#command center console | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heeluvv · 4 months ago

Note

losing your virginity to riki in the backseat of his car 🎀

BACKSEAT.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ nishimura riki x reader

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, p in v, pullout method, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the night stretched on, the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows of riki’s car, casting long shadows across the interior. the faint hum of the city outside was nothing more than background noise, drowned out by the sound of your heavy breathing, the quiet rustle of fabric, and the wet, desperate clash of lips.

your arms draped over his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft strands of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. riki hovered over the center console, his body pressing into yours, the heat radiating off him making your skin prickle with anticipation. his kisses were urgent, needy, a hunger that had been left unsatisfied for far too long.

soft whines slipped past your lips as his mouth trailed downward, ghosting along your jaw before finding the sensitive skin of your neck. he sucked lightly, open-mouthed kisses leaving a damp trail in their wake, his tongue flicking out to soothe the marks he left behind.

“riki—” you pleaded, voice breathy, filled with something between hesitation and longing.

your hooded eyes met his, dark and filled with unspoken hunger, a silent war raging between want and fear.

you’d been with riki for over a year now—your perfect relationship, the kind that made you feel cherished, protected, respected. in all the time you’d been together, the two of you had never gone beyond heated makeout sessions, handjobs, blowjobs, and the occasional time he had slipped his fingers inside you, working you open with slow, patient strokes.

but part of you wanted more.

you wanted to give in, to let him take you apart the way you knew he could, to finally close the distance that had remained between you both for so long.

but you were scared.

it was all new to you. the thought of crossing that line, of surrendering to something so intimate—it was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

riki must have sensed the shift in your breathing, the tension in your muscles, because he slowed down, his lips pressing one last kiss to your collarbone before pulling back slightly.

“fuck, baby… you’re so fucking beautiful…” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rasp, filled with adoration.

his hands traced along your clothed body, fingertips dancing over your waist, your hips, your thighs—exploring but never pushing. his touch sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth of his hands grounding you in the moment.

you swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest as your fingers tightened in his hair, steadying yourself before you spoke.

“riki… i want you.”

your voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that made his entire body go still.

his breath hitched, his movements pausing completely as he lifted his head to look at you, his dark gaze searching yours.

his brow furrowed slightly, his grip on you tightening just the slightest bit.

“baby… are you sure?”

there was no hesitation in his words, no immediate action—just pure, raw concern. because that was riki. he would never take something you weren’t ready to give, would never rush you, no matter how badly he wanted you.

but tonight, you wanted him.

tonight, you hoped you could finally give yourself to the one person who had never once made you feel like you had to.

you nodded quickly, your body betraying you before you could even form the words. your hands were slick with sweat, heart hammering so violently against your ribs you swore he could hear it.

riki didn’t move at first, his eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable. he leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair, his jaw tight as if he were processing what you’d just said.

was he overthinking? was he worried? did he not want this?

“come here.”

his voice was soft yet firm, a quiet command that sent a shiver down your spine.

without hesitation, you shifted, moving over the center console until you were straddling his lap, your knees pressing into the seat on either side of him. his warmth enveloped you instantly, the sheer size of him beneath you making your stomach twist in anticipation.

his hands instinctively settled on your waist, holding you steady as he looked up at you.

“baby,” he whispered, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face, his thumb grazing over your flushed cheek. “are you sure you wanna do it here? i can take you home, or we can go to my place—”

“please, riki…”

your voice came out in a needy whimper, breathless, desperate, leaving no room for doubt. you had waited long enough—you wanted him, and you wanted him now.

something inside him snapped.

his lips crashed against yours, a deep groan slipping past his throat as he kissed you like he’d been holding himself back for far too long. the force of it had you gasping, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie.

he swallowed every sound you made, his tongue pushing past your parted lips, devouring you completely. your hips shifted instinctively, pressing down against the hardness beneath you, and he let out a low, shaky breath, gripping your waist tighter.

“fuck…” he muttered, his head falling back against the seat for a moment, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, filled with something raw. something desperate. “i’ll give you what you want, baby.”

his hands found the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward, and you lifted your arms to help him remove it. he tossed it carelessly onto the passenger seat before running his palms over your now exposed skin, his touch warm, reverent.

his fingers traced up your sides before cupping your tits through your bra, squeezing them, rolling the soft flesh in his hands.

“fuck, baby…” riki groaned, his eyes locked onto the way your tits spilled over the cups with every squeeze. he wasted no time unclasping your bra, tossing it aside before his mouth was on you.

his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking eagerly, his tongue flicking and swirling before he bit down just enough to make you gasp.

“riki—!” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him closer as he lavished attention on your sensitive skin.

he hummed against your flesh, groaning softly each time you whimpered. his hands trailed down, gripping your ass firmly, kneading the soft flesh as he pulled you down harder against his growing bulge.

“are you gonna take my dick so well, baby?” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot, teasing.

he rolled your hips against him, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of how hard he was beneath you.

your body shuddered in response, a whimper escaping your lips as the pressure sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

he grinned, voice dropping into something dangerously low.

“yeah… just like that.”

his grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he guided your movements, matching the eager roll of your hips with deep, deliberate thrusts of his own. every drag of his clothed length against your core sent jolts of pleasure shooting through you, making your breath hitch.

“riki—” your voice broke into a breathless moan as he bucked up against you, the friction pushing you closer to the edge.

he grunted in response, his hands sliding down to grab your ass, squeezing tightly before delivering a sharp, teasing smack that made you jolt.

then—he stopped.

his movements ceased entirely, holding you still on top of him, the lack of friction making you whimper in frustration. his hooded gaze met yours, lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven.

“fuck, baby…” his voice was husky, laced with restraint. “go to the back.”

you didn’t waste a second.

you scrambled off of him, climbing between the seats, maneuvering into the back where the space was tighter, more intimate. but just as you moved, riki’s hand came down again, delivering another playful slap to your ass, making you yelp softly.

he followed closely, his larger frame pressing against you as he settled in. his hands moved swiftly, tugging his hoodie over his head and tossing it aside, exposing the lean, defined muscles beneath. the dim light from the streetlamps outside cast shadows over the ridges of his toned abs, making your stomach tighten with anticipation.

his fingers fumbled with the waistband of your pants, tugging them down, his breath coming out heavier as he peeled them off.

then he saw you.

his eyes darkened, gaze locked onto your panties—already damp, the fabric clinging to the shape of your aching core.

his fingers reached out, running over the wet fabric, pressing just enough to make you gasp.

“already so fucking soaked, baby… fuck.”

his voice was thick with hunger, his thumb teasingly rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clothed clit, his other hand gripping your thigh to keep you still.

then, without warning, he lowered himself, his breath fanning against your heat as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties.

the soft sound of fabric tearing reached your ears, and you barely had time to react before you felt the cool air against your exposed folds.

“riki—” your moan was cut off by a sharp inhale as his tongue darted out, giving a slow, teasing lick over your clit.

your head tipped back against the leather seat, thighs trembling as he licked down, collecting your slick with every slow, agonizing stroke of his tongue.

“oh my fucking god, baby…” he whispered against your heat, his voice filled with pure reverence. “you taste so fucking good.”

his hands gripped your thighs, keeping them spread as his tongue worked you over, switching between broad, flat licks and quick flicks against your sensitive bundle of nerves. every flick of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure through your veins, making you squirm beneath him.

your fingers tangled in his dark hair, your back arching as he sucked lightly on your clit before releasing it with a wet pop.

“riki, please—please!” you were shameless now, desperate, your voice a breathy plea.

he pulled back slightly, his lips slick with your wetness as he hovered over you.

“baby, relax…” he murmured, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to your inner thigh before trailing his lips up your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, until his mouth found yours again.

the kiss was messy, heated—his tongue slipping past your lips as he deepened it, letting you taste yourself on him.

then, he shifted lower again, his fingers dragging down to your entrance, circling your untouched hole.

his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching, waiting.

and when you nodded—when he saw the unspoken consent in your gaze—he finally pushed in.

his finger slipped inside slowly, stretching you open for the first time, the unfamiliar sensation making your body tense before pleasure quickly followed.

your back arched off the seat, a muffled moan swallowed by riki’s hungry lips as he kissed you again, deep and possessive.

his finger curled inside you, stroking your walls, testing your reactions.

“fuck, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “you feel so fucking tight.”

“gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby…” riki groaned, his voice thick with lust as he eased a second finger into your soaking heat.

your walls stretched around him, tightening as he curled his fingers just right, rubbing against the sensitive spot deep inside you. the slick, wet sounds filled the car, blending with the shallow, uneven breaths falling from your lips.

he was patient, working you open carefully, knowing you needed to be prepped to take him fully. riki wasn’t cocky about his size—he didn’t need to be. you’d seen it before, had felt it twitch in your hand when you stroked him, and the thought of it alone had made your legs weak. he had watched the way your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat, and he knew there was no way he could just take you without properly preparing you first.

the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. he wanted this to be good for you—so good that you’d crave it, beg for it, lose yourself completely in the feeling of him.

so if teasing you, if making you whine and plead for him, was what it took to get you ready, then he’d do it a thousand times over.

your moans were breathless, needy, your head tipping back against the leather seat as pleasure rippled through you.

“please, riki! i want more… want you…” your voice was a desperate whimper, your chest rising and falling in uneven pants as his fingers continued their slow, devastating pace.

his lips curled into a smirk, his gaze locked on your flushed face, the way your body trembled, the way you clenched so tightly around his fingers.

“you’re gonna have me, baby,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something lower, something rougher. “gonna have my dick inside you, stretching you open, making you feel so fucking good, princess.”

your walls fluttered around him, and he felt it—felt the way his filthy words sent another rush of arousal flooding over his fingers, coating them in your slick.

his breath hitched slightly, his control fraying at the edges.

“you like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his pace quickening just slightly, dragging his fingers in and out of you with deliberate strokes, each one making your thighs twitch. “gonna take my fucking dick like the good girl you are, huh?”

his thumb pressed against your clit, circling it teasingly, sending another sharp jolt of pleasure straight through your core.

“fuck, yes! riki—yes, please!” you gasped, your voice breaking into a desperate cry, hips rocking into his touch.

he groaned at the sight of you—completely wrecked, completely at his mercy, already so desperate for him.

and fuck—he wasn’t going to make you wait much longer.

not when you were already so perfectly ready for him.

he slowly pulled his fingers from your soaked heat, the loss making you whimper softly. the air inside the car was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and need. his fingers glistened with your slick, and instead of wiping them away, he traced them over your parted lips, smearing the evidence of your arousal against your skin.

instinctively, you opened your mouth, taking his fingers in without hesitation, sucking them clean. your tongue swirled around them, tasting yourself as his darkened gaze locked onto yours.

“fuck��” riki groaned, the sensation of your warm mouth wrapped around his fingers making his cock throb. his other hand fumbled with his belt, his need too overwhelming to move with any patience.

he shoved his pants down, kicking them off along with his boxers, finally discarding the last pieces of clothing between you.

your breath caught in your throat.

his cock stood tall, thick and flushed, beads of precum leaking from the tip, running down his shaft in glistening trails. your thighs squeezed together instinctively at the sheer size of him, anticipation pooling in your stomach.

he reached toward the center console, rummaging through the storage bin until he found what he was looking for—a condom packet.

but just as he brought it to his lips, ready to tear it open, your hand shot out, stopping him.

“please, riki… i can’t… need you so bad…”

your voice was barely above a whisper, laced with desperation, your fingers gripping his wrist as your body ached for more, for all of him.

he stilled, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

then, he chuckled softly, amused at your desperation as you tugged him closer.

“what?” he mused, tilting his head slightly, his voice dipping into something teasing. “you wanna take me raw?”

he raised a brow, watching you carefully, his hand still loosely holding the condom packet between his fingers.

you nodded furiously, no hesitation, your nails digging into his arm as you looked up at him with nothing but pure, unfiltered need.

if you were going to have your first time, you wanted to feel everything. every inch, every twitch, every pulse—without barriers. without restriction.

his jaw clenched, his grip tightening around his cock as he stroked himself slowly, spreading his leaking precum along his length.

“fucking naughty girl,” he muttered, his voice rough with lust. “wanna take me raw for your first time?”

his words sent a violent shudder through you, your body responding instantly.

he leaned down, aligning himself with your entrance, his cock running through your folds with expert precision, coating himself in your arousal.

a deep groan tore from his throat as his tip caught against your swollen clit, his length twitching against your soaked pussy.

“fuck… you’re so fucking wet for me…” he breathed, his eyes fixated on the way your slick coated him with every slow drag.

“ngh—!” your breath hitched as he slowly pushed himself inside, stretching you open for the first time.

the pressure was intense, the foreign sensation of his thick cock sinking into you making your body tense, but there was no pain—only the slow, delicious burn of being filled completely.

his breath was heavy, uneven, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly it was sure to leave bruises.

“oh, fuck, baby…” he groaned, his voice breaking slightly as he pushed deeper, feeling your tight walls clamp down around him. “you’re so fucking—oh god…”

his head dropped to the crook of your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin as he tried to steady himself.

he forced himself to stay still, to give you time to adjust, but it was so fucking hard when you were wrapped around him like this—so impossibly tight, so warm, squeezing him perfectly.

his dark eyes searched yours, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

but all he saw was lust.

your teeth sank into your bottom lip, brows furrowed, your body shivering as you took in every inch of him.

the sight alone made his control snap.

with one final push, he buried himself completely, his cock pressing deep, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed.

a strangled moan tore from your throat as your fingers clawed at his back, the overwhelming fullness making your body tremble.

he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him with every tiny movement.

his breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, “you ready, baby?”

and when you nodded, desperate and whimpering beneath him, he smirked.

his first thrust was slow—deep and deliberate—letting you feel every inch of him as he stretched you open. a low groan rumbled in his chest, his head tilting back slightly as he savored the way your warm, tight walls gripped him so perfectly, molding around him like you were made for him.

your nails dragged down his back at the sensation, leaving faint red trails in their wake. the sting only spurred him on, a quiet grunt slipping past his lips as his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

his hips rolled forward again, this time with more force, testing, watching for your reaction.

your mouth parted, a breathless moan escaping as your head tipped back against the seat, the overwhelming fullness making your body shudder beneath him.

that was all the encouragement he needed.

his slow, teasing thrusts quickly turned into something rougher, something deeper—each movement powerful, purposeful, slamming into you harder than the last.

“fuck,” he growled, his grip tightening on your waist, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he controlled your movements, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

his pace was relentless now, his cock plunging into you with a bruising intensity, filling you over and over again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing inside the small, heated space of the car.

but he wasn’t satisfied yet.

his hands reached for one of your legs, lifting it effortlessly, pressing your knee up toward your chest as he adjusted his angle.

the new position made you cry out, your walls squeezing around him as he hit deeper, the blunt head of his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside you with every brutal thrust.

“fuck! this pussy’s taking me so fucking good, baby…” he grunted, his voice rough, laced with raw pleasure.

his head fell forward for a moment, his lips ghosting over your collarbone as his breathing grew ragged. his eyes briefly rolled back, his jaw clenched tight as he fought to keep control—fought to keep from spilling inside you too soon when you felt this good.

but then his gaze snapped back down to you.

and fuck—the sight alone could’ve undone him.

your face was wrecked, pure bliss written across every feature. your mouth hung open, broken moans spilling freely, completely unable to hold anything back.

your back arched beneath him, your fingers grasping at anything—his arms, his shoulders, his hair—desperate for something to ground you as the pleasure built higher, higher.

“fuck, yes, riki! yes!”

your voice was hoarse, breathless, your body trembling with every powerful thrust, and he could feel it—could feel you getting closer, feel the way your walls fluttered around him, tightening, pulling him in deeper.

his grip on you tightened, his pace growing even rougher, even more desperate.

“yeah? you like that, baby?” his voice was strained, breath hot against your skin as his thrusts turned into sharp, punishing strokes. “you like getting fucked like this? taking my dick like a good fucking girl?”

you couldn’t even respond, could only nod frantically, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form words.

he chuckled darkly, leaning in closer, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered,

“then fucking cum for me.”

he gripped your thighs, strong hands spreading them wider before pushing your legs up—both of them now bent, pressed tightly against your chest. the new angle made you cry out, your breath hitching as he fucked into you mercilessly, every brutal thrust sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your overstimulated body.

his cock drove deeper, hitting spots that had you gasping, eyes rolling back as your fingers clawed at the leather seat beneath you.

“fucking wet my dick, baby…” he groaned, his voice breaking into a moan as he felt your walls clench around him, gripping him like a vice.

one hand held your legs in place, keeping you spread and helpless beneath him, while the other trailed downward, his fingers finding your swollen, throbbing clit.

he pressed tight, slow circles against it, sending shockwaves through you, his touch perfectly in sync with the punishing rhythm of his thrusts.

“riki—! ahh! fuck! yes!” you sobbed, your body trembling, your mind slipping further into blissful haze as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your stomach.

your back arched, thighs shaking as your high hovered just out of reach, building, tightening, your body on the brink of complete destruction.

“fuck yeah, baby,” he groaned, eyes dark with hunger, watching the way you came undone beneath him. “clench that fucking pussy around me—shit, just like that—”

he cursed under his breath, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate, as he felt your walls pulsing around him, squeezing tighter, pulling him in.

with one final thrust, one perfect stroke of his fingers over your sensitive bundle of nerves—

you shattered.

your body convulsed, a strangled cry ripping from your throat as pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave. your vision blurred, white-hot electricity shooting through your veins as your orgasm took over, your walls spasming, milking him for everything he had.

your entire body shook violently, your nails digging into his forearms, trying—failing—to ground yourself as the intensity of your release left you gasping for air.

“oh, shit!” riki moaned, voice strained, his own pleasure crashing into him.

he barely had time to pull out, his cock twitching as thick ropes of cum spilled onto your stomach, hot and messy, coating your skin as his breath came out in ragged pants.

his forehead dropped against your shoulder, his chest heaving against yours as he came down from his high, his body still shivering slightly in the aftermath.

for a moment, the only sound in the car was heavy breathing, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

then, slowly, riki lifted his head, his eyes softening as they met yours.

his fingers brushed against your flushed skin, sweeping away the damp strands of hair clinging to your forehead before he leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your cheek, trailing up to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss.

“you okay, baby?” he whispered against your lips, his breath still uneven, warm against your skin.

you nodded weakly, too wrecked to form words, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks.

his lips curled into a small, satisfied smirk before he kissed you again, this time slower, gentler, his touch grounding you.

“you did so fucking good, baby,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your thigh. “so fucking good for me…”

and as your breathing finally began to steady, as the warmth of his body surrounded you, you realized—you had never felt more completely his than in this moment.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ hoped you enjoyed!

1K notes · View notes

nathanbatemanfucker · 3 months ago

Text

Fault Lines Ch. 4

request: wanted to know if you could write something where the reader is a ex-winter solider (just like bucky, but maybe she doesn't lose her arm) and how she struggles to accept Joaquin. An overall angst to fluff.

pairing: joaquin torres x ex super soldier!f!reader

contents: canon typical violence, illusions to abuse and torture, ptsd and other mental illness, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff if you squint!!!

wc: 1,463

an: this one definitely broke my heart a little but it’s all for the greater good i promise <33

fault lines masterlist

It had taken a couple weeks and sifting through some painful memories, but with Joaquin and Sam’s help you narrowed down the most likely place that your target was laying low. It was another facility, this time in the desert.

Where you preferred the heat over the freezing cold, you could tell that they were struggling by their water intakes and sweat soaked shirts. You decide not to say anything— heat makes people grumpy, and between you and Sam there’s enough grump. That and you have something much more important to focus on as you approach the building.

Joaquin shifts his weight, scanning the compound through his scope from their vantage point on the ridge. Beside him, you’re unnervingly still, eyes locked on the entrance like you can will your target into existence.

“We go in quiet,” Sam says over comms. “No unnecessary casualties. We take them alive if possible.”

You don’t respond. Joaquin does. “Copy.”

He glances at you, but your expression doesn’t change. The mission has been communicated and is clear, but he can feel the storm rolling inside you. This isn’t just another takedown to you. It’s an ending. The culmination of everything you’ve fought for, suffered for, lost.

It scares him because he knows you would give anything for it. Maybe even your life.

Once inside, the air is sterile and stale, filled with the ghosts of past violence never fully faded. The three of you move like shadows, clearing room after room. Hydra’s presence here is weak—their numbers already thinned from previous operations.

Despite the ease, you don’t relax. Not yet.

Joaquin watches the way your grip tightens around your weapon as each room is cleared. The way your breath grows more even and steady as you step over an unconscious body, moving toward the command center. This is what you were made for. The thought unsettles him.

When you finally find him, your target is alone in the dimly lit room, scrambling for a weapon he’ll never reach. You’re moving towards him with swiftness before Sam can give the order, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the console causing his nose to bleed. The sight, the coppery smell makes something inside you burn with satisfaction.

The man is just as you remember him. He doesn’t have a name, not a proper one but you and other soldiers called him The Mire. A twisted scar on his face and shocking blonde hair that you’ve seen in your nightmares.

He laughs through the pain, the haunting sound growing louder when you press the barrel of your gun to his forehead. “You think this ends with me?”

Joaquin steps forward. “You can make this easy, or—”

The man barely spares him a glance. His focus is on you, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Go on, then. You’ve come this far.” His lips curl into something taunting. “I wonder—when you close your eyes at night, do you see their faces?”

Your grip tightens. Joaquin sees it instantly—the slight shift in your stance, the barely-there hitch in your breath. You’re…hesitating?

The man must see it too, because his demented grin widens. “Of course you do.” His voice lowers, smooth, insidious. “It’s the price we pay, isn’t it? Those of us who were made for something greater.”

Joaquin moves closer. “Cállate.”

The man ignores him. His eyes stay on you. “The experiments. The conditioning. It never really leaves, does it? You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you know what you are.” His head tilts. “A weapon. A perfect little instrument of death.”

Joaquin sees the moment the words hit their mark. You don’t flinch, but something in your expression hardens. His words conjure memories that make you want to be at the end of your gun.

The man exhales through his nose, like he’s at peace with whatever happens next. “They made you to destroy, and look at you. Right on script.”

Joaquin steps closer. His voice is quiet, but firm. “Hey.”

You don’t look at him. The barrel of your gun presses more firmly against his forehead. Better him than you, right?

“No eres tú,” Joaquin urges.

Your finger hovers over the trigger. This will fix everything. It’ll save you from your torment and allow you to move forward, right?

The man smirks, eyes flicking between you and Joaquin. “Oh, I see now,” he breathes out a laugh. “You’ve got your own little soldier whispering sweet nothings to you. That’s cute. You’ve thought about it right? What his neck feels like under your hands?”

Joaquin’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Walk away,” he murmurs.

The man keeps going, his grin widening. “It must kill you, doesn’t it? Knowing what you are. Knowing that no matter what, he’ll always be the one looking at you like you’re something more.” His eyes glint with something cruel. “But tell me, what happens when he finally sees you for what you really are?”.

Joaquin shakes his head, stepping even closer, voice just for you now. “You don’t belong to anyone but yourself.”

For the first time, your focus wavers, your gaze meeting his. Despite the daunting situation, Joaquin’s eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen. That warmth is at the core of who he is, spreading through every cell in his body and radiating off of him. You feel it’s contrast on the rough, cold edges of your makeup.

Joaquin doesn’t look away. “No eres un arma. Nunca lo fuiste. But you pull that trigger, and they win. They still own you.”

Your jaw clenches. Slowly, painfully—you lower the gun.

Your target’s laugh is cut short by Sam knocking him out cold. Joaquin watches you, but your face is unreadable.

It’s over. Hydra’s last head severed.

You thought that knowing he was done would drain the dread from your body, but you don’t feel any relief. There’s nothing but darkness and confusion, hopelessness finding its play in your belly.

—

The ride back to the local safehouse is quiet. Joaquin sits across from you in the Quinjet, waiting.

But you don’t say a word— you have a map out in front of you, developing your next steps. You aren’t sure where to go or what to do but you know you can’t stay with them.

Sam’s the first to speak. “You did good.”

His praise is meant to make you feel good about making the “right” decision but they just make you feel sick.

Softly, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, you say, “I don’t know what to do now.”

Joaquin leans forward, beating down the urge to reach out and grab your hand. “Then maybe that’s the point. You get to figure it out. And we could— I could—“

You hold his gaze, something soft he can’t name in your eyes. But then, just like that, it’s gone. “I’m not staying.”

Sam doesn’t argue. Neither does Joaquin as much as he wants to. You having choices is important him after the life you’ve been forced to live.

They watch you stand and grab what little gear you have before heading for the ramp. The Quinjet hasn’t even landed yet, but you’re already moving forward.

Joaquin stands, stepping closer to you. “No tienes que hacer esto solo.”

You smile— really smile— but even then it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I always have, baby bird. No te preocupes por mí.”

The ramp lowers and the night’s air rushes inside, cold without the beating sun.

You don’t say anything else and before he can try to find something to fill the silence, you surprise him. You step forward—just close enough for your fingers to graze his as you pass. A fleeting touch, barely there, but Joaquin feels it like a brand. Like an electric shock.

His breath catches and then he’s watching you fade into the sand, and soon into the mountains, something heavy settling in his chest.

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “You know, for someone who talks a lot, you were pretty damn quiet back there.”

Joaquin sighs, running a hand down his face. “Not the time, man.”

Sam snorts. “Oh, I’m sorry. You want me to pretend I haven’t noticed the whole thing you’ve got going on?”

Joaquin turns to glare at him. Sam grins.

“I mean, come on,” Sam continues. “She gives you one look, and you go all soft. And don’t think I missed the way she touched your hand before leaving.” He raises a brow. “You gonna tell me that meant nothing?”

Joaquin exhales, shaking his head. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

Sam hums, unconvinced. “Well, I’ll say this—you better hope she comes back. I don’t think you’d take it well if she didn’t.”

Joaquin doesn’t know what he could say to make Sam back off but deep down, he knows the man is right.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl

> ch.5

#joaquin torres #joaquín torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres x f!reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres imagine #captain america: bnw fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #x reader #arson writes

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tinyshyteacup · 1 month ago

Text

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @gullableh @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @nyxthedeity @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hxsxxk-180294 @wordacadabra @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @purplefluffycows @raikan624 @avengemepercy @killerwendigo @winterjaysoldier @magnoliamoogle @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @lcolumbia1988 @paintmekala @knowingnothingnoel @captain-shannon-becker @jainaeatsstars @mm4t @houseofthechaos @chachkid @escapefromrealitylol

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A/N: I am alive ! Sorry for the slow update but here is the next part !

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Tw: cussing, fluff

Part 17

Words of Command - Part 18

The communal floor of Stark Tower was unusually still. A breeze from the automated ventilation stirred the long drapes beside the windows, and light poured in—soft gold across glass, metal, and silence.

The aftermath of what had happened the night before still clung to the walls like an echo.

At the center console, Tony Stark looked every bit the genius-billionaire-insomniac, hair tousled, arc reactor glowing through a rumpled Black Sabbath shirt, coffee in hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Holograms danced in front of him—blueprints, security schematics, and tracking data cascading in midair.

Agent Collins stood just to the side, shifting uncomfortably under Stark’s scrutinizing gaze.

“These,” Tony said, gesturing like a magician unveiling a new trick, “are the new key cards. Retina-matched, palm-synced, neuro-linked to your heart rate. So if you’re panicking, bleeding, or doing a very bad impersonation of me? It locks you out.”

He slid a card across the table toward Collins.

“Don’t lose it, rookie. Or misplace it in a vending machine like the last one.”

A beat. “And if you’re still thinking about shooting someone in this building? Maybe aim for the espresso machine next time—it has less moral ambiguity.”

Collins flushed, stammering, “Yes, sir. Of course. I—I’m sorry again—”

Tony waved a hand dismissively, then turned his eyes on you.

“And you,” he said, pointing, voice light but laced with something tighter, “Thumbelina.”

You blinked. “Hmm"

“Yeah. Honestly, the most terrifying thing about that entire debacle was how calm you were.”

He reached under the console and slid another card toward you. Unlike Collins’ sleek black one, yours was silver, marked with a small Stark Industries insignia and a delicate engraving of a rose.

“Custom-coded,” he added more quietly. “Highest clearance short of mine or Pepper's. And it tracks your location anywhere in the building… or, you know, if someone tries to relocate you.”

You hesitated before picking it up. “Tony, this is…”

He cut you off with a glance—his tone softening only fractionally.

“Don’t read too much into it, Thumbelina. Just… consider it your golden ticket to not getting Winter-Soldiered next time a Hydra Barbie struts through my door.” His jaw twitched faintly before he turned back to his holograms.

"Because between you and me? I don’t know what would’ve happened if Barnes had flipped. And I’d rather not find out.”

Behind you, Bucky stood against the window, arms folded tightly across his chest. His face was carved from stone, eyes unreadable. But at Tony’s last words, you saw the flicker in his posture—a subtle clench of his metal fingers. His jaw worked, once, before he spoke.

“I wouldn’t have hurt her.”

It was quiet. Firm.

Tony didn’t look back. “Good plan, Tin Man. Let’s stick to it.”

You reached out and gently brushed your fingers over Bucky’s hand. His head turned toward you immediately, eyes softer now, focused entirely on you.

“You okay?” you asked quietly.

He glanced at the security card in your hand. “You keep that close. Anyone tries anything again... they won’t get the chance to finish a word.”

He meant it.

And this time, even Tony didn’t argue.

You found Tony later, alone on the terrace of Stark Tower. The city sprawled out beneath him, bathed in afternoon haze, a living thing of sound and motion.

He stood by the railing, sunglasses in place despite the shade, drink in hand—something amber that caught the light.

“Didn’t peg you for a brooder,” you said gently as you stepped out.

He didn’t look at you, just lifted the glass in a half-salute. “Rooftop brooding’s in the billionaire starter pack. That and daddy issues.”

You smiled faintly, letting the door slide shut behind you. The wind teased your hair, light and playful in contrast to the tension that still clung to him like static.

“I wanted to say thank you,” you offered. “For the card. The upgrades. Everything.”

Tony tilted his head, finally looking at you.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice still smooth, but quieter. “You didn’t ask to be dragged into any of this.”

“I’m here because I want to be. Bucky—he…”

“Thinks you’re his handler,” Tony interrupted, eyes narrowing behind his shades. “Still. Despite all the progress. And despite the fact he looks at you like you're the only safe place he's ever known.”

You looked down at your hands. “Yea, I know.”

Tony drained his drink and set the glass aside with a click of crystal on steel. “You know, if you were anyone else, I’d have locked Barnes in a vibranium box and shipped him off by now.”

You blinked up at him.

“He’s dangerous, Thumbelina. He’s got more kill commands in that head than most nukes. And if someone whispers poetry in Russian, he'll take out half my lab. So forgive me if I’m not sleeping well.”

The sarcasm was still there—but now it trembled just enough to show the cracks.

You stepped closer. “But you didn’t lock him up.”

“No,” Tony said, softer now. “Because he didn’t snap. Because you, god knows why, have faith in him.”

He exhaled hard, raking a hand through his hair.

“I saw what happened the other night. He didn’t hurt you. That means something. I just…” His voice dropped. “I don’t want to be the guy who says I told you so after something breaks. And I sure as hell don’t want it to be you who pays the price.”

You placed your hand lightly on his arm. “Tony, I know what he’s capable of. But I also know who he is now. You’ve seen it too.”

He looked down at your hand. “You’re good for him. Maybe too good. Just—promise me you’ll keep that card on you. And if something feels off, you run, okay? Because even the best of us can lose control.”

There was a pause. He added, more gently, “And maybe I care more than I let on. Don't make me say it out loud or I’ll combust.”

You smiled through the tightness in your chest. “Noted.”

Tony nodded and pulled his sunglasses off, eyes tired but sincere. “Now go check Manchurian Candidate. Before he broods a hole through my floor.”

You turned to leave but paused. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you”

The workshop hummed with artificial light and low-toned rock playing from a half-covered speaker somewhere on the cluttered shelves. Screens flickered with diagnostic data, schematic overlays of Bucky’s arm rotating in slow motion beside a real-time scan of his nervous system. The scent of oil, hot metal, and solder hung in the air like cologne.

Bucky sat on the reinforced stool with his left arm clamped into a calibration rig, a faint whirr-click pulsing as Tony adjusted a servo near the elbow joint. He flinched, just slightly, more from reflex than pain.

“Relax, Tin Man,” Tony drawled, leaning in with a fine-point tool between his fingers. “You jump like I’m tightening bolts with a wrench and a prayer.”

Bucky gave him a narrowed look but didn’t rise to the bait. “You talk a lot for someone who’s supposed to be concentrating.”

“And you grunt a lot for someone with enough years to have heard jazz when it was edgy,” Tony shot back. His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent was cautious—calculated. He didn’t trust easily.

A silence passed, broken only by the soft hiss of hydraulics and a string of code scrolling on a nearby display. Then Tony added, more pointedly

“Since you didn't go full Terminator on us, I feel safe enough to bring up a topic of immense personal importance.”

Bucky sighed. “Let me guess. Her.”

“Ding ding ding.” Tony didn’t look up, but there was a smirk in his voice. “My favorite receptionist. Whisperer of stray murder puppies. You know she’s important to me, right?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. His lips parted, slow and thoughtful. “She’s important to a lotta people.”

Tony side-eyed him. “Yeah. Which is why I’m keeping an eye on you, Frostbite. No offense... Okay, some offense.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to the limb Tony was working on. His metal fingers flexed, this time not in defense—but curiosity. Familiarity.

“You think I’d want to hurt her?” he asked, not with hostility, but that quiet kind of self-loathing that made even Tony pause.

“No,” Tony said after a beat, tone shifting slightly. “But you’re still figuring yourself out. And she’s got this... thing where she puts others first. Loyal to the end. And way too forgiving.”

“She’s not forgiving,” Bucky corrected gently. “She believes in people. There’s a difference.”

Tony actually looked up at that, giving Bucky a more measured stare. Something passed between them then—not quite friendship, but an understanding.

Mutual protectiveness.

Mutual guilt.

“You know she calls you ‘sweet when you’re quiet,’ right?” Tony said, smirking now, screwdriver back in hand. “Which is a weird thing to hear while trying to eat pancakes, by the way.”

Bucky gave a rare huff of a laugh. “That’s her. Says the strangest things with a straight face. Makes you believe ‘em anyway.”

Bucky looked away, jaw flexing slightly. “She deserves to feel safe, not… manage me.”

Tony finally looked up, goggles pushed to his forehead. That, more than anything, made Bucky uneasy. Tony’s sarcasm vanished for a moment.

“Still think she’s your handler?” Tony asked, voice flatter now, more serious.

Bucky shifted on the stool. “I don’t know. I thought that at first. But… not anymore.”

He flexed his metal fingers, gaze distant. “When she’s around, I don’t feel like a weapon. I feel like someone who could maybe learn to be human again.”

Tony’s expression didn’t soften—Stark didn’t really do soft—but it did shift. Understanding replaced the usual edge. He leaned against the bench, arms crossed.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

Tony gestured dramatically. “Come on, Barnes. The looks. The way you practically short-circuit when she walks in. You’re over here talking like a noir detective monologuing about love and redemption. It's textbook.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to disagree, but… he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled and said, almost to himself. “She’s… soft. Kind. She's never called me Asset.”

Tony tilted his head, watching. “She also trusts you.”

“I know,” Bucky said quietly. “That’s why I want to protect her.”

Tony stood straight again, brushing his hands off. “Okay, Loverboy, don’t make this weird. Look—if you ever do forget who you are again, or even think about slipping—I’ll vaporize you myself. No hesitation.”

Bucky nodded. “I’d want you to.”

Tony held his gaze a second longer, then, satisfied, picked up the casing panel and returned to tinkering.

“She deserves a guy who knows what she’s worth,” he said offhandedly. “You ever figure that out, maybe you won’t need her to save you all the time.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe I don’t want her to stop.”

He glanced toward the glass wall separating the workshop from the common floor—where you’d left earlier to bake with Pepper, your laugh barely audible through the insulated door.

Tony finished the adjustment and pressed a button on his remote. The brace unclamped, and Bucky’s arm whirred smoothly as it came to life. He flexed the fingers again—no glitch, no catch. The smallest smile curved his lips.

“Not bad,” Bucky admitted.

“High praise, coming from Cap’s ex-roommate,” Tony said, then added quieter, “Just... don’t screw this up, Barnes.”

Bucky stood, glancing down at the arm before meeting Tony’s eyes.

“She sees something good in here. Even after all the bad.” he said slowly

Tony’s smirk faded, replaced by a more solemn nod.

The city outside the window blinked with quiet life—cool blue lights spilling across the sheets, striping your forms like reflections from a slow-moving river. Stark Tower always felt too big at night, the hum of its tech softened to a ghostly lullaby.

You lay on your side, head resting against your pillow, hair slightly mussed from sleep. The oversized t-shirt you wore—hung loosely around your frame, bare feet tangled beneath the throw blanket.

Bucky lay on his back beside you, fully dressed in sweats and a black tee, his metal arm resting across his stomach. The space between you wasn’t large.

His head turned slightly toward you, eyes silvered in the moonlight. “Doll?”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

“I keep thinking about something Stark said,” his voice rasped, like gravel being gently scattered. “About you...”

"Tony says a lot of things, most of it bullshit." You deadpan

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckled under his breath, and it startled even him. “He does.”

There was a moment where the silence thickened again, this time with memory. He turned his head, eyes meeting yours in the dark. “Doll… I used to think you were my handler.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t anymore.”

That made your breath catch. You blinked slowly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“You feel different,” he continued, and his voice had that sounded like hesitant wonder. “When you touch me—it’s not… control. It’s comfort.”

“That's ... good,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “I still wait for orders. I’ll catch myself looking to you like… like I need permission to breathe.”

“You don’t,” you said. “You never did.”

He nodded, but it was heavy.

Tired.

Honest.

“Yeah, but it feels easier when you’re nearby.”

His flesh hand shifted slightly on the sheets between you—like he was thinking about reaching for you but wasn’t sure it was okay.

His gaze dropped to your fingers.

He didn’t move away.

“I like hearing you talk,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “It makes the static go quiet.”

You smiled faintly, then yawned, your body curling slightly toward him. Not touching. Not really.

“I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

He turned his head again, looking at you with something raw in his expression—something real.

“Thanks, Doll.”

A long, steady breath passed between you. Outside, distant thunder rolls lazily over the city, a storm crawling in. The occasional flicker of lightning backlights the clouds, casting dim shadows that briefly stretch across the walls.

You’re both on your backs now, close but not quite touching. Then you feel it—a shift in the mattress. Just slight. Delicate.

Bucky is moving.

You don’t look at first. But his arm—his flesh one—crosses the neutral space between you, and fingertips gently brush your forearm. Not a grab. Not a possessive touch. Just the trembling edge of contact.

“Doll…” he says softly, voice thick. “Can I…?”

You glance at him.

His face is tense, but open. Not fearful, but expectant. The kind of look someone wears when they’re stepping out onto a frozen lake for the first time, testing if it will hold.

You nod.

He trails his hand up, slowly, fingers dragging against your skin until he reaches your wrist. There, he rests his palm lightly—not holding, just being. His thumb ghosts over the skin there, feeling your pulse.

“You always run cold,” he murmurs, half to himself.

You smile, a little shaky. “I guess so.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, in a voice as soft as the dark around you.

“Can I ask you something ? And you can lie if it’s easier.”

That earns a soft laugh from you, nervous and unsure. “Okay.”

His brow furrows slightly. His thumb still gently strokes your wrist, grounding himself in that fragile contact.

“When I’m not… y’know, losing my mind or tryin’ to kill anyone… do you like being around me?”

You shift to your side, facing him. His hand slips naturally to rest between you on the mattress, but his gaze stays locked with yours.

“I do.”

He nods slowly, you can see the next question forming, nerves tightening his jaw.

“Doll…” His voice is low and careful, like stepping into a room he isn’t sure he’s welcome in. “Can I…?”

You turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes. “Can you what, Bucky?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His metal hand, lifts from the bed by mere inches. You see the muscles in his shoulder flex. He hesitates.

“Can I keep touching you?”

He’s not asking for permission to take.

He’s asking to connect.

You nod slowly, a little smile at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Buck. You can.”

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and moves with such delicacy it almost breaks your heart. He uses his flesh hand—bringing it up. His fingers skim the curve of your cheek, knuckles first, cautious and reverent.

He cups your jaw softly, thumb ghosting just beneath your eye like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve into mist if he presses too hard.

“You’re warm now,” he murmurs.

“So are you,” you whisper.

His mouth quirks—an actual smile, crooked and small. “That’s good. I feel like I haven’t been warm in a long time.”

You shift slightly toward his touch.

He watches you a moment longer, the silence between you thick with something tender. Then, gently, his thumb strokes your cheek again, “Doll… Do you—do you feel anything for me?”

You blink slowly, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the city noise.

“Bucky…” you say gently, voice barely above a breath. “I do feel something. I care. I worry. And sometimes when you look at me… I feel it all the way down in my ribs.”

Bucky releases a small, almost incredulous laugh through his nose. “That’s a hell of a place to feel something.”

You smile. “Well, that’s kinda ...where you live now.”

“Do you think…” he starts again, voice shaky, “if things were different—if I’d met you before—”

You lift your hand, placing it lightly over his metal fingers. “I’m glad I met you now, Bucky. Because this version of you—the one that’s healing, that’s choosing—he’s the one I want to know.”

His breath catches. Just a little. His lips part like he wants to speak again, but instead he lets his forehead drop forward, resting it gently against yours.

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tessasturns · 5 months ago

Text

DIAL DRUNK

pairing... bsf!matt x fem!reader

summary... when you drunk call matt, he helps you get home safe.

warnings... swearing, fluff, drunk reader, tension, use of y/n, jealous bsf matt, throwing up (brief), slight cat calling, bsfs cuddling

divider credits… @issysh3ll

blessings and riches, tessa

(masterlist) (taglist)

“nah, i wont be drinking tonight.” you said to your friend who had offered you a drink.

that was you two hours ago, yet somehow you ended up completely wasted at some party.

you usually go everywhere with matt, the two of you have been attached at the hip since grade school.

however he’s not big on parties. otherwise, he would’ve been here with you, monitoring how much alcohol was in your system.

but he wasn’t, so you went out with your girls. the group was completely wasted, including you.

so what do you do? call matt, obviously. he picks up after a few rings.

“heyyy matt” you babble.

“hey, y’havin’ fun at your girls night?” he asks, knowing you’re probably drunk.

“mhm yeah… you should totallyyy be here matty, i miss you” you say. you were sitting on some random couch, your best friend next to you.

“kid, are you drunk?” he questions, knowing the outcome.

“noooo…” you say, not fooling anyone.

“alright, where are you? i’ll come pick you up” he tells you.

“uhhh somewhere downtown… you don’t need to pick me up! this really hot guy said he could take me home!” you say, too drunk to know his real intentions.

“absolutely not. drop your location, i’m coming.” he commands.

“ughhh you’re no fun!” you giggle. “fineee see you soon” you hang up the call and somehow manage to give matt your location.

matt walks into the party and sees you laying on the couch with your friend and some guy.

“y/n. we’re leaving.” he tells you, his voice raised to be coherent over the blasting music.

“oh, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend sugar” the guy says, standing up.

“no, he’s not my boyfriend” you babble, trying to repeat the guy’s motion of standing up but almost falling.

matt catches you and grabs your hand. “we’re goin’ back to mine, i’ll give you some extra clothes.”

“but i wanna stay here! i need some more drinks matttt” you whine.

“c’mon, let’s go back to mine pretty girl” the guy states, reaching out for your hand.

matt immediately slaps his hand away. some random guy flirting with his best friend? he hardly knew anything about her! he couldn’t let that slide.

“y’stay the fuck away from her, ‘ight? let’s go.” he takes you out of the party and into his car.

he opens the passenger door for you as you sit down. he leans over you to buckle your seatbelt, and man, do you love him.

you just stare at him as he does this, in complete awe.

“y’got a staring problem?” he chuckles as he ruffles his hand through your hair and closes the car door.

he walks over to the drivers side, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway.

“how much have you had to drink?” he asks you. “uhhh like…” you didn’t actually know how much you had. “maybeee like six drinks?”

“six? and you’re this wasted? fuckin’ lightweight” he jokes. “shut up” you mumble, quietly laughing.

his hand lays on the center console, and you reach out and grab it. you trace your finger around his hand as if he were some antique painting.

he notices the small gesture, but just smiles and looks over at the road.

“matt” you say, breaking the silence.

“hm?”

“has anyone told you that you’re reallyyy good looking?” you giggle.

“ah thank you” he knew you were drunk and didn’t question the comment.

“no like you’re sooo pretty” you say. “do you have a girlfriend?”

his eyebrows raise at the bold question.

“you’re drunk, so im not answering that” you both chuckle at his response.

the rest of the car ride is drunk conversations and your random questions. once you get to matt’s place, he quietly walks you in, careful not to wake his brothers.

after a painful walk in the door and to matt’s room, he handed you clothes to change into.

“thanks” you say, taking them gratefully. an awkward tension rises in the room, the both of you unsure what to say. “can you like… uh leave so i can change please?”

“oh- oh right sorry” matt apologizes, leaving the room. you change into his clothes, stumbling into his bathroom.

you feel it- the alcohol, buzzing through your body at an uncomfortable pace. you feel it rush to your head, saliva filling your mouth.

you kneel in front of the toilet, matt rushing in and holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail while you puked.

he helped wipe your face after, lending you an extra toothbrush. he took you back to his room, leaving to get a glass of water and some makeup wipes.

he watches you as you’re sprawled out on the bed, giggling at something you said to yourself.

he smiles at you, his clothes against your figure making him unusually attracted to you. sure, he might’ve liked you more than a friend, but he loved seeing you in his clothes.

“drink some of this” he tells you, as you sit up against his headboard. you take a small sip, placing the glass on his nightstand.

“thank you matt, really. i love you” you say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and laying against his chest.

you slump into his grasp, being tired from the party prior to this. he grabs a makeup wipe, carefully swiping your makeup off.

he cautiously lifts your face, making sure you didn’t sleep in your makeup. he knew you were probably asleep, so he laid your head down on the pillow as he turned for the door.

“matt” you call out to the mere silhouette of the boy ahead of you.

“what’s up?” he turns to you.

“can you sleep here with me? pleaseee?” you beg as he hesitates.

“i-i don’t know-” “please matt?” you say again. your friendship with matt was a little flirty, and cuddling wasn’t a first with the two of you.

“fine, but you better not throw up on me” he reluctantly agreed, climbing into bed. “promise i won’t” you smile, placing your head onto his chest.

his hand thoughtfully rubs your back, comforting you. although the two of you were ‘just friends’ he knew he shouldn’t feel this way about a friend. he knew he loved you, he just didn’t know how to tell you.

tessa’s notes… sorry this took like forever i’ve been sick😞 wanted to take a break from smut lowkey, feel free send me some reqs !!

taglist… @emely9274 @baileysturnz @sllutty-sturniolo @chrisspussygang

comment to be added or removed.

#tessasturns #tessa yaps #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #mattysketchup #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew bernard sturniolo #sturniolo x you #sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo smut #party

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archangeldyke-all · 10 months ago

Note

riding plug sev in her car 😍😍🫠

youtube

PLEASE listen to this song it's sooooo plug sevika coded omg...

men and minors dni

"shit, it's pouring." sevika curses.

you're driving home from a late night movie, and the drizzle that started as you left the theater is now a torrential downpour.

"might be safest to just pull over and park until the storm rolls over, babe." you suggest.

sevika nods and throws her blinker on, pulling into a nearby park.

for a few minutes, the two of you sit, waiting for the rain to slow. but, after a while, it becomes clear that the storm's got nowhere to be.

you don't mind. the pair of you have nowhere to be either.

sevika sighs as she reclines in her seat, wordlessly pulling open her center console to grab a pre-roll-- always looking for a minute to slow down and smoke with you.

you giggle, flicking the headlights and wipers off, turning the radio up a bit, then holding your hands around the lighter to keep the a/c from blowing the joint out as your girl lights it.

"did you like the movie?" you ask with a fond smile.

sevika grins around the joint.

it was some obscure sci-fi flick, you had no idea what was going on half the time, but sevika had read the books that went along with the movie earlier in the year, and she'd been talking non-stop about it since. you spent most of the movie just watching your girlfriend wiggle in her seat as she nerded out.

"it was amazing. the casting choices were ridiculous, but the soundtrack was incredible, and the special effects were amazing! the scene where commander gorzo gets infected with the virus was so gory and nasty-- that black goo they used was just like in the book, it was perfect!"

you smile. "you're fucking adorable."

sevika blushes, hands you the joint, and tries to hide her pretty smile behind her hand.

you laugh and take a hit, before unbuckling your seat belt and reaching across the console to grab her shoulder. "take this." you say, handing her the joint.

sevika puts the joint in her mouth, takes a long hit, and then chokes in surprise when you crawl into her lap, straddling her legs.

"wha?" she asks through a cough.

you smile, let her catch her breath, then lean forward and press your mouth to hers. sevika melts into her seat and her free hand reaches out to wrap around your waist.

you pull away to gasp for air, and sevika blinks up at you with big, sparkly eyes. "what was that for?" she asks, her thumb sliding under your shirt to rub circles in your hips. you giggle.

"it's really cute seeing you be all nerdy. i was so convinced you were all cool and suave all the time-- but now i know better." you tease. sevika huffs and leans forward to bury her face in your tits.

"shut up."

"no, babe, i love it. i love you. love that i get to see you all sweet and excited."

sevika doesn't respond. she just reaches up and pushes the joint into your mouth to get you to shut up. you giggle, scratching her scalp where her head rests against your chest.

for a few minutes, you just cuddle like that, passing the joint back and forth and becoming more and more relaxed as the weed, the sound of the rain, and the low music on the radio lull you and sevika into a hazy state of relaxation.

then, sevika bursts into giggles.

"what?" you ask. sevika just continues to laugh, grinning up at you. "what's so funny, baby?"

"i just remembered..." she leans forward a bit, her grip on your waist tightening to keep you upright as she fumbles around in the glove box.

"what're you looking for? snacks?"

"this." sevika cackles as she hands you her treasure. you burst into laughter when sevika shows you the little silky pouch that you use to store your dildos when you're traveling.

"when'd you stash this in here?!" you ask, opening the bag with a snort and pulling out the harness and cock.

"few weeks ago." she says with a giggle.

"you're a genius." you laugh, kissing sevika's cheek.

it takes a while for the two of you to untangle enough for sevika to get the harness on, constant giggle fits breaking out between the pair of you, but eventually you figure it out, hiking your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side before you sink down on sevika.

you both sigh in relief as you adjust to the stretch of her. sevika's kissing up and down your neck, fiddling with your bra clasps under your shirt as she patiently waits for you. "you feel so good." sevika sighs.

you chuckle. "not as good as you." you sigh. sevika snorts, smacks your ass, then reaches into the center console again, pulling out another joint. you burst into giggles.

"go ahead 'n ride me baby, i'm just gonna smoke and enjoy the view." sevika sighs as she sits back in her seat, sparking up.

fuck, there's the cool sevika you were talking about earlier. her eyes are dark and predatory as she waits for you to follow her instructions, and you shiver as you start to grind slowly on her lap.

"there you go, baby." she sighs, smiling. "fuck, take your shirt off i wanna see your tits." you scramble to follow her directions, flinging your shirt into the back seat and your bra on the dashboard. sevika groans when you're revealed to her, the cherry of her joint illuminating you in a red-gold glow.

she reaches out with her free hand to pinch your nipples and you huff, smacking her hands away. she smirks. "adorable."

"sevika." you moan as you start to pick your pace up a bit, bouncing on her lap. she holds the joint to your lips, lets you take a quick hit before pulling it away.

"there you go, love. just feel good for me. love watchin' you like this-- fuck, you're so pretty when you're stuffed full'a my cock." she sighs.

you duck forward and press your lips to sevika's in a sloppy kiss, shutting her up before her words make you cum two minutes into getting her inside of you. it's a sticky, drooly mess-- your lip gloss and spit making sevika's chin shiny whne you pull away.

her eyes cross a bit as she watches a string of spit stretch between your lower lips, and she claws at your ass when it finally breaks and lands on your tits. "you're so fuckin' hot." sevika growls, ducking forward to start sucking a hickey into your throat. she's abandoned the joint, letting it smoke out in the cupholder beside her. "can't believe you're mine. 'm so fuckin' lucky-- can't believe you watched that whole movie with me babe, it was like four hours." sevika chuckles.

you giggle and tug her hair. "i'd do a whole lot more for you, baby." you say. sevika shivers, and you tug her hair a little more. "y'know that right?"

"fuck, yes." sev whines against your throat. "fuck. you're soaking my pants, baby, look." sevika grabs your wrist and drags your hand down to her pants, where you're soaking the base of her cock and the fabric beneath it. you whimper.

"s-sorry."

"don't be fuckin' sorry, i love it. wish i could wear your cum in public, baby-- show everybody you're mine all the time."

you gasp, your thighs starting to shake. sevika takes over for you, both her hands on your ass, pulling you up and down on her cock.

the squelching noise of your cunt starts to drown out the rain and music, your squeaks and moans getting louder and louder as sevika sinks further down in her seat, props one foot up on the dash, and starts fucking into you from underneath you.

"sevika!" you scream. "sevika, shit, there, baby, there!" you cry.

"fuck, baby, cum on my dick, give it to me, baby, give it to me." she spits on two of her fingers and starts rubbing your clit in harsh little circles as you start to fall apart on top of her.

"se-sevika!" you cry. "i'm gonna--"

"fucking cum." sevika growls as you squirt on her dick, soaking her lap completely. "fuck, baby, just like that, there you go baby, my perfect fuckin' girl--"

"s-sev." you sob.

sevika pulls you forward with a hand on your jaw, shoving her tongue down your throat as you gasp for air. "fuckin' love you." she whispers against your lips. "love you so much, baby, fuck, you taste like strawberries."

this makes you giggle. "'s my lipgloss."

"fuckin' love it. bet your pussy tastes like strawberries too. gonna let me try?" she asks, smacking your ass. you laugh.

"maybe when we get home."

"mmm. but it's still raining and we won't be home forever..." sevika pouts. you just reach out blindly for the joint in the cupholder, shoving it in your girlfriend's chest as you try to catch your breath.

"fuckin'-- suck on this for now." you sigh.

sevika laughs so hard she snorts.

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#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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horny-marbles · 30 days ago

Text

P★RNSTAR (Hoodie x F!Reader)

CW: SEXTAPE BABYYY, rough handling, sloppy bj, mild degradation, lowkey mask kink

wordcount 1.5k

The car smells like sweat and upholstery—faint hints of leather, stale air, and the sharp, musky tang of skin and spit. The kind of heat that sticks to the back of your tongue. The kind of space that feels wrong to be so obscene in. Cramped. Intimate. All the better for what he’s doing to you.

The Sony Handycam is already recording. The tiny red light blinks slow and steady, like a heartbeat—perched perfectly between the front seats, balanced on the center console where the armrest flips up. Its unblinking eye drinks in everything: your body folded down into the backseat, knees pressed hard into the cushions, back arched for no reason than to be seen, ass high and already flushed from earlier slaps and gropes. Your arms tremble, bracing yourself on either side of his thighs.

His jeans are shoved down around his ankles, still in his scuffed black boots, legs spread wide and unapologetic. Hoodie pushed up just over his navel, stomach tight and hip muscles tense. He’s got one hand resting heavy on the curve of your skull, fingers tangled in your hair like a leash. His other arm rests on the edge of the seat, knuckles tapping absently as he watches you in the viewfinder through the blood red frown. Expressionless, unfeeling, commanding.

His cock is thick, flushed, glistening wet with your spit. Already leaking from the head as you choke yourself on it, working your lips as far down the shaft as your throat will let you. Your jaw aches. Your mascara is a smeared mess under your eyes, black streaks trailing down your cheeks, mingling with the spit that drips in long, milky ropes from your lips to the heavy weight of his balls. Everything’s wet. Your chin, your throat, the inside of your panties, the backseat under you.

He’s got your hair fisted into a knotted makeshift pony, pulling you back by it and shoving you back down at his heart's content. His voice is low and flat, cold as concrete, but it burns.

“Look in the lens.”

You try. Your lashes flutter, and your eyes roll up, locking onto the blinking red light of the camera as best you can while he rocks his hips up, slow and firm. One hand fists your hair tighter; the other clamps around your jaw to hold you still. His thighs flex under you as he fucks up into your throat in shallow thrusts, your cheeks hollow from sucking him so hard, so desperately that your throat’s gone raw. The sound of your choking echoes off the windows—obscene, slippery, wet. He rewards you with a sharp tug at your hair. You're running out of air, but you hold him so the camera catches everything.

“Fuckin’ drooling all over it,” he growls. “Sloppy bitch.”

You can’t answer—your throat’s full, lungs begging—but he doesn't want words. Just the sound of you gagging, choking, sputtering every time he forces you down.

He pulls you off with a wet, humiliating pop. You gasp, coughing, sniffling, strands of drool clinging from your lip to his tip. You’re a fucking mess—mouth open, panting, throat working with every breath. Your whole body feels slick with it. He grips your face in one large, gloved hand, tilts your chin up so the camera sees everything.

“Tongue out. Spit on it.”

You do—heavy and stringy, your saliva coating his cock in thick ropes, mixing with the rest. It shines under the dim light, dripping slowly down the shaft like syrup.

"Smile, slut."

You do. Wrecked. Giddy. Drunk off him. Then he drags your head back down again with a gritted groan, hips jerking up to meet you halfway—deeper than you can take. You gag, throat convulsing around him, nose pressed to the wiry hair at his base, spit bubbling out around the stretch of your lips.

He plants one boot flat on the backseat, sole grinding deep into the vinyl as his legs spread even wider. The position forces you in tighter, makes your back arch sharper, your knees strain. He uses the new angle for leverage, pulls you in, hand still fisted in your hair, the other clamping around your jaw so tight your ears ring.

Then he starts to fuck your throat.

No mercy. Just the wet slap of skin on skin as he drives up into your mouth in rough, punishing thrusts. The car rocks faintly on its suspension while his cock bulges your throat on every stroke. His grip on your head is iron-tight—he’s not letting you move, not letting you escape. Every thrust makes you gag, makes tears sputter out of your squinting eyes, makes your spit splatter messier over his thighs, makes the camera catch the slick slap of your face being driven down again and again and again.

The roof of your mouth fucking aches, lips swollen and slick, snot dripping down your upper lip and getting lost in the pool of drool on his cock, but he doesn’t let you rest long. His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, not choking, just grabbing—rude, possessive—and he uses the grip to pull you off him like you’re weightless. You fall forward into his lap, chest heaving, arms scrambling for balance. One foot kicks out and nearly smacks the camera, and he growls low in his chest, voice sharp under the mask.

“Watch the fuck out.”

Not angry. Just mean.

You mutter a breathless apology, eyes watery, and shift to straddle him in reverse, thighs trembling. Your ass settles against his lap, thighs trembling as you spread them wide over his, your feet planted on either side of his hips. His boots squeak faintly against the footwell when he adjusts—legs still spread wide, giving the camera a full view of your dripping pussy pressed tight to the fabric of your panties, and the full view of his twitching cock, sitting upright against his stomach like a threat.

You barely get your balance before his arm snakes tight around your shoulders, thick forearm under your chin, pulling you back into a tight headlock that bends your spine in a bow against him. Tits up, hand limp over his wrist at your ear just for some semblance of leverage, mouth slack and breath hitching in your throat. Your thighs twitch as he yanks the soaked fabric of your panties aside—not even bothering to pull them off, just rips them to the side hard enough that the elastic bites your skin.

Your cunt is already puffy, messy, shining wet—he’d fucked you raw before the camera even started rolling, and it shows. He lines his cock up, slippery and flushed and angry, the tip nudging between your folds like it belongs there.

“Sit.” His voice is quiet. Commanding. Like he expects to be obeyed without question.

You sink down, trembling.

You gasp—head back, mouth open—as he fills you up in one thick, slippery thrust, and the camera catches the obscene way your body jerks. He groans into your hair, low and satisfied, one hand moving from your throat to your waist to hold you steady.

“Fuck yourself on it.”

You try. You do.

Your hands grab at the seats in front of you, your hips start to rock, bouncing as best you can in the cramped space. Every drop of wetness between your legs gets pushed out around his cock as you bounce, thighs trembling, the slap of skin on skin getting louder with every movement.

But your legs give quick. He fucked the strength out of them earlier, and now your thighs are shaking, your head rolling back against his shoulder as your rhythm slows.

“Harder.”

You whine, breathless.

“Bounce, slut.”

You whimper, trying. Trying to bounce faster, push down harder, grind the way you know he likes—but it’s useless. Your legs are trembling too much, your pussy twitching from the overuse, soaked and overstimulated.

Suddenly, his hands slide down, grab behind your knees, and suddenly you’re airborne—feet planted high into the backs of the front seats, hips lifted completely off his lap as he keeps you suspended above his cock, like a toy. Your arms flail for balance but there’s nowhere to hold onto—just him. And with your ass lifted and your cunt spread wide open for him, he starts fucking up into you. Brutal. Unrelenting. Hard.

The car rocks with every thrust, the windows rattling.

“Dick too good, huh? You look like a fucked out whore,” he murmurs against your ear, breathless. “Camera's fuckin' lovin' it."

You look straight into the lens, sobbing, helpless, crying from the overstimulation, but your mouth’s hanging open in a dumb, blissed out grin—drooling all over yourself, teeth glinting with spit, tits bouncing with every hard snap of his hips. You look destroyed. You feel like a fucking pornstar.

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pyrotechworkspace · 8 days ago

Text

Control Room Solutions For Defence Sector

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shuavez · 2 months ago

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litany 𓄧 k.mg

i. tie a cherry.

summary 𓄧 every oath has a cost. every touch has a consequence. sent deep undercover into one of the city’s most illicit vampire clubs, two detectives must navigate the delicate balance between duty and desire — and survive the consequences when pretending stops feeling like pretending.

and some hungers, once fed, are impossible to starve.

tags 𓄧 detective!au, vampire!mingyu x human!reader. slow-ish burn. fake dating. friends/coworkers to lovers. various svt members/idols.

warnings 𓄧 mentions of blood, death, feeding.

wc. 5.3k.

You’re not entirely sure when this case became your case. One minute it was a ghost rumor, something passed down through precinct whispers—Velvet Eden, the kind of place that exists on the fringe of the city and the law. The next, a body turned up in Sector 6, hollowed out and discarded like trash. And suddenly, the case had a heartbeat.

Organized Crime called in Homicide. Your name was already circled in red ink. You barely blinked. That’s the job, after all. Blood, bodies, and bad decisions. Cases involving vampires usually landed in V-CAD, the Vampire Crimes & Affairs Division, but this one bled into too many departments.

You’ve worked vampire cases before—civil disputes, rogue feeders, one or two cold-body cleanups. But Velvet Eden isn’t that. It’s something older. More indulgent. Less law, more religion.

Still, you weren’t expecting this.

You weren’t expecting a private, invitation-only vampire sex club with a feeding floor and velvet-lined red rooms. You weren’t expecting to slip into the role of arm candy for a six-foot-two vampire with a face like sin and a bite to match. And you definitely weren’t expecting him—Kim Mingyu. Calm. Commanding. All lean lines and quiet power. The kind of man who could make a room stop breathing just by walking into it.

He doesn’t feel like a stranger. You’ve crossed paths on enough cases for that. He’s always been kind, grounded, smart. The kind of vampire who makes you forget to be afraid.

But none of that changes the fact that in ten minutes, you’ll be walking into a club full of predators, pretending to be his prey.

And he’ll have to feed from you.

Your stomach flips, but you keep your face neutral as street lights streak gold across the windshield. Mingyu’s driving—one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. He’s dressed in all black, shirt unbuttoned just enough to get one thinking. The silk catches the light. His scent—smoke, earth, and something inherently warm—bleeds into the leather interior of the car. You’re hyper aware of every inch between you. It feels deliberate. Loaded.

You glance out the window and try not to think about the heat climbing the back of your neck. The dress you’re in—deep wine, cut high on the thigh, open at the back—was chosen for how it clings, how it tempts. You’re not used to dressing for hunger.

“—you hearing me?” Jeonghan’s voice slices through the quiet, speakerphone crackling from the center console. You jump, just slightly.

“Loud and clear,” you answer smoothly, though you hadn’t caught half of what he said.

“You’re about to enter a location with zero backup,” he says. “But this isn’t a takedown. You’re gathering intel, building rapport, and staying alive. Right now, as fresh meat, you’re not to leave Mingyu’s side and he’s not to leave yours. Understood?”

“Understood,” you mutter.

“Hey.” Jeonghan’s voice softens. “If anything feels off, pull out. No hesitation. No pride. Just say the word.”

Beside you, Mingyu shifts slightly, glancing over at you. “You won’t be alone in there,” he says, voice low. Steady. Reassuring in a way you feel in your chest. You meet his eyes for a half-second longer than you mean to.

You nod. “I know.”

And the thing is—you do. You’re not afraid of him.

“We’ll mingle for a little, suss out the vibe and you can get a feel of the place. I’m warning you, it’s fucking weird, dude. You’re pretty good at commanding a room, but even I get on edge here. You’re probably gonna see a lot of things you’d rather not, but you have to keep your cool or they’ll smell it on you.” Mingyu fixes you with a quick, firm look before returning his attention to the road, jaw tense.

Then Jeonghan chimes in again through the phone, voice crackling slightly, “Head to a Red Room when you’re both ready, and do your thing.” There’s a beat of silence, and then he stutters. “Just do whatever you have to do to pass off that you’re a real couple. Don’t be shy.”

The line clicks off. Silence floods the car for a moment before Mingyu speaks again, quieter this time.

“Hey, uh…” he clears his throat, fingers tightening around the wheel, “I know this is kinda personal, and I swear I wouldn’t ask unless it was important, but…” He glances at you again, expression serious now, if not a little sheepish. “When was your last cycle?”

Your head tilts. “What?”

“Your period. I just need to know if it’s close. Not to be weird. It’s just—” he exhales sharply, embarrassed but pushing through, “Fresh blood, especially menstrual, it hits different to some of them. Like sharks in water. And your baseline scent’s already gonna be… kind of a problem.”

You frown. “Kind of a problem?”

Mingyu hesitates. You see it in the way his jaw flexes, in the pause before he answers.

“Nothing to worry about right now. You’re just… you smell different, that’s all. Good different,” he adds quickly, then curses under his breath. “Not good like that—I mean, objectively. Biologically. I’ll handle it. Just… I need to know if I should be ready to get a little more aggressive with anyone who gets too close.”

You sit back against the seat, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “I’m about a week out. Why?”

“That’s good,” he murmurs, nodding. “Less likely to trigger any, uh… complications.” Another beat. “And I won’t let anyone touch you. No matter what.”

There’s something about the way he says it that sends a little pulse through your stomach. Something protective. Something possessive. But it’s quiet between you again, save for the hum of tires on the asphalt and the low rhythm of your heart starting to thrum harder in your ears.

Velvet Eden doesn’t look like the kind of place that would house everything you’ve been warned about. On the outside, it’s sleek and minimalist — black marble facade, no signage, just a long awning and two impossibly tall bouncers standing like gargoyles at the doors. You can’t hear any music from the street, but the air smells faintly metallic and sweet, like someone poured sugar into rust.

Mingyu circles the car into a private lot tucked to the side, a space clearly reserved for regulars or VIPs. He glances at you once more before he cuts the engine, his jaw tense again, unreadable in the low amber wash of the dashboard lights.

“You good?”

You nod, but your fingers curl tighter around one another in your lap.

“You look good,” he says then, more gently. He doesn’t say it like a compliment. He says it like a reassurance. Like armor.

Your dress is a deep, wine red — sleek, skin-hugging. It dips low at the back, a single strap across your shoulders like a whisper. Mingyu had said something about blending in, about being convincing, and you figured that looking like the kind of girl a vampire would die to touch wouldn’t hurt.

Your perfume clings to your skin in layers — burning cherry and palo santo — warm, smoky, almost edible. Mingyu had commented on it in the car earlier, murmuring, “You got a thing for cherries or something? The dress, the perfume…” and you’d laughed it off, heart thrumming like a live wire.

Inside, the club is thick with it. The heat. The scent. The sound.

Everything is dim and red — not in the trashy, cheap kind of way, but in that disorienting, luxe way that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into another world entirely. Smoke coils in thin tendrils from incense trays tucked into shadowed alcoves. There’s velvet everywhere — couches, walls, the bodies of dancers. A pulse of low music hums from the speakers, winding, slow, heavy with bass. Something deep and sensual is playing. It moves like honey — like hips swaying under silk.

And the smell… Blood. Sex. Sweat. Clove smoke. Burned sugar. You can taste it on your tongue before anyone even speaks to you.

Mingyu’s hand finds the small of your back as he guides you through the crowd. His palm is warm and heavy, protective, but not possessive. You know he’s playing the part — the tall, slow-moving, effortlessly dominant boyfriend — but the way he hovers at your shoulder, the way he watches everyone who even glances at you for a second too long… that’s not acting.

You’re not the only human in here, but you might be the only one who isn’t visibly owned. Others are draped over laps, bent at the neck for easy access, some seated dazed and blissed out on silk cushions while their partners — vampires, all of them — sip at their throats or wrists like they’re nursing a fine wine. And the vampires — gods, they’re beautiful. Ethereal. Almost unreal. Pale or dark-skinned, pierced or painted, wrapped in leather or lace or nothing at all. All sleek limbs and fanged smiles, eyes glowing faintly in the shadows.

You realize, slowly, that you are being watched.

The kind of watching that makes the hairs on your arms rise. The kind that pins you open like a butterfly.

Mingyu leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Keep walking. Keep your chin up. Let them think you belong to me.”

You do. And with that thought comes a sharp, unexpected heat curling low in your belly.

The bar glows a sultry amber, lit from beneath so that every bottle looks like it’s filled with gold, or blood. You lean lightly against it, hyper-aware of the press of Mingyu’s presence just behind your right shoulder. His stance is casual — one hand resting on the edge of the bar, the other just barely brushing the side of your waist — but you can feel the unspoken claim in it. Like he’s drawing a line in the sand with his body alone.

Two menus slide across the bar top.

One is printed in gold foil — cocktails, wine, flavored syrups, things with whimsical names like Sunset on Rue and Liquid Kink. The other menu is black — matte, velvet-touch paper, with minimalist script and coded language: A-negative, fresh. AB+, altered. RH-null, euphoric. You don’t let yourself look at that one too long.

“I’ll have a zero amaretto sour,” you say when the bartender — a tall vampire with golden irises and a scar over his top lip — raises a brow in question.

Mingyu hums low behind you, a small sound, almost lost beneath the beat of the music. “Cherries again,” he murmurs, voice teasing. “You’ve got a type.”

You glance at him. “Or a brand.”

He smiles, and it’s too soft for this place. Something about the crescent curve of his eyes when he looks at you makes your pulse do something stupid. Play the part, you remind yourself. Girlfriend. Established. Not nervous.

The bartender glides your drink over, and Mingyu steps in a fraction closer — not crowding, but enough that you can feel the warmth of his chest brushing your back when you move. Enough that no one would dare slip in between you.

He leans in, not speaking, just watching the room over your shoulder. His lips are close enough to brush your temple. “You’re doing good,” he says quietly. “Natural.”

You sip the cocktail. Sweet, tart, a little sharp on the back of your tongue — a distraction, but only just.

You feel Mingyu’s presence behind you, steady and warm, his breath grazing the curve of your jaw as he surveys the crowd.

Then, on impulse — maybe it’s the drink, or the heat in your blood, or the need to take the edge off this place — you reach for the maraschino cherry skewered on your garnish pick.

“Watch this,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

He blinks, the corner of his mouth twitching. “What?”

You pop the cherry into your mouth, chewing slowly, then slide the stem between your lips.

Mingyu goes quiet.

You don’t say anything—just meet his eyes for a long beat as your tongue works quietly, the stem moving behind your teeth with practiced ease. He leans in slightly, brow furrowing, and it takes him a few seconds too long to realize what you’re doing.

When the stem reappears, it’s knotted. Perfectly. Sitting balanced on the tip of your tongue like a challenge.

You flash him a quick smile and set it on your napkin with delicate precision.

Mingyu huffs a breath through his nose — surprised, impressed, something darker curling behind his eyes.

“That’s a dangerous skill to have,” he murmurs.

You shrug, casual. “Crowd pleaser.”

And that’s when a new voice slips in — smooth, low, and edged in silk.

“So this is her.”

The woman standing beside you is tall, statuesque in midnight-blue velvet. Her skin is flawless, eyes the color of aged wine.

She doesn’t address Mingyu first. She addresses you.

“That was clever,” she purrs, her voice dripping with amusement. “Not many humans know how to use their tongues quite so… effectively.”

Mingyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. “Alba,” he says with a polite nod. “Didn’t think you worked Fridays.”

“I don’t. I heard your girl would be here.” Alba’s eyes don’t leave yours. She offers a hand — fingers tipped in glossy black. “Welcome. It’s always nice to see someone… unspoiled.” The words drip with double meaning.

You take her hand. Her grip is cool, elegant, a touch too long. You can feel her evaluating you — scenting you, even — something primal and calculated behind the pleasantries. “She’s got good taste,” Alba continues, eyes flicking down to your dress, your drink. “Sweet with a little bite. Fitting.”

Mingyu lets out a soft huff, amused, but you feel the way his stance subtly shifts, tightening around you. A human might miss it — the way his pupils dilate, the faint flex of his jaw — but you’ve been trained to read detail. He doesn’t like this.

“She’s mine,” he says lightly, but there’s steel beneath the velvet.

Alba smiles. “So you say.” Then she winks at you. “Be careful in here, sweetness. Pretty girls like you don’t always leave with the ones they came in with.”

And just like that, she’s gone — gliding back into the crowd, swallowed by smoke and velvet and music.

You exhale slowly, glass still half-raised to your lips.

“She’s a friend,” Mingyu mutters, and then, quieter: “Sort of. Also one of the club’s top-tier feeders. If she took a liking to you, it’s ‘cause she’s sizing you up.”

You nod once, but your throat is dry.

Mingyu’s fingers find your wrist briefly, grounding. “We’ll stay here a little longer. Then we go to the Red Room.”

Your tongue flicks over your bottom lip, catching the last of the amaretto, and his gaze catches there for half a beat before he looks away again. A group of vampires has entered, sharp suits and hungrier eyes, and you feel the way Mingyu subtly repositions — just enough to block you from view.

Then, casually, he slides a folded twenty across the bar.

The bartender — still all cool disinterest — takes it without a word, disappears beneath the counter, and returns with a small black key. It gleams in the low light, matte and ominous.

Mingyu palms it smoothly, slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

He leans close, his voice pitched low enough that only you can hear it. “Red Room three. It’s the farthest from the stage. Less eyes.”

A ripple runs down your spine — equal parts anticipation and nerves. This is it. Showtime.

You drain the rest of your drink and set the glass down gently.

Mingyu’s hand rests at the small of your back, guiding, anchoring. “You ready?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you glance at him — at the subtle edge of restraint in his posture, the flicker of something darker in his eyes, like he’s been holding his breath since you walked in.

Then you say, evenly, “Lead the way, boyfriend.”

The walk from the bar to the Red Room feels like it stretches on forever. Music thumps low and thick, bass vibrating up through your heels and into your spine. The hallway is bathed in red light, the kind that plays tricks with your eyes—every shadow, every silhouette, a temptation or a threat. Velvet-lined walls soak up the sound like insulation, but the air still hums with sex and something darker. The scent is overwhelming: sweat, perfume, blood. Cherry and palo santo clings to your own skin, warm and sweet in your nose.

Mingyu keeps a hand at the small of your back as you walk. Not quite possessive, not quite casual. Protective. His fingertips are firm through the satin of your dress, guiding you gently but insistently. You feel the weight of his body heat even without touch. You’re not sure if the butterflies in your stomach are nerves or anticipation.

The door to the Red Room clicks open when the key slides home.

Inside, it’s plush and dim—more boudoir than interrogation chamber, but the camera in the corner ruins any illusion of privacy. A velvet bed, dark as blood, is the centerpiece. There’s a chaise in the corner, a bar cart with cut crystal glasses, and heavy curtains hanging like stage drapes over a wall-sized mirror. The air is cooler than the club floor, but heavier somehow. You can feel it sitting on your skin like humidity.

Mingyu steps in first, eyes scanning the corners instinctively. He’s done this before. You can tell by the way he moves, unhurried but deliberate. He sits on the edge of the bed, arms propping him up behind him. His dark eyes flick up to the camera, then back to you.

He mouths something. Cameras.

You nod. Barely. So small it could be a blink.

He pats his thigh, an invitation—brief and respectful. “Is this okay?” he asks aloud, like it’s just part of the role, but you hear the softness underneath.

You step toward him and straddle his lap. His hands settle lightly on your hips, anchoring you there without pressure. The warmth of his body is ridiculous, like standing too close to a fire. You’re already keyed up and you haven’t even done anything yet.

You can feel your pulse in your fingertips, even though it’s faint. His hands are splayed across your lower back now, his body taut like a bow under you. He’s still pretending to lounge, but there’s nothing relaxed about the way he watches you—eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted, chest rising and falling like it costs him effort to breathe.

He leans in, mouth brushing just under your jaw, murmuring into the soft skin there. “We’ve got audio,” he breathes. “How hard do we want to sell it?”

You know the answer.

“Hard.”

You lift a hand slowly, brushing your fingers along his cheek. It’s warm there. Solid. Strangely human. He looks up at you like he’s trying to memorize your face. Curiosity catches in your throat. “Can I see them?” you ask quietly. “Your fangs.”

Mingyu huffs a laugh under his breath, low and amused, and parts his lips. It’s not theatrical—no giant vampire daggers—but the twin points are sharper, longer than a human’s. Elegant. Clean.

You brush a thumb across one. He shivers slightly.

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe it’s the tension. Maybe it’s the camera. Maybe it’s the fact that if he’s going to drink from you, you want to offer something that’s yours to give.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nods. “Please.”

It starts gentle. Tentative. Curious. But you lean in again and it’s like a switch flips. His hands slip up your back and yours tangle in his hair. Your mouths move together like you’ve done this a hundred times. The kiss turns deeper, hungrier—less about performance, more about something that feels too real.

He kisses like he was made for it. Like he’s trying to memorize you in pieces. The way your lip catches on his. The sweet citrus of your drink. The scent of cherries lingering between your neck and shoulder.

His hands slide over your thighs, your hips, your spine—firm, reverent. You thread your fingers into his hair, tug just a little, and he gasps against your mouth like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

And then he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Can I feed off you?” You nod.

“No,” he says, voice rough now, unsteady. “I need to hear it.”

Your lips part, your throat working around the heat curling low in your belly. You feel flushed, dizzy, his presence overwhelming every nerve. “Feed off me,” you say, voice barely audible but clear.

He watches you for a moment longer, then shifts his mouth to your neck. He keeps eye contact as long as he can, nose brushing your pulse point. His fangs pierce you with the precision of a surgeon—just a second of pain—and then—

Bliss.

It’s like heat unfurls in your veins. A deep, low-burning euphoria pulses through your limbs, wrapping you in cotton. You’re not sure what noise leaves your mouth but it’s a moan, helpless and heady. Mingyu groans against your throat, low and reverent, like he wasn’t expecting you to taste like this.

Your hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer as he drinks. You feel his body tense under yours, like he’s trying to keep from shaking. He only feeds for a minute or two, but when he pulls away, he looks absolutely wrecked. Blood on his lips, lips parted. Eyes dark. You slump against him, dizzy and high and somehow… warm.

You slump against him. Dazed. High on him. He wraps his arm around your waist and lets his weight fall back onto the bed, taking you with him.

Neither of you speak for a while. You’re not sure either of you can.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You don’t answer right away. Just lay a hand across his chest and stare at the ceiling, your body buzzing with the aftershock.

“I think,” you finally say, voice hoarse and half-drunk on whatever the hell just happened, “I just saw God.”

Mingyu huffs a laugh, more breath than sound, the warm vibration of it rumbling against your cheek. He wraps his arm tighter around your waist, drawing you closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“That tends to be the case,” he murmurs. You don’t think you can move. It takes a concerning amount of brainpower just to keep breathing. To remember that you’re supposed to be undercover. That you’re not supposed to actually melt into your partner’s body like you were sculpted to fit there.

You peel your face off the crook of his neck after a minute, blinking blearily at the ceiling. Your voice is rough around the edges when you manage to push out, “You… do this a lot?” It’s not really jealousy. It’s curiosity. Maybe the tiniest sliver of something sharper under your tongue.

Mingyu stiffens almost imperceptibly under you, just for a second. Then his thumb moves in a slow, soothing arc along the small of your back.

“No,” he says simply. “Not like this.”

You shift slightly to look at him. His face is open, honest.

“I’m careful about who I feed off,” he continues, voice low and even. “Consenting donors. Only when I need it. Never like—” he cuts himself off, like the words are too heavy. “Never like this. Velvet Eden isn’t somewhere I would have chosen to set foot in, if not for….” He trails off, eyes flickering briefly to where the camera watches over the moment.

You realize, as the words sink in, that this isn’t normal for him either. That he’s feeling the same rawness buzzing under his skin.

He keeps talking, maybe to fill the charged silence.

“I don’t like the way most vampires treat feeding.” His jaw ticks, a tiny sign of frustration. “It’s supposed to be… mutual. Respected.”

Your chest tightens a little at the way he says it, like it’s something sacred to him. Not just biology. Not just hunger.

You’re silent for a moment, absorbing it, feeling his heart beat steady against your palm. It’s slower, duller than yours. Just barely there. “I’m glad it’s you,” you whisper before you can second-guess yourself.

Mingyu smiles then, soft and crooked, and it’s devastating. His hand finds yours where it rests over his heart, intertwining your fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Me too,” he says.

You lie there a little longer, both of you pretending you’re just resting. Both pretending you didn’t just tear a seam in something vital.

The ride back is… quiet. Not awkward. Just different. Like you’re both holding something fragile between you and neither of you wants to drop it.

You sit with your head leaned slightly against the window. The city passes by in soft golds and blues, headlights flickering across your skin. Mingyu’s hand rests on the steering wheel, the other flexing on his thigh like he’s thinking about something but won’t say it.

You speak first.

“We’re going to have to go back soon.”

“Yeah,” he replies, glancing over. “Not for a few days, though. It’ll look too eager if we come back too quick.”

You nod.

When he pulls up in front of your building, he doesn’t even hesitate. Parks the car. Gets out. Walks you to the front. You fish your keys out of your coat pocket, hesitating at the lobby door.

“I’m fine,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says, but doesn’t move.

Then, after a pause: “Can I come up? Just to make sure you’re okay. No weird shit, I swear.” He grins, trying to soften it. “Scout’s honor.” You laugh, and it sounds more real than anything has all night.

Inside, you flick on the light in your small but warm apartment. Mingyu lingers by the door. Doesn’t sit. Just looks around like he’s cataloging every detail. Like knowing this part of your world is another way to protect it.

You toe off your shoes. Toss your coat over the arm of the couch. Mingyu’s still standing, hands in his pockets, watching you gently like he’s trying not to spook a deer.

“You can sit,” you tell him. He does. Perches on the edge of the armchair like a man not sure how long he’s staying. “I meant it earlier,” you say, voice quieter now. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Mingyu meets your gaze. For once, he doesn’t deflect with a joke. Doesn’t tease. “Me too.”

The silence stretches. Comfortable. Dangerous.

When he gets up to leave, his fingers graze yours when he hands you the coat you forgot to hang. And the look in his eyes—heavy, unreadable—sticks with you even after the door clicks shut behind him.

He doesn’t start the car right away.

Just sits there, fingers curled loosely around the wheel, the engine off, the streetlamp casting gold slats across the dash. Your building looms to his right. He watches your window for a moment, but the blinds are drawn.

The taste of you still lingers in his mouth.

Not just the blood—though God, that alone was enough to scramble something vital in him—but you. The way you looked at him. Touched him. Said his name like it meant something. The way you curled into him after, without fear.

He shuts his eyes and breathes in deep through his nose, trying to clear his head. It doesn’t work.

You’re still there.

Not just on his tongue. Not just on his skin. But somewhere deeper. Under the sternum. Behind the ribs. Burrowed into a place he didn’t realize was vulnerable.

This was supposed to be routine. Strategic. Controlled. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Mingyu opens his eyes again. Stares out at the empty street. Taps his thumb against the wheel once, twice, like he’s weighing something he doesn’t even want to name.

Then he finally exhales. Just once. Quiet and shaky. And starts the car.

You wake up warm. Heavy-limbed and a little tangled in the sheets, like you’ve been caught mid-dream. The echoes of it cling to you — soft touches, parted mouths, someone whispering your name against your skin.

Mingyu.

You drag in a breath, sharp and sudden, and shove yourself upright just as your phone vibrates violently against the nightstand.

Jeonghan’s name flashes across the screen.

Then again. And again.

By the third call, you fumble to answer, croaking out something close to human.

“There’s been another body,” Jeonghan says without preamble. You can hear the scrape of tires on wet asphalt, the low mutter of radios in the background. “Get up. Get dressed. Mingyu’s on his way to pick you up.”

He hangs up before you can even curse him out.

You throw yourself into clothes on autopilot — slacks, a thick knitted sweater, the softest thing you own that still passes for professional. Your whole body feels wrung out and hazy, muscles sore in places you didn’t know you had. Not painful, exactly. Just… different.

By the time you’re pulling on your jacket, headlights cut across the front of your building.

Mingyu’s SUV idles at the curb, a faint halo of condensation blooming from the exhaust. He climbs out as you approach, tall and solid against the pale wash of streetlamps, and holds out a coffee cup.

“Dirty chai,” he says. His voice is quiet, like he’s not sure how loud the world should be around you yet. “Jeonghan said it’s your favorite.”

You take it, fingers brushing his. He’s not cold. Somehow you thought he would be — vampire and all — but the warmth of him seeps into your skin like secondhand sunlight.

“And these,” he adds, pressing a couple of small sachets into your other hand. Liquid iron. “They’ll help.”

You manage a half-smile. “You’re good at this,” you murmur.

He shrugs, almost shy. “You did the hard part.”

The drive to the scene is short, cut with the soft shuffle of the radio and the occasional tap of Mingyu’s thumb against the steering wheel. Neither of you says much. The air feels weighted, taut with things unspoken.

It’s still dark when you arrive, the city trapped in that brittle pre-dawn chill that bites through every seam of your clothes. You huddle deeper into your sweater as you approach the perimeter, where yellow crime scene tape flutters weakly in the breeze.

Jeonghan is already waiting, gloved up and scowling into his clipboard.

Mingyu falls naturally into step just behind your shoulder, close enough that you feel him there without needing to look.

“Female victim, mid-twenties, no ID yet,” Jeonghan says as you join him. He barely glances up. “ME’s still working on the preliminary cause of death but… it looks familiar.”

You duck under the tape, shoes crunching on damp leaves. The alley is narrow, hemmed in by aging brick and chain link fencing, and the body is slumped against a dumpster.

You glove up quickly and move closer.

Her skin is bloodless. Sickly pale. Clothes torn and stained. But it’s the marks at her throat that stop you cold — two perfect punctures, just above the collarbone.

Your stomach twists sharply.

You glance sideways at Mingyu — and find him already there, studying the scene with an intensity that borders on feral. His mouth is a thin line. His shoulders rigid.

He steps in carefully between the forensic photographer and the ME, crouching low. You watch as he scans, gloved fingers deftly poking through the victim’s scattered personal effects. It’s methodical, clinical — but there’s something under it too, something sharper, heavier.

The crease in Mingyu’s brown deepens as he pulls a wallet out of her left coat pocket, flipping it open.

“Name’s Min Seo-yeon,” he says, voice tight. He hesitates — just a fraction — before pulling a small slip of glossy card from the wallet’s inner pocket.

Velvet Eden.

Membership card.

The blood in your veins goes ice-cold.

next chapter ↝ ii. evidence of absence.

click here for tag list submission / removal.

#elle’s worx #seventeen #mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #kim mingyu x reader

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iyoonjh · 23 days ago

Text

Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 17: Take me home, country roads (but please don't tell me it's West Virginia)

wc: 8688 words // warning: making out, veryyyy suggestive

The sun was barely up, and Soobin already felt like he was in a coming-of-age film.

Not the part where someone dramatically runs through the airport, or gets kissed in the rain. No. He was squarely in the “sits awkwardly in the backseat of a cramped car, holding his emotional support water bottle, trying not to be perceived” montage.

They were on the road. Finally.

Jungwon was driving like he was auditioning for Fast & Furious: Gen Z Drift, one hand on the wheel, sunglasses pushed halfway up his nose, nodding to the bassline of whatever aggressively curated playlist was currently rattling the speakers, it made him look like he was born to drive a getaway car.

Next to him, Giselle sat like a woman on a mission. Her shoes were off, one leg tucked under her as she manned the aux cord with all the intensity of a battlefield strategist. The center console was buried under a chaotic pile of snacks, lip balm, a suspicious amount of gum, and a folded checklist titled Operation: Beach Arc. Her phone screen lit up with the next song—something high-tempo and summery—and she cranked the volume, bobbing her head in approval.

“You guys better hydrate,” she said, not looking up. “If anyone gets dehydrated and starts hallucinating, I’m legally required to film it.”

“Put on something calm,” Jungwon said.

“No.”

“Something soft.”

“No.”

“Giselle—”

“If morale drops below a seven,” she warned, holding up her finger like a commander issuing orders, “I will play Pitbull. I am not afraid.”

The bass kicked in—some upbeat synth-pop track that made the windows vibrate. Wind rushed in from the cracked sunroof. The seats were warm from the sun. The air smelled like a mix of strawberry lotion, half-eaten chips, and that slightly plasticky scent of car interiors on long road trips.

And in the back?

Soobin was on the left, pressed against the door like a polite hostage. Y/N was on the right, her shoulder grazing the window, sunlight catching in her hair in a way that felt like someone had custom-lit this entire vehicle just to emotionally destroy him.

And between them?

Heeseung.

Heeseung, who could only be described as the human manifestation of a Magic: The Gathering deck—specifically one that had been left in a backpack for three years, dropped in a puddle of Monster Energy, and then blessed by a chaotic god of fandom.

He was currently wearing his “casual road trip fit”: a faded Pokémon sweatshirt (Snorlax, mid-nap), an inside-out denim bucket hat, and socks with tiny 8-bit dragons that blinked when he moved. He was also double-strapped with a messenger bag and a backpack, even though they were just going for a weekend. There were five D20s in his pocket and he had already spilled one in the parking lot.

Soobin had known him for years.

Heeseung was, technically, one of his best friends.

Heeseung was also ruining his entire life.

Because Heeseung, for the record, was trying to act cool.

Not like actually cool. But, like, his version of cool. Which meant he was slouched in the middle seat like a sentient throw pillow, arms folded like a sage warrior, and very clearly trying not to spontaneously start narrating their drive like it was a “critical plot point in the third act of a fanfic.”

Soobin could practically hear his inner monologue:“Heeseung Lee. Chaotic neutral. Level 4 bard. Currently third-wheeling two idiots with unresolved romantic tension. HP: emotionally fragile.”

Which meant he was currently saying things like:

“So technically, if a mermaid and a centaur fell in love, it wouldn’t work biomechanically—unless the centaur had water magic. But then we’re getting into hybrid reproduction lore and—”

“Heeseung,” Soobin said, staring directly at the window like he might phase through it if he concentrated hard enough, “I swear on all that is holy, if you finish that sentence, I’m leaving this car mid-highway.”

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered from the front seat. “Is this what I signed up for?”

“Biomechanical lore,” Jungwon repeated blankly, like the words had personally offended him.

Y/N, to Soobin’s horror, was covering her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh. She wasn’t even pretending to be above it. In fact, she leaned her head back, shook with silent laughter, then looked out the window with the smug satisfaction of someone watching a rom-com from a comfortable distance. She hadn’t said a single nerdy thing out loud, and somehow Soobin knew she was enjoying this more than anyone.

Heeseung, unaware that he was the human embodiment of a third-wheel side quest, adjusted his bucket hat with all the wisdom of a man who believed he was being helpful.

“It’s a valid theoretical scenario,” he said, munching on a pretzel stick. “Hybrid offspring are always complicated. You have to consider lineage, environment, whether the mermaid lays eggs or—”

“I WILL EXIT THIS VEHICLE,” Soobin snapped, “AND LET THE HIGHWAY DECIDE MY FATE.”

“Hey, hey,” Giselle interrupted, spinning around in her seat with all the energy of a courtroom attorney. “Let’s pivot. I want to know more about you, Soobin.”

Soobin blinked. “What?”

“You’re too quiet. That makes you suspicious,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Are you mysterious on purpose? Or just emotionally repressed?”

“Oh, he is just emotionally repressed,” Heeseung offered cheerfully.

Soobin sighed, forehead pressed to the cool window like he might absorb some chill through osmosis. “Why do you talk like this?”

“Because I’m right,” Heeseung said.

“Okay, back to me,” Giselle said, dramatically flipping an imaginary notepad. “Soobin. Zodiac sign. Go.”

Soobin paused, vaguely aware that this was a trap.

“…Sagittarius?”

“Oh my god,” Giselle gasped. “You’re a Sagittarius? That explains everything.”

“What does that even mean?” Soobin asked, deeply alarmed.

“It means you probably ran away from a confession once and then spent three years thinking about it in the shower,” she said.

Soobin opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it.

Y/N’s face turned toward the window. He could still see her smile in the reflection.

“Okay next one,” Giselle said, finger pointed. “Hogwarts house.”

“Why are we doing this,” Soobin mumbled.

“Because I’m building your dating profile,” she replied. “Now answer. House?”

“…Ravenclaw.”

“Duh. Called that in my soul. Quiet on the outside, brain doing 90 tabs of overthinking. Sexy.”

“Please stop saying sexy in a moving vehicle,” Jungwon muttered from the front, grinning. “But to be fair, Soobin kinda gives Huffle-Puff”.

“Alright, most important question,” Giselle said, all false innocence. “How many girlfriends have you had?”

Soobin, to his credit, didn’t immediately choke.

But something in his brain definitely short-circuited. Like a little man in a control room frantically pressing buttons while all the alarms went off at once.

Girlfriends.

Girlfriends?

Him?

Why would she ask that? Why would anyone ask that? Why did he suddenly forget how to breathe? He blinked, staring straight ahead like the headrest in front of him might open a portal to another universe. One where Heeseung had lost his voice and Soobin wasn’t being emotionally disrobed in a moving vehicle.

He considered lying. Just a little. Something vague and impressive. Maybe say he’d had a long-distance relationship in high school. France, perhaps. Or a girl he met at a debate tournament who fell in love with his passion for obscure historical conflicts.

But no. He couldn’t do it. Not when Heeseung was sitting two feet away with a memory like an elephant and the moral integrity of a Twitter thread.

He sighed.

“…None,” he admitted, voice tight like it was being squeezed through a straw.

And that’s when Heeseung exploded.

He burst into violent, uncontrollable laughter.

Like, doubled over. Full-volume. Possibly wheezing.

“Oh my GOD,” he gasped, slapping his knee. “I’m sorry, I just—Soobin with a girlfriend? That’s like watching a cat try to drive a forklift.”

“I hate you,” Soobin said, tone flat, ears bright red.

“He once practiced holding hands with a Luffy plushie,” Heeseung continued.

“I WAS YOUNG!”

Heeseung wiped a tear from his eye. “It wasn't that long ago bro. And recently you've been calling a name–”

“SHUT UP,” Soobin urged, and then—because he had to retaliate—turned to Giselle and added, “Heeseung writes fanfiction.”

The car exploded in sound.

“I KNEW IT!” Giselle shrieked.

“BRO,” Jungwon yelled. “What fandom?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Heeseung said coolly, pulling his hood over his face.

“Oh, I know what he’s talking about,” Soobin said, vengeful and smug. “Your AO3 handle is RogueSniper94, don’t act brand new.”

“EXCUSE ME—”

“You wrote 23k words of slow burn enemies-to-lovers about two wizards named Kyo and Ashur who couldn’t touch because of a magical curse—”

“THAT WAS A WORK OF ART,” Heeseung yelled, voice cracking.

Eventually, the laughter settled.

The car had gone quiet in that rare and beautiful way where no one felt the need to talk.

The kind of silence that hummed beneath your skin. Filled with sunlight and the low thrum of the tires and the faintest scent of sea salt starting to creep in through the open windows. Giselle scrolled through songs with lazy fingers. Jungwon had one arm hanging out the driver’s side, humming under his breath, content.

Soobin had almost relaxed. Almost.

Heeseung, having been suspiciously quiet for a suspiciously long amount of time, sat up suddenly like a robot coming back online and declared, loudly:

“I had a girlfriend once.”

The car jumped.

Giselle turned slowly in her seat. “What.”

Jungwon let out a choked laugh. “Sorry—what?”

Soobin stared at him. “No you didn’t.”

“I did!” Heeseung insisted, now fully alert and far too confident for a man wearing socks with tiny pixelated dragons. “Her name was… Maybelline.”

“Like the makeup?” Y/N asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

“She was French,” Heeseung said, crossing his arms. “We met in a League of Legends lobby.”

Soobin pressed a hand over his face. “You absolute liar.”

“She lived in Marseille,” Heeseung continued, unbothered. “She mained Lux. We were star-crossed. It was beautiful.”

Giselle snorted. “Did you two ever meet in person?”

Heeseung hesitated. “...She didn’t believe in cameras.”

“Oh my God,” Jungwon wheezed.

“Okay, so just to recap,” Soobin said, voice muffled behind his palm. “Your imaginary French LoL girlfriend, Maybelline—named after a mascara brand—ghosted you through a voice chat?”

“She didn’t ghost me,” Heeseung muttered. “She just stopped logging in. Maybe she was kidnapped by enemy agents. We had enemies.”

“You were level 12 and playing ARAM,” Soobin said. “Your only enemy was rage-quitting.”

“I’m telling you,” Heeseung said, eyes distant now, gazing out the window like a man remembering a war only he had fought. “She had this laugh. Like... the echo of a potion exploding in a fantasy tavern.”

Silence.

Y/N leaned forward, choking on a laugh. “Okay, you have to write poetry.”

“I do!” Heeseung replied, triumphant. “In my Druid’s backstory notes. One was a haiku about a cursed harp. It made Beomgyu cry.”

“I can’t breathe,” Giselle said, laughing so hard her head hit the headrest. “You guys are actually insane.”

Heeseung just leaned back, smug. “I bring mystery. Romance. Lore.”

“You bring trauma,” Soobin said.

Jungwon, who hadn’t stopped laughing, reached to turn the volume up and said, “This trip is already perfect.”

And in that moment, with the wind in their hair and the playlist shifting into something bright and fast, with Giselle laughing, Y/N hiding her face behind her hand, Heeseung looking far too proud of himself, and Jungwon driving like they were chasing a dream—Soobin felt it too.

This was it.

This was the memory.

Already golden, even as it was happening.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

The gravel crunched under the tires as Jungwon pulled into the long driveway, music still thumping faintly from the speakers. The beach house loomed ahead like a summer dream—whitewashed walls, a big wraparound porch, and windows so wide open they looked like the house itself was exhaling.

Soobin sat stiffly in the back seat, gripping his water bottle like it might keep him from passing out. He was already overheated—mentally, emotionally, spiritually. His leg was doing that nervous bounce thing, even though they’d been on the road for hours. Y/N sat beside Heeseung, sunglasses sliding slightly down her nose, smiling lazily like this was just another day. Like they weren’t pulling up to the most intimidating social experiment of his life.

Still in the car, the first one he saw was Jay in his usual half-unbuttoned shirt and sunglasses he definitely didn’t need, strumming air guitar dramatically like his entrance required a backing track. Karina followed in a matching linen co-ord set, dewy and radiant, with enough sunscreen on to reflect satellites, already directing traffic like someone’s glamorous aunt who refused to be sunburned or emotionally inconvenienced. Sunoo skipped out after her, arms wide like a cartoon welcome committee, already mid-monologue about how his swimsuit had been personally blessed by Beyoncé.

From the porch, Beomgyu was hanging upside down from the railing like a raccoon who’d discovered Red Bull. “WHO DARES DISTURB MY KINGDOM,” he shouted, cackling.

Sunghoon, for his part, was hiding in a corner of the house where, according to his very scientific calculations, the sunlight couldn’t possibly reach him. The curtains were drawn, the shadows were deep, and he was positioned so precisely behind a potted plant that it looked like he was part of the decor.

Leehan had tried to reassure him earlier. “You can go in the sun, you know. Your skin won’t melt. You won’t develop a rare light-triggered illness. I ran the numbers.”

And while Sunghoon understood that, rationally, he was not a vampire… the level of his paleness was still concerning to everyone involved. Including the wildlife.

Hueningkai, however, was not convinced. Wearing his Ben 10 board shorts like a badge of honor and sipping juice from a reusable straw shaped like a lightsaber, he peeked around the corner, whispering, “He’s lurking. That’s vampire behavior.”

“You’ve seen him in sunlight like four times,” Taehyun said without looking up.

“Four times too few,” Hueningkai muttered, sounding like he was about to scribble something in a small notebook titled The Truth About Sunghoon.

Meanwhile, Taehyun was sitting at the dining table, lazily spinning a bottle of sunscreen between his fingers as he watched the scene across the room unfold like a particularly awkward teen drama.

Yeonjun, still in denial about the existence of Jay, was trying to impress Yunjin. Badly. He was leaning against the kitchen counter like a man who thought eyeliner gave him emotional depth, waxing poetic about the lore of My Chemical Romance. All this while very much showing how inexperienced he was with girls.

“I mean, you think The Black Parade is about death,” he said, gesturing with his iced coffee like it was a wand. “But really, it’s about transformation. It’s theatrical nihilism wrapped in post-traumatic catharsis.”

Taehyun blinked. “Did you just say ‘post-traumatic catharsis’ out loud?”

Yeonjun ignored him.

Yunjin sipped her drink with one eyebrow raised. “Interesting. Do you also analyze Fall Out Boy lyrics in your free time?”

Yeonjun straightened his already aggressively unbuttoned shirt. “Only when I’m feeling vulnerable.”

Outside, the sun blazed golden and bright, the air thick with salt and sunscreen. Waves crashed in the distance. Laughter echoed from the porch. Inside the beach house, it smelled faintly of coconut shampoo, watermelon popsicles, and summertime. That strange little pocket of time—full of Ben 10 shorts, shadow-dwelling maybe-vampires, and musical lore debates—summer was alive and thriving.

The front door burst open before the car had even stopped.

"THEY'RE HERE!" Jake’s voice rang out like a battle horn.

The porch erupted.

“Finally!” Jake called, bursting through the front door like someone had just announced free concert tickets. “We were starting to think Jungwon panicked halfway here and abandoned the car on the side of the road.”

He swung the screen door open dramatically as Y/N stepped up onto the porch, grinning.

“Nah,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses. “He just did that thing he always does when he’s nervous driving.”

“Let me guess,” Jake replied. “He ran a red light and whispered ‘we ride at dawn’ under his breath?”

“Worse,” Giselle added, climbing the porch steps behind her and immediately accepting a margarita from Karina, who looked like a beach goddess casually moonlighting as a bartender. “He sped ten miles over the limit and prayed to the spirit of cruise control.”

“He also yelled ‘vibe shift!’ during a left turn,” Y/N said.

From inside the house came a muffled voice: “IT WAS A U-TURN AND I WAS BEING ASSERTIVE.”

“We’re alive,” Giselle offered cheerfully. “Barely.”

And then, as if summoned by the summer gods themselves, a figure emerged from the far side of the yard—barefoot, shirtless, and covered in sand and wisdom.

Niki.

His hair was windswept. A leaf was stuck to his collarbone. He carried a bundle of driftwood in one hand and a mango in the other, as if they were equally important tools in his communion with the elements.

“I have returned,” he said solemnly. “I searched the dunes. The crabs spoke to me. They said, ‘The druid has arrived.’”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

From the open, Heeseung, already inside, stuck his head out. “That’s me.”

“Oh no” Soobin whispered.

Everyone turned.

Heeseung shrugged like it was obvious. “I’m the druid.”

Niki gasped, eyes shining. “I knew it.”

“I mean, I’m not physically trained,” Heeseung added. “But I dabble.”

Niki cried, dropping to one knee. “He sees the ley lines.”

“I actually do,” Heeseung said. “They run under the living room. That’s why the Wi-Fi sucks there.”

Sunoo groaned. “You’ve known him for five seconds, and you’ve already enabled him.”

Beomgyu grinned. “And it’s beautiful.”

“Can someone please stop this?” Taehyun asked, already regretting everything.

“No,” Karina replied, sipping from her cup. “This is gold.”

Jake clapped his hands like a kindergarten teacher trying to wrangle chaos. “Okay, now that the forest druid has been identified and all parties are here, let’s talk room assignments!”

Soobin froze.

The group shuffled toward the living room like a pack of over-caffeinated toddlers. Chips crunched underfoot. Hueningkai was still dragging a cardboard box labeled “Essential Items” (which everyone knew was full of dice and plushies). The windows were cracked open and the scent of sunscreen, ocean air, and seven different types of snacks swirled together into something uniquely beach house-y.

“Alright,” Jake said, hopping up onto the coffee table with the natural confidence of a man who had absolutely orchestrated something. “Since some of us,” he gave a dramatic look at Soobin’s group, “decided to arrive fashionably late, we took the liberty of figuring out rooms for you guys.”

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

Soobin stood behind her, arms stiff at his sides, trying not to look like he was on the verge of passing out.

“You’re gonna love it,” Beomgyu added, already cracking up.

“He is gonna love it so bad it hurts” Sunoo offered with a wink.

Karina raised her hand like she was testifying. “And it encourages emotional growth and narrative development.”

Soobin’s stomach flipped.

No. No, no, no. He knew that tone. That was the same tone Heeseung used when introducing a D&D quest that started with “you enter the cave” and ended with everyone on fire.

Yunjin looked directly at Soobin. “You trust us, right?”

He blinked. “I—uh—what?”

Jake held up his phone like he was reading a sacred text.“Room One: Me and Sunoo. Room Two: Jay and Jungwon. Room Three: Karina, Yunjin, Niki and Giselle. Room Four: Yeonjun, Taehyun, Sunghoon. Room Five: Heeseung, Hueningkai, Leehan and Beomgyu. And...”

He paused.

Soobin’s heartbeat spiked.

“Room Six…” Jake grinned, “...Y/N and Soobin.”

Soobin forgot how to breathe.

The world tilted slightly. Oh, so this is how I die.

“I’m sorry—what,” he said, voice cracking like he was being hit with puberty all over again.

“Oh my god,” Beomgyu cackled. “He’s actually going to short-circuit.”

“I knew he’d react like this,” Sunghoon whispered from the shadows.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is it a problem?”

“No! I mean—yes. I mean—” Soobin looked around wildly. “Did you guys roll dice for this? Flip a coin? Use a cursed artifact?”

“We voted,” Jake said proudly. “Democracy is alive and well.”

Y/N smirked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Well, I’m chill with it.”

That did not help.

Soobin was currently going through all five stages of grief in the span of thirty seconds.

He had never shared a room with a girl before. Not in real life. Not in fanfiction. Not in his most terrifying dreams. And now it was Y/N. Y/N. The human embodiment of everything lovely and terrifying. The girl who made him forget his name on a daily basis and smell citrus shampoo every time she passed by. The girl who had smiled at him once and singlehandedly rebooted his will to live.

And now he was supposed to... sleep in the same room as her?

He was going to die.

Heeseung clapped him on the back. “Just remember to breathe through your nose.”

“Okay, okay,” Jake waved them toward the stairs. “Off you go. The room has an ocean view, good Wi-Fi, and a decent lock in case Niki tries to commune with the sea spirit again.”

Niki, from the corner: “Gerald Two is sacred. Respect his journey.”

Beomgyu smiled at him, nodding to Leehan. “You two are gonna have a blast together.”

The group had mostly dispersed by now—Sunoo and Giselle were already raiding the snack cabinet, Jay and Jungwon were arguing over who got the top bunk, and Karina was doing a room inspection like she was reviewing a five-star hotel. The chaos shifted to background noise, like the house itself had swallowed everyone into their respective corners.

Soobin stood frozen on the stairs.

Still reeling.

Still sweating.

Still very much processing the fact that he was about to share a room—with a single bed—with Y/N.

Y/N, who was currently chatting with Yunjin near the hallway, totally unfazed. Casual. Effortlessly cool, like this was nothing to her. Like this wasn’t a monumental, earth-shattering shift in the gravitational pull of Soobin’s entire life.

He leaned toward Heeseung, lowering his voice to a whisper so no one else would hear.

“What if I snore?” he hissed. “What if I kick in my sleep? What if I say something weird like—like ‘critical hit’ or something?!”

Heeseung, who was already peeling open Jay's protein bar –which, to be fair, he thought it was a chocolate bar– with the calm of someone watching a nervous breakdown in 4K, blinked once. “You definitely will.” He then choked on the said protein bar, cause of course he never tried something so healthy.

Soobin groaned.

Because yes—he had talked in his sleep before. Once during a D&D weekend, he’d mumbled a full recap of the campaign arc in his dreams. They’d never let him live it down. What if it happened now? What if he rolled over at 3 a.m. and whispered “perception check” into her ear?

What if he drooled?

What if she had, like, pajamas that made her look cute and cozy and unreasonably perfect and he forgot how to sleep entirely?

Heeseung leaned against the railing, grinning. “Soobin. You’re spiraling.”

“No,” Soobin whispered, eyes wide. “I’m just—falling off a cliff internally.”

“Same thing.”

Soobin looked over at Y/N again. She’d already picked up her bag, smiling at something Sunghoon said. Her laugh was easy and bright, like she was already at home here.

She wasn’t nervous.

He was the only one nervous.

He was the only one having a full psychological collapse about shared bed proximity and the way her shampoo smelled like citrus and sunshine and emotional risk.

Heeseung clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Just don’t moan her name while you sleep.”

“Please don’t make this weird,” Soobin begged.

“It’s already weird,” Heeseung said. “Lean into it.”

Soobin dragged his suitcase up the last few stairs like it weighed a thousand pounds, heart pounding like it was trying to punch through his ribcage.

There was still time to fake a leg injury.

Or a spontaneous vow of celibate solitude that required him to sleep outdoors for spiritual reasons.

But then Y/N turned around and met his eyes—just for a second—and smiled. Not a smug smile. Just... soft. Like she already knew he was having an internal meltdown and had chosen not to call him out on it.

And somehow, that made it worse.

He was, very possibly, going to say ‘dexterity saving throw’ in his sleep while absolutely falling in love with her all over again.

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Room Six was down the hall, last door on the left. It had a little seashell hanging from the handle and a hand-written sign Beomgyu had taped to it that said “DO NOT HAUNT. IN USE.”

Soobin internally groaned.

Y/N opened the door first, humming. “Wow. It’s actually cute.”

Soobin hovered behind her, carrying his duffel bag like a man delivering a bomb. The room was cute. Wooden floors. A window cracked open to let in the ocean breeze. String lights hung loosely across the ceiling like a constellation map, probably Sunoo’s doing. The bed—a single queen-sized fortress of imminent doom—sat neatly against the far wall, draped in soft white sheets and a stupidly cozy-looking blanket.

One bed.

Confirmed.

No escape.

Y/N dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, then flopped down face-first with a sigh. “This house smells like sunscreen and Malibu Liquor. I love it.”

Soobin stood in the doorway, frozen. “Y-you’re okay with the bed?”

She rolled over to look at him. “I mean, unless you snore like a tractor or plan on doing medieval wizard chants in your sleep, I think we’ll survive.”

He blinked. “Define medieval wizard chants.”

Y/N grinned. “You’ve said ‘Avengers Assemble’ in your sleep before. Don’t deny it.”

“I HAVE NOT.”

“You have vibes, Soobin.”

Soobin closed the door behind him, cautiously, like the act itself sealed some sort of romantic pact. He dropped his bag beside hers and hovered awkwardly, eyes flicking to the bed, then away, then back again like it might attack him.

“Do you want the left side?” he asked. “Or the right? Or... the floor? I can sleep on the floor. It’s not weird. People do it in, like, movies. For honor.”

She tilted her head, amused. “You think sleeping on hardwood floors is honorable?”

“Maybe?”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Soobin.”

Soobin blushed. “I just… didn’t want to assume.”

She patted the mattress beside her. “We’re adults. And besides, it’s big enough. Look—we could lie down right now and probably not even touch.”

He absolutely could not lie down right now. And if he could, he was even more certain he couldn't help but touch her.

Instead, he busied himself unpacking like his life depended on sock organization. Why the hell would he bring so many socks to the beach? “Okay, uh… I brought snacks. And chargers. And toothpaste. Two. In case one of them… explodes.”

She sat up, cross-legged. “That’s very responsible of you.”

“I was a Boy Scout,” he mumbled, still digging through his duffel. “Until they kicked me out for accidentally lighting a marshmallow on fire inside a tent.”

Y/N laughed. “That actually explains a lot.”

She stood, stretching like a cat in the sunlight, arms raised above her head, hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Her hair fell lazily over one shoulder, catching the afternoon glow that poured in through the window, and when she smiled—soft and effortless—it hit Soobin like a slow-moving train.

It was a mistake to look up. A crucial, life-altering, heart-rate-spiking mistake.

Because she was beautiful.

Not the kind of beautiful you see in movies—though, to be fair, she could have been cast as the love interest in every film he’d ever secretly cried to, Star Wars included. No, it was worse than that. She was the kind of beautiful that made time hiccup. The kind that made your breath catch even when you already knew how pretty she was. Somehow, she just kept doing it, reminding him every second of how beautiful she was. Reminding him of the things she does–being real, being close, being so her—and it wrecked him all over again.

And that smile. That soft, summer-laced curve of her lips like she had no idea what she was doing to him—or maybe she did.

Soobin’s heart launched into his throat, bouncing around like it wanted out. His brain short-circuited. His soul ascended briefly to heaven.

Because she wasn’t just pretty.

She was the girl he’d kissed on a porch under a summer sky and in his bed after noticing the way he organized his shelves.

And he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Not for one second.

The way she’d leaned in with that quiet certainty. The way her hand had cupped his cheek like she meant it. He’d replayed it every night like it was his favorite scene in a movie he wasn’t supposed to watch more than once. He’d kissed a pillow in embarrassment later. He’d questioned reality. He’d almost texted Yeonjun about it at 3 a.m. before remembering he already panicked to him before

Soobin memorized every part of her he could touch, while in his bed, alone, couldn't stop wondering about the ones he hadn't touched yet.

And now she was here. In the same room. The same bed.

Soobin could feel himself spiraling.

Would she want to kiss him again?

Did she even remember it the same way?

Would something happen tonight? Would they... would she—

She caught him staring.

Her brows lifted, head tilting with a mix of curiosity and something almost teasing. “What?”

His throat dried instantly.

His first instinct was to panic. His second was to dive under the bed. But somewhere, buried under five layers of anxiety and social ineptitude, a flash of boldness sparked through.

And before he could stop himself—before his brain could scream ABORT, ABORT,—

Soobin said it.

“You look so, so, so pretty.”

It came out soft. Honest. A little breathless.

She blinked.

He blinked back.

His stomach dropped. Oh god.

But then—slowly—she smiled.

Not just smiled. Smiled in that way. The kind that curled at the edges. The kind that made her eyes crinkle just a little. The kind that made Soobin’s blood pressure skyrocket.

“Yeah?” she said, voice low, just slightly amused.

Soobin could only nod, his mouth suddenly too dry to function. “Yeah. I mean—you always do. It’s just... you. Right now. With the sun. And... you.”

Dear diary, today I died.

Just as Y/N was about to say something else, Jay’s voice thundered from downstairs,

"Drop whatever you're doing! I don't care what it is—sun’s out, we got drinks and it's beach time! You can continue your little romance later!"

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The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time they all made it to the beach — the kind of late afternoon light that made everything look cinematic, like the world itself was glowing from the inside out. That golden hour glow stretched across the shore like a soft filter, painting their skin in honeyed tones and turning every movement into something worth remembering.

The sand was still warm beneath their feet, heat clinging to it from the day, soft and fine like powdered sugar. It squished between their toes, clung to the hems of shorts, and crept into every flip-flop with committed mischief. The ocean glittered just ahead, stretching out into an endless watercolor of deep blue and copper, waves curling gently toward the shore like the sea was sighing in contentment.

Seagulls cried overhead, not obnoxiously, but like a distant part of the soundtrack — and somewhere down the beach, a radio played a muffled Pitbull track from someone else’s beach towel kingdom.

The air smelled like summer itself: sea salt and coconut sunscreen, watermelon seltzers cracked open with fizzing enthusiasm, and the faintest trace of charcoal from grills scattered further down the coast. The breeze carried it all, lifting loose strands of hair, making T-shirts flutter, and rustling the beach umbrellas like oversized flowers shaking in the wind.

It was chaotic. Loud. Alive.

Towels were flung in random formations, coolers popped open with the hiss of carbonation and shouts of "WHO PACKED THE VODKA GUMMY BEARS," and bags were dumped in the sand with reckless glee. Someone had already lost a flip-flop. Someone else had claimed a seagull made eye contact with them—it was Hueningkai.

And into that golden, buzzing, too-perfect-to-be-real moment came this group — all of them, dragging laughter and drama and sunscreen-sticky hands, the kind of group that left footprints in the sand and changed the temperature of the space they occupied. It felt like a movie. A summer episode. Something you’d remember long after the tan lines faded.

Sunghoon stood under a giant umbrella he had speared dramatically into the sand, wrapped in a towel like a vampire in exile.

“I’m burning,” he said.

“You’re fine,” said Yeonjun, who was already shirtless and halfway buried in the sand by Taehyun, who claimed it was "for thermal regulation."

“My skin is hissing, listen you can actually hear it,” Sunghoon continued, eyes narrowed at the horizon. “This is how it starts. A freckle. Then spontaneous combustion.”

“Okay Edward Cullen,” Yunjin muttered. “You’re wearing like SPF 180.”

“I don’t trust it.”

Meanwhile, Hueningkai proudly marched across the sand like a tiny, hyper-focused general, wearing his Ben 10 swim trunks like ceremonial armor and holding a massive Pokémon beach towel above his head like a battle flag.

“Ben Tennyson is canonically the most powerful character in fiction,” he declared, loudly and to no one in particular.

From a few feet away, Heeseung, who was currently crouched behind a poorly constructed sand barricade, stuck his head out like a soldier in a foxhole. “We’ve been over this,” he said. “Twice. In two group chats. And during your birthday party.”

“AND YOU’VE YET TO REFUTE ME WITH FACTS,” Hueningkai yelled, planting his towel into the sand like he was claiming territory.

Beomgyu, who was lying flat on his stomach beside a growing sand mound, like a soldier on a barricade, turned his head. “Did you seriously bring that towel just for this moment?”

“I bring it everywhere,” Hueningkai replied, dead serious. “For moments just like this.”

“Ben 10 is literally just a dude with a watch,” Jay said, walking past them and adjusting his sunglasses. “He’s a guy with Google Maps for aliens.”

Hueningkai gasped. “Slander. You speak lies Mr. Jawline.”

“I’m just saying, Goku would fold him like laundry.”

Hueningkai seemed to consider this for a second, perhaps rich boy with a Rolex in the sand had just made a valid point.

“Goku is kinda unbeatable,” Y/N offered, flopping onto a towel nearby and sipping from a juice pouch like this was cable TV. “But Ben’s transformation montage? Top tier.”

“I respect the alien drip,” Soobin said thoughtfully.

“You know what? Thank you,” Hueningkai pointed dramatically at him. “Real recognize real.”

Soobin gave a half-wave, unsure what he had just agreed to.

That's when the real battle exploded next to them.

“YOU STOLE MY SHOVEL,” Beomgyu bellowed, leaping to his feet with sand clinging to his elbows like war paint.

“It’s a communal shovel you asshole,” Heeseung yelled back, wielding said shovel like a sword. “You left it unattended. Possession is nine-tenths of the sand law!”

“COMMUNAL THIS—!” Beomgyu shouted, launching a sandball directly at Heeseung’s chest. It disintegrated mid-air like a soggy comet.

“YOU THROW LIKE A LEVEL ONE ELF,” Heeseung cackled, dodging behind a beach umbrella.

From across the dunes, Jake came sprinting in like a referee who had lost control of the match 40 minutes ago. His T-shirt was tied around his head like a pirate bandana, and he held a mostly empty cooler in one hand. “STOP! YOU’RE GETTING SAND IN THE DRINKS!”

“I SWEAR BY THE MOON,” Heeseung screamed, holding the shovel aloft, “I WILL BURY HIM.”

“YOU CAN’T BURY ME IF I BECOME THE SEA,” Beomgyu shouted, sprinting toward the ocean like a man possessed.

“Oh my god,” Y/N whispered, laughing so hard she was wheezing. “I feel like I’m watching the live-action reboot of Finding Nemo, but every character is The Joker”

“I think they’re just reenacting their battle fantasies,” Soobin muttered, brushing sand off his knee. “Through interpretive beach violence.”

“Are we helping?” Jay asked. “I'm new at nerd territory”

“Not even a little,” Soobin replied.

“Perfect.”

Meanwhile, Karina and Giselle sat cross-legged on their towels with the air of queens observing a carnival, sipping canned margaritas while Leehan crouched in front of them with a horseshoe crab in his hand like it was a sacred artifact.

“So this one’s technically not a crab,” he said, adjusting his bucket hat with academic precision. “It’s more closely related to spiders. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Is it venomous?” Giselle asked, eyeing it like it might explode.

“No.”

“Then it’s adorable,” Karina said. “He’s shaped like a friend.”

“It’s a she,” Leehan corrected. “Her tail is thinner. Also, she probably predates the dinosaurs.”

“Kind of iconic,” Giselle said. “A woman with prehistoric energy? Love that.”

“I wish I was her,” Karina added. “I, too, want to vibe in the ocean for 400 million years.”

Niki crouched beside them, wide-eyed. “Does it have healing properties?”

“Biologically? No,” Leehan said. “But spiritually? Possibly.”

“So we can’t train it,” Niki said, disappointed. “Unless…?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Y/N said as Niki ran off yelling something about building a sea wizard army.

Off to the side of the chaos, where the sand was cooler and the wind rustled the beach grass just enough to make it dramatic, Taehyun had now established what could only be described as a pop-up magic lounge.

There was no sign.

No announcement.

Just Taehyun, cross-legged on a beach towel, slowly shuffling a deck of cards with the deadly precision of someone who’d spent way too many Friday nights alone in front of YouTube tutorials.

In front of him sat Sunoo, Jungwon, and Yunjin, his victims, all with various degrees of skepticism and mild curiosity. Sunoo had a margarita in hand. Jungwon was already squinting like he was being scammed. Yunjin had pulled her sunglasses down her nose and was watching like it was the pre-show to a roast.

“Pick a card,” Taehyun said calmly, fanning the deck out like a professional.

Sunoo leaned in dramatically, plucking one with flourish. “It’s gonna be the best card.”

“Don’t let me see it.”

“Duh.”

Taehyun closed the fan, tapped the deck twice on the towel like it was sacred. “Now... place it back.”

Sunoo slipped the card into the deck with exaggerated suspicion. “If you pull this off, I’ll buy you a churro.”

“I don’t want a churro,” Taehyun said. “I want respect.”

Yunjin snorted.

Taehyun began shuffling.

Not normal shuffling.

No, this was elaborate, showy, magician shuffling — bridge shuffles, one-handed cuts, the kind of stuff that looked unnecessary but somehow deeply impressive.

“You practiced that in a mirror,” Jungwon said.

“For weeks,” Taehyun replied solemnly. “I have a performance alter ego.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“His name is Thaedini the Subtle.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Yunjin started choking on her drink. “Thaedini.”

“Don’t disrespect the art,” Taehyun said seriously, dealing out cards in a perfectly straight line like a wizard accountant.

“Are you gonna pull a dove out of your pocket next?” Jungwon asked.

“Can’t. It’s illegal without a permit,” Taehyun said, deadly serious. “Also I’m allergic.”

“Okay, wait,” Sunoo said, pointing. “You’re telling me there’s a government form for bird magic?”

Taehyun raised one eyebrow. “Do your research.”

He picked up the deck again. One more shuffle. Then he paused. Looked Sunoo dead in the eyes.

“Your card,” he said, “was the Queen of Hearts.”

Sunoo’s jaw dropped. “NO.”

Taehyun flipped it around slowly—like it had emerged from another dimension—and held it up.

It was, in fact, the Queen of Hearts.

Sunoo screamed.

Jungwon dropped his drink.

Yunjin actually stood and backed away like she’d witnessed dark sorcery.

Taehyun just nodded once. “Thaedini never misses.”

“DO IT AGAIN,” Sunoo shrieked. “I TRUST NOTHING.”

“You said you didn’t want a churro,” Jungwon said, shaking his head.

“I lied,” Taehyun said. “I want power.”

“Okay, but how did you do it,” Yunjin demanded.

“I’ll never tell.”

Sunoo flopped backwards in the sand, hands over his face. “He’s going to haunt me. I know he is.”

Taehyun carefully slid the deck back into its satin pouch like it was a cursed object, then calmly reached for a juice box. “Next show’s at sunset.”

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The beach house was quiet now — or as quiet as it could get with fifteen people slowly melting into beds, couches, and spare corners like sun-drenched puddles of exhaustion. The floor creaked under flip-flopless feet. Towels were draped over chairs, swimsuits hung on doorknobs, and sand had somehow made its way into every room like a clingy friend no one had invited but everyone tolerated.

The air smelled like salt and sunscreen and faint hints of charcoal from the abandoned grill. Someone’s speaker still played a lo-fi beat from the porch, looping softly under the hush of ocean waves just beyond the windows. The kind of hush that made your limbs heavy. That golden, giddy energy from earlier had simmered down into something quieter. Drowsier. People were laughing in half-sentences, brushing their teeth slowly, slipping into pajamas and collapsing wherever gravity was strongest.

Soobin stood frozen in the doorway of Room Six, blinking at the glow of string lights and the bed that was somehow smaller than it had looked that morning. Everything about the room felt warmer. Closer. Like it had absorbed the sun, the salt, and the knowledge that he was about to sleep beside Y/N — the girl he was hopelessly in love with. How the hell did he get here?

She was already inside. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked under her, hoodie swapped for a tank top, hair up in that casual way that sent actual neurons in Soobin’s brain into chaos. She looked tired in the best way — soft and sun-kissed, skin still glowing faintly from the afternoon light. Her voice was quiet when she looked up and said, “You survived the first day in the wild.”

Soobin nodded, heart thudding. “Barely.”

“Wanna sit?” she asked, patting the bed beside her.

He did. He sat.

Technically.

He perched, really — stiff-backed, knees together, looking like one of those inflatables on the side of the road that you just know shouldn't exist.

Y/N laughed under her breath and turned to face him. “You look like you’re about to recite the Pythagorean theorem. You're overthinking.”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a very... cozy bed.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just don’t want to, like, make you uncomfy. Or take too much space. Or breathe weird.”

“You can breathe, Soobin.”

He blinked. “Are you sure?”

She leaned a little closer. “I’ve seen you asleep on the manga shop beanbags. You snore when you're comfortable.”

His soul briefly left his body. “Oh my god.”

“But,” she said, smile turning slightly wicked, “it’s kind of cute.”

Soobin’s brain short-circuited. His heart was trying to burst through his chest with a small mallet. His knee twitched nervously.

She looked at him then — really looked — and something shifted in the air.

The kind of shift that came with shadows and lowered voices, with soft lighting and bare shoulders, with a bed too small for distance and too big for denial.

Y/N reached out, brushing a piece of hair from his face — slow, casual, lethal.

Soobin inhaled like someone had punched the wind into him.

“You’re nervous,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Extremely.”

“Want me to back off?”

He swallowed. “No.”

She smiled.

And for a moment, they just looked at each other — no rush, no noise, just the hum of string lights, the distant sea, and the kind of awareness that vibrated like tension in a taut wire.

Y/N shifted closer, until her knee touched his.

Until her hand rested on his thigh — light, easy, but full of potential.

Soobin’s hands stayed in his lap, fingers twitching. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered.

He finally turned toward her — fully, finally — and something about the way she was watching him, all softness and spark, gave him a flicker of courage. He reached up, brushing her cheekbone lightly with his knuckles, and her eyes fluttered half-closed at the touch. Like she felt it too.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said, voice low.

“What thing?” he asked, already dizzy.

“The way you look at me. Like I’m going to vanish.”

He blinked. “Well. You do look kind of unreal right now.”

She let out a quiet laugh, flopping back on the bed, one hand folded under her cheek as she looked up at him. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious,” he whispered, lying down to face her, their noses barely a breath apart. “This feels like a fever dream. Just like the one I had every night since we kissed on that porch.”

She grinned. “Do you have dreams about me Soobin?”

“Every damn day I dream of you.”

He hesitated for half a second before gently threading his fingers through hers.

The room shifted again— just a little. The air. The light. His heart rate. His heart rate was skyrocketing.

“You’re very warm,” he said.

“That’s the sunburn.”

“No,” he said, looking at her mouth. “I think it's just you.”

A beat of silence. Her smile turned teasing.

“Are you flirting with me, Choi Soobin?”

“I’m trying,” he whispered.

“You’re doing great,” she said, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “Ten out of ten. Very romantic. Would kiss.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Soobin’s heart tripped over itself, slammed into his ribs, and exploded into oblivion.

He swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes darting to his lips, her voice barely a whisper now. “You gonna?”

And that was all he needed.

Nerves and all, he leaned in — slowly, reverently — like he was afraid the moment would slip away if he moved too fast. His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing just below her ear, and when their lips finally touched—

He stopped thinking entirely and it felt like he could breathe again.

She was soft. And warm. And tasted faintly like watermelon and salt and something sweet he couldn’t name but already wanted again.

Soobin kissed her like a secret.

Like he didn’t know what he was doing, but he did know he didn’t want to stop.

One of his hands slid down, resting cautiously on her waist, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of her tank top. He felt her smile against his lips — playful and steady — and her fingers tugged lightly at the hem of his T-shirt like a dare.

She kissed him back with slow confidence, like she had all the time in the world to unravel him.

And she was.

His mind was swimming — too much, too good, too close — and still, his hand moved on instinct, brushing her side, dragging fingertips up the curve of her back, slipping beneath the edge of her shirt just enough to feel her skin.

She was fire.

And he was very much not surviving this.

He was throbbing in pain as he could feel all the blood in his body go to his pants. And he was sure she felt it too.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes searching hers, voice so quiet it was almost a prayer. “This okay?”

Y/N smiled — the kind of smile that would ruin other smiles for him forever.

“More than okay.”

So he kissed her again.

This time, deeper. Slower. His body trembling with restraint he wasn’t sure he could maintain for too long, every brush of skin sending sparks down his spine. Her hand slid to his jaw, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth like she was learning him by touch.

Soobin wasn’t sure when he stopped breathing and started floating.

It could’ve been the moment her fingers found the hem of his shirt again, tugging just enough to make him dizzy. Or maybe it was when her mouth opened under his, soft and welcoming, tasting like heat and summer and something sweeter than anything he’d ever been allowed to want.

His hand found her hip — then her waist — then crept slowly, cautiously up her back. Each inch of skin he touched felt like forbidden territory. He’d only imagined this kind of closeness in half-formed dreams, ones he woke from too quickly, heart pounding, face flushed, mouth dry.

But now she was here.

Real.

Moving with him like they’d done this a hundred times before — like this wasn’t new, or terrifying, or something that would live in the soft-focus corner of his memory forever.

She shifted in his lap, straddling him with ease, and his hands immediately flew to her hips to steady her. Not because she was unbalanced — no, she was impossibly sure of herself — but because he needed grounding.

“Still good?” she whispered between kisses, her breath skating across his jaw.

Soobin nodded, speechless. His hands squeezed her hips once in response, and she giggled — not mockingly, but like she was genuinely delighted by the fact that he was so thoroughly wrecked.

And he was.

Wrecked, that is.

He kissed down her jaw, tentative but hungry, one hand slipping beneath her shirt again — this time bolder, trailing up the smooth warmth of her back, brushing the curve of her spine and then her upper side. Her skin was soft under his fingers, impossibly soft, and he swore his soul tried to exit his body when she shivered at his touch.

She tugged his shirt up — slowly, teasingly — and he let her pull it over his head, suddenly hyperaware of his own skin, his chest, the way her eyes flickered over him with a quiet kind of reverence that made his ears burn.

Then Y/N slowly took her own shirt off.

Soobin just stared, heavily breathing.

The string lights cast a soft glow around her. Her hair was slightly mussed, lips kiss-bitten, cheeks flushed from the heat of them. She looked at him like she’d never wanted anything more in her life — and like she already had it.

Soobin's hands rested on her thighs now, fingers splayed, and he realized with a rush of nervous wonder that she was letting him touch her like this. That she wanted him like this.

“Soobin” she murmured seemed lost in him.

He made a strangled noise, reaching for her. “You’re driving me crazy”

She smiled, pressing her lips to his collarbone. “Please, touch me.”

And he did. He touched her like he had been dreaming for days, his hands cupping her like he couldn't believe his life, couldn't believe she was real. Because how could she be?

When he thought he was finally able to calm his heartbeat, she let out the softest whimper, just as he reached a sensitive area of her chest. He moaned to the sound of her, already certain he would replay it for a lifetime in his head.

Y/N shifted.

Her kisses traveled lower — down his throat, across his shoulder, lingering just long enough to make him lose all rational thought. His fingers were on her waist, gripping tighter now, like he was scared she’d float away.

Then she leaned back — just enough — and pulled away from him.

Soobin blinked, breath ragged, already missing her warmth.

But then she shifted again — onto her knees — kneeling in front of him on the bed.

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profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: hey yoooooo! happy late night posting from where i'm from hehe first chapter of the beach arc is here!! i think the car ride to the beach house might be the funniest thing i've ever written idk!! BUT ANYWAYSSS what do you guys think about his chapter?? hehehehe i'm giggling kicking my feet omg that was unexpected right? I couldn't resist including the one bed situation! please let me know in the comments <3 also reblogs are appreciated! thank you so much as alwaysss

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