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jjkamochoso · 10 months ago

Text

How You React To JJK Characters Describing You as Their Type When Todo Asks

Fluff

Request from anon! This was a super fun one, thanks again for the request!! Also, I didn't do Mai, Miwa or Momo with this one, but added in Nanami; if you would like me to add the other girls back in, lmk and I absolutely will!! :)

JK Men x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Part 2 to this fic; same premise here, the students are all in a big group when the question was asked! <3

Yuji:

“Yuji! What kind of person is your type?”

“My type? Uh, let’s see,” he said, putting his thumb and forefinger to his chin in thought. After he gave his reply, you noticed everyone glancing between him and you.

“What? Is there something on my face?” you asked, wiping your cheek.

“No, you dummy,” said Nobara, “didn’t you hear what Itadori’s type was?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So? So? He described you perfectly,” she hissed. You thought back to his answer and your eyes went wide, realizing she was right. You looked over at the pink haired boy.

“Is that true? Your type is me?” you asked him, not caring that everyone was deeply invested in your conversation.

“Yeah. Is that… okay?” he asked, nervously ruffling his hand through his hair.

“Only if you ask me on a date,” you said with a playful wink, walking away. Yuji just stared at you, hearts in his eyes, until Nobara smacked him.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go ask them!”

He hurried after you, eager to ask you out.

Megumi:

“Tell us, Fushiguro, what kind of person is your type?”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “Things like that are so unimportant. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters more than you think. It tells you everything you need to know is about a person. Like how you’re a wimp for not answering,” said Todo, crossing his arms with a triumphant smirk.

“Fine,” replied Megumi through gritted teeth, tired of Todo’s pestering, “you really wanna know? I’ll tell you.”

As he described his dream person, you felt your face get warmer and warmer.

“That, um, kind of sounds like me, doesn’t it?” you whispered to Yuji.

“There’s no ‘kind of’ about that, y/n,” he whispered back, just as surprised as you were. When Megumi saw you looking at him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, clearly embarrassed. You ran after him as fast as you could.

“Megumi, wait! I have to talk to you!” you exclaimed, halting him with a grip of his arm.

“I’m sorry, that was a big mistake, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“I like you. A lot,” you confessed. “You’re my type, too.”

“R-really?” His voice squeaked and he quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, really? That’s good. Great. I’m… relieved.”

You chuckled at his adorable flustered state. “Me too. I guess Todo is good for something after all.”

Nobara:

“Kugisaki! What’s your type?”

“My type? That’s simple,” she answered, her bright bob swinging. As she described the kind of person she found attractive, you couldn’t help the giddiness bubbling up inside; she was describing you!

“Kugusaki? Can I talk to you over here for a second?” you asked, signaling her to follow you away from the group. Yuji, understanding what was happening, gave you a thumbs up.

“Do you have a crush on me?” you questioned. “Because the person you described sounded exactly like me.”

Nobara immediately went into the defensive, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Huh?! Nuh uh, that could be anybody here,” she replied, her face lighting up with a small blush.

“Oh. What a shame, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time,” you said, preparing to walk away. Nobara’s hand darted to your own, prompting you to stop.

“Wait! I… do like you, okay?” she mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “It’s just a crush, though, it’s not like I’m in love or anything stupid.”

You laughed lightly at her attitude. She was a piece of work, but if everything went well, she’d be your piece of work.

Maki:

“Zenin, spill. What kind of person is your type?”

“Do you really have nothing else rolling around in that tiny brain of yours?” Maki asked, obviously annoyed.

“Who would’ve thought someone as fearless as you would be scared by a little question, hmm?” a vicious voice from Mai said.

“I’m not scared, it’s a dumb question,” Maki replied, “but I’ll answer it anyway to get you idiots off my back.”

When she was done describing her type, you felt Yuta nudge you softly.

“Y/n, I think she likes you,” he said in a hushed tone.

“So what if I do, huh?” she said aggressively, overhearing what Yuta told you. The tension that overcame the group was uncomfortable, so much so that everyone left, leaving you and Maki by yourselves. She kept her eyes trained elsewhere, not wanting to meet yours.

“This whole thing was stupid. Forget I said anything,” she snarled.

“Maki,” you said with such softness that she actually looked at you, “I really like you. You’re my type, too.”

She scoffed as she looked away once more, hiding her warmed face. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

Inumaki:

“Inumaki! What’s your type?”

“He can’t talk, you jerk,” you exclaimed defensively. You turned to Toge. “Just ignore him, okay? You don’t have to answer.”

“Salmon,” he responded, placing a hand on your arm to signal he was alright. He sighed as he approached Todo.

“Salmon salmon,” he told him, earning a confused look from Todo.

“Anyone care to translate?” the tall man asked. Toge rolled his eyes and tried again.

“Salmon salmon,” he said, this time making his pointing toward you more obvious.

“Your type is… L/n?” wondered Todo. Toge nodded meekly as you were overcome with butterflies in your stomach. He turned away from the group as Todo asked the same question to the next victim.

“Toge, I’m your type?” you asked, your voice shaking a little.

He nodded.

“Does that mean you like me?”

He nodded again. You immediately wrapped him in a hug, making him stumble back before wrapping his arms around you as well.

“I’ve liked you for so long now. I never thought I’d have Todo to thank for this, but I guess weirder things have happened.”

Yuta:

“Okkatsu, tell us, what kind of person is your type?”

“I can appreciate all types of people,” Yuta answered happily, making you smile. He was always so kindhearted!

“I don’t believe that,” replied Todo, narrowing his eyes. “You have to have one certain type of person you always find attractive.”

“I mean, I guess so,” he replied, starting to look nervous.

“And that is?” Todo raised an eyebrow.

“Um, let’s see…”

When Yuta was describing that person, you felt a tug on your sleeve. Inumaki was looking at you and you nodded in understanding.

“You picked up on that, too?” you asked, getting an enthusiastic nod in response. Yuta blushed when he noticed you watching him and quickly encouraged Todo to ask the question to someone else to keep him from embarrassing himself more. What he didn’t notice, until it was too late, was who Todo asked next.

“L/n! What’s your type?”

“That’s easy,” you said, your eyes never leaving Yuta’s as you smiled. “It’s Okkatsu.”

He could’ve sworn he died and went to Heaven right there!

Gojo:

“Gojo-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

“Ooh, are we all playing a little get-to-know-each-other game?” asked Satoru excitedly. “I love it when the students bond like this.”

You were walking by the group when you overheard your fellow teacher getting involved in the kids’ antics so naturally, you stopped to watch.

“My type, hmm?” He was deep in thought, his forefinger to his chin. “Ah! Got it.”

As he was describing the person, the kids started snickering while looking at you. At first you didn’t understand why, but when it clicked, your first instinct was to grab Satoru by the back of his shirt collar and drag him away.

“Thanks for the fun!” he yelled, waving goodbye. When you were far enough away, out of sight and earshot of the students, you punched him in the arm.

“Ouch! Trouble in paradise already?” he teased.

“What the hell, Satoru? Our students aren’t supposed to know about teachers’ crushes on each other,” you reprimanded.

“What happens when we get married? They’ll know when they have to address you as Gojo-sensei. Or address me as L/n-sensei, I don’t care about the whole name situation,” he said airily, waving his hand around.

“You are truly impossible,” you said, rubbing your fingers on your forehead to ease your oncoming headache.

He poked your arm. “But you love me, don’t you?”

“I like you. And that’s trouble as it is,” you groaned, earning a smile and arm slung around your shoulder from the man.

“That’s enough for me, baby.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Noted.”

Noritoshi:

“Kamo! What’s your type?”

“I don’t want to play your nonsense games, Todo,” remarked Noritoshi, frustrated.

“The next head of the Kamo clan refuses to answer such an easy question? That tells me everything I need to know about your character,” smirked Todo.

Noritoshi scowled. “Don’t question my character over my disbelief in your stupid qualifications.”

“Admit it, Kamo. You’re scared,” teased Mai, which sent him over the edge. He explained his type to the group, finishing with, “-don’t ever ask me something so idiotic in the future.”

“So… your type is L/n,” said Todo.

“Yes.” Noritoshi’s eyes widened when he realized what he said. “No! Wait! I don’t…”

He stopped, coming to terms that the damage was already done.

“All of you get on my nerves,” he barked, walking away quickly. You hurried after him.

“Noritoshi,” you said after catching up with him, “I really like you. You’re exactly my type too.”

He studied your eyes for any sign of deceit, but he didn’t find any. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he let a small smile fall upon his lips.

“Maybe the brainless question was useful after all.”

Todo:

“Todo! What’s your type?” you asked the muscled man. He looked surprised at you speaking up, but immediately replaced that expression with a wide smile.

“You.”

You burst into laughter. “No, I’m being serious, Aoi. What kind of person are you into?”

“I am serious, you’re exactly my type. I think you’re really attractive.”

You were about to laugh again when you noticed he was being genuine.

“You’re not… joking?”

“You seriously didn’t know? You’re all he talks about or looks at,” said Noritoshi. “Even I’ve noticed that much.”

“So, what do you say?” Aoi addressed you with another smile. “You want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Yeah. That would be amazing,” you breathed out, still shocked at the outcome you weren’t expecting but would gladly accept.

Nanami:

“Nanami-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

Todo’s loud voice made Kento stop abruptly in his tracks.

“I’m not a teacher so don’t address me as such,” he sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Secondly, that’s none of your business. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Nanamin!” Yuji exclaimed, blocking the exasperated man’s path. “It’s a harmless question! We just wanna know more about you.”

Kento observed the shining eyes of the children staring at him and he sighed again, this time more forcefully.

“My type is a person who is smart enough to stay far away from this troublesome group,” he grumbled, making a beeline for your laughing figure as you watched from afar.

“Not a fan of my students’ curiosity, Nanami-sensei?” you teased, causing him to groan.

“They’re much too nosy. I have no interest in delving into my love life with children.”

“How about with another adult, then?” you asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call you an adult with the way you’re acting right now.”

“I’d be hurt if you weren’t right,” you replied. “C’mon, we trust each other. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Fine,” he relented, “but this isn’t how I pictured telling you. I was hoping for a more mature environment when confessing my romantic feelings towards you.”

You stood in shock at his sudden confession. You were joking with the man, not expecting him to come up with a real answer, but instead, he admitted he liked you.

“To make myself clear,” he said, noticing your lack of a reaction, “you’re my type.”

You stumbled over your words in your surprised state. “I… wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself. “That does make it a lot easier to say my type is overworked blondes named Kento.”

His lips quirked up into a hint of a smile. “You think I’m overworked?”

“I know you are.” You mustered up all your courage before continuing, asking, “How about you take some time off and join me for dinner later?”

Kento’s smile became much more prominent. “That was supposed to be my line, but that would be lovely nonetheless. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

#yuji itadori x reader #megumi x reader #nobara x reader #maki zenin x reader #inumaki toge x reader #yuta x reader #gojo x reader #noritoshi x reader #aoi todo x reader #nanami x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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trashytracktales · 6 months ago

Note

omg I LOVE your writings, its my first time ever requesting one, hope u can write it (if u dont like it i would completely understand)

i was thinking about some lando thing, where his girlfriend is reading some spicy book and he accidentally reads some lines and the room gets hot lol, and when everything its done he is just the fluffiest boyfriend of the world

hope u are doing good🩵

By the book | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I genuinely had so much fun with this one, thank you so much for the request. Hopefully this is a nice first experience 😉🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── When boredom leads him to a new world, intense and full of possibilities, Lando wants to prove to his girlfriend that despite the perfect moments in her erotic books, the real deal is still better than fiction.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, fluff & smut, descriptive language, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, swearing, edging, teasing, roleplay elements, Max F. cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.7k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 19, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys! I’ve got a couple more one-shots coming your way before the year wraps up, and I just wanted to thank you all so much for your patience and support. It means the world to me 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE FAINT GLOW from Lando’s monitors is the only light in the room, casting faint shadows over his side of the bed. It’s pretty late — later than it probably should be for him to start a streaming session — but Max insisted, and Lando figured it was either this or mindlessly scrolling through his infinite feed until falling asleep. His headset lies next to his keyboard, untouched, as he waits for his best friend to finish whatever pre-stream rituals he’s currently busy with.

From the en suite bathroom, the sound of running water echoes like ambient noise, muffled by the walls yet delicate, while his girlfriend showers. He glances at the door, thinking about how she had kissed him on the forehead just a few minutes ago, hair piled on top of her head in that messy bun he secretly loves. She had told him to have fun streaming, flashing him a sweet smile that made him wish she weren’t about to leave him alone to his boredom.

Lando sighs, spinning slightly in his chair, his gaze randomly falling to the nightstand on her side of the bed. A stack of books rests there unbothered, as it always does, each spine a different color. She goes through them so quickly that he can never keep up with what she’s reading now versus what she finished last week, that's why, normally, he doesn’t pay them much attention. But tonight, in the thick silence, with Max still not ready and the hum of the bathroom as his only company, he reaches for the book at the top of the stack.

The cover is intricate and inviting — soft, watercolor-like strokes of flowers in muted tones frame a bold, serif title. There’s no hint of what it’s about, and when he flips it over, the description on the back isn’t much help, either.

“Vague as hell,” he mutters under his breath after reading it.

He flips the book open, thumbing through the pages, noticing that she's halfway through it, with a scattering of sticky tabs peeking out from various places. A glance at the pages confirms his girlfriend’s habit of underlining sentences and jotting tiny notes in the margins. He smirks to himself, picturing her curled up on the couch, pen in hand, diligently marking her favorite parts, as she always does.

He stops at one of the tabs — a pink one — curiosity getting the best of him. The text beneath is neatly underlined, with a couple of notes scribbled faintly in the margin. His eyes skim over the words, and then he freezes, blinking at what he’s just read.

His hands roamed my bare skin with a deliberate slowness, mapping every curve, every dip. I gasped when his fingers dipped lower, teasing just enough to make me squirm beneath him. “Patience, my love,” he murmured against my neck, his voice rough with desire. “I'll give you what you need.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, while his eyebrows shoot higher on his forehead. His fingers tighten slightly on the book as his eyes dart to the highlighted lines. She’s underlined “I'll give you what you need” and scrawled something next to it — he squints to make it out.

‘OMG. The tension here is insane,’ it reads, followed by ‘On. My. Knees’.

His pulse quickens, and he feels a flicker of heat low in his stomach.

Suddenly, Lando realizes how intimate it is to rummage through her annotations, as they are pure, unfiltered emotions, evoked by scenes that obviously awakened something in her when she read them, and now he feels way too guilty to continue.

But not enough to stop.

He flips ahead, stopping at another pink tab, as if he's on autopilot, guided by sheer curiosity alone.

My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between us. His mouth was everywhere — on my lips, my collarbone, the sensitive skin of my nipples. I trembled as he kissed his way lower, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I moaned his name, breathless, as he looked up at me with a smirk that promised more.

Lando swallows hard. He shifts in his chair, hyperaware of the heat creeping up his neck. He tells himself to stop, to close the book and put it back, but he can’t seem to help himself.

“You liked that, don’t you?” he asked in a whispered tone. I whimpered in response, my nails digging into his shoulders as my body arched into his touch. “You did, my good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “Keep being good, and you'll get to cu—”

He sucks in a sharp breath, snapping the book closed. His mind betrays him, conjuring images of her beneath him, her breath hitching the way it does when he teases her, her hands clutching at him as she whispers his name in pleasure.

His jaw clenches, and he drags a hand through his hair, all too aware of the way the air has changed inside the room. Luckily, the vibration of his phone on the desk jolts him back to reality. He startles, nearly dropping the book in his lap.

Scrambling to grab his phone, he sees a text from Max:

“Shit,” Lando mutters under his breath.

He rushes to put the book back where he found it, his movements momentarily clumsy. He’s acutely aware of the way his body feels now — tense, restless, hot — as he makes himself more comfortable in his chair, tugging his headset over his ears.

The monitor flickers to life as Max joins the call, his voice loud and cheery in Lando’s ear. “Finally, mate! Thought you fell asleep or something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando replies, his voice a little strained. “Let’s just get started.”

By the time she's done with showering and coming out of the bathroom dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts and towel-drying her hair, Lando is fully immersed in his racing game. She pauses in the doorway, watching him for a moment with a small smile on her face, and he catches her eye briefly, following her as she crosses the room, the t-shirt swallowing her frame entirely. He gives her a quick nod before returning his focus to the screens, while she climbs onto the bed and grabs the book from her nightstand, settling in against the pillows to read.

At that, Lando finds himself smirking.

It’s hard not to, knowing what’s tucked between those pages now. His fingers twitch on the steering wheel, but he keeps driving, throwing himself into the rave to avoid getting distracted.

“Mate, you’re lagging behind,” Max calls out through the headset, breaking Lando’s focus.

“Yeah, mate. Don't worry, I’m here,” he replies, steering his car to catch up.

Time passes in a blur of laughter, strategy, and the occasional curse as he and Max trade wins and losses. At some point, she gets up from the bed, her book left open and facedown on the comforter. Lando watches out of the corner of his eye as she pads over to him, stopping just out of frame.

“Want some tea?” she asks quietly, her voice careful not to interrupt his live stream.

Lando glances up at her briefly, his lips curling into a small smile. His hand leaves the steering wheel, trailing to the back of her thigh, his fingers traveling up slowly, squeezing the soft curve of her ass.

“Yeah,” he whispers, the word leaving him on a smirk.

Her breath catches in her throat at his touch, and she shoots him a pointed look, though the pink dusting her cheeks betrays her.

She swats his hand away lightly, protesting quietly, “Behave,” before disappearing into the kitchen.

TWO HOURS LATER, the game session finally winds down. Lando thanks the chat, throws a parting joke at Max, and shuts down his stream with a satisfied sigh. He swivels in his chair to find his girlfriend still awake, her book now resting on her stomach while she scrolls idly on her phone.

She glances at him and smiles kindly, watching as he heads to the bathroom, but when he gets back a few minutes later, he’s wearing nothing but a fresh pair of boxers and a wide smile. His skin glows faintly from the shower, and water droplets cling to the sharp angles of his collarbone.

Lando approaches the bed slowly, his gaze fixed on her. She looks up from her phone as he slides in beside her, his presence warm and familiar. Without a word, he takes the book from her stomach, his fingers brushing hers lightly as he closes it and sets it back on the nightstand. Then, he leans down, brushing his lips over hers in a kiss that’s soft but full of intent — definitely not the kind that he uses to send her to sleep. Quite the opposite. It makes her hum against his lips, her hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest as she kisses him back.

“You’re still wet,” she notices, pushing Lando lightly to look at him.

When he pulls away, his voice drops, small but teasing. “We can both be,” says Lando.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, “Yeah, not tonight, buddy. You took too long, and I’m sleepy from all the reading.”

“Come on, just wrap your legs around my waist, and pull me closer, until there is no space left between us,” he murmurs the words deliberately.

For a second, her heart skips a beat, her eyes widening slightly as she registers his sentence. Blood rushes to her cheeks and beyond, her pulse quickening.

“What?” she asks, giving him a puzzled look.

Lando’s smirk deepens. He leans closer, letting his breath fan over her ear as he continues, his tone overly suggestive. “What? You don’t want my mouth everywhere? On your lips, your collarbone, the sensitive skin of your nipples?”

Her breath hitches, and her lips part in surprise. Her mind starts spinning as the words he’s quoting — the ones she underlined so carefully in her book — fall from his mouth.

“Lando,” she says cautiously, her voice shaky.

“Hm?” he asks innocently, his fingers ghosting over her hip beneath the t-shirt. “I hope it's okay, I’m just trying to remember what you liked so much. What else was there? Something about… good girls?”

She swats at his chest, but there’s no real force behind it. “You’ve been reading my stuff!”

His laughter is quiet, but there’s heat in his gaze as he leans down to kiss her again, this time deeper, as if he has a purpose.

When Lando pulls back just enough to catch her gaze, his eyes are glinting with mischief. His hand trails up her side, his thumb slowly brushing the soft curve of her waist through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“And? What’s that about, baby?” he asks. “Don't you want to be my good girl?”

She lets out a soft laugh, a mix of flustered and amused, and presses a hand to his chest. “For the record, you’re not allowed to touch my books anymore,” she says, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when her cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, leaning closer, his lips brushing her skin. “I think I learned a lot. Like how you’re into being told what to do, and being touched like this,” he continues, tracing the pads of his fingers up and down her body.

“Lando,” she protests, but her voice wavers, her breath hitching when his teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath her earlobe.

“You marked all the good bits for me,” he says, his mouth trailing along her neck, placing soft, lingering kisses there. “Made it so easy, really.”

She shakes her head, trying to maintain her composure, but the warmth of his lips and the purposeful way his hands roam her body make it impossible. “You’re being ridiculous,” she whispers.

“And you’re so cute when you’re blushing,” he counters, his lips hovering just above hers. His tone shifts, teasing, giving way to something more profound. “Just know that if you ever want to recreate something from your books... all you need to do is ask, yes?”

Her breath catches as Lando’s fingers find the hem of her t-shirt and tug it upward. She lifts her arms without hesitation, letting him pull it over her head and toss it aside.

“And if you can't tell me, just underline the scenes,” he continues, smirking down at her. “I'll figure it out.”

“Lando…” her voice is much softer now, her eyes searching his, but he silences her with another kiss. Slow and lazy, his tongue dancing with hers on a rhythm only they know.

His hands move over her bare skin, stopping on her waist, then continuing until one of them curls around her neck, “My good girl,” whispers Lando against her lips, echoing the words from her book. “What should I do with you?”

She laughs softly, but it turns into a gasp as his lips leave hers, trailing down over her collarbone, while he squeezes lightly at her neck. He pauses to nip at the delicate dip at the base of her throat, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin. She smells like her vanilla body lotion, a faint scent that drives him wild.

“You don’t—” she tries to say something, but his mouth moves lower, and her words dissolve into a soft moan as he presses kisses across the swell of her breast, moving his hand on top of it to squeeze the flesh there.

“Relax, baby,” he says, looking up at her briefly, his expression a mix between adoration and pure need. “Just let me play by the book, yeah?”

Her cheeks burn at the intensity in his gaze, but she doesn’t look away. Her hands find his shoulders, holding onto him as his kisses travel lower, across her stomach, his tongue darting out to trace wet patterns against her skin.

When he reaches the waistband of her shorts, he glances up again, his fingers toying with the elastic. “Can I?” he asks softly, his voice full of want.

She nods, her breath shaky, and lifts her hips to help him slide them down her legs.

Lando kisses along her inner thighs, taking his time, savoring the way her body reacts to every little, torturous touch. She’s already trembling under him, anticipation coiling in her stomach as he hooks his arms around her thighs, spreading her legs wider.

“So ready for me, hm?” asks Lando, reaching for a pillow, and sliding it beneath the small of her back, adjusting her gently until she’s perfectly positioned for him. “Every time I open your pretty legs, fucking hell.”

She nods, chewing on her lower lip as she feels his hot breath falling over her skin. The first swipe of his tongue along her slit has her gasping, her head falling back on the mattress, unable to keep her eyes on him. Lando groans, the sound reverberating through her, his movements teasing, as always.

Her hands find his hair, threading through the damp strands as she arches toward him, desperately wanting to feel the heat of his tongue on her.

He looks up, his lips glistening while smirking. “Better than your book so far?”

“Mhm,” she breathes, her voice catching as he dips lower, his tongue working in a rhythm that has her eyes rolling.

He breathes heavily as he runs his tongue over her clit, teasing her hole with the tip. It's too much for her, yet still not enough to make her body shudder, but only ache for more instead. Luckily, Lando doesn’t stop, his hands gripping her hips to hold her in place as he gives himself entirely to her, the soft sounds she makes driving him on.

Patiently, he brings his fingers between her folds, opening her even more, little by little. When he pushes in the second finger, she moans his name again, which encourages him to curl them inside her, feeling her pussy tighten around him, the sound alone making him so painfully hard.

Lando’s mouth doesn’t leave her for a long while, drawing every gasp, every shudder from her as if it’s his life’s purpose. His tongue flicks, teases, and presses, his movements confident and practiced but still reverent, like he’s savoring her in a way words could never describe.

She’s close, and Lando knows it from the way her thighs tighten around his shoulders, and the way her fingers tug at his hair, grounding herself as the pleasure builds higher and higher. It makes him hum against her wetness, the muffled sound forcing a loud gasp out of her. But right when she approaches the edge, his mouth pulls away, leaving her breathless and shaking.

“Why did you—Lando!” she starts to protest, but her words are cut off when he moves up her body, kissing a heated trail along her stomach, her breasts, and up her neck.

“Patience, baby,” he whispers, the word heavy with intent. “Isn’t that what your book said?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, her breath hitching as she remembers the very scene he’s playing out now. “I couldn’t care less about my book right now, Lando.”

He smirks, his hand sliding between her legs to tease her hole again, his fingers brushing over her sensitive heat with a featherlight touch. “Tell me what you want, then. I want to hear you say it.”

Her heart pounds, her mind is spinning, and the tears are so close from slipping out of her eyes. He's still quoting her stupid book, when he should be fucking her into oblivion instead. Even though now those words feel entirely different coming from his mouth, spoken in that low, rough voice that sends shivers down her spine, only makes her cry in protest when his fingers keep playing with her clit. The pressure he applies is measured enough to just keep her on the edge, but never pushing her over it.

“I want you,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Need you, please.”

“And if I ask you, pretty please, to say it again, will you?” his soft voice forces another moan to slip from her lips, his fingers dipping into her pussy, slow and teasing, feeling her walls constricting around them.

She nods, swallowing hard, “You,” she repeats, louder this time, her hips rolling against his hand. “I want you.”

Lando hums in approval, his lips curling into a satisfied smile as he leans down to kiss her, his fingers moving with more intent now. “So good for me, aren't you?” he asks against her lips, and the words make her whimper, heat pooling in her belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to position himself between her thighs, his body fitting against hers like they were made for each other. Unfortunately, he takes his time, teasing her with his length, dragging himself over her wetness, his eyes never leaving hers.

“So good and needy, is that why you read those books?” he asks, mostly curious than anything. “You need something to keep you stimulated all the time? Because if that's the case, we can—”

“Please, Lando,” she begs, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, while breathing heavily.

He chuckles, satisfied, “I've got you, baby, you know I do.”

His restraint snaps at her plea, and he pushes into her hard yet measured, his gaze locked on hers as he fills her inch by inch. Her head falls back, a broken moan spilling from her lips as he bottoms out, his hips flush against hers.

“Fuck, you wrap around me so good,” he mutters, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He waits for her to adjust, his hands running soothingly over her thighs, her waist, and her breasts.

“Move,” she whimpers, her voice breathless as she drags her nails over his back.

He obeys, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm that has her arching beneath him, her body responding to his every thrust. He leans down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s as much about love as it is about hunger — a desperate desire to show her that he can be whatever she needs him to be.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes against her mouth. “Every inch of you.”

Her body rises to meet his with every thrust, their movements fluid and desperate as the tension coils tighter and tighter. His name falls from her lips like a prayer, and he drinks it in, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on her neck once again.

“Lan…” she cries out, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper inside her.

“Yes, baby. Wanna hear you,” he continues, his hand slipping between them to find the bundle of nerves that has her crying out again, her body trembling beneath him as his thumb circles around her clit. “Let go for me, come on.”

She shatters beneath him, her release washing over her in waves as she clings to him, her nails raking down his back. He follows moments later, her name a rough groan on his lips as he spills into her, his body shaking with the force of it.

This will always be better than anything, she realizes — better than any fantasy, any scenario, and any book. Just them, sharing each other in every possible way, then taking their time to come down. Together.

Their bodies are still tangled when Lando asks, “So? Was it better?” his voice is rough, but playful as he brushes a strand of hair from her face.

She laughs, her cheeks flushed, and pulls him down for one more kiss; of course he knew what she was thinking about.

“I think it might’ve been,” she teases.

“Oh? Might’ve?” Lando scoffs, his grin widening. “Guess we’ll just have to try again and make sure, then.”

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

MASTERLIST

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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clandestineloki · 2 years ago

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miguel o'hara x shy crybaby housewife!reader (p3)

[based off of a request where a kind anon asked me 2 write one where he snapped at her, tweaked it a little bit so he's actually not mad at her but more concerned, it just came off in the wrong way]

tw: mentions of blood and wounds from shards, suggestive bit at the end

miguel whos just gotten out of the nice warm bath you made for him

having put on a tight white shirt and sweatpants, drying his hair when he hears a something breaking in the kitchen followed by a scream

he rushes to the kitchen where his dimensional jump watch is on the ground in pieces, debris all over

and you're kneeling over it, trying to pick up the bigger pieces

"shit!" he yells, kneeling down and surveying the damage. "get away from that!"

"i'm sorry!" you cry, clearly shaken. "i-it was on the table and i hit it with my elbow-"

"i know- please don't- just let me-" miguel tries to gently usher you away, but you shake your head.

"it's my fault," you cut him off. "i'll clean it up-"

"I SAID GET AWAY! THIS COULD EXPLODE SO LET ME FUCKING HANDLE IT, ALRIGHT?!"

it stuns you into complete silence, making you flinch away and lean against the kitchen counter.

miguel sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"sorry." miguel says bluntly without looking up. "just- fuck- the last time this happened it broke my nose so don't touch anything-"

he pieces the parts of the watch together, brows furrowing when he sees the tiny projector panel is missing. "what? where's the-"

shaky hands place two broken pieces of the projector panel in his hands

his brows furrow when he sees there are specks of blood on your palms

and he realizes you were trying to fix it on your own :((

he looks up and you're staring up at him with tears in your eyes, your bottom lip wobbling as your breathing quickens and the tears stream down your cheeks.

"i-i'm sorry," you whisper, and his heart shatters

"amor-"

before he can react you stand up and flee to the bathroom

"oh no," miguel leaves the watch pieces right there on the floor and follows you

he finds you at the sink

running your hands through warm water as you cry quietly

miguel feels immense guilt for yelling at you

he wraps his arms around you from behind as he looks at you in the mirror

"bebita," he whispers. "let me help you..."

you're still looking down, avoiding his gaze, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

"bebita, i'm sorry," he mumbled. "i was scared you'd get hurt, i didn't mean to yell at you..."

you sniffle, turning off the tap. "i messed up."

"we all do," he whispers. "i messed up too, you didn't deserve that, you were just trying to help."

you shake your head, turning to face him and showing him your palms filled with cuts. "yeah, n' look what happened."

"you think too lowly of yourself, cariño," he lifts you up on the counter, taking the first aid kit from the drawer and fishing out the tweezers, some cotton and some rubbing alcohol.

he presses a kiss to your lips. "i'm not mad at you for this. i want you to know that. i had no right acting like a jackass."

you laugh softly through tears, and he smiles sadly, taking your left hand and looking for your injuries

the next few minutes are completely silent as miguel picks out the tiny shards from your palms

he kisses each palm when he's done, then pours some alcohol on a cotton ball.

"bebita, this might sting a bit. take a deep breath for me."

you start sobbing, and he looks up at you.

"bebita, i haven't even put the alcohol-"

"i'm sorry," you whimper, crying harder, and his heart breaks again.

"amor," he leans in, brushing stray hair away from your face and thumbing at your tears.

"you're very pretty even when you cry, but please don't be sad..."

miguel pulls you into a hug and you let it all out while he shushes you softly, kissing your hair and whispering words of love

patiently waiting for you to come back to him, wiping away your tears and sniffling, looking up at him with a tentative expression.

miguel smiles. "there she is," he mumbles, kissing you sweetly. "nobody's mad anymore, i know you meant well, you always do."

he kisses your nose. "i love you."

"love you too," you whisper, and he smiles.

"do you want to watch a movie with me while i clean you up?"

"mhm."

"your pick, amor. anything you want, anything-"

"can we watch top gun?"

"no."

"but you said it was my choice!"

"anything but that! you know i hate top gun!"

"we watch top gun or im not cooking paella for a month"

"BEBITA POR DIOS!"

you giggle and he sighs.

"fine. you're lucky you're the love of my life... and that i dont know how to cook my own paella."

"how about this?" miguel lifts you up in a princess carry.

"i'll watch top gun with you WITHOUT complaining if you promise to never let me yell at you like that again."

you look at him in confusion. "but-"

"promise me." he whispers.

"okay," you nuzzle into his neck. "i promise."

"good. and remind me to eat you out more often im forgetting how good you taste ;)"

"MIGUEL!!"

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara headcanons #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader

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heartyluv · 6 days ago

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wait wait wait hear me out Caleb with a dad bod

just like a tiny one yknow but he starts getting insecure about it and shit and thinks that reader won’t find him attractive anymore while she finds it so cute and hot asf and she just wants him to fuck her brains out

note: omg this is absolutely everything…i could see myself doing a full fic on this one day if you’d like, anon! now, i didn’t write this to be freaky bc i don’t think that kind of reaction would suit a situation like this, but if i did a full one, the sex would for sureeee get like that. regardless, its short and quick, but i hope you like this. 😚

warning: mentions of weight gain, caleb doesn’t like his body

i feel like when you notice, it’s because he starts wearing shirts all the time. like you could never get caleb to put a shirt on if you wanted him to when you first started dating—and you loved it. you’re in love with that man and his body, so of course you always wanted to see it.

i’m picturing you and caleb as a couple who loves food. going out to eat, finding new restaurants, cooking new meals—like that’s your thing. but maybe down the line, he gets so busy with work that he ends up skipping the gym more often and with the eating habits he has with you, he puts on a few pounds. maybe his abs aren’t as defined as they used to be.

so he wants to hide it from you. and it was subtle at first—starting with just a tank top all the time. then he went full blown t-shirts, wanted to be behind you when you had sex or on top so you had to focus on his face and nothing else.

when you started realizing what he was doing, especially when he would ask for and do things he never has—like if you could turn around when he wanted to change or leaving the room entirely to do so—your heart brokeeee.

now, let me set the scene of confrontation: he comes home from work, takes a shower, and throws on another too-big t-shirt. you ask him to come to the bedroom when he’s done and he can see the determination in your eyes. it’s worrying and scaring the shit out of him.

“take your shirt off.” your tone is straight. not aggressive, but serious.

caleb would freeze. ready to run. “w-why…do you—”

“caleb,” you cut him off. “take.it.off.”

he legitimately thinks that this will be the end of you two. that you’ll see him and want to leave. but he’ll listen and will slowly pull his shirt off, but he holds it in front of his body.

“why are you doing that, baby?” you frown. the mindset and intention to be stern would be overridden by sadness when you see how vulnerable he looks.

“let me see you. i miss seeing you.” he can barely keep his eyes on you, continuously looking at the floor in silence.

“you don’t want to see me like this,” he’d retort with embarrassment. “i’m not the same. you won’t like it. i can’t do that to you.”

you won’t have this. won’t have him talking about himself like that. not the love of your life.

so you walk up to him and look into his eyes that are clearly watering as you pull his shirt away from his grasp. you then hold his arms down in place so he doesn’t try to keep himself hidden from you any longer.

when you look down to see his now softer stomach, all you do is fall in love with him all over again. not a single part of you thought to judge or criticize him. the fact that he even thought you’d want to, hurt you to your core.

“caleb…you look absolutely fuckable,” you nearly whisper. it makes him snort out a surprise laugh. you’re not lying and by the exasperation in your voice, he might just believe you.

“you’re the same man who taught me to love myself just as much as you love me. you taught me what it means to lean on you when i’m unsure.” you’d bend down to kiss his stomach. they’re featherlight, but full of meaning as you pepper them along his soft skin.

“you’re also the only man on this planet earth who i’ll ever love and whatever you think negatively about your body, know that i will never agree.” you’ll stand to kiss his nose and his lip will tremble. he can’t believe he’s this lucky. “let me show you how perfect you are, yeah?”

he starts to whimper, exhaling in relief when you press more kisses to his neck and jaw. “i’ve missed riding your cock, babe. missed seeing every inch of you. will you let me?”

and he’d mumble a gentle yes because oh…he misses it too.

of course he wouldn’t automatically just believe your words, but with how ravenous you become when you have just a little bit of him back, he knows that doubting your love for him because of something so unimportant, is a mistake he’ll never make again.

#heartyluv answers!#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads x you #lads caleb

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croquettish · 1 month ago

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That scene had my mouth hanging open! Like Jesus Christ Henry, that was BLATANT. The whole way that scene is structured says a lot- and its before any of the romance dialogue options pop up. So I think this is when Henry realizes that he doesn't care, that much, I think, about repressing his feelings- like he kind of gives up on being anxious and hiding and wondering if Hans will reciprocate- he thinks, "he won't." And from that gives himself the freedom to express his tender emotions without it being a confession that expects an answer. Thus his shock when he DOES get kissed later on.

I haven't been able to quite pinpoint the instant Hans hits the floor though.

You're SO RIGHT omg... Henry spends all game throwing little hints at Hans (and the player tbh) and Hans keeps giving him so so little because he's terrified of a) admitting anything either to himself or b) not having his feelings reciprocated. I do think Henry didn't expect it at all when Hans kissed him, but he's also been trying to RESIST for so long and so hard, in part because of what he knows of that moment carries so much weight between them.

In fact, I keep thinking about this post about how Henry feels like he's the axle around which the world turns:

Which, yes, is very funny if we think of it in the context of this being a video game and him being its protagonist, but it really made me realize how deeply meaningful it is that Hans kisses Henry first.

He tries all game to show Hans that he cares and never expects anything to come of it precisely because he's always the one who has to do everything, always the one who has to initiate everything, and if he doesn't, nothing ever changes. The world only changes if he changes it.

But here Hans makes the decision. He doesn't wait for Henry to make the first move, he kisses him. And it startles Henry so badly, shakes the very foundation of everything he knows and has come to experience in his video game life, that he rejects that advance, that unfamiliarity at first. Before realizing that no, this is also his choice. Hans has shown him what he wants, that he wants a change, in the most direct way possible, and unless he turns around and actively chooses the same in return he'll never have the thing he desperately wants but has been so terrified of wanting.

That kills me a bit. That just once he didn't have to be the one to do it. And it scared him, but he found his footing again, and this really is just the ship of all time????

AS FOR HANS!!! 👀

Not to be insane here but please picture me coming into this classroom glasses askew, learning materials overflowing in my hands, hands covered in chalkdust-- I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG AND I HAVE SO MANY RECEIPTS

I will preface this by saying that in no way do I think my meta on this is canon or correct in any way, it's just how I personally think it happened. I also know I already touched on this a tiny bit in my claustrophobia meta, but definitely not to this extent. So THANK YOU @ anon for giving me an excuse to do a deep dive!!!!

The first indication we get that there's more to Henry and Hans' relationship aside from the entirety of Next to Godliness and how Hans tells Henry he could kiss him after he rescues him in The Prey is in the DLC, The Amorous Adventures of Bold Sir Hans Capon, where Hans tells Henry that he'll have to look elsewhere for the love of his life (while staring right at him) and follows this up by insisting that at least he's capable of appreciating his romantic poetry!

Given the right dialogue options Henry has the chance to start flirting with Hans from like within the first thirty minutes of gameplay:

Henry... why did you say that... you had no reason to say that...

And then two seconds later you're given the option of explaining the nature of Henry's relationship with Theresa. If you don't go with the option of "nothing happened between me and Theresa," Tankard inevitably pushes for more and saucier details, and Henry has the chance to either shut down the conversation right there or... elaborate:

Sending some mixed signals there to your man, Henry...

Hans immediately jumps in to stop Henry:

Regardless of what Henry says, whether he denies anything ever happening with Theresa or he goes into explicit detail, he then proceeds to let out the deepest fucking sigh. In fact, there is a video up about precisely this sigh that I thought was intended to be a hilarious commentary, but after looking at the comments I'm not so sure anymore. Either way you spin it, however, both those offended and those gleefully rubbing their little paws together seem to equally view this as the first hint we get that there might be more to Hans' feelings than meets the eye.

It's also possible for this thought to spark in Hans' mind if you take the Miller Route to get to the wedding that the thought at the very least came up for him here. He quickly bats it away and of course Henry can go the Blacksmith route, but the potential for this thought to arise here exists.

So then, if not at the wedding (where he arguably exhibited quite a few jealous tendencies), then when?

Let's look at their romantic interactions, but backwards.

We know by the time of their romance scene, he knows. He knows all too well how he feels. He just has to work up the courage to do something about it.

Sidenote, it kills me a bit that this is the expression on his face after he realizes that Henry put his hand on his. Like he's trying to tell himself in that moment that if this is all he can ever have, maybe that's enough. Just knowing that the potential was there...

We also know that he knows by the time we run into him in the underground passageway during The Italian Job:

Something he only feels comfortable saying after Henry clarifies that this is about more than just obligation to him:

The "Maybe more than you know..." carries so much fucking weight there. It may as well have been an implicit confession. It's not surprising that Henry felt the need to be this upfront about how he feels, especially given how their interaction up on the ramparts moments earlier went.

(Add to that the fact that Henry almost died just then and it's not particularly surprising that he upped the ante by the time they're in the underground passageway.)

Henry tells him that he thinks they've been spending too little time together lately (of all the times to bring that up, Henry...) and Hans is like no no it's fine don't worry WE'LL BE BACK TO NORMAL BEFORE LONG, this whole gay thing between us might just be a fever dream for all we know!!

He throws it out there like it's meant to be bait for Henry. A test for him to either pass or fail. And honestly? It is. Henry is handed a little note with radio buttons that just reads "Are you 100% heterosexual? Do you really love women? Like really really really love women?" and here are the possible responses:

One of them fails. If Henry says he can't wait to go wenching again, all of Hans' fears are abated. But he's also crushed at the same time.

What a relief! Now I don't have to worry about these gay feelings anymore! ... oh. Now I won't have to worry about these gay feelings anymore.

But Henry answers correctly.

This conversation. I think I could write a whole paper on this interaction alone, I swear to god. Those are some PREGNANT FUCKING PAUSES between what they're saying here. It's like Henry is trying so fucking hard to say the quiet part out loud. Let's translate!

Henry: I like you. I like you a whole fucking lot. Haven't really been worried about wenches all that much.

Hans: Yeah. Obviously. Of course we like each other. And I'm sure we mean that in the same way... which is... actually I don't know which way we mean that...

Henry: Yeah I don't think you understood what I was saying at all. How obvious do I need to be exactly...

Hans: There's no way he likes me like that, right? Am I reading into things?

Hans panics! And promptly taps out. Like yelling out a safe word, he pulls out his safety harness heterosexuality and slams it down on the table.

I'm sharing the full screenshot here just to remind us of the 💪💪💪 he pulls. Holy shit he's trying SO HARD to blow off that entire interaction. Like setting up a safety he can gesture at just in case all of this is actually in his head. All of their romantic interactions make so much sense if you consider that both of them (but especially Hans) always have a church official standing right next to them, watching everything they do and scrutinizing everything they say.

It's entirely possible that things would be a bit different if Hans hadn't been engaged against his will. He just goes from cage to cage to cage in this game (once again thinking about my claustrophobia meta, don't mind me, there's a post about Hans and freedom/agency coming as well). As free as he felt after being rescued from Maleshov, he's immediately imprisoned again via the engagement. Hans almost always has shackles of a kind on him, and those shackles dictate his behavior in certain ways like they do here.

But we can conclude from this that he knows how he feels, even if he doesn't yet know how Henry feels.

The same circumstance applies when Henry has the opportunity to flatter him in Italian! (Incidentally this moment also shows up in tomorrow's fic update.) Does he know what he's saying? Is Henry just practicing his Italian? Did he also say this to the women? It's not inherently romantic if it's said to his bro just... casually.

And Hans knows Italian!!! Hans knew what Henry said, so the fact that he feels the need to clarify does suggest that he's aware of his feelings by the time they hole up in Ruthard Palace as well.

This is further corroborated by their conversation where Henry insists that he'd gladly trade places with Hans instead of going after the papal legate as he worries about leaving Rosa and Katherine with Brabant. And Hans responds by saying this:

Remember how I said that Hans tests Henry? Both of these interactions fit perfectly within that schema. Henry responds by asking, completely baffled, what he's on about:

And Hans is like oh don't worry about it bro my question meant NOTHING AT ALL.

Things are a bit murkier before this point, but not by much.

Their time at the Devil's Den and shortly after is marked by a pronounced jealousy over Sam's relationship with Henry. One could argue that he's unaware of his own feelings in all of this, not entirely sure why he feels so strangely jealous, but that's harder to argue in light of their little hunt out where they have the conversation about Hans' penchant for Karolinas.

This of course goes back further, to when we're told that Hans is dealing with his increasing claustrophobia by riding out to Bohunowitz and getting ridden there in turn:

Why does he lie? Why does he make this up?

We see something similar when he tells Henry about the bow he stole for him:

It seems to me fairly obvious that he's trying damn fucking hard to push Henry away here all while keeping him close. Urging him, effectively, to be as heterosexual as possible and to view Hans as entirely heterosexual in turn.

I have feelings for you. They terrify me. Maybe if they're not an option they'll just go away on their own. Make me lose hope in this. Remind me of how straight you are. See how straight I am? I'm definitely not overcompensating. Please for the love of god just tell me you're so unbelievably into women I can't take it otherwise.

One could argue here that he's still unaware of his feelings, the fact that he's trying this hard to actively work against them suggests to me personally that he's trying his very hardest to repress knowledge that he actively knows and dreads. This inclination of his could be dangerous for both of them but especially for Henry and has to be quenched somehow—and ideally sooner rather than later.

But it's not enough. He's still left with the jealousy. He's told himself that he can't be jealous of women (not that Henry gives him any reason to), but that still leaves Sam open as fair game. How dare he not be trying to push Henry away? How dare he just get that closeness without having to go through everything he and Henry have gone through together? How dare he get Henry when Hans is actively denying himself? If Hans is on a diet, no one else should get to eat any food, etc etc. It's just logical! And so very fair of him to demand!

There's no time for him to express much of anything romantic after the massacre at Raborsch, and the last real romantic moment they had was, of course, during his rescue from Maleshov.

So what do we do with that?

If we look at their romance scene, Hans actually invokes a specific moment from earlier in the game, as if he suddenly sees that moment, what Henry said, in a new light. That now he's afforded the context of knowing he's in love with Henry.

I missed this the first time and only later went back and re-examined it (like only a completely sane person would do). I wasn't sure at first what Hans meant, and then realized it was this bit:

Because of how badly he wishes he could save Henry for once (even though that was literally one of the first things that happened in the game; you gotta be easier on yourself baby boy) and how much that means to him in a romantic context as well.

He didn't read this romantically at this point yet, but he does by the end. What happened in between those two events?

The engagement announcement.

This is the face of a man who is actively having a panic attack because he both realized what he wants (Henry) and that he can never have it (because he's been engaged against his will and lives in a society that would frown upon a relationship between two men):

When he stares out the window after I would bet good money on him wishing Henry was there in that moment.

We do see him being quite jealous when at the banquet at Trosky where Black Bartosch also is, and there's some hesitation in his reply (as though he's genuinely taken aback by what Henry tells him) after you choose the first romance option, but I'd argue that he doesn't have words to put to his feelings by this point yet. The feelings are there, but the understanding isn't. And while they're escaping Maleshov, things are so chaotic that when we choose the romance option, Hans' emotions are 100% on the terror of the secret passageway and not on his feels. So this moment seems to me the most logical by far.

Now, I know not everyone is going to agree with my take on this. That's fine!! Everyone is entitled to their own opinion on this. I just know that the second I saw this scene, I thought to myself, oh my god, he just realized he's in love with Henry. Now, of all times.

#hansry #henry of skalitz #hans capon #kcd #kcd2 spoilers #kingdom come deliverance #kcd meta #please picture me chanting comphet comphet comphet #seriously tho thank you so much for the question‚ anon #after weeks of getting nothing but spam it was so nice to receive not one but two actual asks!!!#seriously I love asks please talk to me

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evilmenenjoyer · 28 days ago

Text

Dead-end roads.

Pairing: Shane Walsh x fem!Reader.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: age gap (legal, reader is 24 years old and Shane is somewhere in his mid-late 30s), drinking, drunk sex (as in both parties are drunk), rough sex, gratuitous use of the word "kid" as a pet name, grief and implications of past familial abuse. Both of them are a mess basically.

A/N: thank you so much to the anon who requested age gap Shane/Reader! I had so many ideas I had to split them into different parts or this would've been ridiculously long, so let me know if you would like to see part 2!

You, Shane, trauma, and way too much booze for your own good. What could possibly go wrong?

–––

Sneaking out of the camp was easy. Dale likes to keep watch on top of his RV, but even he can’t see everything, and when you’re determined to leave a place even trained eyes can’t seem to catch you. With everyone else busy trying to recover from the massacre and digging graves for the dead, it felt like the perfect opportunity.

The graves. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch them do it, much less to step in and help. Four deaths just last night; Ed, Amy, a man whose name you regret not memorizing. And your mother.

You haven’t shed a single tear yet.

Instead, you find yourself alone in the heart of Atlanta, in the apartment you used to live. Your legs dangle from the edge of the tiny balcony, and in your hand you clutch a half-empty bottle of vodka. It’s cheap, the kind you can’t hold back a grimace every time you swallow, but it gets the job done — and more importantly, quickly. Five big gulps in and you can’t even taste it anymore.

The city looks so eerie from up here, empty and dead silent save for the distant groans of walkers below. Every now and again you’ll see one drag itself along the street, aimlessly making its way into one of the nearby buildings or further into the city, oblivious to your presence ten stories above. You briefly entertain the thought of tossing the cap of the bottle down into the concrete, just to see if you could hit one of them from this distance, if they’ll be smart enough to look up and spot you.

Just as you’re considering the pros and cons, the sliding door behind you opens.

Your heart jumps inside your chest and it feels like the vodka hits you all at once, making the world spin and blur around you. You whip your head towards the sound, your eyes taking a second longer to catch up to the movement and to make sense of the shape invading your vision.

“Shane,” you gasp, half in surprise and half in relief. Not a walker. You don’t want to think about how, if it was one, you’d have nowhere to run to except maybe jumping down and taking your chances with the pavement. “What are you doing here?”

“Lookin’ for you. What else would I be doing here?” Shane looks pissed, like he can’t decide whether he wants to snap at you right now or if he should wait until you’re not half-hanging out of the frail balcony fence. He draws in a deep breath, seemingly in an attempt to calm himself down. “You can’t just sneak out like that. We were worried.”

“Sorry.”

You’re not sorry. You don’t even try to sound sorry. You bring the bottle to your lips, swallowing down a mouthful of vodka that goes down your throat like liquid fire. You only vaguely feel it, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep.

Of course Shane would know you’d be here. None of the other remaining survivors in the group would know where to look, but he’s not just any stranger you’ve been camping with for the sake of survival. He had rescued you and your mother from this very place in his departure from Atlanta, before the bombs from the military started coming down on the city.

Shane crouches down beside you, his eyes taking note of the bottle but not lingering on it.

“We’re leaving the camp today,” he tells you. You don’t react save for a tiny nod around another sip of vodka.

“Where to?”

“CDC, or Fort Benning. We’re still working it out.”

You don’t voice your opinion; both sound fruitless to you. Silence stretches on for long enough that he must get the hint, because he takes the opportunity to say, “You’re coming with us.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine here,” you reply, your words slurred as the alcohol works its way through your system.

“You can’t be serious.” He rubs at his face, the same exasperation in his gesture as in his voice. “You’d die in a week, kid.”

The pet name instantly gets on your nerves, even if he’s called you that since the day he met you.

“I come here all the time and I’m still not dead.”

“For supply runs. How the fuck do you expect to live here? All alone? Look around you,” he gestures to the street below, where a walker crosses the street towards an abandoned store. “You’ve never even killed a walker.”

“I can learn.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

“How hard can it be? Everyone else does it.” You can’t pinpoint the exact moment you went from buzzed to drunk, but you realize now you’ve crossed that line a long time ago. Your voice goes from soft and nonchalant to increasingly, irrationally annoyed at his concern. “‘Sides, if I’m that useless why’d you want me to come along? I’d just slow you down.”

The worst is you know he has a point. You’re not a fighter; never have been, really. Your entire life, the one thing stopping you from becoming a sitting target was your ability to run, both literally and figuratively. You’re fast, sneaky, crafty. Qualities that have served you well, but they can only take you so far in this new brutal world. What happens when you can’t run? What happens when someone else is cornered and you can do nothing to help them?

There’s still blood from last night under your nails, no matter how hard you scrubbed your hands clean at the river.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

The words, the genuine, unexpected gentleness of his tone, it feels like a knife being jammed into your stomach. You only shake your head, unable to look at him; unable to, even now, admit that you can’t decide whether you’re devastated or relieved that she’s gone. That that woman was capable of leaving you with the deepest scars without ever laying a finger on you.

You stare down at the street. You still don’t cry.

“She would’ve wanted you to keep going,” Shane insists.

Your eyes finally meet his. “You clearly didn’t know my mother, Shane.”

You watch the surprise in his eyes as he tries to make sense of it. Still, he doesn’t relent. He pushes himself back to his feet.

“Come on, we need to go while there’s still daylight.” When you don’t move nor give any indication that you’ve heard him, you feel a hand circle around your forearm.

“I said no!” You yank your arm back like he burned you, even though the touch was gentle. “You’re not a cop anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I sure fucking can when you’re bein’ a danger to yourself.” He grabs you again, this time firmly enough to pull you to your feet. You stumble, too drunk for something as simple as balancing yourself. “Let’s go.”

You do the only thing that crosses your mind — you swing the bottle at him.

It doesn’t break. There’s just not enough power in the movement, no real intention to hurt him; you just want him to let go. It hits him on the shoulder, splashing vodka everywhere as it falls and crashes into a million pieces in the pavement below.

The crash is so loud in the silent city.

Shane’s got you back inside the apartment in an instant, in the bedroom that was once yours. You thrash around in his arms like a wild animal, the differences in strength between you and Shane as well as the alcohol running through your veins making your attempts at best comically futile.

“Stop! Christ, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“It’s pointless, Shane!” You keep on fighting even when you know you’re overpowered, when you can barely move against his grasp. “I’m dying either way! What difference does it make if I die here or at Fort Benning or wherever the fuck!?”

“You ain’t dying, that’s what I’m tryna stop from happening!” He’s got you effectively trapped, your back pressed against the wall and his arm across your chest. “Why do you gotta be so fucking stubborn?”

You try to move away; you can’t. His arm applies pressure across your chest, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s just how close he is — close enough that you can feel the body heat emanating off him, your faces inches from touching. You can see every pore on his skin, the light stubble starting to grow, the way his nostrils flare with anger.

“You think you’re the only one who lost someone?” he says. “We all did. And you’re the only one needin’ to be cared for like a little kid.”

“Who did you lose?” you snap back. “Far as I can see, everyone you love is doing just fine. That boy, your girlfriend. Even your buddy came back to steal her away.”

He pushes you even harder against the wall for that, his muscles flexing with how impossibly tight he’s gripping you. Your breath caught in your throat, you try to kick him away only to find his knees also trapping your legs in place, so much of his body pressed flush to yours it’s making you a little dizzy.

“You gonna drag me back, or are you gonna fuck me?” you ask, all drunken defiance and bravado. There’s no way a sentence like that would ever leave your lips if not for the copious amounts of alcohol clouding your judgment. “‘Cause I’m getting some mixed signals here.”

You can tell you’ve caught him off-guard, but neither of you have an opportunity to react to what you’ve just said. Somewhere in the hallway, there’s a bang as something is pushed to the floor, followed by the unmistakable groans and heavy footsteps of a walker.

Shane spins you around so fast you nearly fall over again. His arm circles around your waist, and before you can even think to object, his free hand clamps over your mouth.

He drags you both into the walk-in closet, closing the door as silently as he can. It’s a dark, cramped space, the mess of clothes making it feel even smaller. Shane’s right behind you, his chest molded against your back and arms wrapped around you, his hand still covering your mouth even though you wouldn’t dare to make a sound.

All you can do is listen: Shane’s breath so close to your ear, your own racing heartbeats inside your chest, the walker that has now found its way into the bedroom.

For a few long moments you’re both still as statues, listening in to the sounds outside the closet. Your mind races with the worst possible outcomes; what if there’s more than one walker? What if they realize you’re both here, with no way to escape except for the same door you came in from? What if you both end up dead, and it’s all your fault for coming back here in the first place?

Seconds stretch into minutes that stretch into what feels like an eternity. The walker — or walkers — circles the room quite a few times, in no rush to leave. At some point, you see its shadow right in front of the door, standing there for several beats before it finally, finally walks away.

Shane waits even longer, until you’re certain you can’t hear anything on the other side. Only then does he slowly unwrap his hand from your mouth. He reaches for the door, still holding onto you, pushing it open just enough that he can peek out at the bedroom.

“I think it’s gone,” he whispers. “It probably went to the other room, but we can—”

He looks at you, and his voice dies out in his throat when he realizes you’re weeping.

You don’t know when it began, but the tears just keep on coming, rolling down your cheeks and into your shirt. They’re silent save for a few quick pauses for air, and your body shakes ever so slightly with your sobs, so soft and subtle it could’ve just been mistaken for fear if he couldn’t see your face. You want it to stop, to get your shit together or at least hide from Shane, stop him from watching you fall apart like this.

His grip around your waist loosens, but doesn’t release you. Instead, he carefully wraps his other arm around you as well, cradling you in an embrace.

It’s like the final pillar holding you together crumbles, and you let it all pour out of you, all those emotions you don’t even know how to name taking the shape of tears. Shane feels like a warm blanket at your back, reminding you that things can still feel good, somehow, in the midst of so much sorrow. He coaxes you to turn around to face him, and you immediately burrow your face into his chest, arms clinging to him like a lifeline.

“It’s okay,” he shushes, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” you breathe, your voice quieter than a whisper, but he hears you.

“Yeah, I can. Y’know why?” He pulls back just enough to see your face, the gun callouses on his fingertips scratching your skin when he wipes away a tear. “‘Cuz I’ll be right here the whole time, and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

You know it’s an empty promise, that this is something he can’t possibly guarantee. But he says it so earnestly, like really means it. And, for a moment, you let yourself believe it, let him pull you out of the closet and into an imaginary world where things will be okay.

CDC was the right choice, after all. It’s disheartening to see it empty rather than bustling with doctors and scientists, but there’s electricity, there’s hot water, and there’s dinner with plenty of food and wine, and that’s more than you could ask for.

You continue the party in the room you’ve claimed as your own, with yet another bottle you managed to sneak from the cabinet. It takes you nearly the entire bottle and over an hour of psyching yourself up before you bring yourself to knock on the door you’d seen Shane retreat into.

He doesn’t answer for long enough that you wonder if you should knock again or go away. Right when you’re about to make a decision, the door opens.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice slurred.

“Just wanted to ask if you wanted a drink.”

He looks like hell. Attractive, of course, as he always is, but disheveled. His hair is all over the place, shirt ruffled and open just enough for you to catch sight of the tattoo on his chest. There’s an edge to his gaze, matching the red, angry scratches on his neck.

Even in this state, he cracks a smile when he sees the bottle in your hand, the liquid inside not even enough for a full glass.

“Drink what? There’s barely anything in there.”

You smile back. “You have more, don’t you?”

Of course he does. He’s just as drunk as you, and you know for a fact he didn’t get to this point by just drinking a couple of glasses of wine at dinner. Shane runs a hand over his face, pausing to softly pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Look, kid, ’s not a good time.”

You try not to let your disappointment show, or to feel discouraged. “Come on, I bet I could cheer you up.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but perhaps he finds your confidence endearing, or he simply doesn’t have the energy to send you away. With a tiny sigh, he steps aside to let you in.

You and Shane, alone in a room with a bottle of liquor. It sounds like something you would only dare to fantasize about in the depths of your brain, except it’s happening right now. He doesn’t turn on the lights save for a small lamp at the corner, engulfing the two of you in warm dimmed lighting as you sit on opposite ends of the couch.

“D’you always do that?” he asks.

“What?”

He nods at the bottle in your hand just as he reaches for one of his own, a liquor you can’t make out in the darkness. “Drink like your liver is indestructible.”

You breathe a light chuckle as you bring the bottle to your lips. “Considering everything, I think my liver is the least of my problems. And you’re not too better off tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a grownup. I can drink.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, finally finishing off your bottle.

“I’m not that young.”

“How old are ya, anyway?”

“Twenty-four.” You leave the empty bottle on the coffee table. “And you?”

“Older than you.”

“No shit.”

“Too old for you, kid.”

Here it is; the closest either of you have gotten to giving voice to whatever it is that exists between you. There’s a part of you that had hoped he’d never notice it — the stolen glances and excuses to spend time around him and the way your smile lingered the longest for him than for anybody else —, while the other desperately hoped he felt it too, that he would make the first move you couldn’t find the guts to make.

The rejection burns, as subtle and implicit as it was. If you were sober, maybe this would be it; but you’re not, and your booze-soaked brain refuses to give up that easily.

“I’m not a child, Shane.” You hold out a hand, vaguely gesture to the bottle he’s drinking from. He lifts an eyebrow, but hands it over.

You’re expecting wine; it’s whiskey. You try to push through the burn down your throat, but you choke on it just a fraction of a second later, covering your mouth with your hand as you cough.

In the midst of desperately trying to swallow down the last bits of it, you hear Shane laugh.

“Yeah, sure you aren’t.”

“Fuck off.” You huff in embarrassment and genuine annoyance, taking a deep breath to steady your voice again.

“I believe ya, no need t’drink yourself into a coma to prove it to me.”

“There’s a lot of things I could do to prove it to you.”

The sentence just jumps out of your mouth before your brain even catches up to it, surprising you as much as it does him. He recovers quicker, snatching the bottle back from you.

“I’m cuttin’ you off, you’ve had enough tonight,” he says. It’s his turn to take a generous swig of the whiskey, swallowing it down like it’s nothing.

You watch him as he drinks, near-mesmerized for a brief moment. The scratches on his neck are in full view now, exposed to you, but you don’t dare to ask where they came from. His jaw is a firm, set line, clenched and tensed. You’ve seen him stressed enough times to know that this is what it looks like.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothin’.”

“Is it this place?” He doesn’t respond, but you discard the possibility. This is by far the safest, most comfortable place the entire group has spent the night since fleeing the city. Your mind flies to the one other issue that could be on his mind. “… Girlfriend problems?”

Shane sighs, and you can’t tell whether it’s resignation or a warning, like he’s telling you to tread carefully.

“Stop calling her that. She ain’t my girlfriend.”

“I’m sure she isn’t now that she’s got her husband back, but—”

“Never been.” He peels off the edges of the label of his drink. “There’s nothing goin’ on between us.”

You wish that were the truth, yet you doubt it. You shift on your spot so that you’re turned fully towards him.

“Then why do you look at her the same way I look at you?”

The silence that follows is heavy, building into something unknown. You force yourself not to look away when Shane finds your gaze, to not take back your words even though your heart is doing cartwheels inside your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t scoff dismissively, doesn’t blame it on the drinking or point out your age difference again. He only regards you with those dark, glassy eyes, as if this is the first time he’s ever seen you clearly.

“What good is looking if you won’t do something about it, sweetheart?” his voice is low, raspy, daring you to take a step further.

He doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

Breath caught in your throat, you push yourself to a stand. It feels like the floor under you is spinning, but it’s slow and gentle, like you’re dreaming rather than just shitfaced. Somehow, you manage not to stumble in your own steps, not to make a complete fool of yourself as you make your way towards him. For a moment all you do is stand there right in front of him, eyes locked on his like his gaze is pulling you in. Then, slowly, you plant your knees on both sides of his legs on the couch, and lower yourself onto his lap.

Adrenaline runs through your body like you’re fighting for your life. You’re barely able to think, consumed by the glint of hunger in Shane’s eyes.

He rewards you by laying his broad hands over your hips, pulling you forward until your body is flush with his. He tastes like whiskey when you kiss him — you must taste the same, because he parts his lips for you immediately, greedily sliding his tongue into your mouth as if he wants to intoxicate himself through you. You return the kiss with the same enthusiasm, the exact same intentions.

You exhale a soft gasp into his mouth when his hands slide up your waist, taking your shirt with them, brushing against your bare skin in the process. His hands are so warm and you feel like you’re burning up, skin blazing everywhere he touches. You let him pull the shirt up and off your body, even if you breathe a disappointed whimper when he breaks the kiss to stare at you.

You expect those hands to explore the skin that’s just been exposed, but instead they settle into the small of your back, pushing you into a deeper arch. “This what you wanted?” he asks into your ear, drawing a shiver out of you.

“Want you to fuck me.” As usual, the alcohol makes you bold, but honest. There’s so much more you want to do with him — getting on your knees for him, for starters, or feeling his thick fingers stretch you out —, but you can tell neither of you will last that long in your drunken state. There’ll be more time for that later, you hope.

You’re only wearing thin shorts while he still wears denim, the roughness of the fabric drawing a moan from you as you rub yourself over the growing hardness between his legs, your knees digging deep into the couch cushions.

His lips press kisses down your neck, along your collarbones. You buck your hips involuntarily when you feel a wet tongue circle your nipple. “Shane,” it leaves you in a small sound, embarrassing if you weren’t far past the point of caring. Shane replies by pushing his hips up against yours.

“Take it out,” he orders. “See what you’ve done to me.”

Your usual defiance and disregard for authority goes out of the window as you find yourself immediately obeying, bringing your hands down to his belt. He removes his shirt while you work to pull his cock out from his boxers. You can’t resist wrapping your fist around it and giving it a few slow pumps.

The sound he makes goes straight to your groin. You pull away to kick off your shorts and underwear as quickly as you can, and Shane grabs you impatiently, pulls you back into his lap like you never left. Your hands are on his chest immediately, covering as much bare skin as they can.

You feel dazed when he lines up his cock with your entrance, unable to see or think about anything other than the way he grunts and shuts his eyes as you slowly sink down on him. For a moment you’re floating, but gravity is soon to pull you back, quite literally; the stretch more intense with every inch you take inside of you.

“Goddamn it, hold on,” you tell him, even though he hasn’t moved yet, even though he’s not even all the way in and you know it. He’s bigger than you’re used to, and you haven’t done this in a long time. You pause for a few moments, thighs trembling with the strain of keeping yourself still.

Shane’s chest heaves with soft pants, but he lets you take your time. He has the beginnings of that usual infuriating cocky smirk at the corner of his lip, like he loves watching you squirm and struggle to take him in.

Only when you start to slowly, tentatively circle your hips does he move, his hands grabbing rough and possessive where your ass meets your thigh. “Gonna take me all the way in, baby?” You feel yourself spread open even more under those strong hands, feel yourself being lifted up with just that grip, then pushed back down. Your head drops to his shoulder with a long moan. “I’ll help you.”

And he does. He guides you to move up and down his cock, controlling the pace with a tight grip on your hips. It starts slow, with long thrusts that demand you feel every single inch of him, gradually growing into a frantic pace that has the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping on skin as well as your combined sighs and moans. It occurs to you that you’re being too loud, that you should probably keep it down, but every sound of approval that leaves Shane’s lips just makes you ride him even harder, eager to hear more.

Once he feels like you’ve got the hang of it, he lets go of your hips and lets you move on your own. His hands run up your body, circling your breasts and your throat before a thumb presses over your lips. You part them obediently, welcoming it into your mouth without losing your momentum.

It’s when that thumb comes to press against your clit that your hips stutter, pulling almost all the way off Shane before you all but jump back down on it.

“That’s it.” He strokes you in firm circles, grunting when you clench hard around him. “That’s good, kid.”

“Fuck, d-don’t call me that.”

You don’t know how to feel about the fact that this is what tips you over the edge despite your protest, his raspy voice in your ear and that damn pet name echoing in your mind. You can’t even feel the strain on your thighs anymore as you keep on moving, uncoordinated but desperate not to lose that high. Shane thrusts up into you and it drives a broken shout of you, like the sensation takes you by surprise, intensifying the pleasure that runs through every vein of your body.

When you come back to Earth, you’re all but collapsed against him, shuddering in his arms that he wraps around you like you’re cold. He’s still inside. Still hard, poking into your sensitive walls. He’s merciful enough to give you the lightest, gentlest thrusts, helping you ride out the last few waves of your orgasm but giving you time to recover.

Out of strength to lift up and down, you focus on clenching around him as hard as you can, on grinding yourself down against his pelvis.

Lifting your head off his chest, your eyes settle back on the mysterious scratches on his neck. Without thinking about it, you lay your lips over them.

It’s like you can feel the heat of them burning into your own skin, before it goes cool against you and you have to push a little bit harder to feel it again. You trace the cuts with your lips, with your tongue, the coppery taste of dried blood overflowing your senses.

Shane moans your name like a warning. It only makes you take the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, a rumble deep in his chest, and before you can soothe the bite with a kiss he’s grabbing at your sides and pushing you to lay down on the couch. You give a sound that’s half a moan, half a yelp of surprise as he digs back inside you, fucking you like a ragdoll. His pace is harder and faster than before, thrusts too rough and erratic for you to push back into any kind of rhythm, to do anything other than lie there pinned under him and take it.

He comes in just a few seconds, a few hard thrusts before he’s pulling out just in time to shoot his release over your stomach. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, grunting and breathing hard against it, occasionally kissing it like a quiet apology.

Shane moves just enough to give you more room, and you feel him fall asleep just a second before you do, both of you still clutching each other tight.

The hangover hits you before you even open your eyes in the morning; the worst one you’ve had in a very, very long time. You sigh, wrap your arms around the pillow underneath you, scared that any sudden move might make you sick. You’re naked, but wrapped up in a warm blanket. The pillow and the cushions still carry the warmth of someone else, but you’re alone.

The memories hit you in flashes, one after the other — surreal, dizzying, unbelievable. But you never once wonder if it was just a dream.

You close your eyes again, promise yourself to stay here just a few more minutes, just in case he comes back. He won’t, and deep down you know it, but you wait anyway. Just in case.

#oops is it too late to post this #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #shane walsh smut #jon bernthal x reader #the walking dead x reader #jon bernthal smut #the walking dead x you

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titania-sleeps · 9 months ago

Note

Woman nutting in man is the only way. We should be like the seahorses. Only then will we reach nirvana

First Rut (Sub!Omega!Yandere x Alpha!Reader)

truly wise words, anon. i would have to heavily agree with you and thus,,, presenting,,, your first rut w adonis where you fuck him crazy and he enjoys it

one Adonis fic down, one more to go!

more works featuring Adonis: Adonis Introduction, Adonis Rides You, Adonis First Heat

warning: nsfw, dom reader, omegaverse, horny af manwhore omega, blowjob, kinda public sex, reader has dick (GN), minors DNI pls

Fuck. The time has come, hasn't it.

You close your eyes and lean against the hallway as the bustling crowd of students passes you. Dragging yourself by the feet, you trudge your way to hide under the staircase. The dingy area is just enough to curb the strongest of your desires, but there is still a gnawing feeling in you that needs to bite, tear, and consume.

It's only two in the afternoon, but you fetch your phone and send a quick text. Turning your phone off, you slide down the wall, not caring as the rugged edges of the wall snag against your neat uniform.

No more than five minutes pass when you hear quickening steps come your way. A sharp turn around the corner and a form that you're very familiar with emerges from the shadows. With a pretty blush on his face and his eyes wide like a doe, Adonis stands there nervously.

"You, uh, called for me," he breathes, his hands clutching the fraying edges of his sweater.

The sweet scent of roses and lemons attacks your senses, and your nails dig into your palm until it's bleeding. Why did you call him over again?

He seems to notice your state of struggle, so he runs to you, his hand on your shoulder as he brings his forehead to touch yours. It's your responsibility to contain yourself, but it's his mistake to get so close to you. Your hand sneaks around and wraps itself around the nape of his neck, bringing him closer.

"I'm burning," you whisper into his pink-tipped ears. His face erupts into a bright red and he stammers that he'll help you, that you can use him to calm down.

You push him away roughly, locking your arms to your side. You're breathing heavily, your vision growing hazy. You look up and he looks hurt, a worried frown on his usually bright countenance.

"Sorry... I"—God, he looks so cute—"didn't mean to...." Your weak apology brings out an immediate sigh of relief from Adonis. He kneels next to you, his hand placed over yours.

You groan, sending him a particularly piercing gaze. Your gaze burns into him, and you're holding yourself back with everything that you have. He stiffens in response, but his hand remains on yours.

"Class ends in an hour," he begins, his eyes flitting about anxiously, "so if you, um, need help..."

His offer hangs in the air, his clammy hand still laying gently over your own.

You don't need to think. You don't hesitate, because if you do, you might end up regretting what you're about to do. Instead, you submit to your instincts and you drag him down with you, your partner in crime.

Your mouth is on his in an instant, your teeth biting into his bottom lip. His lips part from his gasp, and you slip your tongue in, your free hand trailing under his shirt. Your nail scratches his toned stomach, and he moans into your kiss. You drag your nail down at a lazy pace, and your hand meets the tip of his bulge, straining against his pants.

He detaches from you, panic floating in his eyes. "W-wait, we're still at school—" You grab him by the tie, shutting him up with another messy kiss. He's protesting but you flip him so that he's the one against the wall, your hand placed next to his head on the wall.

"Be a good boy," you mumble in between kisses to his jaw and neck. His protests sputter out, replaced by quiet moans and tiny gasps. He's clutching the collar of your shirt tightly, but he doesn't push you away.

You lick the side of his neck, pressing a kiss onto it. "Very good," you praise. You hear him whisper a shy thank you, and you reward him with a kiss to his collarbone.

Your continued kisses have him gasping for more, but you stop abruptly. He whines, begging for you to keep going, but you have a better idea.

Only a second passes when his face is suddenly met with your cock, hard and red. You grin as his eyes widen like saucers, the blatant lust blossoming on his countenance. He's immediately subdued by the scent of it, his mouth opening subconsciously.

"Suck."

A single word is all he needs.

Adonis starts at your tip, lips brushing gently against you. Inspired by you, perhaps, he stamps small kisses down your entire length. Then he drags his tongue from your base, trailing along the underside of your cock, stopping only when he reaches the tip again. Opening his mouth, he takes you in.

You're melting into the warmth of his mouth, his tongue swirling around your sensitive spots, in a manner that is so intimately familiar with you. His dick is still bulging in his pants, begging to be released.

When he opens his eyes to gaze upon your form, his glance is hazy. He pushes his head down your length, your cock hitting the back of his throat. Adonis grimaces and he flinches, but he remains there, letting his throat do the work. He's gagging on you, and you're so close, but you grab him by his hair and pull your dick out.

"Why?" he whines, mouth opening instinctively, ready to take you in again.

You don't respond, and instead, you lift him up. Surprised, he wraps his arms around you.

"What are you doing—" His lips are met with yours again, and you slip his pants off with a quick flick of your fingers. He gasps into your kiss, but his arms around your neck tighten as he brings you even closer to him.

Adonis's cock leaks precum, dripping onto your shirt. Ignoring it, you push him against the wall, holding him up with one arm and using the other to align your cock to his hole. He moans softly, your tip grazing against his opening. Without warning, you slip your whole length in. It goes in without much resistance, and he's grabbing onto you desperately, face buried in the crevice of your neck.

You thrust up into him roughly, both your arms bracing him against the wall. His legs and arms wrap around your torso tightly as he moans into your neck.

"Fuck, you're so tight around me," you mutter. You shove as much of your cock into him as you can, angling it so it hits his prostate. His insides tighten, embracing your length in waves of convulsions.

"Ah ♡... [Y/N] ♡...!" He calls out your name, body quivering as you fuck up into him with reckless abandon. Every thrust is met with a wet moan and a little bit more of his precum trickling out. He's clinging onto you for dear life, a shaky grin dancing on his lips as his tongue hangs loosely.

You breathe into his neck, dragging your tongue along his neck. Your teeth graze his skin, leaving a burning trail of need on its way. He shudders, choked moans escaping from his throat as his eyes roll up in pleasure. You groan, feeling him spasm around your dick as both you and Adonis approach your limits.

"Bite me ♡," he whimpers into your ear, his breath hot. Your hips stutter, thrown off-guard by his plea; a flame unquelled in you roaring into its full life as your guarded desire is aided by the gas he spills.

But you reel yourself back, deciding to fuck him to oblivion so that he forgets. You can't bite him now; he'll be chained to you forever. And more importantly, you can't imagine doing that to the one person who seems to trust you above all else.

So instead, you lick his neck and give to him small, reassuring kisses. If he wishes for you to bite him in the future, you don't think you'll be able to hold yourself back. For the time being, though, you calm the knot that is forming at the base of your cock and thrust wildly into Adonis. Tears stream down his face as he moans your name over and over again; he speaks only your name and you are all that he sees.

"Please," he begs, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck, "please, please, b-bite me, I can't handle it anymore! ♡"

You bite your tongue, stopping yourself. "Be quiet," you whisper to him, increasing the pace. He obeys surprisingly well, swallowing and muffling his noises.

However, he isn't able to hold it in for long.

"I-I'm close, I wanna cum with you, I want you to mark me! ♡" he exclaims, kissing the corner of your lips. His hands scratch against your back, leaving marks to remind you of this day. Adonis's insides clench, and you shove it deep inside of him, head spinning as you release your thick seed into him.

"Bite me now, please, bite me right now!" he cries, face bright red and dick equally as red.

You don't listen to him and he has no choice but to cum at that very moment, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure of being filled. He wiggles in your grasp, nails digging into your back as his dick shoots out white ropes of cum.

His breathing comes out in quivering gasps, but he finds the strength to send you a reassuring smile anyway. He clings onto you, allowing you to lower him onto his feet slowly. Very kind of him, indeed, yet you're still aching for a bit more.

"Uh, do you want to... come over tonight?" Adonis asks, a pretty flush on his face. "Of course, if you don't want to, that's okay too, I know you're busy and—"

You lean in, caging him with one arm. He blushes, closing his eyes. Chuckling, you give him a flick to his forehead.

"Yeah, I'll be there tonight."

He opens his eyes, palm on his forehead, his pants still on the floor. A lovestruck grin is plastered ever-so lovingly on his lips.

not my best work. it only goes up from here?

-> masterlist

#sub yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male #sub!yandere #dom reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #dom!reader #yandere drabble #male yandere #omegaverse #omega yandere #alpha reader #x reader #oc x reader #alpha beta omega #male yandere x reader #titania-answers

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iamdkayyyyy · 2 months ago

Note

Ok hmo bf vern who sees you playing with/taking care of a baby (for example let's say an older member's child ) and now you look so wife-able to him and he just can't keep his hands off u which is rare

[Pls tell me u understand my horrible explanation]

anon, I honestly dont know if I did this the way you wanted, BUT I tried. And hopefully that's enough. 🥲

A Moment Of Forever -C.hs ₊˚⊹ᰔ

A Moment of Forever -C.HS

Seungcheol walked over to Vernon as he leaned against the wall of the practice room, watching you with a soft smile on his face. You were crouched down on the floor, your focus entirely on Hyeri, Seungcheol’s baby girl.

“ hi hyung,” the younger one said.

“hi vern,” in less than a minute he started going on about something important for the comeback that Vernon was NOT listening to.

“Vernon.Vernon. Are you even listening to me?”

“huh, sorry hyung. just distracted.” his lovesick eyes giving away exactly what he was distracted by.

the leader looked in your direction only to see how sweet and tender you were being with his daughter. he sighed.

“you know what, I’ll leave you to it. i was like this with minji too , yk before she um. you know.” his eyes blurred with tears and he walked away,every step becoming heavier. Minji had slipped into a coma when hyeri was born. 2 years. 2 entire years without her. Vernon thinks he could never live that long without you. As much as Vernon felt sorry for cheol. he was greatful that he could approach you now.

You had a way of getting the tiny bundle of joy to giggle that melted Vernon’s heart. Every time Hyeri turned her little head and squealed at your silly faces, Vernon felt something stir deep inside him.

“oh y/nie, you’re such a natural with her,” he called out, affectionately using your nickname, his heart racing slightly.

You looked up, your eyes brightening.

“awwh, thanks baby.” you said a small blush spreading a cross your cheeks, now avoiding his gaze.“

I just love being with her. Isn’t she the cutest?” Your hand gently patted Hyeri’s back as the baby cooed happily.

Vernon couldn’t help himself as he moved closer, watching you with adoration. In that moment, you looked so incredibly wife-able, your nurturing side shining brightly, and it sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach—a sensation he wasn’t accustomed to feeling. Usually reserved and reluctant to initiate physical contact, he found himself moving closer, wanting to be a part of your world.

He slid his arm around your waist, pulling you slightly closer. “You know, every time I see you like this, it just makes me… I can’t explain it,” he murmured, leaning in to place a peck on your cheek. “You look amazing, my love.”

You turned to him, blushing even more. “Vern, you’re making me all shy!” Your voice was laced with laughter, but your heart raced at the affectionate displays.

But Vernon wasn't done. He leaned in again, capturing your lips briefly. It was a moment filled with unspoken affection and yearning. Each kiss was more intense, an exploration of emotions he’d kept bottled up.

“baby… I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispered softly, his breath warm against your skin, and he stole another kiss, deeper this time.

The air was thick with a newfound passion, and Vernon’s heart raced. He knew he had to act on the whirlwind of emotions swirling in him. The proposal he'd planned for you felt like it couldn’t wait another day.

The next morning, he woke up early, his mind racing with anticipation. He had arranged everything perfectly for your day at the beach—a place laden with memories of laughter and warmth. He not only wanted to see you again but also hoped to share a life with you.

As you arrived, the salty air brushed against your skin, and you beamed up at him. “This place is beautiful, Vern!” you exclaimed, tying your hair back. All your friends staring at you like they were all sharing a secret you weren’t a part of. Seungcheol looked you softly, you had helped him find Minji, the love of his life.

“Just like you, princess,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. He held your hand as you walked along the shoreline, feeling the warmth of the sand beneath your feet.

After some fun in the sun, Vernon stopped, taking a deep breath as he prepared himself. His heart raced, and he felt the wave of nerves wash over him. “Y/N,” he started, his voice steady yet soft, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned, tilting your head sweetly, “What is it, baby?”

“I’ve been thinking about how incredible you are—especially yesterday, watching you take care of Hyeri. Just seeing you with her… it made me realize how much I want us to experience that together. I can’t wait to have our own little family one day,” he confessed.

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening. Before you could respond, Vernon knelt down on one knee, pulling out a small velvet box from his pocket. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you looked down at him. He looked so earnest and hopeful, and in that moment, every fear and doubt vanished.

“Yes! Yes, of course!” you exclaimed, your voice choked with emotion. He slipped the ring onto your finger, standing up to capture you in his arms.

“Princess, I promise to cherish every moment with you. You truly are the love of my life,” he whispered, sealing his promise with a kiss.

At that moment, there was a ring. The leader pulled his phone out. It was the hospital.

“ Hello Mr. Choi. We are glad to inform you that Mrs. Choi is now fully concious.”

Happy tears began to rush down both you and seungcheol’s face, his wife and your best friend. She would be able to be there on the day of Vernon’s proposal. This truly was the best day of your life.

As you and your FIANCÉ ( still crazy to you) embraced, the warmth of the sun and the sound of waves crashing seemed to echo your newfound future. In that moment, you both knew that this chapter was just the beginning of a beautiful love story, filled with laughter, adventure, and a family of your own.

Bonus:

“Mrs Chwe,” Hanson called lovingly.

The biggest smile spread across your face.

“ HANSOL,” you playfully smacked his arm. “ stop calling me that, i look like a MADWOMAN. “ you really did , your face all red and your smile so wide almost kinda psychopathic.

“ you look beautiful, you always do”

The End.

OMG VERNON HAD SUCH A CHOKEHOLD ON ME GIYS. I tried please show some love i worked hard in this.

#svt #seventeen #svt fanfic #svt x reader #i love svt #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #svt imagines #fanfic inspo #jjjjeonww #vernon fic #vernon #vernon x reader #hansol vernon chwe #hansol x reader #chwe hansol imagines #vernon chwe

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kpop-imgaines-at-your-demand · 1 month ago

Note

Excuse me......hello......hello.....that bangchan headcanons and that pussy grabbing thing. I need smut for that, or I'll perish.

Oh, no ! Don't perish, Anon ❤️

Night ride

Warning - smut, soft smut, pussy play, dirty talk.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights bleeding in through the curtains. You were cuddled up against Chan, your head resting against his bare chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear. His arm was lazily slung over your waist. His thumb rubbed slow, absentminded circles against your skin. You were just starting to drift when you felt Chan’s hand sliding lower. First over the curve of your hip, then sneaking under the waistband of your sleep shorts with no hesitation at all. You blinked awake a little, heart skipping. Oh, so this was where the night was headed?

You swallowed, your breath hitching slightly when his fingers found their destination, cupping you between your legs. No teasing. No stroking. Just... resting there. You waited. Maybe he was planning something sensual, you thought. Maybe in a minute he’d start moving his fingers, stroking you slow and lazy in the dark, whispering filthy things against your ear.

But nothing happened for a while. You tilted your head up just slightly and caught sight of him, his eyes were closed, mouth parted, breathing deep and even. He was fast asleep.

You bit back a small laugh, your chest blooming with fondness. Trust Chan to treat your pussy like he treats your boobs or your ass, just something he needed to hold onto for comfort. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. You smiled against his skin, your body relaxing fully against him.

"This man," you whispered to yourself with an affectionate shake of your head. You didn’t mind. You too drifted off but after few hours your woke up a little Chan’s hand was still tucked under your waistband. His palm were cradling you so casually it was almost ridiculous. He was sound asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily next to your back. But you body have different plans, it screamed for something more than just gentle cupping. At first, you tried to ignore it. You shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable but the movement made his fingers press just a little deeper against you, a shiver ran through you. You froze, biting your lip.

Maybe if you moved just a little more…

Another tiny shift of your hips, just enough to grind the softest bit against his hand. It was innocent or at least that’s what you told yourself until you felt his fingers twitch.

Your breath caught. His hand, which had been peacefully sleeping along with the rest of him, flexed slightly against your heat. A low, almost inaudible sound vibrated through his chest. You stayed absolutely still, heart hammering in your ears.

Maybe he wasn’t fully awake—

Then suddenly, you felt him cup you properly. A firmer squeeze this time.

“Mm, what’s this now?” Chan’s voice rumbled, sleep-rough and low, right next to your ear. You didn’t answer, too embarrassed at being caught. He chuckled, shifting slightly so that you were pinned even tighter against him.

“Baby,” he drawled, dragging his nose along your hairline, “you were grinding on my hand while I was sleeping? Naughty girl.”

You whined quietly, hiding your face against his chest. He just laughed again, low and wicked, then slid his hand a little lower so his fingers were pressing right where you were already growing embarrassingly wet.

“You wake me up like this... and expect me to just fall back asleep?” he murmured. His fingers started stroking you now, in slow and teasing manner. Enough to make you tremble but not enough to satisfy.

“Guess you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences now, sweetheart,” he whispered, before kissing the top of your head. Chan’s fingers toyed lazily with the waistband of your panties now, brushing just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to give you what you needed. You wiggled against him without thinking, desperate for more. A dangerous sound vibrated from his chest , half a laugh, half a growl.

"Greedy little thing," he muttered, hooking his fingers properly under the waistband and dragging it down over your hips. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin. His hand returned immediately, this time sliding between your thighs without any hesitation. His fingers teased your folds, finding how wet you already were for him.

“Fuck, baby…” he rasped, his voice breaking slightly with arousal. “All this... just from me holding you?”

You buried your face in his chest, utterly mortified but also burning with need. He chuckled again, low and dangerous. "Nah, don't hide now," he said, catching your chin and tilting your face up so he could see you.

“You’re so cute when you’re shy," he whispered, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "But it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Before you could answer, he shifted, pushing you flat onto your back, pinning your hands above your head with just one of his strong hands.

"You wake me up needing something, you don't get to act all innocent about it," he said, voice thick with heat. "You're mine, baby. Always mine."

He kissed you hard , hot, deep, possessive while his free hand slid between your thighs again, slipping a finger inside you so easily it made you gasp against his mouth. He swallowed the sound like a man starved. Slowly, he started working you open, one finger, then two, stretching you lazily while his mouth moved to your neck, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.nYou whimpered, thighs twitching.

He didn’t rush. No, Chan was a menace. He loved to drag you higher and higher, making you beg, whimper, squirm under him until you were trembling, tears prickling your eyes from how badly you needed him. Finally, when you were about to cry in frustration, he pulled his fingers free, lined himself up against you and pushed in with one slow, deep thrust. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming. You cried out, but he caught your mouth again, kissing you deep as he bottomed out inside you, groaning your name against your lips. He didn’t move yet, just held you there, so full, so claimed, so wrecked for him and only him.

"You’re not getting any sleep tonight, baby," he whispered roughly, rocking his hips just the tiniest bit. "You wanted this, remember?"

And the way he fucked you after that slow, deep, relentless left no doubt in your mind that Bang Chan meant every word.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Chan shifted again, dragging your legs wider around his waist. His hand slid up your thigh, rough and possessive, squeezing the soft skin before grabbing your jaw.

"You’re so fucking perfect like this," he growled, voice dark, raw. "Open, needy, dripping for me."

He thrust into you again, hard enough that the bed frame groaned under the force. You gasped, your hands flying to his arms, desperate for something to hold onto.

"Yeah, that’s it," he snarled, snapping his hips into you, each thrust hitting deep and mean. "Take it. Take everything I give you."

Your back arched off the bed. He fucked you harder, faster, keeping you pinned beneath him. Every filthy, wet sound between you, every slap of skin, just made him more rogue.

"You were grinding on my hand, weren't you, baby?" he whispered against your ear, filthy and amused. "So desperate you couldn’t even wait?"

You whimpered, and he loved it.

"You're such a good little thing for me," he muttered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Getting yourself wet just so I’d wake up and stuff this needy little pussy full."

He grabbed your thigh, hauling it up higher around his hip so he could pound into you deeper. The angle made you see stars, your mouth falling open with helpless moans he immediately swallowed with a bruising kiss.

"Say it," he demanded, snapping his hips hard. "Tell me who this pussy belongs to."

"You," you gasped, barely able to form words. "Y-you, Chan, only you—"

He groaned like you’d just broken him apart. His thrusts got rougher, crueler almost, like he couldn't get deep enough. His hand found your throat, not squeezing, just resting there enough to make you whimper and pulse around him.

"That's right," he growled. "Mine. Always mine."

He felt you tighten around him, clenching hard. His mouth crashed down on yours again, devouring your moans. And then you shattered, trembling, crying out his name, your whole body seizing with pleasure. Chan wasn’t far behind. The second he felt you fall apart, he slammed into you a few more times before burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan of your name. You both stayed like that, tangled together, gasping for breath. Finally, he pulled back just enough to press his forehead against yours, his thumb stroking your cheek almost tenderly.

"Fuck," he muttered. "You’re gonna kill me someday, baby."

You just smiled, still dazed and wrecked under him. And if he kept waking up like this...

You were pretty sure he’d be happy to die that way.

#kpop imagine #kpop #stray kids #bang chan #bangchan #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan imagines #bangchan imagines

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seranextdoor · 1 year ago

Text

HAUNTING ~ JASON P. TODD. 18+

Summary: Maybe blocking Jason isn't such a great idea.

Contents: dry humping, oral sex (female receiving), fingering in the alleyway, fucking in the alleyway hence risky sex slash teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism, rough sex, size difference, unhealthy relationship.

Pairing: Jason P. Todd X Female! Reader.

Word count: 2.6k

Author note: an anon implied that they want a part two of the drabble i made abt ex! jason. it is here... and it's valentine's day special. sorry for dropping bangers and leaving for another 2 months. will do it again. enjoy!

🖥️ MAIN MENU. PART ONE.

I know if I’m haunting you,

you must be haunting me.

You told yourself this was going to be the last time. The morning after Jason had left, you were already blocking his number and changing the lock to your front door the next day. Maybe it’s the post-nut clarity that helps you realized that maybe… maybe this things going on between you and him wasn’t exactly healthy. Maybe it’s a good idea to ignore the calls you’ve been getting from ‘unknown’ caller knowing full well it was him.

You think it’s a little cute when he went as far as to text you from Dick’s number.

He thinks you’re a brat.

Besides, who cares if what him and you had going on wasn’t healthy? You didn’t have to blocked him.

Whatever, what’s done is done. “He’s going to stop reaching out eventually.” you told yourself only to see him leaning against his bike, waiting for you in one of the alleyway you always passes after your night shift a week after blocking him. The red helmet slightly glints in the dark when the streetlight hits, “come here,” he murmurs, head tilts slightly to the side. There’s a battered bouquet of red roses in his hand, the veins on his forearm pokes out from how tight he gripped the bouquet to the point that the stems are crushed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, princess. Come get your flowers.” Jason adds, his other hand reached up to removed his helmet as he placed it on the seat of his bike.

”I don’t want to.” A small huff left your lips.

”Just do it, goddamnit [Y/N].”

Old habits die hard.

Your shoulders drops in defeat as you dragged your feet to him, you can’t help it. As much as you want to keep up the ‘I’ve-totally-moved-on’ acts, you just can’t. So here you are, not even five minutes in and Jason already had his arms wrapped around your waist, his lips naturally finding their way to yours the second you had your head slightly tilts up. “Blocked my number, huh? What, you think you’re so mature, huh?” He snorts, letting the bouquet falls from his hand to hold you tighter in his arms. “I didn’t block you…” You whined, standing on your tip toes to keep him quiet by smothering his lips with small pecks.

”Yeah right, that’s totally believable.” He scoffed in between the pecks you're giving him, his head tilts down to make it easier for you to reached in for more kisses. “Because my texts and calls totally got thru.” You can practically taste the sarcasm dripping from the way he talks to you. “I might have accidentally blocked you.” You pulled back slightly to watch as his face gradually sours. He stared back at you with an annoyed look, his brows furrowed before a low groan leaves his lips. “Face the wall.” He groaned, his fingers running thru his black locks before you reluctantly turn to face the wall, “We’re doing it right here?” You stuttered as you spared him a glance over your shoulder, your eyes quickly widened when he pressed himself against you. His bulge slightly rubs against your ass, his hands digs into your hips to keep you still. “Damn right we are.” He says, his breathing slightly staggered as he moves his hips slightly to get more friction against his clothed cock.

You leaned the back of your head, fingers latching onto his forearms as a support. “You’re so annoying, you know that, right?” He speak with a gruff, there’s creases on his forehead as Jason looked back at him. “How many times are you going to do this, huh? Acting like I don’t exist and blocking my number the second we had sex. I’m gettin’ real sick of it, [Y/N].” His hand reached up to grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he grinds himself against the curves of your ass. “Fucking brat.” He adds, his thumb gently brushing over your lips. “My fucking brat.”

“I don’t know,” you breathes, your lips instinctively parting as Jason slips his thumb into your mouth. “…until you’re bored of me?.” You muffled out your words, eyes slowly turning cloudy from the having his cock brushing up against you. He scoffed at your reasoning, rolling his eyes before he pressed his thumb down your tongue.

”As if.” He mumbled, leaning down slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder. “You’re gonna block me again after this?” His eyes flickered to looked back at you. You stared at him for a solid minute with only the sound of his jeans and your skirt rubbing together can be heard before he removed his thumb off your tongue to let you speak. “No?” You stammers, mentally cursing yourself when he smirked at your answer. “Good girl.” He replied, his hand falls to the hem of your skirt.

”I missed you,” A soft whine left his lips as his fingers desperately reached down to rub your clit. Jason leaned against you to leave kisses on your neck and up to your jaw as his fingers pushes your panties aside. “You’re so wet already, baby.” He mutters, massaging the bundle of nerves in a circular motion. He slowly swipes his fingers between your folds as you leave trails of your wetness on his fingers. “Looks like this pretty little thing misses me too.” He chuckled when you whimpers at the feeling of his fingers being pushed inside of you. “I missed you too…” You whined, eyes shut tight as he pumps his digits deeper into your sopping cunt. The wetness between your legs sticks to your thighs and clings to his fingers, his teeth hungrily leaving marks on your neck. “Sorry for blocking you.” Your body shuddered in sheer bliss when his fingers curls with his calloused palm constantly brushing against your clit.

”Yeah? You’re sorry?” He asked, his voice growing breathy while his other hand clumsily undo his belt and zipper. A small frustrated groan leaves his throat before he pulls his fingers out of you causing you to pout and whine. “Oh, come on. Give me a second.” He laughed, turning you around but this time facing his bike. He moves your leg up on the seat before he kneel down behind you. “Fuck… Look at that.” He whispers, his warm breath fanned against your pussy before he desperately buried his face in between your thighs. “Jason!” You squeaked, toes curling upon feeling his tongue lapping on your clit with his fingers tightly gripping your thighs. His thick fingers leaving marks on your skin as you squirmed on his bike, causing him to land a spank on your cheek.

You whined. “What’s that for?” You looked back at him only to be met with his dazed eyes and his mouth still latching onto your pussy, drinking every liquid that drips out of you. For once in the span of an hour filled with nothing but his sarcasm, he was quiet. Except for the occasional groans and moans every time you pushes deeper against his nose. Your nails digs into the cushion of his seat as you whimpers when he slide his tongue into your entrance, prodding in and out of your entrance before he finally pulled back for some air.

”Jeez, Jay…” He looked up at you when you pouted, his cheeks and chin were coated with your juices before his eyes cast down to the way you wiggled your hips at him. “…keep going.” You bat your lashes at him, the excitement in your stomach stirs as he tugs his pants and boxer just low enough for his cock to springs out of the tight confinement before gently slapping against his stomach. His thumb keeping your panties aside and your entrance exposed to him, "Calm down, princess." He sighs before his teeth digs into his lower lip, it's been a hard week since he felt anything close to this. Sure, he settled on his fist for the first two days before he completely stopped when he realised that fucking his fist to the thought of you wasn't as good as fucking you.

He slowly moves his hips, managing to bury the tip of his cock inside of you as he lets out a choked moan. "Still feels good as ever." He moaned, head tilted back with his eyes closed. His cock twitches in you when small whines falls past your lips, sending vibrations down to him as the muscles tightening around his length. "Christ, you're still not used to me?" His breath were shaky before he looked down to you, admiring at the clear size difference between the two of you as you tried your best to take every inch of him.

"S'not my fault," You huffed, your legs slightly trembles underneath him. Jason shifts your position slightly, holding you by the waist with one hand while his other hand makes their way under your shirt to fondled with your tits. "Never said it was." He replied, pushing his cock deeper inside of you until he’s halfway in when he stopped, noticing the way you tensed up. “It’s okay, baby. Just a few more inches and the hard part’s over.” Your body shuddered from his whispers, his breath tickling the back of your neck before you quickly nods at his words. His hand reached to wiped the sweats off your forehead before his hips slowly moves, “Mhm, just like that… Just relax.” Jason coos, planting small kisses on your temples.

A whine break out of your sealed lips when he completely buried himself inside of you, filling every crevices off your pussy with his twitching cock. The curve of his length itches just the sweet spot to make you see stars, “Jason…” The sound of you calling his name temporarily distracts him from the way your pussy clamped him down. His fingers had its deadly grips on your hips as you stand on your tip toes just to slightly fuck yourself on his cock, “Yeah?” He croaked, replying back to you with a deeper tone as he glanced down to the way your ass softly slaps against his pelvis, “You’re adjusting?” He asked before you let a small ‘mhm’ left your lips.

“You’re just fucking yourself on me.”

“No, I’m not.” You lied with a crooked grin. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Just look at the damn wall. You’re gonna break that dainty little neck if you keep looking back at me like that.” He mumbled, moving his hips into you in a more quicker pace. “Hold onto my helmet. Drop it and I’m stopping.” He grabbed a fistful off your ass while you quickly grabbed the red helmet, hugging it to your chest. The sound of skin slapping can be heard throughout the dark alleyway, your shared moans and groans reverberates and bounces off the brick walls. He moves his hand down between your legs, his fingers pressing down on your clit as he moves it in sloppy, circular motion. His other hand holding on the handle of his bike, “Lift your ass up, baby.” He grunted, brow furrowing as his hips moves back and forth, every thrust felt like he’s sending you over the edge.

”I’m trying!” You said in a hushed tone, too breathless. You weren’t sure if your knees can take anymore before they buckled to the dirty ground. In an act of desperation, Jason lifts you up with his forearm under your stomach causing your legs to dangled off the ground before he continue shoving his fat cock into your dripping pussy. You let out a small gasp, he’s really doing it-- he’s quite literally carrying you like a doll. “Can’t even do the simplest thing.” He huffed, eyes closed with his the tip of his nose tickling the crook of your neck as your fingers clings to his helmet, not wanting to dropped it lest he stopped just for the sake of making you miserable.

Your eyes lazily gazes at the other end of the alleyway where anyone that decides to passed the alleyway can noticed the both of you. Your cheeks warmed up at the thought, minimizing your moans into small squeaks and whines. You glanced at Jason, hoping he doesn’t notice only for him to sharply thrust into you to elicit a loud moan out of you, green eyes narrowing down at you. “Don’t be quiet,” He whispered, his other hand reached to traced the curve of your spine with his thumb lightly. “Let me hear you.” He dragged his voice to sound slightly whiny just to tease you even further.

You hated how much you expected this from the get go.

Blocking him was never an option, Jason has a knack when it comes to keeping you tied to him. One command from him and you’d rushed back into his arms like a puppy, hopelessly lingering around him. “Feels so good…” You whispered back, lashes thick with salty tears as wanton moans spills out of your swollen lips. You hated the fact that the both of you knows this. You’re not even sure if the both of you were even exes at some point. The feeling of the head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot sends you shivering despite being half dressed, it doesn’t help how godly his cock is. The delicious curve that sends you whining for more, the noticeable vein on the side of his length, the way his balls slaps against your clit, the thickness of it-- all of it drives you insane, fills your body with nothing but carnal desires.

“Outside? Inside?” He asked in between his groans, strands of his black locks sticks to his forehead as his jaw clenches. You know it’s near when his movement grow sloppy and inconsistent, his eyes darkened with sheer lust and the muscles on his bicep flexes. “Fuck, don’t just gimme puppy eyes, princess. Answer me.” He said with gritted teeth, purposely moving his hips rougher into you as you cried out of pleasure. “Out, out, out…” Your babbles almost went incoherent when you choked on your own moans while you blinks away the tears that welled at the corned of your eyes. He nods his head, burying his face into your shoulder as his arm around your waist tightens.

”Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” He curses, his head spinning and leaving him dizzy. Jason wanted to stay inside of you badly, the warmth of your cunt wrapping snugly around him screams nothing but heaven. And the fact that you’re already cumming on his cock before he even gets to pulled out? God, you’re just torturing him at this point. He pulled out of you right before he finishes, wet and sticky seeds shooting on your back and staining your skirt as he winces when the cold air hits his cock. “Oh my god.” His chuckle were airy, skin were slightly flushed from the lovemaking. Jason cradled you in his arms, turning you around to face him before placing you on top of his bike.

”You okay?” He asked, softly massaging your inner thighs. His forehead presses against yours, his gaze softened at the sight of you looking back at him with tired eyes. “Yep.” Your answer were short as you steadied your breathing, your arms wrapped around his neck to pulled him closer while Jason fixes your clothes.

”Wanna go rest at my place?”

The both of you stared at each other for a solid minute. You give him a small nod.

“That’s my girl.”

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR MODIFY ANY OF MY WORKS. ©️ KENNEDYBABY.

#i heard a small snippet of it then got working #ovulating so harddd rnn thank god jason todd were created #dc smut #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x you #jason todd imagines #jason todd x female reader #tw. exhibitionism

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w1w2 · 4 months ago

Text

Three Words, Eight Letters

Part 2 of A Game of Almosts

Karina x Fem!Reader feat. Winter

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: As Y/N begins to pull away, Karina is forced to confront the feelings she’s spent years running from. Karina must decide, stay silent or finally fight for what she’s always wanted.

Req by 🐻 anon

Notes: Happy Birthday Pookie Bear! Hope you’ll be the happiest bear in the world! Let me know what you think about this. I know it’s not perfect, but I tried my best.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

That night, Y/N made another decision. It wasn’t a decision made in a single moment, not something driven by fleeting anger or the heat of their argument. It wasn’t impulsive or reckless or born out of the desire to make Karina jealous.

It was something inevitable, something that had been building inside her for far too long, something she should have done a long time ago.

She wasn’t going to play Karina’s game anymore.

She wasn’t going to keep waiting for breadcrumbs, for fleeting glances and almosts, for moments that never quite turned into anything real. She wasn’t going to keep reaching for someone who refused to meet her halfway, wasn’t going to let herself be pulled back into the same endless loop of tension and denial and longing that Karina had trapped her in.

She deserved more. So, she let go.

Not all at once, not with any dramatic declarations or explosive confrontations. It happened quietly.

A shift so subtle that at first, no one really noticed.

She started pulling away, little by little, slipping out of Karina’s orbit one careful step at a time. She stopped sitting next to Karina at lunch, choosing instead to settle beside Giselle or Ningning, laughing a little louder, acting a little lighter, as if she weren’t carrying the weight of a heartbreak that had never been given a name. She stopped waiting for Karina after class, no longer lingering by the lecture hall doors, no longer walking at Karina’s pace, no longer filling the spaces between them with easy conversation and shared silences. She stopped looking at Karina like she was the only person in the world, and instead, she let herself become closer to Winter.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a grand rebellion, but Winter made it easy.

She didn’t make Y/N feel like she had to chase after her, didn’t make her second-guess every interaction, didn’t make her wonder if she was asking for too much just by wanting something real.

So, when Winter invited her to a music recital, Y/N said yes.

It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but then she was there, sitting beside Winter in the dimly lit auditorium, the soft glow of stage lights flickering against her skin, the distant hum of a piano filling the air.

Then Winter was leaning in, voice low, whispering something against the shell of Y/N’s ear, something that should have been casual, something that shouldn’t have made Y/N’s breath hitch, something that shouldn’t have sent the faintest shiver down her spine.

And when she felt the warmth of Winter’s breath against her skin, when she realized she wasn’t instinctively pulling away.

People noticed, and soon, the rumors started.

The whispers started before Karina ever saw it for herself.

At first, they were nothing more than background noise, the kind of idle campus gossip that always surrounded them, blending into the hum of everyday conversation, easy to ignore, easy to dismiss. But then, as the days passed, she began to hear it more often, the same names, Winter and Y/N, Y/N and Winter, uttered in hushed tones, spoken with curiosity, speculation, intrigue.

She told herself it was meaningless, she told herself it didn’t matter.

But the words had a way of sticking to her skin, embedding themselves beneath the surface, irritating like tiny splinters she couldn’t quite remove. And no matter how hard she tried to tune them out, to push them to the back of her mind, they followed her.

At first, she refused to look.

Because if she saw it with her own eyes, if she witnessed the way Y/N was beginning to slip away, then she would have to acknowledge it. She would have to accept that it was happening, that Y/N was laughing a little more freely these days, that Y/N was allowing someone else into the spaces that once belonged to Karina alone, that Y/N was learning how to exist outside of her reach.

Then, one afternoon, a single moment that knocked the air from Karina’s lungs before she even understood why.

She hadn’t been looking for Y/N. Hadn’t been searching for proof of what she had been so determined to ignore. She had been walking across campus, nodding along absently to whatever the person beside her was saying, her thoughts tangled in the usual mess of deadlines, family obligations, expectations she had no choice but to meet. She was preoccupied, distracted, until she wasn’t.

Because then, she saw them.

Not in passing, not in the background of a crowded café, but right there, standing beneath the golden glow of the afternoon sun, a little too close, a little too familiar.

Winter’s hand rested on Y/N’s arm, a fleeting touch, light, effortless, something Karina might have ignored if not for what came next.

Because Y/N leaned into it.

It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t obvious, but it was there, the subtle way her body shifted toward Winter, the way her head tilted ever so slightly in response, the way she didn’t pull away.

And just like that, everything unraveled.

Karina stopped walking. The conversation beside her faded into nothing. The world around her ceased to exist. All she could do was stare, her pulse hammering, something deep and ugly clawing at her chest.

Because this wasn’t laughter, wasn’t teasing, wasn’t some passing moment she could brush off as meaningless.

This was Y/N letting someone else in, and Winter was looking at her like she was the only person in the world.

Karina knew that look.

She had worn that look before, countless times, in moments she never dared to name, but now, it was someone else watching Y/N with that same quiet reverence, someone else standing too close.

Karina felt something deep, sharp, ugly twist inside her, something that made her fingers clench around the strap of her bag, something that made her stomach tighten like she had been punched without warning.

She had no right to feel this way. She had spent years convincing herself that she didn’t want this, not fully, not openly, not in a way that required admitting anything real. She had spent years avoiding the truth, brushing off the tension between them, deflecting every question, every rumor, every moment that felt like it was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something irreversible.

And yet, here she was.

Drowning in emotions she refused to name.

The jealousy she had been denying, brushing off as nothing more than habit, as nothing more than the remnants of a childhood bond she had simply grown too accustomed to. The possessiveness she had been excusing, convincing herself that her irritation, her frustration, her sharp remarks had nothing to do with wanting more, with wanting Y/N. The feelings she had been running from for as long as she could remember, terrified of what they might mean, terrified of the way they threatened to consume her.

And suddenly, it was all too much.

The weight of it pressed down on her chest, made it hard to breathe, made it impossible to ignore the painful realization that had been staring her in the face for weeks.

Y/N was moving on.

Without her and for the first time in her life, Karina had no idea how to stop it.

So, she shut down, she did what she had always done, built walls, withdrew, forced herself into a carefully constructed silence that left no room for vulnerability, no room for anything but detachment.

She became colder, more distant.

She stopped engaging in conversations, offering nothing but short replies, never saying more than was necessary, she stopped acknowledging Y/N in the ways that mattered, acting as if her presence no longer affected her, as if nothing had changed, as if she wasn’t unraveling inside.

She convinced herself that if she ignored it long enough, if she pretended she didn’t care, then maybe, just maybe, she could convince herself that it was true.

But the worst part? Everyone saw it.

They saw the way her fingers clenched involuntarily whenever Y/N’s phone vibrated on the table, her entire body tensing as if she were bracing for impact. They saw the way her mood darkened whenever Winter entered the room, how her already guarded expression hardened even further, how the air around her seemed to shift, colder, heavier. They saw the way Karina was slowly unraveling, piece by piece, no matter how hard she tried to hold herself together.

And still, she refused to admit it.

Because if she admitted it, if she said the words out loud, if she let the truth take shape, then there would be no more excuses, no more half-truths, no more pretending.

It would be real, and if it was real, then she would have to face the most painful truth of all.

She was losing Y/N and it was her own damn fault.

The feeling lingered, refusing to fade no matter how many times she tried to push it down. It followed her through every conversation, every meaningless distraction, every hollow attempt to pretend that nothing had changed.

And as the days blurred together, as the weight of it all became unbearable, she did what she had always done, she buried it.

So when Giselle’s invitation arrived, promising a night of reckless indulgence, of expensive liquor and distraction wrapped in flashing lights and whispered secrets, Karina didn’t hesitate, because if there was ever a night to forget, to drown in excess and pretend she wasn’t falling apart, this was it.

Giselle’s house was a vision of opulence, a place built for luxury, for indulgence, for nights like this, where the elite could gather under the guise of casual fun, their lives a carefully orchestrated display of excess disguised as effortless glamour.

The estate, nestled just outside the city, was nothing short of breathtaking. A masterpiece of modern architecture, sleek lines and towering glass walls giving way to an expansive view of the Seoul skyline, the city lights stretching endlessly into the night. Inside, the atmosphere was electric, a seamless blend of elegance and extravagance, where every detail had been curated to perfection.

The ceilings dripped with glowing chandeliers, their soft golden light casting a warm haze over the lavish interiors. Music pulsed beneath the murmur of voices, an intoxicating undercurrent of deep bass and sultry melodies that wove through the space like a heartbeat. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey, with the quiet hum of whispered secrets and promises exchanged behind half-lidded glances.

The guests, Yonsei University’s most privileged students, the ones born into power, the ones who had never known anything less, moved through the house like they belonged to it. Their bodies draped in couture, silk and velvet and designer labels clinging to them like second skin. Their laughter was loud but never careless, their conversations sharp but never without purpose.

This was their world.

And Karina was supposed to thrive in it.

This was the kind of setting where she had always reigned, where she could slip into her role effortlessly, where she could exist as the person everyone expected her to be. The poised heiress, the untouchable beauty, the one who never faltered, never let her mask slip, never allowed anything or anyone to shake her.

Tonight, though, she felt none of those things.

Tonight, she was restless.

Her grip on her drink was too tight, her shoulders held too stiffly, tension coiling in the space between her ribs, making it difficult to breathe, to relax, to lose herself in the comfortable chaos of the night.

She didn’t have to watch the door to feel it. It wasn’t a sound, nor a movement, but a shift, a sudden, almost imperceptible change in the air, a ripple through the carefully curated chaos of the party.

Before she even turned, before the murmurs of intrigue and speculation could swell, before the weight of unspoken attention gathered toward the entrance, Karina knew.

The atmosphere tilted, an unspoken energy spreading through the room like a slow-building storm, the kind that sends an unnatural stillness before the downpour, the kind that steals the air from your lungs before the thunder even rolls in. Conversations faltered, glasses paused mid-air, heads instinctively turned, drawn to a presence that demanded to be noticed without ever asking to be.

Karina knew it was irrational, ridiculous, self-destructive, even, the way her pulse betrayed her, the way her chest felt tight before she even looked. But her body knew before her mind did.

She turned and there she was.

Y/N.

Framed by the soft golden glow of the chandelier overhead, standing at the threshold like she had been painted into the night itself, something too effortless, too breathtaking, too untouchable.

She was wearing a delicate yet dangerously fitted dress, a whisper of fabric that clung in all the right places, it moved with her like a second skin, the silk catching the light with each step, sculpting her into something undeniably mesmerizing. The warm glow of the house kissed along her collarbone, brushed against the curve of her smile, settled in the depths of her gaze and for a fleeting moment, Karina forgot to breathe.

She looked weightless. Effortless. Unburdened.

And there beside her was Winter.

Karina’s fingers tightened around her glass, her knuckles turning white.

She barely registered the way the room reacted, the way the murmurs swelled around them, growing, feeding off the new energy Y/N’s arrival had brought, because all she could see was the way Winter’s hand rested at the small of Y/N’s back.

All she could focus on was the way Y/N leaned in slightly, just barely, just enough to make Karina’s stomach churn, just enough to make it feel like someone had reached inside her chest and twisted.

Winter was whispering something against her ear, her lips so close that Karina could barely tell if they were touching. And Y/N? She was smiling.

Smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world, smiling like she wasn’t even thinking about Karina.

And that was unbearable.

Karina tried to convince herself that she was merely observing, that she was simply analyzing the situation, that this was just another night, another party, another fleeting moment that would mean nothing in the morning.

But it felt like she was suffocating.

Winter remained at Y/N’s side, a constant, unshakable presence, moving with an ease that made Karina’s skin burn. She hovered close, too close. Her body angled toward Y/N in a way that felt deliberate, practiced, familiar. She leaned in every so often, voice low, murmuring words meant only for Y/N’s ears, and Karina watched as Y/N let her.

There was no hesitation, no resistance, no second-guessing. Y/N didn’t pull away.

And that was what made Karina feel like she was drowning. For weeks, she had told herself it didn’t matter. That it was nothing. That she was above this, immune to it, unaffected. She had convinced herself that Y/N was just trying to prove a point, that Winter was nothing more than a momentary distraction, that whatever was happening between them would pass.

But now, standing there, watching them move through the party with the ease of something unchallenged, something unspoken but understood, Karina realized she had been wrong.

They weren’t just flirting with the idea of something more. They were already there.

Suddenly, the pressure in Karina’s chest became suffocating. The weight of the jealousy, the regret, the bitterness, the terrifying realization that she had let this happen, pressed down on her ribs, coiled around her throat, threatened to consume her whole.

Something inside her snapped. She hadn’t meant to move toward them. Truly, she hadn’t.

One moment, Karina was standing near the bar, her fingers pressing into the cool glass of her drink, her grip tightening with every passing second, her jaw clenched so tightly that a dull ache had begun to spread from her temples down her neck. The weight of the night pressed against her skin, a slow suffocation she couldn’t shake, her thoughts tangled in the same loop she had been trapped in for weeks, the one where Y/N was slipping further and further away.

She had spent the evening doing everything she could to ignore the burning in her chest, to pretend that the sight of Winter and Y/N together didn’t feel like a carefully placed dagger between her ribs, to convince herself that it didn’t matter who Y/N arrived with, who she was standing next to, who she was laughing with.

But then, somehow, without thinking, without planning, without considering the consequences, she was moving.

Her body acted before her mind could stop her, her feet carrying her forward through the dimly lit room, past the murmuring crowd, past the distant hum of laughter and conversation, straight toward the one person she had been trying to avoid looking at all night.

The world around her seemed to blur, the music fading into nothing more than a dull vibration in the background, the voices of their peers turning into white noise as the only thing that existed in that moment was Y/N.

Y/N saw her first.

Their gazes locked across the room, and for one brief, fleeting second, Karina forgot why she was angry. She forgot everything.

Because looking at Y/N, really looking at her, up close, bathed in golden light, her eyes bright and unwavering made Karina remember all of it.

She remembered every laugh, every lingering touch, every whispered conversation that had lingered on the edge of something dangerous, something unspoken, something so close to love that it terrified her. She remembered all the moments she had brushed aside, all the chances she had let slip away, all the times she had chosen silence instead of the truth.

And then Winter turned.

That fragile second, the one where Karina could have softened, could have let herself breathe, could have walked away before she did something reckless was gone.

Winter’s gaze met hers, calm and unreadable, but far too knowing, far too steady, like she had been waiting for this moment to happen, like she had already anticipated every move Karina would make.

Like she was daring her to react, and Karina’s control snapped.

The sharpness in her voice cut through the air before she had time to stop it, her tone edged with something undeniable, frustration, jealousy, the unbearable feeling of losing control.

“So this is what we’re doing now?”

Y/N blinked, her brows pulling together in the slightest hint of confusion, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what Karina was accusing her of.

“What?”

Karina let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound empty and bitter, her arms crossing over her chest in a weak attempt to keep herself grounded, to stop herself from reaching for something she had no right to claim.

“You’re really going to stand here and act like you’re not flaunting this?”

She gestured between them, her gaze flickering to where Winter’s arm rested so casually against the back of Y/N’s chair, to the way Y/N hadn’t moved away, hadn’t even hesitated.

That was what stung the most, not the whispers surrounding them, not the way people were beginning to take notice, not even the fact that Y/N had walked into this party with Winter instead of her.

But the fact that she was comfortable here, that Winter could touch her so easily, so freely, without hesitation.

That Y/N wasn’t holding herself back anymore.

“Like you’re not making a show out of it?”

For the first time since Karina had approached, Y/N’s expression shifted, her lips parting slightly as disbelief flickered across her face, quickly followed by frustration. There was a brief moment, one Karina might have missed if she hadn’t been looking so closely, where Y/N looked genuinely taken aback, like she hadn’t expected Karina to say it out loud.

Y/N’s expression shifted in an instant. Gone was the flicker of surprise and in its place, something colder, sharper, something that settled with an unbearable weight in Karina’s chest, twisting like a slow, inevitable knife.

Her gaze, once open, once familiar, once something Karina had always found warmth in, hardened like steel.

And when she spoke, her voice was steady. Too steady.

"Excuse me?"

Two words, quiet but firm, each syllable laced with an undercurrent of warning, a challenge wrapped in something controlled, measured, dangerous. There was no disbelief in them, no real shock, just a razor-thin layer of patience stretched so tightly it could snap at any moment.

Karina felt it like a punch to the ribs.

The world around them seemed to hold its breath, the steady pulse of music dulling to a distant thrum in the background, the warm buzz of conversation fading into something meaningless, something that no longer existed in their space.

Beside Y/N, Winter shifted, her posture straightening ever so slightly, her gaze flickering between them. But she didn’t speak. She didn’t step in. She didn’t break the tension that had begun to coil between them like a fraying rope ready to snap.

She didn’t need to, because this wasn’t about Winter.

It never had been.

This was about them.

Karina’s voice dipped lower, but the sharp edge never softened, never dulled. She couldn’t make it soften, not now, not with the way her chest felt tight, the way her pulse roared in her ears, the way control was slipping through her fingers faster than she could catch it.

"Is this supposed to be payback?"

The words fell from her lips before she had the chance to stop them, before she could think about the weight they carried, before she could consider what they would do once spoken into existence.

Each syllable landed heavy between them, pressing down on her ribs, sinking into her like lead.

Too late to take it back now.

She felt it in her chest, thick and suffocating, a pressure she couldn’t shake, couldn’t run from, couldn’t ignore.

Her breath came too fast, shallow and uneven, her throat constricting as if the very act of speaking had cost her something irretrievable. Her pulse pounded, hammering against the inside of her skull, a relentless reminder that she had just crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

"Is that what this is?"

For a fleeting moment, something passed over Y/N’s face, a flicker of emotion so quick that Karina might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching so intently.

A shift in her expression, a crack in her armor, something hot, furious, exhausted.

And then Y/N scoffed.

It wasn’t light, it wasn’t amused, it wasn’t teasing, the way it used to be when she would playfully challenge Karina’s remarks, when she would push back with that familiar smirk Karina had grown too comfortable with.

It was frustration.

Frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long, frustration that had been pushed down, swallowed, ignored. Until now.

"Payback for what, Jimin?"

Karina felt her breath hitch, the sharp intake barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat, now pounding painfully against her ribs.

She froze, not noticeably, not in a way anyone else might have caught, but Y/N did.

She saw it all.

The way Karina’s posture stiffened ever so slightly, the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her lips parted just barely, as if she wanted to say something, as if she almost could.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

And in that moment, Y/N understood everything.

Understood the hesitation, the silence, the fear. Understood that Karina had never been the type to fight for something real, not when it meant tearing down the walls she had spent years building. Understood that even now, even when she was standing in front of the one person she couldn’t bear to lose, she still couldn’t say what mattered most.

Then, when she did nothing but stand there, rooted in place, her silence louder than anything she could have said, Y/N’s expression shifted completely.

Her voice softened, but not with kindness, with something far, far more cutting.

“You don’t get to be mad.”

The words hit harder than Karina was prepared for, stealing the air from her lungs, knocking the wind out of her before she even had a chance to defend herself.

She wanted to say something, anything, to argue, to deflect, to find a way to twist the moment into something that didn’t leave her standing there, exposed and unraveling.

But Y/N wasn’t finished.

Her voice was steady, but there was an ache buried beneath the evenness of her tone, an exhaustion that Karina recognized all too well.

“You don’t get to act like I belong to you when you never wanted to claim me.”

And just like that, it was over.

The music played on, the party still thrived, the rest of the world kept moving, but Karina felt frozen in place.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, jaw locked so tightly that it hurt.

Because Y/N was right. She had always been right.

And yet, even now, even when Karina knew she had lost, even when she knew this was her fault, she still couldn’t say the words Y/N needed to hear.

She still couldn’t reach for her, she still couldn’t stop this from slipping through her fingers.

Y/N let out a slow, measured breath, her shoulders rising and falling in a way that felt far too controlled, far too intentional. The exhaustion in her posture was impossible to ignore, not the kind that came from a long night, but something deeper, heavier, the kind that came from waiting too long, from holding onto something that refused to be held.

Her head tilted slightly, her gaze locking onto Karina’s, but there was no anger left in it. No sharp edges, no lingering frustration, no fight.

Just acceptance.

“You know what I want to hear, Jimin.”

Her voice was quiet but firm, steady but final. She wasn’t begging. There was no desperation in the words, no plea for Karina to do something she should have done long ago. She wasn’t asking anymore.

She was giving Karina one last chance, and Karina felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Her entire body was taut, rigid with something she couldn’t name, something that twisted deep in her chest, clawing at the inside of her ribs, warning her that this was it.

That she was standing at the very edge of something unforgiving, irreversible. That if she didn’t reach for Y/N now, she never would.

She had spent years avoiding this exact moment, years dodging every instance where she could have said it, could have admitted it, could have done something other than stand there with her fists clenched and her heart barricaded behind a wall she refused to tear down.

But now, that same silence, the one that had always felt like safety, like control, like self-preservation. It was costing her everything.

Y/N waited.

She didn’t move, she didn’t push, she didn’t demand.

She just waited.

And Karina stayed silent.

She could feel the words forming, rising in her throat, pressing against the back of her teeth, but she couldn’t force them out, because saying them meant acknowledging what she had spent years running from.

Saying them meant admitting that she had been a coward, saying them meant she would never be able to take it back.

Y/N’s expression shifted, the change so subtle yet so deeply unraveling that it sent a slow, creeping ache through Karina’s chest, one that pressed against her ribs with the weight of something irreversible.

It wasn’t the kind of shift that came with sharp gasps or breaking voices, not the kind of devastation that tore through a person in a storm of anger or desperation. No, this was something quieter, something far more painful. It was a soft, lingering exhale, the faintest downward tilt of her lips, the way her shoulders, which had held so much tension, so much hope, so much waiting, finally lowered in the smallest gesture of surrender.

And just like that, the last bit of light in Y/N’s eyes faded, the hope she had been holding onto so tightly slipping through her grasp like sand spilling between her fingers, impossible to reclaim.

It wasn’t immediate. It happened gradually, like watching the embers of a dying fire lose their glow, like the slow dimming of sunlight as dusk takes hold, like the quiet realization that something is already gone before you even have the chance to mourn it.

Karina could only stare as the shift settled over Y/N’s face, as the warmth that had always been there, even in the moments when they fought, even in the moments when frustration lined her features, began to dissolve into something else entirely. Resignation. Acceptance. The moment where hope no longer felt worth holding onto.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no outburst, no anger, no tears pooling at the edges of her lashes. It wasn’t a breaking point that shattered into something irreparable, not the kind of goodbye that came with forceful declarations or the sharp edges of a final argument.

It was worse.

Because it was quiet, because it was the kind of moment where nothing needed to be said for Karina to feel everything. Because it was the look of someone realizing, with devastating certainty, that they had been waiting for something that was never going to come.

Y/N had given her the chance, one last opportunity to say the words that had been left unspoken for far too long, to finally break the cycle of almosts and unsaid things, to reach for what had always been just within grasp.

And Karina had done what she always did. She had stayed silent.

Y/N, standing there, eyes dimming in a way that made Karina feel like the ground beneath her was slipping, had finally understood.

Karina wasn’t going to say it, she never would.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something else, as if there was more to be said, but she only inhaled sharply before pressing them into a thin, firm line.

Her next words were softer than before, but they hit harder than anything else that had been said between them tonight.

“But if you can’t say it…”

She trailed off, shaking her head, her fingers curling into loose fists at her sides, as if she was trying to ground herself, trying to steady the way her heart was breaking right in front of Karina.

Then, finally, with an exhale that felt like the last page of a story she hadn’t wanted to end, she finished.

“Then let me go.”

And just like that, Karina felt something deep inside her broke.

She had always thought heartbreak would be loud. That it would come with screaming and accusations and reckless words thrown like knives meant to wound.

But this? This was worse.

This was Y/N looking at her like she already knew, like she had expected this, like she had already made peace with it.

Y/N held her gaze for a second longer, a second too long, a second filled with something Karina wasn’t ready to lose.

It was almost like she was waiting, like she was praying, that Karina would stop her. That she would fight, that she would say something, that she would do anything.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

So Y/N did the only thing she could.

She just reached for Winter’s hand, fingers curling around it like an anchor, like something solid, something certain, something Karina had never allowed herself to be.

And then, she walked away. Through the crowd, past the flashing lights, past everything they had built, past every moment Karina had let slip through her fingers.

And Karina? Karina let her.

The party carried on around her, the music pulsing, the laughter rising, the glasses clinking together in celebration of something that no longer mattered. The people who had witnessed the confrontation had already moved on, absorbed back into their own conversations, their own distractions, as if nothing had happened. As if Karina’s entire world hadn’t just collapsed right in front of her.

She stood frozen in place, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to comprehend the fact that Y/N had really walked away. That she had let her, that she had stood there, silent and paralyzed, while Y/N, the one person she never wanted to lose, the one person who had been waiting for her for so long, finally stopped waiting.

The weight of it pressed down on her, squeezing at her lungs, making it impossible to draw in a full breath.

This was it.

The moment she had spent years avoiding, the one she had pretended would never come. And yet, now that it was here, now that she was standing in the empty space Y/N had left behind, she felt the kind of fear that settled deep into her bones.

She had lost her and she had no one to blame but herself.

Somewhere in the haze of her thoughts, a voice cut through the numbness.

“You’re an idiot.”

Karina barely had time to register it before Giselle appeared beside her, a mix of frustration and disbelief etched into her features, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Ryujin wasn’t far behind, leaning against the wall, her sharp eyes scanning Karina’s face, reading her like an open book. They both looked at her like they had been waiting for this moment to happen, like they had seen it coming long before Karina had.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” Giselle demanded.

Karina blinked, her mind still sluggish, her body still unmoving, her heart still hammering against her ribs like it was trying to remind her that she was running out of time.

Ryujin sighed, shaking her head. “For someone so smart, you’re really fucking dumb sometimes.”

Karina swallowed, her throat dry, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s too late.”

Giselle’s eyes narrowed, her frustration sharp and cutting. “No, it’s not. It will be if you stand here doing nothing.”

Karina let out a slow breath, but it did nothing to steady the rapid beat of her pulse. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ryujin scoffed. “That’s your problem, Rina. You never do.”

And suddenly, it hit her.

Like a tidal wave crashing into her chest, like a flood of memories all pouring in at once, a thousand moments playing back in her mind like a film she had never fully appreciated until now.

She saw it all.

She saw herself at seven years old, fists clenched as she stood in front of Y/N, shielding her from a boy twice her size, the scrape on her own knee burning from when she had pushed Y/N behind her, the words spilling from her lips before she even thought to be afraid.

“You don’t touch her.”

She saw herself at sixteen, watching from the sidelines as Y/N sat on the bleachers after a bad day, her head tucked into her knees, her body curled in on itself like she wanted to disappear. Karina had said nothing, just sat beside her, shoulder pressing into hers, the quiet between them stretching for minutes before Y/N had finally, finally let herself lean into her.

She saw all the moments she had let slip by, all the times she had chosen silence over truth, chosen distance over vulnerability, chosen fear over love.

She had spent her entire life protecting Y/N from everything, except herself.

Her legs were moving before she could think, before she could hesitate, before she could convince herself that she was making a mistake. She didn’t care how she looked. She didn’t care who was watching. She didn’t care that she was running like she had just realized she had something to lose.

Because she did, and if she didn’t stop Y/N now, she never would.

She burst through the front door of Giselle’s house, the cold night air hitting her like a slap to the face, but she barely noticed. Her eyes searched frantically, scanning the driveway, desperate, desperate, desperate.

And then she saw her.

Y/N, standing by the curb, Winter at her side, the car door already open.

She was leaving.

For a second, Karina felt her breath catch, panic clawing at her chest, the kind of terror that came with the realization that she had seconds, mere seconds, to change everything.

And then, she was moving, she didn’t think, she didn’t hesitate, she just ran.

“Y/N!”

Y/N turned, and Karina barely registered Winter stepping aside, barely noticed anything but the way Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting, her entire body going still.

Karina didn’t slow down.

She reached for her, fingers wrapping around Y/N’s wrist, holding onto her like she was terrified she might disappear if she let go. She was trembling, her chest rising and falling too fast, her pulse a frenzied rhythm in her veins, but she didn’t care.

She didn’t care that she had spent years running from this moment, she didn’t care that she had built walls so high she had nearly trapped herself inside them.

All she cared about was the girl in front of her.

“Don’t leave with her.”

Her voice cracked, unsteady, filled with something raw and breaking, something that threatened to spill over if she didn’t get the words out fast enough.

Y/N just stared at her, her expression unreadable, her silence louder than any rejection Karina could have imagined.

Karina swallowed, her grip tightening, her heart pounding.

“What should I do?” Her voice was almost desperate now, her breath uneven, her fingers clutching Y/N’s wrist as if letting go would be the end of it all. “What should I do to make you stay?”

Y/N stared at Karina, her breath coming in short, uneven pulls, her body rigid with everything she was trying so desperately to hold together. The weight of Karina’s grip on her wrist was grounding and unbearable all at once, because this was everything she had wanted, everything she had begged for in silence, and yet, she didn’t know if she could trust it.

She had spent too long waiting. Too long standing at the edge of something that had never been solid, never been safe.

So when she finally spoke, her voice was low, trembling, barely holding back the storm rising in her chest.

“Three words,” she whispered, her eyes searching Karina’s, pleading but firm, a last stand, a final demand.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her body swaying forward just slightly, as if drawn in by something invisible, something stronger than pride, stronger than fear.

“Eight letters,” she continued, exhaling sharply as she blinked back the tears that threatened to slip past her lashes.

“Say it, and I’m yours.”

She swallowed hard, her voice steadying, but her resolve cracking just beneath the surface.

“That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”

The words hung between them, soft but deafening, fragile but unbreakable.

And Karina felt like the world had stopped turning.

She could feel her pulse hammering against the inside of her ribs, could feel the cold night air against her skin, could feel everything she had ever been afraid of standing right in front of her, waiting.

This was it.

The moment she had spent years avoiding, the moment she had spent weeks convincing herself would never come. The moment that, now that it was here, terrified her more than anything had ever terrified her before.

She hesitated, and she saw it. The exact moment Y/N’s expression flickered with something devastated, something breaking, something Karina knew she had caused over and over again.

But not this time, not anymore.

Karina inhaled sharply, her throat tightening as she finally, finally let herself feel everything.

She had always known.

She had known it in the way her world had always tilted toward Y/N, in the way she had memorized her laugh before she had ever memorized her own fears, in the way she had spent her entire life keeping Y/N close but never quite close enough.

She had known it every time she had chosen silence over truth.

But now she was done being silent.

Karina’s fingers tightened around Y/N’s wrist, her voice trembling, her breath uneven, her heart crashing against the walls of her chest.

“I love you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, her entire body going still.

Karina took a step closer, her grip firm, as if she was anchoring herself to the only thing that had ever made sense.

“I’ve always loved you,” she said, and this time, there was no hesitation, no fear, no doubt.

Just the truth.

Raw, unfiltered, undeniable truth.

Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of everything she had suppressed for years finally breaking through.

“And I can’t spend another minute without you.”

And then she kissed her.

The moment their lips met, it was nothing like the stolen touches, nothing like the hesitant almosts, nothing like the careful, restrained tension they had spent years trapped in.

It was desperate, overwhelming, shattering.

Y/N let out a soft gasp against her lips, her hands flying up to Karina’s shoulders, gripping the fabric of her blazer like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming.

Karina melted into her, every single wall she had ever built crumbling as she kissed her like she was terrified she would disappear.

She felt Y/N press closer, felt the way her body trembled, felt the way everything between them finally, finally made sense, and when they pulled apart, Y/N’s eyes were shining, her lips swollen, her breath coming out in short, disbelieving exhales.

But she didn’t let go, neither did Karina.

A soft clearing of a throat broke the moment, and they both turned to see Winter standing just a few feet away, watching them with a small, knowing smile.

She didn’t look upset. She didn’t even look surprised.

Instead, she simply gave Y/N’s hand a gentle squeeze before stepping back, her expression unreadable for a brief moment before she let out a quiet sigh.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked, her voice soft but firm, as if she already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.

Y/N swallowed, the weight of the moment pressing heavy against her chest, but she forced a small nod. "Yeah… I'll be fine."

Winter studied her for a second longer, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her.

Then, her gaze flickered to Karina, and for the first time that night, her smile faded. Something sharper, something unmistakably protective, flickered in her expression.

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head just slightly before speaking again. “Took you long enough.” The words weren’t laced with bitterness, but they carried an undeniable weight, a reminder of all the time Karina had wasted, all the moments she had let slip through her fingers, all the times she had chosen silence instead of love.

Then, after a beat, her gaze steadied, voice quieter but firm, “Don’t hurt her again.” her eyes locking onto Karina’s with a weight that made it clear this wasn’t just a passing remark, it was a warning.

Karina didn’t say anything. She just nodded, she understood exactly what was at stake.

Winter lingered for only a moment before stepping back, slipping into the driver’s seat of her car. The quiet hum of the engine filled the night air, and then, without another word, she pulled away, disappearing down the road.

When Y/N and Karina finally stepped back inside the house, the party was still in full swing, but this time, it felt different.

This time, Y/N wasn’t standing across the room with Winter, this time, Karina wasn’t watching from the sidelines, too afraid to reach out. This time, they were together.

It didn’t take long before Giselle spotted them, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in the way Karina’s arm was firmly around Y/N’s waist, the way Y/N was leaning into her, the way something had shifted.

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across her lips. “Oh, finally.”

Ningning, standing beside her, raised an eyebrow before crossing her arms. “I swear to God, if you two had kept up this ridiculous back and forth any longer, I was going to lock you in a room until you figured it out.”

Yeji and Ryujin exchanged glances, both shaking their heads in exasperation. “I was starting to think this would take another lifetime,” Ryujin muttered, before lifting her glass as if in celebration.

“Honestly, I was about to start taking bets on whether they’d figure it out before we all graduated.”

Y/N just laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks. Karina turned to look at her, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid of what she felt. She wasn’t afraid to reach for her, to hold onto her, to let everyone see.

Y/N met her gaze, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile, one Karina mirrored without hesitation.

This time, they weren’t pretending, this time, they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

And whatever came next they would face it together.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #jimin x fem reader

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theseh00perscanh00p · 12 days ago

Text

Par for the Heart: Part 16

paige x azzi

a/n: do not come for me and the ending I have the next part planned but not written just trust it's worth the wait... contains sexual content minors DNI this one was for the anon who asked for a little more dom Paige

word count: 4.8k

"What Haven't You Done?"

It started with a whiteboard.

A massive, ridiculous whiteboard that Paige had dragged in from the garage, propped against the kitchen wall like it belonged there. It all started with one of those late-night, slightly drowsy, deeply honest conversations on the floor, tangled in blankets and limbs, where dreams felt both too heavy and too far away. Azzi had listened, really listened, and then decided to make those dreams lighter. Tangible. Visual. Even silly.

The board was now filled with goals in different colored markers: some serious, some downright absurd.

Run a basketball camp for girls in underserved communities was right above Eat a mango in every tropical country.

Rebuild trust with family.

Get Paige to do karaoke sober.

Take a pasta-making class.

And that was where they started.

The studio was tucked on a quiet street in Silver Lake, all reclaimed wood and Edison bulbs and the faint, buttery scent of fresh dough in the air. Paige had found the class online and booked it before she could second-guess herself. Azzi had been stunned when she found out where they were going.

“Wait… we’re cooking?”

Paige gave her a look as they parked. “We are crafting, chef. From flour and eggs like our ancestors.”

“We’re not Italian.”

“Still counts.”

Inside, they were given matching aprons, red and navy. Azzi tied hers with unnecessary flourish, already throwing side-eyes at Paige as they took their spot at the table covered in flour, eggs, water bowls, and rolling pins.

“You’re gonna get competitive, aren’t you?”

“Don’t act like you’re not already plotting how to beat me at tagliatelle.”

Azzi laughed, nudging her with a hip. “Okay, yeah. I absolutely am.”

They cracked eggs into flour wells and mixed with their hands, messier than they needed to be, on purpose. Paige tried to be neat. Azzi flicked flour onto her nose the second she got too precise.

“You look like a stressed-out baker from a holiday rom-com,” Azzi said.

“You look like a chaotic contestant on The Great British Bake-Off,” Paige shot back.

“Flour me once, shame on you. Flour me twice—”

Paige reached over and swiped her cheek. “Then you get kissed.”

And she did. A soft, flour-smudged kiss that had the instructor sighing dramatically from the other side of the room.

“Young love,” he muttered. “They’ll burn the ravioli.”

Two hours in, they had somehow made fettuccine, ravioli (Paige’s looked like tiny sandbags, Azzi’s were pristine), and a decent red sauce. The class ended with everyone sharing a meal, wine poured generously, candles flickering.

Azzi fed Paige a bite of her ravioli and grinned. “I didn’t think I could love you more than I did yesterday, and yet here we are.”

Paige leaned back in her chair, watching her like she was sunlight. “That line was smoother than this pasta.”

“You’re welcome.”

They lingered at the table long after the others left, fingers laced on the table, trading little stories and laughing until the staff gently herded them out.

—-

The next morning, Azzi stood at the whiteboard in her pajama shorts and one of Paige’s crewnecks, uncapping a marker with the kind of ceremony that made Paige raise an eyebrow.

She carefully checked off “Take a pasta-making class” with a dramatic flourish, then added a smiley face beside it.

“Okay,” Azzi announced, turning toward the kitchen where Paige stood with coffee in hand. “Your turn. Something new. My pick.”

Paige leaned against the counter, still in sleep-mussed hair and one sock, sipping from a mug that said Coach Mode: Activated. “Define new.”

Azzi tapped the cap of the marker against her chin. “Let’s find out. Have you ever gone skydiving?”

“No,” Paige said easily. “Absolutely not.”

“Flown first class?”

“Yes. Once. College booster thing.”

“Snuck into a movie?”

Paige shrugged. “More than once. You gotta do what you gotta do when you’re broke in high school.”

“Gone skinny-dipping?”

A pause. Then a smirk. “Is that your way of asking to?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Noted for later. But yes or no?”

“Yes,” Paige replied. “At a lake in Minnesota. It was freezing. Regret is eternal.”

Azzi grinned, getting into it now. “Stolen something?”

“Technically, yes. I stole a plastic spoon from Menchie’s once because it was pink and I liked the shape.”

“That is… adorable. Okay, next—have you ever been to a sex shop?”

The mug paused halfway to Paige’s lips. Her entire face twitched like her software was buffering.

“Excuse me?”

Azzi tilted her head. “A real one. In person. Not just ordering online with discreet packaging and fake names.”

“That is… very specific.”

“So that’s a no?”

Paige shifted on her heel, visibly uncomfortable but trying to play it cool. “I mean… no. I haven’t. But not because I’m scared or anything.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “Oh? Then what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “What if someone sees us?”

Azzi broke into a slow grin. “Then they’ll know we have excellent taste and a thriving relationship.”

“Azzi.”

“You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared. I’m just… selective about public exposure.”

Azzi took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Paige Bueckers,” she said, mock-serious. “Are you telling me you’ve faced down championship pressure, Golf Channel mics in your face, and twelve-foot putts for birdie with the whole crowd holding their breath— but a neon-lit boutique of vibrators and flavored lube rattles you?”

Paige groaned into her coffee. “God help me.”

Azzi beamed, victorious. “I’m dragging you by your hoodie if I have to.”

Paige sighed but couldn’t stop the tiny smile breaking through. “This is what I get for letting you add ‘silly dreams’ to the whiteboard.”

Azzi came closer, kissing the tip of her nose. “And yet… you love me.”

Paige’s grin widened, warm and full of something quieter. “I do.”

This was their life now. Silly questions. New memories. Each other—always.

Cue the reluctant girlfriend montage.

Paige had faced down major tournament pressure, post-round interviews under the blazing sun. But apparently, nothing could prepare her for this.

“This is… a lot of neon,” Paige muttered as she hesitated outside the glass door of the sex shop, arms crossed over her chest, hat pulled low over her eyes like she was a D-list celebrity trying to avoid paparazzi.

Azzi, on the other hand, looked like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. “Neon, toys, empowerment, education—this is our Disneyland, babe.”

“I don’t think Disneyland sells vibrating anything.”

Azzi smirked, pulled the door open with a dramatic flourish, and gave Paige a pointed look. “In we go.”

The little bell above the door chimed as they stepped inside. Paige stayed glued to the front corner of the store, hovering awkwardly near the lube samples, pretending to read the back of a bottle like it was a golf playbook.

Azzi wandered in deeper, greeting the flirty, pierced staff member at the counter like she was catching up with an old friend.

The staffer did a double take. “Wait… you’re Azzi Fudd, right? From the Sparks?”

Azzi grinned. “Guilty.”

Paige whipped around so fast she nearly knocked over a rotating display. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink so deep it could rival the fuchsia latex bodysuit hanging behind her.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, tugging her hoodie up like it could make her invisible.

The staffer laughed gently. “Don’t worry, this place is basically Vegas rules. What happens here, stays here.”

Azzi turned toward Paige, eyes twinkling. “Baby, you okay over there? Wanna try a flavored one?”

“I’m reading ingredients,” Paige said, absolutely not reading ingredients.

“Oh, I’m sure. Just making sure it’s USDA approved and everything.”

Paige gave her a glare that had no heat, cheeks still flushed. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely.”

Azzi drifted back over, sliding her hand into Paige’s and tugging her gently toward the toy wall. “C’mon. You made me try homemade pasta. This is only fair.”

“Those are not the same,” Paige hissed under her breath, glancing around like another fan might leap out from behind the restraints aisle.

“But they’re both forms of art.”

Paige groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re into it.”

Azzi pulled her in closer, arms wrapping around her from behind as they stood in front of a rainbow display of vibrators. “Okay, serious question,” she whispered into Paige’s ear. “What color screams ‘golf pro exploring her soft dom era’?”

Paige choked on her laugh, head dropping forward in defeat. “Why are you like this?”

Azzi just kissed the back of her neck. “Because you love me.”

Eventually, Paige relaxed. Or at least loosened up enough to laugh as Azzi picked up a feather tickler and dramatically fanned her like royalty. They played with silk blindfolds. Paige actually asked a question about one of the toys—her voice so low it barely counted as audible—but Azzi caught it and beamed at her like she’d just won gold.

They made it to checkout with a few items in a discreet brown paper bag, giggling like teens who had just snuck out past curfew.

Outside, Paige yanked her hoodie tighter around her and made a mad dash to the car.

“Don’t run!” Azzi shouted between fits of laughter, jogging after her. “You’re only drawing more attention!”

“I cannot believe we got recognized in there.”

“I can. You’re hot. And flustered. And people love hot, flustered women.”

Paige buckled her seatbelt and threw her head back on the headrest with a dramatic sigh. “I’m never recovering from this.”

Azzi reached across the console, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. “You were perfect.”

Paige turned her head, eyes meeting hers. Still flushed. Still smiling. “You’re insane.”

“And you love it.”

That night, with laughter still bubbling between them, a brown paper bag waiting on the dresser, and their legs tangled under the covers, Paige leaned over and whispered, “Maybe next time, we go to your Disneyland again.”

Azzi grinned, eyes already dark with knowing. “Oh, we will. But don’t think I’ve forgotten—you still blushed harder than I’ve ever seen.”

“And you still kissed me like it was your favorite color.”

Azzi’s smile was slow, lazy, already darkened with want. But there was no surprise in her voice—just certainty. Just hunger.

“I want you to use what we bought.”

Paige’s breath hitched, and she knew Azzi felt it. She always felt it. Still, Paige tilted her head, arching a brow. “Yeah?”

Azzi’s fingers ghosted over the top of Paige’s thigh beneath the covers, teasing but insistent. “I want you to tell me what to do. Take your time with me. Be in control tonight.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just looked at her. And Azzi looked right back—unflinching, unwavering, lit up from the inside out with trust and anticipation.

It wasn’t about surprise anymore. Azzi had seen this version of her before.

But this time… she wanted more of her.

“You sure?” Paige asked, low and steady.

Azzi’s voice was a whisper, but her eyes were on fire. “So fucking sure.”

Paige kissed her—softly, then not so softly—and murmured against her lips, “Then get the candles. And bring the bag.”

Azzi grinned, eyes sparkling like she’d just been handed her favorite kind of dare. She slid out of bed completely bare beneath the hoodie and padded across the room, lighting candles one by one until the space glowed with flickering warmth. Paige sat up against the headboard, muscles taut, gaze fixed like she was already undressing her with her eyes.

Azzi returned, handing her the brown paper bag, the weight of it familiar now, and somehow still thrilling.

Paige opened it slowly. Pulled out the harness. The double-ended toy. The lube. The cuffs Azzi had tossed in at the last second weeks ago with a sly grin and a “just in case.”

Tonight was the case.

“Strip,” Paige said, voice sharper now, more sure of itself.

Azzi obeyed instantly, the hoodie hitting the floor.

Paige’s eyes moved over her with intention. Like Azzi was hers. Like she’d earned this moment, this control, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do with it.

As Paige fastened the straps low around her hips, Azzi stepped closer, biting back a smirk. “You’re really committing to the role tonight.”

Paige didn’t look up. “Keep running your mouth and I’ll have you gagged before you even get a taste.”

Azzi moaned—loud and unfiltered. “Jesus, okay. Don’t not threaten me like that.”

“I’m not threatening,” Paige said, rising to full height, now in the harness, the toy sleek and already slick. “I’m promising.”

Azzi was grinning, cheeks flushed, practically vibrating with anticipation as Paige nudged her toward the bed.

“Hands above your head.”

Azzi crawled onto the mattress, stretched out, offering her wrists like a gift. Paige clicked the cuffs into place, one side then the other, locking her in. Azzi tested them once, just enough to feel the give—and the thrill of the lack of it.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Paige said, climbing over her slowly. “Laid out. Open. Waiting for me.”

Azzi tilted her chin. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh, baby,” Paige cooed, lining herself up with a firm hand on Azzi’s thigh. “You’re gonna regret that.”

The first thrust was slow—teasing—just the tip.

The second? Deeper. Fuller.

Azzi gasped. “Oh my—fuck.”

Paige sank in inch by inch, the inner shaft pressing into her own core with delicious tension. Both of them moaned, heads tipping back at the same time.

Paige stilled when she bottomed out.

“Look at you,” she whispered. “Taking it so well. Like you were made for it.”

Azzi writhed, hips bucking. “Please move. Please—fuck—I need—”

“You’ll get it,” Paige said, beginning to move. “But you’re gonna work for it.”

She set a pace—slow, grinding thrusts that dragged against all the right spots, her hands gripping Azzi’s thighs tight, forcing her open.

Azzi’s wrists strained in the cuffs, her moans already breathy and broken. “You feel so good—fuck, Paige—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Paige reached down, fingers finding Azzi’s clit, rubbing in firm, steady circles that matched her thrusts. The toy inside them both vibrated on low, creating a perfect storm of sensation—pressure and pleasure and heat blooming fast.

Azzi was shaking now, toes curling, moans rising with every grind of Paige’s hips.

“Come for me,” Paige whispered, voice fierce and reverent all at once.

Azzi shattered—eyes wide and wild, mouth open in a silent scream, body clenching around the toy as the orgasm ripped through her like it had been waiting all damn day.

Paige didn’t stop.

She slowed, softened, let her ride it out—then pulled out gently, toy glistening, her thighs already slick and aching.

Azzi was wrecked. Beautiful and breathless and still cuffed to the bed, her eyes dazed but hungry.

“You good?” Paige asked.

Azzi blinked up at her. “So good. But—your turn.”

Paige exhaled, chest rising, need written all over her face.

“Think you can handle that mouth?”

Azzi smirked. “Test me.”

Paige removed the harness, climbed up, straddled her chest slowly. Azzi didn’t even flinch—just opened her mouth, tongue out, wrists still bound.

Paige lowered herself, a groan catching in her throat when Azzi’s tongue met her, confident and greedy.

She rocked her hips with purpose, grinding slow against Azzi’s face, gripping the headboard for balance. Her moans filled the space, raw and unraveling.

“You’re so fucking good,” she panted. “God, Azzi—don’t stop—fuck—right there—”

She came hard, thighs trembling around Azzi’s face, crying out as her orgasm took over—full-bodied, messy, grounding.

She collapsed forward, pressing kisses to Azzi’s mouth, her cheeks, her collarbone, as she unlocked the cuffs one at a time.

Azzi pulled her in, lips bruised, voice rough. “I need you to know something.”

Paige looked at her, still catching her breath. “What?”

“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. Ever.”

Paige laughed, breathless and flushed. “You didn’t make it easy.”

Azzi smirked. “Didn’t plan to. But I’d let you wreck me like that again. Anytime.”

Paige kissed her—slow and deep, all tongue and affection. “Yeah?”

Azzi hummed, still a little drunk on the high of it. “You have no idea what that did to me. Seeing you take control like that.”

Paige rested her forehead against hers, voice softer now. “I meant every second of it.”

Azzi grinned. “I know. That’s what made it so good.”

They laid there tangled up, skin on skin, candlelight flickering around them. The cuffs lay discarded on the nightstand, the toy long forgotten under the sheets.

Paige traced circles along Azzi’s arm. “Might not be my usual lane… but for you?”

Azzi didn’t even hesitate. “Baby, stay in that lane.”

They both laughed, and kissed again, sweeter now—less heat, more everything else.

And as the silence stretched out, warm and close and full of something that felt like forever, neither of them moved to end it.

—-

Morning came slow.

Soft light spilled through the curtains, warming the messy sheets tangled around them. Birdie was sprawled across the foot of the bed, one ear flopped over her eyes, totally unaware—or maybe politely ignoring—whatever had happened between her moms the night before.

Paige blinked awake to the weight of Azzi half on top of her, an arm slung over her waist and a thigh wedged possessively between hers. Her face was buried in Paige’s neck, her curls wild and her breath warm.

Paige smiled to herself, then ran her fingers lightly down Azzi’s spine. “You alive, or did I kill you?”

Azzi groaned into her skin. “I’m alive. Barely. My legs don’t work and I think I had a dream about you bossing me around in a grocery store.”

Paige grinned. “Was I still wearing the harness?”

Azzi tilted her head just enough to smirk. “You were, actually. You made me beg for oat milk.”

Paige burst out laughing. “I mean, to be fair, that’s pretty on brand.”

Azzi shifted, lifting herself up just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. Her voice softened, teasing giving way to something real. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You were amazing last night,” Azzi said, brushing her fingers across Paige’s cheek. “Like… hot and thoughtful and confident and still so you.”

Paige’s cheeks flushed. “It was a little new. But I liked it. You made it easy.”

Azzi smiled. “You make me feel safe. That’s why it worked.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel it settle between them.

Then Paige grinned again, eyes flicking down Azzi’s bare body. “Still safe if I say I kinda want a round-two remix this morning?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Remix, huh? What’s the vibe? Acoustic? Slow jam? Or like, club remix with eye contact and emotional damage?”

Paige laughed into her shoulder. “Definitely the last one.”

Azzi shifted her weight, sliding a thigh between Paige’s legs. “Okay, but if we go again, you’re making breakfast after.”

Paige sighed dramatically. “Fine. But only if you admit I rocked your world last night.”

Azzi leaned in close, lips brushing hers. “You did.”

Their kiss was slow. Familiar. The kind you sink into like a favorite hoodie and a playlist you never skip. Paige’s hand drifted to Azzi’s waist, pulling her in tighter, and Azzi melted into her, smiling against her mouth.

No rush.

No noise.

Just them.

Softer, but somehow even more in love than before.

—-

The next few days passed like sunlight through half-drawn curtains—slow and warm, filled with small, golden things. Mornings tangled in each other’s arms. Shared playlists over morning coffee. Birdie curling between them during movie nights. Groceries done hand-in-hand, fingers laced down every aisle.

The sex had been incredible.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

The emotions had started to settle in—not heavy, but rooted. Love didn’t feel like something either of them was falling into anymore. It felt like something built. Layered. Lived in.

And Azzi felt it in everything.

The way Paige pulled her hoodie tighter around Azzi’s shoulders when she wasn’t looking. The way she always remembered exactly how much oat milk to leave in her espresso. The way she’d reach for Azzi’s pinky under the table during meetings, just to keep her grounded.

They hadn’t said anything about the future. Not directly. But it was everywhere. In the way they rearranged their space now. In the way Paige had started saving Pinterest boards titled things like ‘Dog Corner Upgrade’ and ‘Backyard But Make It Queer. In the way she’d gone oddly quiet while holding a tiny box at the vintage jewelry stand last weekend before putting it back like it burned her hand.

Azzi was no fool.

She knew what this was.

She could feel it coming.

She’s planning something, Azzi thought as she lay in bed the next morning, watching Paige sleep. I know it.

Paige stirred and mumbled something incoherent about cold feet and leftover risotto. Azzi smiled, brushed a curl off her cheek, and slipped quietly out of bed.

In the kitchen, while the kettle heated and Birdie clumsily headbutted her leg for breakfast, Azzi opened the Notes app on her phone and created a new entry.

Title: Operation Beat Paige to the Proposal

She stared at it for a moment, then added:

Ring (not too flashy. but her)

Location (somewhere quiet. somewhere us)

When she’s least expecting it

No backup plan. Go with gut.

Say it the way you always mean it: like a promise, not a performance

A playful grin spread across her face.

She was in.

Let Paige plan.

Azzi was going to win this.

And if it meant spending every second paying attention to the little things Paige loved—just so she could catch her off-guard in the exact right moment?

Even better.

Game on.

—-

The shop didn’t have a name out front—just a sun-bleached curtain in the window and a faint chime when Azzi pushed the door open. It smelled like sandalwood, cedar, and old books, and the walls were lined with tiny glass cases, each one holding less bling and more story.

It felt like the kind of place you found by accident. Or fate. Or brunch gossip whispered over mimosas.

Azzi lingered by a tray of bands etched with constellations when the woman behind the counter finally looked up.

She was older—silver hair twisted into a low bun, glasses on a chain around her neck, a nose ring glinting in the light. Her voice was low and kind when she said, “You’re not looking for big. You’re looking for right.”

Azzi swallowed. “Exactly.”

The woman nodded, then pulled open a velvet drawer with practiced care.

Inside: a small collection. All unique. All imperfect in the best ways. Azzi scanned them—and then she saw it.

It wasn’t flashy. No diamond. Just a slim gold band, softly hammered and uneven, like it had been worn through generations. A single tiny sapphire sat slightly off-center—barely noticeable until the light hit it.

Azzi’s breath caught. She leaned forward, heart stammering.

“That one.”

The woman didn’t even look up. “She’s gonna say yes.”

Azzi smiled, lips trembling just a little. “Yeah. I know.”

She didn’t ask for a box. Just had it wrapped in a soft cloth, slid it into her pocket like it was something sacred. Her hand stayed there the whole walk back to the car, like she was afraid it might vanish if she let go.

She drove home slow. Both hands on the wheel. One prayer looping in her chest the whole way:

Let me get this right.

—-

Paige was in the bedroom, folding laundry the way she always did—badly. Sleeves twisted, socks balled with unmatched chaos, humming under her breath and halfway distracted when Azzi walked in.

Birdie trotted in beside her, leash still dragging from their walk. Azzi had the small white ring cloth still tucked in her palm, but the second she bent to unclip Birdie’s collar, it slipped into view.

“Hey babe, can you grab—” Paige turned. Froze. “What’s that?”

Azzi blinked.

Shit.

The cloth was small. Square. Suspiciously ring box-shaped.

“Oh—uh—lip balm?” she said too quickly.

Paige squinted. “That is the most aggressively square lip balm I’ve ever seen.”

Azzi laughed too loud and tossed it straight into the junk drawer. “It’s new! Influencer brand. Minimalist. Don’t worry about it.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

Azzi crossed the room and kissed her fast. “And you love it.”

Paige sighed, folding a hoodie with absolutely no technique. “Unfortunately.”

—-

It started slow—just notes on her phone at first. A sentence here, a line there. Things she didn’t want to forget.

She puts her cold hands on my back when we sleep but pretends it’s not on purpose.

I’d marry her just to hear her laugh at her own bad jokes forever.

She’s not home. She is home.

Then came the notebook—the one Azzi hadn’t touched in months. She wrote in it late at night, sometimes with music low and Birdie snoring by her feet. Sometimes with the door cracked and Paige laughing to herself in the other room, unknowingly giving her more material.

One evening, Paige caught her scribbling on the balcony, curled into a blanket with her brow furrowed.

“Poetry again?” Paige asked from behind the sliding door, wine glass in hand.

Azzi tucked the page against her chest. “Maybe.”

Paige smiled. “You better be writing about me.”

Azzi looked at her, soft. “Always.”

—-

They were in a little vintage store downtown, the kind of place that smelled like old leather and dried lavender. Paige was wandering the back section, running her fingers along the spines of worn paperbacks, while Azzi froze in front of a cracked wooden sign leaning against a dusty credenza.

It read:

Tell me when you know, and I’ll say yes before you finish the question.

Her breath caught. Her heart thudded. It felt like a message made for them.

She reached for her phone—just to capture it. A reminder.

And that’s exactly when Paige came around the corner.

“What’s that?”

Azzi flinched. “Nothing!” She turned her screen face-down, fumbling. “Just texting KK.”

Paige crossed her arms. “You are always ‘just texting KK’ lately. You two starting a secret podcast or something?”

Azzi smiled, too wide. “She’s emotionally clingy.”

Paige laughed and kept walking.

Azzi exhaled, quietly dying inside.

That night, Paige stood barefoot in the kitchen, rinsing out their coffee mugs, hair piled messily on top of her head. She looked up and found Azzi leaning in the doorway, quiet. Watching.

Her arms were folded. Her expression unreadable.

“You okay?” Paige asked, flicking water off her fingers.

Azzi blinked, like she hadn’t realized she was staring. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Paige dried her hands slowly. “About?”

Azzi shrugged. “Nothing bad.”

But Paige felt the tug in her chest—gentle, but insistent.

Azzi had been softer lately. Thoughtful. Distracted in this strange, glowing way. She wasn’t pulling away—but something was brewing.

Paige didn’t know what it was.

But it made her stomach flip.

—-

It was a Tuesday night. Paige got home from swing practice a little later than usual, keys jangling as she kicked off her shoes by the door.

The house was dim.

Soft jazz played low from the speaker.

And Birdie… was wearing a bowtie.

Paige stood still, one brow raised.

“Azzi?”

No answer.

She glanced toward the kitchen.

There, on the counter, was a handwritten note in Azzi’s familiar scrawl.

Be ready in ten. Wear something that makes you feel like you.

Paige stared at it.

Her pulse jumped.

She looked down at her own phone still in hand—the tab open to her Notes app. A half-written entry stared back at her:

Proposal Ideas (Don’t Open, Fudd!!!)

Her eyes darted back to the note. Then the hallway.

Her mouth parted.

“Wait,” she whispered. “No way.”

And then—

She smiled.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd

125 notes · View notes

amyzworldds · 2 months ago

Note

heyy idk if requests are open but if they are can i request a wonwoo x reader where reader is super extroverted and hyper and kinda « adopts » wonwoo cause she wants them to be friends, but wonwoo being shy it takes him a while to be more open with her

i was just thinking about like maybe just some scenarios showing how the friendship (and eventual) relationship between them grows

btw can i be 🪼 anon? :)

Title: From Classmates to Soulmates

Masterlist | Part 2

Y/N, a vibrant solo artist, and Wonwoo, the reserved Seventeen member, share a bond that blossoms from high school friendship into something deeper. Her chaotic energy clashes with his quiet nature, but their connection—full of teasing, cat photos, and unspoken sparks—grows through years of laughter and challenges, proving opposites can be inseparable. Pairing: Wonwoo x reader Genre: Fluff

The fluorescent lights of Class 2-B flickered slightly, casting a soft glow over rows of desks. It was 2012, and Y/N, a new transfer student, plopped down into the only empty seat in the classroom—right next to Jeon Wonwoo, a lanky boy with glasses who was trying very hard to disappear into his textbook. She was a whirlwind of energy, her backpack covered in colorful pins, her hair tied with a bright scrunchie. He was... well, the human equivalent of a library’s quiet section.

“Hi! I’m Y/N! You’re my seatmate, right? Oh my gosh, this school is so big, I got lost twice already. Did you know the cafeteria has, like, three kinds of kimchi? Three!”

Wonwoo blinked, his pencil frozen mid-sentence. He glanced at her, then back at his book, hoping silence would make her stop. It didn’t.

“What’s your name? Wait, lemme guess... Minho? No, too common. Seokjin? Nah, you don’t look like a Seokjin. Oh! Are you a Wonwoo? That’s such a cool name!”

He sighed, adjusting his glasses. “...It’s Wonwoo.”

“I KNEW IT!” Y/N clapped, earning a few curious glances from classmates. “We’re gonna be best friends, Wonwoo. I can feel it. Do you like cats? Dogs? Both? I have a goldfish named Bubbles, but I’m thinking of getting a hamster. What do you think?”

“I think you should stop talking before we get in trouble,” he muttered, flipping a page he hadn’t read.

Too late. Their homeroom teacher, Mrs. Kim, spun around from the chalkboard. “Y/N! Wonwoo! If you two have so much to discuss, you can do it while cleaning the classroom after school!”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened as he shot Y/N a side-eye. She just grinned sheepishly. “Oops. Sorry, Wonwoo. I’ll make it up to you! I’ll bring snacks!”

He didn’t respond, but his ears were slightly pink. Great. Day one, and I’m already in trouble because of her.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Over the next few weeks, Y/N became Wonwoo’s personal tornado. She talked during class, doodled on the edges of his notes (he pretended to hate the little hearts and stars), and dragged him into her chaotic orbit. He was quiet, reserved, the kid who’d rather read manga in the corner than join a group. She was the opposite—a social butterfly who befriended everyone from the janitor to the school’s stray cat (which she named Captain Whiskers).

One rainy afternoon, they were stuck cleaning the classroom again—third time that month, thanks to Y/N’s chatter. Wonwoo was wiping down desks while Y/N balanced a broom like a tightrope walker.

“Wonwoo, look! I’m a circus star!” She wobbled, nearly knocking over a chair.

He caught it just in time, glaring. “Can you focus for five seconds? I’d like to go home before we’re seniors.”

“Pfft, you’re no fun.” She hopped down, twirling the broom. “But you secretly love this. Admit it. I make your boring life exciting.”

“You make my life a headache,” he deadpanned, but there was a tiny quirk to his lips. She noticed and gasped dramatically.

“Was that a smile? Jeon Wonwoo, are you warming up to me?”

“No.” He turned away, scrubbing a desk harder than necessary.

But she was right. Slowly, Wonwoo got used to her. She’d ramble about her trainee life at Pledis, her dreams of being a solo artist, her obsession with bubble tea. He’d listen, nodding or throwing in a dry comment that made her laugh. They were opposites—her loud chaos to his quiet calm—but somehow, it worked.

--------------------------------------------------------------

One day, during lunch, Y/N spotted Captain Whiskers outside the school gate, looking scruffier than usual. Her eyes welled up instantly.

“Wonwoo, look at him! He’s so skinny! We have to take him home!” She clutched his sleeve, tears streaming.

He froze, her hands gripping his arm like a koala. “Y/N, you can’t just adopt every stray you see. Your dorm will turn into a petting zoo.”

“But he’s lonely!” she wailed, burying her face in his shoulder. “What if he gets cold tonight? What if he’s hungry? Wonwoo, I can’t leave him!”

He sighed, patting her head awkwardly. “Stop crying. You’re getting my shirt wet.”

“You’re so mean,” she mumbled, voice muffled. “But you’ll help me, right? Pleeeease?”

He glanced at the scrawny cat, then back at her tear-streaked face. “Fine. But we’re not keeping him. We’ll find him a shelter.”

“You’re the best!” She hugged him tightly, and he stood there like a statue, cheeks flushing. “I’m naming him Wonwoo Junior!”

“Absolutely not.”

They spent the afternoon sneaking Captain Whiskers into the trainee dorms, only for Y/N to cry again when they handed him to a shelter. Wonwoo bought her ice cream to stop the waterworks, muttering about how she was “impossible.” She just grinned, linking her arm with his.

“You love me, admit it.”

“Keep dreaming.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

By their final year of high school, they were inseparable. Y/N was still a chatterbox, but Wonwoo didn’t mind as much. He’d even started talking more—well, for him. When Seventeen debuted in 2015, Y/N was their biggest cheerleader, sneaking into their practice room with snacks and hyping them up. Wonwoo pretended to be annoyed, but he always saved her a spot next to him.

“You’re gonna be famous, Wonwoo! I’m telling everyone I’m your best friend,” she’d say, stealing his water bottle.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he’d reply, but he’d let her keep the bottle.

When Y/N debuted as a solo artist in 2017, Wonwoo was there, quietly cheering from the crowd. She spotted him and nearly tripped on stage, waving like a maniac. Backstage, she tackled him in a hug.

“You came! I knew you would! Did you see my high note? Was I cool?”

“You were loud,” he teased, but his eyes were soft. “You did good.”

“That’s high praise from Jeon Wonwoo!” She poked his cheek. “One day, I’m gonna write a song about you.”

“Please don’t.”

She laughed, and he couldn’t help but smile. Somewhere along the way, her chaos had become his comfort. Her clinginess didn’t bother him anymore—it felt... nice. And when she grabbed his hand to drag him to her favorite café, he didn’t pull away.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Wonwoo, now a full-fledged idol, was busier than ever, his introverted self buried under choreography and mic checks. But no amount of chaos could keep Y/N away.

The practice room smelled of sweat and determination, mirrors fogging up as Seventeen ran through their routine for the tenth time. Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, her backpack stuffed with snacks, watching with wide eyes. She clapped wildly after every run-through, even when the members stumbled.

“You guys are AMAZING!” she shouted, bouncing to her feet as the music stopped. “Hoshi, that spin? Iconic. Seungkwan, your vocals? I’m deceased. And Wonwoo, you’re... you’re just so cool!”

Wonwoo, catching his breath, shot her a look—half-exasperated, half-amused. “Can you lower your volume? I’m trying to focus.”

“Focus? You just nailed that part! Take the compliment, Jeon!” She skipped over, holding out a water bottle and a small towel like she was his personal assistant.

Mingyu, wiping his face, smirked. “Y/N, what’s this? Are you Wonwoo’s babysitter now?”

“Or his manager?” DK chimed in, grinning. “You’ve been here every day this week.”

Y/N stuck out her tongue. “I’m his cheerleader, thank you very much. Someone’s gotta keep his grumpy self hydrated.”

Wonwoo took the bottle, muttering, “I can get my own water.” But he didn’t push the towel away when she dabbed at his forehead, earning a chorus of “ooohs” from the members.

“Y/N, you’re spoiling him,” Vernon teased, leaning on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “He’s gonna expect this treatment forever.”

“Good!” she declared, plopping down beside Wonwoo. “He deserves it. Right, Wonwoo?”

He just sighed, sipping his water, but his ears were pink—a detail not lost on Jeonghan, who whispered to Joshua, “Ten bucks says they’re dating by next year.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s visits became a ritual. She’d barge into the practice room with convenience store kimbap or sneak in bubble tea, chattering nonstop while Wonwoo listened (or pretended not to). Sometimes, she’d join their breaks, challenging Hoshi to impromptu dance-offs or roping Seungkwan into karaoke battles. Her chaos lit up the room, and even Wonwoo’s quiet presence seemed brighter with her around.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, the members sprawled across the floor, exhausted. Y/N, somehow still buzzing with energy, started a game of truth or dare. When it was her turn, she picked dare and ended up doing a dramatic reenactment of Mingyu’s part in Adore U, complete with exaggerated winks.

The room erupted in laughter, but Wonwoo just watched, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Man, Y/N, you’re so loud,” Woozi said, rubbing his temples. “How does Wonwoo deal with you? You’re like... a human firecracker, and he’s—”

“A library book?” Seungcheol offered, smirking.

“Exactly!” Woozi laughed. “Seriously, Wonwoo, how’d you two even become friends?”

Wonwoo shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “She talked. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Rude!” Y/N gasped, tossing a crumpled napkin at him. “You love my talking. Remember when I saved you from that boring history project? I did all the presenting!”

“You got us a C because you kept going off-script,” he deadpanned.

“But it was fun, right?” She grinned, nudging his shoulder. He didn’t answer, but his smile said enough.

The members exchanged glances. Dino whispered to Vernon, “Are they... always like this?”

“Yup,” Vernon whispered back. “It’s like watching a rom-com, but they’re too dumb to notice.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Fast forward to 2017. Y/N’s solo debut was finally here, her single Starlight climbing the charts. The room was a flurry of stylists and nerves, but Y/N was her usual self—chatting with everyone, fixing her mic pack, and sneaking candy from the snack table. In the crowd, Wonwoo stood near the back, blending in with a cap pulled low. He didn’t cheer like her loudest fans, but his eyes never left the stage.

When she hit her final note, the venue roared. Y/N scanned the crowd, spotted him, and nearly fumbled her wave, grinning like an idiot. Backstage, she tackled him in a hug before he could escape.

“You came! I knew you would!” she squealed, arms locked around him. “Did you hear the crowd? Did I slay that high note?”

“You were loud,” he said, but his voice was soft, proud. “You did good.”

“Good? That’s it?” She poked his chest. “Jeon Wonwoo, I need excellent. Phenomenal. I’m a star now!”

“You’re a headache,” he corrected, but he didn’t pull away, letting her cling as long as she wanted.

Fans had noticed their closeness over the years—clips of Y/N at Seventeen’s events, Wonwoo at her debut, their playful banter in old vlogs. Online, they were “the ultimate besties,” with fans gushing over their friendship. But to those who knew them, it was... different.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, at a small celebratory dinner with Seventeen and Y/N’s team, the teasing hit full force. Y/N was recounting her stage mishap—nearly tripping on a cable—when Mingyu leaned over.

“Wonwoo, be honest,” he said, smirking. “You were ready to run onstage and catch her, weren’t you?”

Wonwoo choked on his soda. “What? No.”

“Liar!” DK laughed. “You were staring at her like she hung the moon.”

Y/N, mid-bite of tteokbokki, waved it off. “He’s just supportive! That’s what friends do, right, Wonwoo?”

“Right,” he mumbled, eyes on his plate. But his hand brushed hers under the table when he passed her a napkin, and she didn’t move away. Neither did he.

Jeonghan, ever the instigator, leaned back. “Friends, huh? You two act like you’re married half the time. When’s the wedding?”

The table erupted, and Y/N laughed, loud and forced. “Pfft, me and Wonwoo? That’s like pairing a cat with a tornado!”

“You’re not wrong,” Wonwoo said dryly, earning a playful smack on his arm.

But later, when they walked to the convenience store for ice cream, the air felt heavier. Y/N rambled about her next single, but her usual energy was tinged with something else. Wonwoo was quieter than usual, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” she said suddenly, stopping under a streetlight. “We’re good, right? Like... this—” She gestured between them. “It’s fine?”

He looked at her, heart thudding. The spark had been there for years—her hugs that lingered, his glances she pretended not to notice. But saying it out loud? That risked everything.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “We’re good.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Cool. Besties forever, then.”

“Forever,” he echoed, ignoring the ache in his chest. They bought their ice cream, and she linked arms with him on the walk back, chattering again. He listened, like always, because her chaos was still his favorite sound—even if he wasn’t ready to admit what else he felt.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Years have passedpast and the spark between Y/N and Wonwoo wasn’t just a flicker anymore—it was a flame neither could ignore. For Y/N, it was the way her heart raced when he smiled at her dumb jokes, or how she caught herself staring when he adjusted his glasses during late-night chats. For Wonwoo, it was the warmth of her presence, the way her chaos made his world feel... complete. But admitting it? That was a wall neither dared climb.

Y/N, ever the overthinker, convinced herself it was just their history talking. We’ve been friends since high school. Of course I feel weirdly attached. It’s not... that. She’d lie awake, replaying moments—her tackling him in hugs, him brushing hair from her face during her debut jitters. It’s normal. Totally normal. But the more she thought about it, the more she panicked. What if she confessed and he didn’t feel the same? What if it broke them? Wonwoo was her safe space, the one person she could be her loud, clingy, unfiltered self with. Losing him wasn’t an option.

So, she did the only thing she could think of: she pulled back.

--------------------------------------------------------------

It started small. No more facetime calls at 2 am to ramble about her day. No more spamming him with photos of stray cats or glittery coffee drinks she found on the street. No more bursting into Seventeen’s practice room with snacks and her trademark grin. When she did visit, she kept it brief, chatting with everyone instead of hovering around Wonwoo like before.

One afternoon, in the Pledis practice room, Y/N dropped by with a bag of tangerines—her excuse for showing up. Seventeen was mid-break, sprawled across the floor, sweaty and joking.

“Y/N! You’re alive!” Hoshi called, snatching a tangerine. “We thought you forgot us.”

“Pfft, never,” she laughed, tossing one to Seungkwan. “Just been busy. Soloist life, you know?”

Wonwoo, leaning against the mirror, watched her. She was her usual bright self, but something was off. She hadn’t looked at him once. No towel, no water bottle, no teasing jab about his dance moves. Just... distance.

“You staying for practice?” Mingyu asked, peeling his tangerine.

“Nah, gotta run,” she said, already inching toward the door. “Got a variety show taping soon. See you guys later!”

She waved, and just like that, she was gone. Wonwoo stared at the door, his chest tight. Seungcheol nudged Jeonghan, whispering, “She didn’t even talk to him.”“Yup,” Jeonghan murmured back. “Trouble in paradise.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s new distraction was a variety show, Star Buddies, where idols teamed up for goofy challenges. She’d been cast alongside NCT’s Jaehyun, a guy with a warm smile and an easy laugh. He was kind, talented, and stupidly charming—someone anyone would click with. They bonded over shared snacks and her endless chatter, and soon, they were texting about dog memes and grabbing coffee between shoots.

“Jaehyun, look at this puppy!” Y/N squealed one day, showing him her phone during a break. “Should I adopt him?”

“You’d adopt the whole shelter if you could,” Jaehyun teased, chuckling. “But yeah, he’s cute. Go for it.”

She grinned, but her mind wandered to Wonwoo—how he’d roll his eyes and mutter about her turning her dorm into a zoo. She shook it off, typing a reply to Jaehyun instead. He’s nice. Fun. Safe. No butterflies, no panic. Just... normal.

But Wonwoo? He noticed everything. Her Instagram stories with Jaehyun—laughing over ice cream, posing with silly props on set. Her texts slowed to a trickle, her visits even rarer. He’d scroll through her posts, jaw tight, telling himself it was fine. She’s busy. She’s allowed to have other friends. But the sight of Jaehyun’s name in her stories twisted something in his gut.

One night, during a late dinner with the members, Mingyu brought it up. “Yo, Wonwoo, you seen Y/N’s stories? She’s hanging out with that NCT guy a lot. Jaehyun, right?”

Wonwoo’s chopsticks paused mid-air. “Yeah. So?”

“Just saying,” Mingyu grinned, oblivious to the tension. “They look cozy.”

“They’re on a show together,” Wonwoo said flatly, shoving rice in his mouth. “It’s work.”

DK raised an eyebrow. “Sure, but she’s not blowing up your phone anymore, is she? When’s the last time she crashed practice?”

Wonwoo didn’t answer, and the table went quiet. Woozi, ever blunt, sighed. “You two are idiots. Just talk to her before she actually moves on.”“There’s nothing to talk about,” Wonwoo muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N wasn’t blind. She felt the shift too—how Wonwoo’s replies were shorter, how he didn’t tease her back like he used to. It hurt, but she told herself it was for the best. If I keep my distance, these feelings will fade. We’ll go back to normal. But normal without Wonwoo felt like a song missing its melody.

One evening, after a Star Buddies taping, she and Jaehyun grabbed dinner at a quiet café. He was telling a story about Taeyong’s latest cooking disaster, and she laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“You okay?” Jaehyun asked, tilting his head. “You seem... distracted.”

“Oh, nah, I’m good!” she lied, stirring her iced tea. “Just tired. Long day.”

He nodded, not pushing. “Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. You’re fun to hang out with, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Jaehyun. You’re pretty cool too.” She smiled, but her mind screamed Wonwoo. Always Wonwoo.

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Meanwhile, Seventeen’s dorm was abuzz with their latest comeback prep, but the members couldn’t ignore Wonwoo’s mood. He was quieter than usual—no small feat for him. During a break, Vernon caught him staring at his phone, Y/N’s latest story paused on a clip of her and Jaehyun high-fiving.

“Dude, just call her,” Vernon said, tossing him a water bottle. “You’re miserable.”

“I’m fine,” Wonwoo said, pocketing his phone.

“You’re not,” Seungkwan cut in, arms crossed. “And neither is she. We’ve known you guys forever. You think we can’t tell you’re both acting weird?”

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What am I supposed to do? Stop her from living her life? She’s... she’s Y/N. She makes friends with everyone.”

“Yeah, but she’s not this with everyone,” Jeonghan said, leaning over. “She’s only ever been that clingy, that loud, that Y/N with you. And now she’s pulling away. You really think it’s because she’s over you?”

Wonwoo didn’t answer, but Jeonghan’s words stuck. He saw it—her forced smiles when she did visit, the way she avoided his gaze. He felt it—the emptiness where her chaos used to be. And Jaehyun? That was just salt in the wound.

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A week later, Y/N was at a pet store, snapping a pic of a fluffy puppy to send to Jaehyun. Her finger hovered over Wonwoo’s name instead. She missed him—his dry humor, his steady presence, the way he’d roll his eyes but still listen to her ramble. This is dumb. I’m making it worse. She pocketed her phone, heart heavy.

Across town, Wonwoo sat in the studio, lyrics open but untouched. His phone buzzed—a group chat notification, not her. He opened their old messages, scrolling through her silly cat pics and voice notes. She’s slipping away, and I’m just... letting her.

“Hyung,” Dino said, poking his head in. “You good? You’ve been staring at that screen for, like, an hour.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo lied, closing his phone. “Just thinking.”

But he wasn’t just thinking. He was realizing that losing her noise—her light—hurt more than admitting how he felt ever could.

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an: Hi, 🪼anon ! Sorry this is late—I got busy with my integration paper, hehe. And sure, you can be 🪼 anon hehe! Also, I hope I got your request right, huhu. Btw, thank you for requesting! I think this is the very first request not connected to the 14th member HAHAHHA!

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