#also someone in bed. decide for yourself who...

[angelltheninth]

I have yet to see Kpop demon hunters today but I am craving for Jinu smut, But also I don’t like noncon/dubcon in the slightest but if this feels like it so be it lol, So may I request Jinu x huntrix member fem reader? When reader decides to investigate the saja boys by herself, The rest of the girls are obviously worried about her safety but she tells them that she’ll be okay, Cut to a couple hours later with Jinu absolutely pounding reader from behind and making her cum nonstop just as he wanted to ever since he layed eyes on her.

I can do dub-con. I don't think people realize it's a very common kink.

Pairing: Jinu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, rough sex, creampie, body betrayal, enemies who fuck, possessive sex, biting, hate sex

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: This movie now lives rent free in my head.

You should have listened to your friends, you should have never went after Jinu all by yourself, you should have brought backup. Now you're bent over his bed, getting your pussy pounded raw and hard from behind. "Either you and yours are getting sloppy or you're really stupid for thinking you could defeat us on your own. Or even just defeat me. Or, hah, maybe, you came here hoping this would happen."

As soon as you heard him suggest such a thing you turned your head to glare at him. Jinu grinned, his smile as demonic as it always was, no longer hidden behind that pretty facade. With your arms pinned and held behind your back you could barely move, and whenever you did you just took his cock, over and over. It was driving you insane.

"Go fuck yourself, you goddamn bastard." You gritted through your teeth, biting back your moans as his thrusts kept getting faster and faster, deeper, almost like he was trying to punish you for acting foolish. "I would never stoop so low... to want someone like you." A high pitched moan escaped from your lips when you felt the sting of his hand on your ass.

"You say that, demon hunter, but your cunt is drooling for me, so tight and wet. Hear that, how sloppy and slutty you pussy gets with demon cock in it?" He slammed his cock into you, in and out, making your legs tremble and your vision blurry. "Be honest, it'll feel so much better."

You shook your head as you felt yourself blushing. You hated it, how good Jinu's cock felt inside of you, how good this felt and yet it was so wrong. You hated him, you should hate this too so why was your body working against you in this moment? Why couldn't you tell him to go to hell like you so many times before?

"Better, that's a good girl. No more fighting me. Don't worry, this can be our little secret, no one has to know how you whore yourself out for me." His body pressed fully against your, his demonic fangs nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulder. "I won't tell if you won't, demon hunter. You got my word." The glare you gave him was challenging, you hoped threatening but that was impossible with the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin and your pussy taking his hard cock while you moaned.

"Your word... means nothing to me." You hissed, putting as much venom and hatred in your voice as you could have. He didn't seem pleased with that, he bared his long teeth at you and you hated how your pussy clenched around him when you saw them.

"Really? Fine, makes no difference to me. But see how your team feels when you come back to them, with your cunt freshly fucked and filled with demon cum." You watched him transform from his human form into his demon form, and god, his cock felt even better like this. "I don't care if you believe me or not but I'm gonna make sure you never forget this moment. The moment when you came from being fucked by me, because of my cock, because I made you feel so good!"

With one final thrust he pushed both your bodies over the edge, and you stopped yourself just in time to not scream his name. You didn't want to feed his ego any more than you already have. Jinu laughed maniacally as he fucked his seed deep into your pussy, the wet, messy noises only adding to his feral, wild nature.

"Fuck, yes, oh, wanted this... ever since I first saw you. Wanted to carve the shape of my cock into your cunt. Make you mine." He ended with a long kiss on your shoulder, still holding you while your body trembled and your vision swam. "Mine, only mine from now on." You expected him to be rough as he pulled out but he wasn't, he was slow, stopping as he heard you hiss and whimper. "Now that's a pretty little sight."

You heard a flash of a camera and turned to see Jinu smirking with his phone in his hand, his cock still out, dripping with the combination of your release. "You...! Gross! You have no shame!"

Jinu stuck his tongue out at you, "A little keepsake for me. To tide me over until our next time."

An unpleasant, or maybe pleasant, shiver went through you at the suggestion of a next time with him. "That won't happen. I'm going to bring you to your knees before then!"

"Oh? If you wanted me on my knees all you had to do was ask. I'm very good with my tongue. I can show you next time." His words and lewd gestures made your stomach tie into knots, and an uncomfortable heat form. "I could do it now. Seems like you might need some cleaning up."

Furious you stood up on your wobbly legs and slapped him. It was pathetic, that this was the best you could muster in this moment, but it also felt good to catch him off guard. "You're dead next time I see you."

Despite the slap he grinned at you, licking his lips, "Looking forward to it, my demon hunter." He winked at before he snapped his fingers next to your ear. For a moment you didn't understand what he did, then your vision started blurring. You tried to hit him again but ended up collapsing against him. "Let's get you somewhere where the others will find you." Barely coherent you thought you felt his lips press against your forehead before you fully passed out.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 20

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive themes and implications, sexual jokes, pic of reader not depicting her appearance just the vibes, rafe ovulating again, jealous!rafe, kinda angsty but mostly fluff and giggles, honestly this doesn't really push the plot forward so it's just them being them, description of bruise, reader drinking a little

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ during a cozy moment with rafe where you both felt close and comfortable, he suddenly left without explanation after someone spammed his phone. you didn’t know who it was, which sent you into a huge spiral. 30 minutes later, kie joined you bc she saw rafe leave the venue, explained her childhood history with rafe and sarah, warned you about his behavior, but also said he’s probably into you. after the movie, you rejoined the group. while talking with the girls, topper called you over to talk about cara, but rafe came back coked up, got mad at topper, and even punched him. security got involved, and he stormed off again. you followed him to the parking lot where you two had a big fight. he lashed out, hit your insecurities, and you stood up for yourself. as you left, he called after you, apologized, admitted he has anger issues he can't control, and finally told you ruthie was blackmailing him with a video of him doing coke at kelce's party, trying to force him to convince his dad to accept her dad’s joint venture deal. you told him you’d handle it together and wanted him to be honest with you and communicate his issues in the future. you then went back inside, even closer than before.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 7k + max use of images

✿ A / N ✿ // don't get confused, this was originally an extra but i decided to make it part of the main series bc it's just too essential for the plot and their dynamic

original A / N: well, i guess this actually counts as a chapter bc it's basically just a continuation of the main story and long af for an extra, but, yeah, no, actually no clue why i called this an extra lmao. also i kinda rushed the ending but guess it will do. ok, talking too much again, so, ANYWAY, enjoy, and lmk what you think <33

++ don't get confused pls, rafe refers to cara as hall aka her surname

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // S U N D A Y 9 : 5 5 P M

“Kinda toxic,” you said with a chuckle as you watched Rafe switch off your phone and place it on the little side-shelf on his side of the lounge bed.

Rafe let out an amused scoff as he turned back to you, catching the teasing glint in your eyes. “These rats? Yeah. Being nosy as fuck, spamming your phone.”

Like, seriously. He’d only caught a glimpse of your screen—something about someone shrieking (which, yeah, someone actually had)—and then freaking Kie dared to ask if you were okay?

What the fuck.

Did they think he’d beat you up in the parking lot or some shit? Especially Kie saying that, of all people. Like, come on. She should know best, he at least could keep his damn hands in check during arguments.

Fuck her. Especially for sending that dumbass chicken or whatever-the-fuck creature pic directed at him that looked like one of yours. (Which, others using those pics with you? Yeah, nah. That didn’t sit right with him at all.)

Anyway. Fuck those other clucking little nosy rats too. Fucking great that those were your friends now. And dragging Molly, the only tolerable girl after you, into Sarah’s shitty-ass group? Shit was getting worse by the day.

“They’re just worried,” you said, amused, a small smile tugging at your perfectly shaped lips. “Pretty sure also about you.”

Shit. Rafe was staring again.

His eyes flicked back up to yours, and he rolled them with a small nod. “Yeah, sure. The only thing they care about is squeezing some gossip out of you. Bet all the previous messages were about me.”

Just imagining how they'd probably flood you with questions later: Why Rafe had left. What you two had talked about. Why he'd punched Topper. Blah blah blah.

Typical nosy girl bullshit.

And Rafe swore to God, he really hoped none of those stupid little mind-minions of yours were buying into that crap. He didn’t need anyone knowing what kind of shit he was caught up in now. Especially not Princess Sarah.

Fuck. If she found out, she’d go straight to Dad and—

“Probably, yeah,” you chuckled, and Rafe felt a crease forming between his brows. “But I’m not gonna share anything you don’t want me to.”

Huh.

He hadn’t expected that. He was used to girls rushing to their friends the second they had a crumb of “tea to spill” or whatever the hell you girls called it. But you claiming not do so...

He raised a brow, fingers absently twisting the little key charm on your bracelet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, sounding genuine. “I mean, personally, if it were me, I’d probably at least tell Topper and Kelce. They are your best friends after all, and they both know Ruthie better than either of us. Plus, I’d say they’d definitely want to help you out with this mess.”

You pressed your lips together for a moment before continuing. “But I totally get it if that's something you’d rather keep to yourself. And obviously I’m gonna respect that.”

Rafe grimaced.

Tell Topper and Kelce? Sure, he’d probably rant to Kelce about this fucked-up situation—Kelce always listened, and when it came down to it, the dude knew how to shut the fuck up when asked. But Topper?

It was bad enough he’d agreed to tell that fucker he didn’t deserve the punch in the face (even though, let’s be honest, clean hit), and now he was supposed to reward him with some kind of answer?

Hell no. Topper had been hanging out with that bitch Ruthie way too much lately. Couldn’t be trusted even if he claimed he didn’t know what was going on.

“You don’t agree.” Your soft voice pulled him back and he stopped fidgeting with the bracelet.

Rafe furrowed his brows, rubbing his jaw. “Topper’s a backstabber. Don’t give a shit if he’s involved or not. He still hung out with that bitch.”

He almost laughed at your frown. You looked like an angry cat.

You tapped his chest lightly, shifting upward and—Fuck.

He could feel your boobs pressing into his side now.

Shitshitshitshit. Please just say what you wanna say and move back.

“He probably just didn’t wanna be alone tonight,” you said (Jesus Christ, Rafe wasn’t even sure he had the brainpower to follow you right now). “Cara stuck with JJ, Kelce with Molly, and well,” You gave him a sheepish smile. “You with me.”

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement, but before he could say anything, you beat him to it.

“What I’m trying to say is,” you continued, sounding a little awkward, “I can’t really blame him for wanting to be with someone tonight. Yeah, sure, Ruthie wouldn’t have been my first choice, but—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Rafe cut you off with a tight nod, nudging you back with two fingers to your forehead. Because holy fuck, he could feel his blood heading straight to the wrong places again. “Enough talk about those two.”

You blinked at him, surprised, and shifted your upper body slightly away. Rafe had to fight the strongest damn urge not to glance at the view the movement of the blanket offered him in that moment of the shape of your boobs in that sweet little dress of yours.

Shit.

He could see the little minions in your brain scrambling, trying to figure out what was wrong. And then he saw the exact second one of them got it.

“Shit, relax,” he said, half amused at your reaction and half irritated at his own almost-reaction. “I just—”

"You know, if you need a minute in the toilet stalls, just say so," you said, dry amusement clinging to your voice.

YO, WHAT.

That—shit, what??? Had Rafe just missed something or had you actually just offered him the chance for a quickie?

"For yourself!" you added, almost panicked, eyes wide, and Rafe could practically feel the heat radiating off your face.

Shit was hilarious.

And yeah, of course you hadn’t meant it the way he’d first thought. Besides the fact that you'd made it very clear you weren’t interested in him like that (why the fuck, though???), no way you'd want your first time to happen in some filthy toilet stall where any random loser could listen if they wanted to.

Nah, Rafe had decency. He wouldn't have let that happen. Even if you’d insisted. Okay, maybe he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to resist if you'd actually wanted to go through with it, but he’d have at least had the patience to wait until you two had a room.

“Sure.” Rafe raised his brows, a slow grin tugging at his lips. And then, fuck it, he let his right hand wander—just a little, just a tiny inch—from your waist toward your hip. Surely that wouldn’t—

Shit.

Okay, never mind. He moved it back to its original spot because he could basically hear your minions screaming inside your head, sprinting around in full panic mode and about to throw themselves down a deep, shitty spiral. He definitely didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or worse, have you bolt.

Or even worse, end up in another long-ass conversation with you.

“Sorry,” he muttered with a tight chuckle, already questioning his own self-control. Still, he couldn’t help being a little disappointed by the way you’d looked at him like a deer about to get shot.

And then—he almost thought he misheard it. A tiny “No, it’s okay,” slipped past your lips, soft enough to make his heart straight-up skip a beat. Big eyes locked on his, full of uncertainty and… something else.

Now Rafe was fucking confused. Because what?

What.

You'd claimed he was sending mixed signals, but you? Shit, you were a traffic light flashing both red and green at the same time.

At least Rafe had had the balls to tell you he was attracted to you. But you? You only ever admitted to enjoying hanging out with him. Nothing more. Okay, sure, you’d complimented his looks—like, twice—but only after he’d done so first. So that was probably just some polite etiquette bullshit.

Fuck, Rafe couldn’t make sense of you. And it kinda made him feel like a joke that the one time he felt this insane pull toward a girl, she didn’t feel the same.

Shit felt fucking unfair.

Whatever you’d meant with that little sentence, though, Rafe forced himself to keep his hand in the appropriate zone. No point pushing his luck. Also, he’d probably misheard it anyway, ears still ringing from leftover coke in his system. Last thing he wanted was for you to think he couldn’t control himself.

That would just be pathetic.

So he shook his head, lips tugging downward. “Nah, don’t wanna wake one of your fuckass minions.”

Not waiting for your reply, his hand slid up to your shoulder, gently nudging you back against his chest. Better play it safe than risk chasing you off with one stupid impulsive move. (Which—he, not taking a risk? Might as well accept he was going completely nuts.)

Thank God, you did lean back into him, a chuckle slipping from your lips. But Rafe didn’t miss the twitch of your brows or that almost disappointed glint in your eyes just before.

Shit, you were confusing the fuck out of him, but somehow that only made the pull toward you worse. There was something thrilling about it. Almost like a shot of adrenaline—having to play with a new set of rules with you. The fact he didn't even know if there was a playground to begin with.

But that only made you more interesting. Because with you, he had no choice but to hold back. Flirt a little, sure. But anything more? He had to keep his fucking cock in check unless he wanted to ruin whatever this weird little friendship was.

And well, he guessed actual friends didn’t let their hands wander like that. Shit, no—just the thought of doing something like that with Kelce or—

NAH. Fuck that. Eugh.

Okay, at least that image helped kill the very real problem in his pants threatening to rise again.

Shiiiit. Right!

He just had to start viewing you like one of the guys. A very cute, girly-looking guy who happened to look way too good in that dress, whose boobs had been pressed against his chest a minute ago and had threatened to make him hard again for the second fucking time tonight.

Fucking hell, you weren’t making it easy for Rafe.

Fuck it. Maybe he should look for another girl to hook up with on the side. Just to relieve this stupid pressure he seemed to feel because of you. Shit was starting to make even him uncomfortable. And the last thing he wanted was to ruin this friendship thingy with you just because some other part of him had other plans.

Huh. Nah.

What the fuck. What was wrong with him?

The idea of getting a side chick just to stay sane around you??? What was he, some horny fucking dog? Shit. Fuck. What the hell. Besides, he was done with girls like that anyway. He had way bigger problems than this suddenly raging sex drive.

But he also didn’t wanna waste another second thinking about that psycho bitch Ruthie either. She’d already ruined this little “bonding moment” of yours (still kinda cute that you called it that). Rafe had zero desire to keep stewing in that mess. He couldn’t change anything about this fucked up situation right now anyway. No point wasting more energy on that bullshit.

Jesus Christ—no, for real now—what the fuck was in your goddamn perfume?

And when your head tilted up again, eyes moving from the shitty-ass robot car movie to his face, Rafe could feel the way his nerves lit up.

He fully expected you to question what that little move of his had been about, ask why he'd said he wanted to be friends but then acted like that (which, honestly, he didn’t fucking know either lol), but thank God you didn’t.

“So, just to be safe,” you said with a sheepish smile, “if they ask about what happened, which I’m 99 percent sure they will—Cara at the very least—what do you want me to say?”

Somehow, the fact that you asked him how he wanted the situation to be handled, without pushing your own opinion on him, without instantly running off to your annoying friends to spill everything…

Shit made a very weird feeling rise in his chest.

Besides Kelce and maybe Wheezie, no one ever talked to Rafe about things without just going ahead and act on their own. No one ever bothered to involve him or ask for his opinion. Even his dad—Rafe always came up with solid ideas and plans that could actually push Cameron Development forward in the long run, but he never listened.

No one ever fucking listened to what Rafe had to say, and he was so fucking sick of it.

All of them acted purely out of self-interest without a second thought, doing dumb shit that could’ve easily been avoided if they just fucking used their brains.

But you... every second Rafe spent around you, every time you said something or did something or revealed more of yourself, it felt like he’d finally found someone who got him. Someone who just knew. Someone who—

“Rafe?”

He blinked.

Shit. You’d caught him so off guard, he’d just stared at you.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, letting out a startled little laugh, his thumb brushing over the soft skin on your wrist for a second before he realized what the fuck he was doing and let his fingers drop beside your hand again. “I—sorry, what?”

Shit, what the fuck was up with him? He still had some leftover coke in his system, and he still acted like this.

Your brows twitched for a moment, and he thought you’d back off now, but instead you just chuckled, that mix of embarrassment and amusement so sweet in your tone.

“What do you want me to say if someone asks what happened?” you repeated. “I mean, they know you left because someone texted you.”

So you had spilled a few details to your new shitty-ass friends earlier, but Rafe guessed he could live with that.

In hindsight, he did feel kinda bad for not telling you why he'd left. If you had pulled that shit, he probably would’ve gone after you and demanded to know what the fuck that had been about. And, well, in the end, you did chase after him and snapped at him, but as soon as he'd explained the problem, you immediately switched.

Straight into solution-mode. Proactive.

Shit, that’s what Rafe needed. Someone who offered him ways out of this fucked-up mess. Someone who showed him what to do next, how to tackle something, not some whiny bitch crying about how sorry they were for him.

He knew the situation was fucked up already.

“Dunno.” Rafe scratched his jaw, brows furrowed. “It’s none of their business. So probably that.”

“Uh, yeah, no, pretty sure that’s not gonna satisfy them,” you said with dry amusement, twisting his polo fabric between your fingers.

Rafe slapped your hand lightly, frowning. “Stop that. You’re creasing it.”

You let out an amused chuckle and stopped fidgeting. “They won’t be happy to hear you used violence against me.”

Ha. Ha.

Rafe scoffed but then his expression dropped almost instantly when he remembered how harshly he’d grabbed your wrist earlier when you'd stepped to his side as soon as the security guards arrived. He’d expected stupid Kelce or Topper but then saw your big scaredy eyes and it felt like someone had smashed a fucking sledgehammer against his face.

“I was joking,” you said softly now, those same big eyes on him, only this time without the fear from earlier.

Rafe’s chest clenched. “Yeah, no, I know, I just…” He furrowed his brows, glancing at your wrist, looking for any kind of bruise. “Earlier, when I grabbed you. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

For a moment, you just looked at him. Almost stunned. Then you shook your head with a soft smile, and somehow Rafe knew things were okay.

“It’s alright,” you said gently. A chuckle escaped your lips. “I mean, you do have a firm grip, but you didn’t actually hurt me. And I know you didn’t mean to.”

Rafe didn’t even— Jesus Christ, somehow your understanding made him feel worse than if you’d actually guilt-tripped him.

This sudden urge to apologize arose in him. To say he was sorry for leaving you behind, for keeping you in the dark, for yelling at you, for being sorry about every shitty thing he’d done this week that might’ve made you feel like you were anything less than you actually were.

Because the truth was, as crazy and messed up as you were, you were still better than him.

You were sweet and gentle, polite and kind, and you had this way of handling him so effortlessly (when your little minions weren’t going wild, at least), it felt like he could breathe around you. He didn’t feel like he had to prove anything to you.

And the words were sitting right there on the tip of his tongue, but he knew he’d mess it up. He didn’t know how to actually say what he meant, how to express how much he appreciated you still sticking around. He’d just stumble over himself and end up sounding pathetic.

So all he did was nod, eyes fixed on the heart charm on your bracelet he was currently fidgeting with, and said, “Still, I’m sorry.” His gaze met yours again. “About everything.”

Fuck, he was so bad at this shit, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t just say what he meant. How the fuck did you always know exactly what to say?

To his surprise, you just nodded—no big speech, no dramatic nonsense, just a soft smile on your lips as you gently smoothed out the wrinkle you’d made in his polo. And all you said was, “Apology accepted.”

Again. How the fuck did you always manage to say exactly what Rafe needed to hear? Seriously. Shit was crazy.

“Now I kinda wanna watch that movie you claim is so terrible,” you added with a teasing glint in your eyes, and shit—Rafe couldn’t help but wonder what that playful little spark of yours would look like in the bedroom.

He grimaced—both because yeah, the movie was garbage, and also because he couldn’t go five fucking minutes without one of those images popping into his head.

“Shit, it is,” he said. “Barbie was better than whatever this crap is. Fucking robot cars from space. Like, who the fuck came up with this shit? One of your fuckass minions?”

You raised a brow. “Funny, coming from the guy who missed half the Barbie movie.”

Oh you—

“Sorry,” you giggled, the sound vibrating softly against his ribs. “I mean, you’re right. Barbie did have way more important things to say than whatever the hell Optimus Prime is talking about right now.”

Rafe snorted. “Aight, I think you better stop talking now before this bonding moment turns into a breakup moment.”

“Hah. That’d be the record for the shortest friendship I’ve ever had,” you replied with soft amusement, tapping once on his chest. “Thirty-two hours.”

Dude.

"You for real right now?" No fucking way you counted the actual hours.

You just stared at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Rafe's lips parted in disbelief, because what the fuck.

"Just kidding," you chuckled.

"No the fuck you weren't."

“No, I wasn’t.” You shifted slightly, turning your upper body toward him, brows raised with a cheeky smile. "Okay, listen, there's this tracker app—"

"Aw, shit, no," Rafe laughed, absolutely baffled, his voice cracking halfway through, as he playfully nudged your head off his chest. "You're fucking crazy."

You (not so gently) slapped his hand away with a scoff. "I do the same with Cara. It's cool knowing the exact day we became best friends."

Jesus Christ. What the fuck had he gotten himself into here?

Rafe’s face twisted into whatever emotion existed between being weirded out and somehow enjoying the fact you tracked your new friendship.

He let out a heavy breath and nodded. "Shit, I guess. I hope you know this is insane, though."

"Okay," you mock-sighed with a shrug. He felt his nerves buzz when you shifted back onto his chest, eyes back on the shitty-ass movie. "Guess I’ll go ahead and delete our entry then."

Huh? What. No!

Rafe frowned, staring at the back of your head, hating himself for what he was about to say. "What’s this fuckass app called?"

He felt your chest rumble against his as you chuckled again. Without even glancing his way, you said, "TrackerBuddies."

Aw, hell no. Fuck that.

Kelce had begged him to download that shit back in like 8th grade or so. Rafe hadn’t thought much of it and then he had to listen to Kelce whining for weeks about why Rafe never watered their digital plant that was apparently supposed to symbolize their friendship or some bullshit. Honestly, what the fuck.

Deleted that app immediately.

"Nah," Rafe said. "Kelce uses it. If he sees me on there again, he’s gonna start bitching about why I haven’t added him back."

Rafe already knew the second you tilted your head back to meet his gaze that he wasn’t gonna like whatever you were about to say.

"I know", you said with a smug smile. "I saw your sad, dried-up little plant in his friends' library. Didn’t even make it to level 3."

Shit. What.

"You two are friends on there?" he asked, staring at you blankly, his voice way drier than intended.

Your lips twitched into a downward smile. "Well, yeah. We kinda ended up talking about it in History on Friday and then I added him."

Hah. Funny. Fucking hilarious.

Not only had you and Kelce become friends before you and Rafe—apparently in real life and on this fuckass app—but you had added Kelce willingly.

A deep, ugly feeling spread in Rafe’s chest, his brows twitching in confusion. "And which level are you two fuckers on?"

"Five."

FIVE? In three fucking days? How— What—

"You’re bullshitting."

You laughed. "What?"

"Yeah," Rafe said, brows furrowed. "That’s impossible."

"Well, we got an early friendship boost for watering Willy for three days. Lots of XP."

Willy? You named the fuckass plant you shared with Kelce Willy?

Rafe just blinked at you, a deep scowl forming on his face that he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. That awful feeling in his chest only got worse.

"Fuck that," he finally muttered, pulling his right hand away from your waist to fish his phone out of his pocket. "What’s your friend code?"

You giggled as you shifted position, hugging your side of the blanket to your chest as you sat upright next to him. "You really wanna add me or do you just wanna beat Kelce’s level?"

Rafe nodded, frowning, eyes glued to the App Store as he re-downloaded this stupid-ass app. "Yes."

"Alright," you chuckled, leaning against his shoulder to peek at his screen. "I think you just need to click on Kelce’s profile—yeah, there—and then in his friend library—yes, that’s my profile."

Rafe’s frown deepened when he saw your whole friends list on this cursed app. Your crazy-ass best friend, of course. Shitface Kelce, obviously. Molly. Fucking Topper, who probably only downloaded it to follow the trend. Even pogue rat John B, what the actual fuck, and that Heyward boy.

And worst of all: Sarah.

Seriously, he couldn’t even describe how much this pissed him off. Every idiot in the damn universe seemed to be on your friends list—except him.

But the funny thing? He didn’t see any of those fuckers’ bracelets on your wrist.

What a fucking joke.

"Give me my phone," you said, amused. "Then I can add you back."

Rafe wasted no time. But apparently your shitty phone did, taking forever to boot back up after he’d turned it off earlier.

"Jesus," you muttered with a laugh as Rafe hovered over your shoulder to make sure you actually added him back.

He shifted back just as his phone vibrated with a notification from that fuckass app. Rafe’s heart skipped a beat (fuck, what) as he read the message:

yourusername just added you as a friend [+50 XP]

And then another:

yourusername promoted you to their Best Buddy [+100 XP]

Rafe’s head snapped up, meeting your amused grin with a baffled look. Shouldn’t that title go to—

"Cara doesn’t take this as seriously as I do," you said, chuckling sweetly and nodding toward his phone. "So you better prove yourself worthy."

Oh, you could bet your sweet little ass he would.

Rafe couldn’t even stop the smile from creeping onto his face. Just the fact that you were now officially friends—Best Buddies, even—on this dumb fucking app honestly excited him almost as much as the fact that you were wearing his bracelet around your wrist.

I’m fucking losing it, dude.

"Also, I assume your account’s pretty old," you said, face twisting into an amused grimace.

Rafe narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh as you looked at your screen. "DarthDude."

Shit.

He scowled.

Yeah, fuck. He’d kinda forgotten about the username he’d made in 8th grade. Had some cringe-ass Star Wars phase back then because of Kelce. Eugh. He had the full package—lightsaber, posters, even a couple helmets in his room.

Embarrassing as hell.

Though he had kept two of the red lightsabers above his bedframe since it made a pretty cool LED for when some girl came over.

Anyway, no chance in hell he was addressing that. Way beneath him.

So he just shook his head with a frown, grabbed both your phones despite your protests, set them aside on his end, and leaned back against the bed frame, his right hand finding your waist again.

“Enough of this shit now,” he muttered and scowled as your body seemed to resist when he tried nudging you back onto his chest. “What? Gonna miss the second shitty-ass movie thanks to you.”

You just chuckled, murmuring a quiet “Drama queen” as you thankfully settled back against him.

Rafe exhaled.

Peace settled back into him with you curled up on his chest again, your perfume lingering in the air.

As much as this movie sucked, he was already dreading its end. Because that would mean the end of this. And then he’d have to face a swarm of annoying-ass people again, all ready to bombard both of you with questions and stupid jokes (honestly, he was still surprised Kelce hadn’t gotten up from his lounge bed to go check on Rafe).

The only good thing about all that?

You’d be there, too. And Rafe would damn well make sure not to leave your side again.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Shiiit, you half-blind now or what?" Rafe asked, chuckling as he eyed Topper's bloodshot left eye.

Fucker looked busted. Left cheekbone red, already hinting at a nasty bruise forming. Looked worse than Rafe’s own, and he hadn’t even hit Top that hard.

After that not-so-shitty-movie had ended, Kelce and Molly had immediately jumped from their lounge bed over to the one Rafe had shared with you, grinning at you two like a pair of fucking idiots.

Thank fuck they'd held back on questions about earlier. Just a few comments about you and Rafe cuddling, and Kelce asking if Rafe was alright. That was it.

That was actually one of the few things Rafe appreciated about Kelce. No whiny, unnecessary bullshit.

Shortly after, you’d called Hall to ask where she was, and you all met at the bar on the side of the venue, now sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables. Rafe had immediately taken the seat to your right on one of the benches, Kelce scooting in right after (did he seriously rather sit next to Rafe than his new girlfriend, dude, what the fuck).

And the first thing Rafe had noticed as the other three sat down across from you: Topper’s sorry-ass condition.

Shit sure as hell wasn’t that bad, and Rafe figured the fucker was just playing it up to get some sympathy from your best friend. Apparently, it worked because they’d spent the second movie together in the first aid tent.

Great. Another annoying couple.

“Seriously?” Cara said before Topper could even start complaining. “I’d say 100% blind, considering he believed Ruthie to be good company.”

A baffled laugh escaped Rafe’s lips (shit, maybe your friend wasn’t all that bad). He could even see you out of the corner of his eye suppressing a chuckle beside him.

Idiot Topper sulked, raising the cool pad back to his cheek. “She asked me to go join them, so I did. Would you guys have preferred I cuddled up to one of you?”

“Fuck no,” Rafe shot back in sharp disbelief, only to glance at you as you kicked him gently under the table. Your eyes said something along the lines of “Remember what we talked about.”

Aw, shit. Right. He’d promised you earlier he’d show some remorse toward Topper (why the hell had he agreed to that again?).

Eugh. Rafe didn’t wanna do that shit. Saying anything remotely apologetic out loud would mean he’d be submitting to fucking Topper of all people. That guy was a whiny little bitch, and Rafe had no intention of giving him any kind of satisfaction. Especially since there was still a chance he’d been involved in that Ruthie bullshit.

But for you? Rafe would do it. He owed you that much.

So before Kelce could open his mouth to say some shit like Could’ve squeezed in between me and Molly, blah blah she’s wonderful, blah blah, Rafe gathered all his strength and willpower, ffurrowed his brows, and said, “But you could’ve joined some other chick in the front rows. Would’ve spared you that unfortunate bruise.”

What?

He’d said what you asked of him, but everyone still looked at him like he was speaking in riddles. Especially Topper—squinting like he couldn’t make sense of Rafe’s words. The fuck.

“I think he’s trying to say he would’ve rather not hit you,” you said with a smile.

Hah. See. You always knew what to say. Why even make Rafe do it?

Then came another kick to his leg, followed by you giving him that way-too-sweet smile and raised eyebrows. “Right?”

Not just a Crazyhead, but a stubborn one too. Alright.

Rafe didn’t wanna drag this unnecessary topic out any longer, so he just nodded, reluctant as hell. “Uh-huh. Yeah, sure.”

That's all Topper was getting. And thank god, that idiot just responded with a slight smile and a nod. “Maybe next time, though, let me know what’s wrong before going all in.”

Rafe almost laughed out loud. If he’d gone all in, Topper would be in the hospital right now. But sure, let this idiot believe whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Yeeaahhh,” Hall said, curling her lips and raising her brows directly at Rafe. “I meaaaan, what did happen?”

Oh, you’d been right about this one too. Your nosy friend being nosy. Fucking great.

Funny enough, Molly shot her an uncharacteristically sharp side-eye. Aight, those chicks had definitely been chatting behind Rafe’s back, and he was willing to bet their whole convo was sitting in that stupid little girlie group chat he’d caught a glimpse of earlier.

Rafe rubbed his jaw in annoyance and leaned back against the cushioned backrest, his left arm resting behind your shoulders. “Some fucker decided to annoy me mid-movie and I had to take care of a few things. Shit’s solved now.”

Kelce raised his brows. “Who—”

“Ruthie?” your best friend blurted out.

Shit, what. How had she— what the fuck. How had both of you caught on that fast?

Rafe furrowed his brows, scratching at the label on his flask. For some reason, he felt the sudden urge to play with your bracelet, but he resisted. Instead, he said, “Yeah, but like I said, I took care of it.”

No point denying what everyone already seemed to know. Not that they needed to know he was knee-deep in that shit.

“So that’s why she left,” Topper muttered, looking like some sulky crybaby. “Just giggled to Gracie and Samantha and then dipped. Didn’t think she’d talk to you.”

Just drop this shit already, Jesus Christ. Hadn’t Rafe literally just said it was dealt with?

Kelce nodded. “Must’ve been something bad, the way you stormed off your seat.”

Shit, him too now?

Rafe could feel how this was making you uncomfortable, the way you quietly fidgeted with the straw in your drink. Your brain probably spiraling again over the whole fact of Rafe leaving you behind.

Alright, fuck that. You two didn’t come here for some kind of interrogation.

“I said it’s been handled,” Rafe repeated, sharper now. “So quit pissing me off. Had enough of this shit tonight.”

Luckily for them, everyone shut the hell up. Otherwise, Rafe might’ve actually crashed the fuck out.

“O-kayyy,” Hall said with a tight smile, blinking as she clasped her hands. “Sooo, how did everyone like the movies?”

Great. Female Kelce, apparently.

At least that finally shifted the convo to something that didn’t involve Rafe, Ruthie, or Rafe and Ruthie.

And since he was done talking for the night, Rafe just relaxed in his seat, took a sip of this cheap-ass pogue beer, and listened to whatever the idiots at this table—and you—were chatting about. Occasionally, he’d throw in a comment.

Whenever you giggled at something, he soaked it all the way up, letting himself smile along when you started rambling about which Barbie movie was your favorite as a kid (fucking Kelce joining in for some reason).

And when Rafe caught himself absentmindedly toying with the fabric of your dress near your shoulder—somehow calming to his brain—he cursed himself for doing that in public. But he didn’t stop. You didn’t seem to mind.

As a matter of fact, you didn’t even pull away when Rafe rested his knee against yours—just needed to scoot closer after Kelce decided to manspread for no goddamn reason (though Rafe was pretty sure that grin Kelce shot him was confirmation he did that on purpose).

Fuckass.

Annoying as hell, but Kelce always knew how to be the best wingman when Rafe needed it (not that he needed it with you as he had no intention of using you for a hookup, okay!). Maybe that dumbass really was the closest thing Rafe had to a best friend (god, what were you doing to him, making him think in cringe-ass terms like that).

“…and when Ryan Gosling showed his abs I was like—” your friend babbled, stopping mid-sentence when her phone rang with the loudest, most annoying ringtone ever (some Nicki Minaj song). “Oh wait, Sarah’s calling.”

Fuck no. Absolutely not. Rafe already knew what she wanted.

“We’re literally at the bar,” Hall said, looking around. “Girl, you stupid? Yeah, wait, no—turn the other way. No, not—there. Pope spotted us.” She waved, then blinked at whatever Sarah said next, glancing at Rafe for a second. “Uh, yeah.” Then to him: “Can they come over or are you gonna kill them?”

Rafe’s whole body tensed at the idea of Sarah and her shitty pogue rats joining their table. Hell no. Now she wanted to infiltrate his friend group too? That was the last straw.

“I’m sure they’ll find another table,” he said dryly, earning a few blinks in return and a “Come on, dude” from Kelce.

Cara turned back to her call, babbling on, but Rafe’s focus shifted the moment you turned to him. His expression softened instantly when he saw your almost disappointed face.

You tilted your head slightly and said quietly, “They’re not as bad as you think.”

“What, you want them here?” Rafe scoffed, irritation bubbling. The way you were getting close with Sarah and her fuckass friends really didn’t sit right with him.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you replied softly, making Rafe frown while Hall continued loudly yapping in the background.

Oh hell no, he didn’t—

“But if I’m honest,” you continued, voice still quiet, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips, “I also wouldn’t mind if we dipped.”

Rafe blinked, twisting the fabric of your dress between his fingers. “You wanna leave?”

“No, I mean—yeah,” you said with an awkward chuckle. “This whole night’s been kinda a lot and I could use some desocializing.”

Oh. So you wanted to go home.

A sinking feeling spread in Rafe’s stomach almost instantly, disappointment settling deep in his bones. He didn’t want to leave. Or go home. Or say goodbye to you. Not yet.

The frown came naturally. “And how exactly do you plan on getting home? We all came with Topper’s—”

“No, no,” you cut in with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I don’t mean home-home. I actually thought we could, you know… I mean I liked our little drive-around last night. Thought maybe we could repeat that or something.”

So desocializing only meant ditching the annoying idiots—not him.

Ha.

Rafe grinned. “Same question. How you planning to get away from here? Unless you feel like stealing a car.”

That made your face light up, and something warm and electric bloomed in Rafe’s chest.

“There’s this app called Uber,” you said, laughing.

Rafe wrinkled his nose. “Oh fuck that, I don’t—”

“I think you can go ahead and call them over, Cara,” Kelce announced from Rafe’s right, making both of you snap your heads around. “Looks like these two are making space.”

Fucker had been eavesdropping.

Cara blinked, Molly giggled, and Topper gave you a raised brow. Then your friend’s face twisted into the biggest grin like she’d just won Miss America.

“Okii,” she chimed, turning back to her phone. “Come over, babes.”

Alright, that was enough. If Rafe had to sit through more of this bullshit—or see Sarah and her little pogue crew crowding into his space—he was gonna lose it.

So before he had to deal with his nosy-ass sister and her swamp rats, he nudged your shoulder with a quiet “Let’s go,” urging you to move.

Which, thankfully, you did, with an awkward chuckle and your bag slung over your shoulder. Rafe grabbed your jacket off the hook at the table and turned to the four grinning idiots now watching the two of you.

“Have fun,” Molly said first with a soft smile, shifting over to sit next to Kelce.

That idiot’s grin deepened as he threw an arm around her and waved. “Don’t go too crazy though.”

Shut the fuck up.

Topper only nodded with a “See you tomorrow,” while your friend hopped up to hug you goodbye like a buzzing hamster.

“Have fun, remember what JJ said yesterday, and love you,” she said as she pulled away, making Rafe wonder what the fuck that pogue rat had told you.

You just nodded, a little overwhelmed. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Love you too, C.” Then turned to the others. “You guys enjoy the rest of the night. See you at school.”

And before another round of cringe goodbyes could start, Rafe placed his hand on your lower back and nudged you toward the exit, turning around one last time. “Yeah, yeah. Hope you all have the time of your lives hanging out with fuckass swamp rats.”

“Hey, you better shut up,” your friend replied with the least intimidating glare Rafe had ever seen. “Or else we’ll be having a nice little chat about how to behave properly around women.”

Now Rafe got why her and Barry got along so well apparently. Throwing threats around like confetti.

Whatever.

He just grimaced at her, and finally, you started moving, clutching your bag and laughing under your breath.

Once you’d made it out of the venue, Rafe helped you into your jacket, even took your purse because despite what that loudmouthed boxer-friend had said, Rafe knew how to be a gentleman when he wanted to.

Hell, he even called the fuckass Uber himself, held the door open for you as you slipped inside, and tipped that old lady driving well enough that she could probably take three days off next week.

And when you’d arrived at your place, Rafe held the fucking door open for you again—of course—and even took charge of driving your dad’s shiny white Corvette (fucking hell of a beauty, by the way), because there was no way in hell he was gonna let you drive, especially not after you’d had a drink.

You did protest, since he’d done coke earlier (and half a beer), but that shit had already been processed by his system and Rafe could drive a car blindfolded if he wanted to.

“Okay, Leclerc,” you said with dry amusement as you handed him the keys. “But just know my dad’s gonna kill you if you put even the tiniest scratch on his car.”

Honestly, that did make Rafe’s nerves spark for a second, but more than that, it snapped him more sober. So, a win.

And as the two of you climbed into the car (after Rafe had held the door open for you again, obviously), he let out an excited chuckle as the Corvette’s engine rumbled through the garage, sounding almost as beautiful as your laugh.

“So,” he said with a crooked grin as he pulled out of the driveway, “where do you wanna go and desocialize?” (Rafe hadn't even known that fucking term existed)

Oh no. That cheeky smile of yours did not mean anything good.

“Kinda feeling like a McFlurry right now.”

Rafe almost cried out loud at the thought of having to steer your dad’s precious Corvette through the tiny-ass McDonald’s drive-thru.

But he wasn’t fucking whiny Topper, so he just forced a smile and said in a mockingly polite tone, “Sure. Whatever the lady desires.”

And the sweet laugh that escaped your lips after that made it almost worth the risk of scratching your dad’s goddamn Corvette in a shitty-ass McDonald's drive-thru.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[synity]

Hiii I really love your works ! So when hoshi said in his birthday live that people who went through a break up will relate to his new song 'i want you back' can you write some heavy angst about break up with hoshi ? Like why him and reader broke up and their POVs and how they reconcile ( if it's a happy ending ) You can decide whether it is a happy or a sad ending . Thank you so much for reading ! Have a great day ❤️

ALL THE STARS

(Kwon Soonyoung x FemReader)

*Heavy Angst | Two Months Post Break-Up*

It had been 64 days.

Sixty-four days since you last saw Hoshi in person. Sixty-four days since the door to your apartment shut quietly behind him, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne and a coffee mug still half-full on the kitchen counter.

You thought the pain would dull with time. Instead, it crystallized. Clearer. Sharper. The kind of ache that visits you in the silence between songs or in the laugh of someone who doesn’t look anything like him, but reminds you of the way he used to throw his head back when he found something truly funny.

You told yourself you wouldn’t watch his birthday live. But there he was, on your screen. Bright smile. Bed hair. Holding a cake with candles that melted wax too fast.

Then he said it:

"People who have gone through a breakup might relate to my new song."

Your heart stalled. It wasn't just a song. It was a confession. A time capsule. A letter folded too many times.

I want you back.

You couldn’t breathe.

Two Months Ago

You’d been unraveling for weeks.

Missed calls. Short replies. Cancelled dinners.

"I feel like a placeholder. Like something you visit between your real life." you say "You know how much is on my plate. I’m trying." he says exhausted

"Trying isn't loving."

He stared at you, eyes not angry, just... tired. Then he left.

No slamming door. No dramatics. Just the sound of absence beginning.

He never stopped checking your page.

You hadn’t posted. Not in weeks. The last one was a blurry sky and the caption "Still learning how to breathe in storms."

He stared at it often.

He poured every ounce of ache into his solo. The bridge broke him. Vocals cracked. His producer called it authentic. He called it embarrassing.

But he didn’t delete it. Just like he didn’t delete the folder in his phone labeled with your name.

When the fan-sign ended, he stepped off stage exhausted.

Then he saw you.

You. Hoodie on. Bouquet in hand. Hair slightly damp from the rain. Every nerve in his body went static.

"Why are you here?" he asked, voice low.

You swallowed. "Happy late birthday."

He didn’t move. You stepped forward, gently holding out the flowers. He stared at your trembling hand. His own reached out before he could stop it.

"You’re shaking," he murmured.

"I’m terrified," you whispered. "But I needed to say everything I didn’t get to say that night."

You sat across from each other. A table between you, too small to carry the weight of everything left unsaid.

"I was selfish," you started, voice barely there. "I wanted more of you than you could give."

He shook his head slowly. "I gave you leftover seconds, thinking they were enough. That wasn’t fair."

Silence again. Not sharp. Just... quiet.

Then

"Do you still love me?" he asked.

You looked up, eyes glassy. "That never stopped."

His breath caught. "Then can we try again? Slowly. For real this time."

A blurry Instagram photo: your hands, holding a coffee mug. His hoodie sleeve visible near your elbow.

"Sometimes storms clear, and the sky is worth waiting for."

Or...

You didn’t bring the flowers home. You left them in his dressing room.

A note tucked inside:

"You gave me your best. I just needed your whole. I hope the world loves your heart like I did."

That night, during his solo stage, Hoshi looked directly into the crowd.

He sang the bridge like it was goodbye.

And maybe... it was.

Before anyone comes at me or feels disappointed, I just want to be honest: I'm also not proud of what I wrote here. I know it is short, underwhelming, or even boring compared to what you expected or compared to other stories I’ve written in the past. I really debated even posting this, but I decided to share it anyway because I believe that not everything we create has to be perfect or groundbreaking to matter. Sometimes, writing is a way to process emotion, even if the outcome doesn’t live up to our own standards or your expectations. I promise I’m not trying to waste your time, and if this piece didn’t reach you the way you hoped, I truly apologize. Please be gentle. I’m still learning, still growing, and I’m doing my best to create a space that’s open, kind, and safe for everyone who finds their way here. Thank you so much for reading, for understanding, and for being here with me even in the moments when I stumble a little

[chiara-hotel]

HSR Characters x Reader with a cat who is exactly like them Characters: The Herta, Anaxa, Dr Ratio, Mydei Request:therta/ratio/anaxa dating a reader who has a cat and they are literally the same person? the color of the fur matches the color of their hair, the cat is strangely intelligent, and even their expressions mirror at times. itd be even funnier if the cat is used to delivering reader's love letters to the characters

✧ Herta would absolutely love your cat

✧ A pet who looks and acts like you? That's adorable to her! Herta loves it whenever she sees it, as they are a daily reminder of you

✧ So much so that she has many things in her lab for your cat, food, treats, beds, litter boxes, anything your cat could ever dream of, they'd have it

✧ Herta picks them out from deciding if you'd like them or not

✧ Herta adores grooming your cat to perfection, maybe not the bathing part, but brushing its fur is soothing to her

✧ If you're busy and your cat is the only thing accompanying her at the moment, then she'll gladly brush its fur or pet it, just hang out with it in general (unless she's busy of course)

✧ Especially if your cat brings along messages to her, she always has some ready to send them back with them

✧ Anaxa finds your cat and yourself a worthy thing to study

✧ He finds it interesting how similar your mannerisms are; he might do the same things to both of you just to test how similar you both are

✧ Because in his eyes, how is it possible that someone and their pet are almost the exact same?

✧ Anaxa is also someone to spoil your pet; he loves the dromas, so I believe that he'd also enjoy the company of other pets as well

✧ Since your cat is also very smart, it can help decide some opinions (and he will take your cat's opinion very seriously)

✧ Anaxa always loves it whenever your cat comes to find him, letters in hand or not

✧ If your cat didn't bring any letters, Anaxa might give them some food and hang out with them for a bit

✧ If your cat brought something along with it, he'll give them extra treats for delivering it for you

✧ Dr Ratio at first claims that he doesn't care for your cat, it's just an extension of you, but will tolerate it just for you

✧ That is, until the two of them are alone and Dr. Ratio is all over the cat, petting it, feeding it, and so on

✧ Especially once he realizes that it's your split image, even down to your mannerisms, he becomes a lot closer to the cat because they remind him of you (and he loves you)

✧ Though he will be confused how in the world your pet is exactly like you, same hair colour, same expressions, how is that even possible? Its a rare case indeed

✧ It's even better if it brings letters, because that way he's reminded of you & he 100% will write letters back

✧ Mydei loves cuddling your cat, it lies softly on his chest, the soft fur can be felt as he pets it as well

✧ Biggest cuddler with your cat, if you aren't available to cuddle and you send your cat over instead, he will start cuddling with it

✧ Since you both are similar, he'll find it comforting and a reminder of you

✧ Phainon definitely helps him write love letters whenever your cat visits, you've already sent many, and he loves the idea

✧ Mydei also has a small area in his room (probably on the wall) where he keeps your letters

[chaoticnezz]

★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.· Glue ·.·`¯´·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★

You were never the first choice, but you were his.<3333 The reader is implied to be fem, I never state whether or not the reader is Yuu, that's up for you to decide .

♡angst/comfort.

♡For the sake of the story, Night Raven is an intersex school :p

★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★.·´¯`·.·★.·´¯`·.·★

Frustrated, you felt utterly humiliated and frustrated. Everyone knew. They all saw how lovestruck you were. Hell, they even saw how much you followed him like a loyal dog. Maybe that's why you couldn't help but feel humiliated as you watched him and your best friend walk hand in hand down the hallway with a smile on their faces. You couldn't bring yourself to hate her. You knew that she didn't do this on purpose. But that doesn't mean that it still didn't sting.

I mean, in all honesty, you were never the first choice, not at home and now not even at night raven college. Perhaps you just lacked something compared to others. Was it looks, personality, charm? Whatever it was, you didn't know. Wincing you looked down, now recognizing the stinging sensation in your palms. "Damnit." You quickly looked away from the couple and started to speed walk towards Ramshackle. You were mostly going to Ramshackle to tend to your wounds, but too, also hide. After all, nobody visited you anyway.

As you approached Ramshackle, your eyes began to sting. You gave up on walking, and you broke out into a sprint. You didn't want to be seen by others. You slammed the door open, and you just couldn't hold it back anymore. Tears began to pour out of your eyes as your vision fully blurred. Running towards your room, you felt your chest getting heavy and legs starting to tremble. You weren't even able to make it to your bed before your legs gave out. Sitting on the floor, you just began to sob, your sobbing getting louder and louder with every passing second. Your wails echoed off the walls. Maybe that's why you didn't hear the door open.

Riddle Rosehearts, also known as the mad Tyrant of Heartslabyul. Maybe his Titles were why you avoided him. Maybe he intimidated you, or you just didn't like him. Whatever it was, he couldn't say the same about himself. Somehow, your paths always crossed. The one thing that you weren't expecting was for him to slam your dorm door open. "Y/n, it's not becoming of a Night Raven college student to skip cla- oh dear..."

Riddle had seen your speed walk off of campus. He thought that you were trying to skip, so he ran after you. However, when he opened your door in hopes of catching you skipping, he instead caught sight of you on the floor tears pouring out of your eyes like an endless waterfall. What on earth could have not only made you skip class but also cry this much. He felt his heart throb at the sight of your tears and red puffy eyes. He would make sure to punish those who hurt you for breaking a rule, of course. However, first, he needs to. He catches the sight of ruby red blood staining your hand.

At first, he didn't know what to do. He had never been comforted before. He most definitely knew nothing about how to comfort someone. However, after seeing the blood on your palms, he decided to tend to your wounds first. He grabbed your hand so gently that even you thought you were fragile. Since his mother wanted him to be a doctor , he wanted to be a doctor since that's what's best for him. Anyways he was very well versed in medical knowledge. Looking at your wound, he knows that it's not severe. However, he knows that you're still in pain.

ʚ˚«----------------------'୨ෆ୧'--------------------»˖ɞ

You were now sitting on the bed wearing your pajamas since Riddle said, "I suppose due to your mental disstress, I will allow you to stay at your dorm today." Odd, since Riddle isn't one to let rule breaking slide. You appreciate his tenderness. However, he was cleaning your palms as gently and dilligently as possible. The silence was soon broken by Riddle, "So my ro- I mean y/n. What has caused you so much distress?" You felt your eyes begin to water again as tears started to well up in your eyes once more. You didn't want to cry again, especially not in front of someone like Riddle.

You looked up to riddle. His confidence and authority were something you wished you had yourself. Maybe if you had a bit of riddles confidence you could've asked your crush out sooner. But would that even change the outcome. Even if you told him sooner, it didn't mean that he's going to automatically say yes. "Hey." You snapped out of your daze imedeantly, locking eyes with riddle before your thoughts could spiral any further. Riddle imedeantly broke eye contact before he began to speak again, "Whatever is troubling you can wait. You don't have to tell me immediately what's wrong right now. Just know that im always here to listen to if you need." You starred at him, Riddle isn't one to lie for someone's comfort. He meant it. He actually meant it. This is theres and first time you've heard such genuine words from well anyone. Especially being in a new world without a family of your own. It felt nice. Maybe "Its -------." Your voice came out hoarse and rough due to all the tears you've shed earlier.

"Hm? That's a pomefiore student, right?" Riddle talked almost talked like he didn't know the rumors that were currently circulating around the school. Maybe he didn't. After all riddles a housewarden, he wouldn't have time to indulge in such silly things like rumors. Perhaps that thought made you relax a bit. And soon, all the words came fumbling out. About how you really loved him and how cruel it felt for him to date your best friend. And how no matter who it is, they always seem to choose your friend over you. Except as you told him this, you didn't cry. You didn't feel sad anymore. Honestly, you didn't know what you felt, but it wasn't happy.

"Ah, so that's what this is about." He didn't sound disappointed he just sounded like he was listening and understood where you were coming from. You knew Riddle wasn't that good with emotions, especially after his overblot. But it was obvious that he was trying to make me feel better. You flopped backward onto your pillow and let your hand cover your eyes. "You know." Riddles' voice once again broke the silence this time softer. "You're wasting tears on him right now, but.. He's making her smile right now. That's a horrid thought, i know, but why continue to cry over someone who doesn't care or at least never cared about you. Im sorry. im horrible with words."

You let riddles' words sink in. As harsh as he was, he had a point. There was no reason for you to cry over him anymore. That was going to be easier said than done, however. You felt riddles hand grab yours, his hands intertwined in yours. "But you're not alone. I'll help through the healing journey and even after." Thanks to the hand covering your face, you couldn't see how red riddle was. He was fine not letting his feelings get acknowledged yet. Right now, his main priority was you. We'll it was always you, but that's not important right now. What's important is that Riddle is going to stay by your side for as long as possible. Hell, he'd even glue himself to you if he had to. He stared at you with hearts in eyes as you drifted off to sleep. He'd deal with that pomefiore student once you started to feel better.

[imaginedreamwrite]

For stalker weekend: ghost sees you across the road helping a stray animal and just decides that this sweet person must be protected at all costs who cares if you have a significant other already don’t you know that your now ghost’s please please please

For weeks he saw you here and there, just enough to spark mild curiosity for Simon. A nosy bastard, apparently, because everytime he saw you he has grown a little more interested. He started a trend of paying more attention, of watching when he probably shouldn’t have, of being more invested in the pretty face than what was warranted.

Naivety—something he once found so utterly mind numbing, had shifted to something desirable. He first saw you when you started moving in across the street from him. You moved into a row of flats and houses that were cut between a busy road, a single bedroom flat that sat across the street from his own place.

The selflessness of someone who would willingly step out onto a road to save a small creature like a kitten, normally would have made him scoff.

Idiot, he would have claimed, while the woman saved the cat from eventual death. But now he’s straddling his bike across the street, watching this woman tucking the little cat into her coat.

Idiot still rang out in his head, but no longer than necessary before a different track took hold. When a man bigger than you had started calling you a brainless cunt for stepping out into traffic, Simon felt himself getting engaged. The kitten was still tucked in your coat and you were finding yourself staring down this man who was yelling at you.

Arsehole, was what Simon thought you mumbled to that man hellbent on yelling at you, but he couldn’t be sure. And as the man continued to yell, Simon acted with intensity. He ripped across the street on his bike and came to a dead stop by you an the other man, the roar of his motorcycle cutting through the argument.

“The fuck you want, huh?” The aggressiveness of this little fucker who called you a cunt for saving the kitten, had also kickstarted an aggressive reaction within Simon.

“Cut the fuckin’ attitude with the bird.” Simon cut the engine of his motorcycle and stepped off, wedging himself between you and the aggressive prat. “Fuck you got against her?”

“Stepping out in front of a vehicle for a damn cat? Cunt wants to be run over-”

“It’s a kitten!” You looked around Simon’s large body to yell at the asshole, cradling that innocent kitten to your chest. “You’d have run it over!”

Simon looks back at you, those seeds of intrigue becoming something darker. Something along the lines of trying to get his pretty bird to shut up so Simon doesn’t have to yell, so Simon doesn’t have to fight when he’s much rather be figuring out a way to get you in his bed.

Obsessiveness, maybe, was starting to sink into his bones.

“That damn thing-”

“It’s innocent!”

“Leave the bird alone, mate.” Simon had shielded you from view, just enough so the mouthy little fucker could get a real good glimpse at the hidden threats that would’ve waited for him.

A knife, small yet sharp enough to do real damage, was tucked into Simon’s jacket. And he wouldn’t hesitate to use it, he wouldn’t think twice about teaching the bastard about mouthing off.

“Learn to control your bitch.” The man finally backed off, he drew himself away from you, not willing to cross Simon.

When he was gone, Simon looked back at you. He watched you fuss over the small creature like you hadn’t just about gotten into a fight over it. Like you were its mother and not some stranger that just found it.

All that time spent watching you, observing you as his new across the street neighbour and this was the defining moment. This incident was the beginning of Simon’s cemented decision that you needed him to keep you safe.

He had to keep his pretty bird protected from anyone and anything who might cross you.

[wonyology]

The Years Next Door (m!reader x Babymonster's ASA) - part I

Summary: Enami Asa - one of, if not the most important person in your life - moved in next door a few years ago. You didn't know back then. It started with awkward first meeting, family dinner and dish washing duty. Looking back now, you still remember it like yesterday. When did things change between two of you? You don't know for sure - but you know that once it changed, no going back for you two.

tag(?): fluff, slice of life, first meeting, memories, soft-launch/good times before disaster strike??? (i don't know whether to end with a happy or sad ending yet) - ASA x yourself/Original Male Character

Word count: ~3.6k - i originally wanted to put out a full over 10k piece but i got too much plots in my mind to write, also i counldn't decide where to go with this story yet.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

 It was a few years ago, you don't remember exactly what day it was. The vibe, the weather of that day is still stuck with you until this day. It was in early February 2019, one of those days when the sky decided to be funny, somehow sunny but weirdly a bit rainy. The sun was still out with some light drizzles. It wasn’t that cold but the breeze made you zip up your hoodie. You usually hate this type of weather, sticky, wet- just uncomfortable enough to make you regret going out. You could've been enjoying your Man Utd football manager save, in the comfort of your own room right now (damn my team still sucks in real life). But that fateful day? Somehow… you felt different, it was relaxing, like the world was preparing to surprise you with something.

 You were on your way home after hanging out with your dummy friend group at uncle Youngcheol's PC bang, right before the start of middle school -  your newly purchased hoodie damp, fingers still smelling faintly like that public keyboard-mouse mix. A bit gross, but comforting and familiar to be honest. And those dummies, you guys are still in touch till this day - great friends those guys. A few blocks away from home, you were thinking about asking mom to make you your favourite dish for lunch, 된장찌개 (Doenjang jjigae) - her signature dish. Just the imagination of the smell got you feeling excited. Little did you know, you were just a few meters away from meeting the girl who would completely change the trajectory of your life.

 Turning the corner onto your street, there was a moving truck parked next to your house, on the right. You live in Eungam-dong - a quiet cozy neighborhood in Seoul. It was nice, full of 2,3 story ground level houses with sleek, clean and modern design. You wouldn’t say you grew up rich, the neighborhood itself is nice-nice, not rich. Houses were seperated by low brick walls, providing sufficient privacy and warmth between neighbors. Needless to say, you had a great childhood that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world, with memories along those peaceful sidewalks. 

 “Huh, someone’s moving in?” You thought, probably a new family. You didn’t give it too much thought, just wanted to get all cozy in bed and wait for lunch.  As you got closer, mom was helping a woman with some boxes her age. And dad? He looked relaxed, happily talking to someone, in Japanese. An old friend of his, maybe? Wait… dad’s Japanese is that good? You slowed down, a bit confused.

 “Oh, would you look at that? My dear son, the crown prince himself has decided to come home after evading his errands. Welcome back, my dear boy.”. Mom jokingly glared at you, one of those you-really-ditched-housework-huh? looks.

 Mom and dad never really yelled at you. And they didn’t need to. They are loved and respected by everyone in the neighborhood. Your dad, a respected doctor at a research center in Seoul, and mom, a lovely, sweet but razor-sharp stay at home wife. Mom made sure you had your favorite Legos, those retro Man Utd kits - ONLY IF you do well in school. Dad would give you some pocket money every week and would raise his eyebrows if you did something dumb, and somehow that was scarier than any other punishments. They didn’t expect you to be perfect, they wanted you to be a real, solid man who knows how to take care of himself and everyone else. They knew what you needed throughout your childhood but made sure you earned it. They managed to raise you right by being by your side. And for that, you are thankful, your parents are the reason why you turned into the man you are today. 

 “C’mon, mom. It was just a few hours, I did clean the kitchen this morning tho.” Damn, you were such a whiny teenager.

 “Just come here and help our new neighbor, kiddo”. Welp, there went your doenjang jjigae, right down the drain. And that was it, no warning, no pausing, your life was tilted off its original path.

 Also, neighbor?  Ever since you were a kid, you were not the outgoing type. Your friends would describe you as someone who is really quiet - maybe even scary to strangers due to your resting face (can’t help that, thanks mom, dad). To be fair, you weren’t cold. Never had been, just shy and a bit introverted. If people actually take time and try to get to know you, they’d find out that you’re a great guy. Okay, that sounds like you’re just glazing yourself but that’s just the truth. It wasn’t like you hating having next door neighbors either, honestly the elder couple next door had always been really sweet to you since you were a kid. You were just… say, not in the mood for meeting new people.

 You rushed to get the box from the woman next to the woman next to your mom, not without nodding and bowing a bit to greet her. She smiled a bit, giving that same warmth your mom always has with people. 

 “Put it next to the door, please. Thanks, Joonhyuk-ah”. Oh, mom told her your name already. Her Korean was good, soft - but you caught the Japanese accent right away. You turned towards the doorway, hands holding the mysterious box which had a bit of weight to it. And there they were, three people… sisters? The two tall girls were talking to each other, stopping just to look and smile politely at you. The awkward first meeting got weirder as you tried to say hi with all the Japanese you learnt from all those years watching Captain Tsubasa, Doraemon and Detective Conan (which was horrendous by the way). They were both beautiful in their own ways, but now looking back, you really got on well with them both, no problem at all. And there she was, a slightly shorter girl standing behind them, peaking out. She was out of this world, felt like an ancient Oriental goddess from those folklores in elementary school just came to life, standing right there and slapped you in the face with that beauty. You know that feeling when you meet someone for the first time and they just look so good that you couldn’t do anything but stand there like an idiot? Yeah, that kind of beauty. You couldn’t really tell what it was or how but her nose, her eyes, and her lips just go so well together, and her long hair too. She’s got her hair short now, but man, her long hair back then still got you feeling some type of way. 

 “Uhm, hi” you stuttered, box still in hands.

 “Hey, you can leave it here”. There was something so graceful, so feminine but not in a try-hard way about her gestures. The way she smiled, the way she pointed to the right, the way she spoke Korean so well, her voice... Maybe she’s your type? You had a few crushes on girls in elementary school and all that but damn, no one had ever made you feel this way. 

 “Joonhyuk-ah, come help me with these”

 “Uh… my dad’s calling me. Hi…” why did you say hi again you idiot. 

 Trying your best not to dig another grave for yourself, you turned and jogged, awkwardly, to your dad and his friends. Despite trying your best, you couldn’t help but overthink about what the girls were giggling about.

 2 hours (?) and a few stolen glances at her later, you got home with your parents and your dad told you all about them, not without his usual mischief. The man was Mr. Enami Masaru, his old friend from university way back then - just by the tone of your dad, you could tell he was really excited about having his good old mate moving in next door. Apparently, they would also be working with each other at your dad’s research center from now on. His wife, Ms. Enami Keiko, carried the same vibe just like your mom - you were glad that she had a friend her age in your neighborhood. Their two elder children, Lisa and Chisa, are both older than you. Why do their whole family look so good? They look like they came out of a fashion ma...

 “So have you talked to Asa yet, honey? I heard she’s your age” your mom asked, snapping you back to reality.

 “Really? I thought you were born in 2005.” your dad said. You didn’t even know if he was being for real or joking.

 “C’mon, dad. It’s 2006” 

 “Oh yeah, then you’ve got yourself a new girlfriend” your parents laughed. Girlfriend? Sure she looked great, her voice was great, and her hair… her hair. 

 Maybe, just maybe, you got feelings for her. 

 “I just said hi, mom. Didn’t really know what to talk about. You know I get shy easily.” you said, crashing face first onto the family couch.

 “Better dress nice tonight, we invited them over for dinner tonight. Asa’s coming too, she’s going to your school too so try and help the lovely girl because you guys will be seeing each other for the next few years”. Great, just great. The way your mom said that so cheerfully just let you know it wasn’t going to be an easy night. 

 Seeing each other for the next few years? What did mom mean? You were already considering moving out of the neighborhood after that dumb greeting. Anything to erase that memory or reset it.

 Mom told you to be downstairs at 7. You hate people who are never on time, but you for once gave yourself a righteous excuse to be late, hoping the seats would all be taken and avoid awkward talks. But no, your mom - who seemed weirdly chippier than usual - patted the seat beside her, calling you: 

 “Joonhyuk-ah, sit sit”. 

 There Asa was, already seated next to the chair your mom was pointing at, hands politely on her laps, hair tucked behind her ear - words can’t describe how good she looked in that skirt and sweater. From that point on, you clearly knew, this girl was going to be the death of you.

 The atmosphere was cozy - dads updating each other on their lives since uni, moms exchanging dish recipes like they had known each other for years, the older sisters talking about some TV show. Which left you and Asa behind, drowning in that awkward silence. While trying to sit down, your dumb ass accidently touched her knees. And again. That’s twice, TWICE*? She didn’t even say anything, just smiled at you - your heart, now beating over 130 bpm, your body, frozen.

*I love TWICE

 Minutes went by, things had been smooth so for, apart from you two being awkward with each other. Mom’s food were great as usual, nothing to complain about, adults were mid conversation when your lovely mom decided to make your night worse, turning to Ms. Keiko who sat in front of her:

 “Our Joonie is quite a talented kid, he’s been doing taekwondo since 6” your heart hadn't felt that heavy since mom caught you gaming in the middle of a school night a few months ago, almost dropping food onto the table.

 “Oh yeah, the kid loves football too but his taekwondo is impressive. He got scouted for the national youth training program at a school competition. He’s doing great at school too. ” your dad added in with some food still in his mouth, way too proud. Mom just smacked his arms slightly, reminding him we were having guests over.

 Your eyes were straight on the food in front you, but you swear you could feel Asa turning slightly, her gaze on you.

 “Wow, that’s impressive,” Ms. Keiko said. “Our Asa’s got a lot to learn from you then.”

 You smiled at her “Oh no, it’s just okay - not that great, Ms”.

“Asa will actually be attending the same middle school as you, we’ve done all the paperwork already.” she explained with a warm smile. “She’s been learning Korean for a while back in Japan but she’s still a bit shy. It’d be wonderful if you could help our Asa out. You two would get along so well”. The way she said that made you feel some sense of responsibility, like you look like the kid who we could trust to protect our daughter from now on.

 Uhm, like, as in friends? Or… Your hearts skipped a few beats. “Of course, Ms. I’d be happy to help Asa out”.

 Your first time saying her name out loud, made her look at you again. You weren’t aware but she was slightly blushing then, her sisters noticed tho. You tried to reach for some water but accidentally knocked your spoon into her bowl. Great, just great. Your misery just only started.

 Lisa and Chisa started giggling - the sibling teasing kind of giggle, the worst kind. “Day 1 in Korea and you already have a boyfriend, Asa-chan”. Lisa said in Japanese while reaching for the fruits, with Chisa and their mother politely smiling. The dads, lost in their own world. You don’t speak Japanese but you knew for sure it had something to do with you. Asa’s blush returned quickly, trying to shut her sisters’ banter down with a glare but it didn’t really work.

 Dinner went by quick, thankfully. You volunteered to do the dishes, not only out of hospitality but also wanting to catch a breath. The families gathered in the living room, reminiscing over dad’s old memories and hideous looking university photos in your family’s faded photobook. Speaking of university, what’d you do with your life when you get to uni? You didn’t give it much thought at that point, all you did was study, eat, taekwondo, game, repeat. Academic stuff wasn’t your priority back then, it was just that you happened to be goo-

 “Hi” a quiet, soothing voice pulled you back to earth. Asa came by your side, rolling up her sleeves while smiling, eyes not quite looking at yours. “I’ll help”

 “Oh it’s okay. I can do this by my-”  “But it’s boring in the living room. I want to help you” now her eyes were really looking at  you. You weren’t imagining or hallucinating but was she… pouting? Also, since when did you two start speaking in 반말*? 

*반말/banmal - casual speech used to talk to friends, people who you feel close with. Not formal, not stiff

 She didn’t ask, you awkward self certainly didn’t either. It just kinda happened. And honestly, it felt nice.

 “Uhm, yeah. Thanks” you smiled back at her, still awkward but a good first step. You were on washing duty, hers was drying. For a moment, you guys didn’t say anything but it didn’t feel wrong, it felt warm, nice. Laughter came occasionally from the living room. Right then, you wished her hands would touch yours, even just for a little bit.  Gathering up all your saved up courage in the system, you decided to break the ice. “Your Korean is really good.” you said, in moderate volume as you didn’t want anyone hearing.

 “I’m glad you think it’s good.” She paused mid-dry, lips slowly forming a smile. “I practiced really hard to sound native… I don’t want to sound weird when school starts”

 “No, It’s great. Don’t think too much about it”.

 “Thanks… Joonhyuk-ah.” She looked at you again, now a bit longer. Oh shit, did she just say your name?

 The two of you kept the same position, repeating the same actions, unaware of how comfortable you had grown.

 “So, are you excited for school?”

 She thought for a bit. “I guess, studying in a new country feels weird”.

 “Yeah, it must be tiring for you. The kids at school are ok, not that bad.”

 “Do you like school?”

 “Depends on the day and my mood, I guess.” That made her chuckle - which sounded like heaven to your ears.

 “I really appreciate you wanting to help me out, I felt really nervous before moving here.”

 “It’s nice having you right next door, maybe we could go to school together everyday.”

 She looked at you, feeling touched, surprised maybe - but you were just trying to finish the last dishes without thinking too much about what you said.

 As the last dishes went into the rack, you both stood there, neither wanting to leave.

 You glanced at the living room and cleared your throat. “So, can I have your Kakao?”

 She blinked at you. “Instagram works too. It’d be easier for us to… you know, talk or text there. Help with school, or anything you want…”

 She didn’t answer with words. Lovely smile on her face as she reached for her phone in her pocket.

 “You can add me here.” your fingers brushed together as you tried to hold the phone to see it clearer,

 “Looks like you’re quite famous on Insta.” you joked.

 “Oh that… they’re just friends back from Japan. I just told pretty much everyone to follow me since I would be moving to Japan.” she smiled softly while trying to explain. “It feels less lonely that way”

 “I don’t really know how to explain it… but I’m sure you will meet nice friends here too. Might be a bit hard at first but I’m here to help.” She then nodded, the faint sadness on her face disappeared.

 “Do you want to go out together?” … “Not like that, you know, like-i could show you around the neighborhood, tomorrow? Get you up to date with everything around here.”

 Her smile came back this time, a bit fuller. “That’s nice. I’d really like that”

 Just right when you decided to say something, your mom called the both of you into the living room, must be time for dessert. Your moment together ended, but the feeling stayed with you that night.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

A FEW HOURS LATER

 You were cozy in bed, phone in hand - best feeling ever.

 You had been like this for over 40 minutes now - scrolling through her Instagram. There were only about over 20 photos but something in your head made sure you had to get every detail in those photos. Of her.

 You then decided to open up Kakao, tapping on her name. Her profile picture, gorgeous. Her background photo, the sky somewhere in Japan maybe? The tones really suited her. Her caption, which was in Japanese, confused the hell out of you. Must have been some kind of quote or life motto, gotta be that. Were you acting like a weirdo, staring at her social media like this? 

 Suddenly, your phone buzzed.

[아사]

hey, are you still up?

 You weren’t hesitating at all.

[you]

still up, can’t really sleep tbh.

[아사]

same. sleeping in Korea feels weird. ㅋㅋㅋ

 Cute - you thought to yourself.

[you]

uhm, really? 

[아사] sent you a photo.

 It was a screenshot of your… contact on Kakao. Why did she send it? Oh -  your name, it was [준혁선베🥋] (Joonhyuk sunbae🥋… sunbae huh? Must have been because of that thing both your moms mentioned at the dinner table - but the typo made your heart want to jump right out)

 You froze for a bit, heart fluttering - unsure how to reply.

[you]

that’s me? 

[아사]

응, do you like it?

 Of course I like it, hell maybe I like you right now but I can’t just say it, right?

[you] that’s great. but i’m not your sunbae, we’re the same age. also, it’s 선배 with a 배, not 베 tho ㅎㅎㅎㅎ

 Your dumbass thought she was still a bit confused about the sunbae-hoobae thing.

[아사]

i knew something was off ㅜㅜ so embarrassing

i knowww. it’s just like a joke since you will be helping me out from now on, right?

[준혁선베🥋]

ㄱㅊㄱㅊ (it’s okay). no big deal 

yeah, i’m here to help

 You didn’t think much. You rushed to change her name right away, just before capturing it and sending it to her.

You sent a photo.

[김아사🌸]

kim asa? 

hmm. 

why is there a cherry blossom next to it?

[준혁선베🥋]

i mean, you speak Korean really well, so kim asa fits. the cherry blossom is… 

i just think spring suits you well.

[김아사🌸]

that’s nice sunbae ㅋㅋ

 Right then, you didn’t know what possessed you. Your fingers ran right over to the emoticon shop and chose one that suits her the most. There it was, Loopy. It cost you a bit but hey, anything to make her smile right? You sent along with a message: welcome to Korea gift ㅋㅋ

[김아사🌸]

??? 

oh you don’t have to omg 

[준혁선베🥋]

but i wanted to, it’s cute too

 Asa then sent you an emoticon of Loopy. blushing and waving.

[김아사🌸]

you’re nice sunbae

this one looks like you ㅎㅎㅎ

 You’re nice…. I’m nice…. Cupid just shot you right in the heart with those words. You stopped for a few minutes. No thoughts, no words, just pure happiness in your system.

 You watched her chat bubble. “typing…” it came and went, came and went.

 You waited. 5 minutes passed.

 12:46AM - you went in to check her profile once again. Still nothing.

 Asa must had been sleeping already, leaving you with all these never-felt-before emotions.

 “this one looks like you ㅎㅎㅎ”

 Well, at least you two got to meet up tomorrow…

 You kept smiling, the sleeping lamp light’s glow felt weird tonight, in a good way… Maybe something in your life changed, for the better.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

So uh, yeah, my first piece, really hope you guys enjoy it - might be a few mistakes here and there but, please give me reviews/suggestions. Thank you very much ❤️❤️❤️. Big shout out to @stewpidcheescatarinabluu, @usedpidemo, @barnacles34, @erospandemos - who inspired me to get into writing. also, how do i get more interaction ㅠㅠㅠㅠ?

[humanmorph]

fatt pin-up week 2: intimacy

a room & a bed

version from before i started messing with the bg & overlay colors (<- what a pain!!!). i like this one too.

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[slytherinboysvip]

Imagine best friend Mattheo being absolutely obsessed with his innocent little Hufflepuff bsf but she just can’t tell. Everyone else knows, and it is quite obvious, but she just can’t think someone like him would want someone like her. But when she jokingly says she’s gonna get Cedric to take her virginity he decides it’s time he came clean.

Possibly with some soft smut if you are comfortable with it of course

bsf mattheo riddle x hufflepuff reader

hopefully this matches your request <3 i’ll most likely make a part 2 for this because.. you’ll see ;) 3.5k words

you lived a rather simple uncomplicated life, attending hogwarts as a hufflepuff with no interest in anyone’s drama. though you kept to yourself most times you tried to be nice to all your peers maintaining your classic hufflepuff demeanor, despite this there was one thing that was different about you.

you see, you didn’t see or understand why people don’t like other houses just because of “house rivalry” especially the students who weren’t even participating in any sports or point winning. and with this over your years though you had few friends you had one best friend who at first seemed rather impossible to be friends with.. mattheo riddle.

when you two met you were a fourth year and him a fifth, coincidentally you were going on to a few friends about your annoyance with people automatically assuming the worst of slytherin even though you yourself weren’t in their house or nearly like one. mattheo overheard this heated- adorable voice coming from behind him and he walked towards you carefully.

he sat down in front of you beside your friend as she gawked faces towards you at his presence. “you don’t think we’re too mean, huh?” he questioned small laugh leaving his lips. “i just think that some people are misunderstood and just because some wizards turned out bad doesn’t mean all of them in your house are” you looked at him answering his question with ease

he smirked in amusement and leaned a little closer to you “hm, hufflepuff eh? what year are you puff?” he sat back examining you and you didn’t fail to notice that nickname he slipped in “fourth year but i have an early birthday which is annoying because i could technically be out sooner” you sighed ignoring his staring.

“well, seeing as it’s ravenclaw against gryffindor do you wanna watch the quidditch game with me i know the best view” he stood up and held his hand out for you, you look towards your friends and they’re both nodding their heads for you to go so you did.

from that point on you and mattheo had been best friends, sadly he was in his seventh year and now you in your sixth nothing much had changed in your life. living vicariously through mattheo and his stories about slytherin parties and how you should go to one with him before it’s too late, he’d tell you about his sexual adventures and your jaw would drop everytime.

you yourself also confided in him though with much less interesting things, telling him how you feel unlikeable by guys sometimes because they never try to get or talk to you, or how you feel lonely because you’ve never had a a boyfriend before. hed always help soothe the thoughts away, telling you that it’s only your brain making those things up , “listen y/n, anyone who doesn’t love you is fucking insane”.

𓆙

talking to your friend zarah who’d been there since day one you always told her what you told matt, for the most part. “i just don’t get why nobody is interested in me zar, like am i genuinely that ugly” you plopped onto your bed sighing dramatically. “you’re not ugly and if you think no guys want you you’re blind i know one in particular that really, really wants you” she giggled.

you looked at her with a confused expression “i must be missing something because i have no idea who you’re talking about” you awaited her response and she just rolled her eyes and sighed “girl your practically boyfriend of a best friend you do everything with” she gave you a duh look and you just laughed. you genuinely couldn’t believe she’d even think he’d like you especially with all the girls he’d been with, “you’re hilarious, we both know he doesn’t want me he wants all the girls he tells me about” you started to compose yourself but zarah’s expression didn’t change.

“you literally must be blind y/n do you need glasses? or should i say puff? let’s talk about how that man hasn’t stopped calling you that pet name since you’ve met.. he’s in love” she rolled her eyes raising her hands in the air. “i still don’t think he wants me so there’s no convincing me” you shrugged her off and she groaned getting up and leaving your shared dorm.

𓆙

“puff you gotta come to this party, slytherin won agains gryffindor i just know this is gonna be the party you want to go to pleaseee” mattheo put his hands on your shoulders shaking you “fiinee” you attempted to answer between shakes before he let you go “if i would’ve known it was that easy i would’ve done that years ago” he rolled his eyes.

“anyways it’s tonight at like 8 so i’ll just get you from your dorm at like 7 do you think they’ll let me in? actually what’s the password?” he didn’t give you time to finish any of your sentences before you just gave him the password “butterscotch” you whispered, in response mattheo laughed “fucking butterscotch merlin that’s hilarious” you looked up at him and rolled your eyes walking away.

“i’ll see you at 7 puff” he yelled across the hall and you just gave a thumbs up and continued walking. you honestly were quite nervous seeing as you’ve never necessarily been to a party before, you’ve made small appearances at hufflepuff parties but you’ve heard they don’t even compare to slytherin.

making your way into your dorm you spot zarah and you pull her up from the common room couch “i finally said yes to a party need help now” you quickly mumbled and she quickened her pace “when does it start girl i need the info right this second come on you’re talking too long for me” she rushed and you blurted it all out “8pm he’s getting me at 7 he has the password he will be at the dorm” closing the door behind you two you both stopped to catch your breath

“sooo is it a dateee” she shimmied her arm on you winking “i already told you he doesn’t like me!!” you replied to her relentlessness. “ugh whatever we need to get you ready girl it’s already six” she pushed you onto your shared vanity chair and pulled out all of your makeup and a few things of hers, “creative control?” she asked smirking at you “mm fine but not too much” you agreed “we’ll see” she giggled.

after around 30 minutes she finished your makeup and she showed you the finished product, looking at yourself in the mirror you thought how you never would’ve put on red lipstick yet you feel really good in it. she gave you a small smokey eye and a small winged liner and you felt you looked more aggressive then you were, but you kinda loved it.

“it’s so much but so pretty” you admired yourself and the makeup she put on you slowly getting used to the feeling of fake eyelashes on your eyes. “i’m so glad you love it, but we need to find an outfit like three hours ago” she joked and rushed to your closets “i actually have the perfect dress in mind if you’re feeling the want to rep slytherin green” she raised her eyebrows up at you in a suggestive matter “sure why not” you shrugged

she handed you a velvet body con forest green dress that you were sure was going to be extremely short and you mean in every place. she held it up onto you “this will be perfect. get it on come on” she rushed you into the bathroom and you began putting it on “this is sooo tight” you called out as you struggled “oh i forgot it was a corset back wait i need to help you can i come in” she yelled through the door

“yeah come on i need this thing one me already” you struggled more as she walked in and immediately began to help you loosening the strings of the dress and pulling it down onto you “there we go now suck in like your life depends on it” she said half jokingly and began retightening the corset back. with every pull it felt like your chest was spilling out more and more and your ribs were shrinking “okay merlin that’s enough before i can’t breathe” you huffed and she stopped tying it off in a bow

“stop you look so hot y/n i bet matt will be drooling” she teased and you just rolled your eyes “what do we do with my hair” you looked at her with horror as you only had ten minutes before he should arrive. you quickly began curling your hair not really caring if it was messy just giving it some body and just as you were spraying perfume on there was a knock on your door.

zarah looked at you and whispered “answer it go go now” she pointed to the door like she was afraid to touch it herself and you walked over opening it to see mattheo in an all black button down with the top few buttons undone and black dress looking pants yet somehow he didn’t look overdressed. he didn’t say anything for a minute he was just staring at you looking up and down in awe “holy fuck y/n who did your makeup you look woah” he put his finger on your chin moving your head around examining your makeup

“zarah isn’t it pretty” you smiled and he removed his hand and replied “yeah you are, now let’s go” he grabbed your hand and you looked behind you waving bye to zarah “he’s so in love with you” she whispered before the door slammed closed.

𓆙

once you got the the party you noticed there were already many slytherins already pregaming and mattheo brought you two to them, “let’s get some alcohol in you little puff” he winked and poured you a shot of who knows what, you smelled the foul drink and it made your nose burn “come on do ittt” he cheered on and you held your nose throwing the shot back gagging at the taste. “how do people enjoy that” you made a face at him “like this” he replied taking two shots himself, “now catch up” he winked pouring you yet another

“if i didn’t know any better id say you’re trying to get me drunk matt” you laughed and he looked at you amused “obviously that’s what im trying to do it’s a party” he put the shot glass to your lips and you parted them taking the burning substance down your throat, “eugh that didn’t get any better the second time” you shook your head in disgust. “hm, let me make you an actual drink” he grabbed a clear liquor and a red juice mixing them together adding more alcohol than your past two shots and handed it to you

“matt this smells foul” you looked up at him, “just try it trust me the slytherins have the masking drink down” he winked and you reluctantly took a sip, and to your surprise all you tasted was juice. after taking another few sips you quick began drinking it and mattheo pulled the cup from your lips “slow down there this shits dangerous you’ll get so drunk you won’t be able to walk straight” he chuckled. “it’s not my fault they made it taste like juice” you shrugged still sipping.

“hey mattheo have your little hufflepuff take some shots with us” enzo threw his arm around your shoulders and mattheo pushed them off almost immediately “no she doesn’t need any shots” he spoke “you didn’t even ask me” you protested, granted you didn’t necessarily want to take any shots you just didn’t like being talked for. “oo are you sure you’re not slytherin you got an attitude” enzo laughed handing you a shot and you looked at mattheo who rolled his eyes as you took the shot.

throwing the shot back the burning sensation took over your throat and you could feel it rushing down your throat. you coughed a bit and chugged your drink for comfort “puff you’re going to get shitfaced slow down” matt fully took your cup this time and you were already feeling it. giggling looking up at him “okay now who was going to tell me party’s are fun” you continued giggling.

the music started playing and the slytherin common room was now getting more and more packed. you saw fifth year students and up in here, even a few ravenclaw and hufflepuffs your recognized. to your surprise in the corner of the party you spotted cedric diggory talking to a group of girls holding a drink.

pansy noticed your head being stuck in a certain direction and followed your eyes “oh em gee, someone’s got their eyes on a certain hufflepuff” she winked shoving her shoulder at your “shhhhh he’s just nice to look at” you giggled at her and she giggled along “you two would be soo cute” she added dragging you back to the drinks

“let’s take some shots!” she exclaimed handing you two , you took them smiling and shot them back with her, a woo leaving her mouth. “here chaser, chaser!” she shouted handing you another drink this time what looked like a lot of the punch, downing it all she laughed “girl we’re gonna be gone”. looking around you were seeing doubles of everything but didn’t want the night to already end.

“so, are you a virgin?” pansy shouted over the music making your already alcohol flushed face even redder “pansy!! you can’t just ask that!!” you shouted back flustered at the intrusive question, “i’m only curious girl” she giggled and gave you begging eyes “come onnnn” she shook you till you gave in “fine yes i am but don’t tell anyone!” you replied back as lowly as you could over the music

“who would you lose it to?” she giggled “i lost mine to blaise hehe sshhhh” she winked, considering she just told you her secret you felt obligated and just looked around “i mean i guess cedric” you giggled as she pointed at him after your response. before she could say anything else you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist and drag you off. trying to kick your way out was useless and they brought you to an empty dorm.

through all of this you couldn’t tell who it was kicking and screaming for them to let you go till you heard mattheos voice “puff calm down it’s just me” he sighed putting you down on what you now assumed was his bed “why did you bring me in here that was so scary” you huffed trying to gain your composure. “diggory?” he scoffed not answering your question.

you looked at him confused as to what he was on about “what do you mean? what about cedric” you cocked your head to the side in confusion “you lost your virginity to him??” he questioned stepping closer to you looking rather.. pissed. you just laughed in response “me? lose my virginity to cedric?.. you’re funny” yeah you fantasized about it but it certainly wouldn’t happen.

“what were you talking to pansy about then??” he looked at you unconvinced, “she asked if i lost it and i said no, but id let him take it.-“ you shrugged “besides you know i tell you everything matt i’ve never even had a boyfriend let alone a guy be interested in my virginity” you sighed laying back onto the bed now feeling upset.

you heard mattheo sigh and you picked your head up to look at him, his eyes stared back at you in silence before breaking it “believe me there’s a lot of guys who want to get in your pants” he rubbed his fists and you gave him a confused expression yet again “what are you on about matt?” you were getting sober just from all of this extra mystery.

he walked over to the bed sitting beside you, “listen when we met you were just.. blooming completely and i would be lying if i didn’t say i first went up to you because of your looks.. well overtime you know we became friends and i noticed other guys staring in ways they shouldn’t have been so i had to teach them a lesson.” he looked at you and yo didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

“what exactly are you saying matt?” you didnt understand what he was poking at, did matt mean to say he basically likes you? were you reading too much into this? “look y/n, no one else in this school fucking deserves you. hell i don’t deserve you but i know i can treat you how you need. don’t ask me what took so long to confess to you y/n, but do you feel even remotely the same?” he let it all out quick and fast, and your mouth dropped.

“you want.. me?” you looked at him in disbelief and he just smiled “that’s what that whole speech was about, yeah” he chuckled nervously awaiting your reply “why?” you sighed still slightly unconvinced “have you fucking seen yourself puff? you’re so undeniably gorgeous, i don’t know how i hold myself back from you everyday” he leaned in closer to you making this all seem more real. without thinking you allowed yourself to lean into him, faces and lips meeting for the most magical first kiss you could’ve ever imagined.

“you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” he grabbed your face pulling you closer to him till you straddled over his lap sitting down continuing the now makeout. “this is so much better than.. imagined” you huffed through the kisses. you could already feel mattheos member growing beneath you and you never thought you’d be the one experiencing this from your best friend.

you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to a fantasy or two about him in the past but this was already one thousand times better than ever imagined. mattheos lips kissed their way down your neck leaving small marks tiny moans leaving your mouth, “i need to hear more of that, y/n, let me eat you out.. please i need a taste” he continued his kisses along your neck bringing them back to your lips “i’ve never- mm yes” you replied as his fingers began making circles over your underwear.

“you sound so good fuck” he groaned pulling you off of him and getting off the bed, “you’re sure of this?” he questioned one last time and you just nodded impatiently awaiting his next move. next thing you knew he was yanking you to the edge of his bed and slowly removing your pants and underwear looking up at you from below. “holy fuck puff.. you’re fucking soaking” he breathed out over your pussy sending tingles down your spine.

without warning his mouth met your untouched area and you felt things never imaginable. his tongue made its way around your bulging clit, flicking it up and down and making his way to your entrance sucking and licking “you taste so good holy fuck” he huffed going right back in not even looking up at you, “can i put two fingers” he spoke from your pussy and you couldn’t even properly answer “mm y-yes” you replied between your moans.

you felt his slender fingers teasing your entrance and he slowly began inching one in and out teasingly, “mattheo-“ you huffed and he chuckled shoving both fingers in, loud moan escaping your mouth and this new feeling. he did a few different moments trying to figure out what makes you moan the most, soon his tongue was sucking expertly on your clit as his fingers twisters and curled inside of you.

“matt i want to.. try” you moaned at this pleasure wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you now. “mm but you’re not ready yet puff” he continued devouring your pussy simply divulging in it as if he’d never eaten anything before. his pace on everything quickened and you were already near your own orgasm, “if you don’t s-stop i’m gonna cum” you moaned loudly trying to control yourself.

“let go for me sweetheart” he sucked harder on your clit, the nickname and action forcing your orgasm to flood over you harder than you’ve ever been able to make yourself experience. your body was shaking and you couldn’t hold your reactions back, mattheo slowly licked your gushing area clean before standing up “mm now i think you’ll be ready soon” he smirked leaning down over you, grabbing your chin and giving you a kiss.

[lacedcompulsion]

FLATLANDS

Hotch sends you and Spencer to Iowa to conduct a death row interview with an inmate. Thing is, there's not much to do in Iowa but fuck.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader

tags/warnings: 18+, wc: 5.9k, whew, smut, porn w plot, piv sex, unprotected sex, drunk sex, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, soft-dom spencer ish, biting, praise kink, this is so self-indulgent muahahaha, discussions of a case, but nothing too bad it's canon typical stuff, iowa hate idgaf!!, drinking/getting drunk, i think that's it!

notes: this is likeeee. one of my first times writing longer smut. also i did in fact say i would re-upload old re-worked fics before posting anything new but alas! i am a liar! here is something brand new! i spent like. 9 straight hours on this yesterday. and it is currently almost 8 am and i just spent all night finishing it up instead of sleeping. ALSO i am in fact a philosophy major (future barista moment) and my fics get soooo. philosophy-esque. like. every single time. i'm sorry... i am who i am.

If you had to remove one state from the contiguous union, it would be Iowa. 

You’re standing in a rusty hotel room, which, according to Hotch, is the best they could do to accommodate you. And Spencer. He’s one room over. Your feet vibrate against the rug. You tell yourself it’s the thought of him, one wall over — thinking, sitting, reading, whatever he’s doing — and not some rare kind of bacteria you’re going to catch from the stink of this place.

Hotch sent you and Reid here for a death row interview. One of the inmates, having spent the past seventeen years as a self-proclaimed monk, decided he was done with silence. He answered the bureau’s request for an interview in a letter addressed to Hotch’s desk, written in red ink. It’s your first prison interview — you usually wear the bad guys down before they’re locked away forever — but Spencer has done one or two, he said. You think it might be more.

You’d never been to Iowa, never had a case here. You’re not great with time off, even worse with real vacations. You don’t look out your window for fear the corn fields have gotten closer since you last peeked through the curtains. You swear you can see twenty miles out; the flatness makes it easy to mistake the horizon for something that never, ever ends. 

You’re picking at the skin of your fingernails, toes curled as they still rest but resist against the carpet, when there’s a knock at your door. You don’t check, because you’re not really fearful. It might make you a shitty FBI agent, but you doubt anyone is tracking you down in Iowa. (Iowa. It gets worse each time you think it.)

“Hi,” Spencer says, lips pulled flat. Flat. You think of fields. Corn. Emptiness. Your stomach churns then lurches when you think of your own bed in your own home in a state that has real hills and mountains and trees. 

“Hi.” 

“Thought you might want to look over the file before tomorrow?” He frames it like a question, and you offer a soft smile at his hesitancy before opening the door to let him in. He turns his body to the left to avoid making contact with you as he accepts the invitation and walks on through.

Your bed is still made, your suitcase resting on top of it. He scrunches his nose before recovering.

“I’m not a germaphobe, like someone we both know,” you mock.

“Maybe you should be.” You laugh. You’ve been his teammate for three years now, and it still gets you when he decides he can lighten up and make a joke.

He looks around, still awkward in the yellow tint of the hotel lamp, then decides to sit in the desk chair in the corner.

“You look so ominous,” you say, shaking your head as you pull the file out of the nightstand. 

“Why is your casefile in there?”

“Where do you keep yours?”

“I never put it away.”

“Checks out,” you say, raising your eyebrows and sitting criss-crossed on the edge of your bed, facing him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gary Foster,” you read off the top of the page, ignoring his bait. “Killed twenty-three women in his basement. His wife never knew.”

“Or claims she didn’t know,” Spencer corrects. 

“You think she did?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter what I think.”

You glance up at him to find him staring intently at the file in his hands. He’s gripping onto it like it’s all he knows. You store your observations away in your head under a tab titled Perhaps Ask Later. 

You’ve gone over this file a dozen times. It’s virtually seared into your memory. Still, you let him tack off the rest of the information to you, compile the intensive profile Hotch gave you into a bullet point list. 

“He’s gonna focus on me,” you say once he reaches a lull in speech.

“Because you’re a woman?” he confirms. You nod. “Maybe.”

You tap the file a few times with your fingers as a yawn creeps up your throat, threatening to escape. Spencer seems to get the hint before you even let it out. 

���We’ve got a long day tomorrow,” he says before standing. He takes a step forward before turning around and tucking the chair back into the desk. You smile at the politeness. “See you tomorrow?”

“Is that a question?” you tease as you lead him to the door. “I promise I won’t jump out of the window.”

“There’s not much out there.”

“No, there isn’t.” He fumbles with the key for the door across the hall. You wait for him to open it before you start to close yours, the way you would after driving a friend at home. “Night.”

“Night,” he says, though the latter half of the word is muffled by the shut of the door. 

The room is barren again. You open the curtains now that it’s nearing total darkness outside.

It takes six more hours for you to drift off into sleep.

– 

Your hand is immediately on your temple when you awake, rubbing at the budding headache you know will consume you once you get up. This is the punishment you get for allowing yourself only three hours of sleep.

The sunlight hits your bed in fluttering intervals of perfect warmth and scorching heat. This time, when the hindmost rolls around, you force yourself up and place your feet on the ground. You hold your tongue to refrain from releasing a long string of fucks and shits and realize your hand is still refusing to move from its spot rubbing circles in your face. When you make your way to the bathroom, you realize the bed is so hard you’ve left no indent. 

The sting of the shower is pelting, boiling enough that it feels purifying. After a night spent in sheets you’re sure dozens have sweat through, it’s more than welcome. The heat is the perfect substrate for the anticipatory dread of today’s interview. Speaking to monsters as if there’s a hint of human behind the stitching has never pulled at you in the right way. 

If anything, it’s slowly pulled you apart.

The outlet in your bathroom is broken so you’re forced to dry your hair sitting on the carpet of the room, right next to that window that stares out into nowhere. You feel itchy just sitting on it. You swear the fibers are pressing into your skin, merging with your skin. 

The file is open on the floor in front of you, and you use your thumb to wipe the water falling from your damp hair. The pages already begin to curdle like the feeling in your stomach. 

You put your hair in a ponytail, then worry it’s too sexual — because you’ve absorbed the profile and you know what earns a check on this guys list —- so you take it down and let it rest on your shoulders again. Your knees crack when you stand up and your hip tenses up like it might, too, when you slip your legs into your pants. 

There’s a knock on your door and you mutter fuck as you balance your time between finishing the rest of the buttons on your blouse and stumbling to the door.

“I need a couple minutes,” you say, before you say hello. You leave the door open as you retreat farther into the room. “You can wait in here.”

You squeeze your feet into your heels — half a size too small, and in your head you call the saleslady who insisted on that being necessary for this brand a word that would make your grandmother sour — and peripherally watch him step into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“You ready?” he asks. You can feel his eyes on your unmade bed. 

“Mhm.” You glance in the square mirror facing the bed and smooth out your clothes. 

“I mean for the interview,” he says after clearing his throat.

“My answer remains.”

“Cool.” He says it in the way that feels fraudulent, but is really just the way he speaks, you’ve come to realize.

“Are you ready?” you ask back, muffled by the file placed between your teeth as you fumble around your desk for your car keys and room card. You make eye contact with him as you head for the door.

“Don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”

“Stand up straight,” you say, holding the door open for him as you both step into the hallway.

“What?” he mutters. He does it anyway.

“He’s gonna zero in on you if you seem to lack confidence.”

“Right.”

It’s silence between you two in the hallway, the elevator, the lobby, and until you’re pulling out of the parking lot. There’s overgrown wheatgrass in the field to your left and plowed corn crop to your right. The furrows stretch on until the curve of the earth swallows them up.

The sky is dull, slate-colored, and bears striking resemblance to something that could wipe you clean. Grain silos whir by every couple of minutes. These people really own a lot of fucking land. Every few miles, a new one, along with a rusting tractor or collapsing barn or crop that looks about ready to dry up and blow away. It gets predictable after mile seven. 

The prison doesn’t appear so much as it settles into your vision. It’s low to the ground, sprawling, gray. A scar pressed into the ground. 

You feel like Spencer the way you’ve completely memorized the profile. You flash your badge at the gate, sign some kind of form and drive into a parking lot that feels as far from the prison as your hotel was.

Spencer lingers in the car two seconds after you get out. He’s nervous, and he’s trying not to show it. You don’t want to mention it, but you need to be on the same page, so you don’t stop your lips from unfurling.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The anxious math,” you say. “You’re calculating the probability of saying the wrong thing before we even walk in.”

“That’s-” He seems to think better than arguing and redirects his sentence. “That’s not entirely inaccurate.”

You give him one of those closed lip smiles. “He’ll spot it in five seconds. He feeds on nerves like that. First, he’ll comment on your hands, because you fidget when you’re trying not to.”

“You sound like Hotch.”

You scoff out a half-laugh and choose to ignore the comment otherwise. “And he’ll ask how long you’ve known me. If we’re sleeping together. He won’t say it like that, of course. He’ll be crude. He wants to gauge what version of you shows up when you’re off-balance.”

“Why would that knock me off balance?” he asks. The hesitancy has stolen his tone again.

“You fluster easily.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm. You blink three times, touch your collar, and then deflect with statistics. You did it the first time I challenged you during a case.”

He tuts then holds the door of the prison open for you. “You’re profiling me.”

“Of course I am,” you say, then turn your head over your shoulder, waiting for him to walk back up beside you again. He’s close behind you, so close you can almost feel his breath on you. It makes you feel warm. “So will he.”

You greet two more guards inside before shaking hands with the warden. He thanks you for coming with that grim look on his face that everyone in this field seems to have permanently etched into the creases of their skin. The prison is colder inside than it has any right to be, as if the concrete has learned to hold onto every winter it’s ever survived. 

“Still nervous?” you whisper to Spencer. 

He smiles, shakes his head no. 

Good, you mouth.

You pretend not to notice his eyes fixate for a beat longer than necessary on your lips. You lick them in response. When he meets your eyes again, you pretend not to notice that something undecipherable is hidden behind his lids, too. 

—

Foster smiles when you walk in. He doesn’t look at Spencer. You let Spencer pull your chair out for you, which immediately catches the guy’s attention. You think of still water, use it as a guide for being calm.

“Well,” Foster says. He hasn’t dropped the smile from his face. “They sent a good-looking one.”

“We, the FBI, are really grateful you chose to cooperate with us,” you say. “You know, in your final days.”

“Hm.” He turns to Spencer, finally. “She yours?”

You don’t look at him, and you will him to ignore him, to start asking him the standard questions. What’s your name? What year were you born? 

“She’s her own,” he says instead. It comes out even and flat. 

“You hesitated,” Foster says. His smile shows his teeth, now. “I suppose that’s not a crime.”

“No,” you agree. You open your file and lay a picture of his mugshot on the table. You can tell he was expecting photos of one of the women whose life he stole away. “But murder is.”

Spencer clears his throat and nudges your ankle with the tip of his shoe. You give him no reaction, but the next time you reach for the file, you let your fingertips brush against his wrist. 

—

“That wasn’t awful,” Spencer says when you step out, though he says it like he’s releasing one big breath born out of a collection of accumulated air trapped in his lungs. 

Foster did say something crude. You’d prefer not to repeat it, mostly because you’re not sure if Spencer was blushing or if he was just hot. 

The prison was freezing, you remind yourself. Then you shove the thought back down. 

“It wasn’t great,” you say. “I wish I’d pushed him further about—”

“Stop,” he says. His hand is on your bicep now. “Don’t overthink it, you did great.”

“Okay,” you say. “Don’t profile me, now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The walk back to the car leaves you sticky and hot. You note, aimlessly, that Iowa gets hot enough if you let it — if you stay long enough to let it swelter.

“Our flight’s not till the morning,” you groan, slamming the car door shut.

“Not a fan of Iowa?”

“In how many languages do you know how to say fuck no?”

“Twelve," he says. His eyes flit to the ceiling. “No, fourteen.” 

“Ridiculous.” 

—

You crash as soon as you get back to your hotel room. You sleep for what feels like two hours but you know is way longer than that, and when you finally peel your eyes open you’re sweating. You’re clinging to your sheets, and you consider yourself bed-ridden as you roll over and check your phone. Hotch has sent you three messages asking for updates. Your stomach twinges with guilt for not answering, though you figure he probably moved on and texted Spencer.

Spencer.

You feel bad. You had ditched him, retreating to your hotel room the second you guys got back. You wonder what he did, if he got food, though there’s not much to do in Iowa. In fact, there’s nothing to do in Iowa. 

You slip out of your clothes and take a quick rinse-off in the shower. Your hair is still wet when you adorn yourself in a gray t-shirt and sleep shorts and creep over across the hall. Your fist raps against the door three times, then twice more for good measure. 

“Hi?”

“Hi,” you say, inviting yourself in as you push past him. It’s identical to yours, but everything’s on the opposite side. “Nice room.”

“Much nicer than yours.”

“Oh, for sure.” You clap your hands together, then flop down on the bed. “So, whatcha been up to?”

He nods his head at a book on the nightstand. You stretch over and pick it up. The History of Iowa’s Small Towns.

“Little on the nose, isn’t it, doctor?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Your mind amazes me,” you whisper, then place it back on the nightstand.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“I’m not really hungry,” you say. When he quirks his eyebrow, you add: “Really, I can’t eat for, like, at least two hours after I wake up.”

“You were asleep?”

You nod. “Couldn’t last night. You didn’t think I just ditched you, did you?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

You place a hand over your heart. “Well, doctor, I’m just plain offended.”

He smiles, real, genuine. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How’d you mean it?” you ask. You move up on the bed, as if it’s your own, making space for him to sit next to you. 

He sighs, like he really doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation, but his lips pry open and you know he will. “Morgan always says I ramble too much.”

You shrug. “What’s much, anyway?”

“Well, if you’re not hungry,” he starts, lifting himself off the bed and over to the mini fridge, “are you thirsty?”

“My, my.” You smile, teeth and all. “I didn’t know you drank on the job.”

“Not technically on the job anymore, am I?” He holds up a little bottle. “It’s not exactly a martini, but it’s all I’ve got unless you want lukewarm ginger ale.”

You accept the bottle with mock ceremony and open it the second it’s in your hands. “Guess federal per diems only cover motel whiskey. Honestly, this is probably the classiest thing happening in Iowa tonight.”

He laughs softly, twisting open his own cap. “From what I’ve read, and seen, that’s a low bar.”

You raise yours. “To meeting the bar.”

He tilts his head, scrunches his nose. “To stepping over the bar with minimal effort.”

You both take a sip. It’s terrible. You make a face.

He sees it and raises an eyebrow. “Too refined for hotel whiskey?”

“Just surprised it didn’t come with a warning label,” you say, setting the bottle down on the nightstand. “Or a tetanus shot.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, taking another sip of his. “I’m sure the Iowa Department of Health is on it.”

You nod solemnly. “They’re probably just as fast as the Wi-Fi.”

That gets a small smile from him. He sits on the edge of the bed, a little closer than before, but still careful. He’s always so careful.

There’s a lull, full of quiet until the nighttime air-conditioning kicks on and you’re too tired to pretend anything really matters for a while.

“You ever drink from the mini bar before? Like, during a case?” you ask eventually.

“Only when I expect to be stranded somewhere like this.”

“Smart,” you say. 

He glances at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t profile your way out of a cornfield without it.”

You hum in agreement. “I’m not sure if that’s depressing.”

He shrugs, taking another sip. “Probably.” His hand falls to his side, dangerously close to your thigh.

You accept another one. And then another one. You’re sure he’s going shot for shot with you, but you can’t really tell because your head is full and everything’s hazy and suddenly this bed is so, so comfortable. 

You lie back, legs still dangling off the edge, and stare up at the popcorn ceiling like it might reveal state secrets. “Did you know Iowa had one of the highest populations of covered bridges?”

Spencer blinks. “Iowa doesn’t.”

You squint. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” he says, amused. “That’s Madison County. Which is in Iowa. But it’s a specific — actually, nevermind. I’m not sure either of us are in a state for nuance.”

You wag a lazy finger at the ceiling. “I knew that.”

“Sure,” he says, and leans back beside you with a soft thud, hands crossed over his stomach. “Next you’ll tell me Iowa invented jazz.”

“It didn’t?” You cant your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips. 

“God, no.”

You sigh dramatically. “And here I thought this trip was educational.”

He turns his head just slightly toward you. His breath is hot, hotter than it was earlier, and his words are all slurred. You think you might sound the same but don’t keep yourself in line long enough to actually check. “You’ve learned a lot. For example, you’ve learned not to trust the minibar.”

“And that your idea of a good time is reading municipal histories.”

“I sensed you were captivated.”

You pull an arm over your face. “Do you always get this cocky after drinking?”

He tilts his head like he’s genuinely thinking about it. “I think I just feel safe knowing I’m not the only one embarrassing myself.”

You haul a leg up to bend into the bed with you and nudge him with your knee. “You’re not embarrassing. You’re weird. Like, in the good way.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he finally says: “Thanks. You’re weird too.”

“Weird and drunk.” You repeat the word drunk a few more times, drawing out a different syllable each time. “Spencer?” 

“Hm?”

“Don’t let me fall asleep here.”

“You say that like I have any control over you,” he murmurs. Your breath catches. Neither of you move.

You peek at him from under your arm. “Are you flirting with me?”

“What?” 

“Whatever. Then don’t speak with that— that tone. Or I’ll start to think you’re flirting with me.”

“I’m not really flirting with you.”

You let the arm drop, but not to the mattress; it finds its way to the sleeve of his shirt, playing with the fabric. “Not really or not yet?”

“That depends,” he says, voice dropped low to a whisper. “Would yet be a problem?”

You roll onto your elbow, looming over him. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”

It lands like a match.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Your lips are the closest they’ve ever been.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes move to where his hand has started to creep onto your thigh. “What are you doing?”

He moves first, but only barely. His head tilts up, lips parting like he’s about to ask a question. 

He gets his answer in the shape of your lips.

Your hand finds the edge of his jaw, fingers skimming up the side of his face. He’s warm. Still flushed from the whiskey or maybe just from you.

You’re kissing, you think. You. Spencer. Kissing. It should make you pull back. You work with him. This is strictly forbidden — that should definitely make you pull back.

But then his fingers press into your hips, grounding you, and you shift, and you’re straddling him before you’ve thought it through. It’s automatic, desperate, like the tension finally cracked open and all that’s left is the pull.

“Still not on the job?” you murmur between kisses, breath brushing his lips.

He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

He starts to kiss you deeper, like he wants to memorize it. You wonder if he is. Your hands move up under his shirt, and his breath slips, just for a second. Just long enough to make you smile into his mouth.

There’s nothing quiet about any of this. Just heat. And want. And finally.

You roll your hips once as a test. When he tightens his grip on you, you have half the mind to do it again, and again, and again. 

Suddenly, all you can think of are your clothes on the ground and him inside you. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. You release his lips from yours.

“Fuck?”

“Shh,” he hushes, trying to silence you, but you’re already laughing.

“Oh my god, Dr. Spencer Reid, esteemed supervisory special agent, holder of three PhDs, just said fuck.” You whisper the last part, hand clutching at your chest.  

“Will you please resume what we were just doing?”

“My fucking pleasure.”

“Jesus,” he squeezes out. Your hands remove themselves from where they were resting under his shirt and head to the waist of his pants. You watch his chest rise a little quicker, fall with a little more readiness. His hands release your hips and come up to grip your wrists. “I say fuck one time and I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“Maybe we can put it in another context.” You unhook your legs from their desired place around his hips and scooch yourself down his body. Your fingers, which were just barely, ever so delicately toying with his waistband, curl into both the cotton of his pants and his boxers and tug down at once. He helps you, hips coming off the bed just enough for you to drop them both to his ankles. 

He’s already hard, and your mouth is already hollow, already anticipating something to fill a long-lasting void. You say his name, but it sounds off, because your mouth is already imagining itself wrapped around something far less innocent than words.

His hand comes up to your face, brushing your cheekbone, and the feeling is too soft to name but impossible to ignore. You feel as though all the heat in the room has gotten sucked between your legs, and it pools low, desire biting at the edges of restraint.

“You don’t have to,” he says, watching you spit in your hand. You roll your eyes before wrapping the newly wet hand around him. 

“I’m going to. Just stay like that.” 

You stroke him softly, just a few times before spitting on the tip and working it back down. He whispers your name like its wax, made to melt. You’re not thinking and your voice is velvet when you ask him how long it’s been since he’s been touched like this, the way he deserves to be. Too long, comes his response, and you vow to yourself to show him what he’s been missing.

The next time you bring your lips up to release more spit, you reach down and kiss it. Just the tip, and just ever-so-slightly. You’re not sure he noticed at first, so you do it again, this time more pronounced, and then he’s removing his hand from your face and bringing it up to your hair. His grip is firm enough to anchor, not enough to command. 

When you open your lips more, he tightens his grip. When you make your way down, syrup-slick and mouth dripping of sin, he coils his want at the nape of your neck and pulls. You moan around him, which earns you another tug. 

“That feels good,” he whispers. “So fucking good.”

You’re drunk enough that the praise feels more than trembling and temporary. You take it for more than it probably is and pick up your pace.

He lasts not a minute longer before he’s guiding you off of him, and you couch as you come up for air. 

“I don’t want to finish yet,” he mumbles.

“No?”

“No.” He pulls you up off the ground, one hand on your wrist and the other still in your hair. “Wanna take care of you too. Do you want that? Yeah? Lie down for me.”

You do as you're told, nodding along the way, agreeing fervently and with little free will. You’re drooling, enough that it slips past your lips. He brings his index finger up to your face, collecting it on the pad of his finger and pushing it back into your mouth. Instinctively, you suck. He groans, low, a noise you never would have expected to hear from him, and it makes you shut your legs, thighs rubbing together slightly as you try to fight the feeling festering around your limbs.

He kneels before you, the same way you had with him. “Is this what you want?” You nod. “No, use your words.” He pries your legs open, blows between them. 

Your back is coming up off the bed, enough for him to bring a hand up and grab your waist again. “Yes.”

He wastes little time attaching his mouth to you, tongue everywhere, while his fingers leave bruises in your side. One of your hands is gripping the sheets so hard you can feel your fingernails digging into your palm even through it. This can’t be real, you think, because nothing real feels this good. And this feels so, so good. 

You feel fucked out and he hasn’t even put anything inside of you. It’s just his tongue swiping against you, swirling around your clit, sucking your clit, kissing your clit. You can’t think. At some time you stop being aware of what he’s doing and just let him do it.

His hand leaves your hip and you feel it pulse, throbbing at the loss of harsh connection. Then, he forces your fist to open, to release the white fabric, and he locks your fingers together. It feels intimate, more intimate than his mouth on you, and if you were sober you might have shrugged him away. But you’re not. You’re drunk. Very drunk. So instead you hold his hand harder.

His free hand is trailing along your thigh, and when you glance down at him his eyes are closed, and he looks content, satisfied, and you’re not sure you ever want to unfold from this position. He uses his other hand to trail up and down your thigh before his errant fingers find their way farther up your legs. 

When he slips two inside you, both at once, no warning, you mewl.

He detaches his mouth from you, like he wants to focus solely on finger fucking you. When you glance down at him again, he gives you a perfunctory smile before focusing back at the task he’s chosen to take up. He’s practically gift-wrapping your orgasm. 

“Right there,” you choke out when his fingers curl at the exact right moment in the exact right spot. You don’t announce that you’re coming, but Spencer is a genius. You’re sure he can figure it out. Everything comes undone in waves, the way seafoam spits back into the sand before dissipating, carrying itself back out into a vaster part of the water. 

“Good job,” he says. He kisses you. You can taste your slick on his lips.

“Spencer.”

“You’ve said that already.” You’d laugh if you weren’t so unraveled. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“What did we say about using our words?”

“To… use them?”

“You’re so smart,” he says, and you can hear him breathing in the way that means he’s trying not to laugh as he presses scattered kisses across your cheek, jaw, lips. “Can you speak up and show me how smart you are?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Knew you had it in you.” One of his hands is pressed into the mattress next to your head, and the other is absent from your body. When you finally open your eyes, you look down to see him lining himself up with you.

There’s a pinch in your throat as you feel him ease himself inside, slowly, deliberately, like he’s scared you might crumble and break beneath him. You won’t, which you assure him by using one hand to grab onto his bicep and the other to rest on his hip, guiding him all the way inside of you. 

"I got so mad, earlier," he says. "When he was talking about you like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he whispers. "Don't fucking apologize."

The heat is back, swirling in your stomach, rushing up your chest like every vein you have has replaced blood with feverish fire. Spencer throws more gasoline on it when he slides almost all the way out, then pushes himself back in. You’re quiet, and even the air around you seems to have hushed itself. 

When he finds a rhythm, he takes advantage of it. Fucks you a little harder, just enough that you can’t close your mouth, can’t quiet yourself even when you try. You’re trying to tread carefully, but you don’t have it in you to not tip your chin up and search for a kiss. You move your other hand to wrap around his forearm, the one right next to your head, and you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails into the skin when he gives you one particularly hard thrust.

“Do that again,” you whisper.

“This?” he asks, though it’s more of a mock. He does it again, this time a little slower. You feel like crying, because you have no other outlet for what exactly it is you’re currently feeling. When he does it again you have no choice but to squeeze your eyes shut. He kisses you again, idly, like you’ve got all the time in the world. You’re not sure you have more than five minutes in you before you pass out. “You feel so good.”

“Needed you.”

“Yeah?” he says. Your words seem to have made him snap his hips against yours a little harder. 

He uses one of his hands to grab under your thigh, then pushes your leg up. You let out a broken moan you don’t even register as your own until he stretches you farther apart and you do it again. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t clawing at an indescribable edge. You feel ripe. Nothing holy is coming for you. You arch your back like it might. 

"Mine." He says it while looking down at you. He says it with his chest. He says it like it's an absolute.

You bring your hand to the back of his neck and make him kiss you. Once for the thrill, twice just to feel the burn of it really settle in. 

Then you come. And everything else does, too. It’s unraveling. Not fingers but friction, not skin but static, not breath but flood. The room is slipping sideways, hips first, mouth second. you forget your name or maybe you give it away. There's no shape to anything, to the sting between your legs, only pulse — wet, reckless, existing in the hollows of your thighs. When he bends down and lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like your name, your teeth catch on his shoulder like a warning. He doesn’t flinch. You bite down harder.

Nothing makes sense for a while except the sound of the air-conditioner. 

Spencer says something. Then again. Then, he taps your cheek twice, says your name until you come to.

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“‘m okay. Are you okay?”

He laughs. It’s quiet and hoarse and still warm. “Yes ma’am.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Hmm what?’

“I like that. We’ll use that ‘nother time.” You let out a heavy sigh as he chuckles. He slips out of you and you suck in a breath that catches in the pockets of your teeth, cold and shocking against the roof of your mouth.

“Sorry.” You shake your head and hope it conveys that he has nothing to apologize for. He rolls over next to you. “You should pee.”

“Pee schmee.”

“I think I’m gonna retract my previous statements about your high level of intelligence now.” You smack him with your hand and laugh, hearty and probably too loud.

“I’m still drunk,” you say after a few more moments of silence.

“I think that’s how that whole drinking thing works, yeah.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” His answer comes quicker than you were expecting.

“Okay. Me neither. Just checking.” You blow hair out of your face, and when that doesn’t work you bring a palm up and use the strength of four fingers to wipe it away from the sweat gathering in satin sheets across your skin. “I hate this room.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper.

“Well,” he whispers back. “I don’t hate you either.”

“Do you wanna maybe… I don’t know. Not be on the job tomorrow morning?”

It might just be the alcohol, but his expression is soft and lush, like when dawn’s light shudders through early morning fog. 

“I would like that.”

[adimilkys]

“Your ex has never made you what?”

Sylus x reader 18+ MDNI

cw : smut, f!reader, overstimulation, p in v, stomach bulge, oral (f receiving), no protection (wrap it before you tap it), petnames, biting and probably more

synopsis : after telling Sylus you "aren't able to orgasm" because you never did with your exes, he proves you very wrong

author's note : wrote this after work, idk how because I'm literally dying so there may be a lot of mistakes lol also english isn't my native so if you find and spelling mistakes whoops

You've been dating Sylus for over a month now, it's been an... interesting ride for sure. You're over the kissing stage and teasing, but you've never talked with him about sex- well until tonight.

"If you're not comfortable we don't have to, kitten" he whispered in your ear, you were both laying in his bed, you on top of him as he scratched your head.

"It's not that I'm not comfortable... it's just embarassing, Sy" You buried your face in his chest, he raised his eyebrow at your statement. "What's embarassing?"

At his question you buried your face deeper in his chest, knowing that you have to tell him either way. "I... just can't..." you mumbled

"You can't what, kitten? Come on, tell me."

"I-I can't orgasm..." he was quiet for a few seconds, before letting out a laugh. You raised yourself up from his chest, a pout on your face. "I'm serious, Sy!"

"And why do you think you can't orgasm?" He asked, gripping your waist. "W-Well everytime I got intimate, I was just never able to come-"

"And you think that's your fault?" He raised his eyebrow, looking into your eyes, making you look away with flushed cheeks. "Well yeah, I mean it's always me who can't cum" he grabbed your chin, making you look at him again.

"Sweetie, it's those pathetic men that couldn't make you cum" He started kissing your face, making you even more flustered "But-"

"Do you want me to prove it to you I can make you come minimum 5 times right now?" You stared at him with wide eyes, Sylus wasn't the one to break his promises, but you decided to play along.

"Hmph... All talk no action-" And with that, he slammed his lips on yours, capturing them in a messy kiss. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for access to your mouth. When you smirked, not opening your lips he bit it, making you gasp as he forced his tongue inside, immediately wrapping your tongues together.

You let out a moan, his hand sliding under your (his) shirt, squeezing your breasts. As you pulled your head away to breath, his lips continued assaulting now your neck, sucking, kissing and nipping on it- leaving many marks.

His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, revealing your tits "So fucking pretty" he whispered before latching onto one of your nipples. "S-Shit... Sylus-" you buried your hands in his hair, slightly pulling at it making him groan.

After being satisfied with the amount of marks he left on your breasts, he kissed down your stomach, lower and lower until he reached your shorts. "Tell me, kitten. Has someone ever eaten you out?" He raised his head up, staring at your face while you shook your head.

"Tsk... you've been messing around with immature boys, not real men sweetie" he said before sliding down your shorts right with your panties. "Such a pretty pussy, s'wet, all mine" with that he immediately dived in, groaning at the taste of your juice.

You moaned out his name loudly, one of your hands leaving his hair and now gripping onto the sheets. Your legs tied around his head. He sucked onto your clit, his tongue doing wonders. His hand moving to grab your thigh, squeezing it (probably leaving marks as well)

"Feels- so good!" You whined, throwing your head back as one of his fingers entered you, his fingers were so much bigger compared to yours (Which they also couldn't make you cum)

He followed that up with his second finger, stretching you out. Your moans were getting louder and your walls clenched around him. "Sylus! I- Ah!" you cried out before arching your back, letting out a silent scream as you came on his fingers and mouth, your eyes rolling back as you saw stars.

All your release ran down his throat, licking his lips before getting up from between your thighs. You were trying to catch your breath, your chest moving up and down.

"What did I tell you, sweetie?" he leaned down to your ear, nipping at it, "Four more to go" you shivered at his words, his hands grabbing your legs and raising them until your knees were touching your chest.

"Now relax f'me..." he grabbed his member, positioning it at your entrance, you didn't even realize he had taken his clothes off and oh

he was huge, thick too. Your eyes widened at his size, which he of course noticed, letting out a chuckle. "Worried I won't fit?" before you could even say anything, he pushed the tip in, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

Your nails digging into his back, he groaned at how tight you are "Sy..." You whined at the stretch, suddenly his fingers pinched your clit, the pain of the stretch and pleasure of his fingers made you scream, once again- making you climax.

As you were panting he continued his torture on your clit, pushing himself in even deeper, not even halfway in but making you feel like he's in your lungs.

"Fuck... Three more, kitten." after a bit more pushing, he finally bottomed out, you were already so cockdrunk, feeling all of him, every twitch and vein. He waited a bit, making sure you adjust before moving.

Starting off slow, making sure you feel comfortable, he looked at your face, sweat rolling down your forehead, hair stuck to your face, tears rolling down your cheeks, eyes closed shut and mouth hanging open as you moaned.

You looked so fucking beautiful, he lowered his head, hand grabbing your chin as he slammed his lips on yours, not wasting any time as his tongue entered and explored your mouth. His thrusts speeding up, your moans getting louder.

Suddenly, his cock hit your sweet spot, making you gasp. He smirked at your reaction, angling toward it, making sure to hit it again, again and again. You sobbed, biting your lip as you felt another ogarsm coming, clenching around his member.

"shit shit shit- Sy-Sylus!" you screamed as you came for the third time, already feeling so overstimulated. "N-No more- I can't-" You begged, whining.

"Shhh... two more sweetie" He wiped your tears away, leaving kisses all over your face. He suddenly pulled out, making you gasp as he flipped you onto your stomach, not wasting any second- slamming right back inside you.

"FUCK-" You gripped the pillow, burying your face in it, muffling your moans. His brows furrowed, groaning as he gripped your hips, pounding into you.

"W-Well, none of that sweetie, I want to hear you-" He chuckled, pulling you up so you were on his lap, his chest pressed against your back as he bounced you up and down on his cock.

Your head was hanging low, that's when you saw the huge bulge in your lower stomach disappearing and reappearing over and over. You were barely holding up with his pace.

His mouth once again started attacking your mouth, hiding his own sounds as he was getting closer himself, the way your pussy was clenching around him felt godly. The way your tits bounced, the way drool was dripping from the corner of your lips.

"C'mon... two more..." it was insane how many times he was able to make you cum. With his fingers back on your clit, you threw your head on his shoulder and with a cry you came once again, the only reason you haven't fallen forward being that Sylus is holding your waist.

Within a few thrusts, he came too with a choked moan- filling you up with his warm cum.

After catching his breath, he pulled out, flipping you on your back once again, you barely lifted your head, looking at him with confusion written on your face.

"One more... or maybe two more?" He smirked, going back to your cunt with his mouth.

requests are open, feel free to send your prompts

[neo-nomatrix]

CAN’T TOUCH ME LIKE GOJO

what gojo does when he’s jealous

cw - gojo uses red as a punishment, smut, jealousy, possessiveness, riding, teasing, kinda toxic gojo idk, bratty reader, rough gojo

Gojo was making you mad, beyond livid. He had brought you to this stuffy gala full of his balding colleagues and ditched you! You found solace in the bar holding an aperol spritz staring at your husband. He was beautifully dressed cream suit with a million dollar smile as he talks to his coworkers about business.

He hasn’t even thrown you a glance since he left your side. Normally you would still be next to him acting as arm candy but for whatever reason he left you to drink your sorrows. You assumed you would be stuck there for another hour or two with nothing to do. Until Hiromi Higuruma approached you. A man you had no idea was even distantly related to Gojos company.

“Mrs.Gojo, a pleasure seeing you somewhere besides with Satoru,” The man teases.

“Hiromi! Are you here to save me from this awful night?” It seems the lord has answered your prayers.

“You’re not enjoying yourself? Doesn’t Gojo normally keep by him at all times?” He asks, taking a seat next to you.

“Something’s up with him I guess, I’ve barely seen him all night and it’s horrible!” You complain.

“Oh sweetheart, how could he possibly treat someone as pretty as you like that?” He moves a piece of your hair out of your face and stares at you.

“I know! I mean he invited me here, and then has the audacity to leave me,” You pout to him.

“For the record, I would never treat you like that,” he smiles at you.

You look over at Gojo and he still isn’t looking in your direction. You decide to tease both the men a little more.

“Really? Do you promise ‘Romi?” You give him your best doe eyes and touch his bicep.

“On my life, sweetheart,” You both smile at each other.

In the corner of your eye you see a head of white hair coming toward you. Panic sets in but you can’t help but rub your legs together. You continue putting your hands on Higurumas chest to further instigate the situation.

“Babe, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Gojo pulls the back of your stool so you can’t touch Higuruma anymore and he wraps a large hand around your waist, “Higuruma, you’re also here.”

“I was just talking to your gorgeous wife Gojo. After you left her alone to talk to those gross executives,” Higuruma says.

Gojos jaw clenched and he squeezed your waist. His look of disgust apparent on his face.

“I think it’s about time my wife and I leave. Should I call you a cab Higuruma?” Gojo says.

“I’ll be alright,” Higuruma laughs.

Gojo pulls you away from the bar and quickly takes you away from the party. He ignores everyone asking where he’s going or trying to talk to him. Immediately as he reaches the car he opens and slams the door for you. He doesn’t speak a single word on the way home, despite your efforts to start conversation.

As you reach your home he’s immediately getting you through the door and up the stairs, he shoves you onto the bed as he removes his jacket. You hear him muttering swears under his breath.

“Do you enjoy being a slut who pisses me off? Hm? I mean really, what possibly do you get out of this?” He starts to undo the first few buttons of his shirt before he grabs your chin.

“I asked you a fucking question,” He growls at you.

“You left me! You left me all alone! I don’t know what you wanted from me, to just sit there twiddling my thumbs until you came back?” You argue at him, giving a big pout.

“What I don’t want is for you flirting with that piece of shit in front of everyone? You know how embarrassing that is, not only for me, but for you?!” He slips off his boxers to reveal his semi hard cock.

He pulls you up and puts you on your knees. He’s on his back and your face is inches away from his cock. But before you can wrap your lips around him something stops you. A force you can’t describe, red. He activated his repelling force to punish you.

You’re confused, upset, even angry at him. His usual punishment involves him overstimulating you but apparently not this time. You try to get past the barrier, using all your might to touch his cock. Yet nothing works, he’s the strongest after all.

“What did he call you?” He asks you, releasing red for you until you almost touch him, then activating it again.

“Sweetheart…” you whisper to him.

“And you fucking let him. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I know he can’t have you, fuck, he knows it. But it doesn’t seem like you do,” He says back, piercing blue eyes scanning your face.

You crawl on top of him, the barrier between your pussy and his cock still apparent. You try desperately to grind down on him to no avail. Tears start to form in your eyes but Gojo doesn’t seem to care.

“You want it inside you, sweetheart? Or do you want ‘Romi?” He mocks you.

“YOU! I just wanted your attention, promise! I got so mad you left me by myself. See?! All i want is you,” You whine as Gojo smiles at you.

In a moment the red hue turns blue and you get sucked down onto his perfectly aligned cock. You’re stuck to him like a magnet. His size makes you scream and want to pull away, but you can’t. As soon as you pull away you’re sucked back onto him, you thought torture wasn’t supposed to be addicting.

“Fuck Higuruma, fuck him and all the stupid guys there. You thought i wasn’t paying attention to you? I wanted you so fucking bad I had to stay away or else you’d be on the floor with my cock inside you,” He grunts, hands gripping your waist.

“Toru! It’s too much!” You’re full on sobbing at this point, legs shaking and body sweaty.

“You don’t want him right? It was just to make me mad, right baby?” He asks you desperately, his hair falling perfectly in front of his eyes.

“Yes! I just wanted you to fuck me, I swear,” You squeal.

His hips rut into your sloppy cunt as both of you moan and pant like two bunnies in heat. His fingers expertly tease your clit and he sucks blue and red hickies on every part of your body. He’s holding you as close as possible. His thrusts get sloppy and his moans get slutty.

“Gonna cum inside you baby, gonna fill my pussy up everyone’s gonna fucking know you’re mine,” He says in your ear.

“I’m gonna-“ Before you can even finish your sentence you pulse around his cock cumming so hard you see black.

He follow not long after, spurting hot ropes of cum inside you. He gets as deep as possible to ensure nothing slips out. He releases the technique and you fall on top of his chest, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

“Holy shit baby, that was so good,” He says, smiling.

“Yeah… i wanna take a bath,” you look up at him.

“Okay my love, just promise me one thing. Never make me jealous again.”

[acid-ixx]

oooh so did we divorce Bruce, or is this an infidelity type of situation?

a loving family, an unpalatable desire: first meeting (unofficial)

— masterlist ! ; related post !

a/n: a tad bit nsfw. if this sounds messy, spare me. i'm running on like 4 hours of sleep and the will of a thirsty man in front of an oasis. i told yall im going insane for this plotline. ofc a&a still has my heart but I also love to occasionally write for smth else in the sidelines. send in more asks yall hehe.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

definitely an infidelity type of situation, anon! you see, the affair was caused by all mere coincidence. you were to attend with bruce in one of lex luthor's extravagant show of a gala, hold his arm for a brief moment when you walk out of the limousine, only to be abandoned right in the middle of the enormous room.

of course, the right reaction was to be pissed, to badmouth the very man who decided to court and entertain others in front of you; but you chose to stay silent, biting back choked tears by stumbling over the buffet table, only to be met with stupid, overbearing paparazzi and journalists.

so when clark kent rushes in to save you from stuttering over the dozens of microphones and cameras shoved right in your face, granting them access to your pathetic sobs— it's only right that your first reaction was to lean against his body, dismissing the hushed, harsh gossips of journalists.

it was at a time where you're not aware of his identity of superman. well, bruce barely permits you to enter the batcave, only if you stubbornly pester alfred does he let you, only to kick you, his darling spouse right out the moment you step on the cold, hard floors of the lair.

so it's not... a bad thing, right? your husband had a child with another woman, raised him as his own, didn't even bother to notify you with his infidelity— so is it your fault if you slowly start to fall for a man who promises you the world? who actually has the ability to give you the world in the palm of your hands? whose kid lets you pamper him without any fight?

sure, he's coping with... the loss of his previous wife but you're such a perfect spouse, so undeniably attractive, captivating in the hearts of many. your distant eyes, the way you bite the inside of your cheeks, the way your body sways back and forth as if begging for someone, your husband, to provide you a pillar of support in the suffocating heat of paparazzi.

he could be that pillar, could be your support.

when he first came up to you, his intentions weren't to obtain gossip about the oh-so silent spouse of bruce wayne. he didn't even want to acknowledge your marital status, palms already taking your wrist just so he could lead you off to somewhere quieter.

"it's an interview," he whispers an excuse to your reddened ears. but the buzz of his breath, the warmth, the caged arm on your waist tells you it's more than that.

but you don't fight back, you'd rather be anywhere than be the spotlight of a media that eats you up, makes you doubt your marriage even more.

so you're grateful that someone came to your rescue.

this would be the first time you ever saw someone as a savior, and it's not superman, no. it's clark kent, your resident, widowed, journalist.

and for clark's case, you warm his bed better than anything else. you allow clark this sense of respite, a break from heroic activities. allow him to be human, just as he allows you to play your fantasies of being a house spouse; you're perfect for each other.

to hell with useless marriage papers that don't even give bruce a sense of obligation to act as your husband, right? what can it do, when you're absolutely smitten with the current life you're living?

the first stages of your infidelity with clark is confusing, but very much welcomed into your already hectic life.

firstly, you convince yourself, it was all mere 'emotional cheating'. you began texting clark, he does too. an occasional greeting in messages, a passing congratulation for something, then the next it was good morning messages, 'have you eaten breakfast yet?, 'how'd the appointment go?'.

you don't know when it started, when your feelings started, when you began an intimate to romantic relationship with the man— all you knew was that the moment he revealed his superhero identity was the moment he decided to bed you for the night, the moment you grant the man, now your partner, access to every part of your depraved body, made him make you beg for more, giving him all the time in the world to kiss your imperfections, to fondle sensitive parts long untouched, to leave lovebites deeper and darker than the ones you caught bruce with.

you can't help it, he's unknowingly handsome, especially when he invites you over to his ma and pa's farm the next day, pretending to not notice the way your eyes hungrily flit over his topless body, sweat and budding pecs encased in a muscled form. over the course of dinner, you kept biting your lips, warm cheeks at the implications that clark merely wanted to sit next to you just so he could handfeed you, something about him being prideful that you'd definitely enjoy this week's harvest... but his fingers circling your thighs just seems to get you brain all haywired.

yet you stay, and continue visiting for long hours either way, enjoying the man's attention.

you know it's wrong, he knows it's wrong. but the way his son, jon looks at you like you mean the world, the way he's slowly starting to heal the longer you stay over at his place makes clark want to... what's the word? ah, he wants to turn you into his loving trophy spouse. all you need to do is provide jon with all the support in the world.

as for bruce... well, him and his family can deal with your absence for the first few months. but when the lingering feeling of emptiness becomes too much, when bruce no longer feels the worried gazes, or when dick can't hear anymore laughter in one of the supposed 'barren' rooms, or when tim's security systems tracked a missing device, one now in a completely different city.

that's when they start to yearn for someone they purposely let go

[trivia-yandere]

sending request:

College senior jungkook took interest to freshman yn

(I think this would be so good if there’s manipulation and dumbification in it)

ok im thinking best friends jungkook but make it college - got it :3

nerviosa

that time your cousins boyfriend, jeon jungkook; college senior, took a certain interest in you, a college freshman.

word count: 8.622

warning: slight age gap, power imbalance, naive reader, she's just a girl frfr, manipulation, affair/cheating, corruption kink, dry humping, dirty talk, breast play, nipple sucking, car "sex", fingering, kissing/making out,

teaser | taglist

The sweet aroma of cinnamon could be considered amazing and something you’d want to consume entirely. Yet it was still a spice with a bitter taste if taken in large amounts. Your relationship - if you can call it that - with Jungkook was only sweet in theory, but bitter in reality.

Much like cinnamon. 

Loving Jeon Jungkook was sudden. It happened in a blink of an eye,surprising your own self entirely. The way your body would warm when he was around. The way you couldn’t wait to speak with him whenever he and you were in the same room - so much so that you would count the minutes until he did. 

 Loving Jeon Jungkook was also bitter. It had consumed you entirely, having you fall into a black hole that was him and him only. It had chewed up your heart and spit it right out. It left you feeling lonely. 

Cold, lonely and painful.

And yet, like each and every time Jungkook had shown you who he was, your heart, of course, refused to believe him. He came back into your life time and time again after ignoring your existence when certain people were around, only sparing you a longing glance.

You supposed you couldn’t blame Jungkook more than you blame yourself. Jungkook was a taken man and the person he was taken by was someone you knew far too well. Still, your heart continued to pound rapidly whenever he was around. Your body would warm whenever his eyes flicker to yours, the hair on your skin rising. The way he’d lick his lips and offer you a small smirk - that’s where it always started.

“You’re mad at me.” Jungkook murmurs, leaning against your closed door. You’re sitting on your bed, a book open in your lap. You try not to look at his exposed arms and at the way they’re flexed.

“How so?” you respond, glancing back down to your book.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” Jungkook responds. You’re underneath your covers, but it stops at your waist. Your tank top is loose at the shoulders and only one strap is down your arm. “All week.”

You decide to close the book and place it onto your night stand. You grasp your phone and open an app. You decide to dim the lights in hopes of him not fully seeing your expression 

You offer Jungkook your full attention now. “Where’s my cousin?”

Jungkook snickers softly. He leans away from your bedroom door, making sure to lock it before he does, and comes closer to you. 

“Why?” Jungkook asks, at the foot of your bed. 

“She’s your girlfriend.” you respond. You have yet to tell Jungkook to leave like you should have. You should have stopped yourself from the beginning, but you didn't.

“I’m aware.” Jungkook rounds the foot of your bed, “She’s mad at me.”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve come to me.”

Your tone is sharp, Jungkook notes.

“That’s not true.” Jungkook retorts. “You’ve been ignoring me all week. You walked right past me as if you didn’t see me.”

Your eyes watch as Jungkook sinks down onto your bed. His hand lays on your covered leg, squeezing it a bit. 

“What do you suppose I do?” you shrug your shoulders. “Sit in your lap in front of everyone?”

You wish you had the passion like your cousin does. To speak your mind and tell anyone off.  You wanted to punch the smirk right off of Jungkook’s face and tell him to get out of your room, but you couldn’t. 

“Of course not.” Jungkook tilts his head a bit. “But I missed you. You haven’t missed me?”

Jungkook knows the answer. The way you bite your lip, glancing at the sleeve of tattoos on his arm. He enjoyed the way you’d trace them at times, fascinated with how much he had. 

“Can I get a kiss?” 

Your eyes snap to Jungkook . Your attempt at a glare is cute to him, but you’re far too slow in dodging him. You being underneath the covers gave him an advantage. He throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms around you. His nose slides across your cheek and dramatically, he inhales.  “You smell soooo good.” he hums before his lips press to your cheeks. He kisses up your cheek, to your forehead, to down the next cheek.

You couldn’t help the bubbles of laughter falling past your lips. Your attempts to be upset with him were failing miserably. This is something you hated about yourself - how little it took for you  to forget about everything he’s done. About everything you allowed him to do. 

Yet and still, you’re fully aware that you cannot be more angry with Jungkook than yourself as you allowed him into your life after fully knowing who he was and what his intentions were. 

Your relationship with your cousin was similar to that of an older sister. She was always there growing up and filled the role as one - even if that meant being a total bitch at times. Still, you knew this was wrong just as much as her boyfriend did.

“Can I?” Jungkook repeats, tone lowered to a mere whisper. His lips are only inches away from yours. He knows full well that if he kissed you, you’d do little fighting. But this was Jungkook, after all, and he wants you to tell him to. To admit that even now, with your tiny glares and rebuttals, that you still wanted him.

“We shouldn’t.” you breathe, but you don’t push him away. 

When you first met Jungkook was when your cousin had brought him along to a dinner she had invited you to. She had told you so many things about Jungkook - how handsome he was, how athletic and competitive he was whenever sports was involved. Apparently, he was a good cook and also an amazing singer.

That was nearly a year ago, you think, before you started the same college they'll soon be graduating from. 

Your first impression of Jungkook was that he was one of those boys that was arrogant - and he fit the descriptions. The tattoos and piercings. The way he walked as if he was the main character, and in a way, he is. Especially with your cousin on his arm. There was no way someone like him was as golden as your cousin said - until you met him and he indeed was such.

“I’ve missed you.” Jungkook doesn’t make a move. His nose gently rubs against yours. “I went to the diner and got our usual all alone. The old lady asked about you.”

You snort. You became fond of the old lady who always served you and Jungkook extra pancakes because she thought you two were a cute couple. When you went to correct her the first time, Jungkook had wrapped an arm around you and kissed your cheek. Maybe that’s where he had you wrapped around his finger for the very first time.

“You took me to that diner because it’s far from anyone who knows us.” you retort, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I took you there because it’s my favorite diner.” Jungkook corrects. “And when we first went, you needed something comforting.”

Your eyes close, the memory coming back.

Jungkook had found you seated all alone after one of his classes. You appeared like all the other freshmen, so burnt out already but still overachieving. You sat alone in the college’s cafe, books surrounding you and airpods in, though you weren’t listening to anything. Jungkook had come  up and asked if you wanted to come with him to get pancakes. “Pancakes are best in the evening.” he stated, and before you knew it, you were in his car driving to the diner that you and he now frequented weekly.

“It’s just one kiss.” Jungkook’s weight was starting to crush you. “Or I’ll lay on you until you do.”

“You’re so frustrating.” you groan, but you cannot help the smile that forms onto your lips. “And then you’ll leave?”

Jungkook hums, pecking your lips. “Do you want me to?” he asks, going in for another intoxicating kiss, this time deeper. 

You hum into his lips. You’re still beneath the covers and otherwise trapped beneath him entirely. Jungkook’s tongue forces your lips apart to glide right into your mouth. 

You grunt. “You said one kiss.” you protest, but he knows you aren’t upset. 

Jungkook smirks. “The first one doesn’t count. It was just a peck.” he states. “And if you wouldn’t have stopped me, then we would have still been having our first kiss.”

Your body feels the relief when Jungkook slides off of you, but now forces his way into the covers. You should’ve known that he wasn’t going to leave - yet you can’t expect him to if you never push him away.

Jungkook peaks at your pajama shorts. They’re fluffy and patterned with soft pink polka dots that he finds cute. 

“You’re such a liar.” you snort as Jungkook snuggles beneath your covers with you, an arm wrapping around you to bring you closer to him. 

“You can tell me to leave whenever you want.” retorts Jungkook, his arm bringing you closer to him. He inhales your scent and hums. “But we know you miss me just as much as I miss you.” 

You hated how right Jungkook was. Your mind is screaming at you to let him go - to push him away and demand that you and he end this. Whatever this was exactly- but for one it was an affair. A pure slap in the face to your cousin who always brought him around you because she trusted you and him. 

And you betrayed her.

But that knowledge doesn’t have either of you moving away.

“What were you reading?” Jungkook questions, his arm that's wrapped around you slightly caresses your arm as your head rests onto his chest. “One of your smutty books?” he jokes.

Your hand slams against his stomach and Jungkook cackles. “I’m just joking!” he exclaims. “I looked up that one book I saw you reading though…”

Your body warms, contemplating if you wanted to slam your fist into his stomach again. It wasn’t going to hurt him, but he’d know you were serious about attempting to cause him damage. 

“…good girls like you shouldn’t read books like those.” Jungkook’s fingers lightly tap your arm, so much so that it causes goosebumps to form. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, but you cannot help the way your palms begin to sweat with nervousness.

“It means exactly what I said.” Jungkook’s finger continues to glide against your skin. “Those books are filthy. You’re too…” he hums. “...innocent.”

You’re silent for a few moments. You’re unsure of what to say in response.

“I’m not that innocent.” you murmur, nearly inaudible.

“Oh?” Jungkook chuckles. His hand stops caressing your arms, but his finger lightly begins to play with the fallen tank-top strap on your arm.

Your head lifts up so you can look at his face. He returns your look, a glint in his eyes that you cannot understand. 

You lick your lips. “What’s funny?” you mumble, your brows knitting together.

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh again. He doesn’t want to appear as if he’s laughing in your face, but he does find you cute.

“You’re just so cute.” Jungkook quips. “I can’t imagine you doing anything they do in those books.”

Your heart is jumping at how the conversation is steering elsewhere. Somewhere it hasn’t gone before.

Sure, Jungkook and you had developed something deeper than a regular friendship. You had allowed him to kiss you often; kisses that turned to makeout sessions. However, Jungkook always pushed himself back, pecking your lips a few times before it got any further.

“What do you do?” Jungkook asks. His fingers never stop toying with your tank-top strap.

“What do you do?” you repeat his question right back at him. Maybe it wasn’t something you should’ve asked - after all, everything he does has to be with your cousin.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead  he continues to look at you. His gaze causes you to look away for a moment, pondering if this is a conversation you and him should be having. Specifically in this position, he and you so invasivly close to one another.

“I do a lot.” Jungkook speaks so suddenly that you almost miss it. You turn your eyes back to him, holding his gaze. “In these books-”

“They’re not all smut.” you blurt out and immediately regret it. Jungkook doesn’t laugh but his smirk is evident. “I mean…I read all types of stuff. Mystery books and stuff…”

Jungkook slowly nods his head. “I’m aware,” he responds. “I just want to know what they do in the books that are smut.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You’re not going to make me say it…”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I suppose not.” he hums. His fingers finally relax and for a mere second, you and him are still. That’s until he changes your position again. This time, you’re brought on top of him. He’s wearing jeans and he wishes he would’ve worn something to feel you better in. 

That didn’t mean that he couldn’t feel you at all.

Jungkook grasps both of your hands and places them onto his chest, your eyes slightly wide with shock. Your thighs are on either side of his waist.

“Come here,” Jungkook uttered softly, tugging your wrist a bit. He slides his hands cooly away from your hands so they can lay onto your hips. He squeezes them as your face hovers above his, mimicking the position he was in not too long ago. “you can show me instead.”

You’re positive Jungkook can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your hands tremble slightly against his chest.

Jungkook decides to take the lead, pressing his lips to the corner of yours, pecking ever so slowly. He trails them down to your chin, then jaw until they reach your neck.

You shudder, your legs nervously shaking. His hands roam up your sides. If he meant to or not, his hands slipped beneath your tank top and pulled you closer to him.

“Jungkook…” 

Jungkook’s hands stop moving. They’re warm to the touch and they stop at the center of your back.

“...what are we doing?” You couldn’t help but ask. You weren’t wearing a bra and his trailing kisses mixed with his hands caressing your skin had caused your nipples to harden and they were directly in his face.

“Nothing bad.” Jungkook responds against your neck. “I just wanted to show you what I do.”

The feel of your bare back shouldn’t be as enticing as it was, but Jungkook was just a man. Having something so soft, cute and delicate on top would drive anyone crazy.

“Unless…” Jungkook’s teeth grazing your skin. “...you haven’t done this before. Then I’ll stop.”

You feel the bottom of your tank-top ever so slowly being pushed up. Jungkook’s waiting for you to say anything - or do anything - to stop him.

“Have you done this before?” Jungkook voiced.

You bite your lip. “Y-Yes.”

Jungkook hums. “Then it should be okay then,” he responds. He continues to trail kisses from the side of your neck to your throat, hands pushing the tank top further and further up your back. “There’s nothing to be shy about.”

Your tank-top stops right beneath your breast, Jungkook waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“We shouldn’t…do this.” you whisper. You hadn’t noticed how tight you were clenching Jungkook’s shirt until now. 

“Is it because of her?” Jungkook asks. He allows his head to fall back against your soft pillows so he can look you in your eyes. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No!” you exclaim. There was no way you could ever tell your cousin that you’ve gone this far with her boyfriend. The question itself was ludacris and even the thought of it made you want to throw up.

“Neither will I.” Jungkook speaks. “It can be a secret you and I share, right?”

You aren’t able to answer before Jungkook pecks you on the lips.

“Whatever happens here…” Jungook’s hands move from your back and instead focuses on your shoulders now. The straps are already down and it’s nothing to further pull them down. His eyes never leave yours. They’re daring you to stop him - to push him away and be adamant that you didn’t want to do this.

You remained silent. Even as Jungkook fully pulls the strap from your arms and begins to push your tank-top down, you don’t say anything. “...stays here.” Jungkook finishes, his eyes flickering down to your now exposed breasts. “Okay?”

This was wrong, you think.

But you nod your head slowly, watching as Jungkook offers you a curt smile before his hands engulf your breasts entirely.

You yelp, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

“Relax. You’re so tense.” Jungkook murmurs, his thumbs directly onto your perky nipples. He rubs slow circles. “Talk to me.”

“Sorry…” you murmur, face warm. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” Jungkook licks his lips, flickering his eyes to you. 

The pet name sends another shot to your core. Your eyes widen a bit.

“I want you to be comfortable with me, okay?”

You nod hesitantly.

“You’re very beautiful.” Jungkook compliments. “When you read those books, how do they make you feel?”

Please, for the life of you, you didn't want to talk about the books. They’re just books that happened to have smut in them, not just entirely full of sex.

But you think of his question. You recall the way they made you feel, the shudder that ran up your spine with how descriptive they were, imagining that it was you in the position the protagonist was in. 

“I…they’re interested to read.” 

Jungkook hums, the pads of his thumb continuing to rub along your nipples. Your breathing becomes a bit hitched with how good it felt. 

“What part exactly?” 

You swallow. 

“You don’t want me to know?” Jungkook leans forward to leave a single kiss right between your breasts. You’re positive it’s to tease you further, leaving you even more flustered than before. “It’s okay. You can tell me, baby.”

You let out a breath. “When…they touch each other, I guess.”

Your voice is so soft and embarrassed. Jungkook finds it cute. 

“And where do they touch each other?”

“You know.” you sigh. 

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Jungkook observed. “You’re so cute, baby. You don’t have to be shy.” he coos. “How about…you show me?”

Your hands are already on his chest. It rises and falls along with his chest. Dark eyes watch you closely, saying nothing more as he awaits what you’re going to do next. His large hands still has your breast perfectly in the palms of his hands and he makes no move to remove them. 

You already told Jungkook that you’ve done this before - if a few hookups prior to your freshman year of college counted. You aren’t even sure yourself if you came from the acts and you’re unsure if you’d ever truly know. 

So, to not further embarrass yourself, you sit fully onto Jungkook. Your clothed crotch sits directly onto his jeans, unable to look away as you do so. Jungkook’s chest continues to rise and fall, his thumbs moving slowly on your nipples, yet not halting. 

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Jungkook doesn’t blink. He can feel his bulge in his jeans ready to be released and feel you better.

Your fingers grip at his shirt and for a moment, Jungkook thinks you’re going to say a smartass rebuttal. But you don’t, and something flickers in your eyes that has him curious. 

“A few times.” you respond, voice small. “Am I doing something wrong?” 

Jungkook hastily shakes his head. “You’re doing good, baby.” he murmurs, his voice cracking a bit. His stomach sinks in a bit as his mind thinks of the countless ways he could have you. So innocent and barely experienced life yet. So easy to mold into the girl he knows you can be. “What have you done?”

“Just…” your heart jolts. “…casual sex.” 

You and him were actually doing this, you think. Even if it doesn’t go all the way, it’s gone far enough. Would you even be able to look him in the eyes after this?

“So…” Jungkook moves so instead of laying down, he’s seated right against your headboard. He’s now face to face with you. “…just casual sex?”

If Jungkook understood correctly, that meant it was just him fucking you until he came. High school boys weren’t much giving people. They were selfish and they take, take and take, but never give.

You nod your head slightly.

“Did he make you feel good?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Somewhat…I don’t think I…you know.” you laugh nervously.

Jungkook’s right hand trails down to your shorts. He touches the hem of it,  glances between your eyes to your shorts, then back to you. 

“Cum.” Jungkook deadpans, his lip twitching upwards at how flustered you appear by a simple word. “Do you want to cum?”

There’s a throbbing between your legs that you hope Jungkook cannot feel. Your hands grow sweaty, eyes widening a bit.

“H-How?”

Jungkook’s fingers crawl into your shorts. Your skin is just as soft, he thinks, and he cannot wait to see the rest of you. 

“We can start off slow.” Jungkook starts. Tugging at your shorts. 

“You just want me naked.” you rebuttal. Jungkook is glad to see you’re able to joke, your nerves slowly subsiding. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Jungkook snickers. “All you have to do is ask. Here,”

Jungkook gently pushes you off of him so that you’re seated on your bed. Your tank top is now around your stomach, breast fully exposed. 

Jungkook proceeds to stand. His eyes look down at you. “What do you want me to take off?” he asks.

You swallow, your eyes glancing at his sleeveless shirt to his jeans. 

“You can start with your shirt like you did me.”

“Okay.” Jungkook nods. “Take if off of me.”

Your hands shake as you come closer to Jungkook, his unblinking eyes watching your every move. It’s nerve-wrecking being in this position, you think, while he’s adamant on watching you.

You grab the end of his shirt and light pull it up,  glancing at him to make sure you were doing this right - how else could you possibly take off a shirt anyways?

Jungkook pulls his arms up as you tug the shirt over his head, dropping it onto the floor beside him. His bare chest stares back at you and you have to fight yourself not to ogle him.

“Is that all you want me to remove?” Jungkook asks. “Because I want you to remove these,”

Jungkook’s hands are around your waist again, tugging you to stand before him. He watches your every movement as he tugs your shorts down. They fall effortlessly, leaving you in nothing but the cotton panties you wore. You’re thankful that they at least were cheeksters and looked good on you.

Your hands go to Jungkook’s belt next. You unbuckle it and then unbutton his jeans. This time, Jungkook focuses on your hands and how hot you looked half naked touching him.

Jungkook’s underwear are briefs and black - calvin klein. You immediately look away from the bulge that you see, your face growing even hotter.

“Come,” Jungkook says, tugging you onto the bed with him in the same position as before. He assures to press you directly on his lap so you could feel all of him. He doesn’t hide the groan that comes from his lips.

Your clit is throbbing, begging to be stimulated. You can feel the way Jungkook’s cock twitches immediately on impact.

“Do you touch yourself?”

The question shouldn't be invasive. After all, you willingly told him that a boy hasn’t made you cum before. At least, you didn’t know if they did or not - and honestly, if that was the case then the answer was an obvious no.

“Sometimes.” you admit.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment. He imagines you laying right here in bed, all alone. Your fingers trailing between your legs and playing with your clit until you’re sopping wet. The way your thighs would tremble with such pleasure and overstimulation and-

Jungkook shudders, his cock twitching again. He opens his eyes to look at you. His hands are directly on your hips now, squeezing them encouragingly. “Move.”

As you go to remove yourself from Jungkook, he pulls you back down.

“I meant grind.” Jungkook corrects.

You do as you’re told. You’re shy at first, only moving slowly. But you’re new to this and Jungkook understands that. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither were you.

“Circle your hips,” Jungkook instructs, his breathing increasing a bit. He swallows a lump in his throat, dark eyes watching the way you listen to him so well. “like that…”

You can feel your panties grow sticky against you, moist with your arousal. Your head falls back a bit as you quicken the pace, grinding your clit against Jungkook’s bulge.

“You’re doing good, baby.” Jungkook’s tone has darkened, now huskier. His left hand remains on your hips while his right slides up, capturing your breast. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you moan, nodding your head a bit. Your gentle hand falls right on top of Jungkook’s against your breast, eyes fluttering. “so good.”

Jungkook groans. He’s never been a fan of dry humping - it was nothing but a tease. But doing this with you, someone so young and innocent - utterly forbidden to him - made it hotter.

“I bet you’re so wet right now.” 

Jungkook would do anything to feel your bare clit right on his cock right now, but he wasn’t going to rush things. You and him had time, he thinks. He doesn’t want to think of his girlfriend now, but his mind flashes with her face. A part of him knows that this is wrong - he was taken advantage of someone young and naive and too close to her. But he couldn’t help but want to ruin you. Show you just how good he could make you feel - how good he could fuck you.

“I am wet.”

Jungkook slides his hand upwards. He glides past your shoulders and neck and grabs your cheek. Your eyes open to look at him, finding him already watching you. His thumb traces your pouty lips while licking his own. 

“Has anyone ever touched you there?”

It could be a dumb question, of course, but the ways he wishes to touch you, he’s positive those dumb high school boys you associated with could never.

You shake your head and Jungkook scoffs. He knew it.

“Do you trust me to?” Jungkook questions. His left hand slides towards your ass, squeezing it in the palm of his hands. “I could make you cum, baby. You’d want that, right?”

There was nothing to be embarrassed about now as you grind against Jungkook and allow him to touch you so freely. The thought of his hands, so invasive and willing, between your legs causes your mind to spin. Your pussy clenches around nothing in particular, grinding a bit harder against his clothed cock.

“You would,” Jungkook commanded. His eyes dance between your face that he holds between his hand, to your greedy pussy sliding against his cock so needily. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, and feverish. Your lack of experience has him wanting to give you exactly what he knew he could give. “you would let me touch you. You want me to.”

“I-”

Your back slams against your bed suddenly. You let out a yelp, your eyes snapping open. Jungkook hovers above you, licking his lips.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?” Jungkook assures, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll make you cum, baby, okay?”

Your heart pumps at his words, so soft in tone but entirely dirty. Your body is warm with embarrassment, but you’re highly intrigued. “Yes.” you breathe.

The way Jungkook’s tongue, warm and wet, slides across your skin. From your neck, to your collarbones to between your breasts - he couldn’t remember the last time he’s done this to his own girlfriend. Not because he was selfish and didn’t want to - but because she had no time to. Neglecting him and pushing him away until he fell into the arms of another woman.

“The boys you’ve been with are too young to know how to pleasure you.” Jungkook scoffs, engulfing your breasts into his palms, pressing tender kisses onto them. “But I’m not.”

You gasp at the feeling of Jungkook’s tongue wrapping around your nipple. His large hands squeeze your bosom, his tongue flickering back and forth onto the small, hardened bud. He’s gripping onto your breast so tight that you feel as though his fingernails are going to sink into your skin.

Jungkook’s lips pop your nipple from his mouth to now focus on the other one, giving it the same attention. There’s excitement that flows through him to hear your pitched breathing and sharp moans. It only gives him more satisfaction to latch onto your nipple, suckling and slurping onto it. 

“You’re so reactive.”

Jungkook pops the second nipple from his lips, flicking his eyes up at you.

“It feels…” you swallow, your warm body shuddering. “…good.”

“I know it does, baby.” 

The pet name has you shuddering even more, the hair on your skin continuing to rise. Your hand rests on Jungkook’s shoulder, fluttering eyes watching his handsome face form a short smile.

“You’re so cute, baby.”

Jungkook’s hand slides down from your breast. His fingers lightly tap against your stomach, then abdomen before he feels the light hem of your panties.

“I…I don’t know…”

Jungkook knits his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if we should…you know?” you swallow the lump in your throat. “I wasn’t expecting to do this today. I don't think I’m prepared.”

You can feel the heartbeat right between your legs. The need to be touched is high, but your mind continues to yell at you that this is wrong, not just because of who Jungkook was but because you aren’t sure if you were ready to do anything with him. Your lack of experience compared to someone like Jungkook is laughable, and you didn’t need him laughing anymore than he already has.

“You don’t mean that.” Jungkook’s finger taps at your panties, eyelashes blinking a bit. “You’re just a bit shy. You don’t have to be shy with me.”

Jungkook hooks his fingers into your panties, offering you an otherwise sweet smile that you are oblivious to not noticing the mischievous intent beneath it.

“Unless you don’t…trust me.” Jungkook’s voice lowers. “Have I done anything for you not to?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “of course not!”

Jungkook removes his hands from your panties, clicking his tongue. He’s silent for a moment, tilting his head as he watches you. His silence causes an unease to flow through you and you were pondering if maybe he was upset with you. “Jung-”

“You should probably go to bed.”

Your mouth is slightly agape when Jungkook speaks.

“You have that test in the morning, right?” Jungkook continues, raising a single brow. “At least, that’s what you told me.”

“Right.” you nod your head, voice low. “Are you…are you leaving?”

Jungkook’s eyes watch you for a moment too long before he shrugs his shoulders. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” you admit far too quickly for your liking.

“Then I won’t.”

The bed is strangely cold by the time you wake up. You don’t notice at first until your mind registers the night before. The way Jungkook held you against him, his legs entangled in yours to keep you close. Your warmth radiated off against one another, and now that he was gone, you realized just how cold you felt without him there.

It takes you a few minutes to get up from your bed. You are not upset that Jungkook left. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be there. Still, it does leave a sting in your heart knowing that you’ve allowed things to go as far as they had. You trot down the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. It takes exactly ten minutes to do everything you need to do before making your way down the same hall to go to the kitchen.

You had a test in an hour, that part wasn’t a lie. You hoped you could  focus on said test and get your mind off of the man that is Jeon Jungkook.

You aren’t lucky, however. You round the corner to enter the kitchen and immediately stop in your tracks. 

Your cousin is leaning against the counter, dipping a tea bag right into her streaming cup. You recall that it’s her favorite mug - a glass one that’s shaped like a skull. It matches her personality perfectly, you think.

“Morning.” your cousin says, glancing at you from the corner of her eyes. “Kook cooked breakfast.”

Your heart pounds outside your chest.  It isn’t hard to notice the taller man behind her, but you were trying your best to avoid looking his way at all. But, of course, you fail. Your eyes make their way to him to find that he’s already looking at you. When your eyes meet one another, Jungkook offers a smile. He holds up a bowl, signaling that he had indeed cooked breakfast.

“I…Im not hungry.”

Jungkook slowly lowers his hands. He glances at his girlfriend - your cousin.

“You’re not?” your cousin asks. She turns her head to fully face you. “DId you even eat before bed? I saw your plate in the microwave.”

You let out a short breath. Nothing ever got  past her, you think. You were lying about not being hungry. You just didn’t want to be caught between her and Jungkook during breakfast and be left in such an awkward situation that only you and he knew about.

Your stomach rumbles, causing your cheeks to heat up. Your cousin snorts, turning back to her tea. 

“Sit and eat.” your cousin insists. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Jungkook sing-songs, placing the bowl onto the kitchen island. “ was even thinking of making a protein shake.”

You sit on the stool, looking down at the eggs before you. You glance up at Jungkook to find him looking at you already. His smile doesn’t falter. It’s soft, you think, and awaiting for you to do…anything. 

“Thanks.” you murmur. 

You begin to eat, your foot bouncing nervously as your cousin blows and sips onto her tea. Jungkook does what he says and begins to make a protein shake - adding different variations of fruits, yogurts and a powder you haven’t seen until today. 

“So,” your cousin turns to face you. She doesn’t look your way, too consumed with the tea she’s attempting to not burn her throat with. “how’s school? I feel like I haven’t seen you lately.”

That’s because she was busy. Your cousin consumed herself with work and you applaud her for being able to handle that and school. You, like most freshmans, are far too in your head that you don’t even believe you could handle anything. 

“Alright. Just…studying.”

“College isn’t all about school.” she places her mug onto the island. Jungkook is behind her, the blender sounding loudly. “You should live a little, too. When’s the last time you saw your friends?” she speaks louder.

“We facetime all the time.”

Your cousin snorts. She furrows her brows. “You should see them. Invite them over!” she encouraged . “Or go out. There’s parties everywhere.”

The blender stops. Jungkook begins to pour the semi-thick shake into a shaker bottle - something else you were positive you hadn’t seen until now. 

“Do you go to parties?” you asked her, plucking some more egg into your mouth. There's white rice on the bottom, you note. 

“Sometimes.” she nods. “Recently, no. I've been working on volunteering and building my resume along with references. But you have time.” 

You swallow as Jungkook places the bottle in front of you. He offers a short wink that only you catch. “So you can have enough energy throughout the day.” he tells you. 

“Kook keeps trying to get me on making shakes and smoothies everyday.” she rolls her eyes playfully. “I can’t be bothered.” 

“Try it.” Jungkook insists. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Your hands tremble under pressure as you do as you’re told. It’s good, the taste of strawberries are evident. You could understand why Jungkook would make them daily - he was a “gym bro”. His words, not yours. 

“It is good.” you agree, licking your lips. “I should get ready soon.”

“How are you getting there?” your cousin questions. “Kook can give you a ride.”

“I can walk.” you shake your head, glancing to Jungkook who’s eyes hasn’t left you. “It’s only around a fifteen minute walk.” You were grateful your cousin lived so close to campus and allowed you to occupy her extra bedroom. Granted, it was being paid for by both of your parents so it was a win-win regardless. 

“I don’t mind.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “It’s spring and you never know when it’ll rain.”

“I can bring an umbrella-“

“Just accept the ride, Y/N.” your cousin deadpans. “Stop being weird.” 

You’re silent, blinking a few times. Your lips are pressed thinly together, and for a moment your eyes turn into slight slits. Here you were trying to keep your cousin's boyfriend at a respectable distance, and she was calling you weird.

Granted, she doesn’t know about what her boyfriend does - you’ll never tell her. You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed with her persistence in making sure you got to school safely and on time.

“Okay.” you murmur, pushing the stool away from the island with a curt nod. “I’m going to get ready now.”

Jungkook watches the way you scurry out of the kitchen. He turns his eyes slowly to his girlfriend and clicks his tongue. “You can be a little easier on her.” he suggests, grasping the bowl you were once eating out of and bringing it to the sink. “She’s only a freshman.”

Jungkook hears a scoff just as he turns the sink water on, preparing to wash the dishes. 

“I have been going easy on her.” she says. “I want her to have a normal college experience. She coops herself in her room all the time and allows herself to waste away.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at his girlfriend's words. He doesn’t say anything on topic, however.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions, scrubbing a dish clean. 

“Networking.”

Jungkook hums. He felt like he knew as such. Ever since she’s managed to get an internship - not including the many volunteer work she does while also maintaining an actual job and school - she’s been a busy person. He’s unsure how she manages to come home and cook almost 4 days a week and keep track of you.

“I see.” Jungkook turns off the sink water. “Tae keeps asking about you. They miss you on game nights.”

Her lips form a low smile. “I miss beating his ass in connect 4.” she laughs. “But not all of us can have wealthy parents like you guys.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s gotten used to his girlfriend's “playful” jabs. He was told too many times that her going to college wasn’t a side quest like it was for him and his friends. It was interesting to see how serious she took life while also telling you to live a little more.

“I’ll see you later.” Jungkook decides to speak instead. He comes closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Whenever you’re free…” he murmurs, his lips against her forehead. 

You aren’t sure why you’re nervous entering Jungkook’s car. You’ve been in here before. It’s clean and always smells like fresh linen. The dark seats are always warm - you later realized that his seats are heated and he always assures they’re the right temperature before you enter.

Jungkook, as he begins to drive down the quiet street, places a hand onto your thigh. You don’t say anything, only watching the way his tattooed fingers tap along.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions.

There’s music playing low in his car. The roads are empty, only a few cars on them this early morning. You glance out the tinted windows and take a deep breath.

“Nothing.” you reply. “Leave it to my cousin, I should be going to a rave.”

Jungkook snorts. He squeezes your thigh, wishing it was the sensitive, soft flesh he felt last night.

“She just wants you to have fun.” Jungkook says. “Live a little, you know? Go out. Party. Be a college student.”

You want to roll your eyes. Of course he would defend her - you don’t expect him to take your side, either way.

“I have a few friends who always throw parties.” Jungkook speaks up. “You can go.”

You slowly turn your head, your interest somewhat peaked. 

Jungkook stops at a red light. He faces you. With furrowed brows, he asks, “Why are you looking like that?”

You swallow. “I have never been to a college party before.” you murmur, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Um,” you continue, licking his lips. “is it…tonight?”

Jungkook’s lips slowly turn upwards. “Sure is.” he says. “I can take you…if you’d like. This party isn’t going to be as crazy as it would be if we were, let’s say, sophomores.”

Jungkook recalls the many crazy parties they’d throw - the pool parties, costume parties that always ended with someone being overly offensive. The amount of fist-fights that ended in a big brawl; the full college experience.

Jungkook remembers his girlfriend being by his side at a few of them. Until she stated that she couldn’t continue to associate herself with “mess” - her words. That, and then state that she wasn’t like them. She didn’t have her parents' money to get her out of trouble if needed be. 

“You can invite some friends, too.”

You feel Jungkook’s hands creep higher. He continues to drive, his eyes focused on the road. 

You should push his hand away, you think. Distance yourself from this man that doesn’t belong to you.

You don’t. You never do.

“I’ll try.”

Pulling into the parking lot, Jungkook comes to a stop. He doesn’t cut the engine - he doesn’t need to be here until later. He does, however, remove his seat belt. He turns towards you, watching the way you take off your own seat belt.

“Thanks-”

“You don’t have to be in there for another 10 minutes.”

Jungkook, who had lifted his hand from your thigh when he took off his seatbelt, had made it his mission to put it back. This time, his fingers - ever so gently - slide into your inner thigh. His dark eyes glance at you innocently, but you aren’t that dumb to think that he only wanted you to sit here and talk.

“I have a project due later,” Jungkook begins, his tattooed fingers tapping lightly. “but then I’m free.”

“Okay.” you murmur, licking your lips. “Why are you telling me?”

Jungkook’s own lips form a low smirk. You were cute when you were this way - feigning uninterest. He knows if you truly didn’t care, you wouldn’t have asked in the first place.

“Don’t you want to hang out with me?” Jungkook pokes his bottom lip out. 

“I’m going to the party, aren’t I?” 

You try to relax, but you can't. You hoped desperately that your face didn’t show how nervous you were being with Jungkook. You would think after last night, him squeezing your thigh and seemingly growing closer wouldn’t affect you. But this was Jungkook and of course whatever he did had an effect on you.

“You’re right.” Jungkook hums, tilting his head a bit. “Wear something…cute but relaxed. You can meet my friends.”

Jungkook wonders if you would feel the same way about them that your cousin did. She didn’t not like them. They were the same group of friends they hung around for years. Only, she matured a lot faster than either of them had, thinking about a future far ahead than they ever did.

You swear your heartbeat is in sync with the low beat of the music. You don’t say anything, only returning the look that Jungkook is giving you. He’s probably waiting for you to tell him to move his hand - to stop inching closer and closer to the warmth between your legs. Or, maybe he’s waiting for you to get out of his car and get to class.

You don’t do anything. 

“Can I get a kiss before you go?”

Your heart flutters at his question, body warming. You swallow.

“You don’t just want a kiss.” You retort.

Jungkook chuckles low - you were right. If it was up to him, he would have his way with you right in the backseat. But he was a patient man and you were worth more than a simple hookup in his car. 

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

You don’t realize who initiated it, but your lips are on Jungkook’s far too easily. Like you knew, the man wasn’t going to let you go off with a single kiss. Instead, he replaces his right hand with left one and wraps his right arm around you to keep you in place. His tongue pries your lips open, sliding it into your mouth.

The kiss is hot, growing heavier by the second. His arm lightly tugs, wishing he could pull you  right into his lap. Instead, his left hand swipes between your legs, lightly rubbing. 

You’re the first to break the kiss, breathing in as much air as you could before Jungkook found his tongue back in your mouth. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer and allows himself to do the same, his wet lips falling to your jawline. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” 

Jungkook’s tone is deep, breath tickling your jawline as he kisses down. He makes his way to your neck, tongue circling your flushed skin. 

“Yes-“

You don’t get to finish. Jungkook slides his hands into your pants, those greedy and invasive fingers cupping you through your panties. You yelp, eyes widening.

“W-What are you doing?!” you hiss, turning your eyes to the nothingness that is outside the car. The windows were a dark tint so even if someone was there…

You take a deep breath.

“I just want to make you cum.” Jungkook says against your neck. “Before you go.”

Your heart continues to pump rapidly. You don’t make a move to stop him, even if the denial is on the tip of your tongue. Instead, your eyes slowly trail down to watch the way his hand slides further into your pants.

“It’ll feel good, I promise.” Jungkook says. “I can make you cum in 5 minutes. You’d want that, right?”

If you had any sort of respect for yourself and your cousin, you would’ve ended it right here. Push him away and tell him you no longer wanted anything like this from him. 

You hadn’t. Your silence, to Jungkook, was consent. He knew you wanted him to. Short breathes come from those parted lips, your chest rising and falling. Your thighs even widened a bit to allow him to feel more of you. 

You jerk when Jungkook’s fingers make their way between your panties, sliding past your clit. Jungkook sucks in a breath, “You’re wet.” he groans. “I knew you wanted this, baby.” 

“This…we can’t-”

“No one’s here.” Jungkook’s fingers twirl around your clit. You swallow the moan you want to let out. “Look at me.”

You do without hesitance. Jungkook holds your gaze while your body warms. His fingers continue to rub along your clit, keeping pressure on the already sensitive bud. You let out a soft gasp, unknowingly opening your legs wider. 

“There you go,” Jungkook murmurs, continuing to hold your gaze. He leans in a bit more, appearing to be hovering above you. “you’re so wet right now. You must feel good, right?”

“Yea,” you nod your head, voice strained with nerves. 

“Don’t be shy.” Jungkook chuckles at the way your face looks. So pretty and young, he thinks, so full of life yet lacking of experience that only one with years could give you. “Give me a kiss.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Instead, he continues to rub along your clit, circling the bud faster and faster. You managed, somehow, to capture his lips in your own. It causes your moan to die down, but either way, you manage.

The kiss is just as hot as before. Jungkook forces his tongue inside, suckling on your own as his greedy fingers find your hole. His pants are tight, cock throbbing and twitching to be let free. His fingertips tease your hole - so tight and new to all of this, he thinks. He couldn’t wait to show you the world of pleasure he could expose you to if you’d let him.

You gasp out when Jungkook’s long fingers enter you. The feeling is different. It wasn’t as filling as a cock, sure, but the way he manages to thrust them in and out of you tells you that he knew what he was doing. 

Jungkook groans against your lips when your soft hand grasps his cheek. The act causes Jungkook to thrust his finger even faster inside of you. His forehead pressed against yours and his teeth clamp down onto your bottom lip. “Feel good, baby?”

“Yes!” you nod your head. 

You made the mistake of looking down. Your eyes catch Jungkook’s hand hidden inside your pants, only his fis wrist visible. The veins on his arm pulse and the sight alone has you moaning a bit louder - why did it look so hot? It’s nothing too sexual, you think, but it was also Jungkook. Everything on Jungkook was hotter than it should be.

“Kook,” 

You don’t realize you’re holding his face until you feel your nails dig into the skin of his cheek. Jungkook doesn’t mind, however. A bit of pain never hurt him. “You gonna cum all over my fingers?” he asks. “You’re such a dirty little girl, Y/N.”

Why did that have you clenching around his already pumping fingers? Did dirty talk really excite you, or was it just Jungkook?

Regardless, you nod your head, eyes meeting his again. Your mouth opens slightly to let out hushed, drawn out moans that you only heard when you were making yourself cum - and even then, it never felt like this.

“Say it,” Jungkook continues, pecking your lips. “say you’re my dirty girl, Y/N.”

It’s an insane statement to make when he wasn’t a single man. Yet, you knew that. You knew who he was and know fully that what you and he are doing is wrong- but you comply. “I’m…I’m your dirty girl,” you breath, thighs shuddering and stomach clenching.

You were cumming - all the while still having another five minutes left until you needed to be in class. Your eyes squeeze shut as the pressure consumes you, higher-pitched moans coming from those sweet lips.

Jungkook brings his fingers out of you just on time, his lips coating kisses on your neck. His cock continues to throb but he tells himself that even now, you weren’t ready - but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be soon.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @mar-lo-pap @ami-s-k