the date with Jisu didn’t go well. That’s why he can barely even look you in the eye and why it’s so awkward skating with him now.”

“Your routines are so fucking — ugh — romantic now, and he’s obviously into you. He probably — ugh! — feels guilty, or some shit.” Heeseung punches grow harsher and harsher as he speaks, pausing every so often to let out a loud grunt as his fists connect with the leather.

Dumbfounded, you stare down at your sneakers in awe. You’d never imagined the possibility of Sunghoon having a crush on you, but Heeseung’s theory makes more sense than you’d like to admit.

“But, why would he tell me-”

“Because you fucking cornered him and demanded he tell you who he liked.” Heeseung interrupts, already knowing what your question was, “He was probably seconds away from pissing himself and blurted out the first girl he could think of.”

“I did not corner him.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, using his forearm to wipe the sweat off his brow, “Whatever, just pointing out that you probably scared him.”

You sigh, awkwardly toying with your shoelaces as you mumble, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t, baby,” Heeseung ducks around the punching bag a few times, pretending he’s in a ring with an opponent as you stifle a laugh at him, “he was just nervous, is all.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about this? His … crush on me is making it impossible for us to skate together, and I can’t do much about it.”

Heeseung allows his arms to fall to his side, chewing on his bottom lip as he gazes at the beat-up punching bag. There’s one idea that may just work, and maybe it’ll be enough to get you out of Sunghoon’s system just enough for him to go back to normal, or at least learn to not be so nervous around you.

“What if, for one night, we just … let him have you?”

Before you go to respond, Heeseung delivers another heavy punch to the bag, watching silently with a tense jaw as it breaks off the chain and falls to the ground.

#enhypen imagine #enhypen smut #enhypen scenario #enhypen #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung #heeseung imagine #heeseung smut #heeseung scenarios #heeseung x reader #park sunghoon #sunghoon imagine #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon smut #kpop #kpop imagine #kpop scencario #kpop smut

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candycandy00 · 4 months ago

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General NSFW Headcanons for One Piece Men

These are just some general sex/intimacy based Headcanons for some of my favorite OP men. I left out Law and Kid until I see more of them post time skip.

Keep in mind these are just my personal opinions! These are all assuming a Fem Reader. Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Luffy:

I’ve noticed while rewatching/ catching up that this guy is a hugger. He’s not shy at all about giving out affection to people he cares about, and I think that would carry over to more intimate moments. He’d definitely be the type to snuggle up to you during sex, wanting to be as physically close as possible. He might even wrap his arms around you multiple times, not in a restraining way but in a “I just want to completely wrap myself around you” way.

Some people seem to think Luffy would be completely clueless about sex, but I disagree. I think it’s very likely that Ace explained a few things to him. They were at perfect ages (17 and 14) before Ace set out for a big brother to tell his younger brother about stuff like that. Even if Ace had no actual experience himself, he had to have heard a lot of talk from the bandits. So I think Luffy is aware of the basics at least, and his instincts would cover for whatever knowledge he lacks. He’s surprisingly perceptive at times.

Zoro:

Zoro is the one who would be clueless. Not about the mechanics of sex, but about what you want. This man would miss every signal you send his way, so you’d have to literally state outright that you want to have sex with him. During the act, you’d have to be very clear about what you want him to do, at least the first few times. You’re better off just taking his hands or head and putting them where you want because this guy can’t follow directions to save his life.

Once the two of you have had sex a few times and he’s learned what you like, he would be a great lover. Zoro puts his all into everything he does, and that includes pleasing his darling. One of his best points is his stamina. He could go for multiple rounds without breaking a sweat, so prepare for long nights.

Sanji:

He’s all about his darling’s pleasure. He’d get much more satisfaction from watching you cum than from cumming himself. He would have a massive praise kink, both giving and receiving. He’d also be clingy and want to be intimate in some way with you nearly all the time (though he’d be happy with just cuddling, giving massages, etc. if you’re too tired for sex sometimes). He’d definitely prioritize your needs and wants over his own, mostly because making you happy is what he needs and wants.

I think he’s definitely a virgin, and he’s the type who will fall madly in love with the first woman who sleeps with him. Once he’s in love and in a committed relationship, he’s not going to be chasing other women. He’ll still notice a beautiful lady, but he won’t comment on them or visibly react, because he doesn’t want to upset his darling or make her feel insecure.

Usopp:

This guy right here? He’s the one to keep your eye on. Because once he actually gets some experience, he’ll be one of the best lovers in the series. The first time he’s gonna be nervous and awkward, probably boasting that he’s had a thousand lovers whom he satisfied completely (while nearly fainting from nerves). But once he gets over those initial nerves, he’s gonna lock in on learning all the best techniques. When Usopp gets serious about something, he studies and practices until he’s great at it.

I also have a headcanon that he’s got a huge dick (I mean, look at that nose) and just doesn’t know how to use it yet. Emphasis on yet. Give him some time and he’ll rock your world.

Franky:

The best thing about Franky as a lover is that he’s completely nonjudgmental. Have a wild kink you wanna try? He’s shrugging and saying sure, let’s go for it. Insecure about a part of your body? He’s showing you some crazy modification he’s made to his own just to prove all bodies are unique and wonderful. You’re never gonna feel shamed over anything with Franky, and that’s so freeing. The next best thing is that this guy will come equipped with all sorts of toys and gadgets to spice up the sex. If he doesn’t have what you want, he can just construct it on the fly.

It’s hard for me to decide whether I think he’s had a lot of experience or not. I’m guessing he’s had some given his age, background, and being a self professed pervert. He seems like he would be a sex positive person, or maybe just see it as no big deal. Just another way to express affection. I think he’s pretty chill about sex, basically.

Brook:

Okay, so Brook is pretty limited by the fact that he’s a skeleton and has no dick or tongue to work with. But he does have those long pianist’s fingers, and he’d certainly be happy to use them to please his darling. As we all know, he also has a panty fetish, so the easiest way to get him riled up would be to model the cute new sets you bought. He’s still a gentleman though, so he treats his darling with care and respect, always asking for permission before touching you and making you feel valued.

He probably had a decent amount of experience when he was alive, but he’s very new to being intimate as a skeleton. There would be some trial and error and he might get a little depressed about his limitations, but I think he’d get over it fairly quickly and just be happy to have someone special in his, uh, life.

Ace:

In my opinion, Ace would be very warm and loving in bed. Very passionate. Like his brother, he’d be very affectionate with his darling. This is a man who places a ton of value on bonds, on loving and being loved. He’s definitely going to show how much he loves you, in the most intimate way possible. Think lots of eye contact, physical closeness, slow and very deep fucking. I don’t think he’d be the super romantic type to leave a trail of rose petals to the bed or whatever, but once the two of you are in bed he’s giving you his undivided attention and just enjoying the feeling of being inside you. Also kinda think he’d have a bit of a breeding kink.

I think it’s highly likely he’s had some experience. He’s a handsome, likable guy who traveled around a lot by himself. Judging by how he blushed around Makino, it’s a safe bet he likes ladies. Specifically, pretty ladies who show him kindness. I don’t think he’d be shy or awkward but I can’t really see him acting like some arrogant sex god either.

Shanks:

Get ready for some sloppy drunken sex. I’m talking making out as you both make your way to the bed, tripping on stuff along the way and giggling like teenagers. You might not remember everything that happened, but you know it was fun! I somehow can’t picture Shanks settling down in a committed relationship but he would agree to being exclusive with you. So you guys wouldn’t be a couple but anytime he’s drunk and horny you’re the one he goes to. And if you’re in his crew, you’re probably half drunk yourself. But you guys have an agreement, so consent was already given. Shanks would give you a great time and be charming and funny, but he’s gone by the time you wake up.

He’s definitely had an active sex life. He’s too charming not to. Too well traveled and handsome. And while some of his past lovers miss him, none of them regret their time with him and look back on it fondly.

Buggy:

Similar to Usopp, Buggy would be full of false bravado at first. But when it comes time to do the deed, he’s strangely shy. Buggy isn’t used to being loved and cherished. He hasn’t had that since he was a kid, so he’s going to need a lot of reassuring. You’d have to stroke his ego a bit to get him in the right headspace to have sex. But once you do, he’ll be a surprisingly sweet and giving lover. He’ll want to be a dom, but will usually end up being a bit subby to you. He’d probably become very emotionally attached to you if you give him a blowjob. Giving him any sort of kindness or genuine love will make him fall head over heels.

I’m torn between thinking Buggy is still a virgin and thinking he had some experience in his younger, wilder days. He doesn’t strike me as the type to have a lot of one night stands, but he could have had a relationship at some point that we just don’t know about.

Crocodile:

A lot of people want to see him as a brat tamer, and I see the appeal, but in my opinion he’d prefer a mature relationship. I think he’d want someone classy that would match his vibe. So he’s going to keep his darling dressed up in the finest clothes and jewelry. I have a headcanon that he’s a sucker for fancy lingerie. He loves buying it for you, seeing you wear it, and especially taking it off you, slowly, piece by piece. I also think he’d be into some light bondage. Nothing too elaborate, just tying your wrists together with his belt occasionally.

For Crocodile, the most intimate act would be showering together. Because of his weakness to water, he’s incredibly vulnerable while showering, so he’s only going to invite you to join him if he trusts you completely. Doesn’t get more intimate than that.

Rob Lucci:

He’s going to be a very stoic lover, not very verbal at all in the heat of the moment, but his body will tell you all you need to know. He would be very primal, hands on your throat, taking you from behind, growling in your ear. But at the same time, he’s making sure you’re totally satisfied. Don’t expect an actual relationship with this man. He’ll rearrange your guts and then disappear before you can roll over. But he keeps coming back to you. He might even develop a soft spot for you, so long as you respect his privacy and don’t ask for a commitment.

The bird stays in the room, but give it some crackers as a distraction and it won’t stare the whole time.

#luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #usopp x reader #franky x reader #brook x reader #ace x reader #shanks x reader #buggy x reader #crocodile x reader #lucci x reader #one piece x reader #x reader

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vampyastro · 6 months ago

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✧ 𝕬𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖞 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖕𝖙 𝟙 ✧

Hey everyone! I’ve been studying astrology for many years now and decided I wanted to share some of my findings on here. Things I say might not resonate with you as everyone’s birth chart is very different and impacts them in different ways. These are just some observations I’ve made over the years dealing with different placements. Hope you enjoy! I apologize if I was harsh on some of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♡ Mercury dominants are very expressive with their facial features. When talking to them you can usually see their emotions displayed on their faces. It’s very charming, however, you’ll either feel loved or hated by them. They also can have very pointy features that stand out, this can possibly give them a wiser look.

♡ Scorpio risings have beautiful eyes. It’s almost as if they can see right through you. Their eyes are full of mystery and allure.

♡ Libra risings can sometimes be ‘fake nice.’ I don’t think they mean any harm, I just believe they tend to put up a front around certain people they don’t like and act friendly. Then the next moment they can shit talk them behind their back. This can also go for Libra suns as well.

♡ Mars in the 8th house people are very sensual, they can crave intimacy and sex. It can be very endearing; you’ll always feel a strong pull to them, even if it’s a negative gravitation.

♡ Libra/Scorpio placements always gravitate towards Aries/Taurus placements. Usually the Libra/Scorpio placement will notice the Aries/Taurus placement first and make their move. It’s as they say, opposites always attract.

♡ The most common moon sign I’ve seen in people so far has been Scorpio. It could possibly be because I have a large amount of scorpion energy in my chart and therefore I attract those people. Scorpio moons are very intelligent, you always feel as though they know something you don’t. They seem to have something darker lie within them that doesn’t reach the surface, however you can sense it just by observing them. They can sometimes have a mean streak. However, even with that inner darkness, Scorpio moons are some of the best people to know, they will be there for you in times of need.

♡ People who have multiple cancer placements in their charts can be an emotional train wreck. Sorry guys, maybe check out a therapist instead of forming attachments to unreliable things/people.

♡ Pisces moons are very emotional and sensitive. They can be very secretive with personal matters, more so than you would expect. They may have some deep turmoil within them that is difficult to process, in turn they may develop certain hobbies or outlets that help them cope.

♡ Sagittarius Mercury’s are some of the funniest people you will ever meet. Their humor and passion is impeccable and a joy to be around. They may have high energy levels and love to make people laugh. However, these people can be very chaotic and might put some people off.

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰! *:･ﾟ✧

#astrology #dark astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astrology notes #zodiac #zodic signs

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 5 months ago

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Jupiter shows where you tend to overdo things. Here’s a description based on its placement in each house:

1st House

• You have a strong, dominant personality and often want to be the center of attention.

• You can be overly demanding and push too hard for your goals.

• Your fashion style may be excessive, and you might indulge in cosmetic procedures or wear a lot of jewelry and accessories.

• You tend to spend heavily on your appearance and may try to juggle too many things at once.

• There’s a tendency to be overly focused on yourself.

2nd House

• You may hoard items or shop impulsively, often buying things just because.

• There’s a tendency to overwork, possibly juggling multiple sources of income.

• Spending on cosmetics, hair, clothes, and style can get excessive, and cosmetic enhancements may be frequent.

• You might prioritize stability to an extreme and focus heavily on having a structured, set life.

3rd House

• You may talk excessively, engage in frequent debates or arguments, and interact with many people.

• Constantly learning, you may have too many tabs open—both literally and figuratively.

• Your mind is filled with endless ideas, and you might overcommit to various educational programs.

• You could spend too much time with siblings or excessively text and talk on the phone.

• Spend excessive time on your phone.

• Spend a significant amount of time talking to others.

4th House

• You might spend an excessive amount of time at home with family and friends.

• Constant redecorating or buying things for your home is common.

• You may overindulge in comfort activities like staying in bed, cuddling, or enjoying home-cooked meals.

5th House

• You can be overly expressive and may try to juggle multiple hobbies or projects at once.

• Romantic relationships may become excessive, with frequent dating or hookups.

• You might have many children or find yourself in party and nightlife scenes too often.

• Overindulgence in fun, partying, or avoiding responsibilities can be a challenge.

6th House

• You may be a workaholic, often juggling several jobs and constantly staying busy.

• Helping others and being productive might become excessive, leaving little time for rest.

• You could overdo your wellness routine, such as dieting, exercising, or taking supplements.

• Obsession with skincare, hygiene, or maintaining a youthful appearance may develop.

7th House

• Relationships may be a central focus, with frequent dating, multiple marriages, or seeking romance excessively.

• You might rely heavily on others, becoming co-dependent or overly people-pleasing.

• There’s a tendency to overanalyze different perspectives or play devil’s advocate too often.

• Obsession with approval from people who don’t like you could arise.

8th House

• You may constantly crave change and new experiences.

• There’s a tendency toward excessive intimacy, with a high body count or obsession with sex.

• Financially, you might seek wealthy partners or focus too much on joint resources.

• You may overindulge in analyzing people, diving deeply into psychology, or exploring taboo topics.

9th House

• You might pursue multiple degrees, certifications, or philosophical discussions excessively.

• There’s a strong urge to travel frequently or learn about different cultures.

• You may have a lot of beliefs and constantly search for meaning in life.

• Overdoing growth and chasing life experiences can leave you feeling ungrounded.

10th House

• You might be overly focused on improving your career and achieving status.

• There’s a tendency to obsess over your image, goals, and purpose in life.

• You may become fixated on reaching the top of your career, gaining power, or finding your ultimate life purpose, often to the detriment of other areas of life.

11th House

• You could become overly focused on finding friends or fitting into social groups.

• There’s a tendency to immerse yourself in humanitarian causes, fighting for equity, and solving societal problems.

• You may obsess over social media, community involvement, or niche projects.

• Dreams and aspirations could dominate your attention, leaving little room for balance in other aspects of life.

12th House

• You might spend excessive time introspecting, trying to figure out yourself, others, and the world.

• There’s a tendency to become overly spiritual or religious, diving deeply into escapism or dreamlike states.

• Isolation can become excessive, with a strong urge to withdraw from society or live off-grid.

• Addictive tendencies or living in a fantasy world may surface.

• Overindulgence in healing or imagining life as you wish it to be could lead to a lack of groundedness in reality.

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the-moon-files · 5 months ago

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Not sure if anyone has asked this before I think it’d be funny for the Links to get flustered if reader asked them to touch their ears (out of curiosity) (I’m totally not curious myself)

Like are they sensitive? Just some thoughts to ponder...

Again, just going thru old asks, so if i don't apologize in the ask, I promise its a given 😭

Moon: presumed male reader, but no he/him, only "you" used, so gender neutral really ig ("you")

Orbit: SFW, Headcanons-ish, SHORT

Stars: vaguely the classic chain of links

Comets & Meteors: CWs: mildly suggestive, mild discussion about ear piercings/cartilage mention, & TWs: ear piercing disussion (vague, no talk of needles).

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

I actually sorta touched on this in an old ask, I’ll leave the link here in case u wanna see it, (when i find it…)

so ig I’ll expand on some short headcanons here!

so i mentioned last time i talked abt this being like a cultural hylian thing to only touch the ears of someone you love dearly, so like obviously parent/child, maybe older/younger siblings, etc. but i like to think generally,

esp as hylians grow up and become adults, their ears are like a thing only lovers/spouses touch/take care of

including piercings a lot of the time, so like a parent or sibling or lover will learn to properly pierce ears (tho i imagine they only really pierce non-cartilage piercings commonly)

so on the subject of piercings, i definitely think they see any multiple piercings/cartilage piercings on your ears as badass/def a show of good pain tolerance regardless of what you acc can withstand lol

(bro and if you have non-ear piercings?? Wind/Wild is Fascinated, and Leg/Hyrule/Sky/Wars jaws def dropped, even Time’s eye widened)

ok switching lanes back to the intimacy aspect

ok so we’re continuing off that situation in teh last post where you touch Four’s ears and are told what that means, and then half jokingly respond that they are very dear to your heart

(but obv if they’re uncomfortable you’ll def not do it)

bro the effect this has on them is actually irreversible lol

Wind was def the first to outright ask you to like check his ears after swimming or if they get nicked or even to ask you to pierce them once!

(if ur squeamish u said “no Wind, ask ur grandma” lol - but if ur not, like me when i was drunk once, u go for it after making super sure they’re symmetrical and sterile and whatnot, theyre just his firsts, as in the earlobe basic, and lend him a pair of your own earrings to keep in the meantime until healed, which is faster than humans. he is so happy he looks more like a pirate lol)

and the others def followed suit after Wind gave them the courage ironically (both being the youngest and also they literally all fought evil lol)

Wild politely asked if you could make him/help make him some earmuffs, Hyrule shyly asked if you would change his earrings, Four nearly went as red a tomato giving you a pair of earrings before suddenly but slowly all of them (except Wind?) gave you earrings some way or another (made or bought)

When one of the waitresses at an inn you guys stayed at giggled at seeing Sky give you a pair of carved pretty wooden feather earrings, before quickly running off, then congratulated you,

u asked what for, only to have her giddly explain it was a courting gift of course!!

…

nahhhh, all the Links gave you a pair of earrings, they were just being sweet and welcoming you into their culture probably!

or showing that you were dear to them to, since it was an “ear culture” thing!!

…you see the waitress sigh pitifully at the blonde men at your table later that night.

☆

thanks for the ask!!

peace out,

🌙📁

#lu x reader #linked universe x reader #link x reader #linked universe reader #loz link x reader #moon asks #lu x gn reader #linked universe x gender neutral reader #link x gender neutral reader #srry the way i write these things is just so neutal bc of the “you” that being a male/masc/man doesnt rlly come up #bc i could try and include it but it kinda ends up sounding just shoved in like an afterthought or smth #srry male reader lovers i promise ill make a gay post soon

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aleksatia · 2 months ago

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🍎Caleb – The Tea, the Rice, and Everything Between (NSFW)

🍎 Thank you so much for 100+ reblogs!

As promised — the cut scene is here, and it’s hot. Like multiple-times hot. No angst this time. No tears. Just heat, tension, and everything you’ve been waiting for.

Enjoy, sinners 💋

Original Story: Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Caleb.

CW/TW: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, squirting, emotionally charged sex, mild dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, praise, kitchen setting, bath/shower intimacy, established relationship, break-up/reunion themes, references to past emotional conflict

Pairing: Caleb x ex-wife!you Genre: Second-chance romance with heat and history. Exes-to-lovers (again), soft smut built on old ache. Domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, tenderness with teeth. Kitchen floor confessions, and sex like remembering. Summary: A blind date gone wrong — or exactly right. What begins as awkward reconnection turns into something slower, deeper: a return not just to each other, but to a shared language of touch, trust, and home. Where sex isn’t just sex — it’s communication. And staying. Word Count: 6.3K AN: This was a cut scene, and honestly, I’m terrified to post something this explicit in English — it’s not my first language. I’ve written smut before, but this time I was genuinely afraid it might ruin the tone of the main story. That’s why I’m relying on your feedback and comments more than ever — to understand how I can make intimate scenes better, and whether you’d want to see this kind of content in future stories, where the sex truly means something.

The kitchen was unfamiliar.

Not because it wasn’t yours — it was. Technically. Legally. But the way he moved in it, casual and precise, made you feel like the guest.

He stood barefoot on the cold tile, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, forearms dusted with fine scars and memory. He opened cabinets like he still remembered where everything was. Like no time had passed. Like his hands hadn’t once learned to forget the shape of your cupboard handles.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, voice low, too steady.

“You make it sound like a peace offering.”

“It’s not,” he replied, not missing a beat. “It’s a ritual. And we need a buffer.”

You didn’t argue.

The kettle clicked into place with a hiss and a red glow. The same model you’d bought when you still lived together. Sleek. Quiet. Fast. He filled it, turned it on, leaned back against the counter like the space belonged to him — or like he’d decided not to care whether it did.

You watched him like you were learning a new species.

There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and now it simply had nowhere to hide. His jaw worked — subtle, steady — as if every moment in this room was a negotiation. With himself. With you.

“You still drink green?” he asked.

“Only if it’s the thyme kind.”

He nodded. Moved to the cabinet.

You saw it before he touched it: the tin. Still there.

Still labeled in your handwriting. Still slightly dented from the time it fell when you were arguing about your night shifts — how he said he missed you, and you said he loved control more than company. You remembered the crash. The silence after. The tea everywhere. You had cried then — not because of the fight, but because the scent reminded you of a week in Kyoto, of a night in a ryokan, of him.

Now, he held it like something sacred. Not romantic — sacred. Like an object recovered from the ruins of something holy.

He didn’t speak as he measured the leaves. The kettle began its low boil, and your breath caught as the room filled with steam and tension and scent.

Caleb glanced at you then — just once. Just enough.

“You always said tea was foreplay for the soul,” he murmured. “Slow. Precise. Intimate.”

You swallowed. The air was too warm. Too full of unsaid things. “And you always made it like you were loading a gun.”

He smiled. Barely. “Still am.”

He poured. No splash. No hesitation. Just a perfect arc of water over leaves, a ritual in slow motion. You watched the steam rise. It curled between you like a phantom limb — reaching, touching, remembering.

Two cups. No sugar. No honey. Just heat and bitterness and memory.

He handed you yours without a word. Your fingers brushed.

Electric.

Your spine straightened like it had heard a command. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The words you wanted weren’t words at all.

He leaned in, just enough to murmur against the shell of your ear:

“Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

The space between you went taut — a livewire stretched thin.

He didn’t move closer. Not physically. But the way he looked at you — steady, slow, eyes dark and locked — made it feel like the room tilted toward him. Like your body might step forward without your consent.

Your breath shallowed.

He lifted a hand — not reaching, just hovering at his side, like a promise left hanging. The kind you could lean into. Or break.

You didn’t touch it. But your fingers curled.

The distance between you hummed. Your chest rose once — deep, instinctual — and you swore he noticed. Like he felt it.

A beat passed. Then another.

And then — as if some invisible string snapped — you turned away. Not retreating. Just breathing. Moving. Giving yourself an anchor.

You crossed the room, slow and careful, and sat across from him.

Now the table was between you. But it felt like nothing at all.

The sun was low, casting long golden lines across the floor, slicing through the room like truth. You didn’t turn on the lights. Neither of you said it aloud, but it was mutual. Sacred.

Shadows suited you both.

The tea was hot. Thyme, heady and clean. You lifted the cup to your lips, slowly, deliberately — not for the ritual, but for the pause it allowed. A shield. A stall. The steam curled upward, catching the light in fleeting halos.

He mirrored you, his fingers curled around the ceramic just a breath tighter than necessary. You noticed that — the way he always held things as if they might vanish. Or combust.

You took a sip.

Too hot. But you didn’t flinch. You swallowed, slow, and he noticed. You felt it — in the brief silence after, in the way his eyes flicked down to your throat and then back up. It wasn’t a leer. It was worse. It was reverence, edged with hunger.

You felt your breath catch.

He watched you like he was cataloguing reactions. Heat. Shiver. Pulse. The involuntary things. The things you didn’t mean to offer, but did.

“Still drink too fast,” he said softly, voice just this side of amused.

“And you still watch like it’s a crime,” you countered, setting your cup down with a sound softer than your own heartbeat.

That earned a ghost of a smile. The dangerous kind. The one he used when he was testing how far he could push before you snapped.

The room smelled like tea and him.

You hated that you could still pick out his scent from the air. Not cologne — that had faded. But the skin-memory of him. Leather and salt. The way a shirt held heat. The phantom weight of him in a hallway, a room, a bed.

He shifted.

Just enough for his knee to brush yours under the table. Not hard. Not even purposeful. But your breath hitched anyway, and the contact lingered a second too long to be nothing.

Your fingers tightened around the cup.

Caleb didn’t comment. He just leaned back slightly, stretching — a move that pulled his shirt across his chest, arms flexed, body all muscle memory and controlled casualness.

You knew better.

This was performance. Precision. The way predators move when they’re circling.

You exhaled through your nose, slow. Collected.

“Still stretch like you want people to notice.”

He raised a brow. “And yet only you ever did.”

There it was. The shift.

You let it land. Let it sit between you like the steam from the cups, slow and rising.

His eyes caught yours — not sharp, not heated, but slow-burning. The kind of look that traced rather than pierced. Like he was remembering you with his pupils. Carving new versions of you in real time.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“What?”

“Looking at me like you’re starving.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.

“I’ve been starving,” he said, simply.

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t a plea. It was a biological fact, laid bare like bone.

The sun moved lower.

Light sliced across the floor, catching the dust in the air — or maybe ash. Maybe some part of you had already started to burn.

You shifted slightly, and your leg brushed his again — this time unmistakable. This time yours. His jaw twitched.

Outside, a bird cried. Distant. The world, somehow, was still turning.

“You haven’t asked if I want this,” you said, not blinking.

“I don’t have to,” he said, just as soft. “You breathe differently when you do.”

You blinked once. That was all.

Then you picked up your cup again. Sipped. Let the thyme scald your mouth like penance.

The silence swelled. And it was good.

It was weighted and ripe and full of things with teeth. Things that growled low in the chest. Things that waited to be touched.

He reached out — not to you. To your cup. A finger trailing the rim after you set it down, brushing a spot still warm from your lips.

The motion was casual. The meaning wasn’t.

Your mouth went dry.

And still — still — you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You weren’t ready to break the spell. Not yet.

The air had teeth now. And it was breathing with you.

“Want more tea?” you asked.

You didn’t mean for your voice to sound like that. Too soft. Too deliberate.

But the words were already out, and your body was already halfway to the cabinet, like something inside you had already voted yes.

He didn’t answer.

You moved.

The cabinet clicked open with a familiar sound — that slight hitch in the hinge from years of use. Your fingers weren’t steady. You tried to hide it, but they trembled — just slightly — as you reached inside.

You moved a jar. Then another. Something metal clinked softly. Your hand brushed a tin of loose thyme, nudged a spice grinder. You weren’t really looking — not at first. Just buying yourself seconds. Trying to breathe through the static building under your skin.

Finally, your fingertips found the edge of the tea tin — cool metal, familiar weight — and curled around it.

The weight of the moment settled lightly across your shoulders. But it was growing. And you hadn’t even turned around yet.

Then — you felt him. Behind you.

No sound. No warning. Just the heat of him. The presence.

His chest hovered a breath away from your spine. Not touching — not yet — but so close you could feel the current of his breath ripple the fine hairs at your nape. And then — he moved.

A single hand slid around your waist, gliding low and sure — not possessive, not greedy.

Just anchoring.

His other hand came up beside yours, fingers brushing over yours as they both closed around the tea tin — steady, intentional.

You both held it for a moment. His thumb grazed the side of your hand, and the touch was light, but it hit like a jolt.

Then, without a word, he guided your movements — the rhythm slow, precise, like teaching a forgotten dance.

You opened the lid together. The scent of thyme rose instantly — earthy, dry, sharp in the back of your throat.

His fingers dipped in first, then yours. He didn’t let go — only moved with you, hand over hand, warm against your skin.

Together, you scooped the leaves. Together, you dropped them into the teapot — soft rustle, metal click, heat behind your sternum.

He reached for the kettle, still standing behind you, close. Too close.

He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“If your hands keep shaking like that,” he murmured, voice like heat sliding down your spine, “you’re gonna drop the whole damn thing.”

His breath skimmed your skin.

“You always did fall apart in the quiet moments.”

You tried to respond. A sound caught in your throat — something between a breath and a whimper — and it stuttered out, betraying you.

That was when his second hand moved.

Up your spine. Slow.

Palm flat, gliding with unbearable care, tracing every vertebra like reading braille — and then curling gently around the back of your neck. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just claiming.

Your body tightened in response. Knees locked. Fingertips trembled.

He pressed in, finally — chest to back, hips aligned, his breath warm at your temple as his hand guided yours to tilt the kettle.

Water flowed. The hiss of the pour filled the room like breath. Steam rose between you

Steady.

But your body — it wasn’t. Your shoulders jerked slightly with each breath, each phantom trail of his mouth near your skin. Your hand twitched, betraying you again. A spasm of want.

A soft clatter overhead.

And then —

crash.

The jar of rice tipped from the top shelf, hit the counter with a sickening grace, and burst — a spray of white scattering across the floor like bones or snow or silence breaking.

You gasped, instinctively.

And that’s when his hand — the one at your nape — clenched.

Not hard. But firm.

The kind of grip that made your lungs freeze mid-inhale. That made your throat work around the air like it was thick with heat. His fingers laced into your hair — not rough, not cruel — just decisive. Unmistakable.

He tilted your head back. Slow. Unrelenting.

And then—

His mouth found your skin.

Not lips. Not a kiss.

Mouth. Open. Hungry.

Along the curve of your cheek. Down to your jaw.

Your pulse jumped beneath his tongue when it hit the hollow of your neck. His breath was wet and warm and anchored, like he was planting a flag with every inch of contact. Claiming space that once was his and never stopped being.

Your hands had no grace left. One flew to the edge of the counter — the other clawed back, found his wrist, fingers digging into his skin. Hard.

Not to stop him.

To feel him. To mark him.

His other hand shifted — lower now — palm pressing flat to your belly, then clenching, dragging you into him, spine to chest, making it absolutely, unforgivably clear just how gone he already was.

You whimpered. This time you didn’t hide it.

It slipped out, molten and trembling, and you felt his grip tighten in response — not enough to bruise, but just enough to make you feel kept.

The room pulsed.

Your breath broke.

And still, he didn’t speak. Because he didn’t have to.

The rice lay scattered on the floor like shattered promises. Your breath fogged the inside of your chest like a storm you’d stopped outrunning. And his mouth — god, his mouth — was still at your throat.

Poised. Lingering. Like he hadn’t even started yet.

He only let go of your neck to turn you around — swift, certain, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you flush against him. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours, open, hot, demanding.

No teasing now.

His tongue pushed past your lips like he owned the space, like he’d been dying to taste you for years, and you let him — moaning into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling, clutching, needing.

You wanted him close enough to hurt.

He lifted you, didn’t ask, didn’t warn. Just picked you up by the thighs and laid you down onto the kitchen floor — right where the rice had scattered. Cold tile met your back, shocking at first, but it didn’t matter — not with him above you, between your legs, kneeling, eyes so dark they barely looked human.

He tore your shirt open — buttons flying. No ceremony. Just raw, frantic need.

The leather corset underneath was still on — tight, structured, hugging every breath out of you.

His eyes dragged over it like it was the only thing keeping him sane. And maybe it was.

“No bra?” he rasped, voice wrecked.

You grinned, breathless. “Didn’t expect to come home with company.”

His mouth found your nipple instantly — no hesitation, no teasing prelude, just need.

But once there, he slowed.

His tongue drew slow, deliberate circles around the stiffened peak — not touching it directly at first, just building heat, pressure, anticipation. His breath ghosted over the damp skin between passes, and your back arched, seeking more.

Then he closed his lips around you — warm, wet, and steady — sucking just hard enough to make your breath hitch. Your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him there, gasping as his tongue flicked rapidly, then flattened, then flicked again.

You moaned when his teeth grazed you — just a scrape, a warning. Enough to make your hips jerk up against him involuntarily.

And he felt it.

He grunted low in his throat, hand sliding up to cup your other breast, thumb brushing the second nipple with maddening gentleness — then a sudden pinch. Sharp, quick, perfect.

You cried out, biting your lip hard to catch the sound.

He switched sides without a word, mouth latching onto the other nipple like he owned it. This time he bit first — just a nip, followed by a sweep of tongue, a kiss, a suck that made your thighs clench and your breath break into fragments.

You were grinding against him now, fully clothed from the waist down, but soaking through. Desperate.

“Caleb,” you breathed, voice barely holding together.

His mouth didn’t stop. His hands didn’t stop.

He was unraveling you one nipple at a time, with patience, with precision, with a hunger that had waited too long.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin, “you still make the same sound when you’re about to come.”

“Keep going,” you panted, “and you’ll hear it again.”

He undid your leather pants with one hand — rough, practiced, fingers tugging at the tight laces, then the zipper. You lifted your hips without being asked, breath catching as the cool air met your skin.

The leather peeled off your thighs slowly, sticking where your sweat had slicked the inside, and he paused, looking down — drinking you in.

Lacy black panties. Damp. Barely holding on.

He let out a low, almost reverent whistle.

“Well, fuck me,” he murmured, voice thick. “Even your underwear wants an audience.”

You laughed, breathless. “You’re one to talk. You look like you just walked off the set of Colonel Kink.”

He smirked. “I was gonna say we looked like a porn parody of Mr. & Mrs. Smith, but hey, I’ll take it.”

Then — the mood shifted. The heat didn’t go anywhere, but it sharpened.

His hands slid up your thighs again — palms flat, slow, thumbs stroking the insides where the skin was most sensitive. He sank to his knees without breaking eye contact, and you felt your breath stall completely.

“Caleb…”

“I’ve missed this,” he said, voice low, honest, almost reverent. “The way you smell when you want me. The way you taste when you’re soaked through your pretty little lace.”

You moaned, hips twitching as his breath hit your core through the damp fabric. He leaned in — pressed his face right against you — and inhaled.

Long. Deep. Like it centered him.

You gasped, one hand flying back to brace on the counter behind you. The other slid into his hair, tight.

Then —

His teeth caught the edge of your panties. He didn’t use his hands. Just his mouth. Slow, deliberate tugs — the lace catching on your hips, your thighs, your knees, until it fell away entirely.

You were shaking.

He didn’t speak.

He kissed the inside of your thigh — once, twice — then let his lips trail up, open, soft, worshipful.

Then his fingers joined in.

Two, sliding through your folds, slow and steady, spreading your slick as his mouth hovered just above you.

You whimpered, hips rolling into his touch.

“Still so responsive,” he murmured, thumb circling your clit with maddening patience. “You always were. Every twitch. Every breath. I could map you blind.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Lips sealing around your clit. Tongue flicking, then flattening, then dragging up through your folds with obscene precision. He moaned against you, the sound vibrating into your skin, and your knees nearly gave out.

His fingers slid inside — two at once — curling just right.

You cried out, legs trembling, gripping his hair like a lifeline as he devoured you with slow, skilled, devastating intent.

Not rushing. Not teasing. Just giving.

Giving you everything.

His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers — curling inside you, pressing into that spot that made you whimper every time he found it. And he kept finding it. Over and over.

Your thighs started to shake. Your breath turned ragged. Every muscle in your abdomen coiled tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Caleb,” you gasped, voice high and wrecked. “Caleb, I—”

“I know,” he murmured against you. “Don’t fight it.”

And then he flattened his tongue, sucked your clit into his mouth at the exact moment he thrust his fingers deeper — curling, pressing, relentless.

You broke.

Your whole body seized. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as the orgasm tore through you like a wave too big to ride.

And then — you gushed.

Hot, sudden, uncontrollable.

Your release poured over his hand, his wrist, his mouth — and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He kept licking. Kept sucking. His fingers didn’t let up, coaxing you through every spasm, every twitch, every drop.

You tried to pull away — overwhelmed, oversensitive — but he gripped your hips, holding you there as he swallowed everything you gave him.

When you finally collapsed back against the floor, boneless and shaking, he pulled back just enough to breathe.

His mouth glistened. So did his chin.

And his eyes — fuck, his eyes — were dark. Wild. Unhinged.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked up at you.

“You squirted for me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You never used to—”

“I couldn’t,” you whispered, chest heaving. “Not like this. Not until now.”

That broke something in him.

He growled — actually growled — and shoved his own pants down, just enough, cock springing free.

Thick. Hard. Already leaking.

You stared — couldn’t help it — and bit your lip.

He didn’t waste time.

He surged up, caught your mouth in a desperate, wet kiss, and growled into it like he’d explode if he didn’t get inside you right fucking now.

One hand on your thigh, the other lining himself up, he ran the head of his cock along your folds — slow, deliberate, reverent — letting the slick heat of your release coat him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re still dripping for me.” His voice was raw, full of awe and hunger all at once. “You don’t even know what that does to me.”

You moaned, desperate. “Please.”

He didn’t ask again.

He pushed in with one brutal, beautiful thrust — thick stretch, sudden fullness, and your head slammed back against the tile with a moan that echoed off the cabinets.

You were so ready for him — still pulsing from release, still wet and open — and he filled you perfectly. Like he’d been made for this. For you.

“God—” he hissed. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight.”

He pulled out halfway, then slammed in again, harder — and this time, you cried out again. Not from pain. Not from relief.

From the shockwave of it.

From the way his cock hit deeper than his fingers ever could. From the sudden ache of fullness that wasn’t too much — just perfect. Every thrust dragged against oversensitive nerves, still trembling from the last orgasm, and sparked new heat — sharper, lower, hungrier.

Your body clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go. Like it knew this shape. Like it had missed the stretch, the press, the claim of him moving inside.

He felt it.

And you felt him feel it — in the way his hands gripped harder, in the way his breath stuttered, in the way he buried himself deeper, groaning your name like a man being remade from the inside out.

His pace quickened, relentless — no buildup, no mercy — just a driving, desperate rhythm that spoke every word his mouth couldn’t.

He fucked you like he was trying to erase every other man, every ghost, every moment you’d spent apart.

Your back arched. Your heels dug into his ass. Nails raked down his back as he pistoned into you, his dog tags swinging between you with every thrust — cold metal brushing your chest.

You caught them between your lips, sucked them in with a soft moan — and he growled at the sight.

Every thrust slammed your hips into the floor, scattering grains of rice that stuck to your skin like sparks from the fire you’d started.

You were panting, gasping, clawing — but you still wanted more.

“Harder,” you begged. “Fuck — Caleb, harder.”

He snarled, grabbed both your thighs, and bent them up toward your chest, folding you open.

And then he really fucked you. Deep. Rough. Unrelenting.

You felt every inch. Every pulse. His pelvis slammed into your clit with each thrust, sending lightning through your body.

You were close again. So close it hurt.

“I can feel you clenching,” he groaned, eyes locked on yours. “You gonna come on my cock? Right here, on the fucking kitchen floor?”

You nodded — couldn’t speak — hands scrabbling at his shoulders, nails biting deep.

“Say it,” he demanded, breath ragged. “Say who’s fucking you like this.”

“You,” you choked. “You are.”

“Louder.”

“You are! Caleb — fuck, I’m—”

Your orgasm hit like a detonation — white-hot, blinding, body convulsing beneath him as your scream tore from your throat. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just fucked you through it, driving deeper, chasing his own end.

And then — with a low, vicious growl — he spilled into you, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside as he came with a force that made your thighs shake.

He collapsed over you, panting, body heavy and warm.

The only sound in the room was your breathing. Intertwined. Labored. Wild.

The floor was a mess — scattered rice, your clothes, his pants around his thighs.

But neither of you moved.

His forehead pressed to yours. His hand found your chest — palm over your racing heart — and just stayed there.

You didn’t say a word. There was nothing left to say.

Only this. Only you, full of him, aching and open and alive.

Still drunk on the wreckage of it all.

His breath was still uneven when he moved — slow, deliberate, like your body was made of something breakable. He slipped his arms beneath you, palms warm under your thighs and back, and lifted you off the tile with a quiet grunt.

You didn’t protest.

You curled into him like muscle memory, like gravity, arms looping around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his temple. He was still inside you — thick, warm, softening but not gone — and you gasped as the movement made everything inside shift.

“Jesus,” you muttered, breath catching. “There’s so much... I can’t hold it all.”

He laughed against your cheek — low, hoarse, completely wrecked.

“Well,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “you did say you were ready to be filled.”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you’re clinging to me like I’m the last piece of furniture on a sinking ship.”

“Shut up,” you breathed, nuzzling into his neck. “You feel like home.”

He eased himself back against the cabinets, still holding you, your legs wrapped around his waist, bodies impossibly close. One of his hands came up to cradle your face — fingers tracing your cheekbone, your temple, your jaw — as if checking that you were real. That this was real.

You kissed him softly. Not with urgency this time. Just presence.

It tasted like salt and breath and belonging.

His thumb swept across your bottom lip. Yours followed the line of his collarbone, the dip of his throat, the stubble on his jaw. You both moved like you had all the time in the world — like the world outside didn’t exist.

Only the kitchen. Only the smell of tea. Only the aftershock still pulsing between your thighs.

“You still shake a little after,” he whispered against your lips. “Always loved that.”

You huffed a breath. “I’m trying to have a moment here, not give you a performance review.”

He grinned, forehead pressed to yours. “You passed.”

Then his hips shifted slightly, just enough for his cock to nudge deeper again — still thick, still present — and you shivered.

“…Are you—?”

You leaned back, just enough to glance between your bodies. Then raised a brow.

“Seriously?” you asked. “Already?”

He gave a slow, sheepish smile. “I mean… you’re still wrapped around me. What’d you expect?”

You tilted your head, faux innocent. “Self-control?”

He scoffed. “We’re past that.”

And god — he was right.

Because even now, you could feel him swelling again, twitching back to life inside you, warmth pooling low in your belly as your body responded without permission. You clenched around him — slowly, deliberately — and watched his jaw tighten.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warned, voice already lower, darker.

You smirked. “I’m not the one starting anything. You’re the one growing like a goddamn resurrection spell.”

He laughed — breathless, wrecked — and kissed you again. Deeper this time. Tongue slow and hungry, hands sliding over your back, your ass, your thighs, like he couldn’t decide what to hold onto first.

You felt the shift again. The air. The way everything started to crackle. Like the storm had only paused. Like it was about to break again — and you were both ready.

You shifted your hips, still seated on him, and he let out a low, strangled breath — head falling back against the cabinet with a quiet thud.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned. “You’re still so tight.”

You placed your palms on his chest, steadying yourself, and rolled your hips once — slow, languid, letting his cock slide deeper inside you inch by inch. You felt every ridge, every twitch, every pulse.

And he felt everything.

His hands gripped your waist — not rough, but grounding. His eyes locked to yours, pupils blown wide, reverent.

This wasn’t desperation anymore. It was worship.

You started to move. Hips swaying in slow, controlled circles, grinding down on him, letting the heat build again — not like fire this time, but like lava. Deep. Slow. Irresistible.

His hands traveled up your sides, over your ribs, to your breasts — thumbs brushing your nipples with just enough pressure to make your head tilt back, lips part.

“You ride me like you own me,” he murmured.

“I do,” you whispered, breath hitching. “You let me.”

“I’d let you do anything.”

He shifted under you, pulling you closer, burying his face in your neck. His lips grazed your collarbone, your jaw, your throat — slow, tasting, not rushing. His cock throbbed inside you every time you clenched, and you could feel how hard he was trying to hold on.

But you didn’t want him to.

You rolled your hips forward — grinding down just right, pressing your clit against the base of him — and both of you gasped.

“You feel so good,” you moaned, forehead pressing to his. “I missed this. I missed you.”

His hands moved to your ass, squeezing, guiding your rhythm — not controlling it, just keeping pace with your body, your want.

Your mouths met again. Open. Deep. Wet. Tongues sliding, lips sucking, breathing into each other like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room unless you shared it.

“I’m close,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to stop. I want to feel this.”

“Then don’t stop,” he said, voice shaking. “Come on me. Stay on me.”

You did.

You kept moving — long, grinding thrusts, pressure building until it was everywhere — your spine, your chest, your teeth.

Your orgasm came slower this time, but deeper — wave after wave rolling through you as your body shook around him, clenching, holding, welcoming.

You cried out his name, over and over, lips pressed to his mouth, hips jerking with each aftershock.

And he was right there with you.

He gripped your hips hard, fucked up into you twice — deep, sharp thrusts — then groaned deep in his chest as he spilled inside you again, heat blooming between your thighs as his body locked and trembled beneath yours.

But you didn’t let go. Neither of you did.

You stayed wrapped around him — arms tight around his neck, forehead to forehead, bodies still joined, breathing in sync, like something sacred had just been rebuilt between your ribs.

His hands stroked your back. Yours rested over his heart.

No words. Just warmth. Just home.

Then —

A soft crinkle beneath your ankle. Another near your knee. Something tiny, hard.

You both froze.

“…is that rice?” you murmured.

He huffed out a breath, low and amused. “We really fucked right on top of dinner.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “I swear to god, if I find a grain inside me—”

“I’m already praying to Saint Basmati,” he grinned. “Patron of questionable kitchen choices.”

You smacked his arm, still laughing. “Okay, okay. Up. Before the floor gets any ideas.”

He eased you off his lap carefully, his hands lingering as you slid away — and even though he was softening inside you, he groaned like letting go physically cost him something.

You stood, legs a little shaky, wincing as you looked around. The scene was chaos: clothes scattered, skin marked, rice everywhere.

And between your thighs, a slow, unmistakable trickle of cum slid down your inner thigh — warm, sticky, impossible to ignore.

You pressed your legs together out of instinct, but it didn’t help. He’d filled you too much. You were still leaking.

He whistled under his breath. “We might need a priest.”

“We need a vacuum,” you muttered, glancing at the rice field around you.

He chuckled, about to respond — and then his eyes drifted downward.

Paused.

Saw the mess between your thighs. The way it glistened. Trailed down your leg. His expression changed — sharp and slow, heat blooming under the amusement.

He met your eyes again — darker now.

“No,” he said, voice lower. “We need a shower.”

You didn’t argue. Not this time.

He picked you up again — less out of need, more out of want. Because he could. Because you let him. Because, despite everything, it felt good to be carried by someone who knew the shape of you from memory.

The bathroom was warm. Quiet. Your reflection in the mirror looked like another version of you — hair wild, skin flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes too full to lie.

The water came first — steam curling like new breath around you both. He reached for the soap, worked it into his hands, and began with your shoulders.

No rush.

His palms slid over your skin slowly — lathering, rinsing, touching. Not to arouse. Not this time.

Just to care.

You returned the favor — ran your hands over his chest, his arms, his back, fingers smoothing over scars you hadn’t seen in months. He watched you. Like he needed to memorize your hands again.

And then —

You felt him.

Hard again. Pressing against your thigh as his hands moved over your stomach.

You looked down. Then back up.

He raised a brow, unashamed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, biting your lip.

He smirked. “You’re the one rubbing soap all over me. Don’t blame me for biology.”

You chuckled — heart full, body warm — and stepped closer, resting your hand over his chest, right above the beat you trusted more than your own.

“If you’re really ready,” you said quietly, “we can move to the bedroom.”

The implication was clear. And not just about sex.

He saw it. Heard it. Understood.

And didn’t hesitate.

Later —

It was dark. But you didn’t sleep.

You lay tangled together beneath clean sheets, his chest your pillow, his heartbeat your lullaby. One of your hands rested on his stomach, fingers absently playing with his. His other hand threaded through your hair slowly, rhythmically, like he was still washing the day out of it.

The room smelled like skin and steam and thyme. And maybe something new. Or maybe something very, very old.

You didn’t look at him when you asked.

“What does this mean?” your voice was small. Honest. “Are we… together?”

He was silent for a moment. But not because he didn’t have the words.

“I don’t know if we ever weren’t,” he said softly. “Not in my heart. Even when I hated you. Even when I thought I should walk away forever… there was still a thread. Still you.”

You nodded. Bit your lip.

“I get that now,” you whispered. “But I didn’t back then.”

He waited.

You took a breath.

“I think I resented you for how natural it all was. We never really dated. Never had that honeymoon phase. No first kiss under streetlamps or awkward movie nights. No butterflies before a date. Just… us. We grew up together. Shared everything. You saw me cry over my math test, puke with the flu, and have a full-blown breakdown when I didn’t get cast as Juliet in sophomore year.”

You paused, voice thickening.

“I never had to impress you. Never had to put on makeup or play a part. And for a long time, I thought I missed something important. Like I skipped some great adventure.”

He stayed quiet. Let you speak.

“But after you left,” you whispered, “and I tried the whole thing — dating, new people, new experiences — I realized something. None of it mattered. Not without this. Not without you.”

Your fingers tightened slightly in his.

“I don’t need butterflies. I don’t need fireworks. I just need someone who sees me. All of me. And still stays. And god, Caleb, you’re the only man who’s ever done that.”

You finally looked up. Met his eyes in the dark.

“I’m sure now,” you said. “I’m not scared. I don’t need anyone else. You’re it. You’ve always been it.”

He looked at you like you’d just spoken the one truth he’d been waiting his whole life to hear. Then he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you — slow, deep, burning.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I always knew,” he said. “And if all the pain, all the time apart — if all of that was the cost for you to know it too… then it was worth every second.”

You kissed him again, and it wasn’t soft this time. It was full of every promise you hadn’t dared make before.

He rolled you beneath him, slowly, tenderly, and your legs opened for him like instinct. Like welcome. Like forever.

And when he slid into you again — this time in the dark, in the warmth, in the quiet — it didn’t feel like fucking.

It felt like staying. Like choosing.

And when you came, clinging to him, whispering his name into his skin like a prayer — you knew this wasn’t a return.

It was a beginning. And god, it was home.

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menelausblues · 28 days ago

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indoor intimacy inquisition.

꒰ rafayel tries his hardest to plan a good date but everything goes wrong except loving you. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 1.2k. semi-canon compliant. established relationship. fluff.

mdni.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen rafayel in this level of distress. it’s been ongoing for the entire day, the way he mutters under his breath, quietly seething about the mishap of all his orchestration. his cheeks are flushed red with frustration and eyes are set in a hard glare. “nothing is going right.” he mumbles, placing the pieces of his failed picnic on the counter top, lower lip jutting out pathetically. you approach him from behind, murmuring, “rafayel,” he sighs, “i don’t know what i did to upset the other gods but every single one of my plans going wrong feels like very intentional sabotage.” “baby,” you say with a soft chuckle. he turns to you but his frustration and petulance persist. “and you came here dressed for such a beautiful day out and i’m ruining it because nothing is together. don’t let this count against my boyfriend score because this is only my second time doing this. i’m still le–”

you cradle his cheeks in your palms, forcing silence on him through a series of tender kisses to his nose and lips. “i love you so much, but please hush for a second.” breathy with adoration he breathes out a confused, “huh?”

“today has been a disaster in terms of logistics, yes, but all the things that went wrong weren’t your fault or in the realm of your control. you can’t help that the weatherman was wrong and it rained when we were meant to have a picnic. you can’t help that they mistakenly gave your materials for our indoor intimacy inquiry–” a tender correction. “inquisition, the indoor intimacy inquisition.” “yes, that,” you agree, nodding fondly before continuing, “you can’t help that they gave our things to someone else and we had to wait. you didn’t know the restaurant was closing early and we missed the pick up for our order. you can’t help that thomas is sick and can’t help you with his part. i know you tried to make today very special and i love you so much for how much love you put into everything you do, but you’re driving yourself into an anxiety whirlpool when just spending time with you doing nothing is good enough for me.” rafayel doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you in all devotion. he wants to spill out a string of thoughtful words of appreciation, but all his mind can focus on is the presence of two confessions he’s longed to share with you, uttered to him so casually and without notice. “twice,” he mutters, staring at you. amethyst eyes glisten and needy hands pull you closer to his own body by the waist. he’s on the edge of a whimper and plea just to hear you say it again. confused, your brows knit. “what?” a chuckle as he shakes his head, lilac tresses falling into his face. “you…said you love me twice.”

flustered. you sputter over your words as you slowly realize that you did indeed confess to loving him multiple times. it’s not that it’s untrue, it’s just that you introduced a new level to the relationship and such a concept is frightening, especially when love can feel as fragile as it does hopeful. “oh…well, i…” rafayel sighs dramatically, the back of his hand resting against his forehead. “wow, my darling miss bodyguard never fails to one up me and steal my thunder.” “raf, what?” you ask bashfully, your smile so tender as you look down. he won’t allow it. he wants you to love him as proudly as he does you. he wants to be the only answer to all your curious notions. he wants to be cherished loudly and dutifully. titling your chin up, he forces your eyes to lock. “i was gonna say it first. and it was gonna be almost cinematic on the beach with the sunset glistening off the surface of the tides while i looked into your eyes and told you just how much life you’ve managed to breathe back into me, but here you are telling me without even realizing because you mean it so much.” he chuckles, reverence dancing on his breath. teasingly you ask, “i…did you want me to mean it less?” “no, it was perfect.” “so…are you happy or are you being dramatic? i can’t tell.” a roll of the eyes, a dramatic groan. “obviously, i’m happy and i love you with the white hot intensity of ten thousand suns, is it not obvious? a fish could be walking on land in front of your eyes and you would still ask where is it.” scoffing, your eyes narrow. “me and my love can waltz right back home.” rafayel flicks your forehead then. “as if you’re allowed to go off duty, miss bodyguard. you’re required to keep me safe all day and night. not a scratch on my body or you’ll go without pay.” you grin, your palms flat, running up the span of his torso. “oh? i’ll make sure to keep my hands all to myself tonight then. wouldn’t want to leave any marks.” as you go to pull your hands away, rafayel grabs them in his own, pressing them back against his chest. in his mind, he’s selfish and greedy for always insisting on having as much of you as you’re always willing to give, but he can’t help it. he can’t defy his nature of devoutness. loving you is as necessary for his living as breathing. “withholding affection is against company policy and you’re aware. besides, a lack of markings can be a safety issue for me personally.”

you roll your eyes but the singing in your heart betrays you. “is that so?” “it is so. so get busy, miss bodyguard. you’ve been on the clock for a while now and i’ve gotten hardly any affection. i would hate to report you to hr.” you hum, looking up as you feign an exasperated sigh. “sometimes i wake up and think to myself…do i really need this job?” “you do. and even if you don’t, i don’t accept resignations.” rafayel pouts as he grumbles it out. he rejects any and all notions of separation or unhappiness with his love. you back away from him and gasp. “am i your elite employee or your prisoner?” when he tries to take a step towards you, you playfully take a step back and watch his lips set into bratty pout. “come here,” rafayel whines pathetically. when you shake your head, he holds his arms open to you. “please, my darling miss hunter bodyguard fishie baby,” you’ll never admit it aloud, lest rafayel hold it over your head like his most esteemed conquest, but you love the way that all of you reaches back for him without question. you love the way he calls your name and it’s a siren song, an arduous string knotting through the space of your ribs and tugging you fondly, compelling you closer. for as much as he jokes about you trying to kill him, you’ve never been able to evade the strength of his influence. he could kill you easily with a weapon made entirely of your allegiance. “can’t stand you,” you grumble stubbornly as you find yourself sinking into his embrace, always called back home with ease. “can’t live without you.” rafayel seals your closeness with a gentle kiss to the temple. a halcyon sigh, “the feeling is mutual.”

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rafesteddy · 8 months ago

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"𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥" - 𝐀 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙱𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐆𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

*total fic is 15k

5.8K

𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓎𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒷𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 - 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒

⚠️warnings contain spoilers⚠️

Mean!Rafe, Bully!Rafe, bulling, Rafe is an ass, name calling, degredation, swearing, drinking, smoking, drug usage, kissing, praise, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), rough oral, multiple orgasms, spanking, violence, fighting, ownership kink, pet names, multiple POVs, violence, gore, horror, stalking, blood mentioned, gaslighting, lovers to enemies to lovers, reader is quick to forgive, mentions of mutual masterbation, teasing, cheating, possessive Rafe, jealousy

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂: Sweetheart! Reader isn't from the OBX. She met Kiara (roomate) at college and quickly became friends with the Pogues. The group decided to join the reader, working at Camp Salem which she attended every summer since she was little. After junior high she became a camp counselor herself. Sweetheart!Reader is just that, a sweetheart. She's a lover-girl and quick to forgive. She's hard to read regarding her sexual experience-her sweetness is irresistible to Rafe. He fantasizes about corrupting her and stripping her of that. Sweetheart!Reader wears her heart on her sleeve, making her the perfect target for her bully, Rafe Cameron.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮’𝓼 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂: Canon-wise this Rafe is the closest to Season 1 Rafe. He is the definition of touch starved, touched but untouched, craving intimacy because it makes him feel better, even if it's just for a few moments. The only awful thing he did in his past in this AU is to be an asshole to the Pogues. He and the Kook trio are serving community service hours assigned from the university at Camp Salem after getting in trouble for something at the end of the last school year (undisclosed drinking violation). This being something they couldn't pay their way out of.

Rafe’s POV:

“You ready, baby?” I murmur as I stretch out my legs, watching as she walks into the water nice and slow. Her hands relax at her sides, skimming the brisk water. She wanders out into the lake just above her hips, diving into the deep as I take off for my morning run, watching her from afar as I always do.

She glides across the lake, moving fast. I pick up the pace as well, trying to get to my regular spot on the trail before turning around with her. I used to tell myself I was just out for a run, but that’s a lie. Telling the boys it was simply part of my morning routine, but who am I kidding? It’s all for her.

It’s the only time I get to see her without her guard up; she’s been on edge all summer ‘cause of me. I know. I pushed her away…further, if that’s even fuckin’ possible. Made her feel unsafe in her favorite place. This fuckin’ hell hole…

Every stroke she takes pulls her farther from the beach. She’s a strong swimmer, but why the fuck is she out here all alone? What if she gets tired? What if something happens? She needs me.

And I need her. Fuck, I need her so damn bad.

This is my last weekend. I’ve wasted every possible second. I gotta make this right, even if I just get to apologize. I don’t want her to hate me even though I’ve given her every right to. I’m an idiot. I always get in my own way. I’m a goddam asshole. And this summer just highlighted that tenfold. She’s amazing. She’s so good at what she does: with the kids, with her friends. She lights up every room she walks into, and here I am, snuffin’ her out at every turn.

Y/n’s beautiful. Fuck, she’s stunning. Every time I catch a glimpse of her, I feel my heart break a little more. There’s somethin’ about her here, too. Maybe it’s the lake. Maybe it’s the summer heat. But I can’t help but picture the two of us out on my boat, her sun-kissed skin and the glimmer of the open water shining on her hair. I can’t help but think about how pretty she’d look in her little bikini, lying on my chest as we unwind on the boat deck, rolling with the waves.

That could have been us.

How did I get this deep into summer without telling her I was sorry, without admitting how cruel I was? Without telling her just how much I think about her? I had all this time, and I wasted it being angry and cold, being a fucking coward.

When I leave, she’ll finally get to relax. She might lift her head for the first time all summer and actually look around, seeing someone who’s gonna treat her like a princess. There’s plenty of guys here. She might fall in love with someone… and she deserves to. She has the right to be happy. I want to be the one that makes her happy. I can’t keep watching her from a distance. What do I have to lose anyway? I’ve already made an utter ass of myself. I’m at rock bottom.

I need to tell her I’m sorry… for everything. I need to let her know how I feel.

I stand at the lake's edge, watching as she swims into shore. My heart pounds in my chest as adrenaline courses through my veins. I study her carefully, watching the little rivers of water roll down her curves. God, she kills me. I draw a deep, ragged breath as she runs her hands through her hair, pawing out the water. I can’t take my eyes off her… I don't want to. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Damn, this morning is hittin’ harder than ever. Morning after morning, I could have made a move, choosin’ the wrong one each time. What about now? Her guard’s down, she’s relaxed. Y/n’s alone without any eyes on her that’ll question her sanity for talkin’ to me. Maybe she’ll hear me out. Fuck me. No…

I watch Kie walk through the sand toward her. Y/n smiles brightly at her friend, a genuine smile I haven’t seen in months. Kiara says something that makes y/n laugh. Carrera is gonna give me well-deserved hell if I even try to get close. I have to get her alone. I need her to know I mean it. I need her to know that I’ve thought about her for months and haven’t stopped. I’ve gotta convince her I'll be a better man if she gives me half a chance. I’ll get my shit together. I’ll be the kinda guy that deserves her. I’m gonna make this right.

𝐿𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉…

Reader’s POV:

“And just like that… fire,” Pope smiles up at you proudly. Your little crowd claps for him as he rises to his feet, giving you all a playful bow. Sarah fiddles with the speakers, pulling up a playlist as the rest of the counselors filter in toward the beach. Free Weekend is the one summer weekend where the camp counselors get to cut loose— a family weekend where all the kids head home for a few days, returning on Monday to finish the last half of the summer. You breathe deeply, looking out onto the calm, dark waters. It’s quiet, peaceful, serene. But that won’t last long. These small moments remind me why I love this place so much.

Pope crashes down on the sand next to you with a beer, passing one your way as JJ blazes up a joint on your other side. “God damn, this place gives me the creeps,” JJ rasps through a smoke-graveled grunt.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad my ass,” JJ scoffs. “You don't think we all know the stories? Shit’s spooky.”

“Yeah, it’s a little spooky I guess,” you breath as you wrap your arms around your waist, holding yourself a little tighter. Camp Salem was a pure joy during the day: bright and full of life, kids screaming and running around, birds chirping, energy buzzing. But at night, that light gets wiped out completely, the place changing entirely. A thick blanket of darkness falls on everything: the sky, impossibly dark, tall trees looming, shadows shifting all around.

Free Weekend always seemed a little more ominous. When the kids left it felt like they took the life with them. It didn’t help that the camp counselors loved to stoke the fires of fear, telling stories about what happened all those years ago when this was Camp Kildare. Free Weekend… Fourteen Counselors slaughtered at the hands of some campy-80’s-movie-esque slasher. It was bullshit. Nonetheless, those stories stuck in the back of your mind.

The lake shimmers under the moonlight, its reflection painted across the deep waters. The large fire casts embers into the sky, floating away into the distance, a red hue mixing with the stars twinkling in the sky above. The party starts to surge around you—still, no sign of Rafe. You bite at your lip nervously, trying to focus on the conversation between the pogues, but you can’t help but catch yourself looking out for him. You peer through the deep woods that line the beach, cabins set just behind, darkness, and trees swallowing up the rest of your view.

It had been a long summer with Rafe. He took out his frustration in the worst way. Who would have thought he would be so bad at managing his emotions? You laugh to yourself at the ridiculousness of that thought. He was such a dick. So, impossibly mean. I'm patient; still hanging onto our time together by a thread. But I’ve had about enough.This is his last weekend here. His probationary hours are all but complete. His worry about getting kicked out of the frat finally squared up. Even though he’s an asshole, there's this part of me that wants him to stay. What’s wrong with me?

Your stomach flutters as you hear his voice. Rafe walks down the little pathway with Kelce and Top, laughing about something. Rafe punches Thornton playfully, rough enough to make him stumble, the blonde already drunk. Kiara huffs out a disheartened breath, seeing the trio. The three shuffle through the sand, making their way to the fire.

Rafe sits down, trying to act casual, but there’s obviously something on his mind today more than the rest. He’s snuck a few more glances than usual; his stare a little more pensive than his usual glare.

The bonfire casts flickering shadows across his sharp, tight jawline. He leans closer, flexing his arm muscles unknowingly, straining his sun-soaked t-shirt. Rafe takes off his hat, running his hands through his hair, turning it backward instead, letting you see his beautiful eyes. His gaze shifts to yours, catching you staring, but this time you keep your focus on him. Rafe’s eyes narrow slightly, sizing you up but not in the way he has been— with kinder eyes.

The air between you thickens more, building from the moment you saw him watching you at the lake. For a split second, you thought he was about to break. But when Kie came over, everything changed. He walked away reluctantly, it seemed. What if he was going to apologize? Maybe I’m overthinking it.

You smile softly, hoping to ease the pressure, and like some dream state, he smiles back slightly, the corners of his perfect lips curling up; his eye flutter, the man unsure if he believes it himself.

Holy shit.

Rafe’s POV:

Is that a smile? Oh my god. I feel like I have to pinch myself. That… that’s a real smile. Her smile. Just as I hit my high I'm struck down again. My stomach twists as I watch an arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her close, whispering in her ear. She giggles that sweet fucking giggle, rolling her stunning eyes away at what Heyward has to say. Pope? You fucking kidding me? My heart shatters. Why wouldn’t he go after her? Why wouldn’t she have people pinning after her? I knew it would fucking happen… I knew that she would find someone. But how did I not see this coming? Is this a new thing? Don’t tell me I’m watching the start of their fuckin’ relationship. I’ll lose my goddamm mind. I grit my teeth and clench my fists, feeling myself right on the brink of a breakdown, seconds away from crashing out completely.

I underestimated just how hard this would be… Seeing her with someone else. Pope Heyward... Fuck that guy. He has no business being that close to her. My blood boils at the thought of him having what I yearn for—getting my girl. My chest tightens with anxiety, making my labored breathing that much harder. She’s too smart. That smile toward me meant nothing… Topper was right all those months ago. She’s done with me. She deserves better. She found better. Fuck everything. If she hates me, fine. At least she feels something for me.

Reader’s POV:

”I’m gonna get a beer. Anyone want anything?” You ask as you rise to your feet. JJ holds up two fingers, gesturing for two beers as the rest is waves you off with a ‘thank you’ and a smile. You foot through the sand, heading toward the coolers on the fringe of the woods. Leaning over you snag three, turning around, gasping as you bump right into Rafe’s big chest.

“Three, huh?” He cracks up.

“They’re obviously not all for me.”

“Obviously,” he taunts. “Drinkin’ three beers would require you to pull that stick outta your ass, and we both know you’d never do that. Now, would you?” You suck your teeth and step around him, but he strides in your path, letting out another laugh, getting off on making you uneasy. “Ain’t it exhausting being such a goodie-two shoe? Don’t even get me started on what a prude bitch you are-”

”Enough,” you shout. Pope, JJ, and John B stand up instantly, staring in your direction; posturing—challenging Rafe to mess with you again.

“Wait… Wait a damn minute. Are you fuckin’ all three of ‘em?” He whispers cruelly, close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your neck. “You’re a fuckin’ whore. Aren’t you?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Leave me alone,” he mocks your voice, reaching out his big hand, hooking his finger around your belt loop, pulling you in. “You don't want that. You love this shit. Bet’you're soaked, princess.”

“You’re pathetic, Rafe.”

“Have fun with your boyfriends, sweetheart. I'm sure it’ll be a long night for a slut like you. You got three holes for a reason. Ain’t that right?”

“You’re a pussy, Rafe.”

“‘S’cuse me?” He snorts out a little chuckle. “What was that now?”

“You heard me. Can't say you're sorry. Can't admit you like me… You’re a fuckin’ pussy and everyone knows it.”

“M’not,” he whisper, swallowing hard, thrown off completely, trying to regain the upper-hand. “I can’t wait to leave this shit hole— then I don’t have to see your priss-ass every day.”

“Keep lying to yourself, Cameron.” You push past him, walking toward the fire as you scrunch your nose, holding back tears of frustration as the pogues look back up at you. You pass JJ his beers before cracking open one of your own, quickly downing it; plucking the joint out of Maybank’s fingers next.

“Rough night. Huh?” JJ asks, making your group laugh as he states the blatantly obvious.

”Just gotta get through tonight,” you sigh through a sticky cloud of weed smoke. Pope scoots a little closer, lessening the space between you. He looks down at you with warm eyes, giving you a soft, sweet smile. It had been a fun summer with him so far; there was no denying Pope’s boyfriend material, but there’s a piece of your heart that’s holding you back…

You look across the fire, watching as Rafe talks with his friends. He chuckles between sips of beer, seemingly unaffected by your exchange, an arrogant swagger in his body language letting you know that he still know, regardless of where the two of you stand, he has your focus. Rafe looks your way, catching you red-handed. He smirks at you, continuing to torture you without words at all.

“Hey,” Pope breathes as he rests his large hand on your thigh, guiding your eyes back to him. “Forget about him. Alright. He’s just a dick… Always been a dick.” Pope keeps his hand sat, rubbing his thumb lazily, keeping you grounded. You give him a soft smile and a nod.

You’re trying your best not to look, but when you turn your attention to Kie, her eyes are focused in Rafe’s direction. She chuckles delightedly and shakes her head, obviously amused with something. You turn your attention to Rafe, watching him watch youl, his body language quickly betraying him. He crosses his big arms over his broad chest, lips pressed into two thin lines, as his eyes cut into you like daggers.

“Looks like someone’s night took a turn,” Kiara chuckles. You laugh as well; a mixture of excitement and nerves. Your laughter and smile making the tensions between the two of you heighten even more.

“I mean… We could have fun with this.” JJ hums against the lip of his beer bottle before taking a swig.

“This is a bad idea,” Kie warns.

“Of course it is. Stupid things have good outcomes all the time... You know that, Kie. Now, who of us does he hate the most?” Everyone in your group raises their hand, causing more laughter.

”Honestly, it seems like Pope,” John B adds.

“‘Course it does,” Pope clips. “You in?” He cocks his eyebrow at you mischievously.

Why not? You nod and smile as you lean into him, resting your hand on his cheek as you brush your thumb along his bottom lip. “He’s gonna kill you,” you coo. But to Rafe and the other kooks it looks like you’re mumbling sweet nothings to Heyward. Giddy energy courses around you as the group feeds off of Rafe’s growing rage.

“Yeah - What’s new?” Pope mumbles as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss, stopping right before your lips meet, sharing breath with you. “We don’t have to kiss. It’s alright. I'm sure this is enough-” You steal Pope’s words off his lips as you press yours against his in a deep, searing kiss. You let your mouth move with Pope’s, relishing in the moment of peace, knowing this would bring nothing but drama. The pogues hoot and hollar. You pull away slowly, the two of you looking back at each other, unable to deny that the kiss was great regardless of the situation.

“Yeah, that was hot. He’s pissed,” JJ blurts, making the reality of the situation sink in fast.

Holy Shit.

JJ leans into the campfire, a broad, sinister smile painted on his lips as he prepares to tell the story of ‘84, laying on the theatrics thick. “Sit back and relax. Grab a beer. Let me tell you about what happened here.”

“That rhymed,” John B. smiles and nods, elbowing JJ, who smiles proudly.

"M’a storyteller. What can I say? Well, it was the summer of ‘84… At this here camp,” he drawls as he motions his hands around the fire, catching everyone’s eyes. “Camp Kildare… Camp Kill. It was Free Weekend, just like tonight—a warm summer even, such as this. The counselors were young, carefree, horny-“ He lets his voice get swallowed up in the cat-calls of the crowd. “No one noticed the counselors gettin’ picked off one-by-one, everyone figured they were just couples slippin’ away for some advanced cuddling in the bunks. But then, a few too many started to disappear. Ain't no way all of ‘em were bangin’ one out. I mean, the kids are gone. Right? It’s quiet and eerie. Losing thirteen people is a little hard to ignore. First was Max. He ran up to the mess hall fridge to snag a keg. The next were Joy and Casey, who slipped away for a quickie in cabin five. After that, odd shit started happening left and right.”

“People started separating from the rest, only to get slane brutally. One lone counselor remained: Peggy Dates. They found her the next day, fightin’ for her life around what little remained of her fellow counselors, all slashed to pieces. In the middle of the welcome sign, they found an axe, buried deep in the lumber, dripping with the blood of thirteen…”

“Now we all know them filthy kooks only want one thing, and one thing only: cash money. I’m ass at math, so don’t quote me on this, but twenty years ago they decided to open the camp again, giving it a new name, thinkin’ no one would notice. But it’s hard to ignore it… There’s evil here. You can feel it— hear it. See it,” he whispers just above the crackling of the fire as he points toward the inky black woods.

“The Kildare Slasher is still wandering out there, just waitin’… So if you see a man walking around the timbers in a ripped plaid shirt, wielding an axe, just run. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” JJ screams, making the crowd around the fire shout with terror and thrill. You lean into Pope and him into you, cuddling closer.

Rafe’s eyes drill into you from across the fire, his focus never leaving you, frustration, confusion, rage, all but boiling over as he scowls at you, wearing his possessiveness on his sleeve. Ever since everything went down, he never had to fight for your attention; he always had it, even if you weren't talking. He was never worried about someone taking you because, at the end of the day, he knew how hung up you were on him.

But tonight burned. He hated seeing someone else get your attention. He hated seeing someone else making you laugh and smile. His lip twitched with anger, fists tightening as he watched your fingers lace into Pope’s. And in that moment, you saw him physically holding himself back, every fiber of his being wanting to storm across the fire and take back what was his.

Instead, he sits there and stews some more, plotting his next move. He smiles smugly; his next plan of attack coming sooner than he hoped as he watches Zoey Peters stand up from her makeshift seat on a log. She brushes off shorts, the curves of her plump ass poking out of the bottom of her cut-offs; tits spilling out of the top of her shirt. Rafe’s tongue pokes in his cheek. You watch him, his calculated daze morphing into a come-hither stare. Zoey takes the bait effortlessly, strolling toward Rafe with a smile. He looks up at her from his seat on the cooler; the beautiful blonde slotting herself between his thighs, his hand instantly resting dangerously high on the back of her thighs.

He gives her a cocky smile, mumbling something charming that makes her giggle. Rafe grabs her hand, guiding her to sit on his lap. His eyes fall down her body, landing on her perfect tits, drifting higher ‘til they set on her full, glossed lips. Fuck, he’s an asshole. It’s so clear he’s doing the same thing I am… His eyes dance between the two of you as they chat. He’s so obvious about it; it’s maddening. He’s really trying to fuck with me like he hasn’t already been doing that ALL fucking summer. His large hand gropes her bare thigh as he leans in, whispering something in her ear, making her turn away bashfully. I can’t help but feel the sting; déjà vu hitting hard. Whatever…

“You wanna go down to the water?” You ask Pope, who looks over at you with a smile.

“I’d love that.” He grabs your hand, helping you to your feet, the two of you shuffling down the beach toward the lifeguard house. You step through the cool sand, leaving the warmth of the party to a place more private. “So?” Pope looks down at you, saying so much with a single word.

“So?” You sigh, tipping your heavy head on his shoulder, your body relaxed from the liquor and smoke, not too much, just the perfect buzz.

“How long until Cameron’s stomping over here asking ‘what the hell are you doing-”

"Where the fuck are you two goin’?" Rafe spats. Pope laughs weakly, the comedy and predictability of it all too much. Pope’s fingers twine into yours, silently letting you know that he’s not afraid. “What are you doin’ Huh?”

"Just hanging out, Cameron. What does it matter to you?” Pope challenges. “Don’t you have a girl? Where’s Zoey?”

“Oh, fuck off, Heyward. We both know why I was talkin’ to her. Aight? Now I’m gonna ask you one more fuckin’ time. What are you doin’ with my girl?”

“Your girl?” Pope laughs. “You’re joking? Are you his girl, Y/n?” You look up at Pope confusedly, shrugging like you’re unsure, just fucking with Rafe at this point. “We all know the answer to that,” Pope mocks. “You’ve been harassin’ her all year; been a fuckin’ asshole to her all summer. ‘Course you’re not-”

“You’re not gonna talk to her ever again. You understand?”

“She’s my friend,” Pope scoffs. “Of course, I’m gonna talk to her, you fuckin’ psychopath… We done?”

“Far from it,” Rafe laughs.

“You wanna be done, sweetheart? We don’t need to do this with him,” Pope looks down at you with a glint in his eye, using a pet name to stiffen the blow.

“Call her sweetheart again. Please,” Rafe pleads maniacally; an unhinged look in his eye as he stares backs at the two of you.

”You hard of hearing, sweet cheeks?” Pope smiles making Rafe lose all control.

“FUCK OFF, POPE. THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND HER!” Rafe shouts. His voice thundering in your chest, fists clenched at his sides, as he steps into Pope’s space.

“You just want her ‘cause she’s with me, man. You don’t care about her.”

”Don’t fuckin’ speak for me,” Rafe barks, the two standing head to head, preparing to fight as the kooks and pogues run down the beach toward the three of you. "YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE WHAT’S MINE, BITCH?" Pope swings, striking Rafe in the jaw, surprising you both; knuckles against flesh, making him struggle back, holding his face. Your hands clamp over your mouth in shock as the beach floods with panic. Kelce, Topper, John B, and JJ jump in as well; a barrage of big bodies going at it, blow-for-blow.

The light from the campfire in the distance is your only source of light as you and Kie do your best to pry the boys off each other. Rafe regains his footing, wiping the blood from his lips, his piercing blue eyes brimming with fury. He runs forward, tackling Pope to the ground, the two grappling in the sand. "RAFE, ENOUGH. STOP!” You shriek as he gets the upper hand completely, pounding Pope into the beach.

Kelce grabs Rafe by the back of his shirt, yanking him off before he can do any more damage—Rafe fights against his hold, barking threats at Pope as Kelce holds him back. ”STAY AWAY FROM HER, HEYWARD. STAY THE FUCK AWAY.”

You pout your lip, looking into Pope’s beautiful brown puppy dog eyes, blotting away the blood on his cheek. He sucks his teeth, eyes pinching shut in pain. "Well, that went about as well as expected,” Kie groans, giving JJ a side-eye as he glides his tongue along some paper, rolling up a joint.

“I had a great night. What are you talkin’ about?” JJ smiles, his lip split and bloody, one of his eyes swollen shut. You cup his cheek in your hand, looking back at him regretfully as you sigh.

“He’ll be gone tomorrow. Maybe we should have avoided the whole make-him-jealous thing. Don’t you think?”

“Our first mistake was listening to Maybank,” Pope whispers, making JJ scoff.

“Talkin’ shit… Damn, Pope. You’re on a roll tonight, baby. Didn't you throw the first punch too, man? Proud of you-”

”He did,” you answer for him, pressing the bandaid against his cheek. “You didn’t have to do that, Pope.”

“It was my pleasure, truly. I hate the guy. Got to say my piece. Got to get under his skin. Maybank was right. This is a great night,” he smiles. “Definitely worth a scrape or two.

“Or three…”

“Rafe deserves to hear all the shit he put you through… M’guessing you still wanna be with him?”

You shake your head ‘no,’ but the whole room knows you’re lying. “That's not true-”

“Liar, liar. Pants on fire,” JJ mutters through his exhale. “Very, very questionable taste in men but we've come to terms with it.”

“Have we?” John B laughs weakly, picking the joint off JJ’s fingers before resting it between his lips.

“I don't know... Kie was right all along. He’s a-”

“Walking red flag,” the room chants in unison.

“Mhmm… He is. He’s a mess,” you sigh.

“But…” JJ mocks you, waiting for you to continue the words you're too embarrassed to say aloud. I still want him.

“Ya know… He said that the three of us were “doing it.”

“Yo… It as in sex?” JJ blurts as he chokes on his smoke. “I am so in.” You roll your eyes and laugh, returning your attention to Pope again.

“Thank you for tonight.” He smiles at you sweetly, taking your hands in his.

“Anytime, Y/n-”

”Hey.” The five of you turn toward the noise as Zoey peers inside, searching the room before meeting your gaze. “Have you seen Paisley?” She asks worriedly.

“Uh, yeah,” Kie mumbles. “Cabin four with Trevor, what, like thirty minutes ago?”

“Oh,” Zoey giggles, putting two-and-two together. “Maybe I’ll give her a bit.”

Pope hops off the counter, wincing slightly as he adjusts his body to stand straight, his muscles aching. “Let me walk you to your cabin.” You smile and nod, taking his hand in yours.

The two of you walk down the row of cabins, the strain of the evening somehow lessened, leaving everything a little lighter. Pope pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “Thank you again, Pope,” you mumble against his chest, listening to the soft pattering of his heart. “I’m sorry about all this.”

He breathes out a deep breath with you before shrugging and smiling warmly. “You’re my friend, y/n. And good news for you, I love you more than I hate him. So...”

“Love you too. You’re too good to me, Pope.”

“I know,” he grins as he rocks back on his heels, trying not to laugh. “If you need me, just holler, okay? Knowing Cameron he’s not done… Be careful with him.” Pope kisses your forehead before pulling back, looking down at you with a smile. “Have a great night.”

“You too.” You watch as Pope walks away, disappearing into the night toward his cabin. Reaching for your walkie-talkie, you pull it out of your pocket, lifting it to your lips. “Be safe,” you smile.

“I’ll be so safe,” he chuckles.

“Let me know when you get back. I don’t want you to get got by some slasher.”

”Stop, you’re scarin’ me,” he whimpers dramatically.

“Fuck!” You squeak as you're grabbed by your arm. You swing around, meeting Rafe’s gaze, slapping him across the cheek without a second thought. His face snaps to the side; hissing in pain.

“I deserve that,” he mutters before clearing his throat, returning his eyes to yours.

“I fucking hate you, Rafe,” you huff as you swerve around him, walking toward the stairs, but he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him again.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs as he backs you into the cold wooden wall of the cabin. It’s true… it’s not just lip service; I fucking hate him. I hate the way I can’t get over him, the way he’s constantly on my mind even when he treats me like absolute dog shit. I hate that I still like him. “Leave, Rafe.”

“Will you just stop? Please… I’m trying to talk to you. I've been trying to talk to you all day.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Why would I after everything you’ve done?” Rafe’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, towering over you, but he’s never been more powerless.

“I’m trying to make things right—”

“Make things right? Well you're shit at that, Rafe. Hurting me wasn't enough. You moved onto my friends?” You lift your hands, shoving him once, banging your fists against his chest next. “And for what, Rafe? Because you were angry? Because you wanted to prove something? You kept saying I'm yours? I never have been because of you. You didn't want me to be ‘til it was too late. Harassing me for months, then having the audacity to say ‘I belong to you’? Even when we were dating, you couldn't do that. Did you even see what you did to Pope?”

His eyes darken, jaw clenching. “I didn’t want to—”

“He never did anything to deserve that. He stood up for me and said nothing but the truth.” Rafe exhales sharply, looking at the ground as he searches for the right words. “Speak.”

“I was angry. Okay? You were trying to make me jealous. He - Fuck. He was provoking me.”

“Provoking you, Rafe? How?”

“Stop acting like you don’t know!” He shouts, his voice booming through the dim. The summer air hangs thick with tension as he steps closer, voice rising in desperation. “This isn’t some joke to me like it is to them, y/n. They think it’s funny, playing these games, dangling you in front of me to make me jealous. Kissing you, touching you like he did just to piss me off. Trying to make my life hell. I'm already there. I’m miserable!” His voice breaks with the bitterness and pain spilling out of him. “And there the pogues are, laughing at me, pushing me until I snapped. I didn't want to do that. All I wanted was to talk to you.”

“They didn’t make you do anything. You chose to snap. You decided to hurt people because you couldn’t handle your own shit, Rafe.”

“It’s impossible when I see you with other people—”

“And so you lashed out?” You ask, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not how you fix anything. You hurt people who care about me because you couldn’t control yourself.”

“This whole situation is pushing me and I can't fucking take it.”

“Yeah? Well, this situation, this mess… you made this on your own. Don’t you dare try to blame my friends or Pope for your misery.”

“Are you and Heyward really a thing? Really? I need to know. Alright?”

“You don't get to know. Leave me alone, Rafe.” You do your best to push him off of you, but he cages you in, looking down at you with begging eyes. “Leave. Me. Alone.” He shakes his head. ‘No,’ his jaw muscles coiled, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows his emotion.

“I can’t…” He whispers. “I can’t leave you alone, y/n. I—I came to apologize. For everything. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did: tonight, here, this year… ever. I’m just—I’m so, so sorry, y/n.”

“That’s all you have? An apology?” You ask weakly. “We’re so far past this, Rafe. You know how much awful shit you’ve said to me just today?”

“I know. I know - god, I fucking know. I replay it over and over, y/n… I know I’ve been a jerk. Okay? I know I’ve screwed up more times than I can count. But I like you. I like you a lot. Then I fucked everything up and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I pushed you away. If I kept my distance and acted like I didn’t care, it would be easier for you and me, but it’s not. It’s killing me. I'm sorry, princess-”

“Stop.”

“No. Please just-”

“I said STOP!” You shout in frustration, loud enough to make him flinch. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Rafe. You’re leaving in the morning. It’s for the best.” Your words come out harsher than intended, making his tears slip down his cheeks. “I don’t want to do this with you anymore. The jabs to my heart, the bullying, the mixed signals—I’m fucking done, Rafe. I’m done with you. So just go. It’ll be easier if you’re gone. You're toxic and for some reason I can't get over you. So you gotta go. I want you to go. I’m sure you can’t fucking wait. Just give it a day or two. Huh? You’ll be back on campus; back to your old ways. Sleeping with some beautiful sorority girl and you’ll forget all about me and my priss ass.”

He looks at you blankly, taking in every word, falling apart in front of you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, like a broken record.

“I’d hope you’d be, Rafe.

His eyes soften on yours; nostrils flaring as he brushed the tear off his face. “Y’know, tomorrow when you wake up, I’ll be gone,” he whispers, voice cracking with sadness.

“I’m counting on it.”

#⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ camp kill #kinktober event .𖥔 ݁ ˖🎃˚. ᵎᵎ #rafe short story 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#my library ᝰ.ᐟ #frat!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #college!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #bully!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #mean!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #rafe #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader

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astrolook · 2 months ago

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💬🌟 Talking Planets: How Your Synastry Speaks Volumes 🗣️💞

Note: These are all based on my personal observations and patterns I’ve noticed over the years. Western astrology based. Let me know in the comments if any of this hits home for you! And feel free to leave what doesn’t resonate.

Synastry placements in the 8th or 12th are my least favorite. First off, the 8th house is not just about sex, and honestly, it’s overrated. The 8th house is about what the house person can offer like sex, resources, finances, or all of it. Not just sex. I don't agree with astrologers who's like "Mars/Venus/Sun in 8th house overlay?, Wow! It's intense, karmic bond...bla..bla..bla" or some $#!T.

Most 8th house synastry I’ve seen is either one-sided, purely sexual, or has that gold digger vibe. The planet person usually wants something from the house person.

12th house overlays are heavily one-sided too. If it’s mutual, kind of like the 8th house, it can get toxic fast. If I’m really looking for intimacy, I’d check the 2nd,4th, 5th, or 7th house overlays.

8th and 12th house placements, in both synastry and composite, usually show up in hot, chaotic relationships that burn out pretty soon. These overlays are also common in gold digger setups, sugar mommy/daddy situations, "convenience" relationships, marrying for money and all that. Both 8th and 12th is not SOULMATE BOND.

Now with the aspects, personally, I don’t consider synastry aspects with more than a 3° orb. It’s just not as effective, at least from what I’ve seen over the years. Anything under 3° really shows up in real life, good or bad.

Also, conjunctions are seriously overrated when it comes to relationships, yes but it also point to no growth and stuck in the same place but when it comes to family members, friendships, etc conjunctions are great aspects to have and trines too. But what I’ve noticed is, people who had a lot of trines and squares in their synastry ended up having relationships or marriages that were not only successful, but also exciting, balanced, and helped both people grow individually. Like real soul growth.

And let’s be clear, just because you have something like Venus square Ascendant in synastry doesn’t mean the other person finds you unattractive or ugly. People always try to oversimplify these things.

Every aspect, overlay, or placement whether it’s in synastry, composite, or natal has multiple interpretations. It might resonate, or it might not. But there are so many layers. Am seeing often that Venus square ASC interpreted as Venus finding the ASC ugly / unattractive or aren't their type. Nope, there's more to that.

Like, Venus square Ascendant could mean:

Venus finds you attractive, but your style or habits are a bit off to them but they’re still into you anyway.

They’re genuinely not attracted to you, and that’s just what it is and it's the most common interpretation I have seen out there..

Venus is like, “You’re not even my type, but I don’t know why I’m into you... but here I am.”

Venus feels insecure around you, thinks you’re out of their league and doesn't know how to approach you and fear of rejection too..

Venus is intrigued because you’re totally different from the people they’ve dated before.

Venus finds you exotic or intimidating maybe you’re from a different background, or just someone they never imagined being into, but they are. Like a forbidden, unreachable kind of thing.

Do you see the difference now? It’s never just one meaning. Astrology is like peeling an onion. The more you peel the deeper you get.

Signs work in a way that’s way more straightforward than people think. If you’re a Gemini Moon, you’re gonna naturally vibe with other Gemini Moons, Suns, Venuses, or Mars placements, no matter where they fall in the chart. It just clicks.

Take my earlier example about Venus square Ascendant and if Venus is in the 8th house in Gemini squaring your Ascendant in Virgo, that can actually get along pretty well. Venus might see the Ascendant as a sexy librarian they’d wanna go out with and Venus be like "I kinda feel insecured but damn she/he is sexy, would they even look at me?". Totally different from Venus in the 8th house in Capricorn squaring an Ascendant in Aries. In that case, Venus in Capricorn would find the Aries Ascendant super exotic and alluring, but also probably a bit intimidating. It’s not as comfortably aligned as the Gemini example as it’s more of an intense, magnetic attraction. Venus is like, “I can’t explain it, but I’m drawn to you.”

So, signs matter just as much as the placements. The vibe changes completely depending on the sign involved. This is how I read synastry.

Aspects don't exist in a vacuum.

When reading a synastry overlay or aspect, even in natal, we have to look at where the planet is actually falling. For example, going back to my earlier point about Venus square Ascendant, the surface-level aspect alone doesn’t tell the full story. Venus square Asc in general is one thing, but Venus in the 8th house squaring Asc in Libra is a completely different vibe than Venus in the 8th squaring Asc in Capricorn.

That placement matters.

When I’m reading synastry, composite, or natal charts, I always look at where the planets are and what house they’re in when I’m reading aspects. Like, instead of just saying “your Venus conjunct their Saturn,” I look at where that conjunction is happening. Because Venus conjunct Saturn in the 1st, 2nd, 5th or 11th house is not the same as Venus conjunct Saturn in the 8th or 12th.

If it’s happening in the 8th or 12th… yeah, no thanks. See you next lifetime. But if it’s in houses like the 1st, 2nd, 5th, 7th or 11th or something with more grounding or shared values, there’s actually potential there.

It’s not just what aspect you have, it’s where it lands. That’s what really gives the context.

Also, reading synastry like “Sun in 1st house overlay” isn’t enough. That’s just the general version and it’s honestly basic like a default theme on your phone. I’ve already made posts on Moon and Sun house overlays, but if you really want to understand how it actually plays out in your chart, you have to look deeper.

Like, instead of just saying “your Sun is in their 1st house,” it should be “your Sun in 1st house Gemini falls on their 9th house Gemini.” That’s how I read synastry. That’s when the picture becomes clear. You’ll actually start to see what’s going on between two people, instead of guessing based on default interpretations.

It makes interpreting way easier too. Those general meanings might or might not resonate, but when you look at both people's chart placements like that, it hits. It’ll either confirm things or call you or your partner out on stuff that’s hidden or not being talked about. That’s the kind of synastry reading that actually tells the truth.

Also, if there are too many Moon aspects or Venus aspects to the partner, but the other person doesn’t have as many Venus/Moon aspects back to yours, it could be a sign of unrequited love or just a crush that’s not going to really develop into something deeper. It’s a one-sided vibe, and those rarely turn into anything long-term or fulfilling.

Similarly, if there are a lot of Sun aspects to the other person’s chart, it means the Sun person’s identity is probably way too tied to the other person’s validation. Over time, this can lead to some unhealthy dynamics where the Sun person becomes codependent, constantly needing the other person’s approval to feel good about themselves. It’s all about balance, otherwise it’s a recipe for emotional burnout and codependent behavior.

So, that’s all for today, go away now! ✌️😎🌙

Wanna go deeper into the layers of your placements? DM me for a complete astrology reading or a 5 year/8 year marriage report or synastry reading🌙💬 and check out my pinned post for pricing + details 💫💸

Let’s decode your cosmic chaos together ⭐

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sunandflame · 2 months ago

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Paulie NSFW/Kink Headcanons

Warnings: nsfw

Word Count: 697

Pairing: Paulie x Reader

crossposted on AO3

1. Rope Kink (Bondage)

Let’s address the elephant in the room: he’s a rope master. Paulie absolutely has a rope kink—part functional, part control, part intimacy. He loves the physicality of it—wrapping you up safely, precisely, and seeing the tension against your skin.

Expect elaborate ropework, often improvised on the spot.

He checks in constantly during it, murmuring “Too tight?” or “You good, babe?”

2. Loud, Gruff Talker in Bed

He’s not polished, but he's vocal—gruff praise, curses under his breath, or ragged moans when he loses control. You’ll hear things like:

“Fuck, you feel good—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“You’re gonna kill me one day, y’know that?”

3. Switch Energy with a Dominant Lean

He likes being in control—pinning you down, gripping your hips, making you say please—but if you tug his tie and push him back? He’ll lose composure fast. He gets so flustered when you top him. His switch side shows up especially if you praise him while taking the lead.

“H-Hey—wait, what are you—... shit, you're gonna kill me like this...”

4. Praise & Fluster Kink

Paulie adores being praised—especially if it's physical. Tell him he feels good inside you? That his hands are perfect? That he’s your favorite? He’ll groan and grip harder, maybe thrust deeper just to earn more of it. But he’s also a blushing mess about it.

“Y-You don’t have to say stuff like that—...I mean, you can, but—!”

5. Oral Fixation (Giving)

He loves using his mouth, especially after a long day. He sees it as a way to unwind you, as much as himself. Expect long, focused sessions where he’s completely in his element—face buried, hands gripping your thighs, groaning at every reaction.

6. Workbench Sex / Workshop Quickies

There’s something deeply hot to Paulie about pulling you onto his worktable after a long day—grease on his hands, sawdust in his hair, and you bent over plans and blueprints. He loves spontaneous, rough sex when he’s still in work mode. Tools rattling, clothes half-on, just raw need.

“We can clean up later—right now, I need you here.”

7. Clothes-On / Half-On Kink

He finds it stupidly sexy when your clothes are only partially removed—skirt hiked up, shirt unbuttoned, his belt undone but pants still on. It’s messy, desperate, unpolished—he thrives on the heat of the moment.

8. Dirty Talk with a Clumsy Edge

He tries to talk dirty, and he’s not bad at it—but sometimes it comes out clumsy in a way that’s so hot because it’s real. Expect lines like:

“Fuck—y-you feel amazing—like, too amazing, it’s actually dangerous—” or

“I’m gonna wreck you. Respectfully. Thoroughly. Efficiently.”

9. Muscles & Manual Labor = Stamina

Let’s be honest: the man works with his hands all day, swinging tools, building ships. That strength and stamina absolutely translate to the bedroom.

He can go for multiple rounds.

Sweaty, shirtless, grunting—he’s like a walking thirst trap without even trying.

10. Cum on Skin / Mess Appreciation

He’s a tactile guy. Seeing his release on your body does something to him. Chest, stomach, thighs—he groans like he’s watching a masterpiece. He also gets super handsy post-orgasm, running his fingers through the mess while admiring the view.

11. Prone to Sex in Weird Places

Workshop table? Hammock? Rope storage shed? Paulie’s not afraid to get messy or creative when the mood hits.

You might hear, “Shut the door, no one’ll come in. C’mere.”

He has the tools to hang you up in very inventive ways—if you’re into it.

12. Sensitive Post-Orgasm / Overstimulation

He tries to act tough, but give him a second round too soon and he shudders. His back arches, hands scramble for something to hold, and he’ll swear under his breath. Still? He doesn’t ask you to stop. He loves how you take control when he’s sensitive.

13. Aftercare King

Rough sex? Rope play? Even just intense sessions? He’s the type to immediately scoop you up afterward—check for marks, give you water, clean you up. He might grumble about “being too soft,” but it’s his way of showing love.

Will 100% wrap you in a blanket like a burrito and kiss your forehead.

“Did I hurt you? No? Good. I’ll run a bath, just stay put, alright?”

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nerdallwritey · 10 months ago

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Perfect Every Time

Summary: You got up and joined him in the ankle deep water. “Do you want to try right now?” Astarion thought for a moment and clicked his tongue. “I have a better idea, actually.” He gave you a sideways look, his lips quirking up slightly. “What?” you matched his smile. Rather than answering, Astarion reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. You furrowed your brow. “Looks an awful lot like you’re preparing to swim.” He started fiddling with the clasps on his pants and groaned in your direction. “Swimming is not the only thing one can do while submerged in water, dearest.” He gave you a sensual smile that sent heat to your cheeks. OR Before your party travels into the Underdark, you and Astarion catch one last sunrise together.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 7.2k CW: smut, reader is new to sex, hand job, piv sex, water sex, dirty talk, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, extra mild angst, soft Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), Illmater's blood-stained rack Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 4 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: Surprise!! I'm back with a new chapter of Beauty and the Bard! This part is shorter than the other ones (who cheered) because it morphed from a little smut scene into one that deserved its very own part. One million thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed the series so far, it's so much fun chatting with you guys and hearing your thoughts and it truly means the world that you guys care so much about these goofs. I already have an idea for Part 5, so that will be coming soon, but I have a request to fill first! Thank you all for your patience. In the meantime, please enjoy our regularly scheduled silliness with Astarion and bard!tav :) (Thank you once again to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) As a reminder, the last part was the Tiefling party!

Taglist: @a66-1, @khaleesiofthewolves, @khywren, @lollipopsandlandmines, @mizuki-nautilus - Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series!

Several days had passed since the hijinxs of the Tiefling party had taken place. By now, the former refugees of the Emerald Grove were well on their way to Baldur’s Gate, the looming threat of goblins and power hungry druids far from their minds, their thoughts instead replaced with hope for new beginnings in the city.

Just like he’d promised, Halsin had returned the next day to discuss the parasites, officially joining your party of misfits on your journey towards the Shadow Cursed Lands and Moonrise Towers. His calming presence and sage advice was a welcome addition to the group, especially given that this leadership role had been thrust upon you by the others with next to no discussion. Having Halsin around finally felt like there was a responsible adult among you. Not that you all weren’t adults, but you definitely had your… quirks. Sure, Halsin turned into a bear if he let his emotions go unchecked, but Gale was a bomb.

As for you and Astarion, not much had really changed, you were both still yourselves, but now you openly tortured your companions with more pet names and cheek kisses and obnoxiously loud banter. Lae’zel had threatened to cleave you both in half on multiple occasions, but had yet to follow through on that threat. The others would groan loudly or avert their eyes politely.

Your days with Astarion were spent fighting side-by-side and teasing one another, and your nights were spent chatting and reading together. Aside from the physical intimacy and emotional vulnerability that came with being in a new relationship, it was really as if nothing had changed. And those were small prices to pay for where you currently found yourself: wrapped together with a trancing Astarion.

Ever since the Tiefling party, Astarion would worm his way into your tent at night. Whether he asked permission, or stayed a little too late into the night reading or talking or drinking from you; you would never ask him to leave. You’d slept together every night, sometimes beside each other, and other nights wrapped in each others’ arms. You were allowing Astarion to set the pace, as you were in no rush to get anywhere in particular. You simply enjoyed his company and his magnetic presence.

The pair of you hadn’t been too intimate since the party, barring stolen and sometimes steamy kisses. That was plenty for you, and Astarion continued checking in to see if you were okay with his touches and advances. Whenever you assured him that you were, he’d smile and return to your lips. You never asked him for more than he was willing to give, and even though you knew he wouldn’t say anything about it, you could tell he appreciated the courtesy despite the smug mask he so often wore.

Now, you found yourself stroking your hands through his hair as he tranced on your bare chest, breathing quietly; a habit he told you he’d picked up to look more alive when prowling the Gate.

It was funny, honestly, how sweet and unassuming he looked when he wasn’t fully conscious. And yet, you knew the kind of violence and debauchery and bad jokes he enacted and adored when he was awake. A small sound escaped his lips and you paused in caressing his hair to make sure you weren’t waking him. When his breathing returned to normal, you resumed raking your fingers soothingly over his scalp.

The hour was a little before dawn. Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, knowing that today was the day your party would pack up camp and make your way into the Underdark for the foreseeable future. You’d re-emerge eventually to find the crèche Lae’zel knew to be nearby, but the Underdark was worth investigating for the sake of further answers about the tadpoles and a possible alternate route into the Shadow Cursed Lands. Plus, Shadowheart was adamant about seeing the rumored temple to Shar hidden down there.

All that to say, you and your companions wouldn’t be seeing the sun for quite a while. The thought saddened you immensely, knowing how much the man trancing on you would miss it terribly. How cruel, you thought, that your adventure was leading Astarion back into the shadows after he’d just gotten a taste of the sun for the first time in centuries.

“Why are you awake, my darling?” came Astarion’s raspy voice from the dark. He shifted his head to look up at you, his grip around your midsection tightening a bit, his eyes heavy with grogginess.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “You should get a little more if you can.”

Astarion chuckled. “Too busy thinking about me to sleep? I wouldn’t blame you.”

You sighed. “And if I was?”

Astarion’s face fell a little. “Why the hells would you allow yourself to lose sleep on my behalf, pet?” His voice was soft and one of his hands unwrapped itself from your body, taking your hand, and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of your fingers. He cleared his throat. “I mean, obviously I can understand why,” he tried deflecting the sweetness that had seeped into his words by injecting his tone with fake bravado.

You let out an amused breath and allowed your hand in his hair to continue petting him gently. “I want to watch the sunrise with you again this morning.”

Astarion hummed. “And that kept you awake?”

“I didn’t want to oversleep.”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to let out an amused breath. “You could have asked. I would have woken you up.”

“No you wouldn’t, you keep letting me sleep in. It’s like you enjoy watching me sleep or something, you creep.” You poked his nose playfully.

“It’s just amazing how much drool someone of your stature can produce.”

You smacked the side of his head and he laughed softly. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a little while before you decided to speak again.

“This will be the last sunrise we see for a while.”

Astarion let out a long sigh and remained silent. After a moment, he said, “I know.”

He sounded sad.

“It’s not forever, though,” you assured, moving your hand to stroke his cheek and regaining his attention.

He chuckled. “I know that, too.”

You yawned, a little more loudly than you meant to. “Good. I promise you’ll see the sun again.”

Astarion tsked. “Honestly, darling, did you get no sleep at all?”

“I got a little,” you lied.

He held your gaze, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.”

“What does it matter?” you asked, caught. “I can handle a little lack of sleep.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and sat up to look at you more directly. “It matters because we need you alert. None of us knows what awaits us in the Underdark and I- we can’t have you getting hurt because you didn’t get enough rest!”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured, bending upwards to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Besides, I’ll have you to protect me when I get sloppy.”

Astarion groaned. “You shouldn’t get sloppy,” he complained. “I swear, if you somehow hold us back down there, I’ll slaughter you myself.”

“Promise?”

He groaned again. “Would you, just once, allow me to threaten you seriously?”

“No,” you patted his cheek lovingly.

He sighed and pushed some of his mussed hair out of his face. He took your hands in his. “Just… stay vigilant, alright?”

“Can do,” you said, withholding another obvious yawn.

“I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

He shook his head at you and sat up fully, stretching his arms above his head and giving you a clear view of the scar on his back. You sat up and kissed his bare shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you repeated.

“Mhm.” Astarion passed you one of his shirts. “Come on, darling, let’s get a move on.” He tossed on a spare shirt and watched you as you pulled his shirt over your head.

“There’s still a little time before sunrise,” you said.

Astarion snorted and fixed some of your hair that was sticking up from putting on his shirt. “You could stay here if you want. Drown in your own drool. Up to you.”

You huffed at him, making him laugh again.

“Only joking, my love.”

“Sure,” you said, opening the flaps of your tent and crawling out into the blue that preceded dawn.

You went to stand, but felt Astarion’s cool fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you back. He turned you slightly and caught your lips in a kiss, one that wiped away whatever fake ire you had towards him and replaced it with a dopey grin.

“What was that for?” you asked when he pulled away.

“Delicious,” he breathed, raising a seductive eyebrow.

You laughed and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

You’d only been able to catch two more sunrises with Astarion following the one you watched the morning after you’d slept together for the first time. You’d woken up once on your own after Astarion gently shifted himself away from you, and another time when he woke you up purposely, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts. You’d whine and moan whenever he let you sleep in, despite the fact that it was probably for the best to keep you in tip top shape for fighting and recharging your magic. He’d always find his way back to you, and you knew he needed his own space sometimes, but you still loved to watch him bask in the golden light of the morning and you couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed whenever you felt his gentle hand on your back before opening your eyes and seeing that the sun was already up.

Astarion led you through the forest again, his hand holding yours firmly. You knew your way to the ravine lookout by now, but you liked not having to take the lead for once. He helped you across the little stream that led into the clearing where you first laid together and you felt your cheeks flush at the memory.

“I can hear your heart picking up speed, darling.” He turned to smirk at you. “You’re adorable.”

“Pardon me for still being shy,” you half-joked.

“Mmm,” Astarion hummed. “I’ll pound that out of you eventually.” He furrowed his brow sensually at you and you scoffed.

“Shut up.”

“I, of course, don’t have to-”

You made a whiny sound and he laughed.

“I know, my love,” he said, removing his hand from yours and instead wrapping his arm around you to pull you close. “You’ve been so patient for me,” he nipped at your earlobe. “So good.”

“I’m in no rush,” you reassured on a shaky exhale.

Astarion made his own whiny sound and pulled you closer, leading you to the cliff’s edge where he’d opened up to you willingly for the first time, just a few days ago.

He sat, pulling you down with him, far enough away from the edge, where he knew you wouldn’t be nervous of falling. In the distance, the sky was just starting to indicate the sun’s arrival.

You sighed happily and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him tense a little. “Is this alright?”

Instead of answering, he leaned his head on top of yours.

“What’s something you want to do in the Underdark?” you probed.

Astarion groaned. “You don’t need to make small talk with me, darling, sometimes silence is golden.”

You scrunched your nose, knowing he hated pure silence. “I wasn’t being polite, I genuinely wanted to know.”

He groaned again. “Even worse.”

You laughed lightly and felt him laugh too, his arm gently shaking against your own.

He thought for a moment before he responded. “That Zhentarim fellow we met mentioned a cache of supplies hidden somewhere down there. That might be fun to pillage.”

You laughed. “I’m surprised you ever stopped thinking about that!”

“Oh I didn’t, but I wanted you to think your little thought experiment had actually evoked some sort of… thought… in me.” He made a face.

“Want to try and rephrase that?”

“Not particularly.”

You hummed fondly, taking one of his hands in your own and examining how your fingers slotted together just so.

“I suppose you want me to ask you the same question?” Astarion asked, clearly not wanting to ask.

You laughed. “Your interest in my interests always astounds me, Astarion.”

He rubbed his cheek against the top of your head. “Get better interests and I might actually want to pay attention.”

“Rude,” you muttered, a smile on your face. “But since you so desperately want to know, I’ll answer anyway.”

“Oh, goodie.”

You thought about it. There wasn’t actually all that much you knew about the Underdark, aside from the few mentions of it in the books you’d read growing up. One thing did stick out in your mind.

“Singing mushrooms.”

“........What?”

“I read somewhere that apparently there are colonies of sentient mushroom people who communicate through song.”

Astarion pulled his head off of yours to hang it in front of himself instead, groaning loudly. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“It’s not! It’s fascinating!”

“Sentient mushrooms?”

“Yes.”

“That sing?”

“Yes.”

Astarion shook his head. “Am I still asleep? Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m not making it up!” you exclaimed incredulously. When he didn’t say anything else, you crossed your arms in front of yourself. “We’re going to see the mushrooms.”

“Whatever you say, darling.” He kissed the top of your head almost pityingly.

“You’re an ass,” you said, pulling away from him and sitting back on your forearms. The sky was turning a faint pinkish orange in the distance. You snickered to yourself. “More like Ass-starion.”

The ass in question scowled. “That will not be one of your pet names for me.”

You shrugged. “I’m surprised no one’s called you that before.”

“I’ve been called far worse.” Astarion tilted his head up pompously, as if nothing you could say would hurt him.

“Okay great, so ‘Ass’ is nothing new.”

He sighed heavily. “It’s like you want me to throw you off the cliff.”

“Go ahead,” you challenged, catching his eye mischievously, knowing his threat was empty.

Astarion looked at you and then towards the horizon. He inhaled deeply and rose to his feet.

“What are you doing?” you laughed nervously as he approached the cliff’s edge that gave way into the ravine below.

He peered over the edge, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

You shifted uncomfortably and sat up completely straight. “Astarion, please be careful, you’re making me nervous.”

He ignored you and walked along the edge, looking past a batch of trees and into the distance to your right. He nodded and turned back towards where you sat.

“Up you go,” Astarion approached you and gestured his thumb upwards, indicating that he wanted you to stand. When he reached you, he helped you to your feet.

“You’re not actually going to throw me off the cliff, are you?” You kept your tone playful, but the anxiety you were masking was obvious.

Astarion smirked. “Stop annoying me and I won’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and began to follow him as he started walking to the right, down a slanted slope and into a patch of trees.

“What’s happening?” you asked when you caught up with him.

Astarion tilted his head. “I just thought an occasion such as this needed a change of scenery.”

“‘Occasion?’” you echoed.

He nodded. “It’s my last day in the sun-” he saw you about to protest and quickly added, “-for a little while. Might as well start the day off right.”

You hummed. “Why do I get the sense that you’re up to something?”

Astarion stopped in his tracks, a hand held to his unbeating heart in mock offense. “Me? Up to something? You’re far too paranoid, darling.”

“Uh huh.” You kept walking, but quickly realized you didn’t actually know where you were going. You looked back at Astarion for help and found him watching you.

He rolled his eyes affectionately. “This way, dear, it’s not much farther.” He walked past you, deeper into the trees, and kept talking. “Did you know that that ravine we’ve been sitting above gives way into what I can only assume is either the Chianthar or the Sea of Swords?”

“I didn’t,” you said. “Though those are two very different bodies of water.”

“Give me a break, my geography lessons occurred well over 200 years ago. And we’re in the gods damn middle of nowhere, might I remind you.”

“Mhm,” you affirmed with a smile. “Go on.”

“Well, it just so happens that that ravine’s mouth isn’t far from our little sunrise spot.”

“‘Our?’” you teased.

“Focus, darling,” he said. He turned to the left, leading you back towards the cliff’s edge that had continued along the treeline.

“Astarion, please be careful,” you called after him, hesitantly following him towards the sound of rushing water.

He turned back and held out a steadying hand for you as you approached the edge. Not too far below you were narrow rapids that gradually became calmer. The cliff that had been on the other side of the one you currently found yourself on had disappeared, forming a mouth where the ravine did in fact empty into a much larger, much calmer, body of water.

You wrapped your arms around Astarion’s middle to anchor yourself and leaned forward a little to see where the cliff you were on ended. A little farther down, you squinted to adjust your eyes to the dim lighting, and saw a tiny beach that quickly shot upwards into a new cliff. Rocks surrounded the shore, keeping it slightly out of view, and gentle waves lapped at the sand, far enough away from the rapids of the ravine to remain serene.

You caught Astarion’s eye and pointed towards the small patch of sand in the distance. “Is that where we’re going?”

Astarion pursed his lips. “Yes, that would be much easier than jumping in, wouldn’t it?”

You scoffed. “You expected me to jump in from this high up? There could be rocks we can’t see! And we don’t know how deep it is!”

Astarion sighed. “You’re no fun. Though I suppose you’re right, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” With your arms still around his middle, he started walking back into the trees and down towards the tiny beach.

You laughed as he dragged you along. “You can’t possibly be serious. You’d get your hair all wet!”

“Nobody said I was going to jump in with you,” he teased.

“I’m not going in alone,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Pity,” he tutted. “I like it when you’re wet.” He smirked and you shoved yourself away from him.

You picked up your pace to put distance between the two of you. When you didn’t hear his footsteps gaining on you, you decided to quickly slip behind a tree, hoping you’d lost him and that you’d be able to jump out to scare him as he sauntered past.

Unfortunately, nothing but silence greeted you. After a heartbeat or two, you peered around the trunk of your hiding spot but saw no sign of his sleek frame or shock of white hair. You started to second guess yourself; was it possible he’d passed you already? Or that he stopped, out of sight for some reason?

“You’ll have to do better than that, darling,” came his voice softly next to your ear.

You yelped and clutched at your heart, which raced with surprise.

Astarion sighed happily. “I do love the sound of your blood pumping.”

“How do you do that?” you asked, breathing deeply to calm yourself.

“Years of practice.” He paused. “Centuries, even.”

You conceded with a nod. “I shouldn’t have even tried.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. The effort was hardly there, either.”

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes and continued on through the trees down to the beach.

“I mean honestly, have these weeks on the road with me taught you nothing about stealth?”

“I play music for a living. My job is making noise.”

“And I don’t know why I even try at this point.” He raised his eyebrows playfully.

“You like my noise,” you said, sing-songingly.

“You’re loud, I’ll give you that.”

It was then that you emerged from the trees and onto a grassy dune that sloped downward onto the flat sand below. You slid down the dune with as much grace as you could muster, only falling on your ass once, before taking off your shoes and sinking your toes into the cool sand that made up the shoreline. Astarion followed after you, his long strides keeping him upright and as elegant as ever. He came to stand next to you, taking his own shoes off and placing them neatly beside yours.

You exhaled wistfully and grabbed Astarion’s bicep, leaning your head onto his shoulder. From here, you had a clear view of the sun on the horizon. The sky was a deep shade of pink, giving way to golds and oranges the closer you watched. You looked at Astarion, whose eyes were focused on the sunrise in the distance.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked quietly.

Astarion looked over at you and blinked. Then he smiled. “Just that it’s truly a wonder you’ve made it this far in life.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, shocked and amused.

You could tell he was holding in a laugh. “You are inept at hiding and fall down sand dunes. What were we thinking when we started following you around Faerûn?”

“I’ll push you into the water, pretty boy.”

“I’d pull you in with me, my love.”

“Touché,” you smiled and released his arm, sitting on the sand. You pulled your legs to your chest and rested your cheek on your knee. Around you, reeds and tall grass swayed in the morning breeze. Astarion remained standing, watching the horizon.

As much as you enjoyed watching the sunrise, you enjoyed watching Astarion watch it more. The way his attention became transfixed on the sky, the way the vibrant light painted itself onto him like a blank canvas, the way his entire body relaxed when the warmth of the sun finally reached his skin.

You heard him sigh and watched as he walked forward a little, allowing the tiny waves rolling off the water to rush gently over his toes. He flinched a little in shock and you let out an affectionate breath through your nose.

“Cold?” you asked.

“You know, it’s funny,” Astarion said, his voice a million miles away. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to move through water like this.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brow. “I’ve seen you in the lake at camp before.”

“I don’t know, I guess I haven’t given it too much thought until now. Normally, I can’t move through running water like this. Don’t ask me why, it’s one of those idiotic vampire laws dictated by some ancient devil with an infuriating sense of humor. I can bathe, sure, but I haven’t been proper swimming since… before.”

You stayed quiet as he moved further into the water, letting the waves wash over his ankles.

“I have to imagine I knew how to swim at one point,” he said quietly.

“I could teach you,” you offered. “I was going to teach Shadowheart at some point too. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

Astarion snorted. “And look like a fool in front of the cleric? I’ll pass.”

“You don’t need swim lessons to look like a fool,” you clarified.

“Ha ha,” he said humorlessly.

You got up and joined him in the ankle deep water. “Do you want to try right now?”

Astarion thought for a moment and clicked his tongue. “I have a better idea, actually.” He gave you a sideways look, his lips quirking up slightly.

“What?” you matched his smile.

Rather than answering, Astarion reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

You furrowed your brow. “Looks an awful lot like you’re preparing to swim.”

He started fiddling with the clasps on his pants and groaned in your direction. “Swimming is not the only thing one can do while submerged in water, dearest.” He gave you a sensual smile that sent heat to your cheeks.

“Oh,” you said, stiffly watching him undress. “Should I-?” you awkwardly pulled at the collar of his shirt that was currently resting on your shoulders.

He straightened, naked but for his underwear. He frowned a little.

“You don’t have to do anything, my love. I just thought we might have some fun while watching the sunrise.”

You bit your bottom lip, thinking it over. “I do like fun.”

“I know that about you.” Astarion walked towards you and reached for the hem of your shirt. “May I?”

You nodded and lifted your arms to help. He took the shirt and tossed it over to where he’d discarded his own clothes. He stepped closer to you, pulling you to him so that you were chest to chest, and nuzzled his nose into the area where your neck met your shoulder. He placed a slow, gentle kiss there that had you inhaling sharply and exhaling unevenly. He groaned with need before pulling back and readjusting to kiss your lips. He came at it with more force than you were expecting, causing you to stumble back a little, but his hands firmly gripped your biceps, keeping you steady. You suppressed a giggle and instead smiled against his mouth before opening up for him and allowing his tongue to meet yours. Astarion hummed with pleasure, moving his mouth against yours and bringing his hands up to tangle in your hair. When he finally pulled away, he left one more chaste kiss against your lips before fully pulling back.

His eyes were alight with something that morphed into joy when he saw the gooey grin on your face. He rolled his eyes affectionately before looking you up and down and exhaling a laugh.

“You are perfect,” he said, almost in awe.

You smiled. “When?”

Astarion pulled you closer, his eyes narrowing seductively. “Every time.”

You snickered and pulled away from him, a teasing grin plastered on his face. You bent to remove your own pants and watched to see what Astarion would do next. When you saw him reach for his underwear, you averted your eyes and heard him laugh.

“Nothing new over here, darling,” he said, and the soft splashing sounds that followed indicated he’d walked into the water.

“I know,” you replied, embarrassed. You turned back towards him and shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”

“Well, cut it out,” he called, now knee deep in the water. His body was rigid from the temperature, his shoulders rising up to his ears. He turned back to look back at you, still standing on the shore. “Illmater’s blood-stained RACK, this is cold!”

“I don’t know what you expected,” you called back, hugging your arms to your chest and trying to convince yourself to brave the frigid waters and join him.

“I rather expected you would be in here with me to keep me warm,” he said, turning back towards the sunrise ahead of him.

You quickly pulled off your underwear and started walking into the water, tensing at the cold, but willing yourself to keep going.

“If you wanted my blood, you could have just asked,” you said when you finally reached him.

“There you are, darling,” Astarion said and grabbed your hand.

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Brace yourself,” he tipped his head forward a little.

“What?”

Without warning, Astarion lowered himself into the water so that it was just below his shoulders, and pulled you down with him. You hadn’t expected to be yanked so forcefully and unsurprisingly lost your footing. You plunged downward, reaching your free hand out to break your fall and ended up dunking your face below the surface. You were submerged for less than a second, but you came up sputtering and made eye contact with a gleeful vampire. He sucked in his lips to keep from laughing.

“And what was that?” you asked blandly, flicking wet tendrils of hair out of your face.

“Apologies, darling, I didn’t mean for you to get your pretty hair all wet,” he pouted at you and sounded less than sympathetic.

“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes at him. You crawled closer to him, made weightless by the water, and sat beside him, the water level reaching slightly higher on your chest than his. You scooted back a little and dragged your arm out behind you. You pushed it forward quickly, creating a splash that soaked the back of Astarion’s head. He instantly hunched forward and yelped.

“How dare you?!” he exclaimed, his curls flattening and falling partially into his face.

“Whoops,” you shrugged. Your eyes widened when you saw him wind his own arm back in retaliation and quickly dunked your head below the surface to avoid his onslaught of water.

When you reemerged, you heard Astarion snicker.

“Look at that,” he said, his tone mocking, “you’re all wet for me.”

You wasted no time in splashing him directly in the face.

“Let’s not do this,” he said flatly, his eyes closed. He brought his hands up to wipe the water off his face, even though his hands were equally wet.

“But now you’re all wet for me,” you teased.

“I’ll show you what I am,” Astarion growled and took your hand underwater. He pulled you closer and led your hand to his cock, which was already rigid with desire, despite the temperature of the water.

You made eye contact with him as you started pumping your hand up and down his shaft and he hissed out a breath.

“Easy, darling,” he said shakily.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, close to his ear. “Don’t you want to cum while watching the sunrise?”

Astarion groaned and you moved your hand up to swipe your thumb across his tip and then back down to continue pumping. You lifted your weightless body up and swung your leg around so that you were sitting between his legs, facing him head on with the sunrise at your back.

“I know what would make you even harder,” you cooed, wiping wet hair out of his face with your free hand. Instead of finishing the thought, you tilted your head to the side, offering up your neck to him.

Astarion’s eyes, half lidded with lust, went wide and looked at you. You nodded to him, and he pulled you closer to his chest, kissing your throat feverishly upon contact. Your hand was still wedged between your legs, twisting around Astarion’s length. He moaned as he nosed along your throat for where your pulse thrummed the strongest.

“Thank you,” he said before sinking his fangs into you.

You let out a moan of your own, your mouth falling open as goosebumps broke out along your arms. The cold water mixed with the ice in your veins created a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. The hand pumping Astarion’s length started to slow as you felt yourself focusing instead on the satisfyingly dull thrum that came with him drinking from you.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured against your skin, kissing your throat and licking a few wayward drops of blood that had escaped before returning to his meal.

You made a noise of affirmation and squeezed his dick before continuing to twist your hand up and down, from base to tip and back down again.

Astarion whined lamely and dug his nails into your scalp and shoulder, which in turn made you moan wantonly. You rolled your hips, trying to find some relief of your own and ended up brushing your clit against the base of his cock. You both groaned in pleasure and you brought your free hand up to tangle into his hair as you continued rolling your hips.

“Hah,” Astarion huffed sweetly as he pulled himself away from your throat, his cool breath made warm by your blood. He licked at the wounds he left behind and kissed them gratefully before angling his head to kiss your mouth deeply.

The metallic tang of your blood on his tongue sent a chill through your body and you opened your eyes when you felt Astarion’s hands make their way to your hips. You broke the kiss to give him a curious look.

He returned your look with a blissed out smirk. “I want you to ride me,” he drawled.

Your eyes widened and the hand that was still working his cock slowed to a stop.

He surged forward to kiss you again and moved his hands to your ass, where he lifted your weightless form to position you over his length.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I thought I was close to getting you off.”

“You were, sweet girl, but I’d much rather finish inside, if it’s all the same to you.”

Your lips quirked up. “I think we can make that work.”

Taking his cock into your hand again, you guided the head to your entrance before sinking down on him slowly. Astarion’s eyes closed in satisfaction and he tipped his head up to the sky, golden light painting his beautiful face into something ethereal. You sucked in a breath and rested your forehead on his shoulder, taking a second to adjust to this new sensation. You hadn’t ridden him yet, nor had you ever fooled around in water, by yourself or otherwise.

Astarion kissed your ear before encouraging you: “Use me, my love. You’re deliciously warm.”

You nodded and tested lifting yourself up a little and bringing yourself back down. Your mouth dropped open and you adjusted your legs so you were resting on your knees, making it easier to bob on his dick. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you lifted yourself higher and brought yourself down with more force.

“That’s it,” Astarion cooed, “take your pleasure from me.”

“Touch me,” you whined, rolling your hips and picking up the pace of your bouncing.

“With pleasure,” he bent forward to kiss your neck, bringing his hand down to circle your clit. His other hand came up to squeeze your breast.

“You make me feel so good,” you sighed, raking your nails over the ridges on his back.

“The feeling is mutual, d-arling,” his voice caught when you brought yourself down on his cock. “And I’m the only one who can make you feel this good,” he grazed his fangs across your collarbone.

“I don’t know,” you said, your body shuddering with euphoria, “Halsin seems like he could give you a run for your money.”

Astarion raised a disbelieving eyebrow at you.

“Teasing, my love,” you kissed him softly before letting out a loud “Ah!” when he started raising his hips to meet yours.

“Oh really?” he asked, his voice coming out like a growl. “You think Halsin could fuck you as well as I can?”

“Hah,” you half laughed, half moaned. “I think technically, in this position, I’m fucking you?” A lopsided grin graced your lips. “But I don’t know, I’m new to all this.”

“Funny,” Astarion remarked sarcastically and pulled his hand away from your clit, making you whimper in protest.

“Hey!”

“Take it back.”

“Take what back? I already said I was teasing!”

“Say I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.”

You smiled, panting and still riding him beneath the surface of the water. “Are you jealous or something?”

“Hardly,” he rolled his eyes. “But you’re mine and it wouldn’t kill you to remind yourself of that.”

“Sounds an awful lot like jealousy to me.”

Astarion groaned in what sounded like frustration and pleasure. “Do you want to cum or not?”

You leaned forward and kissed him deeply, moving your mouth slowly in time with the rhythm of your hips. When you pulled away, a string of saliva connected you to his lower lip.

“Astarion,” you said softly, “I don’t ever want anyone else to fuck me. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

The smirk on Astarion’s face was smug. “Because?”

You rolled your eyes. “Because I’m yours, you stupid bat.” You kissed him, then whispered conspiratorially, “And I like you the most out of everyone at camp.”

“You flatter me,” Astarion said, immediately returning to his ministrations on your clit. You gasped at the contact, which quickly morphed into a moan of delight as you rested your forehead on his shoulder again. His hips rose to meet yours once more and the moan he let out as a result sounded as if he’d been holding it in for a while. Perhaps it was to sound eloquent during your back and forth, but the noise was music to your ears.

“Am I making you feel good?” you asked a little shyly.

Astarion opened one of his eyes to look at you. “My sweet, you’ve only ever made me feel good.”

“I know that’s not true.”

“It’s not, but it is true about the sex.”

“Thank the gods,” you laughed, though you shut your eyes tightly when Astarion hit a particularly pleasant spot inside you with a roll of his hips. “Whatever you just hit felt heavenly,” you relayed to him.

“Good to know,” he said mischievously, and repositioned you on his lap so he could rise to meet that spot every time you sank down on him.

“Oh, Astarion,” you sighed, a grin overtaking your features.

“You like that, love?” he nipped at your shoulder.

“Yes,” you sighed again.

Your bounces on his cock were starting to become sloppy as the knot of your climax began to build low in your stomach. You moved your hand to his and reversed the direction he was currently circling your clit.

“I’m close,” you confessed.

“Thank the gods, so am I,” Astarion’s voice was strained.

You opened your eyes to watch him as he approached his own peak and exhaled dreamily at the sight of him, bathed in the orange glow of the sun which was now halfway risen.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, “and I like you so much.”

“Don’t make me throw up when I’m trying to cum,” he opened up an eye and smirked at you. “You’re not half bad yourself, gorgeous thing.” He groaned when you sat back down on him forcefully. “Now, would you cum for me already? I’m dying here.”

“Almost there,” you laughed. “And you’re dead already.”

“You’re making this very difficult, darling.”

“Let me help you then,” you said, reaching a hand forward and lightly caressing his balls.

Astarion’s mouth hung open in silent pleasure, his fangs glistening in the emerging sunshine. He watched you wordlessly as you leaned forward.

“You’re so powerful,” you purred next to his ear. “You make me feel so good, and you’re the only one who can fuck me this well. The others will never know how good I feel because I’m yours and I’ll only ever be yours. You’re the only one who will ever be inside of me.”

“That’s right,” he groaned. “Your cunt is mine and I love the way it feels around me. The way it grips me so tight. You filthy thing, letting a vampire take your innocence. I could have killed you and instead I brought you the most pleasure you’ve ever felt. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Astarion, please. Need to feel your cum in me.”

“You want this cock forever, darling? Prove it. Prove you want it by cumming for me and screaming my name.”

His command brought you to your peak and you wailed out in pure ecstasy. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, over and over, and your cunt gripped him like a vice, as if claiming it for itself. In return, Astarion groaned loudly and spilled inside of you, moaning your name repeatedly and throwing his head back in rapture and delight.

As you came down from your high, you leaned forward to place sloppy kisses on his exposed throat. He brought both his arms around you and pulled you closer as he returned from his climax.

“You are-” he didn’t finish his sentence before crushing his lips into yours, moaning pathetically and you giggled in response. He bit your bottom lip with his blunt front teeth before releasing it and peppering kisses along your cheeks and jaw.

“Go on,” you teased, encouraging him to finish his thought.

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead gave in and said, “You’re wonderful.”

The words caught you off guard and you bent forward to kiss him in a way that you hoped conveyed your gratitude.

“I think you’re wonderful, too.”

“Obviously,” Astarion smirked.

You pushed him backwards, causing him to slip and submerge his head fully underwater briefly.

“My hair was just starting to dry, you wretched beast!” he sputtered, looking appalled.

“Aw, but you’re so pretty like this!” You brushed some wet hair out of his eyes.

“Um, hello? I’m always pretty, darling.”

“Ah, you’re right, how could I forget.” You gingerly lifted yourself off of Astarion and floated yourself to sit beside him, facing the sunrise.

“Perhaps you’ve had the lovely head of yours hit in battle one too many times.”

“That must be it,” you agreed jokingly, resting your head on his shoulder.

He leaned his head on top of yours in return. You sighed happily, enjoying the vibrant hues of the sky above, still filled with the euphoria of your high and the presence of the man beside you.

“I really do like you, so much,” you said softly, accompanied by the quiet lapping of the waves on the shore nearby.

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned. “Let’s not get sentimental, darling. After we just had such an excellent time together.”

You laughed. “Pardon me for wanting to express my feelings.”

“You are pardoned.” He gave you a sideways smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Magistrate.”

“Of course, beloved citizen.”

You both laughed quietly and returned to a pleasant silence. The sun rose steadily up into the sky and you knew you’d have to head back to camp soon to help pack up, but for now, you were content to sit and watch the horizon with your favorite traveling companion.

“How are you doing that?” Astarion asked, breaking the silence.

“Doing what?”

“Tickling my thighs. Did you cast mage hand or something of the sort?”

You sat up a bit more to look and snorted.

“Astarion, my love, I think it’s a fish that’s tickling you.”

“Ah,” he said calmly. Then he shot up, flinging you backwards and underwater. When you came up for air, he was rushing towards the shore, barreling through the water.

“At least it had the decency to wait until we were finished!” you called after him.

Astarion ignored you. “Slimy, disgusting, vile creatures!” He shook out his entire body as if he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation.

You watched him with adoration as he muttered to himself about how irredeemable that particular fish was as he pulled on his pants. It was then that you felt your heart swell with something big and alarming.

Oh no.

You were in love with him.

Fuck!

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