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very-merry-birthday · 2 days ago

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Gluttony

Lust Gluttony Envy Sloth Greed Pride Wrath

Summary: You help the brothers out of tricky situation, and Dean thanks you the best way he knows how.

Warnings: Smut (car sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms)

A/N: Yes, this has been a seven deadly sins series all along!

You picked at your fries lazily as you relaxed against the grimy booth of the diner, watching the place carefully. You'd been following the same man for two days after a string of murders had landed you in a town not far from home. You saw as he began to stand up, making his way to leave.

Your phone began to buzz in your pocket, a number you didn't recognize. Normally you wouldn't answer calls like that, but you were waiting for some information, and wanted to end this hunt as quickly as possible.

"This is a prepaid call from "Hey Sweetheart", at the Washington County correctional facility, all phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring, to accept this call press one now."

You could instantly tell it was Dean, his voice just as deep over the phone as in person. You pressed #1 as you wedged your phone between your ear and your shoulder, standing to follow the man as you gathered up your belongings.

"Hey darlin', you picked up!" He seemed almost surprised on the other end, but kept his cool.

"What's going on, I'm in a rush." You pushed the door open, following him from a distance.

"Awe- I just thought a booty call might be fun right now?" His voice was laced in sarcasm.

"I'm being serious, Dean, what do you need?"

He sucked his breath in through his teeth, "Ya see sweetheart, we might have found ourselves in a bit of trouble over here and... well we need someone to come bail us out."

"I'm busy..." You sighed, finally grabbing the phone again in your hand.

"We'll see you soon!"

The line clicked, going dead as he hung up. You wanted to leave him there, teach him a lesson, but you knew you just had to see him. You looked over at the man walking away, letting out a deep sigh before turning on your heel, returning the way you came.

You pulled up around the corner from the tiny jail- more just a police station- checking your face again in the mirror before climbing out of the car, your heels clicking against the sidewalk. It wasn't often that you dressed professionally, the tight button up and skirt feeling claustrophobic against your body, but you knew it would work far better than your usual jeans and flannels.

You made your way in, the afternoon just starting to break into evening as a chill hit the air, and walked to the front desk, a young cop on the other side barely making note of you.

"I'm here for the brothers."

"You posting bail or you their lawyer?" He didn't look up from the screen in front of him.

"Their lawyer."

He nodded, "Take a seat, someone will come get you in a minute."

You did as he said, sitting down as you took in the room. You swallowed hard, you lied for a living, that bit was easy, but having to see Dean after three months without him- that would be slightly harder.

After what felt like too long you saw a cop approaching you, reaching out his hand to shake it, "You here for those boys?"

He was an older guy, barely any hair left on his head, a small coffee stain on his shirt that looked fresh. You weighed up your approach in your mind. Seductive felt odd, this guy was old enough to be your father, possibly even grandfather, and he wasn't trying to hide it. Relentless seemed wrong too, he clearly had a knowledge of the job and you knew clamping down on him would only cause him to fight back. So instead you stood, shaking his hand with a warm smile spread across your face. The friendly approach.

"I am indeed, sir."

"Names Officer Branning, I'm gonna get you to follow me."

He led you down a series of florescent flooded hallways until you were stood outside and interrogation room. You'd seen your fair few before, but normally you were in the same position as the boys. The officer pushed open the door and Dean looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you walk in.

"You should've told us you called your lawyer, son." The officer moved to sit opposite him, taking a sip of his coffee.

You saw Sam shift in his seat, looking between you and his brother, clearly confused.

"And can I ask what exactly my clients have been arrested for?" You took your own seat next to Dean, you could tell he was still gawking at you out of the corner of your eye.

"Well your boys here have been convicted of section A1 of the Burglary Statute. A house downtown, we get a phone call about suspicious activity and who do we find when we turn up, these two, both in possession of guns, which I don't have to tell you is of course a felony."

You turned to look at them properly for the first time, both of them shifting awkwardly in their seats. You knew that Sam would have already tried every trick in the lawyer book- and at least he had the Harvard experience compared to your Breaking Bad and Law and Order qualifications. He turned back towards the officer, not wanting to seem suspicious. Dean, however, couldn't care less, his eyes raking your body.

He'd never seen you dressed like this: all office siren, your hair pulled back, heels on. He had to admit he liked it, almost as much as he enjoyed you in your hunting gear, covered in grime and blood and sweat... Almost.

You turned back away, his gaze sending heat to the back of your neck. The officer looked behind the three of you, another sip of coffee, he was clearly already checked out for the day, his eyes on the clock above your heads. Sam might have the knowledge, the actual lawyer skills, but you were starting to think your pop culture education might be more likely to get you all out of here.

"Look I'm not gonna sit here and say these two men haven't been foolish, of course they have." You glanced over at them, Sam's eyes going wider, Dean clearly not listening as he watched the way your lips moved, "Entering a dwelling that doesn't belong to them, sure, that looks bad, I'm not denying that. But I do think it's important to note that they didn't use their guns, no one here got hurt, right? And is that not the most important thing?"

The officer nodded slowly. Sam looked between you and him, unable to understand how this actually seemed to be working.

"No one killed, no one injured, gosh not even a paper cut! Secondly, burglary, sir-" you chuckled lightly, "Do you have any proof of that? That they were actually intending to steal anything? Do we even have proof that they broke into the property? As far as I can tell these idiots most likely walked into a house that didn't belong to them, merely out of confusion!"

"I'm not sure-"

"Officer Branning, was it?" You smiled at him warmly, trying to put forth your least threatening expression, "You and I both know the perils of this system. A day in court, those uncomfortable seats they'll make you sit in as you wait to speak, only for what, all of five minutes!?"

He chuckled lightly at your apparent exasperation, "Less than that!"

"Less! A whole day wasted just because these two idjits don't know their own address! And I'm sure the jury will see that- just look at them they couldn't organize a back yard grill let alone a burglary!"

Sam put on his best puppy dog pout and Dean grinned from ear to ear as the officer looked at them both.

"I really don't want to waste your time, and I don't think you want to waste mine either. These are good boys, good god-fearing folk, they've just made a mistake. Surely a slap on the wrist and we can both go home happy?"

"These boys committed a crime-" he looked above your head again, eyeing the clock.

"Who've you got at home, Officer Branning?" You leant back in your seat, smiling at him.

"I'm not sure how that's important?" He questioned, his face flushing with confusion.

"You keep looking at the clock, sir, you got someone worth rushing off for?"

He smiled back, looking down at his coffee, "My wife. It's our anniversary, I was supposed to be home three hours ago but got stuck sat with these two-"

"How many years?" You leant forward. Dean eyed you carefully. He liked seeing you confident like this. He thought back to the last time he'd seen you, the church, your mouth pressed against his ear speaking sin. You'd finished that hunt only a few days later, Sam finally relenting in the knowledge there was no way he'd be able to keep you apart. But that was three months ago, and he hadn't expected to see you this soon. And yet, looking a you now, he realized just how much he'd missed you. He watched as your mouth curled into another warm smile. It made his stomach flip as he tried to suppress the thought.

"Forty-four." He sighed, taking another sip of coffee, "Feels like yesterday we got married, not that I'd ever tell her that."

You reached out to his hand, holding it gently, "Officer, I know it's been a real long day, and I'd hate for it to become an even longer night. I'm sure she deserves you home by now?"

He swallowed hard, looking between the three of you. "What the hell, fine!"

Sam almost fell out of his seat in shock. Dean had to hold himself back from kissing you there and then.

Dean's arm was wrapped around your waist before you'd even left the station. You knew he didn't care about who saw, but you also knew you had to get out of there before anyone stopped you.

You all skipped out, keeping your heads down, a smile plastered on all of your faces. Once you were far enough away Dean finally broke, loud laughter coming from his lips.

Sam shook his head with a smirk, "How the hell did you manage that?"

Dean pulled you in closer, lazily kissing your shoulder as you and Sam spoke.

"What, Harvard boy can't understand what an expert lawyer looks like?" You laughed. You knew ignoring Dean's advances was only riling him up more.

"Thought you were only coming to bail us out?" Sam shook his head again.

"If you think I'm spending a dime on you two you're more stupid than I thought." You started to walk back to your car, "Come on, both of you, let me give you a lift."

Dean broke away from you, looking over to his brother, "Go for a walk, Sam."

"Dean it's-"

"Go for a walk." His face turned stern.

Sam rolled his eyes, giving you another baffled smirk before walking away again, his hands sliding into his pockets. Dean pulled you into him again, his mouth attacking your neck. You dragged him towards your car, your hand combing through his hair.

You lifted his face up to look at you as you pouted, "That was mean..."

"He knew the deal the second you walked in wearing that get up." His hand reached down to your ass, inelegantly squeezing it.

"You still shouldn't leave him out in the cold like this."

"Be quiet sweetheart," he kissed you jaw heavily, "just let me show you how thankful I am."

He pushed you against the side of your car, his hands wandering over your body as you scrambled for your keys. You broke your face away from him for a moment as you put your key in the lock, your eyes looking into your own car through the window.

You hadn't really thought about the fact he'd be here, climbing into your car. Even if his mouth wasn't fixed to your neck, you'd still offered him a lift, he'd have seen it one way or another, but it still felt weirdly intimate. Car sex- that was normal. More normal for you two than sex in a bed. But it was always the Impala, a car you had to admit oozed seduction. It had space to move around, to stretch out on the plush vinyl seats. Your car was small, beaten up, only just big enough for you to sleep in on cold nights when all the motels were full. And yet here you were, welcoming him into a space normally reserved only for you.

He didn't seem to care, though, as he guided you into the back seat, pressing himself against your body as he moved to lay above you. You shifted awkwardly, trying to fit your bodies into the small space, a blanket stuffed under your back, old takeout containers on the floor next to you.

He kisses your neck, grazing it with his teeth as you softened into the shape of his body. He tugged at your clothes, his hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt up to your hips. You were suddenly very thankful for the dark descending outside.

You pushed your body up slightly as he continued his movements down, his fingers finally pressing against the middle of your underwear, "Tsk- thought I'd get another pleasant surprise."

He gently circled your clit through the fabric, sending gentle warmth through you, "I got you out of there, didn't I?"

He smiled, "Oh yeah, I was showing my gratitude wasn't I?" He kissed the inside of your thigh, "What's our record, sweetheart?"

"Three..."

He shook his head with a smile.

This had long been a point of contention between you. He insisted that since he'd been able to make you come five times in one day, your record should be five. You contended that since you'd split between a session first thing in the morning and another one in the evening, where he'd made you come three times, your record should be three. Of course, he'd also promised you if he had a full day, and an actual bed, he'd make you come so many times you would pass out.

But he wasn't in the mood to argue.

He hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear, dragging it down your legs as he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on you.

He pressed his tongue against your clit without any warning, your hand reaching out to grab hold of his hair as you steadied your breathing.

"Fuck darlin, you always taste incredible."

He spit hard, using his saliva as lube as he dove back in, his tongue lapping you up. You rolled your hips into him, needy for his friction. No one knew you quite like him, knew just where to touch you to bring you to the brink.

He pressed his mouth against you, alternating between pushing his tongue inside you and circling your clit in a steady rhythm. You could barely breath as you felt his tongue glide through your folds, savouring your wetness, his mouth curling into an amused smile as he listened to your gasps.

Right when he felt you tensing up he focused all his attention onto your clit, sending you over the edge as you gripped onto his hair, rolling your head back in a pornographic moan. He kept his movements quick as you came, your body shaking as he kept up the stimulation.

Your body sunk back against the seat, your head pressed against the inside of your cardoor as you tried to shed the pounding in your ears. He pulled away, kissing along your leg.

"You got a pen anywhere in here sweetheart?" He looked around, you were suddenly aware once again of the state of your car.

You leant down, rustling your hand on the floor without looking until you landed on the marker you knew you'd left there, handing it to him.

He held the lid between his teeth, popping it open and drawing a short line on your inner thigh, "That's one."

You bit your lip as you looked down at him marking your skin, taking you as his own.

He began to kiss up your leg again, making his way back towards your core.

You let your hand comb through his sweat ridden hair, breathing hard, "Just give me a minute, yeah?"

"What, and ruin this gorgeous high you've got going on? No chance, darlin'." He pressed his tongue against you again, slower this time, gently stroking it through your wetness.

You groaned, rolling your head back as he sucked lightly at your swollen clit. He knew how sensitive you got after you came, and he fully intended to use it to his advantage.

He teased the tip of his finger at your entrance, feeling as your pussy pulsed around him. He moaned against you, sending the vibrations through your body. Pushing his finger into you, you bit your bottom lip again, swallowing down any other noises.

He began thrusting into you slowly, even one finger filling you as his tongue sped up its movements. You arched your back into him, a second orgasm rising quickly. He pushed another finger into you, stretching you out, your breath shaking as you shut your eyes again.

He sucked on your clit again, pushing another desperate wave of pleasure through you. You reached out, seeking stability on the seats around you as you felt your body clench again. And then release. He slowed his movements, only just, as you came again on his tongue, your legs tightening up around him.

"Dean- fuck-" you couldn't stop your sounds, your body quaking.

You guided his face away from you as you let your body relax again into the seat, his movements almost to much to bare as he gently pulled his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth to continue savouring your taste.

Without a word, he reached down for the marker he'd thrown to one side, wetting his lips as he drew another line next to the first, "That's two."

He went to press his mouth against you again but you stopped him, cupping his cheek to get him to look at you, "Really, baby, can't take much more."

Baby wasn't a nickname you used. Not for him, not ever. But as your mind stayed fogged from your pleasure you didn't even realize you'd said it. And he didn't mind- his face tingling with secret enjoyment.

He lifted himself off of you, pushing the marker behind his ear as he moved quickly, his hands wrapping around your waist as he moved to sit, pulling you on top of him in a straddle. You slumped against him, your body exhausted, your forehead pressed against his.

"We'll never break our record with that attitude, sweetheart."

"It's just your tongue, Dean, i's'too much-" you kissed him lightly, his lips plump against yours.

"Well why don't we go at your pace then, darlin'?" He held your hips, lowering you down onto his leg. You bit your lip as you felt you pussy come into contact with the jeans on his thigh, rough against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He pushed your hips gently, getting you to rut against him. You held his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you began moving, harsh pleasure hitting you instantly.

"Dean- fuck- it's too-"

He kissed you, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips, "That's it, nice and slow, keep yourself steady for me."

You focused on his voice as he guided you through it, grinding against his thigh with your breath held.

"Good girl, that's it." He moved one hand to your stomach, commanding your movements, "You're doing so well for me, darlin', that feel good?"

You collapsed your body into him, your head leaning against his shoulder, "Oomf- fuck- yes-"

"Good girl, good girl, keep moving, keep your pussy on me. Fuck- I can feel how wet you are even through my jeans-" he chuckled lightly, kissing the top of your head, "You look so good grinding on me- gonna get you to do this every time if you're not careful."

You gripped your hand around his bicep, your fingers pressed into him as you felt another orgasm rising inside you.

"Keep yourself steady, sweetheart- focus on your body. You feel that? Feel that sweet spot- you're screaming out for more, I can tell- let it fill you up, that excess, darlin', let it consume you. Keep moving, there's a good girl, you want to come again, don't y'? You wanna come on my thigh?"

You nodded into his shoulder, a small whimper falling out of your lips in desperation.

"Be a good girl for me, sweetheart, be good." He spoke softer as he pressed his lips against your skin, "Come for me."

You did as he commanded, your body quaking as you rutted against him, your fingers digging into him, letting out a loud cry, another orgasm taking control as your body quaked. Your movements began to slow but he kept his hands tight on you, keeping your grinding steady as you rode it out.

He pressed his mouth into your neck, soft kisses as you lifted yourself off his thigh, straddling him properly again, your body still shaking slightly as you tried to come back to reality, blinking hard. He leant back, carefully checking your face for confirmation you were okay, before kissing you again.

He pushed you backwards slightly to give himself better access as he took the pen from behind his ear, once again pulling off it's cap with his teeth and placing it between your legs, drawing another small line, "That's three, darlin'."

"Jesus, Dean, you'll be the death of me!" You sighed, coming to your senses.

You looked down, watching as he carefully palmed the bulge growing in his pants, "You think you can take one more?"

You nodded slowly, however spent you felt, you still wanted his cock buried inside you.

You watched as he quickly undid his belt with one hand, pulling at the top of his pants as his other hand gripped your hip tight again. His cock sprung free, solid and throbbing, watching you come so many times already pushing him to the edge. He guided you above him, lining himself up with you, before gently lowering you down, his cock sinking into your already sensitive opening.

He held your hips still as he began to thrust into you from below, watching you carefully. He pressed his mouth into your neck, small kisses across your skin as you moaned into him, your body shaking with pleasure.

Once his pace was steady he began moving his hands over you, ghosting your curves with the pads of his fingers, gentle movements, his digits hot against you, sending soft tingles all over your body. He let one hand slide under your shirt, brushing over your breast, his thumb grazing your nipple only slightly.

"You feel so good, sweetheart." He sped up his thrusting, his own heartbeat stuck in his throat as he felt your pussy tight around him.

You began to roll your own hips in time with him, pushing him deeper until he was completely filling you, your sensitive clit colliding with him on every pound. You moved your hands to his chest, steadying yourself as you both moved, the small car filled with hot breath.

He groaned, desperate, his fingers dancing over your nipples, sending shivers through you. He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours, "You close?"

You bit your lip, nodding in response as you felt another orgasm rise in you, his cock stretching you out.

"That's it, keep going, wanna feel you coming on my cock, darlin'."

His words send another spike of pleasure through you as you continued to roll your hip, his thrusting from below only becoming harder. You screwed up your hands in the fabric of his shirt, the tension filling you once again. You couldn't focus on anything but your dam about to burst.

"Dean, I'm gonna-"

He pressed his lips against yours as you came, a moan escaping your lips flowing into his mouth as he pushed into you, hard, your pussy contracting around his cock. Stars danced behind your eyes as you continued to move your body, your climax skewering the coil in your stomach.

The moment he felt your movements falter, Dean pulled out, his own orgasm spilling out of him without warning, his cum plastering your thigh. He let out a groan as your hand reached down instinctively, stroking him through his completion, your thumb pressed against his tip.

You both sat panting, your bodies covered in sweat and each other, as your movements slowed, both of you twitching in relief. After a moment you rolled off of him, taking your seat next to him as you pulled your blanket up to wipe his cum off of your leg. He watched you carefully before reaching back out to you, pen in hand, and drawing the final tally mark on your leg.

"That's four, new record." He smiled at you, hooking his finger under your chin for a kiss.

You shook your head, smiling as your bliss started to slump again, "You shouldn't have called, Dean, I was busy..."

"Oh yeah, hot date?" He pushed his cock back into his pants, beginning to buckle them back up as he chuckled.

"Yeah, smoking hot, tall dark and handsome." You watched as his expression faltered slightly, doubt creeping in. "A murderous demon with an appetite for murder, what's not to love!"

He relaxed again, lowering his shoulders and swallowing hard.

You waited a beat before opening up your door again, climbing out as you pulled your skirt back down. He followed your lead, stepping out into the cold night air, trying to pull himself together as he watched you do the same. Both of you were messy, clearly sexed out, the pen tally, although now hidden, still burning into your thigh, a small patch on his jeans from where you'd ridden him.

You slid back into the driver's seat, letting him clamber into the passenger side, a position neither of you were used to when around each other.

"Come on," you sighed, "let's go find your brother."

"He'll've reached the motel by now, sweetheart, we weren't exactly quick." He eyed you carefully, "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Let's get burgers."

"What, just us?"

"C'mon sweetheart, my treat, give you a proper thank-you."

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cherrygirlfriend · 1 day ago

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── POOR ETIQUETTE ♡

♡ pairing: ceo!rafe x housewife!reader

♡ summary: your husband has some of his employees come over for a boys’ night that doesn’t go quite as well as you’d hoped when they start talking about their opinions on women.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff. suggestive material but no smut. misogyny. rafe loves his wife. MDNI! wc: 1.8k

♡ author's note: this is for @zyafics MRGA campaign + i decided to make it one of my celebration fics bc i literally have only one more left after this 😭

HOUSEWIFE MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST

"hey, baby." rafe mumbled, his hands massaging your shoulders as you were sitting on the couch, focused on your book. you smiled, letting out a pleased hum, closing your eyes as you leaned into your husband touch, the man working the knots in your muscles you'd gotten from the workout session you had, "i got somethin' to ask you…" rafe pressed a kiss to the side of your neck.

"if it is to get up off the couch, i'm sorry but that's out of the question." you let out a huff of a chuckle, "wouldn't dream of it." rafe grinned as he let go of your shoulders and rounded to the other side of the couch, taking a seat right next to you. you placed your bookmark at the place you left off on before putting your book aside and turning to face him, "what's up?"

rafe's hand started toying with a loose strand of your hair, "do you mind if some of the guys from work come over to play poker and watch the game next week? my advisor told me that i should try and 'make nice with the board', or whatever."

"why would i mind that?" you chuckled, raising your brows as rafe's arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his large, warm hands sliding right under the hem of your shirt, goosebumps starting to form on your skin, "i have friends over all the time."

"yeah, but i don't." "because you say 'why would i spend time with friends when i can spend time with you?'." you chuckled, your attempt at imitating your husband making him laugh, "and i stand by that." rafe grinned as he pulled you into his lap, his lips finding your neck, pressing soft kisses that trailed downwards, each touch of his lips making you take a sharp inhale of a breath as your eyes fluttered shut, leaning your head back to allow him better access.

"i'd rather be doing this..." rafe mumbled against your skin, his warm breath on your skin causing your nipples to start hardening under your tank top, his tongue tracing a path along your soft skin as he reached your collarbone "what, you're telling me you and your friends don't do this?" you let out a breathy chuckle as one of your hands trailed up the back of his neck, running through the short strands of hair, "‘cause me and my girlfriends do this all the time."

the remark earned a sharp nip from your husband, the man making you squeal as he picked you up in his strong arms and stood up from the couch, beelining towards your bedroom, your giggles echoing around the large home.

you were probably definitely more excited than rafe was that he was having people over from work; he'd been telling you the entire week that you wouldn't have to bother doing anything, that he'd just order some pizza and have them out the door as soon as the game was over. but you couldn't help it; rafe never had anyone over, and you'd only met people from his work briefly at the events his company held.

so, when the day came, maybe you baked a few batches of your famous chocolate chip cookies along with a batch of red velvet cupcakes, singing along to the music playing from your phone as you finished sprinkling cheese onto the square pizza you'd made, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest when you noticed the figure standing in the doorway, much too focused on cooking to notice your amused husband.

"you scared the crap out of me." you laughed as rafe started walking towards you, loosening the tie around his neck, already having dumped his suit jacket. "i thought i told you that you wouldn't have to do anything." rafe raised his brows, and his hands found your hips, turning you so your body was facing him, "i know. but i wanted to. i like being a host. i get to bake." you grinned up at him, your hands resting on rafe's shoulders, "when are they getting here?"

"about... an hour i'd say." rafe tsked, "but you know what that means?" he grinned, "i'm sure you'll tell me." you leaned in to press a small peck on rafe's lips, "it means that we have plenty of time to shower."

"you're absolutely right." you pursed your lips in thought, "we're so lucky that we have more than one shower so we can even do it at the same time."

your words made rafe let out a dramatic gasp, "using two different showers? you wanna waste that much water? what kinda monster are you?" "you're right. maybe we should shower together. y'know, for to save water and everything." "mm... that's my good conservationist."

after you'd gotten done showering, you sat at your dressing table in your robe, shamelessly ogling your husband as he started getting dressed, letting out a little wolf-whistle when he dropped the towel that had already been resting low on his hips, rafe bursting into laughter as he pulled his boxers on, "you know, if i had any singles i'd be throwing them at you." you winked, watching as he pulled a pair of jeans on, "i know you would." he smiled, "are you gonna join us or just leave me to fend for myself?"

"i might pop by at some point." you shrugged, applying moisturizer onto your face, "but i think i'm gonna let you handle it for a bit." "wow, you just love hurting me, don't you?"

"i do." you looked at him with a self-satisfied grin, standing up and walking towards your closet, and as you untied your robe and let it fall to the ground, it was rafe's turn to ogle at your naked figure while you started looking for something to put on, pretending not to notice rafe's hungry stare.

after having greeted rafe's coworkers at the door, you'd left them alone, except for the occasional times you'd peek into the living room, your eyes always immediately finding your husband, and even though he hadn't wanted visitors, you could gradually see him starting to loosen up, the man actually looking like he was having fun.

but after a few hours had gone by, you knocked on the side of the wooden arch leading into your living room, rafe and the four other men turning to look at you, "mind if i join?" without even waiting for an answer, you made your way over to where rafe was sitting, your husband pulling his chair back as you plopped down to sit in his lap, rafe's hand going to rest on your waist.

"you wanna join in on the next round, sweetheart?" one of the men, mr. michaels, said and you did the best to tune out the condescending tone in his voice until another man, mr. kingston, joined in, "yeah, if you dunno how to play then we can just teach you." "yeah, we'll take it easy on ya."

you kissed your teeth yet forced yourself to maintain the smile on your lips, rafe squeezing your side, "nah, i think i'm just gonna watch." you said, taking rafe's whiskey glass off the poker table when yet another man, mr. smith, piped up just as you were bringing it to your lips, "be careful hon, that can be some real strong stuff. not good for fragile li'l things like you."

"i'll make sure to be so careful." you smiled sweetly before throwing back the whiskey, rafe letting out a quiet snicker while the man who had warned you simply cleared his throat slightly awkwardly as you brought the glass down onto the table.

the five men continued playing, one of rafe's arms staying around you the entire time. "you know rafe, i wish my wife would stay at home and just take care of the house and kids like your woman does but she's always yappin' about how her career is too important to her." mr. ashton snorted, "i mean, y'all don't even have kids."

the remark about not having children caused you to clench your fists under the table as you bit down on your lower lip, attempting to keep the smile on your face, rafe's thigh tensing under you.

"at least she knows to have a meal ready and the house cleaned by the time you get home." mr. michaels complained, "mine won't even do that."

"well, maybe you don't treat her well enough to deserve that." you said with that same sweet tone, your smile not faltering, "excuse me?" "just saying. if she doesn't treat you the way you think you deserve to be treated, then it sounds like you don't deserve to be treated like that." you shrugged, rafe pressing a small kiss on the back of your shoulder.

"who do you think you are talking to me like that?" the man laughed and shook his head, "rafe, you should put a muzzle on your woman if she's gonna act like a bitch."

you could feel rafe's entire body tense under you, and when you looked at him from the corner of your eye, you could tell that his ice-blue eyes had turned even colder, his breathing getting heavier, "what the fuck did-"

interrupting rafe just as he was raising his voice, you looked mr. michaels dead in the eye with your smile now dropped, your voice just as steady as it had been before. "get out."

"you're outta line." mr. smith pointed his stubby, hairy finger at you, the man you'd just chastised too stunned to say anything, "now, we're important men at your husband's company. if i were you, i'd think before i speak."

"i did think about it. get out of our house. all of you."

"rafe, are you gonna let your woman disrespect us like that?" mr. ashton looked to rafe, clearly expecting for him to agree with him.

"you're right, gentlemen." rafe tutted his lips and cleared his throat , "she shouldn't disrespect you like that. she should've told you to get the fuck out of our house before i find a way to drive every single one of you out of my company and make sure you never find a decent job around here."

the four men looked at each other in shock, slowly getting up and gathering their things; you could hear them mumbling something to one another, until finally, your front door was slammed shut.

you turned in rafe's lap to face him, running your hand through his hair, "you sure you don't mind that? i thought you were supposed to 'make nice' with them, or whatever."

"fuck no." rafe shook his head, "i'm just mad i couldn't punch them. probably would've. you're more important to me than any fuckhead, no matter if they work for me or not. i'm always gonna support you." your husband tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ears, all the iciness gone from his eyes as he looked over your features. "besides, it was kind of hot seeing you like that." "really?" you chuckled softly, "yeah. don't get me wrong, i love it when you're sweet but... damn. i've never seen this side of you. does stuff to me."

"mmhm." you hummed, bringing your lips inches away from his, "wanna show me what it does to you?"

you couldn't even get another word in before rafe had scooped you up into his arms and started heading towards the bedroom.

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

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rawme-price · 2 days ago

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So...healer!reader pt 5, shes already healed the guys individually, where will they go from here?🤭

It becomes a bit of a routine. The guys try not to ask for ur healing too often, they value u as a genuine member of the team and would hate for u to think ur just here for that. But, you do notice they all perform much better after you heal them. Plus, it kind of gets on ur nerves when they try to 'tough out' some of the minor pain, bc u can feel it radiating from them and now that you have healed them before there's really no reason for u to be shy about it again.

So, you make sure to heal them all at least once a week, sometimes more if they actually are hurt. Ghost goes all soft and pliant, simply enjoying the fact his chronic pain is gone for a bit. Price tends to take the time to smoke, hes learned that ur healing with smoke in his lungs feels devine. Soap doesnt have much constant pain besides mild tinnitus, so he and gaz tend to work out like hell beforehand bc it feels alot better when the magic has something to focus on.

But you never seem to ask anything in return. Its frustrating. Especially considering soap has explicitly offered you to bed and all you've done is turn him down with a small smile. Needless to say, the guys are concerned. Gaz calls a team meeting between the four of them, a furrow in his brow.

"Do you think we're taking advantage?"

Its a long and serious discussion. Price thinks they are, they all have some sort of power dynamic over you (some more than others). Ghost doesnt think so, hes seen you punch a guy's lights out for looking at you the wrong way, if you didnt want to do something then you wouldnt. Soap seems mixed, he trusts your decisions, but he doesnt want to have accidentally coerced you into anything. The discussion gets them nowhere, so finally gaz calls you in.

U give them a confused look, but seem overall relaxed. "Uh- everything okay?"

Price doesnt mince words, "if you dont want to heal us. You dont have to. If you dont feel comfortable working in this team, give me the paperwork and ill approve it, no questions asked."

"What?" Youre honestly baffled, looking between them like they're crazy. "What on earth makes you think i dont want to heal you?? If I didnt then I wouldnt??"

So they explain they're reasoning, finally leading to the last point of u never seeking out ur own satisfaction. They don't want to make u heal them if u dont get some sort of satisfaction in return, it feels predatory or whatever.

You cant help it, you laugh. A bit from nerves but also from relief bc you thought you were being kicked out. "Oh my god- thats it?" You try to cover ur grin with a hand.

"the hell do you mean thats it?!" Soap retorts, a bit put off by ur sudden mirth "this is serious!"

"God! No- its- you dont understand-" you take a few deep breaths before calming down. Looking them in the eyes you shrug "im asexual. I uh- dont feel sexual desire. Like. At all."

Before they can freak out, you strike down whatever fears u know they're thinking "whatever sexual moments did occur were totally my choice. I may not get satisfaction like you guys do, but I like to see you guys happy, I like to help. Besides, all this healing has given me alot of practice with my magic, I really dont want to stop."

You and them have another, quite long discussion, and decide to keep up the arrangement. You get to practice magic, and they get to have the best damn orgasms of their lives. In fact, this probably means you can heal them more often now that you have permission to really experiment with ur methods.

(HA YALL THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A FIVESOME HUH??? WRONG!! anyways happy pride to all my fellow asexuals!! Also dw guys this is NOT the end of the series lol)

#cod #cod smut #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #tf 141 x reader #healer!reader

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mrsbarnesblog · 2 days ago

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˖˚⊹ 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.”

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fckmebarnes · 2 days ago

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your idol

camboy!bucky x camgirl!reader

18+ smut — men and minors dni. somno. (pre established) toy use (dildo/vibrator) squirting. multiple orgasms. breeding kink if you squint a little. daddy nickname. fingering (r). bucky is insatiable. he needs u fr.

wc 2.1k

a/n — this came from a place of horny (somno is one of my top kinks), along with this request. i felt this one in my pussy when writing it. this is just the start of camboy!bucky & camgirl!reader <3

“you guys would not believe how wet she is right now…” bucky’s voice is soft; quiet. with his eyes glued to your pussy, he pulls the translucent purple dildo out of your hole slowly — watching at is sheens in the slick coming from you.

“bet it doesn’t pick up well on camera…” he mutters, still watching your cunt as he pushes it back inside you.

you were knocked out — taking a nap after going several rounds with bucky was what you and your body needed

and you gave him permission to keep playing afterwards.

of course he took it.

your leg was hiked up as you rested on your side, an arm propped under your pillow and a blue night dress adorned your body.

the fabric was riding up on your hip, your cunt exposed with how you hiked your leg up further than the other. you always claimed it was a comfortable sleeping position but he knew you better than that.

it was an easy access position — one you only did when you wanted him to take advantage of you.

and here he was. fulfilling your wish.

“fuck, baby…” his own cock twitches in his lap as he watches your cunt swallow the dildo all over again — imagining it was his own cock sinking into your wet cunt.

not yet. he has to be patient. give the viewers what they want.

even if his cock is painfully hard right now and leaking all over the sheets.

he spreads your ass with his other hand, sinking the dildo to a hilt into your cunt as he reached over and grabs a small bullet vibrator.

“gonna make this pretty pussy sing around this fake dick…” he mutters, eyeing the chat of the live stream and hearing the sound of pings incoming — signaling that he’s getting extra tipped.

he hadn’t done anything like this with you before, but it was pre-established you both wanted to make this sort of content — whether it be for your own two eyes or for your shared account — it didn’t matter.

you both just wanted to play with each other.

he goes to grip his own cock in his hands, moving ahis fist at the same pace the dildo was fucking your pussy. it made his head spin at how easy you were for him — how easy you were to open up and let him take you like this whenever he wanted.

and you both were getting paid for it?

fuck. it made his cock twitch harder in his hand.

he never thought that he would ever do cam work let alone be with someone who did cam work and collaborate. but somehow he got lucky with you.

meeting you on the first few nights of his own career launching, needing some subscribers and some exposure but being the humble man he was — he didn’t reach out or initiate first.

until he saw you one time on live.

you were fucking your pretty pussy with a clear, glass dildo — tits bouncing with each thrust as you fucked yourself with it on the floor.

you had your fingers strumming your clit and the other twisted a nipple and he swore he never saw someone more beautiful than you when he saw you squirt on camera.

“you sound so fucking good, baby…” he mutters all to himself as he stops jerking his cock, taking the vibrator and turning it on before slotting it between your swollen cunt and the blanket that was snug between your legs

involuntarily, your hips jerk — a warm sensation spreading through your body as you move your hips against the sheets. he watches your body hungrily, biting his lip as he starts moving his hand on his own cock again.

your brows furrow as you keep your speed up, dreams blending together, not knowing what you were truly dreaming about or not.

all you knew was you had an ache — one so deep only bucky would’ve been able to fix it.

and he knew that.

sly little shit.

“makin’ a mess of the sheets, doll.” he coos softly as he turns to the camera and pulls it closer, letting everyone see your cunt glistening in the low ring light setting.

he looks back over at your cunt as he swipes a metal finger through your folds — your hips backing up into him instinctively.

“so responsive…so sensitive…” he trails off as he hears your quite whimpers filter through your lips, fingers clutching the sheets gently.

he pushes the tip of his fingers slowly into your hole, easily letting him in as you settle your hips back down — nuzzling into the silk pillowcase. his eyes travel up the length of your body, settling on your face.

that was something that was kept private by the rest of the internet except him.

you didn’t mind it, either.

in fact you kinda loved it. made it feel like he has a more possessive claim over you — being the only one able to bask in your pleasure.

that’s what he loved most about doing this with you.

he draws his finger back, lips parting softly at the sight of his digit covered in your slick. he has to bring it up to his lips, moaning softly at the taste of you on his tongue.

“such a sweet sleepy pussy…” he sinks his finger back into your cunt before he’s grabbing the camera off the tripod and holding it in his free hand.

“look how well she takes me — even in her sleep.” he groans as he sinks a second one in, your hips pushing back against his touch as you whine into the pillow. he chuckles to himself, knowing you can’t help it. your body is just that needy for him.

“shh..” he coos, picking up the pace with his fingers fucking your cunt. his cock bobs in between your thighs, nudging your clit every so often with the way his arm moves to fuck you. he groans every time he feels your swollen clit bump his sensitive tip — leaking and spreading a mess all over you.

“think i can make her cum like this?” he whispers mostly to the livestream — watching your face furrow in frustration as your hips start bucking gently against his fingers, his thumb coming to rub your clit as you let out the softest moan in your sleep.

“fuck.” his moan is deep; guttural. the only kind you can possess form him like that.

and you weren’t even awake this time.

after a few more lazy strokes to your clit and curling his two thick fingers inside of you, he had you cumming around his digits in seconds — your hips stuttering against his hold as he feels his cock ache painfully.

he needs to be inside you — feel your warmth around his aching cock.

“good girl.” even if you’re knocked out, he still needs to praise you. and your body responds to it the second you clench around his fingers as they stay buried in you for a second.

you’re dripping down his wrist and arm at this point — a mess had already been on the sheets from you rutting into them before all of this and started.

you couldn’t help it, you were a needy little thing in your sleep.

he keeps the camera positioned for a second before he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, watching the way it clenches around air from the loss of being filled

you whimpered in your sleep. that made his cock twitch — slapping against your wet folds.

he puts the camera back onto the tripod, getting the best angle of his thighs, your ass presented to the camera and the short length of your back before it disappears.

your wet cunt is on display for everyone at home to see, whoever is lazily jerking off to it.

at least bucky got to feel it for real.

he takes his metal fist and wraps it around his cock giving it a few jerks before he’s pressing the tip into your wet hole.

a debauched moan leave his lips before he’s even sinking into you. he feels almost embarrassed but to be quite honest after feeling you cum and jerk around his fingers mere seconds ago — he couldn’t have given a fuck.

“shit baby… you’re so tight…” he ends up leaning over the length of you for a second as he pushes all the way in — your cunt stretching nicely around the thickness of his cock.

he peppers kisses on the exposed skin on your shoulder, his scruff of his beard scratching against you making you stir slightly.

well, it was mostly the scratching of his beard.

you let out the softest, most pathetic sleepy moan bucky had ever heard in his life, following along with his name.

“buck…?”

the sound along has him almost busting a fucking nut.

he draws his hips back before he’s slamming them back into you, making you moan again, louder.

“shh..sweetheart,” he mumbles against your shoulder as his lips travel up your shoulder to your neck, right under your earlobe. “daddy’s just gotta take care of this sleepy pussy, alright?”

you’re so fucking sleepy and out of it that you don’t even process yourself nodding your head, nor the way your hips lift up and your ass pressed firmly against his own hips — driving the tip of his cock to your sweet spot.

“mm..” is all that leaves your throat as your eyes flutter open for a split second to look down at see bucky’s metal arm holding his body weight up and over you — his hips thrusting into you at a pace that rocked you back to sleep.

“atta girl, go back to sleep. daddy’ll take care of the rest…” he murmurs against your skin as you whimper in your sleep. he lets out a satisfied grunt as he pulls his hips back and reaches for the vibrator, pushing it into your hole while his cock sinks back into you.

the vibrations has him shivering.

“oh fuck…” his whimpers are muffled by your skin as he starts fucking you deep and slow, feeling the toy inside you and snug up against his shaft makes his head dizzy.

“fuck baby…oh god…” he’s now being reduced to a whimper, whining mess as he feels you drip all over him and his balls, down onto the sheets.

he feels your cunt clench the toy and him, hips rutting back against him as he makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock inside you. wanting to make sure even in your sleep — you can feel how deep he is.

so he takes he metal hand and leans onto his elbow before pressing his hand against your lower tummy, chest pressed against your back at this point

he’s rocking into you helplessly

he hears you whimper into your pillow as you press against him further, his own moans falling from his lips as he feels himself getting pushed to the edge.

he reaches further below your tummy with his metal fingers to press against your clit — the added stimulation making your cunt squeeze him hard enough to trigger his orgasm. the sound of the tip jar notification going off gets drowned out by blood rushing to his ears.

“oh…fuck��! take it, doll. every last drop…mm..” whimpering against your skin he rubs your clit making sure to get you there again, addicted to the feel of your cunt squeezing his cock.

he feels your body come after him, hops convulsions against him, still in your sleepy state.

your fists bunched tightly at the sheets as you moan into them, eyes screwed shut as you squirt all over his cock and the sheets.

he groans as notices you made an entire mess of him and yourself, kissing your skin gently.

“good fuckin’ girl…takin’ all of my cum…even in your sleep your pussy can’t get enough.” he’s reached to pull the toy out first and shutting it off before pulling out himself, taking the camera to show the after math

he angles the camera to show his hot cum leaking out of your wrecked cunt, dripping onto the soaked sheets below. his thumb finds your hole and pushes some more of his cum back in — his screen lighting up with tip after tip after tip.

he grins, feeling your cunt clench around his finger.

“gotta fill this pussy up one more time. she’s begging for it. see ya sluts later.” he says before he’s turning off the camera and live, tossing the phone and pulling you into his chest before sinking right back into you.

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no0dlru · 9 hours ago

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Actually, it's really solid of you to point this out; I had thought about this, like I get there's practical business considerations here. I'm sorry I put it like that. My personal "better" is honestly that I'd make smth similar myself from scratch, or buy something second hand and modify it, (partially because I cannot afford a ~£36 skirt and materials would be less) but I also recognise that that's a privilege I have.

To be entirely honest about my own stance on this, the first one is better than worse; I know it's unaffordable to pretty much everyone, but I really dislike synthetics. I get what you're saying about your printing process requiring them, and that then requiring them to be printed in china, but personally, if I were to do a clothing line, that's not a trade-off I'd be comfortable making; I'd compromise on the print method, and therefore final effect, in order to work on natural fibres. My point with mentioning china isn't that I find manufacturing in china inherently bad (for the record), just that there's considerations around how eco friendly supply chains are, and that, unfortunately, the price point of labour can mean, if someone's prioritising affordability over other things (by choice or not), your work can be undercut by fast fashion etc. Tbqh the entire situation of the fashion industry sucks so hard that it's difficult to navigate any of this without trade offs, and I get that. The value of clothing and the materials and labour that represents is entirely out of whack, and that's nothing to do with you ofc.

For the second example, I'd try to find independent leathersmiths with which to partner to produce my own designs. I know some indie leathersmiths personally, and I'd really hope there's some in the US as well who are similarly creative, talented, and willing to collaborate with you to realise your designs. I really do respect that we just have different stances on this, and I do wish you all the best. I very seriously considered creating a clothing line myself a few years ago, so I really do respect this is not an omelette you can make without breaking eggs, I just get very sensitive about stuff like this in an entirely personal way that can seem irrational tbh haha

"Omg, I love these! They go up to size 6X AND they have pockets?! Wow!! But do you have anything longer?" Sure do, no problem!!

"YES these are great!!! But what about.. longer?" I gotcha!! Comin' right up!

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about! But... how about if I'm feeling like it's the kinda day where I need my clothing to be bifurcated???" Never fear, joggers are here!

*wild cheering* /scene

🖤witchvamp.com🖤 ⁽ᴾˢ: ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˢᵉᵉᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵖʳᵉᵒʳᵈᵉʳˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ⁾

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kxsagi · 3 days ago

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Can I request BLLK characters with a flirty and friendly reader? It’s like they are approachable and very playful with friends (both genders) and have a way with words, but they’re all platonic and they do draw boundaries when needed.

Thank you very much!

“𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬”

a/n: yw!! though i'm guessing reader views the boys in a platonic way? either way, i'm sure they find your duality very attractive!

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

isagi yoichi

isagi was so confused at first.

like you casually told a barista “thanks, handsome” and he stood there blinking like “what does this mean. are we in competition.”

but you just… talk like that to everyone?

once he realized you’re not trying to make anyone fall in love, he relaxed.

but that didn’t stop him from getting jealous silently.

like you’d jokingly say “oh my gosh marry me” to reo because he paid for your drink and isagi would just lean in like, “you want to talk about that?” “talk about what?” “you proposing to other people.”

please. you call him “lover boy” and ruffle his hair like you’re a boy band manager.

and he acts like he doesn’t love it but that man eats it up.

secretly loves when you say flirty things but then go “ew no, not you” to everyone else that tries to talk the same way.

itoshi rin

the walking semi-green flag with rage issues.

he did not get your vibe at first.

your friendliness? your compliments?? the way you giggled with shidou over a dumb joke???

he absolutely thought you were the type who led people on and dipped.

until you cut someone off with the most polite “hey, i’m just friendly, not interested, okay?”

rin just stood there, stunned.

you flirt like a well-read poet, and you mean none of it.

and now? oh he’s obsessed.

you tell him “damn, you look good enough to ruin my life today” and he doesn’t even blink. “then do it.” “oh please. i have taste.”

he smirks. not because you rejected him, but because you still chose him.

watches you charm a whole room and then lean on his shoulder. yeah. this is peak romance for him.

mikage reo

lives for the drama.

you’re his bestie and his fake girlfriend depending on the context.

he encourages your flirtiness.

“yeah, yeah, call him sweetheart, make him trip over his words.”

he loves that you’re so charismatic, but what really got him was how you keep boundaries like a pro.

like the moment someone takes it too far, you give them that smile like: “i’m here for fun, not for you, sit down.”

and reo claps like a proud stage mom. “your honor, that’s my platonic soulmate.”

you guys flirt with each other all the time but there’s zero tension. “damn, reo, if you weren’t rich and hot, i’d still use you for your credit card.” “and i’d let you, sugarplum.”

sometimes people ask if you’re dating and you’re both like “ew.”

kaiser michael

“so you flirt with everyone?” “no. just people who won’t fall in love with me.” “... you sure about that?”

at first, he thought you were fake. that your friendliness was a mask or manipulation.

but the longer he watched, the more he realized: you’re just like that.

the type who can compliment someone’s cologne and follow it up with a “now scoot, i got better things to do.”

and he finds it hilarious.

sometimes tries to bait you. “so you think i’m charming?” “in a used car salesman kind of way.”

he definitely tries to flirt harder just to see if he can make you fold.

but jokes on him – you flirted with a security guard to skip a line last week, you fear no man.

still, you never cross lines, and he respects that more than he lets on.

shidou ryusei

ah. yes. his first words to you were probably: “you got a mouth on you, huh?” and you were like “don’t talk about my mouth unless you can handle it.”

instant friendship.

you both flirt for fun. he’s unhinged. you’re smooth. it works.

the only difference is you know when to stop.

he once said something wildly inappropriate to you in public and you hit him with that “shidou. line. crossed.”

he was lowkey stunned. “what? but i thought–” “i flirt. not entertain.”

he’s weirdly respectful of that boundary now. “yo this is my bestie, she’ll call you ‘lover’ then ignore your texts for a week.”

if anyone tries to hit on you too seriously, shidou will bark. like actually.

you two are menace duo certified.

karasu tabito

you two bounce off each other like comedians.

your banter is immaculate.

he flirts, you flirt back, but it’s like a roast battle with sexual tension that doesn’t exist.

“damn, you always dress like you have a date with bad decisions.” “i was hoping you'd be one of them.”

everyone thinks y’all are dating. you're not. you just have mental illness chemistry.

but karasu sees how smooth you are with other people too, and he’s always impressed with how you de-escalate situations.

like someone tries to flirt for real and you handle it like a seasoned bartender.

and karasu’s in the background going “get ‘em, tiger.”

sometimes he lies and tells people he’s your ex just to see their reactions.

you lie back and say he cried when you broke up.

best duo.

nagi seishiro

doesn’t get it at all.

you called him “baby” once and he choked on his chips. “are you flirting?” “nah.” “so why say that?” “because you looked cute eating.” “... oh.”

but he likes it?? he thinks it’s funny??

people try to warn him like “dude she flirts with everyone” and he’s like “yeah it’s nice.”

you’re the first person who talks a lot that he’s not annoyed by.

and you always defend him in public.

someone calls him lazy? you’re like “don’t talk about my man like that. platonically.”

you once said “he’s my son, my sugar baby, and my unpaid intern.”

he calls you “girl boss” now.

he’s proud of you for shutting people down politely, but firmly.

if anyone ever got too bold with you, he’d just walk up and nap on your shoulder. possessively.

itoshi sae

you thought he hated you.

he thought you were exhausting.

but then he saw how strategic you are about your friendliness.

like, you’ll flirt with someone just to get better customer service, but the moment they think they can touch your waist, you’re ice cold.

and sae was like oh. she’s not a flirt. she’s a tactician.

now? he calls you “con artist.”

you would say “you’re just mad i’m prettier than you.” sae would respond with “delusional. and manipulative. i like it.”

he’s not the jealous type, but he is observant.

watches your every move when you’re out.

not because he doesn’t trust you, he just wants to see how many people fall for you when you’re not even trying.

occasionally throws in a dry “you done seducing the world?” you grin. “not yet. wanna help?” he rolls his eyes but follows you anyway.

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hopesangelsprite · 3 days ago

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The Perfect Gentleman

Pairing: Yandere!Upperclassman x Reader

Synopsis: He's intelligent, kind, responsible, trustworthy, and respectful; the epitome of the perfect gentlemen. But behind closed doors...

Warnings: Dub-con/Non-con, Stalking, Manipulation, Manhandling, Fake Sympathy, Restraints/Gagging, Eating Through Panties, Premature Ejaculation, Female Ejaculation, Creampie, Breathplay/Choking, Dacryphilia, Language, Pure Filth, etc.

MINORS/AGELESS ACC DNI

Viewer discretion is advised.

Thinking about perfect Upperclassmen!Yandere who's obsessed with you from the moment he lays eyes on you. He's immediately enraptured with your beauty and innocence; how bright and radiant you are apart from everyone else on campus. His heart skips a few beats whenever you're in the same room and he nearly fumbles over his words the first time you speak to him. You're magnificent in his eyes, like the sun in human form.

At first, he tries to ignore the obsession that slowly builds, pushing away the allure of your existence. He chooses to speak to you less and less when you're around him, purposefully making himself busier than usual so as not to come off as avoidant. He'd hate himself if you found out, if his weakness pushed you away.

It doesn't take long before he's exhausted all efforts and resources meant to distance himself from you. It's almost inevitable, the entanglement he finds himself trapped in. So, he completely stops avoiding you, going as far as to call out your name whenever you're in the same space. Soon, the two of you have built this odd, quirky relationship full of lighthearted humor and concealed interests that drives him deeper and deeper into madness. You're magnetic, an enigma he desperately needs to figure out... but so is he.

Gradually, he finds himself drawn more to you, using his charm to capture your attention while remaining mysterious himself. He gives you just enough attention to leave you wondering but never sure of his intentions, leave you wanting more. On the outside, he's calm and collected, his image clean cut and pristine. But on the inside... he's losing his mind.

Every thought of his is occupied solely by you. From the pretty pink of your lips to the cadence of your speech; everything about you makes his cock swell and his balls fatten up. Night after night he finds himself gasping for air, hand working up and down his stiff length at the thought of you writhing underneath him, crying his name. He cums buckets when imagines you begging for mercy as he pins you, as he forces you to take every single inch he gives you. He knows it's wrong, that if anyone knew about his filthy fantasies he'd be ruined. But he just can't shake the dark desire that consumes him day by day.

It becomes evident in the way your interactions change. His language gets progressively more flirtatious, and his eyes lingering longer than usual. He becomes more aggressive playful when you two meet, his need to subjugate you pushing him to tease you more violently than he typically would. The tension builds and wells within him until it snaps one evening after he sees you giggling with another upperclassman.

The rage that fills him makes him physically ill, it burns in the pit of his stomach. Disgust gnaws at his insides as he watches the guy draw closer, eyes bright and smile brighter. He hates the way his fingertips linger when the both of you shake hands, the way you look so comfortable around him. It doesn't make it any better that he knows what kind of guy he is, and that he knows he'd gladly take advantage of you if he could. The only man who will ever be allowed to take advantage of you is him.

So, once your conversation's ended, he puts on a kind eyed smile and sidles up to you bashfully. It doesn't take long for you to let your guard down, to get you to agree to a study date with him. As the two of you part ways, you don't notice the way his lips lift into a smirk before settling into a soft smile. You don't feel the darkness in his eyes as he watches your figure retreat, knowing all too well what he has in store for you.

When you do finally meet for his proposed study session, it's much later than the time you'd agreed upon. You would have canceled altogether had he not sent you an apologetic text explaining how his roommate had desperately needed his assistance just as he was preparing to leave his dorm. He finally shows up as the clock strikes 11:30 p.m., hair disheveled and backpack hanging off his shoulders haphazardly as if he's jogged across campus to get to you. He offers you a gentle grin and another apology before the two of you enter the library while chitchatting about its convenient 24-hour policy and the work you plan on getting done.

The night winds on, the two of you conversing in a tucked away study room between periods of silence as you finish assignments, and soon its nearing 3:00 a.m. You thank him for the invitation, preparing to head out as the night draws on. But when you stand and pull the study room door open his hand shoots out above your head and shuts it before it can fully open. Dozens of questions and scenarios begin clouding your mind as you stand stock still in confusion. Why had he closed the door? When had he gotten so close behind you? Why was everything suddenly so quiet? What was this intense sense of dread growing within you?

Your train of thought is broken by him slowly lowering his hand to turn the lock on the doors handle, essentially trapping the both of you inside the space that suddenly seems much too small now. Every hair on the back of your neck is standing to attention now, your brain screaming at you to get away as fast as you can. But you ignore that feeling, turning to face him with a nervous smile and giggle. "What's that about, huh? Wanted me to hang around a little longer?", you tease though you are most definitely not in a witty mood.

A small smile etches its way onto his handsome features, almost sad in a way, before he finally speaks. " 'M sorry, princess.", he breathes out and just as you're about to ask him what for he flicks the light switch behind you and the room goes dark.

You inhale to scream for help only for it to be cut short by his hand wrapping around your throat and squeezing hard. Tears gather in your eyes as you fight for a single breath of air, desperately trying to push and pull away from him. "I suggest you keep quiet and play nice.". he whispers in the darkness, "You wouldn't want me to do something we'd both regret, would you?". A strangled whimper escapes your chest, and you stop fighting him. He lets up upon your compliance and you inhale raggedly with a fit of coughs. Before you can fully regain the oxygen you'd been deprived of and adjust your eyes to the dark, your lifted and practically thrown on table behind the two of you.

Your landing isn't a hard one but it startles you all the same. When you try to sit up a large hand comes down on your front to pin you in place. In the black of the room, you can just barely make out his silhouette shifting above you and your ears register the sounds of rustling fabric. The tears that had welled in your eyes start to fall as the weight of the situation finally sinks into you. You've been tricked, set up, and now you're about to be taken advantage of by someone you look up to.

"Y-you don't have to do t-this...", you weakly plead with him between sobs as he binds your hands together with what you assume to be his necktie, "I won't tell anyone, I pr-promise.". He groans at your words, cursing under his breath as he forces your legs apart wide enough for him to fit in between them. "Don't be like that, baby. I don't even want to do this but-", his breath hitches as he pushes your dress up to bunch underneath your chest, "I can't help it. You've made me into this. . . this monster, and I need to handle this before I do something far worse.".

You sobs grow more sorrowful as his body arches over your own, his mouth now placing gentle kisses down the expanse of your belly. Though you're frightened out of your mind and shaking like a leaf, you can't ignore the shiver that creeps down your spine when you finally feel a puff of warm air against your clothed mound. You just barely make out the quiet sigh of 'forgive me' before his mouth is on you, lavishing you with long opened mouthed kisses. Though you fight it it's not long before your cries become pitiful moans.

Soon, your panties are soaked from both his saliva and your steadily flowing slick. Everything about this situation is wrong. The context, the place, the time. You were just helping each other write papers on the same table you were being violated on, but you don't scream for help or beg to be released. You writhe in pleasure as every drag of his tongue against your slit leaves you breathless and pulls the tightening knot in your stomach closer to snapping. A deep, muffled groan reverberates through your assailant's chest, the vibrations causing your mind to fog and your little bud to pulse against his tongue. He's quick to lock onto the sensation, suckling harder at you while holding you in place. Your moans grow in volume as your high creeps nearer, peaking when come undone after a particularly lewd slurp. You tremble violently as he feasts on you well past your orgasm, only letting up when you tug at his hair.

You make out his figure rising in the darkness and the hand on your front lifts to wipe at his mouth. "You're just as sweet as I thought you'd be, but I'm far from satisfied.", he hums breathlessly and you feel him raise your hips before pulling your underwear down your legs, "Gonna need you extra quiet for what comes next.". He leaves you no room to appeal to him or ask questions as he stuffs your panties into your own mouth, effectively gagging you. While you attempt to spit them out, the taste of you unfamiliar on your tongue, he spreads your legs further. The sound of a zipper and what you're absolutely sure is his pants falling to the ground causes you to freeze in anticipation. "Just breath through your nose and relax, princess, I've got you.", he comforts you as if he's not assaulting you in a library.

Still, you obey.

As you inhale, something hot and hard finds your entrance and begins to slip inside of you. The tears from earlier return at the big stretch that seems as if it'll tear you in two even though it's just begun. Judging by the sound of the ragged and shallow breathing above you, he's not doing all too well either. "Fuck!", he hisses as his hips roll forward to fill you more, "You're so w-warm and wet and perfect.". You sniffle and whimper at his words, your walls contracting suddenly at his compliments, and you hear him moan a soft 'no' before a new kind of warmth fills you. It's hot and thick, his cum painting your walls and overflowing as his hips buck to bottom out completely. Your attacker buries his head in the crook of your neck in shame, body still trembling from his sudden release.

This gives you time to adjust to his intrusion, and soon what was painful becomes unbearably sweet to your senses. He's big, big enough to nestle against your cervix and your g-spot simultaneously and he only gets bigger the more you flutter around his length. Slowly, his pelvis retreats from yours and reconnects as he begins to set a pace far too intimate for the current situation. You make no arguments, though, the ability to make coherent and rational thoughts becoming more and more difficult with each thrust.

Your moans mix as he fucks both of you into oblivion, your broken minds set on cumming again, and he uses his grip on the backs of your knees to fold you into a mean mating press. "I'm- ah- so sorry, please don't be- oh fuck- mad at me.", he whimpers and whines into your neck and you feel yourself grow impossibly wetter, "Please, please, please.". As he begs, his pace increases drastically. The sound of wet squelching and flesh slapping against flesh fills the room along with the heady scent of sex and you wonder if the buildings few patrons can hear you for all of two seconds before a hand stealthily placed between you begins to toy with your abused, pulsating clit.

"No, no more, too much!", you try to sob out around your gag as your orgasm builds at an unprecedented speed, but you quickly find out he's too far gone to care. A sudden pressure in your lower belly blooms followed by tickling sensation in your bud and you come hard. Your arousal pours from you in short streams, soaking the table and your bare lower halves before dripping onto the floor. Another long whine escapes the man above you as he rises partially to lightly squeeze the column of your neck with his free hand. "Yeah, that's right.", he moans whorishly, "That's my good girl. Keep coming for me, princess.".

And you do.

The overstimulation washes over you like a wave, every nerve in your body wrecked and tingling as if you were being electrocuted. You continue to squirt with each well angled thrust and tears fall from your eyes like a flood. "Shh, shh, shh. It's okay baby, I'm so close.", he soothes you as his thrust grow sloppier, "I'm s-so close.". As another orgasm rattles your core, you reach up with your clasped hands to pull his forehead onto yours, managing to choke out a semi-coherent 'cum for me' as they touch. Your cunt is dealt a few more quick thrusts before your insides are once again flooded with him.

Several minutes pass before either of you even begin coming down and when he finally does it'd before you do. You stop yourself from chasing his warmth when he pulls out. He gingerly begins to clean you up with the complimentary tissues that'd been jostled from the table when he'd pinned you, apologizing profusely all the while. After the stars disappear from your vision and you catch your breath enough to spit out your panties, you sit up and pull him with you by his hair. He lets out a sharp gasp before you snatch him into a deep kiss, bound hands now draping softly across his shoulders. You pull away after a moment with a shallow sigh and your lips graze his when you speak. "Don't be sorry.", you purr as he nips at your lower lip and drags you closer instinctively.

"Be ready to do it all again tomorrow.".

◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

HxH: CHROLLO, ILLUMI, Pariston, Leorio, Kurapika

JJK: GETO, GOJO, YUUTA, Naoya, Noritoshi, Nanami, Choso

Solo Leveling: JINWOO, JONG-IN, TAESHIK

Demon Slayer: Obanai, Rengoku, Tengen, GIYUU

LADS: CALEB, Rafayel, Sylus

Apothecary Diaries: Basen, Young Former Emperor, Lihaku, Lahan

YOUR FAVE

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writer-freak · 1 day ago

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♥ Romance SFW and NSFW Headcanons

A/n: And I now also have Romance headcanons ready like I'm on a roll(actually I just started with the guys I thought were the easiest to write). You can definitely expect more Kpop Demon Hunters content but I think I'm gonna work on some requests first lmao. (But if someone wants to feed my ask box with Kpdh requests I wouldn't be opposed)

He will write you love letters. Sweet little handwritten notes tucked into your bag, your coat pocket, your nightstand. “To the light of my life, please remember to drink water today. I love you madly.” quite a few of them probably have a kiss mark from him on them.

You mention liking a flower once? He brings a bouquet of it to your door and says something like “These were the prettiest ones they had… but still not even close to your beauty.” You try to roll your eyes, but your cheeks are actually heating up.

He’s so good at reading you. Doesn’t matter how much you try to hide it, he’ll be at your side with a soft, “You okay, my love?” and arms open for a long hug before you can say a word.

Again another clingy man but he#s never overwhelming, just… always there. A hand on the small of your back, forehead kisses, lying on your chest and humming softly.

He loves having his hair played with and will absolutely melt if you braid it, brush it, or just stroke it while he rests in your lap.

He likes going all out for dates with you

Think candlelit rooftop dinners, soft music, and fairy lights.

You’re like, “You really didn’t have to do all this.” And he just looks at you, utterly serious: “But my darling… you exist. That demands celebration.”

He will dramatically fall into your arms at the end of the day like, “I worked hard, and now I need cuddles.”

You scoff, but you always indulge him. He rewards you with soft kisses up your neck and sleepy romantic murmurs

He sings you to sleep (Yes, Really)

Softly hums while holding you at night, especially if you’re stressed. Sometimes it’s a lullaby in Korean, sometimes it’s whatever pop song’s been stuck in his head, but always sweet, always close to your ear.

If you fall asleep first, he kisses your forehead and whispers, “Goodnight, my heart.”

NSFW

I think he does more poetic dirty talk

He will whisper things like, “You are divine… like something dreamt up just to drive me wild.” while trailing kisses down your neck.

Then suddenly shift into a lower tone: “And you entirely belong to me.”

He’s flirty, thinks nothing of whispering in your ear in public, brushing your thigh under the table, or leaning close to say, “Careful, my love. Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have to carry you home early.”

Loves when you’re on top (in every way)

I like to believe that he would just worship you. You ride him and he adores it, hands gripping your thighs like he’s in church and you’re the altar. “You look like heaven above me” he moans, breathless and wide-eyed.

Marks You Subtly but also clearly

Nothing too aggressive just the ghost of teeth at your shoulder, a hickey just beneath your collar. “So everyone knows someone treasures you properly.”

Also one obsessed with you wearing his stuff. “You look better in it than I ever could, babe.”

Cuddly, and talkative Aftercare

Once you're both calmed down satisfied sighs escaping you

He wraps around you, pulls the blanket up, and strokes your skin like you’re precious porcelain. Whispers compliments into your shoulder “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. But I’d still choose you every time.”

Divider by: @hyuneskkami

#saja boys x reader #saja boys #the saja boys #kdh #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh x reader #kdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja boys smut #kpdh #k pop demon hunters #saja boys kpop demon hunters #saja boys kpdh #romance x reader #Kpdh romance #khd romance #kpdh romance x reader #saja boys romance #Saja boys Romance x reader

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taeeflwrr · 1 day ago

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oh my god was this a rollercoaster of emotions #bringbackangst #imafeministdespiteallthethoughtsthatthisficmademeentertain #forgivemesinceitwashyuck

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.

#it started of as girl you sound so desperate #and then i was like omg this was hyuck #so i was like omg all could be forgiven if its hyuck #seriously lost so much self respect there idk what happened i blacked out #i was just like if it was hyuck then i get it me too twin #but then i was having moments of conciousness where i was i hate men men are the worst they're evil to remind myself of the plot #literally if it was any other guy and irl i would never omg i would kms if i ever got into this #but lowkey i understand yn because they're childhood besties so she doesnt know herself without him which is why im scared of relationships #but it gets to a point #and then i was starting to feel some hope with hyuck i mean he's hyuck and he's hot asf so i was like its ok baby we can make this work #but then LIA???????? omg plot fucking twist literally threw my phone away because i couldn't believe it #poor yn #fuck hyuck fuck lia fuck yeji #lia is pure fucking evil fuck her omg that is so fucking twisted i thought she was so innocent and supportive #actually i did notice the “the boy we both knew and loved” and thought it was a lil sus but whatever I WAS RIGHT💔💔💔#i literally kept taking pinterest breaks and looking at hyuck to remind myself that this is the reason this is happening #and i was like it only makes sense me too #but then i had to lock in and think of what i actually believe in😭😭😭😭#“I’ll give you everything #“Absolutely everything. As long as you don’t regret this. Don’t regret me.”#this was genuinely insane i was shocked at the audacity but i was also like omg yes hyuck youre it for me bae #but this angst was so good havent read such angsty angst in so long the high i got from this was crazy #lowkey im really sad now because why was i ready to give myself up like that for a man💔💔💔 but its hyuckie🥹🐻🌻#the writing was so good idk why i expected it to be a happy ending so the twist was that much more brutal but im glad they didnt get back #at least not yet yn deserves better than all these friends especially lia fuck her #hope she moves to a new city and finds herself and happiness and hope hyuck is regretful and remorseful but fixes himself or something #hope lia suffers though and rots hope her pillow is always warm and her hair falls out or something idk but she's genuinely the evilest #like yes hyuck cheated and that's bad but on your bsf and she consoled you knowing that oh god id crash out #i could genuinely feel that out of body panic attack at the end poor yn idk how id function after that bc she's so dependent on hc #and now she's finding out all 3 of them betrayed her like that and ON HER BIRTHDAY OMG JUST REMEMEBERED

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booksandteaandtears · 2 days ago

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A proposal

Michael 'Dr. Robby' Robinavitch x f!prosecutor!reader

summary: after two years together you are ready to call Robby your husband, but he's not acting on your hints

A short, slightly angsty, but mostly fluffy one

masterlist

Robby had noticed you'd been off the last few days. Work had been quiet for you for a couple of weeks, so you'd been able to spend a lot of time together. You'd gone on some nice dates, eating at fancy restaurants, going for hikes.

Robby knew your work was going to pick back up the day after and he wanted to confront it, to figure out what was going on.

You were sat on the couch, reading some report when he sat down next to you, looking anxious. You raised your eyebrows at him. "Something the matter, Michael?" He scratched his throat. "Did you enjoy yourself this week?" "Yes." You answered. He thought your answer was too short to be very truthful.

"Are you angry with me?" You looked up at him. He looked at you expectantly. You put the report down on the coffee table and forced yourself to sit more upright on the couch.

"I am, as a matter of fact. Don't get me wrong, I loved the dates, they were perfect. But I expected something this week, Michael, and you haven't so much as given a hint about it."

Robby looked confused. "I don't understand, what did you expect?"

You sighed. "Are you really that dense?" The confusion hadn't left Robby. "That hike we took, remember how I described that a couple months ago?"

Robby scratched his beard. "You said the view at the top would be an ideal proposal spot." "Yes!" You gasped at him.

Robby could not look more confused if he tried.

"What are you saying, did you expect I would..." You threw your hands in the air. "I thought you would propose! I've had this day marked in my calendar since we planned it, I even got my nails done for it. I've been hinting for months."

Robby seemed to have stopped listening after you said the word propose. "You want to get married? To me?"

"Jesus christ, Robby! Of course I want to get married to you. I told you when we first started dating that I'd like to get married some day. It's been two years since then. We've bought a house together. I've been talking about my dream engagement ring for the past three months."

Robby blinked at you. "I thought that was just hypothetical thing?"

"Oh my god. Michael. I sent you a link. I gave you my ring size. I even sent it to Dana and Abbot as well, in case you forgot or something."

"So that's why they were asking me if I bought "it" yet. I couldn't figure out what they meant."

You laughed at him. "You may be a very smart and accomplished doctor, but if I didn't know better I'd say you were really dumb."

He laughed with you and pulled you closer to him on the couch.

"So," he whispered, kissing you, "You want to get married?"

You held his chin in your hand. "Desperately. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to call you my husband. I want to grow old with you. I'd spend every minute of every day with you if I could."

He kissed you again and pressed his head against yours.

"Will you marry me? Will you please be my wife and make me the happiest man alive for the rest of our days? Even if I am a little stupid and unaware sometimes? Even if it's a proposal without a ring?"

You couldn't stop smiling. "Yes. Yes! I will!" You kissed him again.

When you came up for air his grin matched yours. "I will marry you," you told him, "But you will have to get me my ring, because I consulted all my colleagues on which one was the prettiest and I am terrified to show up without one when I've been hyping it up for weeks."

He smiled at you, wondering if he could ever feel happier than in that moment. "I better get you a ring, because Dana will kill me if she hears how I handled this."

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch #dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #the pitt imagine #the pitt fic #noah wyle #the pitt hbo #dr robby imagine #dr robby fanfiction #michael robinavitch x reader #doctor robby #doctor robby x reader #doctor robby x you

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aquasoftware · 2 days ago

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Prince Nanami—(Screwed royally.) ♛

FT | Kento Nanami ༝ fem!Reader. | Drabble (0.6K)

Cw | MDNI 18+ Prince albert piercing, overstím, slight sīze k!nk, vírgín! Reader, soft dóm! Kentoノsub! Reader, praísè, possessiveness if you squint, & reader is wearing an anklet.

Desc | Boring? A square? That’s what your bestfriend made you believe ➜ until Kento’s silver secret had you folded in half, begging for mercy. ❤︎ | ML.

Seeing your boyfriend like this already felt like some sort of forbidden taboo–abs consistently dripping with sweat, face flushed a delicate pink, possibly one ballerinas wore on their slippers, along with his head thrown back like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

He completely tainted the image you had of him before–assuming he was a full on square.

A boring office job, no real hobbies outside of work, and a sense of humor that’d make your brain cells shrivel up within an instant.

Not that there was anything necessarily bad about squares, they typically brought peace anyway, but you were so wrong, especially learning Kento was nothing like what you originally thought.

I mean, what square would have a prince albert piercing punching every single sensitive spot not even you could find on your own?

Every thrust sent it dragging just right against your velvet walls—like it knew your body better than you ever could.

“K–kento, ohhh my goddd…”

You cried out with urgency, your arched back ascending off of the king-sized mattress as your forearm is glued shut against your face.

“Pleaseee, slow down, fuckfuckfuck.”

And how was he supposed to adhere to those sweet pleas when your cunt wrapped around him so snug?

His length was pistoning into you, so fast it was like he desperately wanted to win something, maybe an Olympic race along with a shiny medal.

“Thought you needed it faster, hm?” He frowned, repeating your request from earlier to speed up.

“Please, please, please I can’t…” You harshly bit your lip–it nearly bled in hopes it'd console you from the overwhelming amount of bliss he was providing you.

“It’s okay m'love I got you, I'll go as slow as you need.” He cooed, his baritone voice laced in pure silk.

His smile brimmed rich of mischievousness, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he pressed a wet kiss to your jeweled ankle–briefly admiring his initial in dark gold.

You clutched the damp white sheets as hard as you could, praying this was enough to prepare you for this strenuous girth, soon to bully your poor pussy.

Kento quickly brushed aside the moist blond hair on his forehead, as if that'd distract him from properly angling himself inside you.

Gripping the plush of your calves resting over his broad shoulders, his strokes became a cruel snail-pace, his piercing dragged maddeningly against that a-spot again—making you jolt like you just got electrified.

You weren’t even sure what lottery lever you pulled to land on this, for your first time, but you weren't complaining.

In fact, your mewls grew guttural until they formed a silent ‘o’ shape, each deliberate roll of his hips forcing your swollen clit to kiss the cream collecting at the sandy blond hairs prickling the base—until your body seized.

You gushed around him uncontrollably, the orgasm rippling from your core like a snapped powerline–near violent the way your thighs quivered against his chest.

Your calves twitched in his grasp as you clawed blindly at the muscles on his stomach, red welts blooming beneath your nails—his groan slithering out low and primal.

Tears rushed down your flaming cheeks, puffy eyes squeezing shut from the crashing aftershocks of release.

“Don't even have, hah… The decency to warn me,” Kento scolded, shaking his head as if he were disappointed.

His thrusts faltered as your tight walls milked him in rhythmic pulses.

“It’s okay, princess,” he panted, burying himself to the hilt with a shaky breath. “I’ll make sure I fuck the words back into you this time.”

And when his teasing silver metal ball knocked against that spot again, your legs feebly kicked—another broken cry rising in your chest from being ruined by yet another orgasm, body too dazed to tell if it was your second or your seventh.

Either way, your borderline-animalistic pussy spasmed in anticipation, already aching for whatever came next—ready to cling to his arms the next morning when your wobbly legs refused to work.

Divider/Boarders produced by enchanthings & dollywons

Song written by Koi'lani/@aquasoftware.

‹3 Masterlist!! | more nanami smut?

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU ‹3

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pearlfull · 17 hours ago

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party on u ( part of u knew )

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: 〝 You know that I've been waiting for you. 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Heavily inspired by Charli XCX and the devastating edits to this song lol. Dick's is the most literal interpretation of the song. Jason's weird. I love Tim Drake. Yearning bro. I'm taking requests + commissions! More details on that soon. Help a college girl save for car repairs<3

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

IT WAS SOMETHING UNSPOKEN YET PRESENT. You weren’t just friends. But you didn't call it love either.

It started with shared takeout food.

Shaky laughter while pinning you on the ground during training. Late night text messages. Sleepless nights spent on the same couch. Dick's hand laced yours in the dark, and he tried to match your breath's rhythm as you fell asleep on his chest, fingers curling into your sleep shirt.

Eventually, there were white tulips he brought after work and Bruce was asking about you.

He was always careful with you.

Because he'd done the song and routine before. Been left with the kind of bruises in places you couldn't see.

There were nights when he'd leave before you woke. He'd left you coffee on your nightstand like it was a consolation prize. And you let him. Let him stay his welcome way too long, and then let him disappear for a couple days. Maybe it was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

wonderboy i didn’t want to miss you tonight i already do when you’re still in the room

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not out of anger, not resentment. Still. It was on purpose. On both ends.

You'd stop asking if he wanted you to pick up candy for him at the grocery store and he had stopped asking when he could see you again. Maybe he had thought if he pulled away it would go away.

The invitation felt like a test. An unspoken, come if you still care. Or come so I know you haven't stopped.

It's his birthday, and silver balloons litter the hallway, and Donna laughter is already ringing through as you step in, and Roy's throwing gummy bears into Wally's glass.

You're wearing something that made you feel braver than you were, black fabric clinging to your hips--looking through the crowd with a tight chest.

His grin was the center of the room. His bright blue eyes found yours, and he didn't come over. His pupils were blown.

Kept staring, almost comically. Wondering if whether he still had the right to do that, even though he'd invited you. And you came. And he had worn that cologne you'd mentioned you'd loved, and even had tried to make his hair fall nicely. He kind of felt like a thirteen year old boy getting ready for his first Sadie Hawkins dance. It was wracking to feel like that again.

But maybe he was remembering just how much he'd hurt you by staying so close and never choosing.

You crossed the room slowly. Talked to Donna, and let Roy grab you a drink.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Dick's balcony's always been cold. Maybe he'd overstepped by draping his jacket over your pretty shoulders.

(But neither of you cared, and the lining was so nice!)

“I didn’t think you’d ask.” Your voice doesn't come out quiet, and you're surprised by its steadiness.

Dick looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if I deserved to.”

Your smile was glossy, close lipped. “You don’t get to disappear and then expect me to ask you to show up. It's mean.”

“I know.” A beat. “Uh, when I was halfway, I could pretend I wasn’t scared.”

“Were you?”

“Terrified.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know that seems like such a shitty cop out. The whole, commitment phobe thing. But I still wanted you to come tonight.” Dick stopped. Cracked his knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't believe in love that waits.”

Dick's brows are knit closely. “I know.”

“I'm not gonna be waiting.”

“I don’t want you to. I'll meet you where you are. Sorry I didn’t sooner.”

His breath clouds in the air. His voice cracks as he adds, “I get why you stopped asking.”

“Didn’t want to keep asking for something that wasn't fully ours.”

“That’s on me.”

“You were scared?”

“Still kinda am.”

He shifts beside you, steps closer. Adjusts his jacket, so the collar doesn't look rumpled. Dick's fingers brush the side of your throat.

Inside, he doesn't reach for your hand. Just walks close. As close as you'll let him. Close enough that it’s obvious.

You walk back to your car. Your phone lights up.

wonderboy thanks for coming beautiful you didn’t have to

you don’t thank me happy birthday 💙

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

JASON IS ALWAYS AROUND. Your brother's second shadow. Not because they're attached at the hip. Roy is one of the few people that lets him stand beside him without flinching.

Initially, he barely acknowledges you.

He'll grunt a greeting when you grab a glass of juice, nods from across the kitchen. He always leaves his bike helmet on the counter tile like it's a centerpiece. It smells like gunpowder and iron, and you definitely think it says way more than he ever does with his mouth. Gun oil. Boots on the carpet. Pride and Prejudice folded in his back pocket.

You were studying journalism at university. Doing some stories. Freelance. An open notebook tucked under your arm. You asked questions too fast sometimes--half Harper nature--about everything, about nothing.

And Jason didn’t like it. Said so.

“Why do you talk to people like you’re digging for something?”

“Cause people lie.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

It was Roy’s fault! He left his phone out on the sofa. You didn’t care to look, but the cracked screen had some picture of you and Roy. Jason sent it.

jaybird when was this is she dating someone?

roy tf do you care lmao don’t be fucking weird

jaybird just asking.

roy that’s my sister.

jaybird shut up.

You noticed him staring more after that.

One time at breakfast, you spilled coffee on the edge of your sweater sleeve, cursing under your breath. You didn’t think he was even awake. Jason was slumped at the table over a bowl of cereal. His hoodie pulled up like he hadn’t slept at all. He passed you a paper towel before you even asked. Didn’t even look at you.

Later, your old press badge was pressed against the counter. It was lost for weeks. Bent but clean.

“You found this?” you turned to Roy, eyes glittering.

Roy rubbed his mouth. “Huh?”

Jason starts asking you things. Small things.

“Where’d that article of yours go? The vigilante case?”

“Sleep last night?”

He asked them like it didn't matter, like he didn't already know the answers. His fingers drummed while waiting for your replies, and he seems to drink in every single thing you say.

An interview that went south. A CEO with yellowed teeth called you doll. You bit your tongue till it stung.

Jason's in the garage, with a wrench.

“[Name], you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jay.”

“Don't lie.”

You set your leather bag on the hood of your car.

The wrench drops. “Wanna go hit something?”

You blinked. Slowly. "Sorry?”

“Gym. Pads. Gloves. I'll hold them for you.”

A smile stretches and he swears he feels like he's being lit from the inside. The way it's just for him. “Is that your version of like, a hug?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Roy didn’t pick up tonight. After a date that made your head ache, where the guy with a cheap haircut only spoke about himself, forgot his wallet, you stood outside alone. Cold.

Jason showed up instead.

His hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging in the air, from jogging, car parked across the street, his white streak a little matted. Green eyes scanned your face, and he grabbed the heels dangling from your fingers.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, and Jason took it mid slide too.

He held both all the way home in his lap as he drove.

You let him walk you to your building, and the air had seemed to have hit you harder this time. Jason still had your bag and heels, and the space between you seemed to buzz.

The stairwell was bright, and the front light hummed over your head. Your throat was tight as you croaked out a "Thank you", softly and every word you wanted to say seemed to taunt you as you realize you rather liked his green eyes, and the golden rings inside them.

He seemed to notice your observation, and his eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his lips lifting so slightly. So, you let your hand fall between you, barely. So his could brush against it. Fingertips, then your pinky hooked his.

He turned his hand, observing the way they fit. Held it tighter, tighter than you expected.

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

YOU'VE ALWAYS LIKED QUIET. Which is a good thing, because you have little else but that in a gas station working a graveyard shift. It's mostly peaceful. As peaceful Gotham can get. Little customers. No noise. Just you, and the fluorescents and the freezer that groans when it turns on.

Sometimes, you leave the counter to stand under the overhang light.

You see him for the first time at 3:24 AM.

The red and black suit. The insignia. A cowl that didn't cover his lips. Red Robin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lands on the roof like he belongs there. Kinda freakish.

He was gone before you could look again.

The second time he shows up, he taps on the bulletproof glass with a gloved knuckle and gestures to the vending machine near the left of the entrance.

"It ate my dollar," he says.

You blink. "For real?"

"Swear on the mask."

Pretty big swear. So, you open the door. He's taller than you thought he would be. And younger. Same age, or around from what you can make of him.

You slide an energy drink and a bag of chips across the counter. "Next time you save the city bird boy, ask for some change."

He laughs. And you hate how much you like the way his lips curve.

He comes back after that. Not every single night. Although, that'd be fun. But it wasn't enough for you to expect him.

He never buys anything from you. He leans against the counter and asks how your shift was, and you hand him a bottled water and piece of bubblegum. He asks about the books you read behind the register.

"Jane Eyre?" he'd asked with a raised brow. "Sort of a dramatic choice for a Tuesday."

"Says the guy in a bird costume."

He laughed again. Now you hated how familiar it sounded.

But you didn't think much of it. Not until the week Tim stops coming to class.

He was in your study group. Quiet. He had the most gorgeous smile you think you'd seen. All toothy and boyish, despite the dark circles shadowing underneath his eyes.

You liked him more than you meant to. Still do. You swore not to, because there was something about him that seemed like if you reached out, he'd disappear like smoke. And it was getting ridiculous. You'd worn a skirt to class and curled your hair and hoped he'd notice. Forming a crush on someone because he had asked you how your day was and always helped look for your pen underneath your seat during lecture. But he was always noticing things. Listening to you, and he said your name like it was a secret that you both shared.

When he misses study group, then class, then that dumb open mic night you invited him to, you tell yourself it's nothing.

But then Red Robin shows up that same night, again.

He's chipper. "Long night?"

You let the silence stretch, doodling on some scratch paper.

He tilts his head, rocking on his heels. "Have a bad shift?"

"No," you say slowly, "Just kinda missing someone."

The mask twitches. You don't notice.

He starts coming around regularly.

You talk. About stupid shit, important stuff. Your morals. His commentary on the mayor.

You mention how sometimes you wish had a different life. How you want to graduate university already.

He's quiet as he nods, locking eyes with you.

Then he says, “I think you’re doing way better than you think.”

That's not fair to you. Because that sounds like something Tim would tell you over text casually. It makes your stomach twist and you wonder if you're falling in love with a mask, a voice, because he reminds you of someone else.

And he doesn’t even know that.

Tim knows.

He talks to you at night with a different voice, he holds himself differently and pretends that he’s not the same guy who used to try to make jokes clumsily to make you laugh. He loves your laugh.

He watches you watch him and says nothing.

If he tells you, it’ll ruin the quiet connection you’ve built. The thing he keeps crawling back to when the city’s too heavy.

#dc #dc x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin x reader #batboys #batman x reader

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