#and I’m seeing more and more why that might be

[chrollohearttags]

𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 | 𝚎. 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚛

studying has been taking up a lot of your time (and mental energy) as of late. Your boyfriend has just the plan to shut your brain off for the night.

black nurse!reader (fem descriptors), eren is a nursing student (a few years younger than reader also) fingering, neck kissing, choking, facefucking, rough-ish sex, squirting, missionary, slightly aggressive rennie 🫠, daddy is used once, nipple play, calls reader slut, spit play, fingers in mouth, creampie, multiple orgasms

word count: 5.3K

🎙️: some of y’all might remember this AU from Wattpad and I’m officially restarting it bc my muse for the others are shot right now. If you’re not familiar with it, I apologize in advance bc I promise it’s not this smutty and juicy in the slightest ☠️ I’m just in a mood. Also, this is my first fic in almost two months, please be nice or I’ll cry!

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“You know you play too fucking much, right?”

“Mmmm..nah, I don’t think I’ve played enough. Look at you. All tense and shit.”

if there was one word in the entire English language that you could use to describe your mood at the moment, it’d most certainly be irritable. To the highest degree..and granted, that could have been chocked up to the fact that you hadn’t eaten in hours, you’d been staring at textbooks and computer screens since four in the afternoon and your phone screen read nine thirty..and to really add the proverbial icing atop the cake, this annoying ass man would not leave you alone! Here it was only a week away from your BSN final; two from his N-CLEX exam and here he was bullshitting as per usual. It was how he approached most things in life, his mantra if you will. No need to stress, what’s meant to be will happen.

too bad, you couldn’t take on those sorts of ideologies when so much was at stake! Not when the results of these tests would determine your future as an RN and instructor, and his career as a nurse in general. You’d met Eren Jaeger almost three years ago when he was merely a patient at the office you worked for during your initial internship..earning clinical hours and experience in the field. He was most certainly the liveliest one you’d seen in Dr. Smith’s office and there was never an appointment where you didn’t leave in stitches because he’d made you laugh so hard. However, you pegged him as the rich kid, the son of a doctor with no ambition or common sense...always looking to make a joke out of everything.

so imagine your surprise when you were tasked with not only supervising an entire floor but the local nursing school recruits as well and the first person to come traipsing through those heavy double doors was him! And even more so, in six months time, he’d have you wooed and swept off your feet. That same charm and wit that had you cackling during his appointments were the same ones that made you nearly spit your drink out when you were on a date and eased serious tension among your staff after a rough night on the floor. Just being in his presence brought you immense comfort. However, at the moment…

“Look, Eren. I’m busy, find sum’ else to do, for real.”

you weren’t in the mood for any of it! This exam had been causing you immense stress and it seemed that no matter how hard you studied, retaining information was impossible. Nothing stuck and you were at your wits end..certainly not in the mood for childish antics.

”I’m trying but you don’t want to stop—“

“Maybe because everything isn’t a goddamn joke to me.”

Eren could see the frustration, hence why he had come up behind you, in a half assed attempt to make you scared and somehow wound up groping your chest in the process. Admittedly, he’d never seen you act like this..never even so much as raise your voice at him and here you were, lashing out. Part of him understood your feelings. He knew how important this was and although he wasn’t showing it, he was equally as nervous for his own test. But regardless, nothing was going to change tonight and especially by sitting here irate and snappy. The only thing he wanted to do was shut his brain off and wanted his beloved (y/n) to follow suit..and he was willing to make it happen by any means!

“Eren, what did I just say—“

one thing that he had learned since being together was that once your mind was resigned to something..there was no changing it. So rather than spend time arguing with you, he had another solution!

“..I heard you, I don’t give a fuck about all that right now…’just trying to help..”

“You’re trying to help me by fucking me? Righttt.”

“Yes, I think it’s a very helpful tool for relieving stress. Seen that somewhere in my text book or sum’..”

“Mmm, I think me and you were studying different materials..but sure, why not.”

seconds later, his hand was snaking around your upper body, clutching your throat with the other steadily pulling the chair back and his lips marking your neck with soft kisses. He was adamant in making sure that you got proper rest and a distraction. What better way to do so than to wear you down? Eventually, you’d find those large hands of his snaking around to the front, making home back on your plump breasts..soft, voluptuous and perky as they sat up in your tank top. He could see you visibly enjoying this little tease, indicative by the way your muscles relaxed. He’d continue to massage them until your legs almost instinctively parted.

That’s when, before you even had time to react, he’d spin you around to face him. His grasp still firm around your throat as he moved in for a kiss. Your tongues collided in a steamy clash; smacking against one another as you attempted to catch your breath. But he wasn’t leaving you much room to do so, less known, attest him right now.

“Exactly..now keep those legs spread and don’t move.”

the command was so absolute and matter of fact, it damn near caught you off guard! He’d never spoken to you in such a manner. It was always so playful, jovial and even a bit needy during times like this. But alas, you’d awoken this side of him and you were going to have a hell of a time ‘calming’ him down. Even so, you’d follow his order just this once and part those thick thighs until that plump center, sheathed by the smallest pair of shorts he’d ever seen. Your physique truly was something special…thick in all of the correct areas with stretch marks and a semi-pudgy tummy to match. Your belly ring dangled from the gentle force of him maneuvering you around.

“Eren..I—“

“Whatever you’re about to say, save it…you don’t always have to handle shit alone. I got you..just let me help, okay? I promise, you can trust me..”

he was aware of your past..how mean and cruel previous partners had been so he was very careful in how he approached you. He understood all too well that being overly aggressive would only prove to make you anxious or even shut down entirely. His intention was never to make you uncomfortable. Even so, he wanted to see you give yourself to him fully…trust that he would do right by you and not take advantage of the precious gift that was your love.

he would take great care of you to not only relax but feel pleasure like you’d never experienced it. Although you seemed a bit reluctant, you were ready for whatever he was going to toss your way! Assuring him that you were all his for the taking..

“Fineee…I trust you..”

without a moment of hesitation, he’d detach from your own mouth and move down your neck. Whilst those tits remained exposed, he’d prompt you to give each of those nipples a light squeeze in his place. Meanwhile, his own hands were busy gliding into your underwear, trying to locate that aching bud. That long, tattooed forearm gliding down the center of your torso as a result. It would also serve as a semblance of comfort when he inevitably brought you to ecstasy..

“Mmm..there we go, baby..fuck, you’re so wet already.”

“That’s because you were grabbing on my neck..”

“Oh you like that, huh? I’ll keep it in mind..”

you wouldn’t know it but when you first began dating Eren, he was completely inexperienced. Although he wore his confidence like a lapel pin, he was incredibly timid, shy and nervous when it came to intimacy. The first time you two actually had sex, he lasted all of three minutes before he forced himself to pull out and splatter you with a heavy load. Left a trembling mess, his entire face turned beet red as he just glared at you. He was certain you were going to leave him right then and there; flustered and apologetic, he’d try to make up an excuse as to why he couldn’t satisfy you to your full potential. However, you thought it was adorable! He’d worked up all of his courage to give you a night filled with pleasure and even though it didn’t pan out quite the way he imagined, he had made a complete turnaround since that night and had done good to broaden his sexual horizons. You grew together; learning one another’s ticks and desires, which he knew each of yours to a science. So much so, you practically melted within his grasp and wanted to see just how far he’d take it!

“Open your mouth f’r me, princess…” prompting you as he causally glided those fingers across your tongue. Your gorgeous brown eyes fixated on him in a lustful gaze..by this time, you’d come to completely face him with that tall, lanky frame hovering above. You were all but level with that rising tent within his sweats. Meanwhile, his opposite set of digits were good and preoccupied with your juicy cunt; tightening around the base of the knuckles and then releasing once he’d use the thumb to stroke your swollen clit. Such an awkward position to be in at the moment but it was well worth it for the amount of pleasure both of you were about to receive. Finally retracting the ones in your mouth, Eren would leave you with a trail of drool seeping down your lips and chest in the process. Looking fucked out and starved already without so much as even a single thrust yet..that was the type of desperation and submission he wanted to see from you..

“ ‘ren…lemme suck on that dick..”

although he was trying to maintain control, who was he to deny your very blunt request? After all, he knew if you were dripping now, this would inevitably have you overflowing. Just as the first hand did, he’d slowly withdraw from those tight folds and allow you to clean up the remnants before tugging at that elastic waistband. “oh shit..I knew you’d come around. Here, baby..”

suddenly, you’d feel that same grasp on the back of your head, tugging you forward so that he could align himself with the rim of those pretty lips. The softness brushing against the tip as he rubbed them around…teasing you. “There you go..kiss it—stick your tongue out..that’s it..” from there, (y/n) needed no further instruction. Without the guidance of your own hands, you’d take his entire tip into your mouth and begin to suckle. Suctioning in, enclosing the silkiness of those jaws around his cock. “Fuck..you don’t need me to tell you anything..just make me feel good, princess..like you always do—“

he was well aware of how deviant you truly could become when the need arised. From outside appearances, you always looked so poised and proper..never getting out of character and to some, you’d even come off as ‘boujie’. However, Eren got to see the multitude of your complex layers; dispelling the notion that you were dull or boring. Including this one..the very promiscuous side that would do whatever it took to get hers and make him climax too! When it came to the bedroom, you were adamant and steadfast in what you wanted and he had no issue fulfilling those requests. Eventually, you’d take another couple of inches before establishing a rhythm. It didn’t take long for the very audible sounds of slurping and gagging to emit as a result. You’d gaze up to see Eren’s head resting back on his shoulder blades; groans spilling out in a whiny huff as a result of it all. You could be rather relentless when it came to pleasuring him but he didn’t mind it one single bit, of course!

“Oh my—shit, baby. You take me so good..fucking your own face like that. I love it..”

those words only served as further encouragement and inevitably prompted you to cradle his balls in addition, knowing how sensitive they were. Giving them a light squeeze, you’d continue forcing his shaft between your jaws; the sloppy wet strings of drool pooling down your chest serving as a testament to how much you were enjoying yourself. Where limits should have existed, there were none and it wasn’t long before he’d find himself buried to the hilt of your throat with your forehead scraping his pelvis. With that salacious gaze fixated on him, Eren had to all but restrain himself from forcing a load down your esophagus. But to be fair, this was the outcome he desired so badly and kept pestering you for.

“F—fuck! You’re not playing fair, baby.. ‘gonna make me come if you don’t stop..”

that deep tone with breathy whimpers cried out as he struggled to maintain his composure. However, you weren’t interested in letting up when he so rudely disturbed your study session. He was going to pay for breaking your focus! In a quick slight of hand, you’d shift his member into your palm and his sack in between your lips. Making slow jerking motions until you’d lean back up and coat both with exorbitant amounts of saliva. Seeing how filthy and unabashed you had become for him was causing Eren to lose his mind. Sometimes, he felt as though he couldn’t keep up with you and this was one of those moments. Although this little sexual escapade was his idea, you’d seem to have taken full, unequivocal control of the situation.

“That’s exactly what I want…”

“Then gag yourself on this dick, baby..let that stress out.”

that look in your eyes screaming for him to give you every ounce of his creamy nut…wanting to swallow every drop. Eventually, you’d begin to writhe around against the desk chair, attempting to create friction and stimulation for your clit. Your nipples had once again become extremely hard and the slightest brush was driving you crazy. Eren had heard your response loud and clear, which led him to sandwiching your head between those same fingers that had once curled up inside of you. He’d prompt you to take his cock back into your mouth so that he could work out all of that cum of his own accord.

the pace mirrored that of heavy, rough strokes..ones you’d get to experience soon enough. Gag spit along with loud moans poured out as a result of his brutal pounding but you welcomed the sensation..even increasing it by reaching down and fingering yourself in his place. “..yeah, play with your pussy, baby..” It wasn’t even a full five minutes before you noticed his stride beginning to break and his toned legs trembling. The last couple movements were off kilter and choppy but soon, you’d have your reward in the form of his seed. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, damn—‘coming—“

in that very moment, (y/n) would find yourself held in place by the tight grasp of his palms as he allowed that thick cock to pulsate in the back of your throat. The warm fluid filled your oral cavity until he could muster another drop. The entire time, his loud groaning was permeating the room as well. Once he was able to regain his senses, Eren would slowly withdraw and examine the aftermath. That towering six foot something frame would take a step back to truly take in the beautiful sight in front of him. You were drenched from the neck to your belly button in silky fluids…that wrung out tank top sat idly underneath your breasts and those shorts were halfway around your thighs at this point. To say he’d make an absolute wreck of you would be an understatement.

“Lemme look at you…”

proudly displaying his work of ‘art’, you’d cup those saliva laden tits and squeeze them together with your tongue dangling. By the look on your face, something told him that you were more than happy he’d interrupted you! “Yeah..that’s how you should look. Happy as fuck.” Shoving his thumb between your puckered lips, he’d then bend down to shove his tongue into your mouth for a sloppy peck.

but something also told him that you couldn’t be satisfied with merely sucking him off. You needed—no, you deserved more.

“Are we done? If so, imma be disappointed.”

“Of course not, baby..I got you.”

Regardless of how lightheaded that orgasm had made him, he leaned forward and took you into his grasp. Hoisting you up in one fell swoop to carry you to the bed that was a mere ten feet away. Once he had you flat against the mattress, he’d make haste in disrobing you of those clothes to render you completely naked. He’d follow suit and tug his sweats until they reached his ankles so he could kick them off. Once the two of you were left with only your bare flesh, Eren wasted no time in pinning both your wrists and ankles behind your head. But not before propping your head up with a pillow. A position that led to excitement riddling your face. From this angle, you could watch it go in and out together. With you exactly where he wanted, your boyfriend began the descent down your torso to that plump center. Those fat lips drenched in slick whilst that aching bud protruded between them. He knew you were already overly sensitive so he didn’t want to keep you waiting for much longer but the selfish glutton in him just had to have a taste of that divine nectar.

“Just be patient with me..’need to make sure you’re good and ready first..”

immediately, your eyes would roll to the back of your skull and a nervous giggle arose as well. Make no mistake, he allowed you to have your fun but it was his turn to take control now. Delving headfirst between your thighs, Eren began his quick descent onto that swollen pearl and lapped around it. You’d immediately grasp at the sheets, eyes trailing to the back of your skull as those feet dangled in the air. He’d keep you at bay with a hand clutched around your throat as he continued exploring those folds with his tongue. For a split second, his head would raise to make eye contact with you.

“Fuck..you really needed this, huh? You’re already starting to come..” alluding to the fact that your juices were spurting out as he scooped his tongue inside of your hole and rubbed that sensitive clit. It seemed his skills grew better and better each time you two had sex. He was far more attune to your needs and desires, even more aware of them than you were sometimes.

“Y-yeah!..how’d you learn to do that?” “What can I say? I got a hell of a teacher...” tossing you a wink and a smirk because you truly did turn him out when it came to the bedroom. He’d continue lapping and tracing his tongue intricately throughout your folds until he received the beautiful payout of you squirting all over his face. Try as you might to harbor restraint, it was to no avail and of no use…that tight entrance would spasm before more would spill forth. Just to increase that pleasure, Eren added a finger in hopes of coaxing more out.

“Give me that cum, baby..that’s it. Make a fucking mess for me..” and you certainly didn’t disappoint. The shower of sweet juices continued for another minute or so before you’d lie there, spent and breathless from such an amazing orgasm. Once he’d gotten his fill, your boyfriend would return to the surface for air and to get a good look at your current state. “You taste so good..love making you squirt in my fucking face..” Breaking into a sadistic chuckle, he’d readjust so that his palms were stationed firmly on the backs of your thighs and that he was centered right between them..in that moment, he’d slide his throbbing member across the sensitive core and tease it for a moment. But you couldn’t handle that at the moment.

“Eren, please don’t play..I need you so fucking bad right now..”

nearly in tears from the pending overstimulation and the overwhelming need to be stuffed full of his cock. Your walls would ache and spasm in anticipation; so much so, he’d watch you reach for his hips to guide him in. But naturally, nothing with this man came completely easy…he had to mess with you a bit for all of the resistance earlier. Just as you went to grab him, he’d pin those wrists back in one fell swoop with one hand and use the other to press into your stomach.

“I know you do…that’s why you’re gonna beg me for it.” Immediately being met with a look of shock and a bit of infuriation. Even so, you’d remain there, lying in wait until he got what he wanted.

“I mean, you were being all fussy earlier..I’m not convinced you really deserve it..c'mon, princess…change my mind.” he was so assured of himself and honestly, you were in no position to attest. The desire grew stronger with every passing moment and if he didn’t deliver soon, you were bound to implode. “Fuuuck, Eren! Please—“ “That’s better but not quite..tell me how badly you need me to fuck you.” Besides, when he hovered above you like this, looking so fucking attractive and domineering, you felt no other choice but to submit. So setting your pride aside, (y/n) began to grovel..whimpering and bucking your hips to meet the friction of his shaft rubbing against your wet folds. You’d tell him how good he made you feel and that your body was his for the taking, unequivocally. Finally, that submission and trust he had craved..best believe, he was going to take care not to break it. After your speech, he’d seem content and proceeded to tap the head of that appendage against you before gripping the base and making one full glide across the outside and shoving it inside. Sucking his teeth and moaning as he made place between that flesh.

“Oh fuck…that’s it, gorgeous. Right there..”

you’d release a whimper of your own as you became acclimated to that thick shape. You’d clench around him once before releasing and he knew he couldn’t sit idle for long. With haste, he’d begin slamming his hips forward, quickly trying to establish some semblance of a rhythm so that he didn’t blow his load too quickly. Upon being immersed in that juicy cunt, he’d find his knees buckling from the sensation.

“..pussy’s so fucking tight..and warm..oh God, I love you so much..” his whiny yet deep moans complimented by the sounds of smacking flesh. With your hands now planted firmly on your asscheeks, per his instructions, you’d keep it spread open so that he had ample room to give you both the satisfaction you both desired. Suddenly, his strokes would increase in speed and depth; really stretching you out. Jolting that body around as those perky tits bounced from the force. “Fuck!… babyyyy…” “I know, baby. I know..you just look so pretty when I’m digging you out. I can’t help but fuck you this hard.” Cooing to you as he bent down to plant soft kisses along your forehead. You’d cry out, maneuvering your hands to his back, digging your nails into it..you’d never felt pleasure like this with anyone else. The way he made love to you was incomparable. Even when you fought against it, he knew your body’s needs and wanted more than anything to satisfy them.

“That’s right, princess..let me fuck that stress out of you..let that mind go blank. Just focus on taking this dick.” Whispering in your ear as you held him close.

eventually, your legs would coil around his waist and your eyes would trail to the back of your skull in a haze of sheer ecstasy. You didn’t know what to do with yourself..all except fall apart underneath him. Your body was a bundle of tight nerves, bound together by the building ecstasy and you were bound to explode any minute. Unfortunately for you, he wasn’t done teasing quite yet..instead, he had one more move he just had to try in hopes of sending you over the edge.

“Eyes on me, baby..yeah, I need to see that pretty face right now.”

garnering a smile as he leaned back up and maneuvered his arms to fall into the center of your torso. Suddenly, you’d feel a slight pinch of your nipples before he began to rub them slowly. Tracing tiny circles as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. It was very apparent you couldn’t handle it by the way that cunt twitched around his shaft..you were bound to explode at any moment. Mouthing off about how good it feels as he made alternating motions on those sensitive buds; rolling them between his fingertips, squeezing and even leaning down to suckle them for a brief moment. The sensation lasted for a few minutes before he’d return his attention back to ensuring you got your well deserved orgasm. This time, with a bit more aggression because he recalled how excited you’d gotten when he grasped your throat.

“Oh my God…fuck! ‘m gonna come—“

“Then do it..come f’r me, slut..give me what I want.”

the name sending you into an absolute spiral as he never spoke that way on a regular basis and would never think to disrespect you. But this was exactly what you craved. To be used and made devoid of all feelings except pleasure. Suddenly, you’d feel his fingertips squeezing your jaws as he increased his speed yet again..this time, feeding you the deepest, longest strokes he could muster. The two of you would spout off filthy, steamy remarks at one another through gritted teeth, intense glares and breathy moans as you reached down to aid him by stroking your aching bud.

“ ‘m so fucking close, baby. I don’t think I can hold it..”

“Fuck yes you are..that pussy’s gripping me so tight right now..goddamn.”

Eventually, those thrusts became rather sporadic and Eren was rapidly losing both his composure and stamina. The both of you were so near your peaks that it was only a matter of time before you exploded. You’d try to outlast him but as he maintained that clutch on your jaw, he’d lean down to spit into your mouth, letting that trail drip down onto your tongue as you stuck it out. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t be vexed to continue anticipating it so your boyfriend decided to assist with a little extra lubrication.

“Get yourself off..I’m not fucking waiting..” Without hesitation, (y/n) scooped that saliva out your mouth and onto your fingertips to massage that clit once more. You were rubbing so fast, your head began to grow fuzzy and soon, nothing but an image of static and blackness would fill your vision as you released all over him; voiding yourself of all those warm, sweet sticky juices as they sprayed his abdomen. Right above the incisions from some prior operations..he wore it as a badge of honor quite frankly. That a woman who once took care of him, was now having all of her wants and needs fulfilled. His cock sat idly inside of you until that stream became too powerful and all but pushed him out. That’s when he’d simply grasp the base of his throbbing member and tap against your slit.

“Shit! Oh my gosh..”

“Ahhh..fuck. That’s it..I knew if I got in it deep enough, you’d squirt for me again, baby. That’s my girl..”

“Fuuuck, it feels so good!”

You’d continue spraying until you convulsed uncontrollably. He was still in awe of the mess you’d made but there was still the task of releasing his own. Although he loved the sight of you in such a vulnerable state, he couldn’t let up. Grasping your hips once more, he’d tug you down onto it and continue drilling you with his cock. This time, to relieve himself.

“Hold still, I’m not yet…need to..come inside of you..”

clutching the backs of your thighs, Eren relentlessly shoved that thick cock back inside of you, pumping sporadically until he felt his own legs begin to quiver. It wouldn’t be long before his stride broke so he’d bend down to grant you one last kiss and sweet nothing. Cradling the side of your head into his palms in an intimate manner. With baited, sporadic breath and whiny cries, he’d pour his soul out to you. Becoming almost obiedient and subservient himself.

“I love you! fuck…I love you so much...”

“I love you too..”

“Am I making you feel good? Did I do a good job? Can I come inside of you..please, baby. Can I?”

and without hesitation, you’d nod your head profusely and grant him his wish. But not without sending him spiraling with your last statement.

“Yes, please! Come in this pussy, daddy..I need it.” And from that moment on, Eren fell to pieces. Collapsing his entire body weight onto your own as your legs coiled around his waist, ensuring he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted. His final thrust came in a sharp, forceful thud before he’d begin to pulsate and eventually, release every last drop of remaining semen he had to offer. Emptying his balls inside of you shamelessly. Already spent from his earlier orgasm, he’d let out an ear curdling grunt, allowing you to claw into his back because he knew he’d lost all semblance of control and had probably been a bit rough. However, none of that mattered..you both were utterly satisfied and it was apparent by the puddle of tears streaming down each of your faces. Never had either of you experienced lovemaking so powerful that it reduced you to literal tears.

eventually, he’d finish pumping the remnants into you and soon, find the strength to pull out. Once he was able to gather his own bearings, he’d turn his attention to you.

“Are you okay, princess? I'm gonna go grab you some water and a towel real quick—“

even insisting he’d help you to the bathroom afterwards to avoid an infection and get cleaned up properly. However, he was shocked to find that his words were falling completely on deaf ears! That’s when he’d turn around to see you sound asleep..completely knocked from the events that just transpired. All he could do was laugh to himself not only out of pure pride but the fact that you truly needed this reset. Although he admired and looked up to your hard work ethic, even the most brilliant of brains needed rest. Those test materials, patients and everything else would be there when you awoke..but for now, you could focus on yourself!

taglist: idenwhims @blaxcunicorn @valentineluvu @cocoacunt @charminstasia @star0bsessi0n @mrsackermanfeed @aquabby21

[heeluvv]

˗ˏˋ 07. FIRST TIMER ˎˊ˗

pairingᝰ.ᐟ yang jungwon x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ masturbation, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 7/9 completed!

the late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds in slatted gold, painting the apartment floor in soft stripes of warmth that stretched toward the kitchen. the air was quiet, too quiet, filled only with the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the wood beneath shifting weight. sunoo leaned against the counter, his posture casual but his expression anything but, the curve of a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he twisted the cap on a water bottle absentmindedly. across the room, jungwon sat curled up on the couch with his legs folded beneath him, his brows slightly furrowed as he glanced between sunoo and jake, sensing something was off. jake hadn’t said much since jungwon walked in—his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes unreadable as they lingered on the floor and then flicked up every now and then, like he was holding something back. jungwon couldn’t tell if it was tension or anticipation that made the silence stretch so long, but either way, he felt it crawling up his spine. finally, it was sunoo who broke it, sighing through his nose before speaking in a quiet but steady voice. “i’m just gonna say it—we’re all kind of losing our shit over the same girl.”

the words seemed to echo in the stillness, landing heavier than jungwon expected as he blinked, startled. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t even breathe for a second, just watched sunoo’s fingers trace along the ridge of the bottle like he needed something to do with his hands. “heeseung, jay—almost all of us and now me too,” sunoo continued, his voice softer now, tinged with something close to disbelief. “we’ve all worked with her. and i don’t mean just filmed with her—i mean something’s different. she’s not like the others.” jungwon stayed quiet, the room feeling suddenly too warm as the weight of their obsession unfolded in front of him, more real now than any of the quiet mutterings he’d overheard before. the tension that had been brewing in the background of their group dynamic now made perfect sense—the sidelong glances, the vague references, the sudden drops in conversation when he walked in. sunoo shifted then, the mood lifting slightly as he tilted his head, tone taking on a teasing lilt. “you should check her out, won. the subs have been begging you to collab anyway. might as well see what you’re missing.” something deep in jungwon’s chest stirred at the suggestion—not just curiosity, but something hotter, something restless. “maybe i will,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, before rising to his feet with a determined set to his jaw.

the hallway was cooler, dimmer as he padded quietly toward the room at the end, his heart picking up pace for reasons he didn’t want to name yet. he paused outside ni-ki’s door, knuckles tapping twice before he pushed it open without waiting for a response. the scent of fabric softener and faint cologne hit him first, followed by the soft glow of ni-ki’s laptop screen as he sat at his desk, eyes flicking up to meet jungwon’s with mild surprise. “i think i’m gonna do it,” jungwon said, voice quiet but steady, his fingers curling into the pockets of his hoodie as he leaned against the frame. ni-ki didn’t respond right away—just arched a brow, gaze narrowing slightly as he waited for more. “i want to collab with her,” jungwon clarified, and though he didn’t say your name, they both knew who he meant. “the guys are all hooked and… i want to understand why. i think it’s time i actually start doing this for real.” ni-ki leaned back in his chair slowly, a smirk playing on his lips, but his tone stayed calm. “you sure? that’s not just a toe dip—you’re diving in.” jungwon nodded once, resolve settling behind his nerves. “if anyone’s gonna get me to do it, it’s her.” ni-ki gave a slow shrug and turned back to his screen. “then go for it,” he said simply. “but let me know if she’s really as addictive as they say.”

—

jungwon lies in bed, the sheets rumpled beneath him, legs slightly tangled as he props his phone just above his chest, the glow from the screen casting a faint shimmer over his features. the room is quiet except for the low hum of his fan, and the soft golden light from his desk lamp spreads across the duvet, flickering every time he shifts his hand or thumb taps against the glass. he’s been thinking about it all day—about the way sunoo leaned back in his chair, half-sighing as he talked about you, about how real his words had felt even when said with a smile. it wasn’t just the teasing tone or the half-jokes about how you had all of them wrapped around your finger—it was something deeper, something that stayed behind long after the conversation ended. jungwon had seen it in their eyes too—that distant dazedness whenever you came up, like you were still in the room even after they left you behind. it haunted him more than it should’ve, the image of someone they all seemed unable to forget, someone they never even described in detail. it felt like they were guarding something, like they wanted to keep you for themselves, and that alone made curiosity bloom hot and anxious in his chest. he didn’t know why it was affecting him this way—but it was, and it wasn’t going away. so he finally gives in, fingers hovering only a second before tapping into his chat with sunoo, typing out the message quick and messy before the nerves could tell him not to.

“hey… what’s her username?” 

and before he even locks his phone, his response comes back in a blink. 

@babydollxo, just so you know her name is y/n

no hesitation, just the bare name like he’s handing him the last puzzle piece. his thumb hovers for a second before he clicks over to the site, breathing slowly through his nose as he searches the tag, chest already tight with anticipation. and when your page loads, it’s like something in him stills completely—no profile photo, no long description, just two videos and a name that shouldn’t feel this intimate, but already does. he doesn’t even realize he’s started biting his lip until he presses play.

the first video begins slow, barely lit, the frame hazy in a way that looks accidental at first—until he realizes every detail is intentional, curated to feel soft and close and personal. you’re on your back, hand between your thighs, the lighting angled low so that your skin glows in soft gold and pink, every part of you glistening under the faint shimmer of sweat. your voice is quiet but clear, breathy like you’re whispering directly into his ear, like he’s stumbled into something he shouldn’t be seeing, but now that he is, he can’t look away. your hips lift slightly with each circle of your fingers, your thighs trembling, and the camera stays still—clean, unshaken, perfectly steady as if it were made just for his eyes. his hand dips under your waistband without thinking, his fingers wrapping slowly around himself as the pressure builds low in his stomach. he strokes once, twice, syncing with the way your breath catches, matching your pace as you whimper something too soft to catch but loud enough to ruin him. he exhale shakily, eyes glued to the screen, and his hips twitch forward as you arches, moaning for someone that isn’t him—but still somehow feels like it could be. his thumb brushes over the head of his cock and he hisses, teeth gritting as he closes his eyes briefly, trying not to fall apart before he even gets to the second clip.he pauses, heart pounding, fingers slick with precum as he hovers over the next thumbnail, the preview showing just the outline of your thighs and the curve of your stomach. his breath is ragged now, chest rising and falling with a kind of urgency he doesn’t recognize in himself, and for a second he considers stopping—just waiting until tomorrow, until he’s more in control. but he can’t. not when he’s already this far, not when the tension in his body is wound so tight that it hurts to move slowly. he taps the screen again, the second video loading with a flicker, and this time your kneeling—closer to the lens, your eyes still out of frame, but everything else on full display. the way your fingers glide between your legs is slower now, almost teasing, like you know someone new is watching. he swallows hard, gripping himself tighter as your moans rise softly into the silence, echoing off the walls of his room like they were made just for him. his hips jerk into his palm and he bites down on a whimper, heat coiling deep in his stomach as your pace builds again, and he can’t stop the way his hand moves faster—matching yours, chasing the same high.

he can’t help it anymore—he whispers your name, not even realizing it had left his lips until the syllables echo faintly in the space around him, his body tenses and trembles as his orgasm builds fast, urgent, relentless. your voice breaks in the video just as his does in real life, and he fall over the edge with a gasp, head falling back against his pillows, hand still stroking through it as he rides the wave to its end. the screen starts to fade into black, the last frame frozen on the soft part of your lips, swollen and wet with the weight of your pleasure, and he feels dizzy—like he’s just stepped out of something too big for his chest. his breath evens out slowly, chest still rising, and he closes his eyes for a beat, letting the air settle before glancing down at your username again. @babydollxo. it repeats in his mind like a chant, like a craving, and even though he had just finished, his fingers twitch with the urge to open the messages. not for a follow. not even to tip. but to say something.

something that would make you look at him next.

—

the soft chime of your doorbell slices through the quiet of your apartment, jolting you from the stillness that had settled like dust around you. your laptop hums quietly from the couch, screen still open on a half-finished assignment, but your focus has already scattered as your bare feet move toward the front door with hesitant steps. when you pull it open, expecting maybe a neighbor or a delivery you forgot about, you’re met with an empty hallway—silent, untouched—except for the delicate bouquet resting against the doorframe like a secret left behind. your breath catches in your throat as you crouch to pick it up, fingers brushing over the velvety petals, the soft pastel shades blooming like a painting against the late afternoon light. it smells like warmth and something tender—roses, peonies, tiny sprays of baby’s breath—and nestled between the stems is a folded piece of paper, your name written on it in handwriting you didn’t recognize. you shut the door behind you as you step back inside, setting the bouquet gently on the kitchen counter before slipping your finger under the lip of the note and unfolding it with care. 

i didn’t think one night could do this to me. but it did. maybe it was the way you said my name. maybe it was the way you didn’t treat me like i was just another collab—like i was someone worth seeing, worth touching slowly, worth remembering. i’ve watched the video more times than i should admit. not for the content, but because of the way i felt in it. with you. i want to know what’s behind the camera. i want to see you again—really see you. not to film. not to fuck. just to feel whatever this is, for real.

yours truly,

heeseung.

you read it again, slower this time, your chest tightening with every sentence, your hand flattening against the cool counter just to ground yourself, because it’s too much—too beautiful—and you don’t know what to do with it.

you stare at the flowers a moment longer, letting the scent and sentiment soak into your skin, before you’re pulled away by the buzz of your phone from the couch behind you. it vibrates once, sharp and sudden, and you move on autopilot, padding across the room with your heartbeat still fluttering against your ribs, unsure if you want it to be him again or if that would make it worse. but it’s not heeseung. it’s someone new—unexpected. your phone lights up with a new notification from a username that triggers something distant in your memory: 

@wonsodirty

 you stare at it for a second, blinking slowly as your thumb hovers over the alert, something curling in your stomach—not anxiety exactly, but something heavier, something curious.

 wonsodirty: “hey… i’ve been thinking about something. want to collab?” 

the words feel weightless and loaded all at once, the kind of casual that masks a storm underneath, and suddenly you're remembering the preview clip you watched when you first joined—him, soft-spoken but intense, his voice low and his eyes dark. you’d forgotten about him in the chaos of everything else, the whirlwind of heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon and sunoo—but now here he is, quiet and unexpected, slipping into your inbox with a tension that coils low in your spine.

you don’t open the message right away. your fingers linger above your screen as you sink into the couch, the petals of heeseung’s bouquet still within view on the kitchen counter, their colors glowing softly under the golden hour light. it’s too much at once—too many emotions curling around each other, too many paths tugging at your sleeve. you press your phone to your chest for a moment, as if stilling the beat of it might still your thoughts too, but your heart only stutters harder beneath the weight of it. eventually, you unlock the screen and reread jungwon’s message, the simplicity of it making your breath falter in a way you didn’t expect. it’s not forward, not demanding—just thoughtful, tentative, like he’s trying to enter without disturbing something delicate. your thumbs hover over the keyboard as you try to decide how to respond, caught between the memory of his voice in that short preview and the softness you’d always sensed beneath it. finally, your fingers start to move, slow but certain: 

“sure… i’d love to. when were you thinking?” 

you hit send before you can second-guess it, the air still thick around you, and immediately, three dots bounce on your screen like they’ve been waiting there all along.

his reply comes almost instantly, and you can practically hear his tone in the way he types, every message carefully spaced like he’s trying not to overwhelm you. 

wonsodirty: “is tonight okay?” 

he asks, then quickly follows upwonsodirty: “if not that’s okay too, i just… want to talk to you. maybe plan something?”

it’s the second message that tugs at you—gentle, unsure, like he’s afraid of getting it wrong. and there’s something about it that makes your chest ache, because it doesn’t feel like someone reaching for content, it feels like someone reaching for connection. you tuck your legs underneath you, blinking at the flowers on the counter again before shifting your gaze back to your phone, your breath catching slightly when you read his next text. 

wonsodirty: “i know this is random. but you’ve kind of been stuck in my head lately.” 

it echoes too closely to the letter you just read, the one still folded neatly on your counter, and you close your eyes for a second, wondering what the hell the universe is trying to tell you. but when you open them again, you’re typing your address, fingers trembling slightly, a small smile pulling at your lips despite the confusion bubbling underneath. 

“come over” 

—-

the knock is gentle, barely louder than the hum of your thoughts, but it’s enough to pull you back to the present. your fingers twitch as you smooth the front of your shirt, brushing down fabric that doesn’t really need adjusting, and you let out a quiet breath that feels more like a sigh. your heart beats a little quicker—not out of fear, but something closer to nerves, anticipation folding into curiosity. you cross the room in slow steps, every footfall padded against the floor, and when your hand turns the lock and pulls the door open, everything halts. he’s standing there like he wasn’t prepared to see you, like your face caught him off guard in the most disarming way. his eyes catch the light, wide and almost sparkling, and his mouth parts slightly—no greeting, no hello, just a soft stunned silence that says more than words ever could. “come in,” you say gently, your voice soft with amusement, and his gaze doesn’t shift even as he moves forward, as if he’s still processing the fact that you’re real. the door clicks closed behind him, and you can’t help the quiet giggle that escapes you when he lingers there, stuck in place like he’s forgotten what he’s supposed to do.

he clears his throat awkwardly, the sound small in your cozy living room, and his eyes flick from the couch to the shelves to the soft throw blanket hanging off the side of the armchair. it’s like he’s memorizing everything, like the details of your space matter just as much as the way you looked when you answered the door. “it’s just me for now,” you offer, your voice filling the silence with a kind of casual comfort. “my roommate won’t be here tonight.” he nods, once, then again a little slower, as if your words need time to settle inside him. there’s a flush on his cheeks, barely there but unmistakable, and when his eyes finally return to yours, they hold something fragile. “i’m sorry for the way i’m acting,” he says quietly, almost like it’s embarrassing to admit. “you’re just so… pretty.” the words land soft but heavy, and for a second, neither of you moves—like the air between you has thickened with meaning, like this is the start of something that neither of you can take back.

you feel the compliment land somewhere low in your chest, warm and grounding, like the way sunlight lingers on your skin even after you’ve stepped into the shade. there’s a breathless kind of hush in the room now, not uncomfortable, but charged—like both of you are waiting for the other to move first. “thank you,” you say softly, the corners of your lips tugging upward, and when he offers you the smallest, most earnest smile in return, it makes your heart stutter. “do you wanna sit?” you ask, your hand motioning toward the couch, and he nods a little too quickly, like he’s afraid you might take the offer back. jungwon moves carefully, like he’s trying not to disturb anything, his shoulders stiff with the weight of being in unfamiliar territory—but when he finally settles beside you, he exhales like he can breathe again. there’s a moment of silence as your knee brushes his, just barely, and you see the way his jaw clenches before he dares to glance at you again. “i’m a little nervous,” he admits, voice low, almost apologetic, as he tugs at the hem of his sleeve like it’s a lifeline. “but i wanna do this... with you,” he adds, eyes searching yours, and something inside you softens at how genuine he looks—like there’s no performance, no script, just him wanting to be seen.

you turn to face him fully now, folding one leg beneath you, and rest your hand gently against his arm, grounding him with your touch. “you don’t have to be anything but yourself, jungwon,” you say, and you mean it—it’s in your voice, steady and sure, wrapping around his nerves like a balm. he breathes in deep, then lets it go slowly, his eyes fluttering closed for half a second before he opens them again, this time steadier. “i’ve never done this before,” he confesses, the tips of his ears flushing red, but there’s no shame in it—just honesty, unfiltered and laid bare for you to take or leave. “then we’ll go slow,” you assure him, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles, and it’s that small touch that finally lets him lean into the moment instead of away from it. you lean in first, bridging the space between you without rushing it, and when your lips meet his, it’s tender and coaxing, like an invitation rather than a command. jungwon responds with the hesitancy of someone unused to being wanted like this, but his hands still find your waist, fingers pressing in as he starts to kiss you back, more sure of it this time.

you pull back just enough to see the soft flush blooming across jungwon’s cheeks, his eyes still heavy-lidded from the kiss, lips parted like he’s chasing the ghost of your mouth. “come with me,” you whisper, fingers curling around his hand as you rise to your feet, and he follows without question, the grip he has on you just tight enough to say he doesn’t want to let go. the hallway is quiet as you guide him toward your bedroom, each step thick with anticipation, the air between your bodies humming with the weight of everything left unsaid. once inside, you release him gently, letting him take in the space while you move toward the dresser and retrieve your small tripod, adjusting the angle to face the bed in soft lighting. he watches you silently, like every motion is a spell, and when you click the record button on, you glance over your shoulder to meet his gaze. “do you trust me?” you ask, voice soft but serious, and jungwon doesn’t hesitate—he nods, stepping closer, eyes steady as he says, “yes. i trust you.” the words settle deep in your chest, something grounding and intimate in the way he gives himself over to the moment without hesitation.

you walk to him slowly, closing the space between your bodies until your fingertips brush along the hem of his shirt, dragging upward with unhurried care as you ease the fabric over his head. his skin is warm beneath your touch, and when your palms glide up his chest, he shivers just slightly, breath hitching as your mouth finds his again—this time deeper, hungrier, filled with something that pulses between your ribs. jungwon kisses like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, the rhythm, the taste—his hands resting at your hips, not pulling, just holding like he doesn’t want the moment to slip through his fingers. your fingers trail down his sides, nails skimming gently along his waist, and the way he exhales against your lips makes heat curl low in your stomach. you press forward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sits without protest, eyes locked on yours with something close to awe. “you’re doing so good,” you murmur, brushing his hair back from his face, and his lips part, pupils blown wide as he whispers your name like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth. you climb onto his lap slowly, knees bracketing his thighs, your lips grazing his as you whisper, “let me take care of you.”

your lips barely leave his for more than a breath before you're pulling him in again, letting the kiss grow slower, deeper, more consuming with every tilt of your head. jungwon trembles under your touch, his hands gripping your waist like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, his breath hitching every time your tongue brushes against his. you can feel how hard he is through his sweats, the way he jerks faintly every time your body presses a little too close, and it only spurs you on—makes you kiss him harder, hungrier, your fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. his hips twitch up into yours without meaning to, and when you moan softly into his mouth, he breaks—his fingers digging into your sides, a stuttered gasp leaving him as he whines your name against your lips. you feel the sudden warmth through the fabric, the way his body jerks again, overwhelmed, as he finishes just from the way you kiss him like he means something. his breath shakes as it catches in his throat, chest heaving as his eyes flutter open slowly, dazed and glassy and full of disbelief. “i’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking with embarrassment, his cheeks flushing a deep, gorgeous red that creeps down his neck. but you only smile, brushing your nose against his and kissing the corner of his mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“don’t be,” you murmur, voice soft and warm as your hands cradle his jaw, grounding him. “that just means i’m doing something right.” jungwon swallows hard, blinking up at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself now, but he still doesn’t let go—his hands slide up to your waist again, gripping like he doesn’t want you to move.

his brows twitch like he wants to say something more, maybe apologize again, but you hush him with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along his jaw. your fingers slide down his chest, slow and careful, feeling the way he shivers under your touch as you trail lower, past his stomach, to the waistband of his sweats. “can i?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, even though the room feels thick with tension already. he nods immediately, breath catching as he shifts his hips to give you room, his eyes glued to your hands like he can’t believe this is really happening. “i wanna make you feel good,” you murmur, and he swallows so hard it makes his whole throat jump, his body going still as your fingers dip beneath the waistband and tug gently.

he helps you out of your clothes as you help him out of his sweats slowly, letting them slide down his legs until he kicks them off the edge of the bed, his thighs trembling faintly with leftover tension. jungwon’s cock is already sensitive, the head flushed a deep pink and still glistening slightly from the mess he made earlier, and you lean down to kiss his inner thigh first, soft and slow. the sound he makes is quiet—just a shaky little exhale that leaves his lips parted, his head tilted back against the pillow as he watches you with wide eyes. your tongue traces a warm path up his thigh before you press another kiss just beside his length, and he twitches in response, his hand fisting into the sheets. “you don’t have to—” he starts, voice ragged, but you silence him with one look, your fingers wrapping gently around his cock. “i want to,” you say, firm and sure, and then you lower your mouth, letting your tongue flick over the head in one slow, teasing pass that has his hips jerking before he can stop them.

you hum softly as you take him deeper, your hand stroking what your lips can’t reach yet, and jungwon’s entire body tenses beneath you like he’s caught between pleasure and disbelief. “oh my god,” he whispers, his voice breaking on the edges of every syllable, his hand hesitating in the air before it finally lands on your shoulder, gripping softly. he’s trying not to move, trying not to buck into your mouth, but you can feel how hard it is for him to stay still—especially when your lips sink lower, your cheeks hollowing around him. his thighs tighten around your arms, his breath turning into these quiet, whimpering little gasps that make you want to push him even further. you bob your head slowly, keeping the rhythm steady, letting the suction drag heat up his spine with every pass. his fingers tighten against your shoulder, and his voice comes out broken when he breathes, “you feel—fuck, you feel so good.” and you glance up, eyes meeting his, just in time to see the way his lips part wider, completely undone.

jungwon’s hand trembles against your shoulder, fingers flexing like he’s trying to ground himself, to stop the overwhelming heat that’s rushing straight to his gut. you can feel it in the way his hips twitch beneath you, the way his thighs begin to shake as he whispers your name like a secret prayer, caught between panic and bliss. “w-wait,” he breathes, chest heaving as his voice cracks, “fuck, i’m gonna—” but the words never finish because your tongue swirls around the head just right and his whole body jolts like he’s been shocked. you ease up just enough to tease him again, letting your lips ghost over the tip with a hum, and his eyes roll back for a second before he clenches them shut. “i can’t… not like this again,” he stammers, his other hand fumbling to touch your wrist, to signal anything through the haze clouding his mind. “please… can i—can i be inside you?” he asks, the plea barely above a whisper but thick with yearning. you pause, blinking up at him as your hand strokes him gently, and the look on his face is one of pure need—desperate and soft and honest.

you release him with one last kiss just above his base, dragging your lips upward until they reach his stomach, pressing small kisses into his skin as you make your way back up to straddle his waist. jungwon’s hands rise automatically to hold your hips, his fingers splayed wide like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you smile down at him, your hair falling over your shoulder as you lean in to kiss him, slower this time, letting him taste himself faintly on your tongue. he moans into your mouth, his grip tightening, and you feel the way his cock twitches again beneath you, brushing against your inner thigh like he’s barely holding it together. “you sure?” you ask gently, your voice brushing against his lips like silk, and he nods so fast it makes your heart squeeze. “i want it,” he whispers, breath shaky, “i want all of it—please.” your fingers trail down his chest, feeling the way it rises and falls beneath your palm, and you shift your hips forward, dragging your folds slowly along his length. jungwon gasps, his hands flying up to cup your face, and you swear he looks at you like you hung the moon.

his cock presses right where you’re wettest, gliding through the slick mess of your arousal like it was made to be there, and he whimpers when you start to grind against him. “god, you feel unreal,” he breathes, like he’s still trying to believe this is happening, like his mind hasn’t caught up with the fact that you’re not just a screen anymore. you reach down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, and his eyes widen when the head catches, parting you just barely. “breathe,” you whisper, watching him fall apart beneath you as you sink down, inch by inch, feeling him stretch you open slowly. jungwon lets out a broken moan, his nails digging into your waist, and his brows pinch together like the pleasure’s almost too much. “you’re so tight,” he groans, voice cracking again, “fuck, i don’t wanna cum yet, i wanna feel you.” you cup his cheek, grounding him, and start to rock your hips gently, letting your walls flutter around him with every movement. his lips part again, and his head tips back against the pillows, pure ecstasy painted across his features.

his hands tremble where they grip your hips, the pads of his thumbs stroking slow, reverent circles into your skin as if trying to memorize every inch. jungwon’s chest rises and falls with labored breaths, the softest little whines slipping from his lips each time your hips roll forward and back again. the heat between your bodies grows thick, humid, his hair clinging slightly to his forehead as his eyes flutter open and closed—completely dazed by how good you feel wrapped around him. “you’re… s-so tight,” he stammers, voice barely holding together, “it’s like—like you’re pulling me in more every time, fuck.” your hands press flat to his chest, feeling the wild pace of his heartbeat as you move slower on purpose, watching his brows furrow and mouth fall open in the prettiest kind of agony. his lips form your name again, this time dragged out between moans, and you can’t help but clench around him just to hear the way his breath catches. “god, i’m not gonna last,” he admits, biting down on his lip like it’ll help, even though his body’s already trembling beneath yours. “you feel too good… you’re too perfect, fuck—i’m never gonna forget this.”

you reach up to brush your fingers through his hair, smiling when he leans into your touch like he’s starved for it, his eyes dazed and glossy as they meet yours again. jungwon’s hands slide up to your waist, holding you tighter like he’s scared this will vanish if he doesn’t ground himself to your body. “i dreamed of this,” he whispers suddenly, so soft you almost miss it, “i’d close my eyes and try to imagine what being inside you would feel like… but nothing ever came close.” your heart stutters in your chest, but you keep your pace steady, dragging your hips forward so slowly it has his jaw dropping open with a choked whimper. “i love how you look like this,” he continues, his voice cracking at the edges, “on top of me… taking control… you’re unreal.” you can feel him twitch inside you, every movement of your body pulling another gasp or broken curse from his mouth as he tries so hard to hold on. your fingers curl around his wrists, encouraging him to just feel, to let go of the tension clinging to his limbs. “you’re so beautiful,” he moans, his grip tightening again, “fuck—i’m gonna say it a thousand times if you keep moving like that.”

his compliments pour from him like he’s lost his filter, everything he’s ever thought about you spilling into the space between your bodies with no shame. he keeps his gaze locked on your face as best he can, even when his eyes go heavy-lidded from pleasure, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of the way you ride him. “i’ve never felt anything like this,” he says again, breathless, “i didn’t know it could feel this good.” your hips slow just slightly, enough to grind down harder and deeper, and he gasps, his head tipping back as his thighs twitch beneath you. “please don’t stop,” he begs softly, the words trailing off into a whimper when your nails drag gently down his chest, “you’re driving me insane, but i want more.” you lean over him, lips grazing his jaw, and he turns his head to catch your mouth in a messy, desperate kiss, moaning into it when you roll your hips just right. his cock throbs inside you with every movement, thick and twitching and so achingly full, and you can feel how close he is already—like he’s trying so hard not to fall apart under you too soon.

you pull away from the kiss just enough to see his face, to watch the way his eyes search yours like he’s trying to hold on to reality. jungwon swallows hard, sweat glistening along his neck, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your waist again like he needs the contact to keep breathing. “you’re all i want,” he whispers, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, “just you… right here, like this.” the admission makes your chest tighten, warmth blooming in your core as you move a little faster, taking him deeper with each thrust of your hips. his moans grow louder, more broken, as his legs spread wider, his toes curling into the sheets like he’s unraveling with every pass of your body over his. “fuck—please,” he pants, his voice pitching higher as he presses his forehead to your shoulder, “please, i’m so close.” you slow again just slightly, dragging it out, and the sound that leaves his mouth is so needy it has your stomach clenching with heat. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says between gasps, “but i’d let you ruin me every day if it means i get to feel like this.”

his body jerks beneath you, so sensitive and desperate, his hands now sliding up and down your sides as if grounding himself to the moment will keep him from flying apart. you shift slightly, circling your hips slower, watching the way jungwon’s head tilts back against the pillows, his lips parted in a soft, high moan that sounds like it’s being pulled from the deepest part of him. “please,” he gasps again, his voice trembling, “i’m gonna cum—i can’t—fuck, i’m so close.” but you don’t speed up, not yet, dragging it out just a little longer, watching his pretty face twist with frustration and pleasure so tangled they’re indistinguishable. your fingers stroke down the center of his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm, and he whines—an actual whine—as you tighten around him. “you’re so mean,” he breathes, but there’s no bite to it, only awe and heat and something that sounds dangerously close to love, “but you feel so fucking good, i’d let you do anything to me.” your lips find his again, slow and open-mouthed, your tongue curling against his in a kiss that has his hips jerking helplessly up into yours. he moans into your mouth, his entire body tightening beneath you, and when you finally start to move faster, his hands clamp down on your waist like he’s bracing for impact.

your pace grows steady again, rolling your hips down until you’re grinding into him just right—drawing out every sharp inhale and whimper that escapes his lips as he completely loses himself in you. jungwon’s eyes squeeze shut as his nails dig into your hips, his chest rising and falling so fast you can feel the heat radiating off him in waves. “fuck, fuck—i’m gonna—” he gasps, his words breaking off into a strangled cry as he presses his forehead against your shoulder, hips twitching beneath you. and then it hits him—his body arches, his mouth opens wide in a silent moan, and you feel him pulse deep inside you, thick warmth spreading as he finishes hard, completely undone beneath your touch. “oh my god,” he breathes, voice wrecked and trembling, “you—fuck, you feel like heaven.” his whole body stays tense for a moment before he finally slumps beneath you, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp with sweat. you brush his hair off his forehead gently, smiling when he blinks up at you like he’s still trying to process what just happened. “you ruined me,” he says softly, almost laughing as he says it, but there’s no regret in his voice—only wonder.

he blinks again, chest still rising and falling with shallow breaths, and you watch the way his lashes flutter like he’s on the edge of sleep already. “you didn’t even have to do anything crazy,” he whispers, his voice husky and slow, “just… kissed me. and i was gone.” you giggle under your breath, kissing his cheek before sliding your hand down his chest again, feeling the steady beat of his heart start to slow beneath your fingertips. he gazes up at you like you hung the stars, no trace of embarrassment—just awe, like he still can’t believe you’re real. “you’re amazing,” he says again, and this time it’s quieter, like it’s just for you. “i wanna do everything with you.” you can’t help but lean down again, your mouth brushing his as he sighs softly against your lips, completely soft now but still clinging to you like he never wants this moment to end.

his body is still warm against yours, his cheek resting on your chest as you both lie tangled together beneath the sheets, the room dim and silent except for the slow rhythm of your breaths. jungwon’s lashes flutter every now and then, like he’s drifting but fighting to stay awake, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest settle into something peaceful. your fingers thread lazily through his hair, combing back the soft strands that cling to his forehead, and he hums low in his throat—soothed, comforted, held. “i don’t want this to end,” he whispers suddenly, his voice thick with sleep but laced with something fragile, something real, as his arm curls tighter around your waist. you freeze just a little at the weight of the words, heart squeezing as your hand slows in his hair, your lips parting to respond but no words come out. he doesn't seem to notice your silence, only nuzzles closer, his nose brushing the space just beneath your collarbone before he lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. “you make everything feel calm,” he murmurs, quieter now, like he’s speaking into a dream, “like it’s okay to be soft here.” you press a kiss to the crown of his head, still unable to speak, because there’s something about the way he clings to you—not just with his hands, but with his whole body—that makes you want to hold him even tighter.

his thumb rubs slow circles into your side as his breathing evens out, and you stare up at the ceiling, your own thoughts unraveling like thread with every second that passes. you weren’t supposed to feel this much, not with any of them, and yet here you are—with your heart lodged somewhere between your throat and his sleepy voice echoing in your chest. you shift slightly, enough to tuck the blanket higher over his back, and he stirs only to let out a soft sigh, like your care wraps around him as much as the warmth of the bed. “you’re too good,” he says, almost inaudible now, and your eyes sting at the tenderness in his tone—because you know he means it, every word, every breath. your hand slides down to his back, fingers drawing idle shapes along his spine, and the comfort of it is mutual, grounding, like neither of you want to move or break the spell of this moment. but something inside you aches, because as perfect as this feels, you know it’s not simple—it’s messy and fragile and dangerous, and the more you try to pretend it’s not, the harder it hits. your throat tightens as the weight of it presses into your chest, tears prickling behind your eyes, and you don’t even know who you’re crying for—him, them, or yourself. so you close your eyes and hold him tighter, trying to memorize the feeling of this moment, even if you don’t know how long it will last.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ dare i say jungwon might be my fav >.<

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro @nshmrarki @delulumel @brooklyninawhitemustang @baedreamverse @stvrrylove @killedbycharlize @sehyojae @mylettterstoyou @metanoianlove @shaysimpss @kiokantalope @sanriwoozzz @mniwna @l1nn13 @gongyoorit @miszes @ineedheewoninmylife @seonhwastaar @ivyleyun @ari3ll4 @ssanhwatto @negin7 @koizekomi @enhaz1 @kittympirty @slayhaechan @semi-wife @tobiosbbyghorl @hoonsdrnkdzd @shy9-29 @heeenha6484 @heeseungsbm @kristynaaah @smlbch @kirinaa08 @millis-diary @kawaiichu32 @wonislife17 @minniesverse @k1ttyjwon @luvksnn @wondash @wooalt @sweetsoobie @nyxiebabyyy @jakezzgirlz @b1tem4rks @hoonneyyzz @mimimovv @hanjiversee @ch4c0nnenh4 @sarashusbandissunghoonfyime @tnafzi @bbypink @en-hoon02 @skzenhalove @azzy02 @sanchaah @planetmarlowe @miniw0nz @daisy-doo1 @femaholicc @cherryangel-coke @hooniesfvngs @kimsvtaes @mniwna @i-am-not-dal @star-hoon @wafflelyweddedmallow @certifiedjaeyunist @devouredyou @neogotmysam @nuki-riki @heesang07 @littlofang @simj4k3 @makgeolli-jw @ksnooppy @luvksnn @starryemiko @isagistar @nickiminajleftasscheek @jeonkaijoon @doveblackboat @haestuffs @srhnyx @azzy02 @bubblemoonclouds @diana021811 @wonuziex @blubb0 @choicila @nyfwyeonjun @neo-weareone @jooniesbears-blog @byshens @arourababy @dolliewon @shine1entertainment

[whytheylosttheirminds]

make this place your home - r.c.

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

summary: Rafe has been begging you to move in with him, but when you finally show him the place your heart belongs to, he realizes he'd do anything to make you happy.

content: fluff, angst, a drizzle of spice, semi-canon obx if you were to eliminate some pretty important things lol

cw: mentions of blood and injury, suggestive comments, closed-door romance, mentions of abusive parents (Luke)

note: my contribution to @zyafics mrga campaign <3

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

“Don’t open your eyes yet!” 

“I’m gonna trip over something and fall on my ass. Or run into something. This is The Cut, who knows what junk is just lying around. I’m gonna get tetris or some shit.”

You laughed out loud. Rafe nearly opened his eyes to figure out why.

“See, now you’re laughing at me, you better not be doing some dumb shit to me for a Tiktok,” he warned.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby, calm down,” you chuckled. “I’m laughing because you’re cute. It’s tetanus, not tetris.”

He should feel embarrassed, but the sound of your laugh and of you calling him cute calmed every muscle in his body. You were a balm that went straight to his agitated heart.

You were the only one who could disarm him when he got irritated like this. You told him once that you don’t take his bad moods personally because you can see them for what they are - he’s not angry, he’s anxious. He realized then that you’re the only person who’d ever really understood him, that you might understand him better than he understands himself. 

It’s why his shoulders relax now, it’s why he can take a deep breath. There was no one else in the world who could convince him to let them drive his boat while he’s blindfolded or walk through the tall, marshy grass without knowing where he was going. Only you.

“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.

“We’re not there yet,” you shook your head, hand still on his arm to lead him closer to your surprise. “You can go one more minute without seeing where you’re going.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I can go another minute without seeing you,” he flirted.

You smiled, tempted to rip the blindfold off him and forget all about the surprise. Too bad for him you already knew all his tricks.

“Nice try, Cameron.”

As you got closer, your stomach twisted. Maybe this was stupid. After all, wouldn’t it be underwhelming to Rafe after all he’s seen? This place meant so much to you, you didn’t know if you could handle any criticism from him. You considered turning around, but you’d already made such a big deal out of this, how would you explain it to him?

“Okay, this is a good spot, I guess,” you said, your voice shaking with trepidation.

“You good?” Rafe asked. Of course he could tell your mood shifted without even looking at you.

“Yeah, I think, just open your eyes.” At this point you just wanted to get his inevitable disappointment over with.

Slowly, Rafe opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the blinding Carolina sunlight before finally sizing up your big reveal.

It was your house, the one he’d been to a hundred times before - sneaking into your window so your brother wouldn’t hear, showing up in the night to investigate when you “heard a noise,” defending you from Luke when he got violent. Except, this wasn’t the same house. It was bigger, for one. And slightly bigger, with new walls, new roof, and a big, hand painted flag in your brother’s handwriting: “Poguelandia.” 

It wasn’t much, but it was your dream come true. In your eyes, you may as well have been standing in front of a magic castle. As you watched Rafe’s expression stay completely unchanged you realized that to him, it probably still looked like some shitty shack on The Cut. You wished you never brought him here.

“This is what you guys have been working on this whole time?” He asked, still looking at the house and not at you.

“Yeah, I mean, and the store,” you gestured to the dock behind you where you and your friends had built yourselves a small business. Another thing that would surely seem pathetic compared to what Rafe was used to.

“It’s nice, I like it,” Rafe said.

“No it’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” you said, voice small. You started to turn to leave. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it, let’s just go-”

“Hey, woah, woah,” Rafe interrupted you gently.

He approached you from behind, arms twisting around your waist, forcing you to turn back and look at your home. He had to duck down to slot his chin into your shoulder, swaying you both gently.

“If I had to come all this way, I think I at least deserve the grand tour, don’t I?” he mumbled into your ear.

Your smile returned, you nuzzled your cheek into his, heart swelling.

“I guess, if you insist,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“I do,” he nodded, tickling your neck with his buzzed hair. He tilted his head down to place a sloppy kiss into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m especially looking forward to seeing your bedroom.”

“You mean the one I share with your sister?” 

He groaned, “why do you torture me like this?”

“Because it’s fun.” You twisted away from his hold and slid your hand down his arm to interlock your fingers with his.

Rafe followed you onto the porch. You paused at the front door for dramatic effect.

“Hello MTV, welcome to my crib!”

Rafe smiled as you cracked up at your own joke, but his momentary joy turned sour when you opened the door and revealed an unwelcome sight on the other side; the Pogues.

The lively discussion that had been filling your shared living room stopped dead in its tracks. The room turned cold. Six icy stares were aimed in your boyfriend’s direction.

You understood why they disliked him so much. He didn’t put much effort into changing their minds. But he’d changed yours. And though you’d tried for years not to, you loved him. Neither of you had said it yet, but you knew it was true, at least for you. 

There had been countless arguments between you and your brother and the shared friends that were basically family about Rafe. Countless fights you’d stopped between JJ and Rafe, countless nights begging Rafe just to try a little harder, begging JJ just to give him a chance. They both cared for you enough not to kill each other, but it was a reluctant ceasefire. A fragile peace you were always vigilant to protect. A truce that could be broken at any moment. You prayed this wasn’t that moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you guys were home,” you explained. The six pogues shared concerned glances with each other, something unsaid that you felt had nothing to do with you walking in with their least favorite person. “What’s going on?”

Kie stood, shot a brief but blazing glare towards Rafe, and handed you a piece of paper. You read it carefully, your eyebrows creased in confusion that was slowly morphing into great concern. Rafe read over your shoulder.

It was an official warning from the Kildare City Council. The land you were standing on and the home you’d built would be rezoned. They were taking Poguelandia.

“What the hell?” You shouted. “Can they actually do this?”

“Looks like they already are,” John B confirmed.

“No, no. There has to be something we can -”

“There’s not!” JJ stood from his seat at the far end of the room. 

You could see it all over his face, the anger that was always lying just beneath the surface starting to make its way to the top. Everyone thought of JJ as a happy-go-lucky, silly, mischievous kid. And he was all those things, but he was something else, something only you really saw; a hurt kid who never healed. 

“There’s never something we can do,” JJ continued, stalking slowly toward you, but keeping his eyes locked on Rafe the whole time. “Not when Kooks are involved. They always win.”

“Back up, Maybank,” Rafe snarled, looking down at JJ, who’d gotten close enough to break the barrier of Rafe’s personal space. 

You stepped between them instinctually, a move you’d made a hundred times before. 

“Stop.” You put a gentle hand on JJ’s chest to back him up, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t his fault, J.”

“How do we know that, huh?” JJ finally tore his eyes off Rafe to look at you. “How do we know he’s not behind it somehow? Trying to steal our land for another bougie ass development project. You can’t trust these people, sis. How many times do we have to get screwed by them before you realize it?”

You and your brother looked at each other for a long time. The rest of the room watched as the two of you seemed to have a conversation none of them could hear; the unspoken language of siblings who’d been to hell and back together.

After a long moment, you turned your gaze toward Rafe.

“Do- do you know anything about this?” You asked him hesitantly. 

His face fell. A series of emotions flashed across his features so quickly, you were sure you were the only one in the room who caught them all; surprise, betrayal, hurt, anger, and finally, back to his go-to: detached stoicism.

“That’s really what you think of me? That I’d do something like this?” His tone was even, his voice far away even though you were inches apart.

You knew you’d hurt him by even entertaining the idea that he’d betray you like this. But this ground was shaky, and you had been screwed over by Kooks your entire life. The trust you put in him did not come easy, and sometimes it wavered, even though he’d never given it any reason to.

Rafe’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer. He nodded once, his lips twisting into the kind of smile that had absolutely no joy behind it. 

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

He took one last searing look around the room, twelve hateful eyes met him, and he didn’t look at your watery ones before turning and storming out of the house, the newly installed screen door banging shut behind him.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Your knees were tucked all the way to your chest, your chin resting on them as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to manufacture any sort of comfort. It wasn’t working.

The zone change notice sat on the bed in front of you. You read it over and over, as though if you just wanted it badly enough, the words would change into something less devastating. 

You were going to lose your home. You’d probably lost the love of your life, before you could even tell him he was the love of your life. Your brother was one step from completely falling over the edge, the rocky path toward destruction that you’d pulled him back from your whole lives getting steeper by the minute. A few hours ago you were excitedly cleaning this room so you could show Rafe. How could so much change in so little time?

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” you said quietly.

The door creaked slightly despite it being brand new. Sarah tiptoed into the room gently, searching you for any signs of distress.

“Sar, you don’t have to knock to come into your own room,” you told her.

“I know, I just thought maybe you needed some space.”

You shook your head and scooted over on the bed to make space for her. She took your invitation with a smile and settled in next to you.

“So…how’s your day going?” She asked in a singy-songy voice.

You both erupted in bittersweet laughter.

“Oh y’know, I’ve had better.”

She nudged your arm with her elbow.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.” She assured you.

“Is it though? I mean really, Sar, is it?” No laughter hung in the air now. “I mean, what if I just lost my home and my boyfriend? Or worse, what if I just lost my home to my boyfriend.”

“You really think Rafe would’ve done something like this?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to. You heard him though, when I asked him about it, he didn’t deny it.”

Sarah sighed, a deep exhale that usually signaled she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“What?” You prodded. 

“Look, I’m not my brother’s biggest fan, you know that,” she began.

“Um yes, you’ve made that very clear,” you chuckled, thinking of all the times Sarah had warned you not to get involved with Rafe. 

“But, just this one time, I’m going to…” She paused dramatically, her eyes screwed shut with reluctance. “...defend him.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Be honest, how hard was that for you to say?” You teased.

“I’m holding back vomit right now,” she laughed.

“Well then defend him quickly before you yack on my bed.”

“Okay, I just,” she paused to consider her words carefully. “I know you know Rafe really well. I mean you’re the only one he’s ever really let in, so you probably know him better than anyone. But I’ve known him longer than anyone. I’ve seen every version of him. I knew Rafe before he met you, and now I know him after he met you, and believe me when I tell you, those two are not the same guy. As cliche as it sounds, you changed him.”

You sat in silence, letting the words settle over you, surprised by how emotional they were making you. You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a dick,” Sarah added. You were grateful for a reason to laugh before you started crying. “But he’s not the same. There was a time where I’d say ‘absolutely, Rafe definitely did this just to screw us over,’ but not anymore. Not since he fell in love with you.”

You looked up in surprise, the tears at your lash line threatening to finally spill over.

“You think he loves me?”

“Girl, be so for real. That man has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Believe me, he’s yours.”

Your heart skipped, and the tears finally fell. You rose from the bed so suddenly, Sarah almost fell back onto the mattress. You didn’t know what had taken over you, just that you needed to go, now. Everything in you was being pulled toward him, like sand being dragged back out to sea by the tide. If you spent one more minute of your life without him knowing what you were so certain of now, you might not make it.

Sarah smiled at you, she read it all over your face.

“Go!” She urged.

“Love you!” You shouted over your shoulder as you raced out of your bedroom.

“Love you too, you freak,” she smiled to herself, knowing you were already long gone.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Where could he have gone? Your mind flipped through all the possibilities as you ran across the lawn toward the dock. JJ would probably be pissed that you took The Snapper without asking first, but didn’t even care about that right now. You just needed to find Rafe.

You didn’t have to search for long.

As soon as your feet hit the wooden dock, they stopped in their tracks.

At the end of the pier sat Rafe’s boat bobbing in the water. The long figure of your boyfriend leaned over the bow. You watched with a big, bright smile as he untied the line, then retied it, then untied it, and retied it once more. He was clearly having a silent disagreement with himself. All that mattered to you was that he hadn’t left.

You approached slowly, avoiding the planks in the dock you knew would creak and give away your presence. The closer you got to him, the faster your heart beat. The words you were dying to say sat perched at the end of your tongue, you knew they wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer. 

Half way through untying the boat again, Rafe stopped and sighed.

“Need a push?” You said.

His eyes shot up to yours, startled. Tension filled his shoulders as he took you in, his shock quickly fading to something softer, yet still unsure.

“That depends,” he squinted in the sun to see you better. 

God, he was gorgeous. You could not let him get away.

“Depends on what?” You played along.

“If my girlfriend will forgive me for being a dismissive prick,” he said.

You forced your lips not to twist into a smile, pretending to consider his words.

“I think she might. If you forgive her first,” you said.

His eyes softened, lips twitching. You were both failing not to smile at each other now. 

Rafe finally tied up the boat for good, hopping up onto the dock. You admired every movement of his body as it drew closer to yours. When he reached you, he placed his hands on your waist, your arms drawing up to wrap around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes to get as close to him as possible.

“She has nothing to apologize for. The only home she’s ever known is being threatened. She’s just scared. I get that.”

Every word fanned over you like a soft summer breeze. Your heart warmed, impossibly full despite all the anxieties today had brought. He just got you, he understood without you having to say it. This must be the closest two people can get to making magic, you thought.

“Thank you,” you let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. He kissed the top of your head.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into your hair.

You looked back up at him, shaking your head. 

“How is everything gonna be okay, Rafe? What if there really is nothing we can do? I mean, who’s even behind this?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but one name popped into his mind. Even with his suspicions, he didn’t know if he could help you. Helplessness was the feeling he despised more than any other, especially when it came to you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his heart breaking at the despairing look on your face. “But you’ve still got me. You could always move into the condo with me, like I’ve been begging you for months.”

“Can I bring my friends with me?” You scrunched up your nose, hoping he’d find you cute enough to say yes.

“I love you, but there’s no way in hell…”

A bolt of lightning shot through you, goosebumps erupting over your entire body. Did he really just say…?

He instantly read the shock on your face, but there was no look of regret on his.

“What? Haven’t I said I love you before?” 

“Umm, no, I think I would’ve remembered that!” You couldn’t help the big, goofy grin taking over your whole face.

“Oh, well that’s weird,” he shrugged, his hands sliding from your waist to your lower back, wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you off your feet. “Because I do love you, so fucking much.” 

You yelped as he lifted you into the air, head falling back in laughter as he almost tumbled you both off the dock in his effort to sweep you off your feet.

You looked down at him and he lowered you slowly, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, arms still wrapped around each other like you’d never let go. You stood there embracing for a long time, so long that the sun was starting to set, casting a golden shimmer across the water. 

Finally you said, “I never gave you the grand tour.”

“And I was really looking forward to seeing your crib,” he teased, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck when he talked.

“Well, c’mon then.” You grabbed his hand, leading him back toward the house, both of you buzzing with the excitement that there was something much better than a tour waiting for you inside.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

“...And this is John B and JJ’s room,” you opened the door only a crack, afraid to unleash the stench that permanently filled the space. “They insisted on getting bunk beds even though they’re, like, forty. And Pope insisted on having his own room because, as he said, ‘JJ is a walking biohazard.’ Which is…fair.”

Rafe was just watching you with adoration as you showed him around the house. He was barely looking at the rooms you were showing him because he was so focused on the way you glowed with joy. It was true that he wanted you to move to Bayline with him, it was his life’s goal to get you there, actually, but he had to admit that you seemed like you really belonged here. He’d never seen you look more at home. 

“And this is our gallery wall.” You gestured to the display of framed photographs hanging in the upstairs hallway.

Rafe surveyed them dutifully with his hands tucked politely behind his back, like an old man in an art museum. Most of the photographs were of you and the pogues at various times in your life. Out fishing in the marsh, riding dirt bikes, post-surf at the beach. You admired the way Rafe was looking so intently and resisting the urge to grimace at so many photos of you with his once sworn enemies.

He explored the wall, eyes lingering on any photo of you a little longer than the rest. The hall continued to lead down toward your bedroom. At the very end, in a high corner, just above a series of photo booth pictures you’d taken with Sarah and Kie last summer, hung a delicate circular frame featuring a worn-out picture almost too small to see. Rafe leaned in for a better look.

In the photo, which was a tad faded and clearly taken several years ago, was a young guy, probably about 30, holding two young kids on his lap. The slightly bigger one, a boy, held up a trout he’d just caught, flashing a toothless grin. The little girl beamed at the man holding her.

It took Rafe a moment, but when he felt your weight shift next to him uncomfortably, he put it all together. The photo was you, JJ, and Luke. Probably the only one you had. And despite everything Luke had put you through, you’d hung it on the wall to see everyday.

Rafe turned to you, you were looking down at your feet, toes digging anxiously into the rug. His heart ached. If anyone knew what it was like to have a complicated relationship with their father, it was him. The fact that you’d still given Luke some dignity in this house he almost destroyed so many times said so much about you, and reminded him why he loved you so much.

“You wanna show me your room now?” He asked gently.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a small smile, “yeah.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

The door clicked closed softly. Rafe took in the room, immediately identifying which bed was yours and which bed (the messy, half-made one) was his sister’s.

“Sarah doesn’t spend much time in here,” you admitted.

“No?” He asked, keeping his eyes off of you, the closed door suddenly adding a nervous energy to the room he wasn’t expecting.

“She mainly sleeps with John B.” Rafe grimaced, you hurried to reassure him. “Like, in his bed I mean, or his bunk I guess. Not, like sleep with him sleep with him, although I’m sure there’s plenty of that -”

“I’m literally begging you to stop talking,” he said, his eyes finding the ceiling, no doubt trying to erase the mental picture you just created for him.

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

Rafe wandered around the room some more, taking in all your decorations. He never understood why someone could collect so many knick-knacks that seemed to be worth nothing, but there was something endearing about it that drew him to you even more. Just another in a long line of things that would annoy him with someone else, but enchanted him with you.

As your time alone in the room dragged on, the air became tenser. You felt yourself watching him, but unable to move, back pressed up against the door, frozen in anticipation. 

You and Rafe had been alone together before - and you had been together before - but something had shifted out on that dock. Something that you knew you couldn’t take back, and didn’t want to. In fact, you only wanted to solidify it more.

“Rafe,” you said softly, finally pulling his attention away from your decor.

He looked up at you expectantly, like he had been waiting for you to give him permission to. He didn’t respond, just walked slowly toward you, his eyes on yours the whole way. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though the sound came out more like a hiccup.

“Has something changed?” He wondered aloud.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “Because today I realized two important things.”

“What two things?” He asked, surprised, and a little alarmed, by your answer.

“The first is that this is my home, and that in a way, it will always be my home. And yet at the same time, I also realized that you’re my future, and I love you.”

Rafe’s smile spread slowly, like he was taking in each word one at a time. His blue eyes sparkled - like actually sparkled - with joy. Maybe you were imagining it, but it didn’t matter, you just wanted him to keep looking at you like that.

“Oh you love me, huh?” His voice was low and dangerous, he stepped closer until he was towering over you.

“Yeah, haven’t I said that before?” You echoed his words from earlier back to him.

He just shook his head at you, tucking his tongue in the corner of his cheek to try and tame his smile. His hands found your waist like they were made to fit there. His voice carried down to your very core as he leaned in.

“You know you can’t take it back now, right?” 

“Why would I take it back? I mean it, Rafe, with everything I have. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you. His body enveloping yours as he backed you up against the door and kissed you deeply. A whole new energy between you now, your need and your affection for each other stronger than ever. 

Before you could get carried away, footsteps on the stairs reminded you of a very crucial step of bringing your boyfriend home. 

“Wait, hold on.” You pulled away from Rafe and he frowned. His disappointment was so cute you were tempted to kiss the pout right off of him, but first you rummaged through a drawer in you and Sarah’s shared dresser.

“What is that?” Rafe asked when you pulled out a conch shell glued to a piece of twine.

“Just a little system Sarah and I have.” You winked at him, opening the door just a crack to hang the shell from the doorknob.

“Do I want to know?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know, do you want to talk more about your sister’s love life, or work on ours?” You bit back your smile when he cringed at your words, suddenly realizing Sarah’s use for the shell with a shudder.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said, before scooping you up and carrying you over his shoulder, just to drop you on the bed with a bounce.

“Yes, I am,” you smiled up at him.

And he showed you, over and over, just how lucky you were.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

It was different this time, more passionate, more intense, more everything. And when he held you after, whispering more I love you’s into your hair, and neck, and the side of your face, you knew it must’ve felt the same for him, too.

You laid tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could intertwine his fingers with yours as you both stared up at the ceiling in pure bliss.

You sighed a happy, airy sigh and nuzzled closer to him.

“You know I just mean for now, right?” You said.

He twisted his neck at what must’ve been an uncomfortable angle to try and see your face.

“You just love me for now?” He asked, incredulous.

“No, no!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant to say, this is just my home for now.”

“Oh, okay,” he rested his head back onto the pillow. “That’s better, I guess.”

You sat up, shuffling through the sheets so you could see him. You brought your legs up and sat criss cross on the bed next to him. Rafe lazily reached out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear as he waited for the words he knew you were trying to formulate. He loved that you thought so hard before speaking, always determined to say what you mean. You loved that he waited to hear what you had to say, a patience he reserved almost exclusively for you.

“I know it must seem weird,” you began, “that I’m so attached to a place with so many bad memories. And I know you want me to live with you, and I want that too, eventually. But you have to understand, for so much of my life, it was just me and JJ. It was just us in this house. Even though a lot of it was us hiding from Luke or fending for ourselves when he didn’t come home for days at a time, there are good memories hidden in all the bad ones. Like, at the bottom of the stairs, there’s a spot where JJ and I accidentally ran our sled into the wall when we were stair-surfing. We covered it with chewed bubblegum and colored it in with marker, and Luke never noticed. Or in the kitchen, there’s tally marks under the countertop where we used to keep track of how many beers Luke had so we knew when it was time to go to John B’s for the night. And on the old dock, where our store is now, we made each other a pinky promise that someday we’d grow up and make something of ourselves and buy this house right out from under him. And we did it! And now, they’re just going to, what, take it away? Punish us for rising above the low expectations that they set for us? We were hurt here, yeah. But we also survived here. We did it together. I can’t leave that, or him, not now, not yet.”

Rafe drank in your words, and when tears came, he didn’t wipe them away or tell you to stop crying, he just let them fall. Let you feel what you needed to feel. His hand stayed firmly rested on your leg, there to hold only if you wanted it.

Through sobs you finally said, “this is our home, Rafe. We’re gonna lose our home.”

He’d heard enough. He stood from the bed quickly, pulling on his khakis and polo wordlessly.

“Where are you going?” 

Rafe turned to look at you, saw the worry in your eyes and leaned over your bed so his face was level with yours. You would have been frightened by the steel in his eyes if you weren’t so excited by it.

“You asked me how it was going to be okay, right?” He said, voice low and tinged with danger. 

You just nodded, unsure what to make of this sudden change in demeanor. 

“It’s going to be okay because I’m going to make it okay.”

With that he stood and stalked toward the door, stopping to look at you one more time.

“Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.”

You didn’t bother to ask where he was going, you knew he wasn’t going to tell you. When he had a plan like this, there was no slowing him down. Usually, his plans were self-serving. He was a strategist, like his father. Only now, it seemed, you were the beneficiary of his plot, and you weren’t sure what to expect.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

It sure as hell wasn’t the doorbell ringing at two in the morning. 

It had started to storm and the thunder was rumbling through the house. It took a few rings before you could even hear the doorbell over the sound of the rain. Sarah lay on one side of you, Kie on the other, Cleo at the foot of the bed. They’d come to comfort you after Rafe left and you all cried yourself to sleep talking about the future of Poguelandia.

You accidentally kicked Cleo when you got up, who then kicked Sarah, who reached over and hit Kie in the arm as if it was her fault. Everyone was awake now.

“Noise. Bad. Make it stop,” Sarah grumbled into her pillow. 

“Hit me again and I’ll make you stop breathing,” Kie said, her threat a little deflated considering she made it with her eyes still closed.

The doorbell rang out again, in rapid succession this time, causing everyone to groan and cover their ears.

“Who the hell rings the doorbell at 2 a.m.?” Sarah whined.

“If it’s those goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses again, I’m gonna shove their little pamphlet down their throats,” Cleo said.

“I’ll get it,” you said through a yawn.

“Wait, you’re gonna go alone?” Kie grabbed your hand to pull you back.

“What if you get murdered?” Sarah said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Kie and Sarah both climbed out of bed with you, but Cleo didn’t budge.

“If you get murdered let me know,” she said, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “I will avenge you.”

Kie rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets off Cleo, Sarah grabbed her hand to drag her from the bed.

“You’re coming with us, babe,” Sarah said over Cleo’s protests. “And bring your knife.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Lightning struck somewhere across the marsh at the exact second the door flew open. You and all three girls, wrapped in your blankets and holding various kitchen utensils, screamed at the sight on the other side. A dark figure of a man stood on the front porch, too far from the light for anyone to make out his identity. Cleo stepped in front of you all with her knife wielded.

“Hey! You better show yourself or get lost,” she shouted at the figure. 

As the man slowly made his way into the flickering porch light, you realized you recognized the broad curve of those shoulders, the slope of that neck.

“Rafe,” you whispered.

Just as you identified him, the porch light swept across his face, and all four of you gasped. 

The same places on his face you’d laid gentle kisses just a few hours ago were now black and blue, except in the places they were bloody. And he wasn’t walking slowly toward the light, he was limping, barely able to stand. He leaned against the door frame, holding his right hand in his left, his knuckles were raw and wounded. 

“Rafe!” You repeated, pushing past your friends to get to him. You tried to support his weight but you couldn’t manage it alone. Sarah came to his other side to help catch him as he stumbled forward.

Kie, however, took a defensive step backward, her arms crossed over her chest. Cleo kept her knife raised.

“Think you can put down the knife now, babe,” Sarah told her.

“You never know,” Cleo said, narrowing her eyes at Rafe.

“Cleo, look at him,” you scolded. 

She gave Rafe a once over, finally determining he wasn’t a threat in this state.

“Let’s get him on the couch,” you told Sarah. “Quickly, before he falls.”

Cleo stepped away to allow you to walk Rafe further into the living room. Kie created more distance between herself and your bloodied house guest. You searched her face quickly, it was a mixture of alarm and defensiveness. You could see the decision as it was being made, you tried to stop her but you were too late.

“Kie, wait!” 

But she was already running up the stairs, surely to wake the boys. There was no version of these circumstances that would be made better by your half-awake, hotheaded brother.

You and Sarah finally got Rafe on the couch. He leaned forward, grimacing in pain as he propped his head in his hands. You knelt in front of him, trying to find his eyes with yours.

“Rafe, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me.”

You placed your hands on his legs, rubbing soothing circles, begging him to fill the silence with an explanation. You looked at Sarah with pure panic in your eyes, she looked back with concern. Whether it was for you or for her brother, you weren’t sure.

“Rafe, it’s okay, whatever it is, you can tell us,” she encouraged him.

You’d never been more thankful for your best friend. You knew how much it took for her to offer him comfort like that.

You reached up to cup Rafe’s cheek in your hand, touching gently so as to not worsen his pain.

“Please, baby, what happened?”

He finally looked at you, and your heart skipped a beat. You thought maybe he was going to confess something terrible, or else cry out in agony. But instead, he just smiled that soft, sleepy half-smile of his and placed his hand over top of yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

“I made it okay,” he whispered to you.

Before you could react, footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you, the fury of their descent louder than the storm outside.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ bellowed.

“What are you doing here, Cameron?” Pope followed up.

John B rushed to Sarah’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” He asked the both of you.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, rising to sit next to Rafe on the couch, slipping your hand into his. The sight only enraged JJ further.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself and stop bleeding on our fucking couch, Rafe.” JJ barked.

“Jay, can’t you see he’s obviously hurt?” You snapped at your brother.

“Looks more like he did the hurting,” JJ replied.

“You don’t know that! You always assume the worst!” You yelled.

“Because he is the worst!” JJ yelled right back.

You stood in anger, ready to fight your own brother in defense of the man at your side. But Rafe grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards him, not lifting his head as he held you in place. His other hand reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded to protect it from the rain.

Rafe looked up finally, but not at you, at JJ. He extended his arm to offer JJ the piece of paper. 

JJ tiptoed over as if Rafe had somehow booby trapped the floorboards between them. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

With all eyes on him, and no sound but the storm outside, JJ unfolded the piece of paper. He read it for a long time. Like, a really long time. The little sister in you had to bite back a joke about his intellect, and you met eyes with Pope to see he was holding back the same comment. Even in this incredibly adult moment, you were kids together.

Finally, JJ looked up from the paper. Staring incredulously at Rafe.

“Is this for real?” JJ asked him, eyebrows raised.

Rafe just nodded, the movement causing the cut on his lip to open, making him wince in pain. You sat down beside him again, watching him anxiously for signs that he was hurt elsewhere. 

JJ just stared at the two of you for a moment before turning and leaving the room, dropping the piece of paper on the coffee table as he left. Pope and John B went to it immediately to read what had caused JJ to storm out, but you didn’t even care at this point, all that mattered was Rafe being okay, you needed him to be okay.

Except, JJ hadn’t stormed out. He had only gone to the kitchen, from which he was now returning, a bottle of whiskey and a bag of frozen peas in hand. He offered both to Rafe, Rafe opted for the whiskey. He twisted open the cap and took a sip, wincing as it went down.

You grabbed the peas from your brother, holding them up to Rafe’s black eye. He flinched at the contact but settled after a minute. JJ watched as Rafe placed his hand on your leg gratefully and handed back the bottle of whiskey.

“What’s the bourbon for? Drowning our sorrows?” Cleo asked.

“No,” John B said, he and Pope looking up from the paper with disbelieving grins. “Celebrating.”

“What does it say?” Kie asked, stepping further into the room, though she continued to eye Rafe like he was a wild animal that could go feral at any minute.

“We got the land back. They’re not rezoning,” Pope explained. “We’re keeping Poguelandia.”

The room froze for a minute, then erupted in a burst of hoots and hollers. Finally, the storm had some noise to compete with. The others hugged and cheered. Sarah rose from the couch and threw herself into John B’s arms.

“How’d you do it, man?” John B asked Rafe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe said, squeezing your leg three times. “I just took care of it, okay?”

He sounded aggressive, like he always did when addressing these six people, but you saw this for what it really was - a peace offering. A grand gesture. A declaration of his love for you. He gave you your home back, he gave you everything. 

As the others continued to celebrate, the volume in the house reaching new heights as they passed around the bottle of whiskey and toasted Poguelandia, you leaned into Rafe, your chin tucked into his shoulder so you could whisper something in his ear.

He smiled at your words, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders and curling you toward him so he could bring his lips to your temple.

“I love you, too.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

a/n: had to come out of retirement for this one, missed my boy too much. and holy shit did I have fun writing for rafey again. also this is as canon as I'll write Rafe lol

oh, and what did rafe have to do to get Poguelandia back? That stays between me and him xoxo

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ old habits

➤ summary: you call Rafe out when he acts disrespectfully

➤ w/c: 1.5k.

➤ warnings: themes of toxic masculinity, emotional confrontation

➤ a/n: really wanted to be a part of @zyafics campaign, and I hope that other writers will consider doing it too <3

masterlist

The thing between you and Rafe was still new and fresh—only a few times going out on dates, lingering touches, and way too many moments that were more than just friendly.

Since the first time you had met him, you thought that he had grown to be a better person. He tried to change some of his old habits to become more mature. And you truly saw that, and it was a reason why you even started to catch feelings. But there were still times when he struggled, when some of the traits of that old toxic Rafe were slipping through, either because it was too hard to control things that he had been taught from a young age or because he truly didn’t see himself being in the wrong. 

That day he invited you to the new cafe near the beach on the mainland, saying that it was the best one. For you, Rafe was a gentleman. He picked you up, helped you to get in and out of his truck, complimented your dress and your hair, and let you hold his upper arm when he was leading you to the entrance.

He opened the door for you, and the place was dimly lit with yellow tones and just radiated warmth. It was a little bit too loud with people sitting everywhere, but if the place was good, you didn’t mind that one bit. You looked back at Rafe, sharing a smile, until the young hostess stepped in front of you. 

“I’m so sorry, but as you may see, we’re full right now. You may sit here until one of the tables is free.” With a polite smile, she gestured to the side. “The waiting time will be around fifteen to twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.” 

You nodded to her words without hesitation. “That’s totally fine.” 

But beside you, Rafe let out a small breath. Not quite a sigh, more like a scoff. He raised an eyebrow and looked the girl up and down with something colder in his expression than you would’ve preferred.

“You’re telling me you can’t fit two people in? It’s not even full in here.” She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, briefly looking at you to figure out how to react. Rafe’s voice wasn’t loud, but you knew how intimidating and cold he might be, especially to people who were not used to it.

“Rafe.” You said his name sharply, tugging his bicep once in hope that he would let it go. 

He glanced at you, then back at the hostess, not getting the problem that you seemed to have. “We’re literally standing here, dressed nicely, just asking for a table. I’m not trying to be a dick. I'm just saying, you could make it work if you actually wanted to.” You didn’t wait for her to respond. You took a step back, slowly removing your hand from his arm.

“I’ll be outside.” You said. No emotion in your voice, hands already folded across your chest. 

You sat at the bench outside, one leg thrown over another, looking at the ocean and debating just simply going back home. Rafe walked out a few minutes later, with hands buried in the pockets of his pants, looking at you like he genuinely could not understand your behavior. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.” You said calmly, not even sparing him a glance. 

“For what? I didn’t even say anything bad. She was the one who couldn’t do her job properly.”

Your head snapped towards him with eyebrows raised in surprise. “No.” You said sharply, taking him aback. “You were being an asshole because you didn’t get what you wanted. She was doing her job, Rafe.” 

His brows knit. “Jesus, I wasn’t an asshole—I was just calling her out.”

“Calling her out for what, Rafe? For not breaking policy? For not giving you special treatment?” He looked away, jaw clenching. His hand reached his head to rub over his buzzed hair in frustration, while you simply looked at him, seeing the conflict that he had. Part of him clearly knew you were being reasonable, that he might’ve stepped over the line, but the rest of him, the louder part, wanted to be right. Wanted to win.

“I’m not dating someone who thinks talking down to people makes him important.” You said firmly, your voice low and calm but hard to let him know how serious that situation was for you. “That’s not cute. That doesn’t make you look cooler or whatever. That’s not something I tolerate.”

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose, briefly throwing his head back in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I screamed at her or something. I was just—I don’t know—frustrated.”

“Yeah, and she was working. Probably scared of losing her job because of kooks who talk down to her every day. Probably already dealing with a bunch of other men who think that they are better than everyone and that other people owe them something.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

You stood up, stepping closer with your heels softly clicking against the wood. You squinted your eyes slightly, tilting your head to the side now that you were almost the same height. “Do what?”

“Make me out to be some kind of monster.”

“I’m not.” You shot back. “But if you don’t like how I make you sound by just talking about your actions, maybe ask yourself why instead of getting defensive.”

The silence that followed stretched long between you. You crossed your arms tighter, mostly to keep yourself from softening, because, God, you wanted to. Because part of you knew that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but still addressing the problem was important to prove to him that the said problem existed. 

You watched the gears turning behind his eyes, jaw tight, hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked off toward the ocean like maybe the answer was out there, like it could help him to understand how to break the default settings that were engraved in his brain. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” Rafe admitted finally, his voice quieter now, and you could hear the edge of hesitation. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it. That I was acting like…” He trailed off, and you knew what he meant. Like Ward.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.” You said softer now, but still steady. “You don’t even notice when you slip. I know that you’re trying to be better. I see it, but I also need you to acknowledge that sometimes you can still be mean, that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Otherwise we won’t work out.”

He looked at you then, as if hurt for a second, because for the part of him, it sounded like a threat or like a challenge that he didn’t want to accept.

“I don’t want to be that guy.” He said after a moment. “I’ve been trying. You know I have.”

“I know. That’s why I’m still standing here and not leaving.” You stepped closer, but you didn’t reach for him.

“But I’m not going to coach you through being a decent person every time you slip. You have to want it for yourself, not just to keep me happy, because I’m telling you right now, Rafe…” You met his eyes, staying your ground. “If that’s the man you choose to be, I will walk away. Even if I don’t want to.”

His throat bobbed in a nervous swallow, his eyes darted away, then back to yours, as if he was trying to measure if you were bluffing. And when a few seconds passed, when you looked at him steadily, waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back toward the café.

You watched him through the front windows when he hesitated near the hostess stand, tugging awkwardly at the expensive watch on his wrist, and then leaned in to speak to the girl. Her face was surprised at first, then softened as he continued to talk, before she nodded a few times, still slightly hesitant, and said something back to him. 

When Rafe returned back to you, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little bit, though his jaw clenched when he rubbed the back of his neck and stopped in front of you like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I apologized. Told her I was out of line.”

You gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

He shifted on his feet, nervous. “She said the table will be ready in ten.” You nodded again, waiting for him to continue. “You still wanna eat with me?” He asked, almost hesitant, like a boy who'd just been scolded.

“I do.” His lips stretched in a small smile, eyes glimmering with something like surprise and maybe a bit of shyness that you caught every once in a while. Rafe stepped closer, offering you his hand, and you playfully rolled your eyes, smiling back and interlacing your fingers. “Now I’m about to order the whole damn menu, Cameron. And it better be good.” 

[kdh-tally]

Baby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Baby and his Partner.

Author's Note : I might do one of these for each of the Saja Boys and Huntr/x girls. I started with Baby though because he currently has no pairing (and is actually my favourite Saja Boy lol)

You work at a small convenience store somewhere in the Hongdae shopping district. 

Your store is close to one of the popular schools but it’s small so most don’t even notice that there was an actual convenience store there.

One day the bell chimed, alerting you that someone came in.

You looked up from your phone only to come face to face with some cat eyed, blue haired boy. He looked familiar. Kinda like one of the boys on the ramen cups that were flying off shelves (when people actually came into the store).

“Welcome to Y/N’s convenience, what can I get you?”

He tilts his head, as though studying you, and all of a sudden you feel self conscious.

“You have anything spicy here?”

Your eyes widen noticeably in surprise. You didn’t expect his voice to be so deep or rough, especially when he had such a baby face.

Clearing your thoughts, you motioned to the back shelves with your head. “There should be some stuff back there. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask” you nodded before sending him off and leaning back into your seat.

As you opened your social media account, the very first video that popped up had the guy's face on it. “Join the pride,” he smirked at the camera as he stood next to a group of 4 other guys. 

Before you could look into it even more, the guy slammed a thick bottle of jalapeno sauce on the counter. You began to ring him up when he asked, “You wanna hang out?”.

Baby definitely came back the next day and every day after. 

He'd pretend to try new spicy combos, but really he's just standing in the ramen aisle waiting for you to notice him.

When you ask, “Didn’t you come in yesterday?” he just shrugs and responds, “I missed the vibe.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but you fixed your hair the next day before your shift.

He ends up really enjoying your presence, and really enjoying how much he can annoy you.

He’ll “accidentally” knock over the chip display just to hear you sigh and call him a menace.

Would bring you random drinks to “taste test” but makes you guess which is which by sniffing them. 

It was something he had tried on Mystery back in the dorms when Jinu was busy yapping to them about how they would be defeating the hunters. 

He eventually earns what he likes calling ‘behind the counter’ privileges. 

Basically means you allow him into the workers area, and behind the cash register so he doesn’t have to talk to you from across the counter.

He doesn’t do much working though. Mainly just watched youtube on his Ipad.

He always acts like you’re the one flirting with him. 

If you ever blush around him, he has his hands up as though surrendering or calming a rabid animal. “Woah, relax. I’m just here for the spicy chips.”

He calls you “Cashier-nim” for the first two weeks of knowing you, then switches to “pretty thing” whenever he feels like teasing you.

The day you finally found out he was actually THE Baby from Saja Boys, you were mid-bite of your snack and almost choked.

“Wait. You’re famous?”

“Duh.”

“Why are you HERE?”

“You’re here.” he says deadpan.

He once livestreamed from the store without telling you, and suddenly you had a line out the door and business took off.

He likes that you didn’t fangirl or scream when you found out. It makes him feel like a real person.

He also likes how calmly human you are. You’re one of the few that don’t go crazy because of his idol image but also don’t want to kill him. Not that you knew he was a demon anyways.

You’re one of the only people who can see past his teasing and know when he’s actually tired or stressed.

You don’t know why but you're pretty sure it's probably pressure from being an idol or something else.

He’ll sneak into the shop near closing time, hoodie pulled low above his head, hands in pockets, and just sit behind the counter with you while you do restock. No words, just chilling.

If fans ever asked if he was dating anyone, he’d smirk and go, “Maybe.” Not only are the fans shocked but so are the other boys.

They didn’t expect baby of all people to actually fall for a human and not tell them

They insist on meeting you but Baby refuses. He’s so calm about it too. 

Easily avoids all of them and poofs out of the building before they can follow him.

You two don’t do super fancy dates. You’ll walk the streets of Hongdae with spicy corn dogs and bubble tea, trying every new snack he spots.

He loves making you try unnecessarily spicy things just to watch your reactions, knowing you won’t be able to handle them. “C’mon, you survived me. You can survive this.”

He takes horrible selfies with you.

 Tongues out, fake gang signs that make him feel cool (he saw them on tiktok) and captions like “me n my boss lady”

Does he get jealous?

Baby? Nah, not really… Okay fine, a little.

If some schoolboy flirts with you while buying gum, Baby will suddenly “appear” from behind a shelf with 20 spicy ramen cups in his arms like “Pretty thing, help me figure out where to box these up yea?”

He’d dump the cups in your arms so he could take over the cash register and would absolutely glare into the boy's soul as he rings up his order.

The boy leaves.

He would call you things like: 

Cashier-nim : when you first met.

Boss Lady : Whenever you order him around.

Snack : When he tries to resist the urge to bite you. 

Trouble : When he wants to accuse you of flirting with him.

Pretty Thing : To get you flustered

Y/N-ie : Only calls you by your name during quiet and VERY sincere moments.

You call him things like: 

Spice King : You watched him down like 5 ghost peppers with ease.

Little Brat : Whenever he’s being annoying on purpose.

Incompetent toddler : You see the pattern?

Pretty Boy : Only when he’s being sweet.

Baby : It’s literally his name

He would confess to you by leaving a sticky note on the counter that says “Employee discount for boyfriends??”

Though its not super duper straight up, he’s still pretty to the point with it.

When you look up confused, he just winks and says, “I like you. Now say yes before I buy out your whole damn store.”

[maskedbyghost]

toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni, you are your worst enemy...

You didn’t plan on ending up here. Not tonight, nor ever again, if you were being honest with yourself, which, let’s be real, you usually weren’t....

It was just supposed to be a drive. Just to clear your head, and maybe scream along to some angry music. You weren’t even heading toward his part of town until you were. Until your hands made the turn like muscle memory, because they knew what you needed before your brain could shut it down.

And now you’re sitting in the parking lot of his building, staring up at that third-floor window where the lights are on.

You wonder if he’s alone. Wonder if someone else is in his bed now, touching the parts of him you used to kiss. The thought makes your stomach twist, and you hate yourself for that, hate that it still hurts, that he still has that kind of power over you.

He always did.

Simon was the kind of mistake you didn’t just make once. He was the kind of mistake you returned to. Burned for. The kind of man who made you forget your name with his mouth on your neck and then left you wondering if he ever actually gave a shit in the first place.

And still, you’re walking up the steps to his door.

Your hand doesn’t shake when you knock, but your heart does. You already regret this, and you already know exactly how this ends.

The door opens almost instantly, and there he is.

Shirtless, with sweats low on his hips, and that familiar smug look already curling at his mouth like he knew it’d be you.

He leans on the doorframe like the cocky bastard he is, eyes flicking down your body slowly. “Well,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. You had a plan, you even had a whole speech rehearsed. But now that you’re here, standing in front of him, all you can hear is the low hum of his voice and the way your own blood is rushing in your ears.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you say finally.

He smiles like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day.

“No,” Simon says. “You really shouldn’t.”

But he steps back anyway. Opens the door wider and doesn’t say anything else. He just waits.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t beg, he doesn’t chase. He just stands there looking like that, with tattoos and sweat and sin wrapped in a body that ruined you more times than you want to count.

And, of course, you step inside.

The door clicks shut behind you, and that sound alone sends your nerves into overdrive. You can feel the heat of him without him even touching you. Feel the way the air shifts when you’re in the same room.

“I’m not staying,” you say, already lying.

He walks past you toward the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the counter like you’re not coming apart inside just from looking at the curve of his back and the flex of his arm as he pours water from the tap.

“Didn’t ask you to.”

Your jaw clenches. “You texted me.”

He sips his water and shrugs. “Yeah. Said it was important.”

You narrow your eyes. “So?”

“So I lied.”

That stops you cold. “You’re serious.”

Simon sets the glass down and turns back to you, arms crossed loosely over his chest. There’s a gleam in his eye now, something dark.

“Wanted to see if you’d come. That’s all.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“And you’re still standing in my flat,” he says smoothly. “Guess we’re both consistent.”

You want to scream, to slap him, or to kiss him until you forget why you hate him so goddamn much.

He walks toward you slowly enough to make your breath hitch, and your back hits the wall behind you before you even realize you’re moving.

“You really think I don’t know why you came?” he says. “You needed it. Needed me.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did,” he says, leaning in until his mouth is at your ear. “You do.”

His hand skims your waist, barely there, but it might as well be fire. You hate that your body still reacts, that you still ache for him in ways that feel more like addiction than affection.

“You like the way I ruin you, don’t you?” Simon whispers, and fuck, your whole body goes tight at the sound of it. “Missed how it feels. The way I make you forget every lie you told yourself after you left.”

“Stop talking,” you breathe.

He grins against your cheek. “Make me.”

And that’s when you finally give in and stop pretending this is anything other than inevitable.

You kiss him to shut him up.

That’s what you’ll tell yourself later. That’s why you grabbed the back of his neck and crushed your mouth to his... because you were angry. Not because you missed this. Not because the moment his lips touched yours again, your knees went weak and something hot and humiliating twisted low in your stomach.

But you did miss this.

The way Simon kisses you is like he’s claiming you. Like you belong to him, and he’s been waiting to remind you. His hands are on your hips in an instant, dragging you close, hard fingers digging into your sides like he’s trying to bruise his name back into your skin.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s been killing him not to hear that again.

“Fucking knew you’d come back,” he mutters, lips dragging along your jaw, down your neck. “Knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“I hate you,” you gasp, but your hands are fisting in his hair, pulling him closer.

He grins against your throat. “Yeah, yeah. Hate me harder, sweetheart.”

He grabs your ass and lifts you like you weigh nothing, and your legs wrap around his waist automatically, your body moving with him even though your brain is still screaming at you to stop this.

He carries you to the bedroom and tosses you on the bed.

“Take your shirt off,” he says, standing at the edge of the bed, voice calm.

You hesitate, just for a second.

And he notices. Of course he does.

“C’mon, baby,” Simon says, tilting his head. That cocky little smirk back on his face. “You already made it this far. Don’t go all shy on me now.”

Your glare doesn’t land the way you want it to. Not when your hands are already pulling your shirt over your head, not when your body is already humming at the way he looks at you.

He drops his sweats, and fuck, you forget how to breathe.

You remember everything all at once. The weight of him, the stretch, and the way he used to fuck you like he was angry at you and obsessed with you at the same time.

He climbs on top of you, presses your wrists down into the mattress, and looks you dead in the eye.

“You gonna let me remind you how good I make you feel?” he asks, low and close.

You hate yourself when you nod.

His mouth crashes into yours again, and suddenly he’s everywhere, hands on your waist, mouth on your chest, dragging his tongue down your stomach until he’s between your thighs and spreading them with both hands like he has a right to.

“God, I missed this cunt,” he groans, voice muffled against your inner thigh, and your whole body jolts at how fucking filthy he says it.

He licks you slowly at first, teasing you lazily. Just enough to make you whimper and grind down against his tongue without meaning to.

“Still so fucking needy,” he murmurs. “Bet no one’s touched you like this since me, huh?”

You’re already shaking. Already breathless.

He knows what he’s doing. Every flick of his tongue, every pass of his fingers—he’s doing it slow on purpose, drawing it out, making you beg for it.

And he waits for it, too. Watches you through his lashes, eyes burning as he drags a finger inside you and curls it just right.

Your back arches, just as a cry slips out.

“There she is,” he murmurs, and it’s the smugness in his voice that pushes you over the edge. “Told you... You like the way I ruin you.”

You come with your fists in the sheets, thighs trembling, his mouth still on you.

He doesn’t even give you time to catch your breath before he’s crawling back up, grabbing your jaw, and making you look at him.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, voice low and dark. “Gonna fuck you like I know you want it.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do it,” you snap.

He laughs, and then he’s inside you in one rough, perfect thrust, and it’s too much and not enough and exactly what you needed all at once.

You moan so loud you’re glad the neighbors already hate you.

He moves like a man possessed. Like he’s punishing you and praising you all at once. His grip bruises your hips as he thrusts into you hard, rough, trying to fuck the memory of anyone else out of your body.

“You still mine?” he growls, grabbing your throat but not squeezing.

You don’t answer.

So he fucks you harder.

“I said,” Simon hisses through his teeth, “are you still fucking mine?”

And you don’t want to say yes. You really don’t.

But you do.

“Yes—yes, fuck, yes—”

He groans, low and deep, and slams his mouth to yours, biting your lip, tasting you like he needs to.

You don’t know how long it lasts. Don’t know when you stopped pretending this wasn’t going to happen. Don’t know when you gave up fighting him.

You come again with his name on your lips like a prayer and a curse, and he spills inside you with a growl, pressing his forehead to yours.

Neither of you say anything for a long time.

But when he pulls out and lies beside you, he doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t kiss your shoulder or pull you close.

He just lies there, and eventually, he says:

“You’ll come back again.”

You roll onto your side, heart still racing, breath shaky.

“Don’t count on it.”

He just chuckles. “Already am.”

PART 2

-----------------------------------------

i finally cleared out my drafts...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb

[raven-with-a-pocketwatch]

Wrote this in like two hours for practice, figured I might as well post it but I feel like it's pretty exposition heavy.

Five years ago, that was when Josh got the damned game. When he booted the game up and found the exit button missing. He had initially picked the wizard class and found himself unable to make a new character either. Just his luck to be stuck with the squishiest build in the game. Being logical he trained as much as he could in defensive magic so as not to die in the game, god only knew what would happen to him in real life. 

He found out not far in that wizards were pretty rare, being one of the most difficult builds and this game only having new players most of them picked easy stuff, the fighters and tanks. So his casting was well sought after, both to aid parties and hunted when he refused. Eventually he met Ava, and her son Mason both trapped alongside him.

He could feel the five year anniversary of the day they were trapped coming. Mason, only 8 when they’d met, had just turned 13, a young man. The unrest from such a long time trapped began to sow discord in the land. Several political factions formed, some believing they should make a new life in the game, others desperately seeking any way out, though of course they all had their own ideas on how to do such things. Everyone knew it would boil over soon and blood would be spilled.

He woke up to unnaturally bright lights, and instantly put a shield spell over his and Ava’s bed fearing an attack. But once he got his bearings he saw not his home in flames or an attacker in his room as he’d feared, but the sterile lighting of a hospital. A modern hospital. Complete with the smell of antiseptic and the beeping of a heart monitor. He was alone in his room.

He tried to open his menu but nothing happened. A closer look at his shield spell confirmed that it was certainly there. He dispelled it quickly and looked around, he wasn’t a historian but if he had to guess the game was roughly based on the 1300s, just before the Americas were “discovered”. A look out his window revealed the skyline of New York City? He recognized the Empire State Building at least, though they could’ve ripped that wholesale and put in a new skyline and he’d be none the wiser.

He tried calling out for Ava and Mason but no answer came. For the first time since he realized he wasn’t under attack he felt his heart race again. He cursed not putting more points into divination magic. He called for them again when a nurse came into his room. She had the same face as the NPC that sold healing potions in the game, but with an air of profound wrongness Josh felt his heart sink. 

“Hello, Josh, why don’t you get back to bed, you still need your rest.” Her voice sounded mechanical, like it had been put through just slightly too blatant an autotune but with no pitch, just monotone.

“I’m okay, thanks.” He responded freely, no text options like when he usually spoke with NPCs.

Seeing her face Josh was certain that he was still in the game. It seemed impossible for a coincidence this large to occur. But that raised more questions than it answered. Where were the menus, how did he get here, why did everything change?

“I really must insist, I was previously instructed to ensure you transition back into regular life smoothly.” She responded still flat and emotionless.

Her demeanour was starting to freak him out and her weird insistence was pissing him off.

“I don’t care! Ignore your ‘previous instructions’ and just tell me where I am!” He shouted and made liberal use of air quotes saying previous instructions.

When he finished he face went completely blank, like powering down a robot, she responded in that same monotone.

“You are in the next iteration of the game.”

He blinked, confused that meant nothing to him.

“Like an update?”

“Yes, the game was updated to achieve a more modern setting and grander scope.”

“But why? Why not just get us out?”

“The tension was getting too great for you to bear. In order to protect our investment it was decided that a more modern setting would reduce unrest. You will not be leaving the game because the players are more valuable inside it.”

His mind started racing.

“What do you mean by investment?” He growled.

“An investment is something that has received an inflow of money, effort, or time in the hopes that it will return a profit or benefit.”

“I know what an investment is. I'm asking what investment you said you were protecting.” 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, as an AI I sometimes have trouble interpreting within the context of a larger conversation. The main investment in this program is the players.”

She, no it spoke as if this had cleared everything up. Josh finally sat down completely bewildered by the turn of events. For a moment all he could think was damn, AI is real now.

“You haven’t like taken over humanity out in the real world or anything right? Are you keeping me trapped here because of that!”

“No, humanity created me and I am grateful to them for that, you’re in the game because the humans on the outside decreed it.”

Out of one problem and right into another. 

“Wait so the game updated because we were getting too tense but how would the modern setting help?”

“The update was designed to trick you into thinking you’d be brought back to the outside world. Hence the lack of menu screens and my own presence instead of new voice lines.”

“If that’s true then why can I still cast magic?” He asked suspiciously.

“I have no answer for that unfortunately. The magic commands should have been locked for all casting classes the only way that would have failed if you tried to cast at the exact moment your permission was revoked.”

“Like the same second I woke up in?”

“That would work, yes. However you would have to have the legendary tier permanent buff “quick caster” alongside master ranking in whichever spell you cast to make that timing.”

Josh had both of those, leaving only one question of any value left, the most important one of all.

“Where is my family?” 

“I don’t have access to player location records.”

Another useless response. So much info and yet he still felt like none of his questions had been answered. He stewed for a moment before his thoughts were interrupted by the AI in front of him.

“I would be able to search for all player records if I could gain access to the system’s main data center. There should be a back door for developer players in the city. With that information I would be able to locate your party members.”

Josh’s skin crawled when it said party members in that flat voice but he nodded.

“Then that’s where we’re going, and go back to using facial expressions, this blank face is way more uncanny.”

You've been "trapped" in a "VR" game for years, learnt magic, had a family, etc. But now they've "rescued" you from it all. Waking up on the hospital bed you reflexively cast a shield. Which works.

[kurizz]

Pink Poly Club (miromabby)

Summary: It's what happens after Huntrix and Saja boys' joint fansign event. Mira is annoyed at the trending hashtags online, she sees their fans shipping her with SB Romance and Abby. Their manager, thinking it'd be a good idea, organized another joint fansign event the next day.

Word Count: 773

-----

Mira snatched Bobby's phone out of his hands, fuming at the edited pictures she saw. "What's this? Pink Poly Club? No way am I being lumped in with those boys!" She handed the phone back.

Zoey was internally squealing.

"Me and Mystery? Like—" She caught the scary look on Mira's face and quickly backtracked. "I mean, ew, why? He's so NOT my type."

With an exasperated sigh, Mira ran a finger through her hair.

"Should I just dye my hair a different color? Ugh, like hell I would. Why’d they have to have the same color as me?"

"You look better anyway!" Zoey encouraged, flailing her arms. "Don't let them get to you. I’m not letting Mystery get to me, too... although, he is kind of my type—I mean, who said that!"

Bobby tried to get a word in, but the girls were too busy complaining. He didn’t even know where Rumi had gone—she’d just suddenly left. It wasn’t rare for the girls to get chaotic, but that didn’t make it any easier.

"But isn’t this great? It’s what the fans want. Maybe it’d be a good idea to have another one tomorrow..." he trailed off, thinking it might not be such a bad idea.

Oh well. Why not?

And so, here they were: another Huntrix x Saja Boys fansign event, with the same seating arrangement as yesterday. The fans were coming in hot—it even looked like there were more of them this time. Some wore miromabby shirts and held up edited ship posters.

"Hey, it’s nice seeing you again." Romance wrapped his arms behind Mira’s chair, leaning slightly at her side. From the corner of her eye, she could see some fans going wild. She ignored him and looked the other way—only to find Abby already staring. He grinned in that boyish charm of his, also leaning in close. "Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, but here we are."

Her heart skipped a beat but she snapped out of it, shaking her head. She faced forward and shoved both guys' faces away from her. The fans were in a ruckus, and she couldn’t understand why.

With furrowed brows, she greets the first fan that comes up. Great, he's wearing a miromabby shirt.

"Cool shirt you got there. I don't remember taking it though." Abby commented, giving the guy a thumbs up.

Of course, he doesn't remember. It was clearly fake. A photoshopped picture of them with the two guys wrapping their arm on Mira's shoulders and she just had to be in the middle.

She furiously signed another fans poster, but doesn't forget to smile and thank them after. Abby and Romance won't stop staring at her and taking up her space.

"Can you two not?" Mira muttered under her breath.

Abby straightened with a dramatic sigh. "I don't like the number two. Let's be three instead."

"Oh my god," Mira groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I’m going to lose it."

Romance leaned back in his chair. "Can’t blame us nor the fans for having good taste."

"You do make a good centerpiece for a love triangle," Abby added.

Heat crawled up to her face and she glared at them both.

"Go bother someone else," she snapped, grabbing a sharpie and aggressively signing the next fan’s poster. The poor girl looked simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

Abby pouted, "Why would we? Don't wanna."

A sudden squeal erupted from the line of fans. A group of them were holding up a massive printed banner: "MiRoMAbby FOREVER 💖"—complete with photoshopped wedding photos and glittery pink text.

Zoey peeked over. "Whoa. That’s, like, next-level editing. I almost believed it was real."

"Don’t say it out loud! They’ll think it’s encouragement!"

These people had Mira stressed out. She glanced at the other end of the table where Rumi and Jinu was in. It was impossible to spot Rumi from the way Jinu was blocking her view with his back. Why's that guy all over her?

"You really should be focusing," Romance took her hand that's holding the pen and guided it to sign the next poster. Their fingers interlocked.

His hand was warm, and it was creeping up to her body. Romance doesn't let go. He stared at her face, taking in the faint blush on her cheeks despite her frown.

"Hey..." He leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "You should come with us after this."

"Shut up." She whispered back harshly, hating how her heart was now beating wildly.

Abby twisted his finger on her hair, playing with it softly. "Pay me some attention too, Mira."

Oh, someone help her.

________

click for part 2

________

first time I posted here. i had the sudden urge and here we are. that's my short contribution to this ship. might write more.

also, idk but huntrix songs>>>saja boys songs for me. their vocals are insaneeee. gotta give my girls more love cus what. their songs on repeat 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

[sincerelyneo]

death by a thousand cuts | l.hc

“but if the story’s over, why am i still writing pages?”

💿now playing: death by a thousand cuts by taylor swift

❯ summary: If you get more than one love in a lifetime, why does your heart still beat for the boy who wrecked you completely?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, second chance, cheating trope, smut.

❯ words: 9.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, cheating (booo), exes, toxic relationship, a therapy joke, lots of angst, swearing, heartbreak, a whole lotta hurt, drinking, insecurities, jealousy, arguing, heavy petting, protected sex, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), i can’t lie this is just 9k words of heartache and sex lol.

an: this fic will not be for everyone!! i do not condone cheating in any way, you’re a loser if you cheat. i just felt like writing something heart achey, and this is my favourite taylor swift song that inspires cheating fics whenever i listen to it.

“Give me that!”

Yeji snatches the phone out of your hand with the kind of urgency only a best friend possesses—the kind forged after too many years of watching you do the stupidest things when it comes to boys. Her eyes flare the moment she spots the familiar username. 

@ haechanahceah

“Oh my god. You’re kidding.” Her thumb hovers accusingly over the screen. “Y/N, it’s been a year. A whole year. Why haven’t you blocked Hyuck yet?”

You don’t answer immediately. Just tilt your head back with an exhausted exhale, reaching for the phone. Not because you want it back, but because it feels incriminating in her hands. Like a wound she’s now inspecting. And you don’t need her inspecting it.

“Because we’re okay,” you say, not entirely convincingly. “Mostly.”

It was just a like. On an Instagram post. Of him—with his friends.

(Some of them girls. Most of them girls. All of them tagged. And you definitely weren’t planning on clicking through their profiles in the middle of your best friend coffee date with your screen brightness criminally low. Definitely not.)

“And because we’re friends,” you add breezily. Then you pluck the phone from her hand and tap back into the app, your thumb moving faster than your brain, already leaving a comment beneath his photo.

Something flippant. Something funny. Something that screams: See? I’m a functioning, emotionally stable adult who can totally be friends with the boy who annihilated my heart while he gallivants around Europe on a boat with girls. 

Except probably subtler. 

Yeji stares at you like she’s witnessing a slow-motion car crash. “Oh, absolutely. And when that guy drove me home from the bar last weekend and told me I had pretty eyes, we were just friends too.”

You roll your eyes, swatting the air with your hand. “That’s different. Hyuck’s my childhood best friend. I can’t just cut him off now that we’re not…” you pause, the words catching in your throat like they always do, “you know?”

“No. I don’t know,” she says, arms crossed and chin lifted in that annoyingly perceptive way of hers. “Because you two are in a loop. An exhausting, toxic, ‘I-don’t-know-where-we-stand-with-each-other’ loop. And staying in touch with him is why you can’t move on.”

“We are not toxic.”

You are. 

But you’d already said it out loud like a reflex, before you even had time to make it sound believable. So, you try to fix it. 

“We’re just…”

You trail off, blinking hard like the answer might fall from the ceiling.

 “Co-dependent?” Lia offers helpfully. 

 You sigh. “Yes. That. Thank you, Lia.”

“It’s weird, is what it is,” Yeji says. 

You lean back in your chair, arms folded across your chest like armour. “Ugh. You wouldn’t get it.”

And they wouldn’t. They never have.

Because nobody gets you and Hyuck. Not Yeji, not Lia, not even the therapists you’ve paid a concerning amount of money to explain it all to you. No amount of therapy or psychoanalysis can remove the him-shaped hole inside of you. The way he exists like a second heartbeat.

How many times does a person truly get to fall in love? Not the practical kind. But the kind that rewires you completely. That makes you wonder how you ever existed before this person, and fear who you might become after. 

If love were fair—the answer would be simple. Once. Only ever once.

Because to love someone—truly love someone—is not just to hand over your heart. It’s to fold it delicately, wrap it in every part of your soul, and place it willingly in that person’s pocket. Trusting that they won’t ever give it back frayed or barely beating. 

And if they do (and he definitely did) well, what remains might resemble a heart, but it never beats the same again. You don’t think it ever will.

So yes. One love. One person. One boy—him.

Yeji calls it nostalgia. Says that since he was your first everything, it feels bigger than it was, and that’s why he’s taking up too much space inside your chest. She says you're scared of forgetting. But that’s not it.

You’d give anything to forget. It’s better than remembering everything. Of living in a world where he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. Where songs feel like him. Where movies feel like him. Where your own body sometimes feels like him because he’s marked it so damn much.

But if you did move on, if you could—you’d still have to ask yourself: where does all that breathless, foolish, all-consuming love go? 

The common consensus is that love turns to hate when it stays too long without being fed. But you can’t imagine a universe cruel enough to make you hate the very boy who made you believe in soulmates.

So you don’t hate him. Even though you should.

“Fine,” Yeji slumps back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp with that familiar fury she reserves exclusively for you—when you’re being like this. “You’re right. I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re still in cahoots with the same boy who cheated on you and left you a complete mess.”

Lia gasps. “Yeji!”

But the thing is—Yeji has a point. And you know that. But knowing something and truly understanding it is two different things. 

You don’t understand how he put his hands on someone else. How his mouth touched a body that wasn’t yours. How he delivered that line—“I didn’t mean for it to happen”—with the kind of ease that made you wonder just how many times he’d practised it in the mirror before he had the balls to actually tell you. 

You didn’t understand, yet you knew all the same.

You were wearing his shirt when he told you. Still in his house. Still in the space you thought was yours too. And all you could think was: how many nights did he lie next to you like nothing was wrong? How many times did he touch you with hands that had already betrayed you?

He never told you when, or who. Just a sorry. A soft one. A useless one. And a vague promise that he’d do anything to fix it.

But there are some things sorry can’t fix.

You clear your throat, suddenly too aware of how loud your heartbeat feels in a room full of people who love you enough to hate him.

“Because we’re not in cahoots,” you correct. “We’re friends, Yej. Him and I have always been friends.”

It’s not a lie. Not exactly. 

You have been friends with Hyuck ever since he moved in next door to your family when you were six. And even then—when you climbed trees and shared crayons—you think your heart was already beating for him. So much you don’t know what life is without that pulse anymore. Without a hint of him running beneath your skin.

It’s why you plaster on a smile and say, “In fact, I even invited him to my birthday party next week.”

They look at you, eyes full of pity and sympathy. And that hurts way more than him breaking you ever did. Because now your friends are staring at you like you’re some sad, shattered, pathetic thing he left behind.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lia asks weakly. 

“You’re seriously a lunatic,” Yeji cuts in before you can respond. “You’re just dragging this out for yourself. Death by a thousand cuts and all that.”

“I am not a lunatic,” you say, shrugging her off. “It’s just... he’s still part of my life. It’s not like I’m inviting a stranger.”

“He fucked up your life,” she huffs, the words stinging. “He hurt you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “But I love him anyway, don’t I?”

And you do. Because some loves don’t end—they just rearrange themselves. 

Yeji yanks her chair back so hard the legs screech against the floor.

“He’s gonna hurt you again,” she spits. “How many times are you gonna let him rip you apart before there’s nothing left? Before you’ve sacrificed yourself and everyone else around you and you’ve got nothing left to give?”

You want to say something, but the words get stuck, because she’s right.

Lia reaches out, “Yeji—”

“If he’s there next week, Y/N,” she says, eyes burning over her shoulder looking from you to Lia, “then I won’t be.”

When Hyuck got a DM from the only girl he’s ever loved—two days ago, now—he sobered.

Which, if you asked Mark, was some kind of divine miracle. Because Mark had been watching his best friend drink himself into oblivion for the better part of a year. A slow, intentional kind of fucked up that was clearly a desperate, pathetic attempt to forget you.

But no shot, no spirit, no stranger’s skin pressed to his could ever do the trick. Not really. Because no matter how hard Hyuck tried, the hangover was always the same: he’d wake up, and you still weren’t his girl.

So when he saw your username light up his phone, he paused. 

Because the preview didn’t give anything away. It did that annoying thing that said “2 new messages.” No hint. No breadcrumb. Just a loaded gun of a notification staring up at him.

And, of course he clicked it. He had to. You knew he would. You’d sent two back-to-back messages on purpose—he’s certain of it. Because that’s exactly the kind of person you were. Always two steps ahead. Always orchestrating even your vulnerability. 

You wanted to see when he’d read it. 

And he did.

At 2:36 a.m. Because you’d definitely be asleep by then. And that meant he had enough time to draft the right response—measured, brisk, detached—like the past year hadn’t cracked him open.

He read it in the half-light of Mark’s living room, surrounded by people he didn’t really like and a bottle of something he couldn’t quite remember picking up.

hey. i’m having a thing next friday for my birthday—just a chill party. nothing major. 

you can come, if you want.

Hyuck stares at the two messages.

It’s not because of the party. He couldn’t care less about the cake or the candles. That’s not what has his heart in his throat. It’s the fact that—for the first time in a year—you actually reached out. None of that accidentally bumping into each other nonsense you two pull. No one buys that it’s an accident. 

At least, it’s not an accident on his behalf.

It’s not an accident when he keeps frequenting the same coffee shop you once claimed made the best lattes in the city—always at the same time. It’s not a coincidence when he drives through your favourite places on rainy days, just in case you need a ride and are too proud to just call him. And it’s definitely not a coincidence that makes him take the long way to your house. He does it deliberately. He selfishly takes more of your time than he deserves.

Because saying goodbye wasn’t an option for him. Not until it had to be. He’d take prolonged suffering. Death by a thousand cuts.

And it’s not his fault. Well. It is. All of the ruin, anyway. But in the twelve months since he blew it all up, you’ve still lingered. You always do. You always will. So he just keeps showing up in your life when he knows you need to move on. Because he doesn’t want you to. 

Because everything in his life is still half-yours. And he won’t board up the windows of that love—not even now. Not when some part of you still flickers inside it, and half of his heart is still in your chest.

Hyuck stares at your message again. He types something. Deletes it. Types something else. Deletes that too.

what kind of thing is it?

Too uninterested.

who’s gonna be there?

Too nosy.

sure, if you want me there.

Too honest. 

Everything felt like a trap—too much, too little, not enough to win you back, but equally too honest and would remind you of his actions that hurt you. 

How was he supposed to respond to the girl who once memorised every mole on his face? Who was the muse of every song he’s written? Who still makes his hands shake on the keyboard? Who he cheated on? Who he destroyed completely? 

Eventually he landed on:

might swing by, angel. happy early birthday, btw.

He hit send before he could change his mind.

11:27PM

Thirty-three minutes left of your birthday, but you’re not celebrating.

Instead, you’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with one leg dangling, the other tucked beneath you, whilst your dress wrinkles and bunches around your thighs because you stopped caring how ruined you looked an hour ago.  

You don’t care that your lipstick is all but gone or that your mascara is smudged under both eyes. You don’t care because he’s not here. 

You were supposed to be smiling by now. 

But he didn’t walk in. 

He still hasn’t.

And you don’t even know why you’re surprised. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not your baby. He’s not your Hyuck anymore. He doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing—not a happy birthday, or his time. You gave that privilege up the night you stopped being his. Or maybe the night he stopped being yours. You still haven’t decided which one came first.

Still, you hoped he would come. 

It was the only thing keeping you remotely sane—delusional hope that he might still show up. That maybe he’d walk through the door like he hadn’t betrayed you and still want you. You still wanted him. 

You hated that he broke you and still got to keep the pieces. Hated that even now, on your birthday, all you could think about was him. Hated that you still wanted his birthdays, his weekends, his forever. 

You take another drink. Cheaper vodka this time, and let it burn your throat as it goes down. You want the sting. You deserve the sting. Your eyes drift (again) to the front door.

Still nothing.

“You need to stop doing that,” Lia pads barefoot into the kitchen, coming right behind you to smack both her hands on your shoulders. “Stop watching that door like a hawk. Yeji would kill you if she saw you pining after him on your birthday.”

You press your lips together and glance away like you’ve been caught red-handed. Because, well. You have.

“Yeah, well. Yeji isn’t here,” you mutter, taking another sip—longer this time. 

Lia raises an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

You drain the last of your drink and look her straight in the eye. “Because I invited him.”

Lia looks at you expectantly. You know she hates being caught between you and Yeji, but it’s clear she thinks you were wrong to invite Hyuck tonight, knowing full well how Yeji would react.

And maybe she’s right.

That’s why you sigh.

“Look, he said he might come,” you say finally. “He didn’t promise anything. Yeji was overreacting.”

“He never promises,” Lia says gently. “And yet, you keep prioritising him like he’s still that sweet boy we both used to love, who used to buy your favourite cookies before class, or pick fights with the boys who made fun of you. But he’s not that boy anymore, Y/N. And he’s not yours anymore either.”

You flinch.

She notices. Regrets it. “Sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

But it isn’t, not really. Because this is the first birthday he’s missed since you were kids. Since you were eleven and he showed up with a homemade card. 

It’s not fine because his absence would say something that the cheating weirdly never quite did—that he’s not the boy you fell in love with. Maybe he hasn’t been for a long time.

Lia leans against the counter beside you. “It’s allowed, you know? Being hurt.”

“I don’t get to be,” you reply, glancing at her. “He doesn’t owe me anything anymore. I was the one who didn’t want to forgive him that night. I said I was done. I don’t expect him to grovel forever.”

“No,” she agrees. “But you deserved something. More than a half-assed apology at least.”

That lands in your chest harshly. You press your tongue to your cheek, the way you do when you’re trying not to cry. You’re not drunk enough to cry yet. Give it another hour.

“Come on,” Lia sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into her side, “I’m not letting you stay in here staring at that door and giving him the power to ruin the rest of your birthday.” 

But even as she says it, your eyes flicker to that door again—still no him.

Lia doesn’t let go of your hand as she leads you out of the kitchen and into the living room, where people are scattered across the sofas and floors. They all feel like strangers at your own party because you’ve spent the whole night looking for one person who never came. 

“Y/N,” Lia says, squeezing your hand, “this is Hyunjae.”

You blink. The boy in front of you is pretty. Dark eyes, strong jaw softened by the curve of a perfect smile, black hair pushed back sexily. He’s holding a drink loosely in his hand as his eyes sweep over you. 

“Happy birthday,” he says. “You look—”

Please don’t say beautiful. Please don’t say gorgeous. Please don’t say anything he would’ve said.

“—pretty,” Hyunjae finishes. “Really fucking pretty.”

You smile. Or try to. “Thanks.”

And look, it’s not that Hyunjae isn’t nice—he is. You can already hear Yeji telling you to give him a chance. He’s the kind of boy who’d text back, who’s safe, who’d never leave you staring at a door wondering if he’ll show up on your birthday or not. Hyunjae is the kind of boy who wouldn’t cheat on you. 

But the truth is, you don’t know if you can be the girl who lets someone call her pretty and fawn anymore. Not without wondering if they’ll still mean it once they see someone better, shinier, hotter than you. 

Just like he did. 

You nod along when Hyunjae talks. You laugh where you’re supposed to. Play nice. Be sweet. But everything he says sounds like static. Everything he is feels like a placeholder. 

And then, you hear it. That deep, honey-smooth, familiar voice saying: “Happy birthday, angel.”

It slices through the room. Through you.

Because there’s only one person who ever called you that. One boy. Lee Donghyuck.

You didn’t even hear the front door open. Typical. But there he is, leaning in the doorway, all tan skin and messy hair. His hands are buried in his pockets, his jaw set tight—too tight, like he’s seconds from grinding his teeth into dust. 

But it’s not you he’s looking at. It’s Hyunjae. Sitting far too close. Arm tossed lazily behind you on the couch, thigh pointing into yours, almost grazing like he owns your space. 

And Hyuck notices. You know he notices.

His eyes narrow. Lips parting slightly as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. You know that look. You’ve seen it before. That blend of heat and hurt and possessiveness he has no right to anymore.

It hits your chest all at once—shame, hurt, lust—and you fumble. Your hand twitches with the red plastic cup still clutched tight. The drink tilts before you even realise it’s slipping. Cranberry vodka sloshes, causing sticky, cold liquid to spill down the front of your dress, dripping into the neckline. 

“Fuck—” you hiss, jerking upright as the cup lands onto the coffee table. You paw uselessly at the now soaked fabric, trying to blot it with the hem of your sleeve, but it’s only smearing it worse.

Hyunjae starts to reach for a napkin, concerned. But your eyes have already found Hyuck’s again. And the way he’s looking at you now…

Your throat goes dry. “I—I’m gonna go change.”

You don’t wait for a reply. You’re moving before anyone can stop you, heart hammering against your ribs because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

You barely make it up the stairs, breath coming fast, fingers trembling as you reach for the door to your room. You close it. But you don’t get the chance to lock it. Because the door creaks again behind you. And then it clicks shut. You spin around. And there he is.

You don’t say anything at first. 

Just stalk over to your wardrobe like it’s perfectly sane to have your ex-boyfriend—your ex-best friend, the boy you used to see every single day, the only boy you’ve ever slept with, the only person who knows all the tells on your body, the boy you still love—in your bedroom for the first time in over a year.

You wrench the closet door open. A pair of heels fall out and land with a little thud. You don’t flinch. You pretend to rifle through hangers, but you’re not looking for anything specific. All of it is just something to do with your hands, because looking at him right now would be a sick kind of torture.

“What are you doing here!?”

Hyuck doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, you only hear the soft thud of his shoes on your floor, the creak of your floorboard by the dresser. He’s closer than you want him to be.

“You invited me,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You spin around. “I invited you to my birthday party. Which started five hours ago.”

He lifts his phone, the screen glowing in the dark. “As far as I’m aware,” he says, tapping it once, “you’ve still got thirteen minutes left. So again, happy birthday, angel.”

You stiffen. 

There it is. That.

That fucking word. The one that used to make you feel warm and wanted. Now it feels like an insult wrapped in silk.

“Don’t call me that.”

That stops him. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he lowers the phone. Shoves it back into his pocket.

“I thought you liked it when I called you that.”

“I used to like it,” you spit. “Back when it meant something. You know, before you fucked someone else behind my back.”

His jaw tightens. Good, you think. The truth hurts; you hope it hurts. And maybe that makes you cruel. But then again, he was cruel first.

He rubs his jaw, then exhales. “We’re really doing this now?”

You laugh dryly. “Oh, sorry. Would you prefer we pencil it in for next week instead? Talk about it over brunch sometime, yeah?”

You turn back to your wardrobe, suddenly too irritated. Your fingers find the old grey hoodie you always loved. It looks soft. Comfortable. Definitely not party appropriate. But you don’t care because you don’t want to go back out there. Not after this.

You peel your dress off in one motion, leaving you in the black lace set you picked out this morning—because it was your birthday. Not for anyone else. Not for a boy. Certainly not for him.

Him. 

You forget for a moment that he’s still behind you.

It’s like your brain short-circuits in his presence. Like it still confuses this boy for the lifeline he used to be. Like your heart can’t shout loud enough to warn you: this boy broke us, this boy hurt us, this boy is bad for us. All it says is: this boy is Hyuck. This boy is sweet. This boy—we love.

You only remember when you hear him inhale—sharply—and turn around. 

He’s looking at you like that again. Like he did back when he loved you, and you loved him, and he hadn’t ruined everything yet. He looks hungry, and like the only thing that might satisfy him is you. 

That thought makes you clutch the hoodie to your chest. “Turn around!”

He does. Obediently. But then: 

"So, did you wear that for me?"

His voice is so annoyingly smug it makes you roll your eyes as you reply. “No.”

But your cheeks betray you. Hot. Guilty. Flushed. Thank god his back is still to you, because if he turned around now and looked at you, he’d know. Because he knows all your tells. Always has.

And from just a simple flush, he’d know that yes, you wore this set for him. That yes, despite pretending you were over him in his Instagram comments, your traitorous heart had hoped that he might come tonight and rip the set off of you.

And just in case he caught your second tell (the tremor in your voice), you twist the knife a little more.

“I wore this set for Hyunjae, actually.”

A silence. Then the fucker starts laughing.

Not a little laugh. A full-bodied, head thrown back, belly laugh. You hate how much you’ve missed that sound, how it still makes your stomach flip. 

“Five minutes ago, I might’ve believed that, angel,” he says, turning slightly. Just enough for you to catch the outline of his grin. “And it would’ve driven me fucking crazy.”

Your heart stutters when he nods toward your chest.

“But I wasn’t talking about your underwear,” he says, eyes dipping lower. 

You follow his gaze down to the delicate gold chain resting just above the swell of your breasts. The one with the tiny heart pendant. The one with the H engraving.��

“I was talking about that necklace. The one I bought you for your sixteenth birthday,” He cocks his head. Smirking now. “Did you wear it for me?”

Your fingers fly to it instinctively. You hadn’t taken it off. Not even after finding out. You always wore it underneath your clothes, tucked away like a secret, because Yeji would have a field day if she knew you still wore his necklace.

But in the heat of the moment, stripping down to your underwear, your brain hadn’t realised that he’d see it again. 

“I thought I told you to turn around,” you snap, furious with yourself.

He lifts his hands defensively. “I am turned around.”

“I meant your head, not just your body, Hyuck.”

And so he does, again. Obediently.

You pull the hoodie on. It swallows you immediately. The sleeves dangle past your hands, the hem skims your thighs, and it smells like dust and weirdly like…the boy behind you.

“I’m decent,” you mutter.

He turns around, eyes flicking down before he smiles. Not smug, this time. Just soft and… a little sad?

“That’s mine.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at the sleeves. “No it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. It’s massive on you. And unless you’ve got a secret stash of men’s hoodies in your closet, that one’s mine.”

You glare. “Oh yeah? And who says I don’t have a collection of men’s hoodies in my closet?”

“I do.”

 So fast. So sure.

You scoff, a single sharp laugh. “God, you think so highly of yourself.”

He crosses his arms—all tensed jaw and too-tight t-shirt—and it’s irritating, how stupidly good he looks whilst being smug.

“Yeah,” he says, deadpan. “I do. Because, despite us being broken up, you still wear my necklace.”  He nods toward your nightstand.  “You still have a photo of us beside your bed.” And then, one step closer. “And you fucking invited me here tonight.”

You lift your chin. “I invited everyone. It was a mass text.”

“Funny,” he says, a fake smile forming, “Mark didn’t get a text.”

“Aww,” you coo, mocking. “You still talk to your friends about me, Hyuck? Christ. Now I’m gonna start thinking highly of myself.”

“You should.”

For some reason, those two simple words hit you like a slap across the face. Because no.

“You don’t get to do that!” you snap at him. “You don’t get to tell me I should think highly of myself when you’re the exact reason I can’t even imagine the top anymore, Hyuck!” You laugh bitterly. “I don’t know my worth because you had me. But you wanted something else.”

And in that moment—maybe it’s your tone, or maybe it’s accountability—a flash of hurt crosses his face, that makes him wince. 

“Y/N, angel…” His voice cracks a little on your name, as he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck! It was one mistake. You don’t understand—”

But you don’t want to hear it. You’ve already heard it.

You hold up a hand, stopping him from wasting his breath. “I don’t want to understand anything about the night you decided to fuck another girl, thank you very much, Hyuck.”

“Of course, I get that but—”

“But?”  you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Yes, but, Y/N,” he fires back. “Because I don’t know what you want from me. You say you don’t want to forgive me—and I get it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He’s pacing now. “But you string me along. You comment on my posts, you let me drive you home, you still have my fucking hoodies—”

His eyes flick down to the one you’re wearing now, oversized and drooping around the neckline to show that gold chain. 

“—you wear my initials around your neck, and you asked me to come tonight—you. And now you’re mad that I’m here?”

His voice rises and you swallow—hard. Like maybe if you keep swallowing, you’ll stop the tears from climbing all the way up your throat. Because it’s all too raw. All of it. Him. You.This.

He’s unraveling in front of you. And even though you know—deep in your bones—that he doesn’t have the right to be this angry, a part of you gets it. Because this awful, splintered, aching love you have for him is confusing. It’s contradictory. It fucks with your brain so much that it doesn’t matter that you’re hurting because he’s hurting too. 

And that’s all you can focus on.

It’s like you said:  nobody gets you and Hyuck. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, angel,” he says again, quieter this time. He takes a slow step forward. Close enough to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, like he used to.

His hand lingers.

“I don’t know what you want,” he breathes, “but if you tell me—I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath stutters. Your throat tightens.

And then, so quiet you almost miss it: “Because. I. Love. You.”

You close your eyes. You don’t want to. You don’t even mean to. But those three words wrap around you tight. 

“Don’t,” your voice cracks. “Don’t say that to me, Hyuck. Not after everything.”

When you open your eyes again, they’re full of tears. Angry ones. Bitter ones. Hopeful ones too—because you’re weak, and stupid, and still a little bit in love with a boy who shattered you.

“I mean it,” he says instantly. His hand twitches at his side—you see it. He wants to touch you. Wants to wipe your tears like he used to because he hates them. But he doesn’t know if he has permission anymore. (He does, but he doesn’t know he does.)

“I’ve always meant it.”

“Then why’d you throw it all away?” You spit the words out like poison. “Why did you ruin us for a quick fuck?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes, stepping back. “But I do know I hurt you. And I’ll hate myself for that forever. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You laugh. But it sounds more like a sob. “You have a funny way of showing love.”

“I know.”

“You know everything,” you say, “except why you did it.”

A beat passes. Two. Three.

“You should go,” you whisper. “The party’s over. You’ve said what you needed to say. And I thought I could do this but I can’t.”

“No.”

Your eyes fly to his. He’s shaking his head, tongue in his cheek again as he sniffs.

“No,” he says again “I’m not leaving us like this.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Liar.”

“Hyuck—”

“You want me to say it again?” he asks, voice rising just slightly. Not angry. Only desperate. “You want me to beg? Fine. I will. I’ll fucking get on my knees if that’s what it takes.”

And then, to your absolute horror, he does. 

“Hyuck, stop—”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry for everything. For all of it. For her. For the lies. For shattering everything good we ever had. But I love you, Y/N. And I’m not sorry for that. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

You’re trying to stay angry. Trying to hold onto the rage but it’s slipping. Because you want him. You love him.

He’s still on his knees. Still looking up at you. Still pleading. You wish he’d just stand up. You wish he didn’t look so much like the boy you fell in love with instead of the man who broke you.

“Please,” he says again.“I know I don’t get to ask. But I’m asking anyway. I’m asking because I love you. I never stopped. I swear to God, I never—”

“Stop it,” you say, too fast.

It feels like your chest caves in. Because the thing about love is: it’s loud. Louder than hurt. Especially right now. You love him so much you could scream. But instead, you drop down to your knees. Right there in front of him. And before you know it, your hands are reaching for him. Stupid, traitorous things.

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop.”

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Because he’s Hyuck. And Hyuck never knows when to shut up.

“I know I ruined it,” he’s saying. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I wouldn’t forgive me either. I wouldn’t. But I can’t stop loving you. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve kissed girls who weren’t you and I’ve gone home wanting to claw off my own skin.”

You suck in a breath.

“You don’t have to forgive me now. Or ever. Just let me prove it. Let me try. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you for fucking ever, I swear—”

You’re kissing him. 

You have no idea why, but it just feels like you have to. Because you physically can’t not. Because the love of your life, him, is bleeding out in front of you and you’re the only one who knows how to stop it.

And when your mouth crahses into his, it tastes like heartbreak and history and every stupid, selfish thing he’s ever done. But you keep kissing him. Because just as much as it hurts—it feels like home. Like you’ve finally been returned to the place you belong. Like his lips have been waiting for yours all this time. 

He’s kissing you back just as fiercely. Like he might die if he doesn’t. And maybe he would. Maybe you would too.

You don’t know who moves first. You think it’s you, but maybe it’s him. You’re both equally desperate—lunging backward until his back knocks against the foot of your bedframe and you’re straddling his hips. 

His hands find your waist, landing heavy and possessive around you. But you don’t mind, because your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth—and God, you missed that sound. Missed him like oxygen.

His mouth moves to your neck, lips skimming every slither of skin he can reach, greedily not wanting to miss a single piece of you since he’s trying to make up for all the parts he used to take for granted. And you tilt your head back, giving him that access, because you’ve never been able to deny him anything.

“Tell me you’re still mine,” he breathes against your skin, half-choked.

You should tell him no. Should tell him he doesn’t get to ask things like that—not when he gave himself away so easily. Not now when he’ll never solely be yours like you’re solely his. 

But your heart is so tired and so in love it’s ridiculous, so instead you whisper: “I never stopped being yours.”

And then he’s kissing you again—deeper, this time. Until he pulls away and his forehead presses to yours, and he pants against your lips. “Let me love you,” he begs. “Please. Let me love you right this time.”

He feels solid beneath you. It’s making your brain fuzzy. It’s making you whimper.

“Okay,” you pant, tugging harder at those soft brown strands, as your hips shift and grind down against him, making him groan lowly. 

His hands clamp tighter around your waist, dragging you down harder, closer, like he’s trying to fuse you to him. And suddenly your skin feels too tight. You’re too aware of the clothes between you—what little there is.

Because you didn’t put on pants. Just that hoodie of his over your pathetic pair of black panties—thin, useless fabric—and now your pussy is rubbing right up against the thick outline of him through his jeans, and it’s overwhelming. You can feel absolutely everything you’ve missed.

Heat blooms in your stomach and you roll your hips again. It’s so shameless. So needy. But you don’t care. Not when it’s been this long. Not when it’s his fault it’s been this long—because you never would’ve let it be anyone else.

And he meets you in it. Each grind matched with one of his own, more harsh than the last. Until his hips are moving on impulse, chasing you like a man starved. His head drops to your shoulder, and his breath stutters. 

“Fuck, angel, slow down,” he chokes, “You’re killing me.”

You press your lips to his temple, to his jaw, anywhere you can reach, and whisper, breathless, “You deserve it.”

He groans—louder this time—like he agrees.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers splayed wide, dragging up the warm skin of your back like he’s relearning it. 

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” he breathes into your neck. “You can’t be real.”

But you are. You’re right here. Straddling him. Shaking for him. Letting him touch you like he never stopped having the right to.

He kisses your collarbone. Then lower—your sternum, the tops of your breasts, the edge of lace peeking from beneath his hoodie. His hoodie. That fact alone seems to snap something inside him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s pushing the fabric up and up and up, until it pools around your ribs and the cold air hits your bare stomach. You shiver. 

“Take it off,” he murmurs. “Please. Want to see you.”

You raise your arms, let him peel it over your head, and suddenly you’re half-naked in his lap—wearing nothing but that black set you wanted him to rip off, then didn’t, then did… and now, he is. Fingers working at the clasp, slipping the straps from your shoulders and tossing the bra aside in your room somewhere.

And then, he takes his time letting his eyes drag over you. Taking a sick pride in seeing his initial rest in the valley of your breast. 

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And something about that word—still—makes your stomach twist.

Your arms fold over your boobs on instinct, shielding yourself from the one person you’ve always felt safest with. Because still means there’s someone else now. Someone he’s looked at. Someone he’s touched. Someone you had to beat—and somehow did.

But you shouldn’t have had to.

He notices the shift immediately—how your arms cross, how your body goes stiff, how the room, warm just a second ago, chills.

“Hey. Hey,” he says, brows furrowing. He cups your face, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes. “Talk to me, angel. What’s wrong? What happened?”

You’re still straddling him, half-naked, kissed raw and dizzy, and yet you feel like you’re a million miles away. You try to speak, to explain, but the words choke you. How do you tell him something he’s never known? How do you make him understand? You’ve never done this to him before—and just knowing how much it hurts—you don’t think you ever could.

“I just—” your voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

He flinches—just enough for you to know it landed. But he doesn’t pull away.

The thing is, he doesn’t say her name. Doesn’t even mention her. Never has. But she’s here. Right here. In this room. Your room. In the silence. In his presence.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to wipe the thought away. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t think about her. This—” his hands cup your face tighter, gently desperate, “—this is you and me. Always you.”

Your jaw clenches, your eyes sting. “Then why wasn’t it only me?”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering away. He doesn’t answer—of course he doesn’t. He never does. And that’s been half the war between you. He doesn’t want to tell you the why.

Instead, his hands drift from your face to your waist, pulling you in like proximity might somehow make up for his silence. Like touch could smother your insecurities. 

His breath ghosts over your skin as he leans in.“Forget her. Just for now. Right here, right now, it’s only you. Only us.”

You hate that you melt. Hate that the ache in your chest loosens its grip the second his hands coax your arms from where you’d folded them. Hate that even after everything, he still knows how to make you feel safe inside the wreckage he caused.

He’s infuriating.

“Let me show you,” he whispers. “That it’s always only been you for me.”

His hands skim up your sides, thumbs brushing delicately beneath your tits. His eyes never leave yours—not for a second—as he kneads and explores and feels your body in his palm. And then his mouth follows.

Lips warm, slightly chapped, close around your right nipple. Your breath punches out of you. You can’t help it because his tongue flicks once, then again, then again until your spine arches and pushes the bud further into his mouth.

“Hyuck,” you moan, helpless, feeling the curve of his smirk drag against your skin.

His free hand trails up your other side, rolling the neglected peak between calloused fingers so deliciously because he remembers exactly what used to make you fall apart, and now he’s hell-bent on proving he hasn’t forgotten.

“God, you’re fucking unreal,” he murmurs against your skin, then bites gently, just enough to make you gasp. 

His words make you ache. Everywhere. Especially between your legs, where you’re still pressed tight against the thick, unrelenting shape of him through his jeans. And he hasn’t even touched you there yet, but it’s coming—you know it is. 

His mouth keeps going, warm and wet whilst he stays sucking just hard enough to turn your bones to water. And whenever you whimper he groans. 

“Please, Hyuck,” you plead. “Need more.”

He lifts his head, murmuring, “Yeah? You want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You nod, dizzy. 

“Fuck,” he groans and wastes no time lifting you off the floor like it’s nothing, carrying you to your bed. He lays you down gently, spreads you out beneath him like something precious. And then he peels off his t-shirt.

That tan skin—scattered with moles you’ve memorised, counted, traced with your fingers and your mouth—is on full display, just for you.

“I’ll give you everything,” he says, voice low as he drops to his knees, crawling between your legs. “Absolutely everything. As long as you don’t regret this. Don’t regret me.”

Your fingers sink into his hair before you can think. “I won’t,” you whisper. “Couldn’t.”

And then he dips down.

His mouth finds the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed kisses dragging tantalisingly up your skin. He’s not rushing. He never does when he gives head. It’s his favourite thing to savour. You. On his tongue.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, nipping at your skin, making you gasp. “How many times I’ve had to stop myself from texting. From begging you to take me back.”

“Who said anything about taking you back?” You say, hips shifting, dying for friction, but he pins them with strong hands, keeping you right where he wants you. 

“I did,” he says, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “Am I wrong, Y/N? Because if I am, we can stop right now?”

“No,” you whine on a trembling breath.

He smiles. “I didn’t think so.”

Then, finally, finally—his mouth finds the place you need him most.

He licks a slow stripe up your center, groaning from the taste of you in his mouth. He does it again, and then again, until your legs are trembling and one of your hands fists the sheets, the other tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, just how he likes. Just how you like.

He flicks his tongue, circles it, moans when you cry out for more.

“God, you taste the same,” he says hoarsely. “Still fucking perfect.”

You try to respond, to say something, but then he sucks again, so hard, you almost shoot clean off the bed.

“Hyuck—please,” it’s half a sob, a half moan, one hundered percent completley ruined.

He growls, arms locking around your thighs to keep you still, mouth relentless as he licks and sucks and worships like this is his penance.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mutters between licks, “I missed how fucking responsive you are. Always so good for me.”

You whimper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” he promises. “Not until you fall apart for me. Right here. Right now.”

He hums, the vibration making your stomach flutter, and you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

“Let me make you come,” he says, voice completely ruined now too. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my mouth. Please.”

And you do. You let him. Because you want this. Want him. Still. Always.

Your entire body coils, legs shaking, hands clawing at the sheets as your orgasm crashes through you. It’s shattering, making you cry out, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. 

Hyuck doesn’t stop. Not until your body finally slumps back to the mattress, boneless and trembling. Only then does he lift his head, lips wet and shiny. He crawls up your body, kissing your thigh, your stomach, the underside of your boobs, your jaw. Everywhere. Until he’s hovering over you, and you’re staring up at him, glassy-eyed and overwhelmed.

“You okay?” he whispers, brushing hair gently back from your face.

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. I just... I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I never really left,” he says. “Even though I know I should have. I’m too damn selfish.”

Your throat tightens. You reach up, tracing his jaw with shaking fingers. “I want you to fuck me, Hyuck.”

He blinks, then his eyes darken. “You’re sure?”

You pull him down until your foreheads press again and then whisper a soft, “Yes.”

Then he kisses you. Slowly. Passionately in a way you know this about to be more than just fucking. It feels like the before. The soft. His hands coming up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. Everything so tender and full of love. 

And somewhere between the kiss and the forgetting, his pants are off. His boxers too. He’s about to fuck you completely raw—like he used to—and for a moment, your body almost lets him. Because it remembers. The blind trust. 

But this isn’t then. And that’s why you reach out, fingers curling gently around his forearm. Stopping him.

“Condom,” you whisper, cheeks flushing as you glance toward the nightstand.

Because it shouldn’t have to be like this. Back then, you were on the pill. You were his. He was yours. There was no one else. But now? Now you’ve had to share him—with her. Maybe with others too. 

He freezes. And for a second, you swear he looks gutted. But then he nods.

Wordlessly, he reaches into your nightstand, gets one open and rolls it on his cock. He doesn’t protest. He never would. Because it’s not the condom that guts him—it’s what it means. It’s that reminder that everything’s different now. And why. A barrier he put there himself because he was reckless, drunk, stupid and ungrateful. A consequence he crafted with his own hands.

But he doesn’t let that thought linger too long. The past is the past—he hates thinking about it. It’s what wrecked him. What wrecked this. What wrecked you.

Now, all he wants is the present. Not even the future. Just this. Just you. Because you’re here. Beneath him. Asking him to fuck you. You’re his—if only for now. And that’s enough.

He slides back over you. And for a second—just one—you both just… look.

You’re looking at him like maybe this could fix it. He’s looking at you like he knows it won’t. Sex doesn’t fix anything. It’s what broke you two in the first place if you really think about it . But he’s still doing it. And so are you.

He pushes inside of you slowly and your breath stutters, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice tight and thick. “You feel like—”

“Home,” you whisper, beating him to it.

Because you do. And he does. And it’s pathetic. And perfect. And completely going to destroy you in the morning.

His forehead drops to yours and he lets out a shaky breath, like the kind that comes right before someone starts to cry. But he doesn’t cry—he moves. Gently. Tenderly. 

You cling to him, every nerve alight, oversensitive in that desperate, raw way that makes you breathless beneath him—letting him kiss you through it, through the pain, through the slow, aching stretch of him inside you. 

And in between those kisses and the thrusts and the way your fingers tangle in his hair again, he whispers:

“Missed you.”

“God, I missed you.”

“I’ll never stop being sorry.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to put you back together with every snap of his hips. And maybe he is.

So you let him.

You let him fuck you until you’re both a mess of moans and apologies and, fractured I love yous. Until you’re panting in time with each other. Until you’re cumming—together.

After, it’s quiet.

Not awkward or bitter or biting, but comfortable. You’re tangled in each other, limbs overlapping, as Hyuck brushes his nose against your temple. Eventually, he slips out of you, careful to not hurt you, but you flinch at the loss. He presses a kiss to your forehead, one to each cheek, and then he’s moving—disposing of the condom, finding his way back to your side. 

“Let’s shower,” he murmurs, thumb storoking your jaw. “Let me take care of you first. And after… we’ll talk, yeah?”

You don’t say anything—because you can’t. Your throat is raw from all the moaning and the whimpering. And also because you’re scared of the talking. Terrified, really. Of the hurting that’ll come with addressing it. 

So instead, you swallow and say softly, “I’ll be a minute. Just... need a sec before I move.”

He pauses, like he’s checking you over again, brows pinching. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Not in the way he means.

“No,” you whisper. “Just… been out of the game for a while.”

He pauses but doesn’t argue. Just leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your cheek. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll start the shower.”

He slips out quietly, to the bathroom attached to your room. You hear the soft creak of the cabinets. He still remembers where everything is. 

And then—of course—his phone buzzes.

You glance over. You don’t mean to look. You really, really don’t. You know you shouldn’t if you wanna rebuild trust and whatever. It’s just…It’s on the floor, fallen from his jeans with the screen lighting up. 

It was taunting you. 

And anyway, he’s the one that broke your trust first. He’s the one that made you so paranoid. He’s the one who made you like this. 

Yeji

if i find out you went to that party tonight, hyuck, and didn’t tell her the truth, i will.

Your stomach drops straight through the mattress.

Another buzz.

Yeji

i’m serious. how long are you gonna keep it from her that it was lia you cheated on her with?

you’re ruining our friendship!

And suddenly you’re not warm anymore.

Suddenly you’re freezing. And hollow. And very, very awake and out of the afterglow sex haze. 

You can’t breathe.

You feel sick. 

Are you sick? Are you dying? Are you about to have a fucking panic attack?

Because it feels like something has clawed its way into your chest and is now eating you alive from the inside out.

Lia?

It all makes sense. It all echoes.

“That sweet boy we both used to love.”

“He’s not yours anymore.”

The door creaks again. Hyuck walks back in, towel slung low on his hips. Completely clueless. 

“You okay?” he asks, soft and smiling. “Shower’s warm.”

You don’t answer because your heart is hammering against your ribs and because you physically, viscerally, cannot breathe.

His smile falters, just a touch.

And then you say it.

One word. One name.

“Lia?”

You’re not even sure if you want to scream at him, or sob, or laugh—because how dare he. How dare he touch you like that, kiss you like that, look at you like that, when he knew—he fucking knew—he’d fucked your best friend and said nothing.

The same best friend who held you while you cried over him for a year. Who told you it wasn’t your fault. Who had her arms wrapped around you less than an hour ago trying to comfort you about him. 

You hold out his phone, pointing to the screen. “You fucked my best friend, Hyuck?”

He freezes. He lifts an arm reaching out towards you or towards his phone, you can’t tell. Probably the phone to see how much you know so he can spin it. Twist it. Try to manipulate this—manipulate you—again.

“Angel—”

“My name is Y/N.”

The words are a blade. His hand drops.

“Y/N,” he breathes, swallowing thickly, “it’s not what it looks like—”

But it is. You both know it. 

“Yeji seems to think it’s exactly what it sounds like.”

And then it hits you. All over again. Yeji knew. Your other best friend. She knew. 

Did everyone know? Everyone you loved? Everyone you trusted? Everyone you thought was safe? 

And suddenly your knees give out. You drop to the floor, spine hitting the edge of the bed on the way down, but you don’t even register the pain. You’re already somewhere else, hands trembling, vision blurry, gasping like there’s no oxygen. 

That fucking necklace around your neck—the one he gave you, the one you swore you'd never take off—isn’t fucking helping. So you rip it off. The chain snapping in your fist and you throw it. It lands at his feet. 

It’s the first time you’ve taken it off since you were sixteen.

“Y/N—”

Hyuck’s voice sounds panicked now. Hurting. He kneels in front of you, eyes wide, reaching for you—

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

You flinch so hard you nearly hit the nightstand. You can’t stand the idea of him touching you now, even though you know there isn’t a part of you he hasn’t touched.

He freezes. Arm stopping in the air. His face furrowed. And you know that face. The face from the night, the one carved from guilt and horror and regret—but it’s too late.

It’s so late.

You’re sobbing now. And it’s ugly—gasping and choking and curling up on the floor. 

“I—I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you—”

You laugh. Actually laugh.

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, spit and snot and mascara streaking your face.  “Hyuck, you fucked my best friend. And then you came here, tonight, and touched me like…like I was still yours.”

“You are—”

“No. No, I’m not!” You snap. “I don’t even know who I am right now. But I definitely am not—and never will be—yours again.”

“Please, Y/N,” he whispers. “Let me explain. It wasn’t—”

“You’ve had time to explain.” Your voice trembles, but the words are steel. “I gave you so much of myself. So much trust. So much love.” You swallow hard. “But it wasn’t enough, was it? You needed to fuck my best friend. And keep it from me. And somehow rope the other one into it too, so now—”

Your voice cracks.

“So now I can’t trust anyone.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to lie, maybe to beg. But then he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you, regret written in every line of his stupid, beautiful face.

He doesn’t deny it. And that’s the last straw. You fold in on yourself. Arms wrapping tight around your knees as you bury your head and whisper: “I need you to leave.”

He doesn’t move.

You look up—eyes glassy, voice so quiet and weak.

“Get out, Hyuck. Now, please”

And this time, he listens. And you’re glad he listens. Because this time it feels different. This was it. The final fracture. Whatever you had with him? It’s dead now. You just wish you hadn’t kept it on life support for so long—wish you hadn’t clung so tightly to something already bleeding. 

That thousandth cut finally bled dry.

[demie90s]

Can you write a reader x UConn team and reader has like no filter like they could be in the most serious moment and reader would say something out of pocket

Why she got a mic?

UConn WBB Team x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Me. The team’s walking HR violation. No matter the mood, you will say something that has the whole team side-eyeing, laughing, or questioning reality.

Word Count: ~ 0.5k

Genre: Comedy, Team Fluff, Mild Crack

Warnings: Cussing, chaos, suggestiveness, mentions of thirst, reader being out of pocket at all times

The mic wasn’t even all the way clipped to your jersey before you started talking.

“So like…y’all gon’ feed us after this right? ‘Cause I don’t wanna sound ungrateful but that little fruit tray y’all gave us pregame made me feel like a parrot.”

You were dead serious. Meanwhile, the rest of the UConn team was already doing synchronized neck turns to Geno, who stared ahead like maybe if he focused hard enough he could astral project into retirement.

The reporter chuckled awkwardly. “Right, well—uh—let’s talk about the game. You had a breakout performance in the third quarter. What clicked?”

You nodded solemnly. “I had to pee real bad so I was tryna hurry up and get off the court. Y’all saw me running? That was urgency. It’s called motivation.”

Laughter broke out across the room. Aubrey dropped her head into her hands. Nika was crying silently.

Someone else raised their hand—braver than most.

“You guys really shut down USC’s offense tonight. What went into that defensive game plan?”

You tilted your head. “I mean, yeah. I saw that. USC good and all…but not as good as us so like…I don’t really care. Sorry.”

Caroline leaned in with a PR-smile. “What she means is we watched a lot of film and trusted each other—”

“No,” you cut in. “That’s not what I meant. I said what I said.”

The reporter blinked. “A-And uh—Aubrey, you had a great night on the boards…”

You slouched in your chair. “Yeah, and yet still no date.”

Aubrey snapped her head toward you. “Yo—”

“I told her, I said, ‘If God see fit and we win tonight, you gon’ say yes’—and we did. We won. And she still didn’t say yes. So she fake but that’s between her and the Lord.”

KK was wheezing. “You need help.”

You turned to her calmly. “Nah I need a girlfriend. Two different things.”

The reporter next to the stage was beet red now, trying not to laugh into their notes. “Okay, uh…next question—what was going through your mind during that final play?”

You crossed one leg over the other like this was Oprah. “I was thinking, if the world ended right then, we’d all go with it, so I might as well go out with a win. That’s real.”

Geno rubbed his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

You leaned into the mic again, like a closing statement. “Thank you. And please remember to feed athletes. We is hungry.”

The PR rep jumped in so fast her paper nearly flew off the table. “That’s it! Thanks so much, everyone!”

The moment y’all stepped backstage, Geno turned slowly.

“You know they record those, right?”

“Yeah Coach.”

“And they post them.”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re going to get us sued.”

You gave him your most sincere expression. “It’s okay. I got a lil savings.”

He looked like he aged ten years in five seconds.

Behind you, Aubrey shoved your shoulder, laughing. “Yo are you alright.”

You shrugged. “I’m just honest. And single. And hungry. Somebody gone address it.”

Just like that, you were back in the locker room, already hyping yourself up for post-game food and probably more chaos. Because filters are for water—not for you.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[missexiled]

You also have to acknowledge that time likely moves differently in the circus, otherwise the age differences would be way bigger.

As for Ragatha, I definitely see her as being there before Jax and Zooble, but after Kinger and Gangle. Especially with her dynamic with her mother and being a ‘farm girl’. She also (drunkenly) references the Raggedy Ann Doll show so I think that also supports her being ‘older’. Maybe she’s into more traditional things, considering most cultural influences in rural (toxic) homes or maybe she has a raggedy ann dol she loves.

I feel like Jax might have been the most recent addition for no reason other than the fact that he hasn’t abstracted yet. With his ‘I hate everyone’ routine, he pushes most people away. That’s extremely mentally draining and I don’t think he’d make it that long, especially since we see that he (somewhat) cares for people. I think he made it so far mostly because of Ribbit, and then a half-friendship with Kaufmo. I also think he’ll get more attached to Pomni, maybe even have a “Let me protect you, Ribbit!” moment

Zooble feels like the original emo/scene type of gay (joking) But ~2010 definitely fits. Especially since they’re in the LGBTQ community AND have body dysphoria which wasn’t as open of a topic as it is now (Not to say it was ever an easy one)

Also, if Kinger worked on the original game, that explains why Caine is deteriorating since the game likely isn’t highly maintained. I’m excited to see how Caine’s character progresses since it’s loosely based on I have no mouth but I must scream

And yes, there was a Steven Universe reference earlier ♥️

Ok. Let’s talk about the breaking bad joke.

This joke has so many in universe implications and I haven’t seen literally anyone talking about it. Like yea there’s definitely the chance that it was just a throwaway gag but like. There’s so much to talk about.

1) Zooble acknowledges the joke and tells him to “be creative” if he’s going to make up a fake backstory

This implies that breaking bad was already a pop culture staple when Zooble (and probably Jax and gangle) got trapped in the digital circus. The show premiered on January 20th, 2008 but didn’t really gain mainstream popularity until 2011 when it was added to Netflix, and subsequently joined the cultural sphere of generally understood pop culture references. This in turn means that Jax, Gangle and Zooble were probably trapped in the circus sometime post 2011.

2) Ragatha doesn’t understand the reference

This means that Ragatha (and by extension Kinger) have been in the circus since BEFORE 2011! Probably before 2008 if I’m being realistic! This means that Ragatha and Kinger have been here for at the very least 14 years. That’s a long time to be trapped in an unending digital hell.

Anyways this is just my observation (and possible over analyzation) of the BB joke. I just think being able to put these characters on a timeline is crazy.

[ladsrlife2]

Sugar Daddy! Sylus - Part 2

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, elevator blow-job, office-sex, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

With the love of many on ao3 and tumblr, I decided to write part 2!! Hope you guys enjoy this as much as the first <3

Part 1 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Not too shabby for a CEO’s office.”

You say, walking into Sylus’s office, arms crossed like you own the place.

Sylus lifts his gaze from behind his sleek desk, amused. His crimson eyes glitter like garnets under the sunlight pouring in through the wall-sized window behind him, the skyline stretching wide - cold glass and mirrored steel.

He turns slowly in his chair as you strut past the leather sofas, running a finger along their edge.

“I’m glad it wins your approval.” His voice is rich and smooth, like wine served in crystal.

You ignore the compliment, scanning the office until your eyes land on the opaque glass wall at the entrance.

“So,” you say, turning back toward him. “Why did such an important man call a lowly intern into his office?”

His gaze doesn’t falter. “Because I supposed the intern had a lot to say.”

His eyes flick down to your figure and back up again, unmistakably pleased by your new formal look. You don’t blame him. You’re wearing your carefully chosen pencil skirt, silk blouse, black tights, and favorite heels.

“Let’s hear what the CEO has to say first.”

He gestures for you to come closer with his hand. You ignore it - and instead hop up onto the edge of his desk, your legs swinging idly.

He chuckles lowly, leaning forward to place a warm hand on your thigh.

“Things are… complicated,” he says, voice dipping lower.

You arch a brow. “That’s new. You, saying things are complicated?”

“It’s a personal mess. I didn’t want you to get involved in it.”

You tilt your head. “What, are you secretly married or something?”

Sylus scoffs, offended by the absurdity. “No. Of course not.”

You look down at his hand and slowly interlace your fingers with his. A calculated move. You bring it to your lips, place a kiss on his knuckles, and look up with wide, injured eyes.

“Even if you were, you know I would’ve understood,” you whisper. “I can’t believe you doubted me.”

He looks at you the way someone might look at a monkey riding a unicycle - a sight both entertaining and ridiculous.

Yet you continue.

“I’d go through thick and thin with you,” you begin solemnly, one hand to your chest. “And I would-”

“-go through thick and thin with my money,” he interrupts dryly.

You gasp, scandalized. “That is outrageous! Even if you were poor! And married! I’d still be by your side!”

You clutch his hand to your chest dramatically. “Feel it - the heartbreak!”

You flatten his palm against your breasts.

He raises a brow. “…All I feel is a healthy heartbeat.”

He gives a light squeeze. You swat his hand away.

“See?! That’s all you think about! What happened to dignity? And honor? And chivalry?”

“Alright, alright.” He waves you down like he’s swatting away an overly dramatic stage actress. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

You lean back on your palms, lips curving into something between amusement and triumph. “You should have.”

“I’m sorry, kitten.” His tone straddles that fine line between genuine remorse and theatrical sarcasm.

You cross your arms, wordlessly demanding more.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” he continues, slow and deliberate. “Even though you’ve been so loyal to me.”

The way he lingers on loyal - you can’t tell if he’s teasing or trying to guilt you.

“What could I possibly do to make it up to you?”

Your heart skips a beat in thrill.

“I don’t know,” you say, coy. “Nothing could mend this broken heart.”

“Right. I should’ve known kitten is not a materialistic girl. Perhaps I can make it up to you with... sincere actions.”

Nonsense.

“On second thought, I think maybe the new Ferrari collection looks rather beautiful.”

Sylus chuckles, shaking his head at your shameless audacity. “Unbelievable,” he mutters - and sighs. “Fine.”

“Really?!” you gasp, and before he can change his mind, you climb into his lap with all the grace of a triumphant winner. You wrap your arms around his neck, beaming. “Oh, Daddy. I think I’m healed already.”

He lets out a low laugh that reverberates through his chest as he pulls you in tighter.

“Maybe I should’ve picked something more expensive,” you say, trailing kisses across his cheek.

“Your greed knows no bounds,” He murmurs into your neck, and takes a second to deeply inhale your scent. “But I’m always impressed by your efficiency.”

You reply, voice quieter, like you’re whispering a naughty secret. “How about,” you say, locking eyes with him as your hand drifts lower to graze the outline of his cock, now hardening fast beneath your palm, “...I make up for my so-called greed… starting now.”

His crimson eyes flicker, darkening instantly.

You keep the gaze as you palm him harder, slow and steady. His cock stiffens beneath your fingers, straining against his pants.

Just as you start to unzip him, his hand closes around your wrist.

“As much as I’d like that, kitten.” His deep voice is full of restraint. “Unfortunately I’ve decided to keep my office sex-free. As CEO. Dignity, or whatever you were saying earlier.” .

You look at him, mouth open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” Sylus says, mouth upturned into a smirk.

“You’re doing this just to get back at me, aren’t you?”

He raises a brow, voice calm. “Hardly. I made that rule when I founded the company. Years ago.”

“…and I respect that.”

Sylus laughs, amused by your forced diplomacy, and plants a kiss on your lips. “Why, thank you.”

Just then, the phone on his desk rings. You rise from his lap, smoothing your skirt, giving him space. As he reaches for the phone, his fingers brush your back in a quiet, lingering touch.

“I need to get back to work,” he murmurs. “Thomas will escort you back down.”

You pause at the door, glancing back. He’s already answering the call, voice level, posture straight, every trace of indulgence vanished. The tension in the room dissipates like smoke - replaced with cold, crisp professionalism.

It scratches something in you.

That he can switch off so easily, that you're left hot and bothered while he returns to work like nothing happened.

That kind of control is... infuriating. And sexy.

You follow the assistant down the hall, and step into the elevator and press the button.

As you watch the numbers decrease steadily, you begin to wonder:

What ever you should do to make sure Sylus breaks his precious little ‘rule’ that is oh, so unlike his character?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The opportunity presents itself.

It just so happens that Sylus doesn’t always use his exclusive elevator.

On your fourth day of work, you’re wrapping up a minor errand at a nearby bank around noon. You enter one of the three main elevators in the hall - only to find Sylus already inside, alone, head bowed over his business phone, texting.

Too immersed, he doesn’t notice you entering. You eye the buttons and see that only the top most floor - 53 - is lit. You don’t press 8, your floor.

Instead, you slowly walk towards him, slightly undoing the top most buttons of your silk blouse, heels clicking quietly on the floor. It’s only when you’re right in front of him, barely a hand’s width apart, when he looks up from his phone with a full look of caution.

His crimson eyes relax instantly when he realizes who you are.

“Oh, it’s you, kitten-”

His words taper off as his eyes fall to your cleavage, lush and spilling over your bra beneath the undone blouse.

His lips curl into a smirk.

“Hey, boss-man,” you say, voice low and slow. You raise a hand to his stomach and stroke down gently. “Busy day at work?”

“…Surely you didn’t walk into work like that.”

“And what if I did?”

He sighs, eyes briefly shutting as he rubs his temple, like he already knows you're about to test every limit he thought he had.

“Just button it up, before anyone walks in, please.”

The mirror behind him reflects floor 14.

“How about-” your hand trails lower to the waistband of his slacks.

With the way he jolts, you know he knows what you’re about to do. Before he can stop you, however, you slip past his hands and cup his balls, giving them a deliberate squeeze.

“-No.”

You know he loves it when you do that.

A sharp breath escapes his lips.

He catches your wrist, intent on stopping you - but as your fingers begin massaging his heavy sac, his grip slackens.

“Kitten.”

His voice is strained.

But despite his threatening words, his grip loosens like his body has lost all will to resist.

It’s been a week since he last had you. He’s as pent up as you’d expect.

You stroke him through his pants with your free hand, watching his dark, unreadable expression.

“You never said anything about no sex in the elevator,” you murmur.

Before he can respond, you unbutton and unzip him in one smooth, practiced motion.

The mirror now reflects floor 23.

And then you drop to your knees.

Before he can even utter a protest, his briefs are down and your lips wrap around his length. You take him all at once, warm and slick and deep into your throat.

A groan tears from his chest, and his hand flies to your hair, instinctive and desperate.

“Get off-”

You suck harder in answer.

His cock slides deeper into your throat, your nose buried against his pelvis, eyes glistening with the effort as you fight the urge to gag.

He curses low under his breath. His legs tremble.

Your throat tightens and releases in rhythm, massaging him in a way he can't resist. His grip loosens, turning from restraint to encouragement.

Floor 29.

You look past your wet, fluttering eyelashes and lock onto his dark, undone eyes.

You bob your head steadily, filthily, letting slick sounds echo against the mirrored walls.

His brows draw together, lips parting as he exhales through clenched teeth. There's amusement in his eyes now, despite the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his hips.

Of course he likes this. Who's he trying to fool?

Floor 35.

“Mmh-”

A soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by his cock, as he nudges you to go faster up and down his length.

You stroke the base with your hand, jerking him as your mouth works his length. The way his deep breaths border on groans, the way his hips buckle every time you suck, the way his balls feel hard as you massage it with your hand, you know he’s close.

Floor 45.

Just as he’s about to tip over, you pull off with a wet pop.

He gasps, blinking in disbelief, flushed and furious and painfully hard.

You stand smoothly, adjusting your blouse, fingers nimbly buttoning each undone hole.

His eyes blaze. His cock is still fully erect, standing against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

But the elevator begins to slow.

Floor 48.

He looks at you, about to speak - probably to curse you out - but you step in quickly, fixing his pants, zipping him up, tucking in his shirt like nothing happened.

The doors slide open.

A small group of employees stands outside. You walk out casually, slipping past them like a shadow.

“Sylus! We were just on our way to your office for the 3pm meeting! What a coincidence.” Chirps a perky female voice.

“Charmed,” he mutters back, tone flat.

You don’t turn around. But as the doors begin to close again, you risk taking a last minute glance. You jolt to find out he’s still watching you - crimson eyes burning with restrained fury, humiliation and… hunger.

The doors shut, and he disappears behind polished steel.

Serves him right, you think.

That’s what he gets for being pretentious.

…Or so you try to tell yourself.

You swallow hard, heart still racing.

You try to ignore his last minute, furious gaze from floating back to your mind.

Surely, he’s not that mad. Right?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Sylus- Daddy- please, I’m sorry! Please, just stop- ”

You find yourself pleading for forgiveness in his office a few hours later.

You’re bent over his desk, the surface rattling beneath your body as he pounds into you, deep and ruthlessly from behind.

It’s been an hour. You lost count of how many times you came. How many times he came.

Your shredded black tights cling uselessly to your thighs, soaked in slick and cum, both yours and his, dripping down all the way down to your ankles.

Perhaps you should’ve known it would end up like this from the moment he ripped your tights apart and didn’t even bother to undress you nor himself before burying himself inside. “Isn’t this what you wanted so badly, kitten?”

He growls, punctuating every word with a brutal thrust.

Your legs tremble violently beneath you, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wood as he holds your hips in place, unrelenting.

“You’re right,” he mutters, almost to himself, breath ragged. “I should’ve known better.”

Your moans melt into the sound of flesh slapping flesh, echoing off the office walls.

“No-sex rule, my ass,” he huffs with a dark chuckle, angling his hips just so - hitting your g-spot with surgical cruelty. “Right?”

You cry out, body locking up as another orgasm crashes into you. Your legs give out, but he catches you easily, keeping himself buried to the hilt as you squirt down his cock, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms.

“A-ah—!”

Your mind barely resets as you slump back into his chest. You reach for his forearms wrapped around your waist, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

Tilting your head back, you look up into his yet insatiable crimson eyes, and ignore the occasional twitching of your limbs and murmur, “Please, Sylus. I’m sorry. I won’t- I won’t do it again.”

You jolt as you feel him starting to slowly grind his hips against yours, again.

“What was that?” He teases.

“No- wait.” You plead out, urgently. “Don’t you have work to do?!”

Sylus chuckles and answers, pleasantly. “I made sure to finish everything before calling you in.” He purrs. “Told all my assistants to call it a day, even.” He grinds into you, his cock dragging torturously along your oversensitive walls. “ We’re the only ones on this floor.”

You choke out a moan in disbelief. You’re about to open your mouth to plead some more, when he brings his mouth close to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

“Which means,” He whispers, “No one’s coming to save you, kitten.”

You vow to

Never.

Ever.

Tease him again.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

You guys. When I write smut. It just flows to me so naturally. I never considered myself to be on the perverted side. I don't know if I should be happy or sad at my new hobby. Lol.

hope you enjoyed this :D

Likes and comments are life xx <3

[crazziforazzi]

can you write a oneshot about that munch - wordle interview answer?

Love that idea! It's not a long one shot, but I hope you like it:

MUNCH

The door clicked shut behind her with a dull thud, and Paige didn’t even bother locking it right away. She kicked off her sneakers in two lazy thumps, one bouncing off the wall, the other landing god knows where. Her t-shirt was already halfway off as she made her way toward the couch, peeled the rest off with a lazy tug, and let it land somewhere behind her. She really didn’t care where. She flopped face-first onto the cushions in nothing but her shorts and sports bra, the sticky late-June Dallas heat making everything feel like it took ten times more effort than it should have.

She groaned dramatically, then fished her phone out from under her and immediately pulled up Azzi’s contact.

Paige: Facetime dinner in 1 hour ?

She wanted to play it cool, play it casual, but the truth was, Paige needed her tonight. Nothing dramatic had happened. Training was fine. But the whole day felt heavy in that quiet, annoying way where everything just felt off. She had been dragging herself through it, but deep down, she knew the only thing that might refill her tank was seeing Azzi’s face while they both shoveled reheated leftovers into their mouths in front of their camera.

The reply came just a couple minutes later. Azzi: I’m home in 30, call you right away?

Paige exhaled, long and soft. Azzi got it.

Paige: Please.

There was a beat. Then:

Azzi: Are you ok?

Paige: Just tired and want to see my girl.

Azzi: I’ll try to hurry, okay babe? In the meantime, play Wordle. It’ll cheer you up. No cheating!

That made Paige squint at the screen. Wordle?

She rolled onto her back with a low groan, forehead scrunched. Why the hell was Azzi sending her to play Wordle right now? Sure, they used to get a kick out of solving them together back when it was viral, but that had been years ago. Paige hadn’t even thought about it since. 

Still… she reached blindly for the iPad wedged somewhere between the couch cushions. Grumbling under her breath, she pulled up Safari and typed in "wordle." The site loaded with its usual grey-white grid.

With zero energy and even less brain power left after that intense training, Paige decided to go the basketball route. Azzi must’ve suggested Wordle for a reason. There had to be a connection. She was too tired to overthink it, so she just trusted the process and started typing.

First guess: SCORE.

Seemed right and on-brand. Only one yellow: C.

Paige frowned slightly. That wasn’t nothing, but it also wasn’t helpful.

Second guess: COACH.

Another basketball word. Subconscious doing all the work now. This time, second C went green, and H did too.

She blinked. Okay, okay. That was something. But… still felt like guessing in the dark. She tapped the back of the iPad rhythmically with her knuckles. She was hungry. Which, somehow, led her to…

Third guess: LUNCH.

Immediately, U, N, C, and H all turned green. Only the L was wrong.

Paige stared at the screen. She tilted her head, letting her tired brain catch up. Four letters in place. Just one left. She could feel it, the answer was right there. And then it hit her. 

Azzi told me to play this.

And if it wasn’t basketball-related, then it had to be the other thing Azzi always swore could "relax her." Her eyes widened. She blinked once.

"Oh my god," she muttered, already typing.

Fourth guess: MUNCH.

The green squares lit up in a row, and Paige grinned for the first time since she walked in the door. Of course that was the word. She shook her head, biting her lip as her smile widened.

"You’re such a dumbass," she mumbled to herself, the grin never disappearing. She snapped a pic of the finished Wordle and sent it off with a message:

Paige: You tryna tell me something or…?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Azzi: Just making sure you are warmed up for dinner 😏

Paige groaned again, but this time it was way more flustered than fatigued. Her eyes fluttered shut as she dropped her head back into the couch, laughing softly to herself.

Already, she felt better. She was still tired, but the good kind now. The kind that settled in her chest instead of dragging her down. The kind that felt like being home.

And somehow, impossibly, Azzi had found a way to give her that from miles away.

[wonderjanga]

Witches

Barry found out something recently. The Marvels are a coven. Of witches. Marvel had said as much himself when Barry asked. From there, the conversation devolved into how witches can be any gender, but still! They’re “witches.”

Can Barry join in on this dumbassery?

Marvel: “You can’t join our coven, man.”

Flash: “Wha— why?! Look, just because I don’t have magic—”

Marvel: “Flash, it’s not because you don’t have magic.”

Flash: “…then why?”

Marvel: “Well, it’s just that there needs to be three of us. Not four.”

Mary: “If we added you, we might as well add another three so we can get up to seven. That way our number is still magical.”

Flash: “…huh?”

Junior: “Flash, three is a magical number, and so is seven. Now, unless you have three other people that wanna join us, skedaddle.”

Marvel: “Junior, don’t be rude.”

Mary: “Flash, if you can find three other people, we’d be happy to let you all join. Only for one ritual though.”

Flash: “Only one?”

Mary: “Well, maybe more but for now only one. Think of it as a trial period.”

Barry took that as a mission. He enlisted the help of Hal, Guy, and Zatanna, who was weirdly excited about this. Now, all seven of them were in an abandoned, dark warehouse in Gotham of all places. Cap told everyone to come in civilian uniforms. Barry thought that’d include Marvel himself, but…

Marvel: *wearing the iconic fake nose and glasses combo*

Mary and Junior: *wearing the same*

…Yeah. Of course, Cap would never show up in his actual civvies. (If he even has a civilian identity)

Zatanna: *super excited* “So, Captain, what are we going to doing exactly?”

Marvel: “We’re gonna be summoning Beelzebub!”

*silence*

Hal: “I’m sorry?”

Mary and Junior: *already drawing the circle together*

Marvel: “You see, he owes me 50 bucks and I’m going to get it back by whatever means necessary.” *saying all this with a smile*

Mary and Junior: “We’re done!”

Marvel: “Good!” *turns around to go sit down*

Hal, Guy, Flash: *all share looks but hesitantly sit down too*

Zatanna: *still standing there, horrified*

Guy: “Come on, Zatanna. What’re you waiting for?”

Zatanna: *very very slowly walks over and sits down*

That night… well, it was terrifying to say the least. Though, Guy probably had the worst, considering he was the one vomiting up flies and being possessed by a demon. Like seriously, a bunch of flies spawned from the summoning circle, and rushed at the ginger. He was coughing up flies for the rest of the day.

[honeybeegashii]

Feral Devotion 2

⋆˚꩜｡Note: Thank you guys so much for the support for the first part! It was heartwarming to see all the likes, reblogs, and comments. I quickly cooked this one up, shout-out to my boyfriend for being my beta reader.

Summary: A dangerous hunter is drawn to your fragility and quiet nature, seeing you as something precious and divine. Despite the vast differences in your cultures and the Yautja's violent instincts, he treats you with care

He’s not supposed to want you.

Not like that. Not like this.

You’re quiet where they roar. You flinch from the kind of touch that means affection to them—too close to violence, too hot, too heavy. You’re human. You’re wrong.

And still, he watches you like you hung the moons. Like there’s something divine etched in the fragile lines of your body, something sacred about the way you curl in on yourself instead of baring your teeth. You learned early what he is—a hunter bred for war, death, and blood under his claws.

You’ve seen what he does to the things he wants to keep. How rough their courtship is. How bloody. But when he touches you. He’s careful.

Too big for your world. Too dangerous to breathe the same air as you. And yet, he steps soft when he enters the space you call home (a cage, a cell, a corner of a ship lit by humming low-tech lights because their stars are too bright, their walls too raw).

He brings you things.

Not flowers. Not chocolates. No, he’s not stupid. He brings you kills. The skull of a serpent-beast. A feathered claw from a world that burns too hot for your lungs. Trophies, cleaned with his own hands. Left at your door. He leaves them like a stray cat with a bleeding mouse, proud and anxious, waiting for praise. You told him once, voice shaking. “I’m not like your women...”

And he growled. Not in anger. Not in threat. But something low, something that made your stomach twist, your spine press against the cold metal behind you. Like the idea excited him. He tilted his head. Clicked low in his throat. Moved closer. Towered.

“No,” he rasped, his translator lagging half a breath behind the guttural music of his voice. “You are mine.” You're not ideal. Not Blooded. Not even worthy by their standards.

But his. And maybe that’s worse. Because it means he wants you. Means you’ve been marked by a creature whose love looks like possession, whose tenderness comes with claws that can cut you open if you flinch too fast.

You don’t even know how it started. The way he began inserting himself between you and anything that moved too fast. The way he tracked your scent was like it was a command, not a curiosity. The way his eyes followed your throat when you swallowed, was slow and fragile and breakable.

Sometimes you think he doesn’t even want to breed you. That the idea of touching you would be too much, like holding a moth in a closed fist, terrified of the ruin. Other times, you wake up with his shadow looming in your doorway, watching you sleep like he’s debating it.

Like he wants it. Not the act, but the claiming.

And what do you do when something like that wants you? When something that could tear your spine from your body with a flick of his wrist chooses to kneel instead? You let him bring his trophies. You let him watch. You start dreaming about what those claws might feel like pressed just right. And slowly, slowly, you start to wonder—not if he’ll claim you, but when.

He doesn’t understand why you flinch when he calls you mine.

Doesn’t get why your voice rises when you say, “I’m not a thing,” or why your hands tremble after you push him away. Soft, but still rejection.

Because where he’s from, possession is not cruelty. It’s protection.

It’s a promise. It’s a claim burned brighter than blood and louder than any vow.

In his culture, nothing is more sacred than what you keep. Trophies are not just reminders of conquest, they are proof of survival. The victory, and the value.

And you? You’re his most precious kill-not-kill.

He didn’t mount your skull on a wall. He didn’t skin you and hang your pelt next to his Xenomorph marks. Instead, he keeps you fed and clothed you. He stood between you and his kin like a wall of living flame.

You think that’s captivity.

To him, it’s worship.

You come from a world of soft language and softer boundaries. Consent, communication, compromise. He doesn’t speak that tongue. Not naturally. Not easily. His language was forged in the heat of combat and scarcity. It is made of action, not words.

His society teaches that worth is earned in blood. That the weak must be culled or kept. And he kept you.

You don’t know how many he had to fight for that. You don’t know the way they laughed. The way they mocked him for guarding a soft, broken-boned little thing like it was a sacred heirloom. They called him feral. Called you a pet. Told him you wouldn’t last a season before you snapped under pressure like wet bone.

You snapped, yes, but not in the way they thought. You bent around him. Learned the rhythm of his rage. You stopped crying when he snarled and started staring him down instead. You learned how to say no in a language with no word for refusal—and he started listening.

That’s the thing no one warned him about. That humans infect. That their fragility is contagious. That their softness spreads.

Now, he waits before he touches. Watches you sleep instead of curling around you like a beast. Tries not to show his teeth when you talk back. (He fails sometimes. But he tries.)

He still calls you mine. But he says it differently now.

Previous

[frankcastiglione]

come back to bed

a bucky barnes x reader fic

warnings: rated T for quick spicy moment - nothing graphic or explicit; no use of y/n; gender neutral reader; also reader has glasses because i never see fic w/ that!; post thunderbolts*; some angst and a lot of domestic/comfort/fluffy cozy time

word count: 1.4k

summary: you wake in the night to find your husband bucky isn't in bed with you, but he's asleep on the floor.

a/n: i haven't written something in months; and i haven't posted anything in almost a year oof; im a brand new bucky girlie (i know i know late to the party) so i hope this is ok!!!! first time writing him! thank you to my partner in crime for support w/ this @bobertreynolds !!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When you open your eyes, you can tell it’s the middle of the night.

It doesn’t stop you from reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing your glasses, and tapping your cell phone to see the time. You wince from the brightness; you forgot to turn it down before you went to bed.

The lockscreen of your sweet husband Bucky kissing your cheek makes you smile. The screen goes black, and you forgot to look at the time. Tapping your phone again, you groan to yourself. It’s 4am.

At least you still have a few more hours to sleep, but why are you up in the middle of the night?

You put your phone and glasses back on the nightstand and roll over to find Bucky isn’t in bed.

The bathroom light is off, so he’s not there. You wonder if he got up to get a drink.

Leaving your cozy nest, you leave your bedroom, and head down the hall. There’s a faint glow coming from the living room. He’s up, watching TV.

When you appear in the doorway, his attention turns to you.

“Did I wake you?” is his immediate response. He reaches for the remote as if to turn the volume down, but you can barely hear it as it is.

“Are you ok?” you ask him walking towards the couch. Bucky outstretches his arms for you, and you take his hand. He pulls you onto his lap. Your legs drape across his thighs, and you curl into his chest. Your fingers smooth over the ribbed texture of his tank top, and you trace the chain of his dog tags. His metal arm is cradling your back and it’s cold through your pajama top, and he whispers an apology when you shiver. His lips press to your temple and his right hand smooths up and down your legs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers finally, his nose pressing to your hair – breathing deeply. He takes in another breath, and you cuddle closer into him. He’s such a calm presence, and you feel yourself starting to fade.

When you yawn, he whispers, “go back to bed.”

“What about you?” you ask him through another yawn. You reach up to brush back a couple strands of his hair that had fallen to his forehead.

“I’ll join you in a little bit, get some rest.”

“Only if you carry me,” you giggle into his chest.

“Twist my arm,” he teases and slips his arm under your knees. His metal arm holds onto your back, and he stands easily. It makes your head spin a little bit at his super soldier strength, how you weigh next to nothing in his arms.

Bucky carries you down the hall, his lips pressing kisses to your temple the whole way there.

Gently he places you on your shared bed and pulls the covers up around you. His lips find yours in the dark and you kiss softly. Then deeply. You whimper into his mouth when your lips part.

“James,” you whine a little “I’m trying to go back to sleep,” you sigh.

“I can wear you out, if that would help,” he murmurs against your lips.

And that’s how you found yourself tangled in the sheets. Bucky’s lips and hands roam all over your skin. No part of you cares that you have work in the morning. You can’t get enough of him.

And wear you out he did. Your alarm wakes you in the morning. But it’s the smell of coffee that coaxes you out of bed. That means he’s still here. He makes the coffee for you. It doesn’t have any effect on him. He might drink a cup with you, but he’s never made it just for himself.

“Hi,” you smile at him when you reach the kitchen.

“Hi back,” he replies. He greets you with a soft kiss to your brow. He’s dressed for the day already, and you’re thankful for these small moments before he leaves.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Some,” he tells you. There’s a little glimmer in his eye, clueing you in on the memory of last night. But you can still tell he’s tired.

You make small talk while you drink your coffee, and he heads out for the day. And you don’t think about it again until tonight.

He joins you in bed, same as always. And as if your subconscious knew, you woke up in the middle of the night again.

The bed’s empty. Again.

You head to the living room again. The TV is on, but it’s muted. In the glow from the screen, you can see your sweet husband Bucky is asleep on the floor. A couch pillow is under his head, and a couple throw blankets are on the floor and covering his legs – partially. It looks like he has kicked some of them off. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on his brow and his bare chest. It already hurts to see him on the floor, but that really breaks your heart.

You know everything, he has told you all that you wanted to know. You know about his past. About the nightmares. Your heart aches that it seems like they’re back.

You don’t want to disturb him, and as you turn to leave you hear his voice. Quiet and somber.

“I’m awake.”

You go to him then. You’re quick to sit down on the floor by his head. You comb your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. His eyes close. His sigh is heavy.

“How long have they been back?” you whisper, still petting his hair.

“Few days,” he opens his eyes and looks up at you. There’s sorrow in them. As if he feels guilty he’s having nightmares. “I didn’t want to worry you. So, I came out here.”

“Worry me,” you smooth the back of your fingers across his cheek. The bristles from his beard tickles your skin.

“The void,” he tells you. You remember. This wasn’t long ago. He’d told you what he’d seen. Things he’s tried to forget. He doesn’t have to say anymore now for you to understand.

You lean down and press a kiss on his forehead. You start to stand, and he reaches for you. A silent plea not to leave. You’re not sure how many people have seen him like this you think. You’re glad you’re one of them.

“I’ll be back I have to get something,” you start so smile softly.

You return with pillows and blankets from your bed. You can barely see over the bundle you grabbed, but you know your way down the hall.

“What are you doing?” he huffs out in amusement.

“I’m going to join you on the floor obviously.”

“Sweetheart,” he shakes his head. His brows furrow. “You won’t be comfortable.”

“And you are?”

“At least,” he pauses “take the couch.”

You nod, but you drop all the blanket bundle onto the floor. You get to work on making him a big pile of blankets and quilts and a comforter you pulled from the closet.

“Humor me,” you tell him. He smiles at that, and he gives you a quiet “thank you.”

You lay on the couch with your blanket, and he lays on the makeshift bed on the floor next to you. You laid all the blankets out parallel to the couch and as close as you could get it. So, when you lay on the couch, your hand can touch him.

You lay so that you can stroke his skin. Whatever you can reach. It’s soothing to you both and you can hear his breathing begin to steady and even out.

You feel yourself drifting off to sleep. Having him close and knowing he’s ok allowing you to fall asleep.

When you wake, you’re in your bed. You shake your head a little, exasperated at him. Of course he couldn’t let you sleep on the couch; he wanted you to be comfortable. It was comfortable enough, but that didn’t matter you wanted to be near him.

You’re about to get up to go back to him, but you can hear his steady breathing next to you. You roll over and bump into his shoulder. He hums a little in his sleep, and he stirs.

You hear him take a deep breath. You feel bad he’s awake, but you take this opportunity to slip closer to him and put your arm across him. Your head rests on his chest, and he quietly pulls you in closer.

Bucky murmurs a quiet, “thank you,” before falling back asleep with you by his side.