#and two to decide to let it fall to pieces

[korrasera]

So, I read through those articles because my first thought was that jadeharleyinc was scrambling to find anything that might bolster their position and likely weren't being careful about it.

And I was right. It wasn't the slam dunk I was hoping for, but it turns out the cited articles demonstrate the same bias as the rest of the pro-AI crowd.

These are two opinion pieces from a single author. Before I get started, that's the first red flag. Opinion pieces by single authors are low on the credibility* ranking list. While this is presented as the opinion of the EFF and while I'm sure they stand behind their writers, this is someone's opinion rather than the opinion of a group or organization.

*means look at the footnotes section at the bottom of my post, for anyone unaware.

Let's get into it. In detail.

Article #1 [link]

There isn't much to the first piece, it's mostly just making the argument that the courts are incorrect in their interpretation of plagiarism, because the author interprets what AI models are doing as fair use.

The author isn't actually reporting on the court's opinion, they're explicitly siding with AI companies to say that what those companies are doing falls under fair use. No argument, no reasoning, just an assertion that you're supposed to read as fact. Meanwhile, they offer no criticism of AI and this doesn't elaborate on any of the warnings already raised.

An important point is this right here:

It's early in the case—the court was merely deciding if the plaintiffs had alleged enough to justify further proceedings—but it’s a dangerous precedent.

That's said in response to the court ruling in Anderson v Stability AI Ltd. that held that the law should continue to evaluate training models to make a reasoned determination as to whether or not they promote infringement given the model's ability to produce exact copies of copyrighted material.

Let me translate that for you, without the author's bias trying to manipulate your perceptions:

"It's dangerous for courts to try to ask if AI models might be infringing on people's copyrighted works. They should be left alone and not questioned as to whether or not they're engaging in plagiarism, no questions asked.

Why? Because it's dangerous. Why is it dangerous? Because I said so."

Does that seem like a neutral, unbiased position?

Does it seem like a good idea to argue companies who have been accused of plagiarism shouldn't be investigated?

If you suspect someone is committing a crime, like an actual crime that hurts people, what do you think when someone tells you that crime shouldn't be investigated? Does that sound like someone giving you some good advice?

So.

We've already got a clear example of bias. The author is in support of gen AI and isn't talking about any of the concerns people have already raised. They're arguing that we shouldn't investigate further.

All in all, sounds pretty suspicious already, but just wait. The second piece is even worse.

Article #2 [link]

The second piece demonstrates a much stronger bias. It's basically a propaganda piece that defends AI by painting it as a liberating, democratizing force that empowers people to create art and content. Here's an example of what I mean:

Generative AI tools like text and image generators are powerful engines of expression. Creating content—particularly images and videos—is time intensive. It frequently requires tools and skills that many internet users lack. Generative AI significantly expedites content creation and reduces the need for artistic ability and expensive photographic or video technology. This facilitates the creation of art that simply would not have existed and allows people to express themselves in ways they couldn’t without AI.

That's another way of saying the author believes that people who write prompts for AI are every bit as much artists as the artists those AI plagiarize from.

To be 100% clear, this is what pro-AI propaganda looks like.

Writing a prompt does not make you an artist. It means you're sitting at a machine that copies other people's art and produces something for you to benefit from.

Or, in other words:

It's a capitalist simulator. It lets you feel like you're profiting from your own work while you're actually exploiting the work of people whose labor you're stealing while you do nothing.

Particularly egregious is the way that the author cites gen AI as being of the same lineage as African American art forms that remix existing ideas, going so far as to even argue that gen AI will somehow act as a liberating force that frees black artists from copyright limitations.

All of which is, in a word, horseshit.

As gen AI expands, more artists will have more of their work stolen and will struggle even more to make a living through their artworks. A secondary market for AI driven art will emerge (and already has) to further profit from the work of the artists being stolen from.

There is a chance that this could lead to a significant loss of future artists as people are encouraged to seek other professions as making art becomes wholly unsustainable for the individual.

Let's pivot and look at the way the author criticizes AI:

Expanding copyright will not mitigate these harms, and we shouldn’t forfeit free speech and innovation to chase snake oil “solutions” that won’t work. We need solutions that address the roots of these problems, like inadequate protections for labor rights and personal privacy. Targeted, issue-specific policies are far more likely to succeed in resolving the problems society faces.

Oh, wait, that's not actually critical of AI. That's someone saying they're critical of AI while painting any attempt to regulate it as 'snake oil solutions'.

The author softballs the concerns about AI:

People 'worry' that these problems may exist, they aren't real existing issues.

These are real problems, but we have to carefully look for a solution, nothing we're doing now can help.

They cause harm to the environment! But also the pro-AI camp already think that the science proving it is made up, so it's a bit of a gimme.

These aren't real criticisms of AI, they're just framed that way to make it sound like the author is being fair and balanced. Look at what the author is actually saying and she's basically arguing that we can't try to regulate AI or else!

It's fearmongering meant to discourage you from wanting to see AI regulated in any way.

It's someone saying that we need to consider it in committee and never actually do anything about the problems. Because they don't see them as problems and would rather just delay any attempt to fix said problems.

And keep in mind, attempts to regulate AI haven't even started yet.

These people are already whining loudly about how any attempt to regulate AI is going to bring down doom on our heads. They're fearmongering about all of these issues to convince people to support them out of a kneejerk sense that danger! and Disney! = must defend gen AI!

That's not a defense of a useful and socially beneficial tool, that's corporate shills working hard to try to get in front of the regulation before it's even had a chance to regulate.

Conclusion

So, we all know Disney is the bad guy, right? Well, so is gen AI.

The people who are supporting aren't actually supporting artists or the community or society in general, they're just a new crop of corporate shills who are signing up with the next new company coming along to exploit us for profit.

Scratch the surface of their arguments and you'll see the bias and manipulation.

They're just trying to sell you on how great it will be to serve this New And Improved Dark Lord.

Pay no attention to that massive glowing eye sitting atop Barad-Dur.

That's just a sign that the Dark Lord cares about you!

Y'all take care now. Stay skeptical, don't let people sell you on propaganda.

---

Footnotes

*A quick aside on credibility. A single author writing an opinion is relatively low on the ranking list when it comes to credibility because it's one person giving you their opinion and it's very hard for one person to control for their own biases. That's one of the reasons we build larger and more resilient structures to share information, because it helps us correct for these problems and share accurate, reliable information with one another.

Take climate change science as a good example of this. The scientific research into climate change is published by teams, organizations, and entire fields of scientists who work to collaborate one another's research and reduce bias in the work. Because they come from many backgrounds and institutions, it also helps to counteract any bias that could be introduced by a profit motive. This process produces results that are highly credible.

By comparison, research on the health impacts of smoking released by Philip Morris aren't very credible. As a company that has a very strong profit motive that benefits from people using tobacco products, they have a strong motivation to release biased material that minimizes the harm caused by smoking. The only way it would be credible is if they released research that damningly confirmed the worst health outcomes of smoking.

And it turns out that they did that throughout the 20th century! And probably into the 21st! They buried any of their own material that demonstrated the harm that smoking did while also releasing fake data that suggested that it had health benefits.

You really, really don't need to be cheerleading Disney and Universal here. It honestly doesn't matter how much you dislike AI art — if the court rules in favor of the corporations, the implicit expansion of copyright law will do a million times more harm to the arts than fucking Midjourney ever could.

Like. There is no definition of copyright that does not permit AI training, but does permit fanworks. The latter is much more clearly derivative than the former. You do fanart? Fanfic? Disney's pointing a gun squarely at your head and you're cheering because it might hit the AI artists behind you too.

And beyond that, do you know what happens to AI generation if Disney/Universal win this? They aren't opposed to the technology in principle! They'll be able to use their exclusive rights to a vast corpus of art to make their own AI, for their own purposes. Who does this help? Companies who want to reduce employment costs and disenfranchise the working artist. Who does this hurt? Well, it hurts independent AI users. Congrats, your anxiety over commission prices is gone now, not that it was well-founded to begin with. It also hurts anyone who wants to make use of fair use doctrine forever, so I hope none of what you were selling was fanart of copyrighted characters.

I've never made a secret of being rather more open to generative AI as a technology than most people in these online spheres. But for fuck's sake, you really don't need to like AI to realize that this lawsuit's success would be a terrible thing to happen to art! If you've found yourself on the same side as Disney, that should be a clue that you might wanna review your thinking!

[foxtrology]

hi alana! i’ve been obsessed with the harry castillo series since you posted it, and i had this thought i can’t get out of my head...after watching that one materialists scene...

what if adella finds out about harry’s height surgery?? like maybe she notices the scars or overhears something, and she’s just confused because to her he’s always been this big, warm, soft giant of a dad?? 😭 i’d love to see her reaction and how harry explains it to her, especially since he probably still carries some old insecurity about it. and of course reader being gentle and grounding him after. idk i just think it’d be so tender and emotional and sweet 🥺

thanks for giving us this beautiful little family!! <3 — a very emotionally invested reader lol

dad!harry castillo

sweet sweet baby masterlist

CONTAINS MATERIALISTS SPOILERS!

─────

The couch was an old one.

Not old as in falling apart—God, no, Harry Castillo would never keep anything falling apart—but old in the way that mattered.

Worn in the corners from years of Sunday naps.

Smelling faintly like their laundry detergent and the lavender spray his wife used on the pillows.

One of the cushions still had a juice stain from when Adella was three and decided she was “a big girl now” who could pour her own apple juice.

It was lazy, golden afternoon.

Not much was planned—just a slow lunch, soft music playing through the house, and the windows cracked open to let the Montauk breeze drift through.

Frances was asleep in a patch of sun near the door.

Harry was stretched out on the couch, his legs resting on the ottoman, his wife curled against his side with her nose in a paperback.

And Adella was nestled across his lap, head on his chest, her limbs sprawling as only a child’s could.

They weren’t doing anything.

They didn’t need to.

Adella’s fingers were busy with nothing in particular—playing with the fabric of his shirt, tugging gently at the thread of his sweats, then tracing lazy lines down the skin of his calf where the fabric had ridden up.

And then, quiet...

“Daddy… what’s that?”

Harry blinked.

He looked down.

Adella’s tiny finger was gently running along a faint, narrow scar just beneath his right knee. One of two. Parallel, silvery. Still noticeable after all these years.

His heart ticked once.

Then again.

“Oh,” he said, voice low.

His wife glanced up from her book, instinctively tuned to the change in his voice.

“That’s…from something a long time ago, baby.”

Adella frowned. “Did you get hurt?”

Harry paused.

She was only seven.

He could make something up. Say he fell off a bike. Tripped running in the rain. Banged it on a desk.

But she was watching him so closely.

And his wife—her book forgotten now—was watching too, eyes soft, waiting.

“No,” Harry said after a beat, brushing his hand over Adella’s curls. “Not really. It wasn’t an accident. It was a surgery I chose.”

Adella tilted her head, curls brushing against his chin. “Why?”

Harry’s hand stilled.

He exhaled through his nose. Looked out the window for a moment like he was gathering pieces of himself.

“I wanted to be taller.”

She blinked.

“But you’re already tall.”

He smiled—small and a little sad. “I wasn’t always.”

“You had surgery to be taller?” Her voice was filled with disbelief.

Not judgment.

Just curiosity, like he’d said he’d had his bones rearranged to be made of glitter.

“I did,” he said softly. “I was… around the age mommy is now. Maybe a few years older. I wanted to be six feet tall.”

Adella’s mouth opened, then shut. She looked back down at the scar, her little finger brushing it again, gentler this time.

Harry could feel it. The old, buried ache of what that scar used to represent.

“I didn’t feel like I was enough,” he said finally. “Back then. I used to think… maybe if I were taller, I’d be taken more seriously. Or respected more. Or—maybe I’d like myself better.”

His wife shifted beside him.

Her hand found his, quiet and steady.

Adella was quiet for a long beat. Then...

“But you’re already the biggest dad I know.”

Harry huffed a laugh. One of those deep, emotional ones that pressed against the ribs a little.

“I don’t mean just tall,” she clarified seriously, “I mean big big. Like… when you hug me, you’re everywhere. And you carry all the bags and you always pick me up like I’m nothing, and you stand behind mommy at the stove and she says you block the light.”

“I do say that,” his wife murmured, kissing his shoulder.

Adella looked back at the scar and leaned forward, placing the softest little kiss on it.

“There. Now it’s not sad anymore.”

Harry blinked rapidly, once, twice. His throat felt too tight for a second.

His wife sat up and kissed the top of Adella’s head. “Come on, bug. Let’s make some lunch. Give Daddy a minute.”

Adella gave him a final squeeze before bouncing off the couch.

The kitchen door swung behind them with a soft thud.

Harry stared at the ceiling.

His leg still felt warm where she’d kissed him.

He hadn’t thought about those scars in a long time. Not really.

They didn’t ache. They didn’t get cold in the winter like he feared they might.

The surgeries had worked.

He’d stood taller when it was done.

Walked into meetings and parties and boardrooms with a confidence that should have come from somewhere else—but didn’t.

Not back then.

He remembered the first time she saw them—his wife.

They hadn’t been together long. He remembered the hesitation when he undressed, the way he’d almost said something but didn’t, the way she noticed the scars and simply asked, “Did it hurt?”

He remembered nodding.

And he remembered her hand, brushing down his shin, her lips at his knee.

“I don’t care what you did,” she had said. “Just… don’t ever think you needed to.”

That memory sat in his chest now, blooming slowly.

Later that night, after Adella had fallen asleep between them, sprawled sideways like always, Harry laid awake and stared at the ceiling again.

His wife shifted closer, hand sliding under his shirt and resting over his heart.

They talked about what Adella had said.

He expected her to smile, maybe laugh.

Instead, she moved the blankets down just enough to uncover the scar Adella had kissed earlier. She pressed her lips to the exact same spot.

Then leaned up to kiss his mouth, slow and deep.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“You were always enough.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

He just closed his eyes and held her tighter.

And for the first time in a long time, the scar didn’t feel like a regret.

It felt like history.

And right now, history was curled between them in mismatched pajamas, one arm flung across Harry’s stomach, her curls stuck to her cheek with sleep.

“Biggest dad I know,” he murmured Adella's words.

His wife smiled into his chest. “The biggest heart, too.”

And that night, with the windows open and the ocean air spilling in through the curtains, Harry Castillo—the man who once reshaped his bones to feel like more—slept better than he had in years.

Because his girls saw everything.

And still, they chose love.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

DIVINE REASONING (part five of ???)

(adult) lottie matthews x fem!reader.

you give lottie one more day to convince you to stay (lottie gets more manipulative by the chapter sorry idc we love her no matter what). part one. part two. part three. part four.

You've gotten too used to the feeling of her hands on you.

You have gotten too used to the love that she looks at you with, the familiarity in the way she speaks to you and the privilege of watching her move through life so fluidly.

At first you thought it was like falling back into your old patterns. Your relationship felt how it did when you were young. You were free and reckless and careless — but now it's different. This has morphed into something more mature, though it still bears some element of danger beneath the surface.

"Are you going back tomorrow?" Lottie asks quietly. She runs a hand through your hair, and you lean further into her where you lie in bed together.

"I have to work," you say quietly, robotically. You don't want to go back — you are tired of giving away pieces of yourself and having nowhere to rest.

Lottie traces the outline of the bandage on your palm where you'd sacrificed blood in the woods. Her words are hesitant. "And what about us?"

You don't have an answer. "What do you want out of us?"

"You know what I want."

You do know. She wants forever. Deep down, you want it too — but it's too much to ask for now. You have a job and patients who depend on you. While dismal, you have a life outside of here.

"Just one more day," Lottie murmurs. "Give me one more day with you, and then we can call it if you want to. Everything can go back to the way it was, and you'll be proven right."

"Proven right?"

"You said it yourself, you don't need to be saved. You don't need a wellness center or the woods or... well, anything you could find here."

Her. Lottie is implying that you don't need her, and she couldn't be more wrong.

"Don't say that," you try. "That's not true."

"Then stay."

You can't do that, either. You're stuck.

You need one more day to decide.

"I'll take tomorrow off," you say softly. Convince me.

Lottie smiles, satisfied at least for now.

-

You sit across from her the next morning in the woods. Fallen leaves cushion you alongside the shrubbery of spring, the earth damp and malleable beneath you.

"Close your eyes," Lottie whispers. When you do, she hums in approval. "Good."

You take a deep breath like she used to demand — you have done this all before, and even years later the memory of your movements still remains.

"Feel it," Lottie urges. "Let it in."

You try. You attempt to focus on the breeze blowing softly at you and the air filling your lungs. You take into account the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the earth, the knowledge that Lottie is in front of you watching and waiting.

"It wants to show you the life you're meant to have," Lottie says. "It loves you as I do."

You try harder. You try to feel. You take another deep breath and clear your throat, trying to ignore the pressure that's building to do this correctly. But it's been so long, and no matter what Lottie says you can't help but wonder if it's true that the wilderness still wants you or not.

You can't even believe you're contemplating it. You always believed in her and the rest was... it just was. You didn't have time to contemplate what existed outside of Lottie Matthews.

After the crash, you turned to the scientific. It evades you completely now. It passes through your mind that the two of you are irreparably mentally fucked and that is the greatest extent to which your scientific background goes. Maybe you're both insane. Maybe not. It doesn't matter, because your denial of whatever this is has also denied you happiness.

Even if it's destructive, you need a greater joy. You need It.

Perhaps that's what it has been trying to tell you. That is what you have been listening for: confirmation of the necessity of your faith.

You open your eyes.

Lottie speaks in a low, hushed voice. "Has it spoken?"

You nod. You don't provide a response for a moment because you don't know what to say.

"What did it tell you?"

"It said we need to go deeper," you lie. You are a liar. You have met pathological liars and have given them some fucking stupid textbook analysis about lying. You are a liar that is reckless for fun and is much too shameful and much less shameful than you ought to be.

"Deeper," Lottie repeats, fidgeting with one of her bracelets. Suddenly she has become flighty, the adrenaline of speaking with spirits she loves mingling with something unnameable.

If you were a good therapist, you would stop this. If you weren't so far gone, you would both be saved. But you are at her mercy now and the mercy of the wilderness.

Lottie's eyes are glassy when she meets your gaze. "We can try something else, we can... Earlier, I thought..."

She shifts, grabbing a thermos of what you had assumed was coffee that she brought with her on your journey.

You don't know how you didn't guess before.

"I thought we could try something stronger."

Lottie untwists the lid of the thermos and you smell it: the rancid fucking tea you used to drink together in the wilderness.

You take the first sip.

sexy yellowjackets taglist: @eatingouturmomrn @webism @chaithetics @ahauandthesun @szczurkanalowy @marleymarleymarleymarley @aphrodyk3 @ludasgf @pnsteblnme @il0veb0ttomsthem0vie @neighbourhoodspidey @dorotheareid @jackiesjersey2-0

thank you for reading!!!

[murasakiyams]

You never do, babe

cw: suguru being a toxic fuck, sex, but it’s not detailed really.

a/n: you guys ever think back of a toxic relationship the moments before it ended? that’s basically it.

You couldn't blame Suguru; it wasn't hard to make you cry. And maybe that's why he did what he did. Always pushing you to the edge, leaving you vulnerable, broke, and a snotty mess when he left your apartment. He hated leaving you like this, but this sick, twisted part of him loved it. He knew you'd always come back, begging, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Endless nights of you crying to your friends, saying different things about how he'd change, oh, how you'd blocked him. Yet the fact that you couldn't stand alone ruled out everything you said the previous night before.

Because here he is, a smug grin on his face, as he was on top of you, you're vulnerable like this, lying down, tears running down your face as he touches you, and when he touches you, he does it like it's the last time. Like you're just broken and he's gluing the pieces. But you're complety exposed, you're naked just like he is, feeling every hard thrust he's giving you, it's brutal, he's fucking you like he hates you, and you think for a second, maybe he does. Perhaps you're just a placeholder till he finds someone else to mess with. Your mind can't decide whether or not to zone out, cry harder as you stare into the ceiling, knowing he'll just leave after this. But he won't let you, he's grabbing your face, kissing you, telling you that if you look away, he won't let you finish. And you know you should stop, knowing the more you two continue, the more pieces your friends will have to pick up. And that's right, your friends. How disappointing it will be for them to see the fact that you went back to him, the fact that you know he's no good for you, he's just a man. But yet, you won't stop, because he'll drag you right back in.

When he finishes, it's not soft, the headboard hits the wall, his hips snap into you, a brutal force, and yet he looks away, he looks away as you finish, he doesn't see the way your face scrunches up, the way your eyes widen before squeezing shut. You really can't help but wonder if he's picturing somebody else, some other girl in his mind as he empties into you, and it hurts. You feel each part of your heart breaking, falling into that pit of your stomach, and never have you ever felt so alone.

Because maybe you never really did miss him, maybe it was the fact that you were used to being alone, but only with him in bed. You only missed him because he made your bed warm. After all, there was another body in your bed. You wanted him so bad while you were alone, because he made you feel this way.

He pulls out, a soft grunt from him, a whine from you.

A hand, his, comes to cup your face, wiping your tears, a smile on his face, and his sweet voice that follows, "I love seeing you like this."

And usually its sweet, it's sweet like those books you read, when the male interest loves the sweet main character, loving the fact he fucked her so much she came to tears.

But it's not sweet, he only loves you like this because he knows that when you need comfort, you'll call him, text him. He knows that he's completely broken you down, making you feel like you only need him and him only.

And who were you to push him away when those sweet loving words come flowing out of his mouth, that you don't even know if he means it, "I love you, you know that, right?"

But does he truly?

[uriwonu]

everything's in the air . jww

preview

You're not his sugar baby, and you're definitely not his girlfriend. But you're something to him and maybe that's enough.

✶ ceo!wonwoo x college student!reader ✶ w.c: 20k (as of now 🙂‍↕️) ✶ genre: porn with plot. minors dni ✶ warnings: explicit content 🔞. age gap (reader is implied early-mid 20s, wonwoo late 30s), college/university au (reader is a grad student), brief reader x chan (blink & you miss), sugar baby au?? kind of. reader wears glasses. please let me know if there is anything else you think i should include! ✶ date coming : -- ✶ notes: aaaa i promise this is coming soon ive just been both busy & this is way longer than i was expecting it to be. thank you for being patient with me and thank you for all the support and love on my first fic!! hope you will like this one just as much. 🤍

“He's not my sugar daddy.”

Your best friend scoffs, “What else do you call the very rich man that's paying all your bills?” And then, because she thinks better of it, “Fine, your boyfriend then.”

“I’m not dating him.” You roll your eyes, “And I call him Wonwoo, you know, his name.”

She gives you a look that could curdle milk, “You’re fucking him. He’s paying your rent, hell, he bought you a car because you showed up to his apartment late once. That’s way more than I get from the people I do date.”

You grin around your straw. “Maybe you just need to have higher standards.”

“Maybe you need to figure out what this is before he decides it for you.”

That sobers you just a little. Because it’s true. Wonwoo calls the shots—always has. He decides when, where, how. He decides what gets touched, what gets taken off first, how long you stay, how hard you fall. And you? You let him. You let him because when he’s there, when he’s in it, he makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world that can pull him away from the weight of everything else he carries.

But when he’s gone, he’s gone. Silent. Distant. Untouchable. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t have you trembling under him, whispering your name like a secret too dangerous to say out loud.

You pick at the edge of your nail, suddenly needing something to ground you. “It’s not like that,” you murmur.

Soomin watches you carefully now. No more teasing, no more smirking. Just quiet understanding, the way only a best friend can deliver. “Yeah,” she says finally. “But maybe that’s the problem.”

You don’t respond. What could you even say?

Your phone buzzes again—another message. Not from him this time. A class group chat reminding you of tomorrow’s midterm. You ignore it, but the glow of the screen is enough to pull you back to the ticking clock. 10:42 PM. You should get going soon if you’re going to be on time.

You rise from your chair and stretch, grabbing your tote bag and slipping your notes inside, careful not to fold the pages you’ve marked up.

Soomin raises an eyebrow. “So that’s it? You’re going?”

“I said I’d be there by midnight.”

“Did you say it, or did he?”

You sling the bag over your shoulder. “Does it matter?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “You tell me.”

There’s nothing else to say, really. She’s said her piece. You’ve deflected, like always. The rhythm of it is familiar, almost comforting in how dysfunctional it is.

“I’ll text you when I get back,” you offer.

You grab your phone, pull up your messages, and finally open the unread one. Be here by midnight. No “please,” no emoji, no warmth. Just an instruction. Just like him.

But he didn’t need warmth to get under your skin. He never did.

You tuck the phone into your bag and head for the door.

And behind you, Soomin calls out one last thing, low and sharp and not entirely joking:

“Just don’t fall in love with him.”

You don’t answer.

Because that’s the one thing you can’t promise.

🍸

Two Years Ago

You weren’t supposed to be there. Technically speaking.

The email invite to the closed-door roundtable for "Private Influence in Public Governance" was meant for graduate students and faculty only. But your professor, jaded and permanently exhausted, owed you a favor after you ghost-wrote half his lecture slides last semester. One word from him and you were slipped onto the guest list with a name tag and a lanyard you hadn't earned.

You didn’t care about etiquette. You cared about proximity.

You were majoring in political science, with a minor in journalism. And this event? It was like a live autopsy of everything corrupt and powerful that textbooks liked to talk around. Wealthy donors, private equity reps, CEOs disguised as “policy contributors.” You had your eye on all of them.

But you hadn’t expected him.

Jeon Wonwoo.

He wasn’t listed in the program. No name tag, no title placard. Just a tailored black suit, a heavy watch, and a face you recognized from articles about mergers, lobbying scandals, and two separate exposés that mysteriously disappeared from the internet after a week. He sat at the end of the table, silent, his attention divided between the room and something on his phone.

He looked like someone who didn’t need to speak to be heard.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he looked up. Eyes locking on yours across the room like he'd felt it. A pause—maybe a second, maybe longer. You looked away first.

But he didn’t.

When the session ended and everyone flooded toward the catered wine and networking corner, you ducked into the adjacent exhibit hall to grab your notes and recalibrate. Alone, for five seconds, until you weren’t.

“Undergrad?” a voice said behind you—smooth, low, and close enough that you turned like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

He was standing just inside the doorway. No name badge, no reason to be here except for the fact that the entire world seemed to rearrange itself when he entered a room.

You swallowed. “And here I thought you were going to ask for my number first.”

He smiled—not with his mouth, but with the kind of glint in his eyes that made you feel like prey he was deciding not to eat just yet. “That depends,” he said. “Do you always make a habit of sneaking into closed-door policy sessions?”

You tilted your head. “Do you always stalk college students into side rooms?”

A beat.

Then he walked closer.

Not menacing, not hurried—just enough to make your pulse skip. His steps were silent, deliberate, like he’d long since learned how to take up space without ever seeming to fight for it.

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo,” he said, like it was supposed to mean something.

And it did. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Congratulations.”

He chuckled, low in his chest. “You’re brave.”

You didn’t move. “You’re old.”

He smiled again—this time, amused. “Do you flirt with all the men who could buy your university?”

You leaned against the table behind you and smiled back. “Only the ones who look like they know they’re going to hell.”

That made him pause.

Not because he was offended.

Because he liked it.

“I don’t believe in hell,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Of course you don’t. You’re already in charge of it.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, studying you now like a new acquisition. Like someone had left something sharp and pretty on his desk, and he wasn’t sure if it was a weapon or a gift.

“Name?” he asked.

You hesitated just long enough to make him work for it. Then: “Why? You going to blacklist me from the next event?”

“No,” he said. “I want to remember it.”

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XXII: I’m Terrified, but I Can’t Resist

masterlist | playlist | pin board | prev. | read on ao3 | read bee’s diary

songs for this chapter: but not often, by microwave, finally // beautiful stranger by halsey, 2YL by the front bottoms, autumn dress by mat kerekes

chapter tags: fluff!, first date, swearing, drinking, smoking, adult language, flirting, making out, heavy petting?/dry humping, cumming in pants bc eddie’s pathetic. this chapter is LONG sorryyyyy love u mean it enjoy | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: i really have not seen LOTR… dont be mad at me.

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion @aliensfeltmyjoy

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—

This time, you’re awake by nine a.m., mostly to avoid another interaction with Eddie while you’re in a towel. You stretch slowly, eyes adjusting to the sunlight streaming through your windows, the dull sound of your brother’s television floating through the walls, background noise in an otherwise quiet house. After rolling out of your bed and half making it, you dig through your dresser for an outfit. Having absolutely no idea what Eddie is planning to do for lunch, you stare at your closet at a loss for inspiration for about ten minutes before texting him.

>hey

Eddie: good morning : )

>holy shit ur awake

Eddie: what can i say ive got a hot date. too excited to sleep

>is this a date?

Eddie: i thought that went without saying! sorry. yes. i'm taking u on a date. : )

>ok smooth talker. where are we going?

Eddie: it’s a surprise

>can i at least have like, dress code parameters?

Eddie: wear something you’d wear on a date!

>ok then. guess i'll figure it out. see u soon

Eddie: cant wait : )

A date. You have a date with Eddie Munson. The word feels wrong, like a shoe on the wrong foot. You go back into your closet, sifting through the hangers of different thrifted items you’d bought without somewhere to wear them. Finally, you pull a piece from its hanger: a black, deep cut, form fitting dress that ends mid thigh. You pair it with a pair of chunky lace up boots, and a simple silver chain you clasp around your neck. You decide against taking your sweater, the air unseasonably warm for autumn lately.

Taking a deep breath, you observe yourself in the full length mirror. You look good, far too good for something that doesn’t even have a label on it. You groan, but decide against changing, and spray yourself with your favorite perfume instead before heading to the bathroom to do your makeup.

–

There’s a knock on your apartment door at noon, and you panic.

“Where you goin’ all fancy?” Chris asks, eyes not leaving his game on the screen.

“I um.” You can’t really lie your way out of this one, considering Eddie is on the other side of that door. “I have a date.”

“You what?!” Chris clicks a button on his controller, stopping the movement on the screen to look directly at you. “Is it with who I think it is?!”

This is it. This is how the entire town finds out you and Eddie are, well, the label is predetermined. You twist the knob and let the door fall open, and the sight before you is not what you’re expecting even a little bit. Eddie is dressed in a black, bicep hugging button down with its top two buttons open, and dark blue jeans with zero rips in the knees. Even his boots look a little shinier. He’s still wearing his worn out leather jacket over it, and his guitar pick necklace sits under his shirt collar, and his hair is fluffier than usual like he’s taken extra care to actually style his curls. He looks hot.

“No fuckin’ way.” Chris mumbles when Eddie hands you a bouquet.

“Holy shit. You look incredible.” Eddie’s smile stretches as he takes you in. “I um, I didn’t know what kind of flowers you’d like. I got these because I remembered you liked to pick ‘em as a kid.”

“They’re perfect. Thank you.” Little white daisies. You used to wear them in your hair during the summer, sometimes weaving them into headbands and giving them to Eddie. He’d wear them for you, every time. When you look up at him, you find him with bright red cheeks, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck like it’ll settle his nerves. “Let me put these in a vase, I’ll be right back.” Eddie nods, stepping over the threshold. “Chris, can you meet me in the kitchen for a sec, please?”

Confused, Chris pulls himself from the couch and follows you. “You’re dating him?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

“No, Chris. I am going on a date with him. One. Singular. And you’re not gonna say a goddamn word about it to anyone!”

“Why are you hiding this? Everyone already knows he’s in love with you, and we’re pretty sure you–”

“This is why I haven’t told anyone. Everyone thinks they know exactly what the fuck is going on, that they know me better than I know myself. I am giving him a chance. I want to see this through for myself without having you, Rob, and Steve breathing down my fuckin’ neck. Okay?”

“Will you at least tell me if it goes well?”

“Maybe, if I feel so inclined.” It would be nice to talk to someone about Eddie, but you’re definitely not too sure Chris is the right choice. “But don’t nag me about it. Or him, that wouldn’t be fair to Eddie.”

“God, this is so strange. Just weeks ago you two were at each other’s throats. I promise, your secret is safe with me.”

“It better be, or I’ll make sure you never know another thing about me again.” You place the flowers into a pitcher, realizing you don’t actually own a vase. “Go buy a vase for these, and your debt will be paid.”

“Debt?”

“If you didn’t live with me, you wouldn't know this information. Now that you know, you owe me.”

“Ugh, fine. Is my debt repaid with the vase?”

“Not even remotely. Thank you!” And you turn from him, making your way back into the living room. Eddie offers out his arm for you, and you take it, ignoring the stifled giggles behind you. You turn to face your brother once more. “Don’t wait up.” With that, you close the door behind you.

“Should I have waited in the car? I figured I’d come to the door, this being a date and all.” His tone is teasing, but his eyes betray the worry underneath.

“No, it’s okay. I just had to give my brother a rundown on all the things that would happen to him if he shared this information with anyone.” You scan Eddie head to toe as you speak. “You look great, by the way. Loving the hair.” You wince at your awkward delivery.

“Why, thank you. Steve helped me pick out some stuff to try.” Eddie must catch the way your face twitches, because he doubles back. “No, no. I didn’t tell him what I needed it for, he figured I was experimenting for future Coffin shows. Don’t worry, my lips have been sealed.

You give him a small smile when he opens the door to the parking lot. “Okay. Thank you, by the way. I just don’t need anyone in my personal business right now. I just wanna have something to myself.” You look up at him again, nose scrunched. “I want you, to myself.”

“I’m all yours, sweetheart.” He yanks the passenger door to his van open for you, and you climb into the seat. Before you’re even buckled in, Eddie’s stepping on the gas pedal, his tires kicking up gravel. “About those sealed lips though,” He starts, and you turn to look at him. His eyes are glued to the road, unblinking. “They’re aching to move, y’know. Wonder if there’s anything else I can be doin’ with ‘em.”

“Huh, sounds like you’re in a predicament.” You play along with his false nonchalance, keeping your tone casual like you can’t feel your heart suddenly slamming against your ribs.

“Guess we’ll have to brainstorm then.” Eddie just shrugs, and you have to look away, out the side window, not risking letting him see the way you’re grinning like an idiot right now.

–

It’s only forty five minutes outside of Hawkins, but Indianapolis feels like a distant land to you sometimes. Your parents had never taken you into the city as a kid, and Chris had never been one to invite his “baby sister” to the shows he and Eddie had frequented as teenagers.

“Where the hell are we going?” You ask finally as Eddie cuts the wheel.

“You’ll see! We’re almost there.” Eddie winks at you, then slams on his brake. “HEY, FUCKHEAD! In no goddamn universe do people turning left have the right of way!” The windows are rolled up, you know the guy can’t hear Eddie’s cursing, but you join him anyway.

“JESUS CHRIST, they’ll give anyone a fuckin’ license!” He then exaggerates his breathing; inhaling deeply through his nose with flared nostrils, blowing out slowly through his mouth. “Okay. I’m zen.”

“Totally.”

“And we’re here!” Eddie pulls his van up to the entrance and you can’t help the way your jaw unhinges.

“Oh my god.” Harry and Izzy’s. “Harry and Izzy’s?!” You whip around to gawk at Eddie, and he’s already got a look of glee on his face. “How did you–” Afford it? That’s rude, Bee. “This is insane.”

“Been savin’ for a rainy day. Turns out sometimes that means a first date with someone you… um, really like.” You feel insane. Eddie Munson is making you insane. “Shall we?”

“Ed, we can’t park here.”

“My dearest, sweetest Bee,” You blush at his cooing. “They do have valet parking here.”

Oh. “Right, yeah. Duh.” Eddie throws his van into park, and immediately an attendant is opening the door to help you out. “Oh. Shit, thanks.”

“Of course, miss.” You try not to betray your disgust at the way the man– or boy, probably no older than eighteen– addresses you. You have no idea how to act in this environment, and you feel like an imposter even setting foot into the restaurant. Once you’re out of the car, he lets your hand go and circles around to the driver’s side.

“Don’t go joyriding now, I know you’ve never seen such a sweet ride.” Eddie pats the kid’s shoulder, and you swear even he cracks a smile. No one can resist the Munson charm, not even snobby frat boy waiters in the city. Eddie skips onto the curb and offers you his arm, which you lace your own through. “Shall we?”

“Why the hell not!” You attempt to keep your nerves hidden, subtly wiping your clammy palm against your thigh. Eddie opens the door, and you let go of him to enter, reluctant to let go of him even for a second. He ends up stuck holding the door for a pair of exiting old ladies, who gush with praise at “The sweet young man holding the door,” and “Handsome, too!” before finally reappearing back at your side at the host stand.

“Welcome to Harry and Izzy’s. Do you have a reservation?” Shit. There’s no way in hell he’d have been able to make a reservation for only a day–

“Munson, party of two?” He leans against the counter, as if to block the waiter’s view of you.

“I’m not seeing–” Something cuts him off, and you pretend not to see Eddie slip the host a fifty dollar bill. Before he can finish his sentence, the guy is changing his tune. “Oh, of course. Right this way, sir.” He snatches two menus from the table top and punches in a few things on his tablet screen before motioning you and Eddie to follow him. Eddie takes your arm again, and you stifle a snicker at the absurdity of your circumstances.

“Emily will be right with you.” He places the menus and silverware down, pours you each a glass of water, and speed walks away before someone can scold him for taking a bribe from two hoodlums.

When he’s out of earshot, you turn back to your date. “You are something else, Munson.”

He shrugs. “Psh, that’s nothin’. You should see me talk my way out of a speeding ticket.”

“At this rate, I’m sure I’ll bear witness to that sooner than later.” You nudge his foot with yours under the table.

“Oh, yeah? Plan on stickin’ around?”

“Well, I mean… I thought that was kinda obvious?”

“The day is young, you still have time to escape.” Though he has a joking lilt in his tone, there’s a sharpness to his words, like he believes them to be necessary. He has to give you the option, the out.

“I’ve got nothin’ else goin’ on.” You shrug, tiptoeing around his offer. “I’ll let you know if that changes. Don’t count on it, though.” The way he looks at you as you talk shakes you a little. “What’re you lookin’ at?” You nudge his foot with yours under the table. Before he can respond, you’re approached by a waitress you can only describe as classically beautiful.

“Welcome to Harry and Izzy’s, my name is Emily. I’ll be takin’ care of y’all this evenin’.” Even the twang in her voice sounds like a crystal bell. When you look at Eddie, though, he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. Trying to ignore the butterflies flapping in your gut, you shield your face with the menu. Emily then looks to Eddie, and he finally looks up at this stunning, radiant woman and doesn’t bat an eye. She, however, seems to notice how beautiful Eddie is, because how could you not?

He orders appetizers and drinks with ease, and Emily seems to write at a sloth’s pace, nodding her head without breaking eye contact, and you watch it all over the top edge of the menu.

“Alright, I’ll be right back with y’all’s drinks!” She has the audacity to brush Eddie on the shoulder as she walks away, her perfectly manicured fingers sliding across the fabric of his shirt. At this point, you’ve gnawed a hole in your tongue with how hard you’re biting it. There is no valid reason for the rage you feel for your waitress, you can’t even blame her.

“You alright over there?” Eddie brings you back to the present, and you meet his eyes again.

“Mhm, yeah!” You say, a little too enthusiastically.

Of course, he sees right through you. “What, her? No.” He shakes his head as he laughs, and you roll your eyes. “What?”

“Oh, please! She wants it, bad. You’re telling me you can’t see that?”

“I only have eyes for you, sweetheart.” He clasps his heart with both hands as he says it, drawing out each word, tone thick with intent. You gulp. “But enough about that. How are you?”

Still reeling from Eddie’s sudden confession, you stutter. “I– um. Hm. I mean,” He stifles a laugh with an exhale, and you join him. “Sorry, this is just so jarring. Kinda hard to do the first date small talk thing when I already know your deepest, darkest secrets.” Emily comes back, placing your drinks in front of you. You’ve chosen to go non alcoholic this time, a freshly squeezed lemonade instead, and Eddie’s ordered a coke.

“Appetizers will be right on out. Y’all need more time with the menu?” She only looks at Eddie, like you’re not even there. For some reason that seems to hurt worse than the fact that she’s hitting on your date.

“Yeah, just a bit. Thanks.” His tone is curt, and it surprises you. Emily doesn’t seem to pick up on that, though, and taps the top of Eddie’s hand this time before walking away. You take a sip of your lemonade and wish for vodka. “Okay, that’s, like, super uncomfortable.” Eddie scratches the back of his neck, averting his gaze to the silverware on the table.

“You want me to say something?” You offer, and immediately wish you hadn’t. It’s not that you can’t confront people. You’re incredible at it, in fact. What scares you is the idea of Eddie watching you do that to someone, even if she has it coming.

“I can’t ask you to do that. If you choose to, however, I will not stop you.”

“Noted.” Permission granted. “She’s coming back. Quick, hold my hand.” You put your hand out on the table, and he grabs it in his just as she returns with the three separate appetizers Eddie’s ordered without your knowledge. There’s an array of finger foods including bacon with root beer glaze, toasted ravioli, and the “world famous” shrimp cocktail. As she sets them down, you catch her staring at your entwined fingers, and her expression softens instantly. You want to laugh, but you want to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Alright, what can I getcha?” She perks back up, looking first to you this time. Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes as she looks at you, it looks more like she’s gritting her teeth in pain. Ignoring the way her eyes bore into you, you rattle off your order in a single breath.

“And you, handsome?”

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ kidding me.” You blurt, and quickly slap your hand over your mouth to stifle a cackle as Eddie snorts. Emily’s eyes are wide with horror as she looks back at you.

“Pardon me, miss?”

“You see me, right? You know I’m here? You must, you just took my order.”

“I don’t understand–”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, miss, I see you.”

“You see me holding this guy’s hand then?”

“Well, ‘course I do, I–”

“So what the hell are you doing?”

“My job, darlin’! Chattin’ y’all up, workin’ my charm. I don’t see a problem with that. Much easier to fake it when the customers are pretty as him, though.” She winks at you, and your vision tunnels.

“You just flirt with people that are here on dates?”

Emily shrugs. “Makes my day more entertainin’. You got a good one though. Usually they’ll break their necks to look my way.” She looks at Eddie again. “You must love her, huh? How long y’all been together?”

“Oh we’re not–” You and Eddie both rush to correct her, and she laughs. When you don’t join her, she looks between the two of you.

“Seriously? So, you’ve just been in love with her for– wait lemme guess!” She brings her finger up to her chin, tapping as she studies Eddie’s face for clues. “Decade, at least.” You pretend not to catch Eddie’s eyes widen slightly when she says it. “Oh brother, I really stepped in it this time. Sorry, darlin’.” She smiles apologetically at you. “How about a round on me?”

At that offer, Eddie looks at you again and you shrug. “Why the hell not!”

The food is incredible, and things have been sorted with your waitress. The tension has completely disappeared from your bones, save for Emily’s voice on loop in your head: You’ve been in love with her for a decade at least. That can’t be true, can it? The pair of you end up ordering a second round of drinks, and have fallen down a rabbit hole of a conversation.

“So you’re tellin’ me you’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings movies?”

You shake your head, taking the final sip of your cocktail. “Nope, not once. Chris tried getting me to watch at least the original with him, but I fell asleep. Think he was too offended to even bother after that.”

“So your Halloween costume?”

“Was more inspired by the general idea of medieval elves. And Legend of Zelda.”

“Are you, like, completely opposed to the idea of watching them?”

You are absolutely loving the way Eddie’s looking at you right now, like a puppy begging for a treat. “Not entirely. I’m sure you’d be able to convince me.”

“Careful, I am not above groveling.”

“I don’t think I’ll make you do that. This time.” You giggle, and his head falls to his shoulder, smile stretching wider, giving way for deep dimples. You find yourself having to catch your breath after looking at him for too long. “You busy tonight?”

He shakes his head eagerly. “Not even a little.”

“Okay, that settles it. Movie night at yours, maybe I can stay awake long enough this time!”

—

Eddie pays the check without letting you help.

“Oh, c’mon. This place is so expensive, let me at least pay for my food.”

“Absolutely not,” He signs his name on the receipt. “I chose this place on purpose. Had some money saved for a rainy day anyway, this gives me an excuse to splurge.” He drops another fifty in cash on the table as a tip.

“That tip is massive, Ed.”

He shrugs. “She’s the reason you held my hand, gotta thank her somehow.” He says it so casually, but you can feel the tips of your ears warm at his words. “C’mon, doll. I’ve got more planned for us.”

You leave the restaurant with your arms linked, waving to Emily with big smiles and she calls out, “You better hold on to her, baby! She may not know it yet, but she’s head over heels!” You can only smile, unable to stop your facial muscles from betraying you.

Eddie opens the van door for you when the valet brings it to the curb, and you climb in to retreat from the chilly weather. The sun isn’t quite setting yet, but the air has gained a crispness, and you realize you’ve been inside the restaurant for at least a few hours.

“You cold?”

“Little bit. Didn’t expect it to be so cold today.” You shiver, and he gives you a smirk.

“Here,” He starts peeling his jacket from his form, and drapes it over your shoulders. “It’ll look better on you anyway.”

“Such a gentleman all of a sudden?” You poke his bicep and he winces dramatically.

“I’m tryin’ my hardest. You’re makin’ it real hard to be… polite while you’re wearin’ the hell outta that dress, though.” He lowers his voice, though no one’s around to overhear. “Been thinkin’ of how nice you must look underneath it.” You’re usually rather quick on the banter, but you can’t think of a single clever retort. It’s embarrassing, really.

“Slow down there, killer. The night is still young.” You glance at the clock on his dash, blinking 3:45.

“You’re right, I still have plenty of time to seduce you. The Rings movies have a total run time of nine hours.”

“Sorry, NINE?!”

“And three minutes.” He smiles teasingly. “And that’s just the theatrical versions. The extended cuts add up to almost twelve hours.”

“And we’re gonna watch them all? Tonight?”

He shrugs. “We can see where the evening takes up. But first, it’s taking us to the grocery store. For snacks.”

“I’m gonna need a caffeinated beverage if you’re expecting me to watch this entire trilogy with you.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

The automatic doors to the grocery store slide open, and you’re met with the icy cold air of the industrial refrigerators of the dairy aisle immediately to your left. You shrug Eddie’s jacket the rest of the way onto your body and wrap it tightly around your core, surrounding yourself with his scent. Meanwhile, Eddie makes a beeline for the candy aisle, not even bothering to grab a cart or even a hand basket for his goodies.

“You want popcorn too? I might have some at my place but I can grab more just in case.” He’s holding two different brands of microwavable popcorn in front of him, debating on them like he’s voting for president. “This one says extra salty, but this one says extra buttery. Why must we pin two queens against each other?”

You cackle, plucking the extra buttery popcorn out of his hand. “I prefer butter to salt.”

“Then butter it shall be.” He puts the second box back in its spot, and grabs a bag of M&Ms instead. “You want anything to snack on?” You scan the shelves, not necessarily searching for something specific, but you lock onto the brightly colored packaging and snag a bag of gummy bears. He nods in approval. “Good choice. Drinks?”

You nod, and follow him to the back of the store, where they keep the alcohol. He grabs a six pack of Red Stripe for himself, and you choose a four pack of hard seltzer. He scrunches his nose up at your choice.

“What?”

“You like that stuff?”

You shrug. “It’s light enough, doesn’t make me feel like shit afterwards. Tastes less like piss than that does.” Pointing at his beer, you wrinkle your own features in disgust.

“Well, I guess we’ll never have to worry about one of us drinking the other’s alcohol.” Your expression softens at the image of you and Eddie being in a relationship where you keep your drinks in the same fridge. “Okay! Anything else we need?”

“Not yet, but we are absolutely gonna need a few fillings after tonight.”

“Psh, bring it on.”

–

Eddie closes the door to his apartment, setting the bag of snacks on his coffee table before turning to you. “Did you, uh, wanna change? Not that you like, have to. But if you wanna get more comfortable I… have stuff.” His smooth persona seems to have crumbled in the privacy of his home, and he looks at you like you’re glowing: too bright to stare at for extended periods of time.

“Yeah, sure. That would be nice.” Finding yourself wanting to take advantage of his shyness, you follow him into his bedroom, where he motions to his dresser.

“Take anything you want.”

You nod, and yank the top drawer of t-shirts open, letting them spill over the sides of the drawer as you dig for a specific shirt you’re not even sure he still has.

“Aha!” Finally, you yank the fabric from its spot buried in the back, under a plethora of Metallica, Deftones, and Slipknot shirts. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.” Facing him, you hold the shirt up to show him. You had made the shirt for him in middle school, and he had made you a matching one: A collage of old pictures ironed on in a collage on the front of the shirt, with the words “FRIENDS 4EVER” written in sparkly fabric paint. “A relic of its time, really.”

“Jesus christ. Look at this thing.” Eddie yanks the shirt from you and examines it. “We made these for spirit week.”

“Yeah, you didn’t even wear it.” You cross your arms over your chest, pouting at him. “Killed me when you came to class in a hoodie.”

“I will have you know, I was wearing it. I just didn’t take my sweatshirt off. And I wore it to bed that night. And every night from then until, well.” He doesn’t finish, but you can piece it together.

“That doesn’t count!” You argue mostly just to break the tension. “Little me had no idea your grumpy, brooding ass was such a softy. I’m sure she would have killed to.”

“Well, consider my confession a peace offering. A way to make it up to little you.” He takes the shirt from your hands, unbuttoning his own with a quickness that sends heat through your body.

“No laughing.” You had no intention, the flex of his bare muscles far too distracting to do anything but stare. He slides the shirt, which is way too small for Eddie’s current frame, over his head and onto his body before opening his arms. “Tada!”

You know you’re supposed to laugh. Obviously, it’s funny, the shirt being way too small and covered top to bottom in silly pictures of you and him from the ages of five to eleven. But the humor seems to be lost in your throat, because all you can do is watch the way the tight sleeves of the t-shirt hug his arms, making them look bigger. You can see the outline of the tattoo on his ribcage through the shirt, the fabric stretched taut enough to become transluscent. This should not be turning you on.

He clears his throat, and you snap your eyes to his face. “You good?” He yanks his pants down and kicks them to the side, yanking on a pair of sweat pants slung way too low on his waist, leaving a gap between the waistband and the bottom of the shirt, revealing the sliver of skin you’d kill to put your mouth on.

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m great! Movie?” You’re sweating as you move back to his dresser to pick another shirt.

“You want this one?” Eddie moves to take the shirt off, but you’re not sure you can take seeing him bare chested again.

“No! No, that’s alright, you wear it. As an apology. I’ll wear… this one.” You pull a random baseball tee out and hold it to your chest. “That okay?”

Eddie’s pupils are blown wide when you meet them with your own.

“That’s my Hellfire shirt.”

“Oh, I can choose another–”

“No!” He says a little too loudly. “That one’s totally fine.” And he’s blushing. Ball’s back in your court, as easily as you lost it.

“Okay! You wanna unzip me?”

“Sorry, what now?”

“I can’t reach my zipper.” You point to it, on the back of your dress from your neck to your lower back. “Help me out.”

“Oh, right. Sure.” Eddie waits for you to turn your back, and you swear you can hear him exhale as he pinches the zipper between his fingers. He unzips your dress with gentle hands, careful not to linger on your skin too long. Once he’s reached your waist, he hesitates before unzipping it the rest of the way, to your lower back.

“Great, thanks!” You move to slide the garment off your shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie slaps a hand over his eyes.

“Oh, you’re such a baby. Not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.” You let the dress fall to the ground, grabbing Eddie’s Hellfire shirt from where it lay on the bed in one hand as you unclasp your bra with the other. You’re certain you hear his breath hitch. “Something wrong?”

He answers too quickly. “No! I’m good! Great, even. Uh, excuse me a sec. Need to. Um. Bathroom.” And he turns on his toes, bolting out of the room and leaving you to snoop through his things.

Slipping his shirt over your head, you move to the top of his dresser, where he’s displayed a few figurines you’re positive he’d made for Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. There are plenty of scary, bloody monsters, and heroic looking knights clad in chain link armor, but one catches your attention. She was obviously painted with care, every detail on her tiny face visible and crisp. Her eyes are the same color as yours, and so is her hair. She’s wearing a dress similar to the one you’d worn on Halloween, and you swear you don’t remember seeing her the last time you were at Eddie’s apartment. Placing her carefully back on the dresser, you move to the desk, facing the window of his room, and cluttered with all sorts of shit: crumpled papers holding half written campaigns, drawings of his characters, and a massive Dungeons notebook with his name scrawled across the front. His shelf is full of vinyl records old and new, each one protected with a layer of plastic. You browse his collection until you find one you recognize, pulling it from its spot in the alphabetical order on the shelf. You carefully release the vinyl from its cover, and place it on the player with a feather light touch. Just as Eddie comes back, you’re dropping the needle on the first side.

“Shit. Good choice.” You turn to where he stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you like a lovesick puppy.

“Quit starin’, freak.” You throw the word out without any malice, and it bounces off of him with a chuckle.

“Can’t help it, y’just so pretty.” He tilts his head further to the side, eyes still unwavering. “Even cuter in my clothes, I gotta say.”

“What, my clothes aren’t cute enough for you?”

“Your clothes are perfect, doll. I just like how you look in mine. You could wear a garbage bag and still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll take note of that for our next date.” You try not to think about the implications of what you’ve said, but Eddie perks up at the sentiment.

–

Lord of the Rings is definitely not your favorite movie, but you’re willing to watch it if it means Eddie keeps looking at you like he is right now. You know he’s seen the films a million times, but he’s mesmerized watching you react to each scene, watching it play out through your lens instead of his.

At first, you had each claimed a corner of the couch, with Ethel asleep purring in the middle as you passed the bowls of candy and popcorn between each other. As the night progressed, you seemed to migrate closer to each other, eventually ending tangled together, horizontal across the length of the couch. By the end of the first movie, the world around you has gone dark, the sun long past setting as the credits roll. You’re more focused on the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he breathes.

“You still alive?” His voice is barely above a whisper, just in case you’ve dozed off in his arms.

“Shockingly so.” You mumble the response, senses hazy with his smell, his touch, his voice surrounding you, the thumping of his racing heart a soundtrack to the story on screen.

“Got it in ya for another?”

“Only if you can play it without moving. I’m comfy.” You nuzzle your head against his chest as if to prove your point.

Without making you get up, Eddie grabs the remote from the coffee table. A few clicks later, and the titles flash across the screen. With his free hand, Eddie traces down your back absentmindedly, fingers feather light as he taps your spinal cord along to the opening sequence. Feeling bold, you scoot your body up the length of his, positioning your head to reach the crook of his neck, where you rest your lips against the soft spot on his throat. You’re driving him crazy, and it’s emboldening you.

He chuckles under your touch. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Hm?” You peck kisses across his neck, losing focus on the movie, hypnotized by the softness of Eddie’s skin. “I’m not doin’ anything.”

He smells a little different tonight, more pine and less smoke. You melt with the sweetness in his voice as he talks to you, like honey in hot tea to soothe a sleepless night. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” His words sound like a blissful defeat. It’s not worth trying to convince you to watch the movie when you’re touching him like this, and it’s obvious he knows it, too.

“You can’t die on me now, I still have so much more of you I wanna kiss.”

“You cannot be sayin’ shit like that to me.” Voice shaking, Eddie speaks through clenched teeth. “Gonna make a damn fool of myself if you keep it up.”

“Yeah? How so?” You tease, feeling slightly evil, nipping at his earlobe. “You’ve been behaving pretty well so far.”

“‘M trying so hard to be a gentleman here.” He tenses each time your nose grazes his skin, breath ragged.

“Yeah, and I’m trying to break your concentration.” You peck a kiss on his jawline. “I think it’s working, too.”

“Alright. Fuck it. Jesus Christ.” The switch on Eddie’s caution is flipped instantly, he grabs you by the waist to pull you fully on top of him, completely horizontal. Giggles slip past your lips as he mouths at your neck, sucking and biting the skin there, claiming revenge for your teasing. With a careful hand, Eddie slips his way under your shirt, sliding calloused fingers up your back. “How d’you like it, hm?”

“Hm, almost as if this—,” you interrupt yourself with a sigh when he soothes a particularly harsh bite with a flat tongue. “was my plan the whole time.”

Underneath you, Eddie’s stopped his assault on your neck, his whole body now shaking with contagious laughter, loud and unabashed.

“What is so funny?”

“I’m a fuckin’ moron.” He untucks himself from your neck to look you in the eyes. He’s squished into the cushion to leave space between his nose and yours, and you poke at the skin under his chin as he tries not to laugh again.

“What makes you say that?” You’re too busy enjoying the way he’s holding you to see the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel it. His eyes are boring into yours with the weight of the entire world behind them. It’s freaking you out, honestly.

“I went way too hard on the first date, I’m never gonna be able to top this.” You try not to snort at the double entendre. “I can’t take you to fancy restaurants regularly. And you deserve to be treated like that.”

“Eddie,” You soften as you look at him finally, and you have to stop yourself from kissing the pout from his lips. “I don’t care about that shit, you have to know that.”

“Maybe not, but you should be treated like this all the time. I’m not the guy to do it for you.” The sudden sadness in his voice sends a stutter through your chest.

“You’re right. You are a moron.” You patronize, and his eyes widen, startled. “That’s not the part of tonight that made it special, Eds. I wouldn’t have cared if we sat on this couch and watched these ridiculous movies all day. It’s the fact that you planned something with me in mind. You cared enough to put something together, and you followed through. That’s what makes it a good date.” You plant a kiss on his nose, and before you can pull away, Eddie’s in motion. His free hand flies, whacking the popcorn bowl from the coffee table in the process, but doesn’t even stop to laugh and rests it on your cheek. He gently guides your face back to his, lips slotting easily into place against yours as his breath rattles his body.

“I can be your moron, if you like.” He says after breaking the kiss, and you take the opportunity to admire the way his skin has flushed, obvious even in the blue TV light.

“Ask me again in the morning. We’re both a little drunk.” Not really, but the idea of putting a label on it this late into the night makes it feel less serious, and more like sleep-induced insanity.

“Okay. I’ll set an alarm.” And he’s kissing you again with a new urgency, and you lose yourself in it. At some point it’s not enough to just be kissing him, so you slot yourself between him and the couch, pulling both of you onto your sides. In this new position, you’re able to more easily wrap yourself around him, sliding one arm underneath and the other around his waist. Taking the hint, Eddie slides his knee between your legs, notching deliciously against the thin layer of cloth covering your core. It takes everything in you not to grind against him like a bitch in heat.

“Use it.” You must be hearing things, you’re exhausted. “Get off. Use me. I wanna watch you.” He’s whispering these insane things between tender kisses, slow and lazy as the knot underneath your navel tightens. As if to daze you further, he slips his hand under your shirt again, resting firmly on your waist, guiding your hips to move against him. Your clit catches on the bone of his knee, clouding your ability to contain yourself. You kiss him again, hungrily as the lower half of your body moves longingly against his, fully out of your control.

And if that isn’t enough, Eddie moves to your throat again, marking it between whispers of sweet, dripping nothings.

“Doin’ so well, baby. You sound so pretty.” As you whimper each time your clit drags against him. His hand slides to your stomach, inching its way further up until his thumb rests just under your tit, halting as it waits for your permission.

You answer him with a broken “Please!” and he wastes no time grazing over your nipple, stiffening as he touches you, massaging it between his fingers as you moan desperately above him.

“Eddie, I’m gonna,” You don’t finish your sentence, he cuts you off, moving back to kiss your lips as you come undone, writhing against him.

“Shit. Fuck,” You huff the words between heavy breaths, coming back down only to realize the space between you and Eddie is much wetter than can be explained just by you. “Did you—?”

Eddie nods before you can finish your question. “Of course I did. That was fuckin’ hot.” Eddie’s out of breath too. “Now, as much as I’d like to stay here, I need to change my pants. Be right back.” He places a quick kiss to your forehead before stumbling clumsily onto his feet. You can only lay there, staring at his ceiling, replaying the last ten minutes in your head with a horribly cheesy smile on your face.

“I am so fucked!”

—

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[eggsistential-breakdown]

Okay so I know that reincarnation in this au doesn't work this way, but what if bill reincarnations had a messed up eye embedded in their 3D bodies that could see the fourth dimension

[snorfbin]

.

[chelliebelle]

I DON'T SEE A RING ON YOUR FINGER | n. kento

꩜ SUMMARY . . having just finalized his divorce, a bitter kento tries to find the end to his sorrows in the bottom of a liquor bottle. but when a pretty young thing comes fluttering by his side, he decides there's no better time to get laid than now. ꩜ WORD COUNT . . 4.9k words of flith <333 ꩜ CONTAINS . . smut, divorcee!kento, reader is described as slutty, age gap (reader is in her early twenties and kento is in his late thirties), sexual frustration, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, rough sex, biting, spitting, they're kind of drunk, choking, bruising, pussy drunk!kento ꩜ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . kento's balls practically shriveled during his sexless marriage so best believe he's gonna enjoy himself!!

Nanami Kento had it all. 

A two-story house in the suburbs, a high-paying job, a beautiful wife—he had the perfect life. And damn did he hate every second of it. He hated waking up in that house to greet his nosy neighbors, hated driving to his soul sucking office job, and especially hated going home to his wife every night. She’d leave him leftovers in the fridge and kiss him goodnight before bed, and Kento would stay up every night wondering how to escape this limbo.

Tonight was the first time he felt free in years. Sitting at some shitty bar he can't remember the name of, he absentmindedly fiddled with his wedding band. Months ago, this little piece of metal meant everything. A loving marriage. A promise of a future. A sign of success. Now? It's just a worn-out ring that he can't throw out.

Kento sighed, setting it down on the table in favor of a glass of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat as he took a sip. He was never a drinker, but maybe it was something he repressed over the years. What else had he missed out on while trying to play Mr. Perfect?

Right, sex.

Kento was so obsessed with a picture perfect life that he even married someone he barely knew. She was pretty and nice enough—boring as fuck now that he thought about it—but that was enough for him to get down on one knee and take her down the aisle. What he didn't take into account was his own needs. All a man needed after a long day of work was some pussy, and he was no different. Mrs. Nanami was beautiful, sure, but one hell of a prude. If he was lucky, he got laid about once a month. Even then, she'd just lay stiff on the bed while he fucked her. If Kento didn't see the rise and fall of her chest, he'd assume he was sleeping with a corpse.

This meant that every night after his wife fell asleep, he'd go to his study to jack off to porn on his computer. It was enough for him to go to bed without a raging hard-on, but only having his hand to rub his cock raw all the time took a toll on him. Kento stopped initiating anything with Mrs. Nanami, opting to go straight online whenever he felt his dick twitch. For years, he lived like this.

Wake up, go to work, get home, say goodnight to wife, jack off.

Until a few months ago when his wife said she wanted a divorce. She must've been expecting him to start a fight, because her face fell when Kento nodded without a second thought. It was a long time coming. Sure, he believed he should've been the one to divorce her, but at least he was gonna be free. The days after she moved out was the happiest he had ever been. Waking up in an empty bed and coming home to an even colder bed filled him with a sense of contentment he thought he'd never feel again.

Cheers to being single, he thought to himself as he ordered another drink. As he waited, he couldn't help but sigh. The ink on his divorce papers hadn't even dried yet and he was already thinking of getting his dick wet. Kento hadn't had good pussy since he was twenty. The thought of cheating never even passed his mind during his marriage, opting the company of his own right hand over breaking the promise he made to his wife. Ex-wife.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, eager to drink himself to sleep, until the scraping of a barstool broke his concentration. "Drinking alone, handsome?"

The voice was soft and feminine, making him turn his head in curiosity. It came from a young girl, probably still in college but wearing a tight dress that looked like it came off a stripper. Kento wasn't a boomer by any means, but he still found himself disapproving how there was more skin than fabric on her body.

Kids these days.

Retrieving his gaze, he let out a quiet hmm before turning back to his drink. That didn't deter you, a girlish giggle leaving your lips as you leaned towards him.

"Seriously, there's no way you're here alone. Is this a set up? Where are the hidden cameras?"

College kids were so weird these days. With a scrunch between his brows, he shakes his head as he lets out a low rumble that makes your stomach twist. "Sorry to disappoint, kid. It's just me, no hidden cameras."

When he turns his head to face you, he's surprised at how close you were to him. Kento could smell the vodka shots off your breath. It reminded him of when he was as young as you were, getting drunk off cheap liquor. A soft pink dusted your cheeks, along with a tipsy smile that made his chest warm for some reason. You seemed to catch him staring, reaching out to rest your hand on his bicep.

"You look like...really put together. Like you do your taxes and sleep early or something."

The choked cough he lets out when you touch him makes the whiskey burn up his nose, hand coming up to cover half his face. Just a friendly gesture from a girl made him act like this? Get it together, Kento. Scoffing, he shrugged off your hand as he looked away. You pout as he does so and the sight fills him with regret immediately. Before he can apologize, you knock your head against his shoulder, nuzzling against him like a spoiled kitten. Guilt pools in the pit of Kento's stomach when his cock twitches in his slacks. Not now!

"Do you have a name, handsome mystery man?" you mumble against his shirt, the action making his loins burn. He seriously considers pushing you away but decides you're probably too drunk to function right now. After a few beats pass, he reluctantly grumbles a "Kento" in response. You're quiet save for a soft hum and Kento is left hating himself for getting hard at how clingy you're being.

Poor girl, you're clinging to someone who you think looks dependable in this shady ass bar. Or at least that's what he thinks until you grab his wrist and bring it up to your face. For a moment, he assumes you're trying to get a look at the Rolex around his wrist, the sleek gold glinting in the air. He has to repress a sigh—until he realizes your attention is actually on his hands. Kento's fingers are lengthy from years of typing at his desk everyday, the digits at least twice as thick as yours. Pretty veins run along his knuckles and up his forearms, disappearing under the fabric of his rolled sleeves. You can't help but sigh, eyes flickering up to his with admiration.

"Your hands are like, really...big."

He immediately pulls his hand away with a bewildered look, clicking his tongue as he adjusted the watch around his wrist, ignoring the whine you let out.

"What does that even mean?" he huffs, his fingers twitching at the traces of heat from your delicate hand grabbing his. You giggle at his reaction, slumping against him until your chest presses against his arm.

"I wonder what you can do with them, m'sure you'd know how to use them good."

Oh. Oh. When his gaze connects with your breasts that are almost spilling out the top of your dress and the sultry look in your eyes, only then does he realize that he's being hit on.

"Look, kid. I'm m—" he catches himself before he finishes his sentence. Fuck, was he going to say he was married? The wedding band in his other hand suddenly felt much heavier and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.

"...much older than you, I'm almost twice your age."

Another mellifluous giggle leaves your lips and Kento has to hold himself back from shutting you up so that blood stops rushing to his dick.

"I think you're flirting with me," you tease, rubbing your chest against his arm. If he focuses, he swears he can feel your hardened buds brushing against him through your dress. Not even wearing a bra, you're begging to be fucked. The thought of being the one to take you home tonight passes his mind but he shoves it away. You're drunk and almost half his age, it'd be wrong. All rational thought comes flying out the window when your hot breath fans against his ear.

"But, I also think you're really hot, Kento. So maybe we can..."

Your words fall on deaf ears as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back. Kento was never a religious man, but in this moment he prayed to the gods above for clarity. You were offering yourself up to him like a hog on a silver platter, tied up with an apple in your mouth for him to devour. He couldn't help but imagine your glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head, your sweet lips hanging open when he drives his cock deep into your tight and wet cunt—

Fuck it.

Will he ever get another chance to bring a pretty young thing like you home? The thought is what drives him as he grabs your wrist to drag you out the bar and into his car.

When you approached the hot stranger earlier, you sure didn't expect that it'd end with you moaning with his hand between your legs.

Drunk out of your mind, your gaze had fell onto the brooding man at the bar, eyeing his rippling muscles under his crisp blue shirt. Now that was a back you'd love to scratch up. It didn't take long for you to stumble on your too-high heels towards the blonde man. You were never this forward but something about him had you squeezing your thighs together. Maybe it was the silent classiness that screamed luxury, the heat in his eyes that burned every time his gaze lingered on you—or maybe it was how he practically flung you over his shoulder and ran all the red lights to take you home.

But never in a million years had you expected that man to be this nasty.

His lips tasted like heavy liquor, tongue sloppily tangling with yours as he slammed you against the door, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. You were used to bad french kisses from frat boys, all teeth and smelly breath, but the way Kento was devouring you made you lightheaded. 

"What a dirty mouth, wonder if you pussy's even wetter."

He pushed your legs apart with his foot and let his hand wander up your inner thigh. You gasp when he finds your mound, panties thoroughly soaked. The scoff that leaves his lips makes your cheeks flush. He cooes as he drag a thick digit along the clothed slit of your cunt, swallowing up your weak moans with his mouth.

"I don't even need to prep you," he chuckles, shaking his head as his thumb prods at your bud hidden beneath your folds.

"You have such a smart cunt, s' already drooling for me."

Kento pulls his hand from between your legs and grabs the back of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Head still spinning from the alcohol, you lose your balance, but the death grip he has keeps you upright as he carries you to his bedroom.

It's scantily decorated and you note that the bed it a bit too big for someone living alone, but you forget all about it when your back hits the plush mattress.

His eyes are wide as if he's trying to commit the sight of you to memory, every exposed sliver of skin and plush flesh permanently burned into his mind. Before you know it, Kento's hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, yanking your dress up like he's unwrapping the first real gift he's ever had. Your slutty dress is long forgotten on his bedroom floor, and fuck, he's hard. Painfully so.

How can't he be when your sweet body is all on display for him?

Kento can't find it in him to give a damn about some dress when all he can see are your perky tits, so soft and malleable. He doesn't spare a moment to admire the view, slapping your breasts till they jiggled deliciously. Before you can whine about how mean he's being, he attacks your tender chest, lips wrapping around the mounds of flesh. It catches you off-guard and you tug at his hair, but he only bites down around your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

"Don't." 

His voice is a low growl you never heard before, and damn if it didn't make your clit throb with need. Right on cue, he pries your legs apart and gets on his knees between them, mouth never leaving your breast. The way his hips grind against you is vicious, as if he's been waiting years for this. Which, in a way, he has. Kento has spent too many nights in his cold bed, jerking off to the thought of someone warm beneath him. Now that he has it? Best believe he's not letting you go tonight.

Your heat seeps through the fabric of your underwear and he can tell that you're making a mess all over the front of his slacks, his bulge covered in your slick. Clicking his tongue, he pushes your knees against your chest to come face-to-face with your clothed core. His thumb tugs at the lace of your panties, lifting your hips to slide it over your ass and letting the flimsy fabric dangle on your ankle.

He intended to teach you a lesson, but his brain short-circuits when he sees your weeping cunt. Your chubby lips were glistening with slick from his teasing, that pretty clit hidden under your swollen folds. Kento hasn't had a taste of pussy in years, so he can't resist leaning forward to roll his tongue against your slit.

Immediately he's gone.

He laps at you like a man starved, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you spread open for him. Mrs. Nanami was never this wet for him and it had messed with his confidence for a while, but your sweetness was all it took to bring him back. His cock twitches at the sight of you writhing under him, the front of his slacks now completely stained with precum. Kento nearly forgot to breathe with how absorbed he was in your pussy.

“You're like a piece of candy,” he mouths against your sensitive cunt, pushing the tip of his tongue into your warm entrance. “So sweet, can eat you up all night.”

Your thighs tremble and clamp around his head, the action only pushing him closer against your waiting heat, nose bumping against your clit. Kento moaned as he flattened his warm tongue against you, making out with your cunt with more fervor than when he had kissed you. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Kento completely forgets about his aching hard-on, hips instinctively rutting against the mattress with every swipe of his tongue. Your lips were so puffy that he couldn't resist biting down, latching his lips onto your neglected bud and sucking hard.

You almost cry out at the sensation, reaching your hand down to pull at his hair as you thrash under him, feeling your thighs quiver. "S'too much! Gonna make me come—"

SMACK.

His palm had landed flat on your cunt.

"None of that. You wanted my attention, now take it." 

The mean rumble of his voice along with the harsh slap against your sensitive heat sent you over the edge, coming onto Kento's face as your back arched off the bed. He was more than eager, lips hanging open as he swallowed up every drop of your sweetness.

Like heaven on his tongue.

Your taste was addictive, making him groan with every bob of his Adam's apple. Kento slurps up all the wetness he can get, chin glistening with your essence once he pulls away. The sudden orgasm had you panting, only coming back to your senses when you heard the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor, lifting your head up at the exact moment Kento tugged his ruined boxers down.

His heavy cock slapped against his sweaty washboard abs, leaking onto his abdomen. You had seen enough subpar dicks in your life to know that he was big, the idea of it stretching you open making your pussy drool. Pretty veins ran along the base, leading up to his thick tip that was already dribbling pearls. It was an angry red, sensitive from rubbing against the fabric of his slacks. You could've sworn his cock twitched when his eyes locked with yours.

He reluctantly rolls on a condom, mumbling something under his breath as he strains against the pink rubber. Should just fuck this pussy raw. Luckily, he still had enough common sense to stop him from begging you to let him go in without protection. Kento grabs your thighs, hefty length dragging down your slit as he positioned himself between your legs. With his cock resting on your mound, you can tell he's gonna be so deep in your tummy that you'll feel him tomorrow.

“I'll make sure of it, pretty girl,” he chuckles, slapping his member against your puffy clit.

Did you actually say that out loud—?

Your cheeks puffed up at his words, an embarassed flush on your face at your little slip-up. He's so heavy between your legs that you wonder how he'll even fit. Kento's hand reaches to pull you flush against him by the ankle, propping your leg up his shoulder, groaning as his cock dragged between your lips.

"You're so wet," he muses, pumping himself lazily before he lined himself up your entrance. "Bet you're gonna take me like a good girl, hmm?"

You gasp when he pushes his flushed cockhead between your swollen folds, struggling past tight rings of muscle. So tight. Fuck, he should've known—you were just a little brat who thought she could handle him. He hisses as your walls clamp down around his tip, nails digging into your hips as he tries to catch his breath. 

"Loosen up, sweetheart. You're gonna snap off my dick."

Kento stayed like that, tip twitching inside your warm pussy, before he pushes forward once more. He's bigger than any cock you've taken before. Unprepared for the stretch, your brows knit together when he bullies his way into your cunt. He barely makes it a few inches in before your eyes start to water. Your insides were being stuffed to the brim. You take a deep breath, weakly shaking your head as your thighs tremble.

"K-Kento, please—" Please? 

You didn't even know what you were begging for, did you? How cute. With a sigh, he pulls out from the comfort of your pussy. You let out a sigh of relief, before a warm liquid hit your bare lips. With the viscosity dribbling between your folds, you realized that was Kento's spit. Your gaze flickered up towards him but he focused on other things—like the way your clit twitched when his saliva hit the neglected bud. Eyes dark and brows knitted, he reached down to thumb at your sensitive nub, a choked moan leaving your lips.

"Ease up, that's right," he praised, using the wetness to roll his hips forward. 

Your walls fluttered around him, your moans egging him on as he continued to feed you more of his monster cock. Kento never needed this amount of prep with Mrs. Nanami, considering she always seemed so...bored. He was even beginning to think he was bad at sex! But the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head told him all he needed to know. A low groan rumbled in his chest when he finally bottomed out, his tip kissing your cervix. After so long with only his hand as company, he worried he'd come the second he was inside you. The way you were squeezing his dick didn't help either. Kento swallowed hard, trying to take deep breaths as he let you adjust to his size.

"How are you so tight?" 

When his panting reached your ears, you let out a slurred mumble, eyes unfocused as you tried to look up. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours to regain his composure. Body covering yours, he only buried himself deeper all the way to the hilt. It was like your mind went blank.

"Ngh—you're just too big!" you managed to shout, eyes glassy from how he kept nudging against your womb.

That was all it took for Kento to lose his mind.

Locking an arm around your leg, he fucked into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his hips snapped forward. His pace was merciless, knocking the breath out of your lungs with every mean thrust. 

"Yeah? How deep am I?" he growled, his grip on your waist bruising.

 All the way in my tummy, you try to say, but you were too fucked out to answer. Just a few thrusts had you dumb on his cock, glossy lips hanging open weakly. The sight makes Kento chuckle, holding onto your thighs as his skin smacked against yours.

It had been years since he had been in a pussy this wet and eager for him. He was in love with your cunt. The slickness as he slid past your folds, the way your walls tried to milk him—but the cock drunk look in your eyes was the cherry on top. Kento turns his head to the side, pressing kisses onto your calf as he fucked you. 

Come back, pretty girl.

When he notices your lack of response, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, emphasized with a harsh thrust that made you scream. "Kento, slow down," you cry out, heat churning in your belly from the cruel pistoning of his hips.

He only chuckles, shaking his head before he sped up his pace. The shocked look in your eyes made him reach down to rub tight circles on your clit for relief. Loud squelches and the slapping of skin-on-skin filled the air, the room reeking of sweat and sex. Kento's eyes locked on the way your ass bounced back against his pelvis with every thrust, cock twitching as he thought of taking you from behind. He continued to jackhammer into you, strings of profanities leaving his lips. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. As you mumbled incoherently on the verge of tears, a hand wrapped around your throat.

"Shh. Your sweet pussy's talkin' to me," he tuts, squeezing your throat to shut you up. 

His hand completely engulfed your neck, rough palm pressed tightly against your pulse. Gasping for breath, you could feel your head spin from the lack of air. You rake your nails along his back, digging crescents into his skin to try and make him let go. Kento hissed at the sensation, cockhead slamming hard against your g-spot. It was too much—the delicious stretch of his cock, the way his tip kissed your gummy insides with every thrust, his hand around your throat—the knot in your stomach snapped. Even when you tried to push the heat down, your climax ripped through you like white lightning. 

Your back arched off the bed, cursing out Kento's name as your orgasm shook through your body. The man nearly collapsed on top of you, a sharp groan leaving his lips as your walls clamped down and milked his cock so suddenly. His grip on your throat loosens and you thrash under him. 

You might die from how good he's dicking you down. 

Rolling onto your stomach, you stumble as you get on your hands and knees to try and crawl off the bed. A pair of rough hands grab onto your waist, followed by heavy panting that makes your blood run cold.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Kento spits, dragging you back against him. 

He'd be damned if he let the first good pussy he's had in years get away. Even when you try to thrash and break free, your body is too weak from coming so hard! His palm lands a harsh smack against your ass, your arms collapsing under your body as you cried out. Kento pushed your head down into the pillows, propping you up by the back of your knees. Face down, ass up. The sight of you so vulnerable with your glistening pussy on display made him lick his lips, quickly positioning himself behind you. 

"Naughty girl, trying to run away from me," he tuts, swiping his tip up and down your creamy folds.

As punishment, he reached down to pinch your clit, earning a choked sob from you. He rolled the bud between his fingers, resting his free hand on the plush of your ass. Cock throbbing for release, he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust, setting up a mean pace immediately.

Yep, might die from this dick. 

Every slam of his hips against yours had you sobbing into the pillows, the fabric damp with your salty tears. Your body was still reeling from your multiple orgasms, cunt fluttering around him. Even if it was too much, Kento was fucking you so good your insides had molded to every ridge and vein of his cock. Your tits jiggled with every thrust and he wasted no time in grabbing your hefty breasts, playing with your soft nipples. He buried his head in the tender area where your neck and shoulders connected, groaning against you. 

Kento was getting close, you could tell from how frantically he rutted into you. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsing against your gummy walls. You couldn't resist the urge to push your ass back into him, making his dick hit even deeper inside you. You were half sure he was bulging through your tummy at this point. The action made him suck in shallow breaths through his teeth, keeping a death grip on your ass as he bulllied your cunt.

"Fuuuck, I'm gonna come," he groans into your shoulder.

His face scrunched up in pleasure, panting heavily into your skin as he buried his cock deeper and deeper. Seeing such a composed man this broken made your cheeks flush. Your walls were heavenly, every clench pushing him closer to the edge. 

Screw his hand. Coming from your pussy squeezing him was better that jacking off to any porno he could watch online. 

With a strangled moan, Kento shot thick spurts of cum into the condom, as if he hadn't finished in years. He collapsed on top of you, the orgasm rendering him unable to even hold himself up anymore. It was like losing his virginity all over again. You whine as the rubber began to fill up with his load, heavy in your pussy. After a few moments to catch your breath, you tried to push yourself off him, worried he'd spill into you.

"We should probably take that off—" 

Kento shut you up immediately, grabbing your waist to drag your hips back on top of him. Now straddling his lap, his still hard cock prodded new places you had never even touched before, a pathetic moan leaving your lips. His blonde hair was messy and dripping with sweat, eyes glazed over as his cheeks flushed. You felt him twitch inside you when he met your gaze, the same fucked-out look in both your eyes. He definitely wasn't done with you yet.

"It's only midnight, sweetheart."

You'd be lucky to come out of here alive.

You spent the rest of the night going several rounds, trying every position possible before collapsing from exhaustion. What's for sure—sex would never be the same ever again. How could you go back to one night stands with shitty frat bros when an older man just gave you the dicking down of your life? 

The next morning, you roll on your side to see Kento sitting at the edge of the bed. His bare back was wrecked, littered with vicious nail marks and lipstick stains. You chew on your bottom lip, pulling the duvet over your chest. 

"Are we gonna see each other again?" you croak, voice hoarse from last night.

The muscles in his back tensed at your words. Kento didn't want to see the hickeys and bruises on your skin, undeniable marks of the years of frustration he took out on you. He actually slept with a girl almost half his age right after getting divorced.

Talk about issues. 

Though his stomach churned with guilt, the memories of last night flashed through his mind. How eager you were for him, your sopping cunt, your sweet whines. He was even starting to imagine what it'd be like to sink into you raw.

He couldn't deny how addicted he was to your body. Doing this once was one thing, but agreeing to meet you again? Kento let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he spoke up.

"Let me check my schedule, pretty girl."

TAGS: @lucakaneshiroswife @susanhill @hana-patata @kenzieluvsnanami @luvingmyships @sutaagaaru @secretfoxmaker @savannaounana @ilyjupit3r @h4n1vs @supernatrualqueen @mayhaps-nerd @1ennj4 @jiwooahae @gojomaki @raenfall562 @l0v3rgirl-owo @levisjinchuriki @yourgirljasmine5 @nanamiscsleeve @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @jjkmenluver @vmpireslut @namorafushiguro @cindyneko-strider @zeunys @t4matar @c0ckdrunkk @mortallyshadysoul @red-writes @fferairy @vipblinkagase1111 @evieloves @jdopeisdope @cherryreads-blog @itsinherited @sparklyhologramstarfish @hannahhmelv @umiwu @sugurusjaz @miguelsonlywife @lyraa06 @illumissei @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @celestialhvns @nanamisd0ll @blushedcheri @grr457 @yogichi @kaislashes @briefrebelfanalmond @fictionalytmenhavemyheart @kekeanna266 @airandyeah @hollowwolf22 @ssstingrayyyyyyyy

[keypostos]

fem!reader. a bit suggestive. caleb can't get enough of you tbh.

caleb once told you that there's a side of him that he didn't want you to see. he wanted to be strong for you. truly, he was trying his hardest to hold on.

when he first said that, you thought it would have to do with his urges to possess you and watch over you.

turns out, the truth is that caleb is clingy as hell.

you're twirling around in a new dress that the two of you thrifted earlier. it's flowy, light-colored, and it makes you look like a deity in caleb's eyes. the dress falls right below your knees—perfect for summer.

you walk towards him on the bed, spinning in circles to give him a closer look. all of a sudden, you stop; you feel big, calloused, warm hands on your waist and look down to see caleb gawking up at you.

he pulls you in closer to his body and decides to rest his head in the middle of your boobs. he closes his eyes and his grip on your waist loosens. caleb lets out a long, content sigh.

caleb rubs circles on your waist, then says, "i can't decide if i want you to keep this dress on or off."

"caleb!" you gently swat at his hand, but he just presses his head deeper into your chest.

that was one of his more tame days.

a few nights ago, you were enjoying a night shower alone. when you hear the door creak open, you don't have to look to know it's caleb.

you can hear him dropping his heavy colonel jacket, belt, slacks—everything. because you've missed him, you poke your head out from the shower curtain, and the sight of you visibly relaxes caleb.

"hi, handsome."

for someone so exhausted, caleb has a stupid grin on his face when he replies, "hi, beautiful."

he stumbles in a little bit, and you two end up pressed against the shower wall. caleb's hand is on your waist to make sure you don't slip. he shakes his head like a dog trying to get wet hair out of his eyes. you can't help but smile at him, brushing his hair around to help him out.

caleb's tense exterior dissipates at your hand. in a second, he pulls your bare body against his. you can feel his chest against yours; he's taking deepest breaths while holding you against him. his hand travels throughout your body: from your shoulders to the small of your back to the curve of your ass, he's rubbing his hands all over you.

he sags his body on top of yours for a second before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

you two rock back and forth in the shower while he mumbles, "'m sorry. missed you," he presses a kiss onto your shoulder, "missed you sooo much. all i could think about was you today. 'm sorry. i'm clingy."

and then there was today, where caleb decided to follow you for a majority of the time.

you would sit on the couch, watching some tv, and caleb would follow. he'd pull your legs up to rest on his lap, massaging at your ankles and feet.

you're doing laundry, and suddenly caleb props up next to you. you raise an eyebrow to see if he's doing anything distracting or suspicious, and he just responds with a playful shrug.

you shake him off, and then you're abruptly disrupted by caleb tickling you. before you can strike back, caleb laughs—that stupid, loud laugh he makes when he's about to do something awful—and picks you up to lay you over his shoulder. he runs around with you thumping on his broad back, demanding him to put you down just like when you were kids.

and then at dinner, caleb decides that eating across from you is too far away, and he has to eat right next to you to be satisfied. he lays his head on your shoulder, reading through some articles on his phone while you read over him. he also feeds you every now and then, offering you some favorite pieces from his plate as he lays on you.

tonight, after spending the whole day with you, he spoons you while going to sleep. his arms are linked protectively around your waist, and every now and then, caleb nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck.

you make sure to get your pictures before reaching back and running your hands through his hair. he tilts his head closer to you and sighs in satisfaction.

you laugh at his evident delight; the sound makes caleb scrunch up his nose. you turn your head back slightly to talk to him, "don't you know you'll be sick of me soon if you keep this up?"

caleb's head jerks up from the crook of your neck. his eyebrows draw closely together and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

"don't ever say that again."

until he falls asleep, he litters your body with kisses until you realize that he's never, ever, getting sick of you. ever.

[helaintoloki]

Hey there! I’ve got a little request for you.

What about a fic where the reader has to go back in time to the 40s (perhaps for an infinity stone? Work it however you want). It’s supposed to be a quick mission. Until they run into a young Bucky.

a/n: hi anon! i hope you don’t mind but i made some tweaks to the request to fit the story i came up with. however, the original idea of reader going to the 40s is still there!

warnings/notes: angst, fluff, sort of an enemies to lovers piece

summary: after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

“You’re such a jerk!”

“Oh, so saving your ass makes me a jerk now?” Bucky retorts in annoyed disbelief at your insult. The two of you haven’t exactly been getting along as of late, so it wasn’t a surprise to either of you that your first assignment together was proving to be disastrous.

“Saving me?” You repeat incredulously, halting in your steps to whirl around and angrily point a finger against his chest. The firmness of his muscles has you faltering for a split second, but you’re adamant not to let your stupid little school girl crush on the man stop you from tearing into him.

Sometimes you’re not even sure why you have feelings for someone who constantly pushes your buttons and tests your patience, but it’s hard not to fall for his good looks and charm, especially during the rare moments of pleasantness you experience when he’s not getting on your nerves. You and Bucky rarely see eye-to-eye, and though for the most part you can tolerate each other, your camaraderie doesn’t last long.

“Shoving me out of the way when I had a clear shot isn’t saving me! I had it covered before you decided to play hero and treat me like some damsel in distress!”

“You had a clear shot and so did the sniper sitting on that rooftop,” Bucky points out with an irritated tick of his jaw. “You couldn’t have gotten the hit with a bullet hole in your head.”

You falter momentarily at being presented with your error, face beginning to heat with embarrassment at being in the wrong. However, your stubborn nature takes over and causes you to double down on your anger instead of admitting fault.

“I don’t need your help. In fact, because of your little stunt my inhibitor is broken,” you state indignantly while lifting your wrist to show the damaged metal band, “so now I have no way to safely get us home.”

Bucky blanches at the realization, and now it’s his turn to feel hot with embarrassment and guilt for his mistake. You’re one of the enhanced members on the team, an Avenger with the power to teleport not only from place to place but also through time, but your ability isn’t always the most reliable. It can be unstable when used too often or without proper concentration, which is why Tony had crafted your inhibitor bracelet to ensure you didn’t accidentally teleport yourself or your teammates to the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust yourself to make the jump back to the compound without it, and now the two of you were stranded.

He curses under his breath and runs an anxious hand through his hair before saying, “We’ll have to call for someone to come get us.”

“No shit,” you retort only to earn an eye roll from him in response. “But that’s going to take hours, and if we stay here we’re dead.”

“Look,” Bucky sighs depreciatively, “we need to figure this out together, so I’d appreciate a little less sarcasm and a little more-“

The sound of gunfire interrupts Bucky’s rant and sends you both ducking for cover. Your arguing had allowed enough time for the enemy to counterattack with an ambush, and now you were cornered with nowhere to go. You find yourself pressed against a metal crate, making yourself as small as possible while trying to form some sort of an exit plan. Your attackers were closing in, and you felt the anxiety beginning to rise in your chest at the fact that you had nowhere left to run.

Bucky calls your name frantically, breaking you out of your panicked daze quickly enough for you to register the woman approaching you with her gun raised. Your eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights, and when she pulls the trigger you feel your powers activate on instinct as you’re teleported out of the line of fire.

You land on the ground with a groan.

Tingles run down your body from the use of your powers, and it takes you a moment to adjust to the new surroundings you find yourself in. The packing warehouse you’d been dodging gunfire fire in is long gone, and instead you find yourself in an alleyway nestled between two apartment buildings. Your mind is frantic as you try to scramble back up onto your feet only to crumple down in pain from your fall. You think you’ve twisted your ankle, and you don’t know where you are or how to get back home.

You attempt to use your powers to jump back to the warehouse to help Bucky, but without the inhibitor bracelet your teleportation has become shoddy. You let your head fall back with a frustrated groan at being completely helpless and try to clear your mind to figure out your next move.

“Excuse me,” an oddly familiar voice calls from the other end of the alleyway, “are you alright, miss?”

You lift your head at the sound of approaching footsteps and are met with a set of kind blue eyes that have your breath catching in your throat. His face is so much younger and full of life, not yet tainted by the trauma he’d endured after the events of the war. He’s beautiful, and you find your heart nearly leaping out of your chest when he makes his way towards you. He reaches out to you with his left hand, and you stare down with uncertainty at the warm flesh that replaces metal.

You’d accidentally sent yourself back in time, and now you found yourself face to face with a Bucky who had yet to become the Winter Soldier.

“I… I’m fine,” you finally manage to get out after willing away your initial shock. You hesitantly accept his hand and are unnerved by the unusual warmth his palm emits against your own. He helps you back onto your feet only for you to stumble as a result of your bad ankle. His strong arms catch you in an instant, holding you upright while you brace yourself against his firm chest.

“Looks like you had quite the fall,” Bucky says with a lighthearted smile while meeting your gaze. You see something shift in his features when he looks into your eyes, an awestruck sense of admiration washing over him as he takes in your disheveled appearance. You begin to fear that he has you figured out, that somehow he knows who you are and that you don’t belong, but instead he merely wipes away a smudge of dirt from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re a knockout,” he compliments before letting out a sheepish laugh at his own boldness. Your stomach flips at his confession, and you have to stop and remind yourself that this is a completely different Bucky from the one you know. The Bucky you have back at home would sooner call you a pain in his ass than ever call you beautiful.

“Thank you,” you breathe out nervously, flashing him a meek smile while subtly trying to free yourself from his hold. You have no idea what repercussions will come from you interacting with him, and you still need to figure out a way to get back to your own time now that it’s been made clear you sent yourself to the past. You attempt to walk only to wince again at the ache in your leg, something Bucky notices immediately.

“You’re hurt. Let me take you home with me, my Ma can fix you right up and get you something to eat,” he offers only for you to quickly shake your head.

“I couldn’t impose. I’ll be fine, really,” you try to assure him, but your obvious discomfort isn’t very convincing.

“Nonsense. What kind of a man would I be if I left you here in this dingy alleyway to fend for yourself? My mother raised me better than that.”

You can’t help the soft smile that forms on your lips at his kindness. Steve had often mentioned how charming Bucky was in his younger days, how he had swept countless girls off their feet with his chivalrous nature and good looks. Bucky would always grumble about his friend’s need to exaggerate on the details of the past, but you were now seeing firsthand the truth to the Captain’s stories.

You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t stop yourself from finally relenting to Bucky’s request. How can you deny him when he flashes you such an endearing grin and looks upon you with eyes full of tenderness? You expect him to take your hand or give you his arm to steady yourself for the walk home, but he instead surprises you by literally sweeping you off of your feet and carrying you in his arms. You gasp, fingers anxiously clutching at the fabric of his dress shirt while you look to him with wide eyes; his strength is unwavering, and his lips sport a proud grin as he whisks you away to his apartment.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you.”

Your inner turmoil is almost unbearable as you struggle to comprehend the sweetness of this Bucky in comparison to the brooding nature of your own Bucky. You’re not used to such acts of chivalry or flirtatious remarks, and it certainly doesn’t help alleviate the crush you harbor on your teammate. If anything, you’re even more confused now than you’ve ever been when it comes to your feelings for the Winter Soldier. You’re adamant about not falling into the fantasy, about staying focused on the task at hand, but it’s hard to do so when Bucky is so obviously sweet on you.

“I’ve just realized I don’t know your name,” he notes thoughtfully. “Most guys usually know the name of the girl they plan to bring home to their mother.”

“Y/n,” you reply gently despite the heat that spreads across your face at his jest, not even sure if giving your real name is the right move.

“Y/n,” he repeats sweetly, devoid of the usual tone of annoyance or irritation you’re used to. “I think that suits a pretty girl like you. My name is James, but most people just call me Bucky.”

“I like James,” you admit truthfully while avoiding his burning gaze. “I think it suits a gentleman like you.”

“A gentleman, huh? Mom will proud to hear that.”

You find yourself subtly sneaking a glance at his face while he speaks, unable to resist drinking in the details of a younger, innocent Bucky who has yet to endure the horrors his future has in store for him. He exuded confidence and light, and you could see why girls would throw themselves at his feet just to see his smile. This Bucky was full of hope, and your chest ached at having to keep what you knew about him hidden. You couldn’t risk stirring up trouble in the past by telling him what would take place after being shipped off to England and meddling with a future that had already been set in stone, and you knew he might not even believe you anyway. You had no choice but to keep your mouth shut and maintain your composure until you managed to get back to the present.

You eventually make it to his apartment and find your stomach twisting with nerves as Bucky carefully sets you down so he can unlock the door. You’re not sure how you’re going to handle meeting his mother or setting foot into his childhood home, and the entire situation feels much too intimate for you to bear. You’re an intruder in his life, the one he kept close to his chest away from everyone but Steve, and you wonder how much he’ll hate you for this when you finally get back.

“Let’s get you inside,” James urges, gently guiding you through the doorway while being mindful of your bad leg. He lets you hold onto his arm while escorting you towards the couch. The living room is quaintly decorated with photos and antique furniture, and the floral patterned wallpaper reminds you of the one your grandmother had kept in her home. The smell of a freshly cooked meal wafts through the apartment, and from the distance you can hear the quiet crackle of the kitchen radio playing a tune.

“Wait right here,” he says with a wink before disappearing down the hallway and leaving you to your own devices. You debate making your escape while he’s gone in order to avoid delving deeper into Bucky’s past life, but you know you won’t get far with a twisted ankle. Instead, you choose to quickly comb your fingers through your hair and dust yourself off to make yourself somewhat presentable in the presence of his mother.

“I’m telling you, Ma,” Bucky’s voice echoes through the hallway as he makes his return to the living room, “she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat at his flattery and try to appear as inconspicuous as possible despite your nerves. You can’t help but wonder how you’re supposed to go back to normal after all of this is over, and a part of you is starting to dread returning home.

Bucky walks into the room with an older woman on his arm. She has beautifully curled hair that’s been pinned back neatly to frame her weathered face. Despite the wrinkles under her eyes, they are bright with joy when she gazes upon her son, and her ruby red smile flashes pearly whites your way when she finally rests her attention on your awkward form.

“Mom, this is y/n,” Bucky introduces proudly, “I promised her you could fix her right up.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” his mother croons as she seats herself beside you. “James told me all about your nasty fall, but I don’t want you to worry. You’re in good hands here with me.”

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Miss,” you express earnestly as you look into her striking blue eyes she shares with her son. “I promise I won’t be in your way long.”

“Nonsense,” she dismisses you with a wave of her hand. “Any friend of my James is welcome in this home. And please, call me Winnifred.”

“Thank you, Winnifred,” you repeat with a grateful smile, the woman’s kindness having alleviated some of your stress. You watch as she begins to scan over your features for any other possible injuries while taking in your disheveled form; her brows furrow slightly when she takes note of your attire.

“What peculiar clothing,” she murmurs while running her fingers along the rip in your tactical suit. You blanch slightly at the realization that you aren’t exactly dressed for the time period you’re in and scramble to come up with a lie.

“It’s my factory uniform,” you quickly fib, grateful for the fact you’d paid attention in your high school history class. “I make munitions for our boys overseas.”

“I love a woman in uniform,” Bucky notes with an innocent smile despite the flirtatious tone of his words.

“How admirable of you! But surely it must not be very comfortable. Why don’t you get cleaned up and changed out of that uniform before I wrap your ankle? I’ll find you something else to wear.”

“I’ll show you to the bathroom,” Bucky offers before assisting you back onto your feet. You wrap an arm around his midsection to keep yourself propped upright while lamely limping down the hallway with his help. “Mom really seemed to like you, not that I’m surprised.”

“I can see where you get your charm,” you tease gently, almost melting at the boyish grin that forms on his lips in response. Would it be wrong of you to wish you could have such an easy rapport with your own Bucky as you do with this one?

You make it to bathroom where James shows you how to work the shower before giving you your privacy. The water pressure isn’t as strong as what you’re used to back at the compound, but it does the job. You’re grateful to finally scrub off the grime and dried blood that had accumulated from the mission, and you feel like you’re in a much clearer headspace now to start planning your next move.

A simple dress is laid out on the dresser for you when you finish your shower, and once you’re decent Winnifred sits you down and wraps your ankle. She insists you keep off your foot and rest for the remainder of the evening in her daughter’s bed seeing as she’s off at a sleepover. You know better than to object to the woman’s demands, and so you find yourself seated on the cushiony mattress with a dinner tray on your lap. You’re absolutely starving, and you’re grateful to finally have the chance to eat considering you need your strength in order to attempt teleporting without the help of your inhibitor.

A gentle knock on the doorway interrupts your ruminative dinner, and you watch curiously as Bucky slowly peeks his head into the door.

“Mind if I keep you company?”

“Of course not,” you hum gently, heart thrumming in your chest when he seats himself on the edge of the bed beside you. The scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk drowns your senses, causing a longing ache to settle in the pit of your stomach as you’re reminded of the fact that you must leave him behind when this is all over.

“How’s the ankle?”

“Your mom says the swelling should go down in a day or two as long as I keep off of it.”

“Does that mean you’ll be sticking around here a bit longer?” Bucky asks with a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. You smile faintly, but it isn’t very convincing.

“I can’t,” you relent gently, guilt consuming your entire being at the way his features falter in result. “I have to get back home.”

“You have someone waiting for you?” He prompts softly, absently fidgeting with a loose thread from the comforter.

“I do,” you confess quietly. You watch his gaze drop down to hide his disappointment, head shaking slightly as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“I should have known a girl like you would already be spoken for. Is he handsome?”

“Very,” you nod sheepishly, your face growing hot at having to confess such thoughts to the younger version of the man you picture in your head. “His eyes are blue like yours, but his hair’s a bit longer. He doesn’t smile much, but when he does it lights up an entire room.”

“Does he treat you the way you deserve?”

“He can be cold and closed off at times, but I know deep down he cares. He just isn’t very good at showing it, and I certainly don’t make it easy for him. I can be a handful, and we fight a lot, but I think I love him anyway.”

Sighing, Bucky runs his fingers through his perfectly combed hair before meeting your gaze. You watch as he reaches out to gently take hold of your hand in his left one. You can’t remove your eyes from the flesh no matter how hard you try, and you don’t think you’ll ever get over the feeling of being able to touch the arm that has yet to be tainted by Hydra’s touch. You almost want to tell him, but you’re able to bite your tongue.

“There isn’t anything I can do to change your mind?” He asks while giving your hand a gentle squeeze. His eyes are full of hope and admiration for the woman that had spontaneously fallen into his life, and though he’d only known you for a short period of time he knew that something about you was special. You were unlike any woman he’d ever met, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life getting to know you.

“I don’t think so, James,” you comfort softly. You feel so bold as to rest a hand gently upon his cheek, and you’re rewarded by the feeling of him leaning into your touch as he melts into your palm. “You’re a wonderful man, and I have a feeling this won’t be the last time our paths cross.”

Smiling faintly, Bucky cheekily turns his head to press a chaste kiss to your palm. Your breath catches in your throat at the act while your stomach flutters with nervous butterflies, but you don’t make a move to pull your hand away.

“I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart. I’d be a fool to let a girl like you out of my life,” he says with a wink before reluctantly beginning to pull away from you. Before you can stop yourself or think it through, you frantically shoot your hand out to keep him in place.

“Wait!” You exclaim desperately, catching both Bucky and yourself off guard. You know better than to bring the future to the past, and you know in the end that altering the course of his life won’t change the events of your present time, but you owe it to the man who had shown you such kindness to warn him about his fate.

“What is it, y/n?”

“I…,” you begin to say, faltering as you struggle to get the words out. He looks to you patiently for you to finish your sentence, and despite the guilt that consumes you for changing your mind, you continue, “I want you to promise me you’ll be careful in the future. I couldn’t stand anything happening to you, and I just want you to be safe.”

“Oh,” Bucky breathes as if he hadn’t been expecting such a serious profession. After processing your words, the man simply gives you an affirming nod and replies, “of course I will, doll. Anything you ask.”

The turmoil within you at keeping the truth to yourself persists, but you’re unable to say nothing more as Bucky rises from his seat on the bed and takes your empty tray from your lap. “I’ll get this out of your way.”

He leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead before excusing himself from the room, shutting the door behind him to give you your privacy. You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and blink back the tears that threaten to spill. You cherish the time you’ve spent with him here in his own time, but you also miss the Bucky you have back at home. You’ve never hated him, you just never understood him or the walls he insisted putting between you, but you can see now just how much Hydra had taken from him. He hadn’t always been the grumpy soldier you knew him as, and your stubborn nature certainly didn’t help him come out of his shell.

You needed to make things right, not only with the Bucky from your timeline but also with the one who had just spent his entire day looking after a complete stranger.

Despite the painful throbbing of your ankle, you will yourself out of bed and desperately rush towards the door. You know that exposing his true fate will not alter the course of your timeline, but perhaps there’s a possibility it can give him the chance to create a new timeline where he never gets the chance to become the Winter Soldier.

“Bucky!” You call out in hopes he’ll come rushing back down the hall. You’re so desperate to reach him that you don’t notice the soft glow of your inhibitor bracelet, and your frantic state of mind creates a lack of control over your teleportation ability.

You reach the doorknob just as your powers activate, and when you step through the doorway you are no longer in the apartment of James Barnes but instead in your own bedroom back at the compound.

You stagger forward in a daze, mind reeling from the use of your powers as you struggle to adjust to your new surroundings. Your heart drops to your chest when you finally come to the realization that you’re back where you belong, and you slowly sink down to your knees in tears over the fact that you’d been too late. Bucky would return to an empty bedroom, and he would go on to live the life that fate had chosen for him.

You couldn’t protect him- you’d failed.

You begin to sob as the amalgamation of emotions from your experience overtakes you, and you’re so consumed in your grief that you fail to hear the sound of your door sliding open behind you.

“Y/n? It’s been three days, where the hell have you been?” A startled voice sounds, causing you to jump in surprise. You turn to find Bucky standing in your doorway, his irritated features morphing into confusion at the sight of your distraught state. Tears steadily stream down your cheeks in time with the trembling of your shoulders, and he slowly makes his approach towards your figure on the floor. “Y/n?”

Bucky cautiously sinks to his knees beside you and places a careful hand on your back. The coolness of his metal arm has you shivering, a stark contract to the warmth you’d felt when he’d held your hand in his Brooklyn apartment. “Are you alright? What happened?”

You don’t think before throwing yourself into his arms and holding tightly onto his frame. Bucky nearly topples over from the impact but is quick to regain his balance so he can hold you both upright. Initially he isn’t sure how to react considering this is the first time you’ve ever willingly gotten this close to him let alone hugged him, but he’s eventually able to reciprocate the act by wrapping his arms around your trembling figure and holding you close to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, fingers tightly clutching at the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself. “I’m sorry for always giving you such a hard time, for being so stubborn. You don’t deserve that, and I should have tried to be a better teammate.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky shushes gently, his tone unusually gentle as he carefully pulls away to look you in the face. “I know I’m not exactly the most pleasant person to be around sometimes, and I haven’t always been the nicest to you either. I’m sorry for that.”

“You mean you’re not going to yell at me for disappearing on you? You don’t hate me?” You snivel, prompting his lips to quirk up into a rare smile.

“I’m not going to yell at you for something you can’t control. And I never hated you. I just… never really knew how to be around you. Steve always speaks so highly of you, you’re everyone’s favorite, and I never felt like I had the right to know you so intimately the way they do. I figured keeping my distance would be easier, and I thought you preferred it that way considering our track record.”

“I don’t want you to keep your distance anymore,” you plead softly. “I want to be around you, I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“That can be arranged,” Bucky notes with a faint smile while carefully brushing away the last of your tears, “but can I ask you what brought this on?”

“It’s a long story,” you admit while guiltily avoiding eye contact with the man. You’re not sure if you should tell him the truth about your venture just yet, but you don’t have it in you to lie to him. You know you’ll have to tell him one day, but for now it can wait. “Being gone these past few days just gave me time to get a new perspective on things.”

“Well, whatever happened, I’m glad it did,” he says truthfully. “Now let’s get you cleaned up so you can let the rest of the team know you made it back safe.”

You allow him to help you up off the ground just as he had in that alleyway, and when he looks down at you with his soft blue eyes you’re able to see his younger self once more. The charming, chivalrous James Barnes who had taken such good care of you still existed within Bucky, it would just take time for him to come out of his shell and open himself up to you the way his past self had done so.

And you would wait all the time in the world for him.

[vampsol]

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM | 심재윤

⟢ PAIRING: sim (jake) jaeyun x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 10.2K ⟢ GENRE: fluff, angst, smut ⟢ TAGS: badboy!au, innocent!reader, opposites attract, sexual tension, corruption kink, dirty talk, fingering, oral (m + f receiving), 69, pet names (baby, angel, etc.), face sitting, protected sex. ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Just because there's a new and seemingly bad influence in your small town, it doesn't mean you have to fall privy to his charms, no matter how beautiful he is. But when he takes notice of you, none of the gossiping wine moms can stop him from getting what he wants. ➸ shoutout to @kwanisms and @mini-mews for helping this fic come to fruition, ily guys sm and this is genuinely one of my favorite pieces ive ever written aaa.

“Have you heard about the new family who moved into town? The son is a real piece of work!”

“He’s twenty-one but acts like he’s still sixteen on that damn motorcycle. No class or consideration whatsoever!”

“Maybe they’ll keep him in check if they decide to come to church this weekend. You know Reverend Park has no time for miscreants and delinquents.”

The familiar crowd on your mother’s front porch greets you as you’re attempting to exit the house. They cool themselves off with their makeshift fans and drink your mother’s homemade lemonade in the Saturday sun, continuing to harp on the locals in town that they’ve known for years.

Somewhere in their conversation, they drifted to the topic of the new family that moved in across the street. Three days was all it took for them to begin spouting their judgemental observations, every act from the new middle-aged couple and their son fodder for their discussion.

You smile politely with every fiber of your being, despite your instincts to snap at them and be on your merry way. If only they knew how ironic they are, pointing fingers at others from their high horses when the town kept enough space for their dirty little secrets. “Nice to see you this morning, ladies.”

They say your name with grace, their tones all air with little substance. “On your way to bible study?” Mrs. Choi asks, gazing at you from the rim of her glass.

You shake your head. “Just tutoring.”

“With the Nishimura boy? What a sweet kid.” When Riki’s name leaves Mrs. Lee’s lips, all the women hum in agreement. “Such a bright future ahead of him.”

“Of course, as long as he passes English,” you joke. The women’s faces don’t change, not taking your teasing with an ounce of anything but seriousness. The bags under their eyes, lipstick smudged in the tiny corners of their teeth, and piercing attitudes begin to damper your excitement for the day. You bid them goodbye quickly with another smile, walking down the stairs and onto the path down the street.

As you turn down the sidewalk, still hearing the resounding chatter from the women, your thoughts run wild. Is this what life would be like when you were older, doing nothing but kicking your feet up on a neighbor’s porch with only other people’s business to fill your time? Spending endless days and nights at church, listening to the same sermons leave Reverend Park’s lips until you become as overly critical as they all are?

The screech of tires halts your thoughts in their place. “Watch it!” A young man’s voice pierces the morning air, making you step back even further. You hadn’t realized how far you had walked into the road until you were back on the safety of the sidewalk. You trip on a crack between the two slabs of concrete, falling backwards and meeting the ground hard.

“Shit, are you okay?” He takes his helmet off, immediately hooking it to his handlebars to check on you.

Sim Jaeyun.

You had not met him formally until this moment, but the motorcycle and undeniable looks gave away his status as your new neighbor. Your parents had decided to let the new family settle in before trying to visit and introduce themselves. If they could see you now, your maxi skirt hitched up to your knees and the boy barely a foot away from you, they would have had a field day.

Sure, you both are of age. Butlike Mrs. Choi, Mrs. Lee, and other local townsfolk always do, people will talk about such a compromising position if you aren’t careful.

All those thoughts fade away though when Jake kneels beside you, his face flooded with concern. His eyes linger on the broken skin on your legs and then across your flushed face. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head. “It’s barely a scratch. Sorry I almost ran into you.”

“More like almost ran into my bike.” He laughs, his expression one of relief as well as humor. “I’m just glad you’re in one piece.”

“Thank the lord.” You brush your hands on your skirt and begin to stand up, but Jake grabs you by the hand to help, taking all your weight with him.

“Thank you,” you say, brushing the free hair from your braid out of your face.

“You’re welcome.” He unclips his helmet from the bar and gestures back to his bike. “I can drive you to wherever you’re going if you want. I don’t have a second helmet, but–”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips, the thought of riding on the back of a motorcycle too ridiculous to envision given your status as the deacon’s daughter. What would people say?

Jake just furrows his brows, his lips turning up at the corners. “Is my offer that funny?”

“No,” you say, “I would love to, it’s just–”

“Sim Jaeyun!” The shrill sound of Mrs. Choi’s voice makes you take another step away from Jake, unaware you were as close as you were to him. His presence seems to be magnetic, just like his smile. “Stay away from her or so help me God!”

Jake turns to the old woman down the road and nods his head, trying to be respectful but clearly irritated from her meddling. “Yes ma’am,” he yells, stepping back and getting closer to his bike.

“Maybe another time,” Jake says, “when you’re not flocked by the whining wine moms.”

You laugh and nod. “Maybe.”

Jake rides away on his bike, the wispy ends of his hair your last picture of him before he makes a sharp turn at the end of your street.

“Why do I need to learn this?” Riki groans, laying his head flat against his desk. The church bells ring as he knocks his head in the same rhythm against the polished wood.

“Because you need to be able to interpret text if you want to go off to college, Nishi. Otherwise you’ll be illiterate and an embarrassment to the entire town!” You put on your best harping, disapproving voice. It makes Riki laugh as he lifts his head. You’re glad at least the younger kids appreciate your sense of humor, unlike the older brood flooding your hometown.

“Alright, fine.” He opens his copy of Heart of Darkness, beginning to read the page in front of him. “I avoided a vast artificial hole somebody had been digging on the slope…”

A knock on the classroom door makes you and Riki turn. Yeri opens it with a shy grin, saying your name with the same nature. “Someone’s here to see you!”

“Who?”

“Some cute guy on a motorcycle? But don’t tell Jungwon I said that!” She runs back out the door and leaves you puzzled. Surely it’s not Jake. You just met him; he wouldn’t make the effort to try and follow you to your tutoring session, especially at the church of all places.

You head to the window to see Jake sitting against his bike, looking around at his surroundings. He’s wearing the same leather jacket and gray jeans, his white shirt marked with several spots of sweat. Riki comes up behind you, making a sound of acknowledgement. “Oh, that’s Jake!”

“Jake?” You look closer. “I thought his name was Jaeyun.”

“Yeah, but I call him Jake.” He laughs. “He’s my cousin.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Jake’s sudden move made a lot more sense, seeing as Riki’s mother was getting sicker every day. She must have needed some help from her family to not only manage her household, but make sure Riki stayed on track.

“He probably wants to see you. Yeri must’ve gotten it all mixed up.”

Riki grabs his phone, scrolling through texts with his thumb. “Actually, he did mention almost running over a cute girl on his way to work.” The young boy smirks. “I’m gonna assume that’s you?”

You blush, the flush on your cheeks making you feel hot. “Whatever. He’s probably just picking you up!”

“I brought my own bicycle, dude. And as cool as Jake is, his driving makes me nauseous.” Riki begins packing up his belongings on the desk as you wonder what Jake would want to say that hadn’t already been said earlier. Surely he had no interest in talking to you beyond another apology for almost killing you earlier, not that you would have noticed.

As your thoughts continue on, you barely hear Riki’s parting words. “Have fun making out with my cousin!”

You venture outside and are greeted to Jake’s soft smile as he looks you over. “Didn’t expect you to be teaching my cousin how to read.”

You laugh. “When would that have come up? Before or after I fell face-first on the sidewalk?”

“Technically, you fell on your ass.” He looks over the cuts on your leg again. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

“Barely remember it.”

“Damn. Didn’t realize I was so forgettable,” he teases. You shuck your backpack over your shoulder, pretending his joke didn’t land. But you can’t help how your mouth curves into a grin. “Wanna take me up on that ride now? I don’t see any wine moms in sight.”

Being clear headed and not in the midst of a compromising position, you take a better look at Jake. He may look rugged from the neck down, muscles standing out through his jacket, but his face is incredibly youthful and vulnerable without a touch of hardness. Maybe the wine moms had gotten it wrong; maybe Jake’s actually a stand-up guy bundled up in a lot of leather.

Before you can answer, your father seems to appear from thin air. He wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Mr. Sim, pleasure to meet you officially.”

Your father holds out his hand for Jake, and Jake takes it with a steadfast grip. “Nice to meet you too sir. My mother was telling me how much you’ve been helping my aunt since she can’t attend services anymore.”

“Akemi is a pillar of our church. It’s only right to take care of one of our own as the deacon.” Your father squeezes you tighter to his side. “Glad to see you and my daughter have met. I hope she’s made a good impression upon you.”

“Yes sir. Very much so.” He smiles in your direction. The dimple in his cheek makes your heart flutter in your chest, the butterflies undeniable.

“Well, please tell your parents to come to ours soon for dinner. It would be a pleasure.” Your father begins the quick walk to his car, the silent request for you to follow him clear in his stern posture. You give Jake an apologetic smile before you leave, hoping your eyes hold the promise of taking him up on that ride someday.

When you’re both out of earshot and in the confines of your father’s car, he turns to you with a frown. “Do not get yourself involved with that boy. He doesn’t strike me as very forthcoming.”

You stutter out an excuse. Surely the first day of knowing Jake wouldn’t be the last. “F-Father–”

“Listen to me, sweetie. I know what I’m talking about.” He starts the car and begins the drive home, tightening his fists on the steering wheel. “I mean it. Do not see that boy again.”

The next morning, you’re sitting in one of the front pews with your mother, Yeri, and her mother. You see your fellow townsfolk in attendance in the other pews, Jungwon being one of them, Yeri’s longtime boyfriend. Mrs. Choi and Mrs. Lee look like they are partially focused on the attendees, but also on their own gossip.

All of you are dressed in your best outfits, your hair wrapped in a bun to maintain the peak of modesty. It doesn’t seem particularly realistic for a higher power to be judging you for your hairdo, but you gave in to your mother’s ridiculous requests as always. “We are important people in this community, darling,” your mother said as she stuck the umpteenth bobby pin in your hair. “If they can’t trust us, who can they trust?”

Riki sits behind you, his pew empty save for him. When you offer the empty spot next to you before the procession starts, he shakes his head. “Jake and his folks will be here any second.”

Your gut tightens, the words of your father playing over in your head. You know you have to heed his orders at all times, but the excitement you feel at the prospect of seeing Jake is unavoidable.

A minute before your childhood friend Heeseung sits at the piano to play the beginning of How Great Is Our God, Jake and his family walk inside. Jake’s impeccably dressed, clad in a red dress-shirt and suit pants. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing a handful of tattoos you didn’t notice the day prior. He has his mother’s arm in one hand and a bible in the other, looking completely out of place but incredibly mesmerizing.

He winks at you when he sits down, making you turn your head back to your friend at the piano. You follow in your mother’s and Yeri’s lead, singing alongside them and forgetting the new buzz in your veins. You can feel his eyes on you throughout the songs and sermons, and you should say that you don’t enjoy it, but you don't kid yourself. His attention makes your body tingle in all the right and wrong ways.

You excuse yourself in the intermission, walking outside until you’re a good ten paces away from the church. You take several pins out of your hair, grunting. The incessant tools had been scratching your scalp uncomfortably for the past three hours, and it feels like freedom taking them out one at a time.

It isn’t that you don’t believe in a higher power or the teachings your father and Reverend Park have supplied you with your entire life. The town is just too suffocating on days like these, setting you up to feel like you aren’t good enough no matter how hard you try every day to perfect yourself.

The fashion show of your humble, presentable outfit, the whispered chatter from your community, the watchful eyes of holy men. They all make your skin crawl, that itch only intensifying with every day that passes. How could you stay in such a small room for years and feel misunderstood by everyone? 

Jake saunters up to you, making you gasp in surprise. “Jesus Christ!”

He smirks, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I thought you weren’t supposed to say his name in vain.”

You shrug, smiling in relief to find it’s just him and nobody else. No-one to meddle, judge, or question your absence. “I’ll just say a few words of penance. I’m sure he’ll forgive me.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Jake chuckles and steps closer to you, his eyes lingering on your dress. It’s incredibly modest, the only skin showing high above your cleavage. but the look in his eyes still makes your nerves tremble.

 You wonder what thoughts are swimming in his head and if a majority of them are impure. Would it be so wrong to confess that you feel the same? That whatever he’s imagining mirrors your own fantasies ten times over?

“The updo doesn’t suit you,” he says finally.

You giggle and cross your arms. “It doesn’t, huh?”

He steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your skin. It lingers across your neck and shoulder blades. You shudder, hoping he doesn’t notice how his presence affects you. He reaches behind you and takes hold of the hair tie keeping your bun together. He expertly undoes it, your hair falling in waves around your shoulders.

Before he walks away, the church bells signaling the recommencement of the procession, he whispers in your ear, “Much more breathtaking with your hair down, angel.”

The next time you see Jake, he’s across from you at your family’s dinner table, all laughs with Jungwon and Yeri as your father passes out the rest of the side dishes. Riki is also there, discussing his mother’s treatment with your mother and Jake’s parents.

You can’t help the way your eyes attach to Jake across from you. It’s almost a form of punishment that you were made to sit in such close proximity, the weight of his stare on you swallowing you whole.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, his mouth against your ear–it was all so incredibly inappropriate. You shouldn’t have thought about that day last week with such excruciating frequency, but you did. You thought about it when you heard the wine moms whispering about Jake on your porch, when Yeri and Jungwon talked about him as you studied, and when you were alone at night. 

In your dreams, it was even more painful. In a perfect world, he would take his hand from your hair and keep it on your neck, holding you close. He would move his lips from the shell of your ear to the side of your neck, kissing and tasting what skin was available to him in that moment to make you come undone.

Yes, sitting across from him is torment. But the alternative is worse, not seeing him at all and having to conjure images of him alone in the quiet of your bedroom.

“Deacon, sir,” Jungwon pipes up from his spot next to Jake, addressing your father directly. “I was going to study with Jaeyun and Yeri at my house if you wouldn’t mind your daughter tagging along.”

The muscle in your father’s jaw clenches. He’s clearly unhappy with one of the attendees being Jake, but he hides it behind a smile. “It’s up to her. What do you think, sweetie?”

On one hand, you should absolutely say no. Jake may take you into a random spot of Jungwon’s house and make any resolve you still have disappear with the flick of his wrist. Even in the company of your friends, you know no place is safe when he’s around and close to you. And were you willing to crumble so easily?

At the same time, the distance is eating away at you. You can’t take another charged glance in your direction, words unspoken but begging to be released. If you have to catch his bedroom eyes on your body one more time, you may just snap in front of everyone, and care little when you do.

“Sure. I’d love to, Wonie,” you say with a grin. “Nishi, you want to come too?”

Riki shakes his head, enjoying the fruitcake your mom set out. “I’ll stay. Someone has to help clean up.” Jake’s mom squeezes one of his cheeks. Riki’s face suddenly turns pink from his aunt’s affection, making everyone laugh.

On your way out the door, your father catches you by the arm. He whispers, “No later than midnight. Understood?”

On the cusp of 10 PM, you want to protest that time with your friends is already so limited, but you obey with a nod and walk out the door. 

When you get in the backseat of Jungwon’s car, Jake too comfortable beside you, you feel your body flicker to life. “So,” you say, “your house then, Won?”

Yeri and Jungwon laugh, a conspiratory look in both of their eyes. “We’re just gonna make a quick stop first.”

Kiss ‘Em Creek was the unofficial name of the lake that ran through your town, a spot for teenagers to spend a few hours alone with their friends or partners. It wasn’t scientifically-correct, but it stuck nonetheless, many of the locals taking advantage of the not-so-secret hideaway. What went on there you only heard about through Yeri and the wine moms’ conversations, their voices littered with disappointment and condemnation.

Jungwon parks his car and turns his eyes to meet yours in the rearview mirror, that scheming smile still playing on his lips. “Ready to take a dip?”

Your eyes widen. You shake your head at a rapid pace, making your friends and Jake chuckle. “No way,” you say.

“C’mon babe, live a little!” Yeri winks and exits the car, Jungwon hot on her heels. The two of them begin to strip to their underwear, eager to jump in the water together. Jungwon picks her up in a bridal carry, Yeri laughing the entire way as he takes the first step into the awaiting lake.

As the two lovebirds continue heading towards the water, you and Jake sit in comfortable silence, your heartbeat slowly rising at the prospect of being alone in the car together. No distractions, no disappointed parents, no judgemental hags. Just the two of you under a cloud of stars and beautiful moonlight.

“I didn’t know if you would come tonight,” Jake says, filling the silence with a quiet chuckle. “Thought you were avoiding me at all costs, like I’m some kind of plague.”

“No!” You turn in your seat to face him. His expression is teasing but holds undercurrents of disappointment, clearly confused where your feelings lie. And he has every right to feel that way. One minute you’re wishing he would pull you closer, and the next you feel it’s better he keeps his distance. “I just don’t know what your intentions are.”

His eyes darken and his lips curve into a beautiful but intimidating smile. “Is it not obvious?”

You squeeze your thighs together, a wave of heat spreading through your bones. “Maybe I just want you to say it out loud.”

He scoots closer to you, his chest a heartbeat away from yours. “Well, to start,” he says, “I would really like to kiss you.”

You smile. A breathless laugh leaves your lips, eager to know what it would feel like to touch his mouth to yours. “I’d like that too.”

Jake runs a hand through your hair and rests it on your cheek. His touch is as fragile as the tension between you. “Then what are you so afraid of?”

You shut your eyes, trying to come up with the right words and falling short. “It’s just everyone–”

“Fuck everyone else.” He forces you to look into his eyes, the words leaving his mouth being some of the truest ones you’ve ever heard in your life. “You’re not a bad person or a sinner for wanting what you want.”

“I know that.”

“You may know it but you don’t believe it.” Jake’s lips ghost over yours, his breath tickling your cheeks. “Stop thinking about what everyone else thinks of you. Think of yourself for once.”

Maybe Jake’s right. All of your choices in life have been dictated by what your parents, friends, and total strangers have felt. If you listened to your own heart, you would have left all of them in the dust by now, chasing what you really wanted far away from this place.

At the same time, you’re glad to be in this car with Jake. He’s so close to you, telling you to take the leap and choose yourself for the first time in a long time.

When you press your lips to his, the feeling of his mouth on yours soft and tentative, you know you can’t wake up tomorrow the same person. This choice will ripple into all the choices you make from this moment on, but you don’t seem to care.

All that matters is his mouth, taking more control and setting a fire deep in your belly. He presses his tongue to the juncture of your lips, diving inside without protest.

You moan into his mouth, feeling one hand firmly pressed on your neck as the other runs down your shirt to squeeze at your breast through your clothes.

“Fuck, tell me to stop,” Jake says with a heady whisper, still kneading your breast with his palm. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

You shake your head, moving closer to him to the point you’re halfway on his lap, legs intertwined with his. “So help me God, don’t stop now.”

He snickers, pecking your lips again. “You said his name in vain again.”

You roll your eyes as he chuckles into your neck. “That wasn’t the first thing on my mind.” You move your lips to his cheek. “Or the second.” They trail down to his neck, taking your fantasies and etching them into his skin. “Or third.”

“Fuck,” Jake curses, holding you tight against him. “You’re too good at this.”

You smirk. “Contrary to popular belief, you’re not the first person I’ve ever kissed.”

He laughs, the rumble of it vibrating against your mouth. “I don’t care as long as you keep kissing me.”

“Wasn’t planning on stopping.” By the time you reattach your mouth to his, you’re straddling his lap. His hands are nestled on the small of your back, wanting to inch down further but unsure where or what your boundaries are.

You take the initiative, suddenly bold, and put both of his palms on your backside. “If you wanted to touch my ass, you could’ve just said so.”

Jake licks his lips, his accent coming out in a husky whisper. “I want to touch you in a lot of places. Your ass just happens to be easily accessible right now.”

“Oh really?” You giggle. “Care to enlighten me?”

Jake sharply switches positions, your back against the expanse of the backseat as he towers over you. He rubs his hands across the outside of your thighs, eager but patient. “Gladly.”

He kisses your neck, suckling and licking with perfect pressure, making you whimper. “Jaeyun,” you say out loud, his name coming out like a question more than a statement.

“Use your words, angel. Tell me what you want.” His eyes pass over your face, your kissable lips and lust-blown irises. You’re too entrenched in him now to walk away from this car the same girl, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

It may end badly, crash and burn completely like everyone expects it to, but that’s the last thing you care about right now.

“I want you to touch me.” You take one of his hands on your thighs and place it over your underwear, its center damp.

“Jesus,” he says in wonder, rubbing his fingers against the cotton.

“You just said–oh,” you stop short when you feel Jake’s fingers against your clit. The sensation makes you buck your hips up into him, him discovering the bundle of nerves without trying hard. He’s clearly happy at the wetness he finds. He rubs your folds in the same fashion, biting down on his bottom lip hard.

“You feel so good already. So perfect,” he whispers, taking hold of your lips again with his own while he swirls his fingers in and around your essence. He switches between teasing your clit and rubbing along your pussy, his movements lewd yet graceful. Only when he puts a finger inside of you do you gasp and look at him directly, your eyes clearly giving away your fear.

“What’s wrong, angel? Did I do something?” Concern floods his face, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

“I’ve never gone this far,” you confess, looking to your side to hide your embarrassment.

“Hey, look at me.” He turns your head to face him again, fingers laying under your chin softly. “We can stop now if you want. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

His response makes your heart clench. Most guys, you’d imagine, would be pissed off or pleading with you to continue on, to do what they wanted and enjoy the moment. That was how Jongseong was, pouting the entire time after you told him to pump the brakes on your makeout sessions.

Somehow, with Jake, it feels right to continue. You suddenly have no anxiety clouding your thoughts or expectations weighing on your heart. You kiss his lips tenderly and shake your head. “No, I want this. I want you.”

A cheshire-cat grin spreads across his face before he goes in for another kiss. He runs his tongue along the inside of your mouth as his finger slides across your folds once again. He plunges it deep inside of your heat, your body adjusting to the new sensation with surprising ease.

You thrash lightly underneath him, matching the tempo of his finger with abandon. He slips another digit in, groaning at the feeling of your soft, gummy walls becoming accustomed to him. “You’re taking my fingers so well, angel. ‘S fucking incredible.”

You gasp and feel the fire from earlier heightening in intensity, spreading from your belly into the other seams of your body. It makes your toes curl and your hand press against one of the doors of Jungwon’s car, needing something to clutch onto while feeling yourself losing what’s left of your control.

“Jaeyun, I think I–”

“I know baby,” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re going to feel so good in a second, I promise. Don’t be afraid.”

His thumb makes contact with your neglected clit, rubbing in rapid motions as he pumps his fingers faster in and out of you. You suddenly become overloaded with pleasure; its immensity is something you’ve never felt before. You feel it coat the back of your mouth and take what’s left of your rational senses, your body moving on its own accord as you ride out what’s remaining of your orgasm.

You blush furiously when you come back down to earth, giggling like a schoolgirl as Jake kisses your sweat-drenched cheek. “That was…amazing.”

Jake chuckles, a smirk painting his features. “You’re amazing.”

You tuck your face in your hands, embarrassed but still enraptured by what you just experienced. He pulls one hand away, taking it in his own, his expression suddenly shy. “So, I guess this is the part where I ask you on a proper date.”

You laugh and sit up, placing your panties back around your hips and adjusting your skirt. “I would hope so!”

Jungwon and Yeri choose that moment to run back into the car, their hair drenched but their bodies properly dressed once again. Jungwoon looks at the two of you in the backseat and grimaces. “Not in my car, man!”

Despite the warnings from your parents and the wine moms, you and Jake had become inseparable within a month’s time. It took many late-night impromptu meetings and secret rendezvous to keep your relationship private, but you had succeeded thus far. And it only made the moments you both shared that much more special.

Riki had kept your secret, keeping his eyes out for any prying townsfolk and covering for his cousin and you if need be. Yeri and Jungwon also cheered you on from the shadows, hoping one day you could be public like they were without criticism.

Sitting in the field near the lake, a picnic blanket set across the grass, you have your head in Jake’s lap while he absentmindedly turns strands of your hair into miniature braids. It’s a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, the two of you occupying the resounding forest with no outside influences.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful your hair is?” Jake asks, kissing your forehead before he takes another batch of strands in his hand. If he has to pick one of your best attributes, in his words, he’d say it was a tie between your lips and your hair, the two of them constantly making his heart race. You called him a liar, but as time revealed, he was nothing but honest with you every day, and not just about what turns him on. 

Over time, you discovered his fears, his ticks, his aspirations past the small town you both found yourselves in. You admire his vulnerability, how open he is when sharing the thoughts that occupy his mind.

“At least three times already,” you tease, running your hand across his leg.

“It’s not bad to hear it a fourth time, right?” He plants another kiss to the crown of your head. He drops the braid he’s just made across your face, making you laugh.

“I’d rather hear how work went today,” you say, getting up to press your back to his chest, snuggling into him.

He shrugs, wrapping his arms around you tighter. “Not much to talk about. Working with roofs all day isn’t exactly exciting, angel.” 

You know Jake doesn’t want to work at his dad’s construction company for the rest of his life. However, it provides stability, and that matters a lot to him. He knows what it did to his aunt when Riki’s father walked out early on in his cousin’s life, and he wouldn’t wish that lack of support on anyone.

“At least you’re not running a tutoring center and a daycare in the same church,” you joke, your tone anything but humorous. The brood you dealt with every day was completely unlike Riki. They were kids that were carbon copies of their parents, children that would one day become exactly like their absentminded fathers and speculatory mothers. It put a taste in your mouth you couldn’t stomach.

You fall into steady silence, the uptick in both of your nerves ebbing away the longer you hold each other. Sure, Jake hates roofing as much as you hate disciplining whining toddlers and helping apathetic tweens with mathematics, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.

All that does is each other, enjoying the midweek sunset and the sounds of the birds flying overhead.

“What would you do if you were somewhere else?” Jake asks into the crook of your neck.

You grin, imagining a world of possibilities. The question never came up before, not from him or anyone else. It opens up a plethora of choices in your mind, but you narrow them down quickly, knowing what your heart truly desires.

“I’d like to teach,” you answer. “Really teach, maybe at a university. Something like poetry.” You turn to look at him, a newfound fire in your eyes. “Yeah.”

Jake smiles back at you, moving stray strands of hair from your shoulder to rest his head there. “I think you’d be great at that.”

“What would you do?”

Jake ponders the question, going over it in the same way you were moments before. You see realization wash over his features, and it makes you smile. “I think I’d write. Not literature or anything, but songs maybe? Teach music in the meantime. Still have to make money somehow, y’know.”

You giggle and push him down on the picnic blanket, running your fingers through his hair. “Sounds like a plan.”

He nods, sharing your happiness. “Maybe a kid and a dog can fit somewhere in that plan.”

Chuckling, you raise one eyebrow. “As long as I’m not having a baby out of wedlock, that sounds perfect to me.”

He turns you both over, covering your body with his and kissing you intensely. The passion runs from his body to yours, your heartbeats matching in their strong beats against your chests. “Perfect,” he whispers, his lips meeting yours once again.

It may be too soon to call it love, but you know you’re tiptoeing that line, and you wouldn’t mind falling headfirst on the other side of it as long as Jake’s there waiting for you.

“Are you sure they don’t know I’m here?” Jake asks, hesitant to walk up the stairs to your bedroom.

“It’s fine! They’re at a seminar all weekend with Reverend Park and his son, I promise.” You kiss his lips before running up to your room. Still on the fence, you hear his tentative footsteps trudging behind you.

Another few months rolled by, and your parents had softened to the idea of Jake being around more often. He showed up with his parents to church every Sunday, even if you both snuck off to make out in the backwoods when nobody was paying attention.

He’d stick around for the deacon’s sessions with Akemi, brightening her spirits with his guitar and a couple of songs to replace the ones she missed during normal processions. It helped that she seemed to be getting better, slowly but surely, with treatment and daily prayer.

When you heard your father call Jake a “nice kid,” you knew they were turning a corner in their relationship that you wished for since the night Jake kissed you in Jungwon’s car.

Now, that doesn’t mean they would be happy with finding him in your bed on a Friday night, but you’ve broken enough rules at this point. What’s one more?

“You’re trying to get me killed,” Jake jokes as you rip his shirt from his body, discarding the article of clothing on your bedroom floor. You sit on your bed and marvel at the muscles on his chest and stomach, all of it yours to caress and kiss at any time.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll follow you to heaven,” you tease, pulling him closer to kiss his body. Each press of your lips to his skin makes him tremble, cursing quietly to himself at the feeling.

“With the way you’re touching me, I doubt either of us will make it there.”

You giggle and link his mouth to yours. You moan when his tongue hits the roof of your mouth.

The intentions you had for tonight definitely involved numerous bouts of kissing, but the way Jake’s making you feel will certainly end up with his face or fingers between your legs. And as good as that sounds, you don’t want him derailing you from completing your mission.

There had been so many moments of him giving you pleasure up to this point, you wondered how he had stayed so composed and content after without expecting anything in return.

So, tonight, you decided to give him a bit of satisfaction, even if you’re walking into such activities without any kind of road map. Yeri gave you a handful of tips, but doing it for real is another beast entirely.

“Jaeyun, wait,” you say, taking his face in between your hands.

He looks up at you with eager eyes, wondering why you pulled him away from your neck. “What is it?”

“I want to take care of you this time.” You say, hoping your expression gives off the confidence you’re trying to portray. “I’ve never done it before, but—“

“And you don’t have to, angel,” Jake says with a dopey, relaxed smile. What on Earth and heaven did you do to find a guy like him?

“Please,” you beg, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. “I want to try.”

Jake’s conflicting feelings are evident in his eyes. Surely any man wants his girlfriend to go down on him with the same eagerness that you're giving him right now, but he doesn’t want you to feel obligated. 

In his mind, pleasure isn’t about some sort of trade-off. He makes you feel good because he wants to, not because it’s some duty he has to fulfill and expects to be paid back for later.

But, you asked so nicely and your eyes shine up at him so beautifully. He feels his resolve crumble enough to concede and do what you want.

You begin to unbutton his pants, your fingers twitching not from fear but excitement. When you pull down his jeans fully and see the outline of his bulge in his briefs, your mouth falls open slightly at the size.

Could it fit in your mouth if it was that big?

Jake chuckles and takes your hand to press to the gaping material covering him. “It won’t bite.”

You look up at him and begin to stutter, unsure how to continue once you take off his underwear. “D-Do you want me to use my hands first?”

“Whatever feels right to you, angel. I trust you.” He rubs his thumb across your cheek, and it calms all the nerves that came to the surface.

It’s in those three words that you find the courage to pull the remaining article of clothing off of him, taking in the sight of his cock in all its glory.

You gulp hard, trailing your eyes from the tip to where it adjoins to the rest of him. You’ve never seen one up close before, and you feel like you’re invading his privacy as you stare at it for another long minute. But who can blame you?

“It’s all for you, baby,” Jake whispers. “Do whatever you want.”

You feel a sharp pang of heat at the center of your thighs, his words spurring you on. You spit into your hand, as Yeri instructed, and wrap your hand firmly around Jake’s cock. With an easy but deliberate pace, you look at Jake directly to see if you’re starting off on the right foot.

And boy were you.

Jake hisses at the feeling of your hand encasing him, loving the tightness of your fingers as they continue sliding up and down his dick. He had envisioned this many times in the solitude of his bedroom, images of you and your beautiful body writhing underneath him enough to get him off. But those nights were nothing compared to this.

“Are you ready for my mouth now?” You ask timidly. Jake wants to laugh at how innocent you sound, the words coming so naturally off of your tongue.

“Yes, angel, please,” he answers, wanting to caress you by the hair and guide you down to his awaiting, leaking cock.

You move closer until you're an inch away from his tip. Flattening your tongue to take it into your mouth, you keep watching Jake’s face for the right signals.

His mouth opens, a satisfied whine leaving his lips. You feel a wave of pride at the fact he’s enjoying it so much, egging you on further.

“Your mouth feels so perfect wrapped around me,” he confesses. He soaks in the sensation of your lips and teeth softly running over the veins of his cock, your head bobbing across his length skillfully. How can an innocent and dutiful daughter like you give such mind-blowing head?

He can’t ruminate on the answer long, releasing a guttural moan as he feels his tip hit the back of your throat, the gag that rumbles from you making his cock even more sensitive.

“Angel, I’m gonna come soon,” Jake warns. “If you don’t want me to come in your mouth, let me know now.”

You look up through your lashes at him as you continue sucking on him with fierce passion, swirling your tongue across his tip. 

His hand is wrapped firmly in your hair now, fucking your face as softly as he can without forcing anymore of himself down your throat. When you take a hand to cup his balls, softly kneading them between your fingers, he’s done for.

He whines pathetically as his seed shoots inside your mouth. The taste isn’t particularly pleasing, but you milk it for what it’s worth to watch him fall apart so perfectly under your attention.

The orgasm rocks through him with an unshakeable amount of pleasure, his body completely helpless as he continues to spurt into your mouth. He can only hiss and whine as you continue to touch him, letting him come down fully and taking all of him without complaint.

Jake breathes in deeply when he gains clarity again, taking you in his arms and shoving his tongue deep in your mouth. “That was probably the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,” he states, running his fingers over your face with adoration.

You scoff and roll your eyes, his words making you shy. “I doubt it, seeing as that was my first one.”

“It was!” Jake puts a hand on his heart. “Swear to the savior himself.” Before you can rebut, Jake takes your legs in his hands and moves you to the edge of the bed.

You wake up to the hard knocks at your bedroom door, the morning sun peeking out of your window to prove the previous night has long gone.

“Honey? What did we say about locked doors in this house?”

Your father’s booming voice makes you jump up from bed, smacking Jake hard on the shoulder and chest to wake him up.

“We had an odd feeling at the hotel, so we came home early,” your mother says as you shake Jake from his sleep.

“Ow, what the fuck,” Jake grunts, his voice not quiet enough to go unnoticed. You curse yourself and the reality in front of what’s about to happen, knowing full well your parents heard him on the other side of the door.

“Sweetie, who’s in there with you?” Your mother’s shrill but concerned tone makes you cringe. Jake’s eyes bulge in response, quickly leaping from the mattress to pull on his clothes in haste.

Just when you throw your dress from last night over your head and Jake buttons up his pants, your father slams open the door with his shoulder. Your parents gasp and yell at the sight before them, the man they began to grow comfortable with in a compromising position with their only daughter and precious child.

“What in God’s name is he doing here?” Your father asks no-one in particular, stomping towards Jake’s shirtless figure and yanking him by the neck.

“Daddy, stop!” You plead, scratching and clawing at his frame to pull him off of your lover.

Your mother begins blubbering, teary-eyed before you. “Oh honey, what did he do to you?”

“Nothing,” you scream. “Please leave him alone and let us be.”

“I told you to stay away from him.” Your father stares you down, eyes blazing with fury. “Not only did you betray me, but you betrayed the sanctity of your purity. It’s a disgrace.”

Jake coughs, your father’s hands tightening around his neck. “The only disgrace is the two of you holding her back, like she’s some weak bird in a cage,” he croaks. “She can make her own decisions.”

“You stay silent, you insolent pest,” your father growls, yanking Jake out of your room and down the stairs. By the time you and your mother make it out to the bottom step, your father has thrown Jake out and onto the porch.

“Stay away from my daughter, or you’ll have another reason to pray you don’t end up burning in hell.”

“Stop it!” You step in between your father and Jake, the latter putting on what’s left of his clothes. People begin to hover too close to your family home, suddenly entrenched in the scene playing out before them.

Jake kisses your forehead and walks away in the direction of his parked bike, unsure what else he can do unless he wants to truly end up six feet under. 

 Your father grabs you by the upper arm and pulls you in the direction of your porch, but you resist with all your might. “You can’t make me go back in there.”

“I am your father and you will listen to me,” he grunts, holding on tight.

“Daddy, I love him!” You scream as you yank your arm away from your father, your inner strength giving way. “If you can’t accept that, I guess I’ll just have to burn hell with him. Better than wasting another second here.”

You run toward Jake’s bike and sit behind him, cinching your arms around his waist. He smiles to himself, feeling the press of your chest to his back as he puts his helmet over his head. “Are you sure about this, angel?”

You nod furiously, not bothering to look back at your red-faced family. “More than I’ve ever been.”

All you focus on is his motorcycle rumbling to life before you speed away. Your hair blows in the wind as you both escape the horrified stares of the local vipers.

You end up at a motel on the other side of town, far away from the scandal that’s surely rocking your small community by now. The deacon’s daughter running away with the bad boy next door? What a tragedy!

You run inside to miss the upcoming rain, both of you shivering from the barrage of pellets that did land on your skin. You settle onto the mattress as Jake drops the small amount of belongings he had in his possession on the dresser.

He turns to you with quiet concern, arms splayed out on the furniture as he looks at you, searching your face for any lingering doubt. “No regrets?”

You shake your head, exhausted but glad to be out of that house. “None at all.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief and sits down beside you on the bed, rubbing your thigh with his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Your brows knit together, confusion pouring over you. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. “You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”

 You feel tears build at your eye ducts, your voice suddenly growing thick when you recall the scene from an hour ago. “I’m sorry my father was so horrible to you.”

“Hush, it’s okay,” he puts his other hand on your face. He kisses your lips tenderly and gracefully. How did nobody else but you see he possessed the most kind nature of anyone you’ve ever known?

Jake moves his head, his lips curving into the smile that always takes your common sense away. “I love you too, by the way.”

Your confession from earlier hits you like a heavy rock, your eyes going wide and your face turning pale. “That wasn’t the way I wanted to say it.”

“Then say it now,” Jake urges, your face resting gently between his fingers.

There’s no fear or pressure when the three words leave your lips, only the feeling of a weight lifting off of your chest. “I love you, Sim Jaeyun. I love you with my whole heart.”

His face lights up, the words seeming to set aglow something deep within him. The only right reaction seems to be in the form of his lips attaching to yours in a passionate kiss, your shared love creating a beautiful path forward for the both of you.

He whispers his next words so lightly, you almost assume the statement is a figment of your imagination. “Marry me.”

You feel your face contort into a mixture of disbelief and elation, needing to hear him say it again for it to truly resonate. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats, his smile stretching across his face. “Marry me now, or in three months from now, or whenever you want. Just say you will.”

You exhale a breath of astonishment, unsure if he knows how much you want to say yes, to make this as real as it sounds on his lips. He leaves your side with a kiss to your temple to grab something from his jacket. 

He comes back in record time, standing in front of you and twiddling the black box in both of his hands with anxious fingers. “I brought it with me to your house last night, I just didn’t know how to ask then. But I do now.”

Like in all the stories you’ve read and movies you’ve seen in your lifetime, he sinks down onto one knee before you. You place a hand over your mouth as he opens the box, a ring with an opal-shaped diamond cushioned in the center.

“Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?” Those words on his lips, visibly shaken from his own question, make a thousand butterflies flutter inside your chest.

Months ago, if you knew then you would end up here, from the edge of the sidewalk to now, you would not change a single moment. The world had been so gray before, you didn’t know what it was like to step in the sun until he came into your life. What other answer is there?

“Yes, yes, yes,” you respond, tears flooding your eyes as he shakily places the ring on your finger. It fits just right, the stone at the center sparkling in the darkness of the motel room.

You kiss Jake’s lips with all the force your body possesses, certain there’s no better future than right beside him.

The feeling of the gold band around your finger makes Jake shudder as it touches his cock. Your body is nestled perfectly on top of his as you take what you can’t put in your mouth between your fingers.

He laps up your essence with his tongue, ecstatic to have his face covered in your juices and smothered if need be by your wet cunt. If people think wedding nights are magical, engagement nights have to be a step up.

“Fuck, Jaeyun, yes,” you roll your hips into his awaiting mouth, his tongue available for you to lay your slit onto. The expletive leaves your mouth like honey, the feeling fitting for such a dirty word.

He knows exactly how to make you fall apart and be put back together, and the thought of doing this for the rest of your life makes you want to cry again from the pure happiness inside your core.

Jake takes his lips off of your pussy and sits up. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he takes you into his lap on the bed and kisses you fiercely. You taste yourself on his tongue as he skillfully takes your breath away with his lips. When you part, he says, “Angel, I know we said we’d wait, but I don’t know how much longer I can handle not being inside of you.”

You whimper at his words and suddenly rock your center into the tip of his cock, making him groan in the process. “I mean—we’re just starting early, right?” 

Jake releases a joyous laugh and kisses you hungrily, his face in a constant state of ecstasy since you said “yes” hours ago. “Right.”

 The anticipation makes you even wetter, crawling to the head of the bed as Jake grabs a condom from the bedside table. If there was one thing he had promised, he swore he wouldn’t get you pregnant. Not yet, anyway.

He rolls the rubber over his cock before joining you on the bed, lining up perfectly with your center. He rubs his tip against your folds, biting his lip at how easily it gets coated in your essence. “Ready?”

You nod eagerly, a smirk filling the entire bottom half of your face.

He pushes the tip in, the pressure a foreign feeling you had never experienced before. It took time and practice to get used to the size of his fingers, but this is another level of fullness that takes your breath away.

Once Jake’s partially inside and gives you a moment to adjust, he asks, “Can I move?”

You nod your head, holding onto his shoulders for support as he begins to thrust inside of you. He loves to see his cock disappearing between your legs, your body eagerly taking him in and stretching itself out to accommodate him. He loves the way you whimper at the movement of his hips and the pleasure you’re receiving.

Better yet, he loves you. He loves all of you, from the nonsensical words you speak in your sleep to the wrinkle between your eyebrows when you get mad. You’re all his, and he’s grateful to be the only one you call yours.

“We may never leave this motel,” Jake says, his words breathy as he continues moving his hips. “I could stay inside of you for the rest of my life, angel.”

“I love you so much,” you say, inching your hand between your bodies to roll your clit between your fingers.

“I love you,” Jake says. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you like he wants to pour all of his emotions from his being into your soul, just so you know how deep his love for you goes.

It’s all so overwhelmingly beautiful, you feel the swell of your release cresting over you like a tidal wave. “Baby, I’m gonna come,” you whisper, your mouth open wide from the moans and cries you cannot suppress.

Jake groans and slams his hips into you harder, filling you to the hilt repeatedly. “Come, angel. Come for me.”

You cry out as the orgasm takes hold of your body, your fingers working on their own accord on your clit as you fall off the edge.

Jake stills not a second later, releasing into the condom and taking the last remnants of his energy to thrust inside of you a few more times.

He pulls out and throws the rubber in a nearby trash can. His sweaty body clings to yours, hands rubbing up and down your arm tenderly as he kisses the curve of your shoulder.

You see the flash of your ring in the glow of the motel’s neon sign, and you think about how the night could not have gone any better.

Jake may be a bit reckless and not what you initially imagined for your future, but now that you have him, you wouldn’t give him up for anything. All the parts of you that stayed buried for so long have resurfaced because of him, and you could not be more grateful.

With your left hand a touch heavier than it was some hours ago, you fall asleep to the sound of the rain hitting the window and Jake’s rising and falling chest.

You walk out of your mother’s house, happy to have made a visit with her before she ran off to do her morning errands.

What you’re not pleased to encounter is the same crowd of women huddled with their homemade fans and cups of lemonade. They weren’t there when you arrived a few hours ago.  Of course they show up when you have no chance of escaping them, like the vultures they are.

“Mrs. Sim,” Mrs. Choi says, her tone entirely made of stone with little warmth. “Pleasure to see you.”

Your new surname gives you indescribable amounts of happiness. It took your parents some time to get used to, but eventually, they realized you put your heart in the right place. Your father took his sweet time getting there, begrudgingly admitting a short time ago Jake is a very acceptable son-in-law, the turnaround of his perception of your husband complete.

You give the crotchety ringleader a fake smile and attempt to walk away, but Mrs. Lee interjects. “How’s your mister doing working at the church now?”

“Great,” you say, genuinely happy to talk about a topic you care for. “Jaeyun loves the kids. Little Yuna might actually be a guitar prodigy from what he’s told me.”

They all coo, practically synchronized in their sips of lemonade and fan flurries.

“Soon enough you’ll have one of your own, I’m sure,” Mrs. Choi remarks with sarcasm, her red-lipstick-stained front teeth on full display.

“Not too soon now,” Jake suddenly says, walking up the pathway to your mother’s house and taking you in by the waist. “My wife has to finish her Masters first. How else is she gonna start teaching at the community college?”

My wife. No matter how long it’s been since you officially got married in your church, that day a year ago forever ingrained in your memory, it still warms you to the bones hearing those words leave Jake’s lips.

The women all express signs of agreement, some nodding while others hum.

“We better get back home now, but you ladies have a nice day!” Jake bids them goodbye and walks you both down the stairs with his hand on the small of your back. Even if he were to be more than the perfect gentleman in front of them, they would still linger around with pesky eyes and constantly moving lips.

“They’re still betting we’re gonna crash and burn, aren’t they?” Jake whispers, teasing you with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You shake your head. You fall more in love with him every day that passes, no matter what the people around you do or don’t see. They may have their opinions, but it won’t shake the foundation you’ve built. “Well, they’re sure to be disappointed if I have anything to say about it.”

Jake’s eyes widen, his expression humorous yet surprised. “Easy, angel. Don’t want to have to tear my wife off of a nosy wine mom.”

Your heart aches at his words, him fully aware of what two of them in particular do to you. “I love you.”

Jake grins, inching his face closer to yours. “I’d love nothing more than to kiss you right now, but what would everyone say?” He asks with a mock face of horror.

You shrug without much care, grinning. “Someone once told me ‘fuck everyone else.’ And right now I couldn’t agree more.”

Jake laughs before he places a gentle kiss to your lips, the sun radiating off of him in waves as he pulls you closer.

No matter what anyone in your small town has to say, your choices are yours; you’re perfectly happy with how your life has turned out whether they think so too or not. And you will always choose Sim Jaeyun, now and forever.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — “YOU CAME?” “YOU CALLED.”

ZAYNE

The city hums like a living thing outside the window, its lights too bright, too indifferent. Rain claws down the glass in erratic streaks, turning the night into a blur of neon smears and muted sirens.

You don’t look at the door. You just sit on the edge of the hotel bed, fingers twisting into the hem of your coat like they’re trying to tear through fabric, skin, bone.

And then—you hear it. The knock.

One.

Two.

Three.

Measured. Controlled. So Zayne.

You shouldn’t have called. You knew he’d come.

But knowing something doesn’t make it hurt less.

You cross the room slowly, like the ground itself might open if you move too fast. Your hand lingers on the doorknob. You inhale like it might steady you. It doesn’t.

When the door opens, it’s like a punch to the chest. He’s soaked. Dark hair plastered to his face, jacket clinging to him like second skin. He doesn't speak. His eyes just search you like he's memorizing the lines of someone he's trying not to forget.

"You came?" you whisper. It’s barely a question. It’s a wound.

He exhales, jaw tight. “You called.”

There’s something dangerous in his voice. Not anger. Something heavier. Quieter.

You step aside and he walks in like a shadow—silent, consuming.

The door clicks shut behind him and the space between you becomes suffocating.

"You shouldn’t be here," you say, but your voice is shaking, like you don’t mean it. Like you never did.

"I know." His eyes don’t leave yours. "But you said you needed me."

"I didn’t think you’d still come."

He doesn’t answer that. Just shrugs off his wet jacket and tosses it on the chair like it doesn't still carry the scent of his cologne—sharp, electric, him.

You hate that it makes your throat burn.

"You left," you say. It spills out, broken glass from a shattered bottle. "You disappeared without a word, and now you’re just—"

"You called." His voice cuts through yours like frost. “You needed me.”

"And if I hadn’t?" you ask, eyes wet now, voice cracking. “Would you have stayed gone?”

He doesn’t answer.

And in that silence is everything he can't say.

You turn away before he can see the tears fall. Or maybe you just don’t want to see the way his face would twist when they do.

He moves closer. Close enough that you feel the heat of him, even through the cold.

"I never stopped watching," he says quietly. "Even when I shouldn’t have. Even when it hurt."

"Then why—"

"Because I loved you." His voice is raw now, stripped down. "Love you."

You spin, eyes wide. “Then why did you leave?”

He looks at you like you already know. Like he doesn't want to admit the truth out loud.

“Because everything I touch ends up broken,” he whispers. “And I couldn’t bear to see that happen to you.”

You're quiet for a moment. Just breathing in the pieces of each other, jagged and unfinished.

"You don’t get to decide what breaks me," you say finally. “You don’t get to run and then pretend it was for my sake.”

He flinches like the words hit him physically. And maybe they do.

But he steps closer again. And this time, when he cups your face, his hand is shaking.

"I came because you called," he says. "But I stayed because I never stopped wanting to."

You don't kiss him.

You just let your forehead fall against his chest and listen to his heartbeat echo all the things neither of you are brave enough to say.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

If he doesn’t run again.

If you don’t.

XAVIER

The air in the abandoned warehouse is still, like it’s holding its breath. Like it knows what’s coming.

It smells like dust and old memories. The place hasn’t changed. You have.

You shouldn’t be here. But something about the silence felt safer than your apartment. Than your bed. Than being alone with the echo of a voice you told yourself you were done missing.

You didn’t expect him to actually come.

But then again, he always does the impossible.

The door creaks open behind you, soft but sure.

You don’t turn.

“You came?” Your voice cracks on the second word.

He doesn’t hesitate. “You called.”

You laugh. Bitter. Small. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You finally turn, and there he is—Xavier, in that same black coat, like night has wrapped itself around him. His face is unreadable, but his eyes give him away. They always do. They burn like a star that forgot how to die.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you say, swallowing the ache.

“I know.” He takes a step closer. “But I couldn’t not.”

"That’s a bad habit of yours."

"So is needing someone who disappears the moment it gets hard."

You flinch. Fair shot.

Neither of you speak for a moment. There's just that heavy stillness. The kind that settles in right before something breaks.

You look at him—really look. He looks tired. More than usual. Like the universe took something from him and didn’t bother saying sorry.

"You left without telling me why," you say, voice low. "I thought I meant something to you."

"You did." A beat. "You do."

"Then why the hell did you run?"

He hesitates. That alone says everything.

“I didn’t run,” he says slowly. “I withdrew. There’s a difference.”

Your laugh this time is sharp, bitter. “Yeah, the difference is whether or not I get a goddamn explanation.”

“I was trying to protect you.” He says it like it should make everything better.

"It didn’t work."

"I know."

You walk past him, pacing, running a hand through your hair, furious at how much you still care. "I waited, Xavier. I waited every damn night, thinking maybe you’d explain, maybe you’d just say something. And you never did."

“I thought staying away would make it easier.”

"For who?" you snap. “You?”

He doesn't deny it. Of course he doesn't.

He looks out the tall window, to the stars you used to point out together. The ones he taught you to read like a language only the two of you knew.

“I didn’t want to pull you into the dark with me,” he murmurs. “You shine too bright.”

You almost laugh again, but it’s too cruel. Too hollow.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” you say, voice quieter now. “You don’t get to disappear and act like it was noble.”

He finally looks at you again. “Then why call me tonight?”

You pause.

"Because I didn’t know who else would understand the kind of lonely that feels like being lost in orbit."

He moves toward you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

“I’m still me,” he says, “even if I’m... not the version of me you deserve.”

You close the distance between you, until you’re standing chest-to-chest, eyes searching his like they might find the truth he never says out loud.

“I never asked you to be perfect,” you whisper. “I just wanted you to stay.”

“I’m here now.”

You shake your head, tears clinging to your lashes. “But for how long, Xavier? Until you get scared again?”

He doesn’t promise anything. He just reaches up, hesitant fingers brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he admits.

You press your hand over his.

“Then don’t be good,” you say. “Just be here.”

RAFAYEL

The door slides open with that soft mechanical sigh — too smooth, too easy for something that feels this heavy.

You step into his studio, unsure if you’re intruding or answering a summons. Maybe both.

Rafayel doesn’t look up immediately. He’s lounging in his chair like he’s been expecting you for hours, like your arrival is only mildly more interesting than the orbit decay he's monitoring. One leg crossed over the other, arm draped lazily across the back of the seat. Completely unfazed.

But you know him. You see the tension in the way his fingers twitch once before stilling. The quiet inhale he doesn’t think you’ll notice.

He finally glances over his shoulder.

“You came?” he drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How uncharacteristically obedient of you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You called.”

He hums, spinning lazily to face you. “I did. It’s nice to know I still have that kind of pull.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Not yet.

Instead, you cross your arms, leaning against the wall like you’re not unraveling just from being in the same room again. “Was there a reason, or were you just bored and craving emotional devastation?”

He grins at that. “Tempting. But no, I had a moment of weakness. I thought, ‘What if I said something sincere and emotionally available for once?’ Then I panicked and called you.”

You stare at him. “That explains the abrupt message with no context.”

“Ah. So you did miss me.”

You laugh. Sharp. Bitter. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

There’s a beat. The banter falters — just for a breath. You see it then: the exhaustion under the charm, the way his shoulders drop just slightly. Something is off tonight. Even for him.

“You look like hell,” you say, softer now.

He shrugs. “Sleep is for the emotionally stable.”

You take a few steps forward, slow. “Rafayel… why did you call me?”

He looks at you for a long moment. The smirk fades, bit by bit, until all that’s left is the truth he’s too proud to say out loud.

“Because the silence was louder than I expected,” he says finally. “And apparently, I hate the sound of my own thoughts.”

You exhale. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“I know. Terrifying, isn’t it?”

You reach him. He’s still in his chair, but now he’s watching you like you’re something he can’t bear to touch, but can’t look away from either.

“I was angry,” you say. “When you left. When you shut down. I didn’t know where I stood.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor,” he says, voice quieter now. “Sparing you from the mess. From me.”

“Well, it didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like abandonment.”

He winces like the word physically lands. “Ouch. You’ve been practicing.”

You don’t blink. “Just telling the truth. You do that too, sometimes. Usually when it hurts.”

His lips twitch. “Fair.”

You kneel a little, meeting his eye level. “If you didn’t want me to come, you shouldn’t have called.”

“If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve locked the door.”

“Would’ve stopped me?”

“No. But I would’ve felt better about it.”

A beat of silence.

Then, quietly:

“I missed you.” He says it like it’s dangerous. Like it’s a confession he’s not used to giving, and hates that he means.

“I know,” you whisper. “So did I.”

He exhales. His hand lifts, tentative, hovering for a second before brushing your arm like he’s asking permission with his fingertips.

You let him.

Just this once.

“You’re really here,” he murmurs.

You nod. “For now.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with something unreadable. “Is this the part where we pretend to fix things? Or the part where we ruin them more beautifully?”

You manage a tired smile. “I don’t know yet.”

He leans in, eyes gleaming.

“Good,” he whispers. “I love a little uncertainty.”

And for once, you both sit with the ambiguity — no promises, no apologies. Just space. Shared, uneasy, electric.

Because sometimes, you came is all the answer there is.

SYLUS

The rooftop is quiet this time of night.

Above you, the sky hangs heavy with stars you’ve never really learned to name. Below, the city breathes in artificial light and distant hums — busy, blind, uncaring.

You shift on the cold ledge, arms tucked into your coat, trying to feel something other than the tight ache in your chest.

You shouldn’t have called him.

You barely know him — not really. Not enough to ask for this. For company. For anything that feels like comfort.

But you called anyway.

And now... he’s here.

The door creaks behind you.

You don't look back. Not right away.

His footsteps are soft. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to startle you.

“You came?” Your voice is low. Fragile, despite your best efforts.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just moves closer, the warmth of his presence cutting through the rooftop chill like something solid. Real.

“You called,” Sylus says, voice quiet. No judgment. Just fact.

You turn, finally meeting his eyes — that impossible shade of red, too vivid in the dark.

He’s still wearing his usual layers — all black, as if the world’s weight might be easier to carry if he looks like he’s already braced for it. But his expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it. Guarded, but open in a way you didn’t expect.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” you say, already retreating.

“You didn’t.” He steps closer. “Well. You interrupted sleep. But I wasn’t really doing that anyway.”

You offer a tired half-smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He says it like he means it. “I’d rather be here.”

That quiets you.

You look away, out at the city. “I wasn’t even sure you’d come.”

“I was already halfway here before I realized I hadn’t even asked why you wanted me to.”

“And now that you’re here?”

He shrugs lightly. “Still don’t need a reason.”

Your breath catches. There’s too much in that answer. Too much for someone you’ve only known for a few weeks. Someone who still deflects most questions and hides behind smirks like they’re bulletproof.

But he’s here.

“Rough day?” he asks gently.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t push. Just waits. You’re starting to realize that’s who he is. He gives you silence, not as avoidance — but as space. Like he knows you’ll talk if you need to. Or not.

And right now, you need to.

“I thought I was okay,” you admit. “But then everything just... started to close in. Like I couldn’t breathe. And I didn’t know who to call.”

His brow furrows slightly. “So you called me.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Why me?”

The question isn’t accusatory. He sounds curious. Maybe even surprised.

You meet his gaze, forcing the words out past the knot in your throat.

“Because you’re the only one who looks like they’d understand what it feels like to want to disappear sometimes.”

The silence that follows is heavier. Realer.

And then, softly:

“I do,” Sylus says. “Understand, I mean.”

You nod. “I thought you might.”

He exhales slowly, something easing in his posture. He sits beside you — not too close, but close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

“I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” he murmurs.

“What? Comforting people?”

“No. Letting people see the part of me that needs comfort.”

You glance at him. “Is that what this is?”

“Maybe.” He hesitates. “Or maybe I just didn’t want you to be alone tonight.”

You smile, small and real. “That’s kind of the same thing.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe I’m worse at this than I thought.”

“You’re not,” you say. “You’re just honest. It’s rare.”

He nods like that’s something he doesn’t hear often.

After a moment, you shift slightly toward him.

“You can go, if you want.”

He doesn’t move.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sylus says quietly. “Not if you still want me here.”

You don’t say anything. Just let the silence settle over the two of you — warm now, not empty. You can feel him next to you, steady and real.

And for the first time in hours, the world doesn’t feel like it’s closing in.

Not when he’s here.

CALEB

You should’ve let the message sit unanswered.

The city outside Caleb’s apartment still glows the way it always does — neon gold and soft blue, glittering like it's trying to convince you everything is beautiful and under control.

It’s not.

Not in here.

The air still feels bruised from the fight earlier. Words that shouldn’t have been said, thrown like sharp glass between the two of you. There’s a bitter silence now, the kind that doesn’t just linger — it punishes.

You don’t know why you came back.

Well — you do.

Because he called.

The lock disengages before you can knock again. The door opens just slightly, and there he is — Caleb. Towering, broad-shouldered, and suddenly so very… small in the way he looks at you. Like he expected you not to come.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

Until, finally:

“You came?” His voice is hoarse, low. Like he’s trying not to hope.

You answer without thinking. “You called.”

He looks away for a second, like your answer hurt more than he expected it to.

You cross the threshold, slowly, cautiously — like the apartment itself might bite. Everything’s just as you left it earlier: the couch cushions slightly skewed from when you stormed off, one of the mugs from your argument still on the table, untouched.

The air smells like ozone and tension.

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer,” Caleb says quietly, shutting the door behind you.

You still can’t meet his eyes. “I wasn’t sure I should.”

He swallows hard. “And yet... here you are.”

You shrug, feeling like your voice could crack at any moment. “Guess that makes both of us idiots.”

A soft, humorless laugh escapes him. “Speak for yourself, pipsqueak. I’ve always been an idiot. Took you longer to join the club.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, the pain in your chest softens — just a bit.

But it’s not enough.

“What are we doing, Caleb?” you ask, turning to face him fully. “Because I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine between us when it isn’t.”

His jaw tightens. “You think I’m pretending?”

“I think you’re avoiding. There’s a difference.”

He moves past you, pacing to the window, hands on his hips like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, voice taut. “At… relationships. Talking. Not making everything worse.”

You follow slowly. “Then why push me away whenever I try to talk?”

“Because the more I care about you, the more it scares the hell out of me,” he snaps — and then stops, breathing hard.

It hangs there, naked and jagged.

You take a slow step toward him. “You don’t get to use love as a reason to hurt me.”

His head bows, shoulders tense. “I know.”

“I don’t want perfection, Caleb. I want honesty. Even if it’s messy.”

He turns back toward you. There’s something in his eyes now — something cracked and real.

“I called you,” he says quietly, “because I didn’t know how to sit in this apartment and not be able to take it back.”

You step closer.

“I came,” you whisper, “because I didn’t want to go to sleep angry. Not with you.”

For a moment, you’re both silent. Then:

“I’m sorry,” he says. And it sounds like it costs him.

You nod. “Me too.”

He lifts a hand, hesitant, fingers brushing yours — tentative, unsure, but desperate to anchor.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Caleb says. “But I don’t want to lose you trying to figure it out.”

You take his hand. Grip it like it’s the only steady thing in the world.

“Then don’t let go.”

[traffys-heart]

one piece men + making out hcs | nswf-ish

while i work on the match-ups have some more hcs abt our fav boys. btw how do u guys feel abt repeating characters? i was really trying to avoid doubling up matches but w over 50 of u unless marine fodder #78 wants to get some i think i might have use some ppl twice. apologies for the inadequacies o(TヘTo)

characters: monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinsmoke sanji, portgas d. ace, sabo, eustass kid, killer, trafalgar d. law

cw: lowercase, gn! reader, alludes to sex, boners, biting, virgin! loser! law

monkey d. luffy

luffy is really enthusiastic when the two of u make out. he doesn't mind if there are other ppl around and would always try to seek u out during parties. something abt the afterglow of a battle + being around his favorite ppl just fires him up to wrap u up in his rubbery arms and kiss away ur surprised gasps. luffy usually tastes like meat, sweet barbecue sauce, and a hint of whatever tropical drink he was guzzling down prior.

his stretchy abilities easily allow him to feel closer than u then a normal body could. coiling his arm around ur waist multiple times like a statement belt only to pull u impossibly closer so he can shove his tongue deeper down ur throat makes his head kinda light and eyelids heavy. occasionally u explore his mouth too, but he always cheats and stretches his tongue forcing himself to take control.

bonus: he has definitely gotten carried away before and gotten you two actually tongue tied. in his own passion of open kisses he found u struggling to pull away, panicked and wide-eyed as you pointed to the apparent knot between ur tongues.

roronoa zoro

zoro is a messy lover. when he gets his calloused hands on u he makes sure to hold ur face as gently as he knows how. his lips are soft and he tastes strongly of sake and variations of cheaper booze. u could get drunk off his mouth from feeling and lingering alcohol together. his hands never stop cradling ur face, he enjoys the soft moment of intimacy throughout so much violence in his life.

while he handles u with care, his tongue could be fighting u like a marine. similar to his captain, he much would rather push himself into ur mouth than have u take the lead. he also enjoys having u in his lap, while he rocks u back n forth. the motions of u rubbing his strong arms and chest while he loses himself in ur lips may lead to something else up in the crow's nest.

vinesmoke sanji

sanji prides himself on being a gentleman and yet all of his manners fly out the window when u push ur tongue into his mouth. his facial hair tickles ur face and sends tingles to the rest of ur body while his hands struggle on deciding whether to rest on ur waist or face. he tastes like mint, as his hygiene is impeccable, and pre-timeskip his upper lip may or may not have tasted like shaving cream.

the blond would gladly let u guide him through the motions as move ur tongues together. he would never brute force himself between ur lips and adores how sweetly u place chaste kisses on the corners of his mouth before u reach him. he would love to keep u as close as possible, however even after a few minutes of making out ur chef is going to need to sort out the growing tent in his pants.

portgas d. ace

i think ace was shy at first and allowed u to take the reins due to his lack of experience. not only would the makeout sesh be hot (haha) but sloppy too. strings of saliva would fall from both ur lips as u pant for air and ace runs a hand through his messy hair. blown out pupils stare at ur mouth expectantly like a patient puppy waiting to be told he can have his treat.

in terms of taste he probably just tastes like his last meal and charred bits of food. ace is going to be insatiable once u get him hooked on the feeling on ur tongues intertwining and mouths moving against each other in ways that send sparks down his spine and into his shorts. I doubt he would mention his erection, but it's not like u can't exactly tell.

sabo

ugh. sabo is a yapper and unfortunately not even making out can get him to shut up. hot open mouthed kisses pressed against his stupidly perfect lips would only lead to a cheeky smile and commentary on his luck. sabo tastes like English breakfast tea, and while his appetite is almost as crazy as his brothers he often cleanses his palate with the hot beverage. while his arms circle ur waist he makes sure to strip himself of his leather gloves if he hasn't already, wanting to feel ur skin on his own.

u should be careful not to rile him up too much or he might burn ur tongue. he hasn't had his devil fruit for long and deep emotion can easily set him off. sabo enjoys making out best when ur on top of him while he's lying down. during leisure moments in the Revolutionary army he wants nothing more than to spend his days lazily sliding his tongue against urs and trying to memorize the cavern of ur mouth.

eustass kid

kid is the type to pat his lap while he spreads his legs and gesture for u to come sit. and I would absolutely fall for it every single time. despite placing u on his knee the guy is 6'8 so i doubt ur gonna be taller than him. small kisses on his lipstick clad lips only act to annoy him because u both know what he really wants from ur mouth. when he finally gets bored of ur games he decides to bite ur lip and use ur surprise to bring ur open mouth to his own.

he has a lovely tongue piercing that sends a contrast of cold metallic steel whenever he runs it across ur own. sometimes he'll take his goggles off and let his bangs fall in front of face, tickling ur forehead in the process. while he is a rough lover, this is one of the view times where he lets his guard down and indulges himself in another. if u weren't wearing any lipstick beforehand he'll make sure u are by the end of this.

killer

n/a: killer wears a mask so u can't make out :(

jk I wouldn't be that mean to the 8 killer fans out there! if he does ever remove his mask and share something so personal like his own face to u, the first thing he wants to do is finally kiss u. and pirates aren't known to be the most self retraining ppl so ofc ur sweet kisses would lead into a steamy make out session with the blond. for some reason i can imagine this happening on the floor as the both of u awkwardly stumble around on ur knees until u fall into his lap.

as he gains more confidence he would move his hand behind ur head to press u closer to him. he spent so long watching ur lips grace everyone else in the crew with smiles and kisses on the cheek he can't seem to stop himself from wanting to reap all the times he should've taken u in his arms and he didn't. in terms of taste, unfortunately due to his diet full of pasta he will be tasting entirely like spaghetti.

trafalgar d. law

law has watched movies and read books where people make out but actually acting out the scene himself? entirely different playing field. he would be sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his bed as u stare up at him curiously. u've given each other quick pecks before (all that have led to wonderful wank bank material) but now it was time to get serious and fulfill a long time dream of his.

after hyping himself up for a few seconds he turns to u and u begin to crawl towards him on the bed. finally making out for law is overwhelming, erotic, and kinda sweaty. he can't stop his palms from sweating and he doesn't want to weird u out by putting his damp hands on ur body so he awkwardly keeps them by his side. he's already planning his escape to the bathroom after this encounter but it's totally worth it, esp bc the two of u r watching sora, warrior of the sea: the germs of germa after this!

[rafesangelita]

♡ after receiving sex dice as a gag gift from your girlfriends, courtesy of your early galentine’s day party, you decide to bring them into the bedroom and rafe is surprisingly on board..

warnings: sex dice lol, established relationship, flirty banter, laughing during sex, oral sex (m. & f. receiving), unprotected sex, so many descriptions of positions please bare with me, slight degradation, praise, rafe’s d game is a1 (!!!), marathon sex (?), overstimulation, crying, squirting, multiple orgasms, cream pie

a/n: now presenting… ‘ROLL THE DICE!’ 🤍 i felt like i was at war while trying to explain these positions in clear detail lol, just know i tried my best!

link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

wc: 2.4k

rafe had been eyeing the pink gift bag you brought back from your best friend’s house, his curiosity only growing when you refused to let him see what was inside. “just let me see! what is it? girl stuff?” you laughed, taking the bag in your hands. “you could say that..” your teasing tone was torturing him, the anticipation making rafe groan. “come on!” he finally reached for the bag, snatching it at the same time you pulled, making everything in the flimsy gift bag fall onto your bed. “well, that’s great..” you whispered, watching as your boyfriend inspected the contents.

“pink condoms.. we don’t use those. chocolates, a face mask, a sephora gift card, some earrings, and.. hey, what’s in this red pouch?” your cheeks heated as he pulled on the drawstring, two pink dice falling into his hand. “oh.. babe, this is sex dice!” he laughed, glancing up at you incredulously as you hid your face in your hands. “it’s just a silly little gag gift, nothing more.” you waved it off, taking a seat next to him on your shared bed. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think it’d be fun to try out, but knowing rafe, you knew he wasn’t really one for games.

he studied them, flipping the many facets of the dice. “..i don’t know, they have some pretty good positions on here,” he shrugged, “what do you think?” your eyes shot up to meet his, a pang of excitement lighting up in your tummy. “r-really?!” you smiled, your boyfriend pulling you on top of his lap before he nodded. “yeah, look in that pouch for what the number dice means.” you obliged, taking the small folded up piece of paper that was the instructions. “oh, wow.. the number dice determines how many rounds we go.” rafe looked down at the small thing and laughed.

“it goes up to twelve,” your eyes widened as he handed you the acrylic piece, “go ahead and roll it.” you rolled onto your side, tossing the dice for both of you. “three.” rafe was starting to get excited now, his lips trailing along your neck as he gave you the dice with the positions on it. you two were easily doing more than that amount regularly. you giggled when his breath tickled your skin, your head moving to the side to allow him more access. rafe palmed you through your top, a moan leaving your lips as he ran his tongue along your flesh.

“roll the dice before i decide the positions for us.” he groaned, pressing a kiss to your jaw. sighing, you did as he said, reading the positions out loud for him. “the first one is..” you trailed off, “sixty-nine.” you laughed. rafe hummed approvingly, moving his gaze down to the comforter where you tossed the dice again. “next one is.. butterfly?” rafe mumbled a ‘we’ll look that up in a second.’ before you announced the last one. “which leaves us to do.. full nelson.” rafe might as well have jumped up and cheered by the way he excitedly shook you by your shoulders. “full nelson?! fuck, yeah!”

deciding it would be best to go in order of the dice, you and rafe found yourselves settling into your sheets, both of your clothes long gone as you turned your back to him, swinging a leg over his torso. rafe was shameless in staring at your glistening cunt, the sight of your wet folds making him take his bottom lip between teeth. “you’re so fucking pretty down here..” he marveled, taking the pads of his thumbs on both of your puffy lips before spreading them open, your needy clit revealing itself to him. you moaned, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock as he squeezed the globes of your ass.

you adjusted yourself a little bit so you were more comfortable, scooting up closer to rafe’s face as he groaned at the proximity. he was already hard just by looking at you up close like this. “can we start, baby? i need to taste you already.” you hummed sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to his tip. while you started off slow, rafe dove right in, wrapping his large arms around your thighs to keep you in place. you gasped when his tongue circled your sensitive bud, your hips bucking at the sudden intrusion. “that feels so good, rafe!” you whined, deciding to put your mouth to better use and finally wrap your lips around his aching length.

“fuck!” he cursed, his fingertips digging into your skin as your tongue worked him skillfully. you knew what drove rafe over the edge, you knew what made him lose his breath and what made his chest feel like it was going to cave in. “ah, shit, you’re so good at that.” his eyes threatened to roll to the back of his head when he felt himself hit the back of your throat. rafe landed a harsh smack to your ass, the stinging sensation making you whimper. swallowing around his cock, you waited until you had tears running down your cheeks before pulling off of him with a sharp intake for air.

rafe could just imagine how much of a mess you looked like right now. swollen lips, watery eyes, spit and precum dribbling down your chin.. fuck he was tempted to drag you back up just to admire your pretty face. “you’re driving me crazy.” he huffed out, sucking your clit into his mouth where his teeth very slightly grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves. “please don’t stop!” rafe had no intentions of doing so, your boyfriend’s bruising grip on your thighs making you unable to move away from him. rafe knew you were close to cumming whenever you tried to run away from it.

swirling your tongue around his throbbing head, rafe felt the familiar tension start to build up in the pit of his stomach. he continued lapping at your sweetness until you started bobbing your head up and down his length, basically fucking your face with his cock. the wet sounds mixed with your moans was about to make rafe paint your face, but he decided against it last minute. “stopstopstopstopstop,” he pinched your side, “wanna’ save my cum for when i fill up this perfect cunt.” despite wanting to make him finish anyways, you did as he said, mumbling a ‘okay, ray..’

in almost no time, your thighs were trembling around his head, your nails raking down his skin as waves of pure euphoria washed over you, your orgasm hitting you deep in your tummy. with the side of your face resting on his thigh, you whined helplessly as your hips moved on their own accord, your hand still languidly stroking his length. you were begging him at this point for him to slow down the work on your poor overstimulated clit, your pleas going through one ear and straight out the other. “please, no more— i can’t do it!” you shrieked. rafe’s chest filled with pride knowing you were most likely ‘fucked out’ already without actually getting fucked yet.

you were struggling to move as rafe didn’t slow down his movements on your clit, another rubber band in your tummy snapping as he made you cum again, back to back. you laid there, completely at his mercy as you convulsed in his arms, your mouth open in a silent moan while your eyes rolled to the back of your head. you felt like you had transcended into another dimension, your body simply floating away somewhere else. it wasn’t until you let out a choked sob that rafe gave you a final lick, his face shining with your succulence as he massaged your skin to bring you down from your high.

how, how were you supposed to go two more rounds after that? while you were laying there, your limbs feeling like jelly, rafe was googling the butterfly position and smirking to himself as he pulled up the visual. you had something else coming if you thought you were done for right now. rafe on the other hand was just getting started. gently rolling you over, rafe stood at the edge of your bed before yanking your ankles and securing your legs to his shoulders. you moaned when you felt his heavy cock sitting between your folds, your eyes meeting his as he pressed kisses to your ankles.

“you good?” he rested his hands in the crease where your thighs and your hips met, rubbing soothing circles there until you giggled softly. “not really..” rafe smiled, threading his fingers through yours. “tell me when you want to stop, baby, it’s all you.” you nodded, your eyes fluttering shut when you felt him teasing your clit with his tip. you loved how attentive rafe was. not only towards your wellbeing, but to the little things that made you whimper and squirm. “son of a bitch..” he cursed, slowly sliding into you with ease. your back arched off of the soft sheets, your eyebrows knitting together as he filled you to the hilt.

“fuck!” no matter how many times you and rafe had each other like this, the feeling of him filling you up and your velvety walls welcoming him in was unlike any other. rafe pulled out before thrusting back in with full force, his head rolling to the side as you cried out. you kept your eyes trained on his face, occasionally stealing glances at his toned stomach and biceps. he was truly a sight to see. your tits bounced with every thrust, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as his lower abdomen smacked the back of your thighs. “you’re doing so good for me,” he praised, “always so fuckin’ perfect.”

rafe picked up his pace, the force of his thrusts pushing you further up the bed until he had to pull you down to the edge again. you moaned as his cock continuously nudged that sweet spot inside of you, your legs now shaking around his head while he managed to get his fingers on your clit again. you were still so sensitive from your last orgasm, you couldn’t help but jolt at the hard circles being rubbed on your sensitive bud once again. rafe was so close, but he wanted to hold off from cumming for as long as possible, preferring to make you finish around him first instead.

“i can’t!” you gasped, “it hurts, rafe.” as soon as you said those words, he stopped. “yeah? it’s too much for you?” you nodded, your thighs shutting around his hand in response. he leaned down, keeping your legs on his shoulders as he kissed you sloppily. “would it make you feel better if we stopped?” you laughed, stroking the underside of his jaw with your finger. “do you hear me tapping out?” you shot back, “let’s try full nelson.” rafe has been waiting for this moment for a reallyyyy long time. the only reason why you two never got to it and made it a point to try it was unknown to him, but thank goodness for sex dice, right?

you didn’t have to tell him twice. he was already pulling you on top of him as soon as he got the okay. “i can’t believe this is happening.” you smiled as you lifted your legs, rafe wasting no time in bringing his arms up and over until his hands rested on the back of your neck, securing your thighs to your shoulders. your eyes widened slightly as you realized just how exposed and compromising this position was. your cunt was on full display, your folds threatening to open on their own as your head was forced to be faced down. “you alright?” rafe grunted, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“uh huh..” you sounded uneasy, a laugh falling from rafe’s lips as he adjusted himself to prod at your entrance. “don’t worry, i got you.” was the last thing he said before you watched him enter you agonizingly slow. your lips parted at the sight. rafe kept going until he bottomed out, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. you swear you’ve never felt him this deep before, it was almost like he was in your tummy. “oh my god..” you whimpered, your eyes watering at how full you were. rafe was fighting every urge not to spill into you, his eyes screwing shut as he began a steady pace.

“shit, you’re wrapped around me so fuckin’ tight, m’not gonna last.” he said through gritted teeth. you were hiccuping and panting as he thrusted into you from below, the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin bouncing off of your bedroom walls. rafe angled his hips in a way that made you shriek, a knowing smile making its way to his lips as you now had tears streaming down your face. “i bet you look like a fucking mess right now.” he cursed, using one of his hands to snake down your side before giving your clit a small pinch. your head shot back while you looked up at the ceiling helplessly.

“r-rafe..” you were barely able to get his name out, your hands flying to hold onto his arm. you felt an unfamiliar pressure building up in the pit of your stomach as he continued rubbing your poor bud into your second orgasm of the night. “let it go go for me, ‘pretty, let me feel it.” you couldn’t even shut your thighs because of his strength forcing them open, a shaky breath emitting from your throat as your high ripped right through you, rendering you speechless almost immediately. rafe made sure to watch you intently, the sight of you unraveling making him follow suit.

it wasn’t until you felt a stream of wetness flow between your thighs that your eyes shot open in surprise. “did i just—” rafe let go of the grip he had on your neck and instead forced you to look up at him while he finally painted your walls with his seed. he was so turned on right now he couldn’t even think straight. rafe kissed you as his movements came to a stop, your thighs still trembling in his arms while he pulled out. he groaned when he felt you clench around him, both of you feeling absolutely spent. “i think i made a mess.” rafe laughed softly, nodding his head. “yeah? that makes two of us then.”