#fully screaming and crying into a pillow

[katebeckets]

how to say "I love you" in x-files [50/?] ⤷ 6.08 — “The Rain King”

pauses, then says you're my best friend. and you knew what it was: she is in love.

[aomiiine]

CALEB, THE FARSPACE COLONEL

AT THIS SHIP YOU WILL WITNESS … current!caleb & fem!reader. warning(s) -> MDNI. [18+ only]. needy/possessive caleb, might be ooc caleb, apple as a gag(?), squirting, implied creampies, cum eating, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, no plot, just smut, not proofread wordcount. 1.6k (kinda short cs idk much ab him yet & i dedicated my whole pussy into this forgive me) tags. @ljubimaya

𝐻𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝒯𝒰𝑅𝒩𝒮 with single-minded determination to keep you near him at all times. Even with a 180 degree turn of his personality during his interrogation of you before, he assures you that protocol was the only reason for his brief change. Yet in the privacy of his room, he doesn’t exactly change to normal..

You didn’t know what brought you to the current situation you were in. To be more detailed, the situation you were in included you sprawled out on his bed, shirt bunched up beneath your chin with Caleb’s body hovering above you, burying his cock into you with reckless abandon. It all started with an innocent, heartfelt confession. But little did you know that calebs’ feelings would run so deep, so intense, to the point he had to have his mouth latch onto one of your tits, eagerly suckling on a nipple all the while his hips were unrelenting.

“W-wait, Caleb, please, I can’t cum again,” you whine with a sob, hands above you clinging onto his pillow for dearlife as he brought you to the brink of your nth orgasm. Caleb on the other hand seemed better than you despite the fact he would follow you every time you came, spilling his seed into your warm channel as if in sync. In truth, he wanted to cum the moment he slid inside your wet heat, but decided against it, wanting to cum with you. “Yes you can, I know you can, sweet girl,” he mumbled persuasively sweet against your flushed skin, your tits aching in the best way in his squeezing hand and warm mouth.

“Caleb, Caleb, fuck—! I feel weird,” you sobbed with a drawn out moan, hips beginning to squirm at the unfamiliar feeling in lower belly. His cock was stretching you out so good, almost too good. You thought you were on the edge of another orgasm but it felt completely foreign to you, fearing that you might embarrass yourself if Caleb kept on going like this. But Caleb himself was undeterred. Instead, a knowing smile of satisfaction crept on his face at your pleas, knowing exactly what was coming. “Of course you are, baby,” he cooed softly, hand fondling your right breast slipping down your back to thumb over the sensitive nub of your clit, rubbing it quick, tight circles that made your body arch into him with a cry.

Your legs quivered and kicked weakly on Caleb’s hip all the while he was fucking into you like it was nobody’s business, eager to push more of his cum into your already fully pussy. He could feel the heels of your feet burying into his lower back, quivering with pleasure that he knew was unfamiliar to you until now. Until he brought it to you.

his touch was precise, coaxing but going above your limits to make sure he makes your mind blank out. And true to his intentions, you cried out, loud, arching off the bed with splutters of profanities leaving your lips along with a wail pleading of his name when the pace of his thrusts into you sopping cunt quickened along with the rub and pinches of the throbbing nub of your clit.

Your lips parted in a silent scream when you felt yourself squirting all over his thick cock, yours juices surely overflowing onto his pelvis and down his balls to drip onto the sheets, making you gasp repeatedly, velvety walls spasming uncontrollably around Caleb’s pitifully hard dick, making him hiss a heavy ‘shit’ before he fucked into you more, prolonging your orgasm to reach his own. His hips jerked erratically into you, balls drawn up tight with his incoming orgasm until he came to an abrupt stop, hand previously rubbing your nub now holding you down by your pelvis all the while his throbbing cock pulsed with each pump of cum into your already filled cunt, making sure to overflow you with his seed.

Caleb’s chest heaved with heavy breaths to catch his breath, pulling away from your boneless, sweat sheened body on the bed, with his length deeply sheathed inside your warm hole still. With a few more shallow thrusts, he finally pulled out, breathing out a moan at the erotic sight of his cum that made a ring around his base, your leaking slit no less sexy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot like.. Panting like a bitch in heat just for me,” caleb taunted, his own cheeks flushed red all the same along with his body coated with a thin layer of sweat like yours was on his bed, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn’t help the sly smirk that crept up his face, hand sliding down your thigh to pat the plush flesh there twice as if he was praising you, saying ‘good girl’.

Your pants died out and your breathing came back to normal, your limbs weak on the bed after a moment. Your lids felt heavy during the brief period when Caleb wasn’t doing to you, head burying into his pillow beneath your head to succumb to the sleep that called for you. But it seems like your supposed childhood friend had other plans for you.

“Urk..! Caleb.. what’re you doing now..” you slurred, mind still hazy from the mind blowing orgasm he gave you to process the tug he made on your leg. Your head lifted from the pillow weakly to see what he was doing standing off the edge of the bed, other hand moving to wrap around your other leg for another tug until you were close to the edge of the mattress.

“Shh.. get your rest. I’ll clean you up while you sleep, yeah?” the man with violet eyes shushed with a teasing lilt, reaching an arm over to grab one of his red apples nearby to bring them up to your lips, leaning forward to meet your half-lidded gaze. “Try not to be too loud.. I don’t want any of my colleagues coming over for a noise complaint,” he spoke in a near whisper, making the fresh red skin of the apple to kiss your equally succulent lips. You brought up a hand to hold the apple, letting him pull away. Yours brows furrowed at the implication that he wasn’t done, already biting down on the sweet fruit he gave you.

Leaving you oblivious, Caleb knelt between your legs that hung over the edge of his bed, positioning himself so he could lean in close to your pussy which he left in a mess, globs of his semen still oozing out to drip down the delicious curves of your ass. With eyes gleaming with unsated lust, he propped an arm under your thigh, the other hand pushing the other thigh further apart to give him access to your dripping cunt. He stopped pulling you apart when he could see your weakly clenching hole, head dipping to lick a firm stripe up the wet slit, making sure to flick over the clit too before repeated the action once more, though sloppier this time.

The evident shivers you made at his ministrations made him grin at the while he lapped up at the remnants of your juices that stained your folds, alternating between tongue-fucking your slick warm heat and sucking and biting on your sensitive nub for an extra boost of pleasure to shoot up your spine. Caleb’s gaze flickered up to your squirming form whenever he found the strength to peel his eyes off your filled pussy, scooping up his cum that he stuffed inside your used cunt to taste himself, then shove it back into you. The man could barely hear the muffled whines and whimpers you made whenever his slid his tongue as deep as it could go past your entrance, unrelenting with his pace, utterly absorbed in the act of pleasing you along with ‘cleaning’ you.

your earlier boneless body flared up again at the persistent strokes of caleb’s tongue on your wet heat, feeling his hand on your thigh knead your flesh and squeeze it tight whenever he lost himself in your depths for a long while before pulling away to get some air, only when he felt the unforgivable burn in his lungs. The way his nose grazed your neglected clit was equally unforgivable, only offering the nub a few kitten licks that nothing to sate its throbbing need for stimulation. Yet when he sensed your impending orgasm, it was as if a switch went off in his head, his focusing shifting to your pitiful clit to assault it with full force, nibbling and swirling his tongue around it relentlessly. The man was thankful he gave you that apple, or else the volumes of your cries at the delicious orgasm he was about to make you reach again would have escaped his room to the ears of his unsuspecting colleagues.

“For fuck’s sake, Caleb, slow, fuck..! Slow down..!” You thrashed your hips all over his face, grinding for dear life. You could feel your climax coming in, and it was coming in fast. You rocked your hips into his face a few more times before you brought the bite covered apple to your mouth for another full bite, throwing your head back with a hand gripping onto the pillow beside your head, an overwhelming sense of ecstasy washing over your body, barely able to overcome your sobs.

“I could make you cum all the damn hours of the day if I could, princess, fuck.. you did so well,” Caleb grinned against the damp folds of your pussy, half of his face smeared with your cum which he slurped with unrivalled eagerness. He pulled away from between your thighs to look up at you properly, curl of his lips growing only wider at the sight of your utterly passed out on his bed, his earlier praises falling to deaf ears.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (consent somno)

Sleeping with Simon means you might wake up from the tingling yet comfortable feeling coming from your breast, still disoriented from the slumber, letting out a sleepy whimper as the pleasure keeps coursing through your spine like tiny lightnings.

“Morning.” Simon doesn’t even detach his lips from your nipples as he greets you, lapping lazily and rolling the little peaks with his hot tongue.

“Simon…” Your fingers card through his locks to encourage him, he’s always extra horny in the early morning, but the eagerness in his movements is more evident now than the other days, practically burying his face in your breasts. “What got you so worked up today?” you ask him between the moans caused by his antics, his intentional sucking on one of your sensitive buds makes you unable to hold back a whiny cry of bliss.

“Wake up and see you sleeping in my arms, safe and sound…” Simon huffs out a laugh when he gives your nipples a nip, eliciting a yelp on you “You wearing my shirt, leaning against my chest, just the right angle for me to peek in the collar and see those cute nipples of yours…”

“It’s not my fault, you told me to wear one of your shirts last night.” Your pouty facade can’t be kept on for long, not when he finishes taking good care of your now fully hardened nipples, peppering kisses on his way downwards, as if memorizing your body and claiming his territory again with those pink love bites.

“And you’re the one who chose the thinnest and loosest shirt, ain’t you?” Taking your clothed clit between his lips, he smirks as he dart out his tongue, pressing down forcefully at your core and toying it skillfully, so you’ll throw your head back on the pillow and grind your needy pussy against his lips, begging for more with those sugar-coated pleas. “Fuck, all greedy and soaked just from me worshipping your tits, sweetheart? Who’s the eager one now, eh?”

“Just…Just pull down the panties already, god…” Not enough, your mind screams for more, yearns for his lips directly touching your wet folds.

“Bossy.” He chastises you, like you’re an impatient girl craving for candies, but he won’t deny you—or deny himself, from tasting what he’s been wanting since he woke up this morning.

Pulling down your panties and let it pull around your ankles, not even sparing time to take it off properly, he dives back between your thighs, wet tongue gliding through your core, drinking down those nectar as you reach out and push his face down further, the crook of his nose nudging your clit so good that you roll your hips to meet his consistent onslaught.

“Bloody hell, princess…smells so fucking good.” He groans, a low and half-growling one which only worsen your insatiable desires. Even when he lifts his head slightly to speak, his hands immediately move in, sliding two thick and long fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping and pressing the correct spots to make you scream out his name.

“Trying to wake the neighbors up with those cute moans, huh? ‘m not sure if they’ll feel grateful.” Thumbs spreading your pussy lips, he latches onto the now-exposed clit, bringing you another level of joy by sucking that twitching little thing.

“Simon! Si- oh, gonna…” You try to warn him before you get pushed over the edge abruptly, liquid gushing out and smearing his face, only for him to moan contently and make sure not to miss any drop.

“What a sight…” Straightening up and looking at the pool of mess staining the bedsheets, before his gaze travel to you face, eyes still blurry and cheeks tinted with rosy red, panting and quivering after squirting so hard for him, Simon smacks your pussy teasingly, earning another delectable whimper from you. “Squirting all over the sheets, will have to change it later.”

“Can’t go another round, baby…” You look down at him the moment his lips touch your puffy folds once again, big eyes meeting his dark ones with satisfaction and tiredness, but your protest is cut off by a soft smack on right on your trembling clit, and further words are replaced with moans when he ducks down to resume devouring his favorite meal, pressing a reassuring kiss to your pussy and croon. “Won’t stop until you squirt again for me, you can do it, love, and you will do it.”

[jj-one]

EPISODE 1: HELP! MY HOT GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT ME CRYING AFTER GIVING HEAD! (NOT CLICKBAIT)

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

jisung thought tutoring the hottest girl on campus would ruin his GPA— not his pants. one month later, he’s somehow getting called ‘pretty’ mid-thrust and offering you pocky as a post-orgasm snack.

pairing: nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader, established relationship genre/tags: college au, smut, fluff, jisung is a loser with a capital L, humor sprinkled in bc i’m unserious asf, lots of references to anime and other dumb stuff, lowkey perv!jisung, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, protected s*x, kinda subby!jisung but he’s still a whore lol words: 5.4k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long… guess i yap too much)

[ note. ] — i had to make another nerd!ji fic bc i literally cannot stop thinking about him 😣 feel free to read my other fic for more context since it’s set in the same universe but i wanted to make a smut ver so here we areeee <33 also, i will be making more parts eventually, hence why it’s labeled as ‘episode 1’ so stay tuned for more !

Jisung thought for sure that was going to die a virgin. Not in a sad, self-loathing kind of way, but more in a “yeah, that checks out,” kind of way. The type of peaceful resignation one might have while unplugging a broken router for the eighth time before crying into a bowl of instant ramen. Because guys like him— guys who quoted Dragon Ball Z unironically, who panicked when girls sat next to them in lecture halls, who built custom keyboards for fun and screamed at League. They didn’t date girls like you.

And they most definitely didn’t sleep with girls like you.

Still, that didn’t keep him from fantasizing. Constantly, shamelessly, unhingedly.

He’d never known what it felt like to have warm walls wrapped around his cock. Never heard those broken whines girls in hentai would make— unless he counted the ones he accidentally let out when he edged himself too long. His hand was simply never enough, no matter how many times he convinced himself he could “recreate the pressure.”

The bottle of lotion and box of tissues on his nightstand weren’t even hidden anymore— they sat like holy relics beside his gaming PC, ready for immediate access the second he closed League and opened incognito mode.

Porn never fully satisfied his craving though, he always wanted more. Even the best JAV compilation or doujinshi fan dub couldn’t compare to the real sickness consuming his brain: you.

You, with the glossy Instagram that he scrolled through like it was the damn Louvre. You, wearing micro bikinis in pool selfies with captions like ‘hot girl summer’ while he rots in bed, sweating and crying at the curvature of your ass.

You, biting your glittery, gel pen in class, leaning across the desk to ask for help, accidentally flashing a glimpse of cleavage so dangerous it made him pause mid-equation like he got hit with a stun grenade. Stalking your Instagram, seeing you in the tiniest baby tees and mini skirts. It was the perfect gooner material.

He’d stroke himself under the covers while biting a t-shirt to keep quiet, muttering your name between gasps like he was summoning a spirit. Fantasies playing out in his head that ranged from soft and romantic— like kissing you breathless during office hours— to completely feral, like bending you over his anime pillow while you called him “pretty boy” and ruined his life.

It didn’t help that you flirted with him now.

That you asked him to tutor you.

That you sat so close during study sessions he could sense your perfume from a mile away and taste the salt from the fries you always stole off his plate.

You laughed at his jokes, called him cute, even once said he had “nice hands,” and he nearly evaporated on the spot. Had to excuse himself to the bathroom with a boner and a prayer.

Every night ended the same. Him, fisting his cock in pathetic desperation at the thought of your pussy swallowing him whole, whispering ‘please’ like a man on the verge of religious enlightenment.

And every night, after he came all over his own stomach, out of breath and guilt-ridden, he’d sigh dramatically and say,

“I’m going to die alone. I know it. I’ll be the guy with the Zero Two body pillow and the unopened condom pack from 2017 that he keeps in case of a miracle.”

He did not, under any circumstances, expect you to be that miracle.

Never in a million years did he think he’d actually have a chance, let alone be dating you. You were just too perfect. The literal girl of his dreams.

Popular. Gorgeous. Cool in the kind of way that made any and everyone want to be around you without knowing why. You had that magnetic charm about you, an easily contagious laugh, a confident stride when you walk, and that dangerous habit of licking your lip gloss mid-sentence like you were in a CW drama.

And yet, somehow, here he was, currently horizontal on his bed, shirtless, breathless, with you on top of him wearing his oversized Bleach t-shirt and not much else, grinning like you’d just won first place in a science fair and a dance battle.

“Are you glitching?” You asked, poking his cheek. “Do I need to unplug you and plug you back in?”

“I- uh- w-what? No- yes? No.” He stuttered like every word had just magically left his vocabulary, he was definitely malfunctioning.

You laughed, head dropping onto his bare chest as he laid stiff as a board, arms hovering midair like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you even now. Even after dating you for a whole month.

“A month,” he whispered, still stunned by the timeline. “That’s like… thirty days of you voluntarily being seen with me.”

“Thirty one,” you corrected, lifting your head to smirk down at him. “Don’t forget the bonus day where you kissed me in front of the vending machine and the entire basketball team clapped.”

“I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You looked like you did throw up.”

Jisung covered his face with both hands and groaned.

God, he still didn’t know how this happened. When you had asked him to tutor you in stats, he assumed you were just kidding— or high. But you weren’t. You’d actually shown up. You’d flirted, sat on his lap one time when all the seats were taken at the library, and then acted like it was no big deal while his soul left his body.

And now here you were. Straddling him. Teasing him. Literally wearing his t-shirt with the anime print on it and calling him “baby” in the kind of voice that should be illegal.

“You’re so tense, Sungie,” you murmur, lightly dragging your fingers down his chest. “I know you like it when I touch you. You make these cute little gasps like a baby bird.”

“I-I don’t sound like a baby bird,” he mumbled, absolutely sounding like a baby bird.

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Chirp.”

Jisung squeaked.

You lost it, giggling into his neck while he covered his blushy face with a pillow. “Oh my god, stopp- why are you like this- why did you choose me,”

“Because you’re smart, and sweet, and you get all flustered when I call you hot. And because,” you sat up again, hips rolling ever so slightly and watching his pupils blow wide as you rocked against his clothed erect, “you say things like ‘This is just like my fanfic’ under your breath and then deny it.”

He groaned at the sudden friction, arms falling limp at his sides. “You heard that?”

“Babe, I hear everything. Like right now, I can hear how bad you want me to ride you.” You bit your lip, feeling your wetness growing at a rapid pace as you continuously grind on him.

Jisung whimpered. “Okay. I- this is really happening, right? This isn’t like, some kind of VR dream or like a… cursed hentai plotline where I wake up and you’re actually a sentient toaster?”

You blinked. “What the hell kind of anime are you watching?”

He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t say that..”

You kissed him then. Slowly. Tenderly. Like you had all the time in the world and like you couldn’t believe your luck either. Because yeah, you were the cool girl, but Jisung was the first guy who actually listened when you talked. Who remembered your favorite boba order. Who’d stayed up until 3 am tutoring you and still walked you to your dorm with sleepy, nerdy affection twinkling in his eyes.

So yeah, you were gonna roast him forever— but you were also gonna ruin him tonight.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, reaching down to tug his sweatpants lower.

Jisung was in the midst of catching his breath like he’d just run a marathon. “Y-yeah?”

“After I make you cum, will you tell me all about the sentient toaster anime?”

“…Maybe.”

+

“Okay,” Jisung panted, curling into your side like a baby koala clinging to its mother, “that was better than every hentai I’ve ever seen.”

You snorted into his shoulder. “High praise coming from the man who owns a $300 body pillow.”

“She was limited edition!” He quickly defends himself.

You playfully roll your eyes, kissing his flushed cheek. “So are you, Sungie. So are you.”

And yeah, Jisung still thought he was going to die a virgin once upon a time.

But now, wrapped in your arms with kiss marks littering his neck and your laughter still echoing in his ears— he was just really, really glad that he’s been proven wrong.

+

The moment you straddled Jisung and kissed him again, something shifted in the room.

And not just him having an outer-body experience for the sixth time in an hour.

You pulled back from his lips to look around, and the first thing you said was, “Okay, I have to say it- your room is the most aggressively virgin-coded space I’ve ever been in.”

“I told you not to look too closely!” He whined, burying his face into your neck as you giggled and craned to inspect the chaos surrounding you.

“Let’s see…” you started ticking things off on your imaginary list. “Anime wall scrolls? Check. Neon RGB light strips that make your room look like a gaming dungeon? Check. Is that Hatsune Miku in a glass case next to middle school spelling bee trophies?”

He groaned. “They’re collector’s items—”

“You were runner-up in 8th grade and you framed it.”

“I peaked early, okay?!”

You laughed so hard you fell forward onto his chest. “I love you.”

He froze. “Wh-what?”

You blinked. “I said I love you.”

He looked like you’d just offered him a lifetime supply of ramen and also stabbed him in the heart.

“…I love you too,” he whispered, barely getting it out before he hid under the covers.

You tugged the blanket back down just enough to see his red face. “Hey. Don’t hide. I wanna see you. Look so pretty when you blush.”

“PRETTY?!” He yelped.

You nodded in confirmation, brushing hair off his forehead. “Mmhm. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Especially like this- messy hair, pink cheeks, all breathless under me…”

He made the most broken noise you’d ever heard.

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying not to crush you or himself with how desperate he felt. His eyes were dark now, glazed and locked onto your every move as you slowly ground against the bulge in his sweats.

“This is real, right?” He meant to ask that in his head but blurted it out instead, voice slightly cracking. “This is really happening?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Feels pretty real to me, baby.”

At this point Jisung was spiraling.

Not just emotionally. No, that happened daily.

This was a full-system shutdown.

You’d tugged your shirt off without warning and smiled down at him like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now his hands were hovering awkwardly mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to touch you or if he was being Punk’d by the gods of horny delusion.

Your skin. Your smile. Your fucking tits.

And worse— worse— as your fingers brushed through his messy brown locks and your thighs shifted over his hips, his brain suddenly screamed,

‘I can’t believe I’m about to get pussy before Jeongin.’

Jeongin, his slightly cooler, slightly taller, still-a-virgin roommate who had three rotating Discord kittens and a suspicious amount of cologne but somehow still never scored.

Jeongin, who walked around shirtless after push-up sessions and said things like “it’s not rizz, it’s charisma” unironically. Jeongin, who once said “I want my first time to be passionate and respectful” but also accidentally downloaded a virus trying to pirate a hentai dating sim.

Jisung had always assumed if one of them was gonna make it out of virginhood first, it’d be the guy with the Uzumaki clan symbol tattooed on his ribs and a social life.

But no.

It was him. Han Jisung. The guy who owned a limited-edition anime titty mousepad and squeaked like a kettle when a girl touched his arm. And now? You were grinding up against him slowly, teasingly, and he was barely clinging to reality.

“Y/n,” he whimpered, clutching your waist like you’d float away. “Can I- can I eat you out? Pleasepleaseplease.”

You blinked rapidly.

“…You wanna—?”

“So bad,” he choked. “I think about it all the time. Like in class. And when I watch those ‘how to’ videos online. Like, the diagram ones, not the porn ones, though I watched those too- but like educationally! For science!”

You stared blankly.

He was sweating.

“Okay,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re really cute when you beg, y’know that?”

He nearly ascended.

You barely had time to giggle before he flipped you gently onto your back, hair falling into his eyes as he ducked down between your thighs like a man on a mission from God. His hands trembled as he slid your shorts down, breath hitching at the sight of your soaked panties.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “It’s real.”

You snorted. “What were you expecting? A hologram?”

“I don’t know!” He cried. “I was starting to believe you were some kind of high-level succubus sent to punish virgins.”

You cupped his flushed face. “Wouldn’t be the worst punishment.”

And then he locks in— eyes meeting yours as he sticks his tongue out, licking a long, fat stripe across your clothed slit. Soft. Slow. As if he was trying to memorize you with his tongue, the heat of it makes you jolt. He’s not just tasting you— he’s learning you, tracing intricate patterns with his tongue like he’s trying to decode you one flick at a time. Every motion is precise yet hungry, like he’s writing a love letter in Morse code directly to your pussy. His glasses slipping adorably down the bridge of his nose, solely focused on pleasing you.

You gasped at the feel of him against you, the pressure of his mouth sent heat curling low in your belly, it was torture. Too much and not enough. You needed to feel him without the barrier of soaked lace clinging to your folds, and he must’ve read your mind, because he groaned like he was the one being denied. He kissed your pussy like he was thanking it, mouthing over your clothed core before dragging open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, leaving your skin slick with spit and bites to your inner thighs. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, everything about him felt so warm.

His teeth grazed you— playful, hungry— and your hips twitched as he whispered something nasty under his breath, half to himself, half to your cunt. By the time he slid your panties down, your thighs were trembling, tossing the flimsy fabric aside carelessly, like he didn’t care where they landed, only that they were gone. Then he buried his face between your legs like you’d been starving him for his entire life.

His tongue slipped between your folds, hot and greedy, lapping up everything you gave him like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He flicked up and down with obscene precision, wet, messy, relentless— his nose bumping your clit as he moaned deep in his throat, like he needed this, like the taste of you could make or break him. You were soaked, legs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry, and all he did was keep eating like he was trying to crawl inside you with his tongue.

You were loving the way it feels, every bit of you being hit with electricity. Your fingers tangled in his hair the second his mouth met your pussy, gripping tight, yanking just enough to make him groan into you like he was grateful for the pain. He never slowed down. If anything, it made him hungrier, tongue flattening against your slit before flicking up again, sloppy and fast and fucking filthy.

“God- fuck, you’re so messy,” you gasped, thighs twitching around his head. “You like that? Being my dirty little mouth toy?”

He moaned. Moaned. Into your pussy.

Nodding obediently, even as you tugged harder, grinding him closer. His glasses were long gone, hair disheveled, chin dripping with spit and slick as he slurred out something unintelligible against your clit. His tongue working overtime like he was trying to spell your name in cursive with every flick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, words caught in his throat. “I could live here.”

You threw your head back with a laugh— and then a sharp gasp as he got bolder, messier, more desperate. His hands kept you spread, his tongue curling and licking and worshipping like this was the only chance he’d ever get. He was sure that he’d jizz his pants just from giving you head— sure it’s pathetic, maybe even tragic. But he couldn’t help it. You were just too hot, too perfect, too fucking unreal, and the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your thighs squeezing around his head, it was better than anything his fist or filthy imagination had ever given him.

Your fingers remain tangled in his hair, holding onto him for anchorage. He looked up at you with glassy, pleading eyes, the lower half of his face glistening with your arousal and rosy cheeks. “Tell me I’m doing okay? Please? I read five articles about this. I practiced on a peach.”

You gasped. “You practiced on what?!”

“Nevermind. Just- keep calling me pretty. I swear I’ll die happy right here.”

You tugged his head back down, voice ragged and ruined.

“Then make me cum, pretty boy.”

And he did.

Like a man with something to prove.

Like a nerdy little virgin who had just found his true calling.

Your eyes closed shut at the feeling, falling apart at the seams. Every stroke of his tongue making your insides tighten. You suddenly couldn’t remember how breathing worked, all you saw were flashes of white invading your vision, cumming so hard that you almost saw stars. You cried out, high and broken, hands grasping at his head as you came hard against his mouth.

Jisung moaned through it— loud and messy— tongue never letting up, licking you through every twitch, every gasp, every last jolt of overstimulation until you were tugging at his hair for dear life and gasping for air. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded, face absolutely drenched, and smiling like he just beat the final boss of his entire life.

Somewhere in the past twenty minutes between Jisung nuzzling your thighs like a man starved and moaning like he was the one cumming, you had apparently blacked out, transcended the mortal plane, and been reborn as a puddle of girl.

Now, you lay sprawled across his unmade bed, fully clothed from the waist up and violently ruined from the waist down, chest heaving, eyes wet and glassy, one sock half-off your foot like a casualty of war.

And Jisung?

Jisung was cuddled up beside you like the world’s horniest golden retriever, chin resting on your shoulder, looking so smug and soft it was almost offensive.

You could still feel the ghost of his tongue between your legs.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” You croaked out, blinking up at the ceiling like it had answers.

Jisung tilted his head innocently. “What, that? Nah. I just… researched. A lot. And I… uh, practiced on a fruit.”

You turned your head slowly. “Was it the peach again?”

“…It might’ve also been a mango. For tongue agility. But I named it after you, so it was romantic!”

You tried to snort, but it came out as a wheeze. “I can’t feel my legs, Jisung.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Still taking it as one.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire nervous system with his mouth.

“I feel like I just unlocked a secret side quest,” he victoriously cheered. “‘Satisfy hot girlfriend until she sees God.’ Bonus XP for oral stamina. Am I your favorite now?”

You blinked at him, still fighting for air. “I don’t even know my name right now. You’ve ruined me.”

Jisung squeaked and tucked his face into your neck, practically vibrating with joy. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“You should. I saw the afterlife. It was just a video game buffering screen.”

He laughed, then rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re real. Your thighs are real. I had a girlfriend and head privileges all in the same night. I feel like I need to call my mom.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late. She deserves to know her son peaked.”

You smacked him lightly with the nearest pillow, still grasping for air, still dazed.

And then he smiled at you— so big, so genuine, so sickeningly in love that your tired heart clenched.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, y’know,” he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. “Just say the word.”

You looked at him, the boy with anime figures on his shelf, lotion still on his desk, and love in his eyes, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Next time,” you whispered, “I’m returning the favor.”

Mindlessly reaching into his sweats, the second your hand wrapped around his length, you froze.

“…Jisung.”

“H-huh?”

You gave a blank expression. Looking down. Looking back up.

“This is- you’re.. how is this even—?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” he cried. “IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE, I’M ONLY 5’7!”

You stared at him like he just told you he had a second life as a Marvel superhero.

“Oh my god, I just assumed you’d be, like—”

“Average?!” He gasped, scandalized.

“No! I just- I mean- look at you! You’re this cute little nerd with anime socks and a keyboard with cat ears.. how are you packing all this?!”

You were in utter disbelief, there’s no way your sweet, stammering little boyfriend had been walking around with a dick that big and had no idea what kind of weapon he was carrying. Just raw, untapped dick potential— XL stats on a man who still apologizes when his knees crack too loud. Poor baby had been lugging around a whole third leg, and didn’t even know the first thing to do with it ;(

He simply shook his head, fully tomato red now, flailing beneath you like he was about to spontaneously combust. He watched you like he was afraid to blink. You pumped him once, slowly, watching him shiver under your touch. His lips parted. His back arched. You hadn’t even gotten started and he already looked completely ruined.

“Can I ride you?” You asked sweetly.

He nodded so fast his head could nearly fell off. “Yes. Yes, oh my god, yes- please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” You cocked your eyebrow.

“I’ll uninstall League right now if you ask me to—”

You giggled as you rolled the condom down over him, letting his hands greedily grab at your thighs. He was panting, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, like his brain was overheating just from the anticipation.

Then you finally lowered yourself, sinking down onto him, gradually, feeling the way you take him so easily from being soaking wet. Jisung mumbles something illegible under his breath as your cunt swallows his cock whole. It didn’t take long for you to reach the end of him since you were already so ready for him, staying in the same position to feel all of him inside you. His cock was splitting you open so nicely, it felt like you were in utter paradise.

And he made the sound.

Like his soul physically left his body, floated into the air, and gave you a salute on the way out.

“F-fuck.. you’re tight, I can’t—” he clutched your waist, eyes fluttering. “I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go.” He desperately bucks into you, wanting to feel more movement from you.

You move your hips to match his rhythm as you gain your balance, pressing both hands on his shoulder blades. You bounce slightly up and down on his cock, feeling your walls being filled up by every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him real slow to picking up your pace indefinitely. Jisung threw his head back against the pillow from the pleasure, the sound of his balls hitting against your ass with the combination of it jiggling as you rode him like a bunny was enough to make him want to burst on the spot.

You leaned down and give him a chaste kiss. “Best way to go, huh?”

He nods vehemently. “Please don’t stop. Ever. I’ll cancel my Crunchyroll subscription for you. I’ll stop buying figurines. I’ll even delete my Genshin account.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

He groaned helplessly as you continuously rode him like your life depended on it, breath hitching with every drag of your hips. He was so sensitive, so overwhelmed with it all that he couldn’t stop moaning into your mouth, mumbling broken, incoherent things like, “You feel soso good,” and “I can’t believe I get to have this,” and “Am I still breathing? No? Cool.”

You kissed down his jaw, showing no signs of stopping. You knew this was going to be one of those moments you’d both play on loop in your heads for a long, long time. “Still pretty, baby.”

He pants out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You simply keep moaning as you kept bouncing on his cock, he was thrusting back into you, going even deeper. Your eyes reaching the back of your skull from the way he was hitting all the right spots. It wouldn’t take long before you started screaming his name and showering him with endless compliments.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Ji.” You were a broken record at this point, nothing but your whines and his grunts filling the room. You felt tense, your clit was throbbing, the pressure build up making you dizzy. Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes off you for a second, the way your tits bounced through your shirt, the way your long acrylics dug into his skin, he wasn’t even sure how he was still alive.

This was better than any of those fake scenarios that he’d absentmindedly create in his head, better than finally beating a level that he’d get stuck on for hours. He was in pure heaven, and he felt his high approaching any minute.

“I-I think ’m gonna cum,” he desperately choked out, rocking into you like a dog in heat.

Jisung was wrecked beneath you. Hands fisting into the sheets, mouth agape, his eyes rolling back every time you sank down fully and clenched around him.

“Fuck, please- please, I-I can’t,” he whimpered, voice shaky, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His stomach tightening with every motion, trying so hard not to lose it.

You leaned forward and cupped his face, riding him a little harder, the slap of skin soft but steady. “You said you could take it, baby,” you whispered, voice syrup-sweet. “You begged for this.”

“I know, I- just- pleaseplease can I cum?” he panted, nearly on the verge of tears. His voice was raw, wrecked, like every second you didn’t let him was a cruel punishment. “’m so close, I’m- I’ll be good, I swear, just let me.. please—”

You seal his lips with yours, just to quiet the begging, grinning against his mouth as his hands fumbled for your hips again. He moaned into the kiss, his hips twitching helplessly under yours.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you beg,” you airly chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at him. His eyes were wild, glazed over, the pretty sounds he made were like music to your ears.

“Th-thank you,” he sobbed, the gratitude in his voice borderline ridiculous. “’m gonna- I’m- oh my god—”

And with that, he finally let go. Releasing every last drop of his seed into the condom, muscles tensing up, gripping you like you were his only tether to reality. He looked down to see your arousal creating a white, creamy ring around the base of his thick cock, almost about to cum again just from the mere sight alone. Your legs felt like jello, you were weightless, collapsing onto his sweaty, sticky chest as you try to catch your breath, brain all foggy in your post-coital daze.

You didn’t expect him to cry.

Okay— not, like, full sobbing. But a little misty-eyed? A little “what did I do to deserve this?” A sparkle in his gaze as you lay draped across his chest, both of you blissed out and glowing in the soft, RGB-lit afterglow?

Yeah.

He was trying so hard not to sniffle.

“You okay, baby?” You murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw.

Jisung nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “I just… I thought my first time would be like, awkward. Or disappointing. Or I’d accidentally sneeze into someone’s mouth and get banned from touching boobs forever.”

You laughed against his skin. “Definitely didn’t happen.”

“No,” he grins, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “this was better than anything I could’ve ever imagined in my head. Better than my first SSR pull in Genshin. Better than when I tried the seasonal spicy chicken ramen and lived.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “That’s a pretty long list of victories to beat.”

“You’re the only victory that matters.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned playfully, “who is this smooth man and what has he done with my sweaty, anime-obsessed virgin boyfriend?”

He huffed, burying his face into your hair. “He’s still sweaty and obsessed with anime. He just… also happens to be madly in love with you.”

You smiled into his chest.

“Also,” he added, completely deadpan, “I think I saw the shadow realm.”

You snorted. “When?”

“When you said I was pretty and grabbed my—” His voice cracked. He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god, I can’t say it. My ancestors are watching.”

You giggled, shifting to lay next to him and intertwining your fingers with his.

And for a while, it was just quiet. Safe. His hand slowly brushing over your side. Your heartbeat syncing with his. The faint whir of his PC fan still spinning in the corner because, of course, he never actually shut it down.

Then he jolted upright suddenly, as if he remembered something urgent.

“Wait.”

You blinked up at him, amused. “What?”

He slid off the bed, naked except for one, singular sock and scurried to his cluttered desk. You watched, dazed and curious, as he fumbled with drawers and cracked open a cabinet that definitely shouldn’t have had food in it.

Finally, he turned around triumphantly. Holding out a white, rectangular box.

“Pocky.”

You stared. “…Seriously?”

“I always imagined I’d give my girlfriend Pocky after her first time with me,” he said solemnly. “Like a weird little anime reward.”

You sat up and grinned. “You are a weird little anime reward.”

He climbed back into bed beside you and opened the box, pulling out one, white chocolate-dipped stick and offering it with both hands like it was a sacred gift.

You bit it gently from his fingers.

“Mmm. You’re such a good boy,” you purred with a playful smile, “giving me snacks after ruining me.”

He short-circuited. Almost choking on his own Pocky. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I hope so.”

You kissed his cheek, then his nose, and then— just to mess with him— you whispered, “Still thinking about how big you are, by the way.”

Jisung made a noise so high-pitched it could only be heard by dogs. He flopped face down into the sheets, flailing helplessly while you laughed and straddled his back.

“You have to stop saying things like that,” he muffled into the pillow.

“Why?” You asked sweetly, brushing his hair back. “You’re my pretty boy. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”

He peeked up at you, still pink, still glowing.

“…Promise you’re mine too?”

You leaned down and pressed your lips against his, soft and slow.

“Always.”

[venuslut]

FANTASIZING ABOUT a needy Choso Kamo ♡︎.

He can’t help it. Ever since you first introduced him to sex, he just can’t get enough. It’s not his fault that your cunt is so addicting, so much so that he’s often begging you to let him fuck you on his cock. It’s not his fault that you moan so beautifully that he can’t help but thrust into you harder so you’ll make more of those pretty sounds for him. It’s not his fault that you taste so good and he has to have you on his tongue, drinking your juices until you’re shaking and crying. He doesn’t mean to be so needy, but you bring out this side of him he can’t control.

How is he supposed to control himself when you walk around in those skimpy clothes, showing off your plump ass and perfect tits? It’s impossible. He’ll try to resist, have some self-control. But it isn’t long before he’s hugging you from behind, dotting wet kisses along your neck and pushing his hard-on into your ass. All while he’s begging you let him feel your wet cunt. And of course you’ll let him, how could you say no to your cute desperate boyfriend.

The minute you agree he has you laid out under him as he fucks his big cock into your tight cunt. Moaning and whimpering about how good it feels to be inside you again, his face red as he pushes every last inch of himself into you. He uses his weight to thrust into you, which only made your head go dizzy. He has you in a lazy mating press and your plush thighs slap against his hips every time he comes down, the sound of Choso’s deep thrusts is so musical, his tip abusing your womb to the point your eyes roll back. His mouth is so filthy too, and the worst part is, is that he doesn’t even realize it. “Fuck, baby... you’re sucking me in... your pussy’s so tight.” He groans into your ear, sucking onto your skin and leaving purple marks behind, intent on marking you as his. Although there was no point since you still had the hickeys from your last encounter, but it was never enough for Choso.

The poor curse is so in love with your body that he’ll go on for hours and hours just playing with your body. If it was up to him, you both would never leave the bed. Who needs to eat when he can just eat your cunt and you can suck his cock? Who needs to sleep when there’s a new position he wants to try? This man will not stop because that’s how addicted he is to your cunt. You curse the curse’s stamina and sometimes wish you had a normal boyfriend, but he usually fucks those thoughts right out of your head before you can try and act on them. “Choso… ngh!— h-hold on, my body…” you mumbled, unable to fully say your sentence. He hits a particularly sensitive spot and you let out a strangled cry, bucking your hips wildly to try and get that same pleasure again. Choso eyed your reaction, angling his hips to continue hitting that spot over and over again til you’re seeing stars and screaming out his name. You had no thoughts about shame, or how you should lower your voice, not when your handsome boy was fucking you within an inch of your life.

“Right there? ‘s that the spot, dove?” He pants, voice hoarse from his overwhelming desire for you. You’ve lost track of time, to obsessed with the way Choso has you creaming around his cock for the nth time. Everything was too much, but you loved it, in an addictive way. The overstimulation was addicting. His words were addicting. The sound of the bed hitting the wall was addicting. His cock was addicting. He was addicting. You always tease Choso about his neediness when in reality, you’re just as needy and obsessed as he is. You can tell Choso is close by the way his cock twitched inside you and how he speeds up his movements, rutting into you with wild abandon and chasing his orgasm.

You throw your head back into a pillow, your vision almost going black as you were consumed with ecstasy. The air was knocked out of your lungs with every snap of his hips, your senses filled with just the pressure of Choso. It felt like you were gonna throw up, but not in a bad way. “Baby… babybabybabybaby! A-ah! Mgn…” you cried out in pleasure, clawing at the sheets below you. Choso’s hands tightened around your hips, his careful grip growing into a bruising hold as he was solely focused on reaching his climax. “Hah— you feel sososososo good, dove. I love you, I love you so much,” he whimpered. It was right there, he could feel it, just a couple more thrusts and he’ll finally have his release. He wants to cum so bad, he needs to cum.

“Hey dove? C-can I fill your pretty pussy with my cum? Wanna cum inside you,” he begged, his voice broken as he pleads with you. “Please, my love… I want to stuff your pussy with my cum, wanna fill you up…” he continues, kissing your ankle and calf to convince you further. You didn’t need much convincing though, you were already to dumb and out-of-it to deny the poor curse. Frantically, you nodded your head, just wanting to feel his hot semen inside you. And you finally got your wish after a few more sloppy thrusts, before Choso goes still and empties his balls into your awaiting cavern. He lets out a guttural moan as ropes of cum spurt out. Slowly, he pulls out, his cock coated in a translucent white, his thighs and pelvis sticky from a mix of sweat and cum.

You both lay there in silence, the sounds of your labored breathing being the only noise echoing through the room. While coming down from your high, you remember that the reason you even got dressed today was because you had work. Annoyed, you lightly smack the upside of Choso’s head, complaining about how he made you late while you go to get out of bed and put your clothes back on. Choso rubs the area where you hit him as he watched you struggle to move and get out of bed, he looks at you like a kicked puppy and he knows he should be sorry for making you late but he can’t find it in him to feel guilty. Instead, Choso reaches out and wraps his arms around you, pulling you back further onto the bed and flushed against his sweaty chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and he lines soft kisses to your nape.

“I’m sorry, dove… Why don’t you call out and let me eat your pussy as an apology?”

[meenaxskz]

when the bed gave up on life (maknae line)

ot8 reactions | bf!skz x reader au genre: crack | light smut warnings: language | suggestive content hyung line | ✧ maknae line

han

He had you face down, ass up, back arched perfectly. You’re screaming. He’s moaning. The mattress is fighting for its life. “Fuckfuck-you’re so good,” he gasps, hair sticking to his forehead. He grabs your hips and snaps his hips forward. “You feel like-like-ugh, fuck, baby-” CREAACKK. SNAP. THUD. The entire bottom half of the bed collapses. Your stomach hits the mattress, knees slide off the edge, and Jisung goes down dramatically. Silence. Then: “…BABE?!” You gasp “DID WE JUST-” He flails from behind you. “OH MY GOD I THINK WE BROKE THE FUCKING BED!" "YOU THINK ?!" He scrambles off you, tripping over a pillow "are you okay?! Did I kill your knee?! Did I paralyze you?!" You rub your bruised hip but also you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe. “I think my spine just spoke Latin.” He sighs and sits up dramatically, sheets tangled around his waist looking like a depressed roman emperor. “THIS BED HAS JEALOUSY ENERGY. SHE COULDN’T HANDLE OUR LOVE.” “...I can’t believe we just broke a bed mid sex.” “I can. We were too powerful. It was me. I did that. With dick.” "Please shut up forever" --- You crawl off the wreckage. He flops back down like he’s in mourning. “You good?” you ask “I just need to lie here. Think about what I had. What I lost. What I could’ve finished.” “Babe. We’re naked on a diagonal mattress.” “I’M A CASUALTY OF PASSION”

felix

You’re on top, hips rolling slow, breath warm against his neck. Felix is gripping your waist, voice already wrecked. “Just like that, angel... fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes, lips brushing your collarbone. You moan softly, head spinning, thighs starting to shake. He pants, “You’re making me crazy... keep going, don’t stop-” CREEEAAKK. CRACK. SNAP. The mattress tilts. You both slide—fully connected—into the corner of the bed frame. Felix lets out the most Australian panic gasp of his life “OH-OH MY GOD” “WHAT JUST-” The bed’s gone. It’s gone. The leg’s bent inward like it lost a fight. A screw rolls past your hand like an insult. Felix blinks up at you, still pinned underneath. Wide eyed. Dazed. “…Did we just... break the bed?” You nod slowly, dazed. “Yeah. Yeah we did.” He covers his face with both hands. “I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC.” You laugh. “We were LITERALLY just grinding. How did we collapse it?!” “I DON’T KNOW BABY, I’M SMALL. I DIDN’T THINK I HAD THAT IN ME.” He sits up carefully, looking around at the wreckage.. Then he immediately cups your face. “Are you okay?? Did I squish you?? Do you need ice?? Or a hug?? Or like… a new mattress??” You’re cry laughing. “Felix your face-” “I THOUGHT I WAS BEING SOFT.” “You were being something.” He buries his face in your chest. “I’m going to cry.” --- Later, you’re lying on the now-floor mattress, still tangled. He looks at you, blushing “Do we… tell the others?” “No. We lie.” Felix sighs. “Okay. But if they find screws, I’m blaming your thighs.” You raise a brow. “My thighs?!” “YES. You were squeezing. You were strong. I was just an innocent man in love.”

seungmin

“You’re moving too much.” “I’m literally on top of you.” “I know. You’re riding me like I owe you rent and this bed was made in 2018.” You roll your eyes and grind harder. Seungmin groans, arms behind his head, jaw clenched. “Shit—okay—fine—do what you want—just don’t blame me when we die.” The mattress creaks. Wobbles. You’re bouncing now, thighs burning, hair clinging to your forehead. Seungmin’s watching you with that look... half-lidded, breathless, deeply unimpressed by how much he's enjoying this. “God you’re insane” he mutters. “You’re gonna send me to church.” “Shut up and tak—” CREEAAKK SNAP. FULL. BED. COLLAPSE. The right side caves in like karma. The mattress slants violently. You fall forward. He slides sideways. He grunts. You shriek. THUD. Silence. Then Seungmin blinks up at the ceiling, deadpan “…Did we just break the bed?” You groan into his chest. “Technically, the bed broke itself...” “Oh my god. Oh my god. I told you!” You roll off of him, breathless and “You’re fine.” “I told you it was weak.” “You were also moaning like I reinvented sex” He points at you, still half-buried in the sheets. “I can multitask.” Later, you’re both lying on the sideways mattress like it’s a sinking ship. Seungmin sips water, glaring at the broken frame. “This is why we can’t have nice things.” You grin. “You mean why you can’t handle this ass.” He snorts. “This ass took us to home depot levels of damage.”

I.N

He’s beneath you, cheeks flushed, biting his lip as he moans under his breath. “Shit you’re gonna make me black out—” You’re riding him like it’s your life’s mission. Hands on his chest, pace unforgiving. “Don’t be dramatic” you pant. “I’m seeing the edge of the universe. That’s not dramatic. That’s spiritual!” You lean back, bouncing harder. He whimpers. “Okay-okay-you’re doing too much-!” “You like it.” “I like living, too.” CREAK. SNAP. CRASH. You drop like a ragdoll. He slides down with you, legs flailing, head smacking the headboard lightly as the bed frame gives the fuck up. You land on top of him in a pile of limbs and sin. He gasps, completely stunned. “…Did you just break the bed?” You blink. “ME?! I was literally doing what you begged for.” “I said slower. Like three times. You were riding like we had a time limit!” You sit up, scandalized. “You were moaning!” “Because I was terrified. You were ruthless. I thought I was being punished!” You shove his shoulder. “You were gripping my hips like handlebars!” He covers his chest dramatically. “I was hanging on for dear life! You were galloping!” --- Ten minutes later, you glance at the crooked frame. “The bed’s dead.” He sighs, stroking your thigh he’s comforting you through your mess. “I mean… it had a good life. But yeah. You finished it off.” “Stop gaslighting me!” He smirks. “I’m just a poor innocent boy. You, on the other hand... thighs of destruction.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[enhani-ki]

caught - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, nsfw, aphrodisiac induced, explicit language, etc.

you had just gotten home, it was really too hot outside. your body were sticky with sweat from the walk back and swear,

it was one of the worst feeling ever.

the first thing you did was hop into the shower and let the cool water soothe your overheated skin.

and while drying yourself in the living room, you also emptied your bag onto the table. there's your phone, wallet, make up... until your eyes landed on a small box of chocolates.

your friend had shoved it into your bag earlier, complaining hers was too full.

curious, you snapped a photo and sent it to her.

[you sent a photo]

you: can i try this?

minutes passed but there's no reply, and longer you stared at the box, the more you thought, just one, why not?

so you ate one out, popping it into your mouth without any second thought.

you started to feel... weird, after a while. your cheeks flushed, your breathing grew heavier, and your body suddenly felt restless in a different way.

you had just stepped out of the shower, yet your skin felt hotter than before.

your nipples hardened too, you started pressing your legs together involuntarily. just groaning, tossing and turning against the couch, grasping for relief, while your mind wandered.

you miss your boyfriend.

your tall, gorgeous, dancer boyfriend. the man who had the most perfect face and body, perfect hands, hands that knew every inch of you. hands that could grip your hips as he fuck you from behind, he could wrap it around your throat and make you whimper. his voice, his smile...

"riki..."

"fuck," you exhaled, the towel had already slipped off your body while you were rushing to your bedroom. you sat over a pillow and rolled your hips fast and desperate.

your fingers dug into it as you rocked harder, imagining the way your boyfriend can fill you up, how good he feels inside you. your mind replayed the last time he had you pinned against the wall or bed, fucking you so deep you were actually going dumb and crying. you missed him. you missed his weight pressing you down, his breath against your ear, his cock stretching you open-

and ni-ki's heart had nearly stopped when he heard moans the second he stepped into the house.

his body moved on instinct, long legs carrying him fast towards the bedroom. did something happen? are you okay? what the fuck is going on-

is there someone else with you?

and you were there, so lost in your own pleasure, so caught up in the fantasy, that you didn't hear the door open. you didn't hear the footsteps, nor his belt being unbuckled behind your back.

then a hand suddenly covered your mouth, and pulling your body away from the pillow.

a startled gasp left your lips, you tried to scream. "help-"

"you couldn't wait for me?" ni-ki asked, his breath brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

you scared him too but all he could think right now is his poor baby just got so desperate and had to fuck a pillow.

his lips crashed onto yours before you could even answer, kissing you upside down—just hungry and possessive.

"riki," you moaned, biting your lip. "i need you so bad, baby."

your body arched, your skin burned with need to feel him everywhere. then you sat up, hands trembling as you pulled his zipper down, removing his jeans and boxers fully in one go.

his cock sprang free, thick and aching with precum glistening at the tip.

your mouth just... watered.

and just as you were about to take him into your mouth, ni-ki suddenly shifted, lying down beside you instead.

you didn't even care, you just positioned yourself above him, bringing your knees to either side of his head.

you want to suck him off first but you also needed something either like a friction to keep you from aching.

then you leaned down, wrapping your fingers around his cock before taking him into your mouth. ni-ki groaned, his grip tightening on your ass the moment your tongue swirled around the tip.

then he pulled you down onto his mouth even more.

you just whimpered, struggling to keep up as your pleasure from his tongue made you dizzy, and feral.

you were humping the pillow for too long so now you couldn't last in his face. your walls started clenching, your moans muffled around his cock as you came hard.

ni-ki was there drinking and licking, keeping you right there, making sure he got every drop of your release.

he flipped you onto your back after, his body moved on top of yours, cock already pressed against your entrance, one that was already wet from your mouth.

"please," you whispered, holding on the back of his neck.

"okay," he kissed you, sliding into you so deep, he had both of you moaning at the stretch. "it's so tight," he groaned, burying his face on your neck.

the pace was slow at first, but you needed more so you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, making him lose it.

his hips snapped into you fast and relentless. his mouth found your tits, sucking hard, leaving marks, moaning against your skin.

every thrust sent sparks through your overstimulated body, leaving you dizzy, and delirious with need. "faster, riki..." you begged.

ni-ki cursed, obeying immediately, fucking into you even harder, and rougher. the sound of skin slapping, moans and breathless gasps, filled the room.

his hands were everywhere gripping your thighs, pinning your wrists above your head, grabbing your face to kiss you deeply between thrusts. you felt like you were burning, like your body couldn't handle this much pleasure at once, but you also needed more and more of his dick.

ni-ki panicked, "fuck, baby- i'm gonna-"

you moaned as his pace turning erratic. "me too... gonna cum."

your back arching as another orgasm crashed over you, your walls were squeezing him so tight he's losing his mind. the feeling sent him spiraling. he groaned loudly, his movements grew sloppy as he came inside you, his hips jerking with every wave of his release.

his body trembled against yours. both of you were gasping for air and grasping at each other like you'd fall apart otherwise.

ni-ki didn't move after he came, he stayed inside you, panting, his forehead pressed against yours, hands gripping on your hips, heart pounding while his entire body still tingling from how insane that was.

"holy shit," he breathed out.

you let out a breathless laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair, holding him in your arms. "yeah..."

he swallowed, hands sliding down your sides, still gripping, still needing to feel you. like the thought of stopping, pulling out, and not being inside you will hurt him.

"baby," he murmured, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. "i still wanna fuck you."

you let out a soft giggle, your body clenched around him told him you wanted it too.

"i don't think you can still move," you whispered, playing with his hair.

ni-ki groaned against your skin, trailing kisses up your neck.

"but that's fine. i'll do all the work now."

"you're perfect," he chuckled in relief.

you can feel him softening, but somehow his dick were still filling you inside perfectly, still pulsing with need despite how wrecked he was.

you smirked, biting your lip as you rolled your hips just a little.

ni-ki whined, his fingers dug into your skin, his head dropping against your shoulder. "fuck, baby, don't-" but you did it again, rocking against him, feeling him twitch back to life inside you.

a soft chuckle left your lips as you kissed his temple. "i thought you wanted to feel me?"

"i do," he groaned, his voice breathless, wrecked. "but i'm so fucking sensitive."

you ran your hands down his back, nails grazing his skin lightly as you slowly lifted your hips before sinking back down. a strangled moan left his throat, his arms wrapping tighter around you.

"oh- shit..."

you grinned, pressing your lips to his ear. "too much?"

ni-ki let out a shaky exhale, his hands trembling as they tried to guide your movements even though his body was too weak to follow through. "no," he rasped. "don't stop."

you took over, moving at your own pace, rolling your hips, feeling him grow hard again inside you. ni-ki became helpless beneath you, making noises and broken whimpers as his body shuddered with every grind of your hips.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tilting his head up to look at you. his eyes were glassy, blown with pleasure, his lips swollen and parted as he panted, begging for more without saying a word.

he looks so pretty, blushing and fucked out.

his fingers dug into your thighs as his hips weakly tried to meet yours. "you're ruining me."

you smiled, leaning down to kiss him, swallowing every moans as you rode him, doing exactly what he wanted—because after all, he was the one who said he still wanted to fuck.

and you can't even remember what happened after, now you slowly woke up with ni-ki pressing soft kisses to your face, and your body was aching in the best way possible.

he then stood up to get water, running his hands through his hair but his dazed eyes flickered to the small box that had fallen from your bag. he furrowed his brows, his still pleasure-addled brain struggled to process but somehow, he was able to comprehend that the chocolate is laced with aphrodisiac.

"so this is how you were able to keep going?" ni-ki asked holding up the chocolate.

you tilted your head in confusion, he threw the box for you to catch.

"oh my god?" you scoffed in disbelief, "this is why i was so fucking horny..."

ni-ki laughed, unwrapping and munched on one.

"wha- why'd you eat that?"

he walked towards you and cupped your face, pulling you into a messy, chocolate-flavored kiss.

so ready to be ruined even more.

a/n: it wasn't even their chocolate T_T but anyway, thanks for waiting. this is a very short one, hopefully i can finish the others so i could post it right away <3

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[iamthatonefangirl]

So I'm curious on your take on the winter soldier causing some genuine damage by accident in the middle of sex.. like . Maybe forgetting his strength or something

I love your writing ❤️

ok I fwt anon... here's how I imagine it would go

(lmk if you'd like to choose an emoji!!)

also disclaimer: homicidal ideations (NOT towards reader I promise.) fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship. dark themes. read at your own discretion.

~~~

like always, he's up on his knees behind you, while your own knees are digging into the sheets. you're holding yourself up on your forearms and whining, keening into every thrust.

there's nothing more than the sounds of his hips pounding against yours, the little breaths he takes with every movement, and your endless moans as he gives it to you just the way you both like it.

he's holding your hips, moving you against him in time with his rhythm as he fucks you.

maybe you try to move, try to adjust your positioning, and as you do, his next thrust hits wrong. it's some fluke thing that makes you scream out in pain.

he's immediately taken aback, hands falling from where he's gripping you, removing all contact entirely. his eyes open wide, scanning you from head to toe, unsure of what the fuck just happened as you fall to your side. you bring a hand to your abdomen, clutching your stomach in pain, and your other hand comes to your face, biting down on your knuckle as you try to hold it together, and try like hell not to cry.

you don't know what the hell just happened. he doesn't know what the hell just happened. but something went majorly wrong and now you're cowering in pain, curled in a ball, burying your face in the pillow and hiding your tears from him.

his mind is almost blank, staring at you, hands moving even further away from you so he can't hurt you any more than he already has, apparently. he's trying to figure out what he did wrong, what's wrong with you, what he's supposed to do now??

you lay there as the cramping in your stomach begins, hissing through your teeth. he glances down to see a trail of blood dripping between your thighs.

you're the one person this isn't supposed to happen to.

the one person he doesn't want to see bleed. the one person he doesn't want to see crying in pain. the one person he doesn't want to inflict damage on.

he's not a man of words.

so in less than a second, he's up, running for whatever he can find to help you. you assume he's not coming back, and through the cramping and stinging pain, you mentally plan the way you're going to curse him out later for leaving you here like this.

he comes back, carelessly throwing a water bottle next to you as he carefully maneuvers you onto your back and brings a warm cloth between your legs.

you just lay there as he cleans up the small trickle of blood and holds the cloth in place for a few minutes.

don't bleed out. don't bleed out. please.

when it comes to his victims? he loves watching the blood pour from every orifice, from every nook and cranny as the life slowly leaves their eyes, their skin going pale and cold. it feels like heaven to him.

not you.

this is his own personal hell.

after a while, he gets up and discards the cloth in the bathroom. you're not hissing in pain anymore, recovering quickly enough. he stands in the corner of the room and debates what to do.

you watch him for a minute, holding eye contact with him as you try, and fail, to read what he's thinking.

he's thinking about leaving and never coming back, if only to keep you safe from him. from what he's capable of, from what he can't, won't do to you.

"please," you say calmly, holding out a hand to him.

he waits. thirty seconds go by. a minute.

you roll your eyes and look up to the ceiling, letting your hand fall to your side. you should've known better than to ask.

and then the weight on the bed shifts next to you, and he's wrapping himself around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. he looks so small and vulnerable in a way you've never seen.

you thread your fingers through his hair as he breathes you in. you can hear it, his shaky inhales, as he listens to your heartbeat and feels the heat of your body against his. the signs of life he usually puts out are all still there, thank god.

he's cautious, ever so cautious to not put any weight on you below the waist. if he caused you any more pain, he'd be out the door without hesitation.

he clings to you like never before, and you hold him tightly. you know what it means. this is his version of an apology.

the closest he can get to telling you he cares.

~~~

I'm literally a sucker for this weird, fuck ass relationship they have. they're so weird I love them. send more ideas.

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22

[thekinslayed]

A Mother's Work

summary | With their daughter sick with a fever, Aemond and his wife work to quell her distress. (based on this request.)

pairing | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

tags | fluff, sick baby Aemyra :(, DAD AEMOND, pure marital bliss, part of EOD but can still be read standalone!

wordcount | 1.6k

note | hi :) not fully back yet but this was something i wrote quickly while i'm procrastinating studying for my exam teehee

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Wails blasted through the spacious apartments, the sharp sound bouncing off the red brick that enclosed Aemond and his wife. Their young babe was in distress, ailed by a fever brought about by the change of the seasons. The one-eyed prince watched helplessly as you bounced your daughter in your arms, frowning as it failed to soothe young Aemyra.

“I do not know what ails her,” you sighed, brows tightly knit together as anguish stitched into the skin between. Your daughter’s face was growing redder with every cry, now turning into screams as the sickness made her restless.

“Should I call for the maester?” he suggested, earning a quick shake of your head in refusal.

“No, he’ll only offer to give her poppy milk again. I don’t want that anywhere near her,” you responded, to which Aemond nodded in understanding. The knock on your door barely broke its way through Aemyra’s loud sobs, the heavy oak revealing the wetnurse carrying a bowl of water and some linens. “You could put it by the bedside, Beth. I’m afraid it’ll be a while before she settles down.” The young maid offered her service to watch the babe through the night, to which you swiftly refused, stating you’d rather have her sleep in your bedchambers.

“Here, let me have her,” Aemond offered, taking Aemyra into his arms. His daughter’s blood always ran a bit warm, thanks to the dragon blood in her, but she was evidently hotter to the touch in his hold. It permeated through the thin cotton of his undershirt, warming his chest as he kept her close. The young father tried to soothe his babe by running a comforting hand down her small back as he softly bounced her, pressing his nose into her temple. “What’s wrong, my little dragon? What is bothering you, hm? You don’t feel well?” he cooed, pressing light kisses to her cherubic cheeks. Her answer came in the form of the thrashing of her small arms against his back, and the fat droplets of tears running down her reddened skin. The sight was enough to render a painful pang in Aemond’s chest, a twin feeling of distress emanating from the couple who remained clueless in soothing their firstborn. 

The prince turned his head to where you were kneeling on the bed as you arranged for Aemyra to sleep between the two of you. Beth was helping you put down the small pillows to keep her centered before you dismissed her with a grateful smile and a promise to call on her for help should you need it. Though the crease in your brows remained as Aemyra’s cries did not seem to be dying down any sooner. Aemond wouldn’t be surprised if the sound managed to reach his father’s chambers on the top floor, waking the nearly rotting king to his granddaughter’s roaring pair of lungs. 

All too sudden, her cries started to die down, which made Aemond start to think she was starting to feel better. Then Aemyra started to lurch, and something warm was dripping down Aemond’s back. You gasped, making your way to take your daughter back into your arms to clean her up. “Thank the gods–” you sighed in relief, wiping down a now-calmed Aemyra. “—that should take some of the heat out from within.” 

“A good sign then,” Aemond said, not minding the hot trail of milky vomit down his back. He could hardly feel disgusted when the crease between your eyebrows now unknitted itself and his daughter’s eyes were starting to grow heavy as what was bothering her was now starting to dissipate. 

With the peace in their apartments finally restored, Aemond peeled the soiled cotton of his back and settled on his side of the mattress as you swayed Aemyra to sleep, lightly humming while you pressed your nose into her skin. You settled your daughter into the little crevice you created out of pillows and linens, tucking her in well before kissing her forehead. The prince felt himself starting to drift off as he watched you. He was in awe of you, with the natural ease you approached motherhood with, and how well you’ve adapted to this duty. It was times like these when he could hardly find himself believing the fact that the little bundle in your arms was purely yours and his, born out of unexpected love and newfound loyalty. Yet despite the unexpected, everything felt good. Everything felt right.

It was the sound of water dripping that pulled Aemond out of his brief slumber. His good eye opened to the dimness in your marital chambers, the only light being the soft glow of the candle on your side and the subtle moonlight beaming through the windows. Aemond found you still sitting on the edge of the bed, right where he last saw you before his exhaustion had gotten the better of him. You dipped a piece of cloth into the bowl of water Beth had brought in hours ago, before wiping the damp cloth along the babe’s arms and legs. Aemond turned to his side to face you better, draping his arm over Aemyra’s pillows to reach for your wrist. His lips lifted into a small smile as you halted your movements, eyes flickering to meet his gaze.

“You should rest, my love,” he whispered.

“I find myself unable to find sleep, not until she feels better,” you answered softly, looking at him with fondness despite the exhaustion painted into lines underneath your eyes. 

“She will,” Aemond reassured you, squeezing your wrist. “She has a wonderful mother taking good care of her.” 

Your smile widened at his words, eyes slightly glimmering in the low sheen of the night. You shifted his hand into yours, pressing a soft kiss into the back of his hand in gratitude. Placing the damp cloth onto Aemyra’s forehead, you finally lifted the sheets to settle on your side of the mattress, much to your husband’s relief. 

You fell asleep rather quickly, though still fitful as you would awaken every hour or so to check on the babe. It came as no surprise when you slept well into the late morn, sleeping through Aemyra’s lively kicks that woke her father. The warm relief swarmed Aemond’s chest as he rose from his slumber at the sight of his daughter’s improved condition. She was no longer alarmingly hot to the touch, and she was as exuberant as she always was. “Hello, my dragon,” Aemond smiled, tickling her chin with his fingertip. “You’re feeling quite better, aren’t you? Yes, you are.” Aemyra responded in incoherent babbles, her plump cheeks dimpling as she smiled cheerfully. It made him chuckle, the prince overly glad that her ailments from the night past were now gone. Deciding to let you get your rest for a moment longer, Aemond took his daughter into his arms and made his way to the nursery for a quick change with the wetnurse. His little dragon glowed like the fever was never there, jumping in his hold as her wordless chatter echoed through the halls. “Let’s see if mummy’s woken up,” he said, chuckling as Aemyra seemed to respond in her own language. He opened the door just in time to find you stretching your limbs along the span of the vast bed, eyes blinking wide to find the two approaching the bed. 

“Look who’s feeling all better, dear wife,” Aemond smiled.

“Oh, my darling!” you exclaimed, sitting up and opening your arms wide to take Aemyra into your arms. The smile on the prince’s face threatened to ache his cheeks, but it was no matter when the sight before him was this lovely. You peppered loving kisses all over your daughter’s skin, making her squeal in delight as you nuzzled into the folds of her neck. “I’m so happy you’re bette– Oh! You must be hungry!” 

His daughter was smart like her father, already knowing how to get what she wanted when she wanted it despite only being six moons young. Aemyra’s tiny fingers took hold of the strings of your nightgown, pulling them loose as a gesture of wanting to feed. You both shared an amused look and a laugh at her antics, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder against the headboard while you shifted Aemyra in your arms to latch her onto your bosom. Aemond played with her tiny feet, holding them both in one hand and squeezing the plump folds in her legs. His babe was a healthy girl, well taken care of by an ever-devoted mother. 

“That fever must have left her starved,” the prince mused, earning a soft hum of agreement from his wife. 

“As am I, in truth,” you chuckled, mindlessly running a fingertip down her nose. She had her father’s nose, as well as the hair and the amethyst hues that made her look utterly Valyrian. Though, Aemond would argue her beauty was all yours, and the effervescent life behind her eyes that mirrored the ones he always adored in yours. 

Taking your free hand in his, the prince placed a kiss of devotion on your knuckles, then another one on your temple. “Well done, my love,” he whispered against your hair. Aemond pulled away to meet your gaze, one that looked at him with a tenderness he used to never imagine would become familiar. “She is lucky to have you care for her like this… as am I.”

The rest of Aemond’s day would be spent with his little family, snuggled up in bed and staying attached in the comfort of their chambers. The prince may not have been one to find tranquility in time spent in nothingness, but everything felt good. Everything felt right.

[chanelrolls]

THE MOTH HOUSE | Zayne Li, Caleb Xia 🔞

synopsis. growing up with them was fun, until they turned into fully grown men.

pairing. zayne & caleb x reader

tags. afab!fem reader, slight dead dove, implied pseudocest, dubcon, minor age gap, mutual pining, cheesy romance, slowburn, tension, childhood trio, kissing at 16, eventual smut (but they are adults), oral (m!receiving), sandwich, 3some, nipple play, fingering, 18+

a/n. this is very plot-based so prepare a snack while at it! i didn't do enough proofreading so might be messy and typo-filled lol. but if you're into tension-focused fics, this one is so for you

wc. 13.2k

picture ©️. HOBI

when you were nine years old, you weren’t supposed to follow them that far into the woods.

zayne had told you to wait near the fence, but you never listened when he said stuff like that. and caleb? he didn’t even look back. he just shouted something about a butterfly and took off like his sneakers had wings, crashing through branches and disappearing into the trees.

so of course you went after them, because you were nine and bored. and maybe a little afraid they’d forget you existed if you didn’t keep up.

when you finally found them, caleb was crouched in front of this sad little shed that looked like it’d collapse if you sneezed too hard. the door was hanging off like a crooked jaw, and one window was so cloudy it looked like it had cataracts.

but inside?

there were moths. everywhere!

“woah,” caleb breathed, sticking his head through the door. “this is... this is epic!”

zayne rolled his eyes. “it’s dirty.”

“no, it’s mysterious,” caleb corrected, already halfway inside. “you gotta think bigger, man.”

you hung by the door, nose wrinkled and arms crossed. “are they gonna fly into my face?”

“only if you scream,”

zayne muttered something under his breath about bacteria and tetanus but followed you both in anyway, stepping carefully like the floor might give out beneath him. which it might’ve.

but for some reason, that little shed was perfect.

you spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning it with a broom caleb stole from the neighbor’s garage (without asking), and zayne found some flattened cardboard boxes to sit on. you claimed the back corner near the broken window and said it was your ‘study area’ even though you didn’t bring any books. caleb said it was for “planning missions.” while zayne said you all needed vaccinations.

caleb wanted to call it “fort destiny,” but you shot that down immediately, “too dramatic!”

“you’re dramatic,” he shot back.

zayne voted for “the shed.”

“boring,” caleb and you agreed in unison.

so it became the moth house. no one really agreed on it. it just stuck.

you went there every day that summer. you brought juice boxes and mismatched pillows, old comic books, and one time, caleb even dragged in a radio that only played static and one fuzzy country station. it was too hot most days, and everything smelled like dust and pine needles. but you didn’t care.

you were nine. and this was your kingdom.

sometimes caleb would fall asleep snoring on the crate while zayne read something about how moths get confused by moonlight. other times, you’d all lie flat on your backs and try to find shapes in the broken ceiling. caleb saw a dragon. zayne said that was ridiculous. then you said you saw a chicken.

zayne tried to pretend like he wasn’t smiling, but you caught it.

and once, just once, you scraped your hand on a nail when you tripped, and your lip started wobbling even though you swore you weren’t going to cry. caleb freaked out and offered you a chewed-up piece of gum, but zayne just quietly pulled out the tiny first aid kit he always carried like a mini grandpa.

he didn’t say anything while he cleaned it. but his hands were careful, and he gave you the only sticker from the band-aid box that wasn’t ugly.

later, when the sun started dipping low and the moths began fluttering again, soft and sleepy, you all sat in a row by the doorway.

“we’ll still hang out when we’re grown-ups, right?” you asked.

“depends,” zayne said.

“on what?”

“if you stop eating glue.”

caleb cackled so hard he almost fell off the step. you shoved zayne's shoulder and he actually laughed, a little. just a tiny puff of air through his nose.

but you all knew the answer was yes.

on a sunday, you were not expecting to get married that afternoon.

you didn’t even ask for this. you were just sitting cross-legged in the grass, braiding little clovers into a ring, when caleb plopped down beside you and said, all breathless, “i’m gonna be your groom.”

you blinked. “huh?”

“for the wedding,” he added, puffing out his chest like a proud pigeon. “we’re getting married under the swing set. it’s the law.”

“whose law?”

“mine,” caleb grinned handsomely, showing off a juice-stained gap in his teeth. “i found the tie first, and i already practiced saying 'i do' in the mirror like… ten times.”

zayne, who had been sitting nearby flipping through some dinosaur book, looked up over the top of it. “that’s not how it works,” he muttered, adjusting the rim of his round glasses.

caleb narrowed his eyes. “you weren’t even playing.”

“i am now,” zayne said calmly, standing up and brushing grass off his shorts. “and i’m pretty sure she deserves to choose her groom, not be told by a boy who still eats crayons.”

“that was first grade!” caleb snapped, standing up to glare into zayne at eye-level.

you looked between them, amused. “i didn’t say i was marrying anyone.”

caleb ignored you. “i bring snacks to share. that’s groom material.”

“i helped her with her math homework,” zayne said, folding his arms. “long division. actual suffering.”

“i built her a fort last week—”

“that collapsed on her.”

“but it was cool before that!”

“you didn’t even factor wind speed.”

“it was made of couch cushions, zayne!”

you sighed and pressed the clover ring to your forehead like a very tired queen. “okay, okay. we can just, maybe, pretend there’s two grooms?”

both boys fell silent.

“...that’s not how weddings work,” zayne flatly remarked.

“sounds like she’s choosing both of us,” caleb smirked.

“no. she’s not.”

“yes, she is.”

"whoever wins at tag gets to be the groom!" you exclaimed with a clover ring pinched between your fingers like a sacred treasure.

caleb didn’t even wait for a countdown. he yelped, “yes!” and tore across the grass, limbs flailing, sneakers barely clinging to his feet.

“no cheating, okay!” you called after him, kind of amused, and kind of exasperated.

he didn’t answer. he just kept running like a man with a mission and a full juice box in his system.

you turned to zayne, but he wasn’t even moving. instead, he had already sat back down on the grass beside you, legs crossed while pulling something small from the pocket of his hoodie.

you blinked at him. “...aren’t you gonna run?”

he looked up, shrugged. “i don’t wanna.”

“but, what about the wedding?”

“i’m already the groom,”

your mouth opened, then shut. “how do you figure?”

he held something out to you. a dandelion.

"here. this is a flower," he said, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious. "you need flowers for weddings."

you stared at him, a little speechless.

meanwhile...

caleb, halfway across the yard and pumping his arms like he was in the olympics, tripped dramatically over a rock. he landed with a shout and skidded in the grass, dirt all over his knees and elbows.

he groaned, sat up, looked around only to realize that zayne wasn’t running behind him. at all.

"...hey!" caleb barked like a dog, furious

and betrayed, "why aren’t you tagging me?!"

zayne didn’t look up. just dusted a bit of grass off your shoulder like the gentleman he totally believed he was. caleb stomped back, dirt-smudged and puffing. “this isn’t fair!”

zayne blinked at him. “you lost.”

“i wasn’t racing myself!”

“you kinda were.”

you tried not to giggle.

"i hate both of you," caleb muttered, sulking as he sat down beside you and crossed his arms.

you held up the clover ring between them, solemn. "do you still wanna get married or not?"

they both looked at each other. then at you.

"...can we take turns being the groom?" caleb mumbled.

zayne narrowed his eyes. "i'm not sharing."

you sighed. because ugh, being nine was already this exhausting.

when you turned twelve, it started with thunder, low and slow like a grumble from the sky’s stomach. your lights flickered once, then again, before surrendering completely. the living room sighed into darkness.

you were halfway through brushing your hair when the first knock came.

it turns out to be caleb, soaked through the sleeves, and holding a duffel bag in one hand with a half-squished bag of marshmallows in the other. “power’s out! mom said i could crash here. also i brought snacks. kinda.”

five minutes later, a second knock came. you could already predict that it would be zayne. and he shows up not wet at all. he had an umbrella, a change of clothes, and a battery-operated reading lamp tucked under his arm. “your house has the safest structural foundation. i did the math.”

and just like that, the bed in your room was claimed. caleb flung himself across the cushions like a starfish. “dibs! this whole bed is mine cus i got here first.”

“you’re dripping on the upholstery,” zayne muttered, already rearranging the floor cushions with the precision of a mini architect. “besides, i brought a lamp. and logic.”

“i brought vibes,” caleb snapped back.

the bed was definitely too small. it was meant for one, maybe two if they didn’t mind getting elbowed in the ribs. but three?ridiculous.

“my foot is literally on the floor,” caleb let out a groan, flopping dramatically onto his back, arm flung over his face like some kind of old-timey opera star. “i’m gonna get frostbite and die.”

“your foot is not on the floor,” zayne argued, already facing the wall, blanket pulled over his ear. “and scientifically speaking, that’s not even how frostbite works indoors.”

“okay, mr. dictionary. then explain why i’m freezing to death right now.”

“maybe because you won’t stop moving like a hyperactive penguin,” you sided with zayne, wedged miserably between the two of them, blanket riding up your legs, one sock missing. “also, who kicks in their sleep?!”

“not me,” caleb said.

“definitely you,” zayne and you answered at the same time. “you’re a danger to national sleep.”

caleb turned his face into the pillow to muffle a laugh. “you sound like a sleep robot.”

“you sound like a vacuum,” zayne mumbled, deadpan. “loud, and constantly in the way.”

you snorted, and caleb immediately elbowed you lightly. “hey, don’t take his side!”

“i’m not taking sides,” you shoved him back. “i’m just agreeing with facts.”

caleb gasped. “betrayed. in my own home. wait, this isn’t even my home. betrayal squared.”

zayne let out a tiny breath, maybe a laugh, and shifted. “if you two are done performing shakespeare, maybe we can actually sleep.”

“fine,” caleb muttered. “but if i fall off the bed and die in the night, i hope my ghost haunts you both.”

you reached out blindly and tugged the edge of the blanket over him again. “you won’t.”

“you promise?”

“yeah.”

it was quiet for a bit. just the sound of sheets rustling, of breathing starting to slow. then, caleb’s voice, soft and already sleepy: “…you’re not cold, right?”

zayne didn’t answer immediately. then, barely above a whisper: “not if you stop hogging the covers.”

you smiled into the dark. it took a while, but eventually, you all settled, limbs tangled, breathing steady, three messy little universes orbiting one too-small bed.

and even though someone would probably fall off in the middle of the night, for now… it was enough. your tiny, chaotic world, all tucked in under the same old quilt.

during the day of caleb's football game, you were there.

the sun was hot in that way that made your scalp itch. metal bleachers burned the backs of your thighs, and the little paper fan in your hand was doing next to nothing. still, you sat there, legs swinging, a half-eaten orange popsicle clutched in your palm with your eyes trained on the field.

caleb stood out immediately.

maybe it was the way his jersey stuck to him, number 12 plastered to his back in grass-stained white. or the way his hair, damp from warm-ups, curled slightly at the ends. his socks were mismatched again. always one red stripe, one blue. his coach gave up on him weeks ago.

but when he ran?

you forgot about everything else.

the way his body moved, loose and fast and sharp with energy, it made your heart do this weird thud thing in your chest. and then he grinned across the field, squinting into the bleachers like he was looking for someone.

you waved, stupidly. almost jumping off the bleachers with your bagpack bouncing behind your back.

then, he saw.

caleb’s smile widened. “found her,” he mouthed, before jogging back into formation.

you bit into your popsicle.

“so.” a voice beside you sounded, seemingly sounding like it belonged to somebody you know too well, his tone was flat and unimpressed.

you turned, nearly dropping your popsicle out of surprise.

zayne stood beside the bleachers, one strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder, a stack of thick books tucked against his chest. his button-down shirt was too neat for a saturday, and there was a pencil behind his ear like he forgot it was even there.

his hair, black and just slightly too long, was falling into his eyes again. he didn't fix it this time, like he was more worried about something in particular.

“...zayne?”

he looked straight at you, not unkind, just... unreadable. he always looked like he was solving a problem in his head. “i thought,” he glanced down, then quietly, “you were coming to the science fair.”

your stomach dropped a little. “i- i wanted to. but caleb’s game... he, um, he said he’d be really upset if i missed this one, and—”

“i see.” he shifted, averting his gaze to the game at the bottom. “it’s not a big deal.”

you winced. “zayne, i'm sorry...”

he didn’t answer. instead, he climbed up the bleachers, sat beside you, with the books stacked neatly on his lap. his shoulder barely brushed yours.

you sat in silence for a moment, before the roar of the crowd reverbated throughout the vicinity. the whistle blew, caleb’s voice rang across the field, laughing, cheering.

“he’s good,”

you nodded, quietly. “yeah.”

“i built a robot that follows voice commands back at the science fair,” he said a second later, eyes still on the game. “it waved when i told it to.”

your head whipped to look at him, and he didn’t meet your gaze. but his lips quirked, just barely. “you’re the only one it listened to, though.”

you tried to keep your eyes on the game. you really did.

but zayne was talking, and while he talked, he had this way of pulling you in like you were inside the blueprint of his brain. he pointed at his sketchbook now, flipping past careful diagrams and scribbled notes

“and then here,” he murmured, “i rigged the infrared sensor to- wait, no, see this?” you leaned closer, feeling how his shoulder was warm against yours. “that’s where it malfunctioned,” he added, tapping the corner of the paper with the side of his finger. “but i fixed it. i rerouted the code.”

you smiled. “you’re really smart, you know that?”

he looked at you then. really looked.

your breath caught, not because it was romantic, not exactly. but because zayne, your zayne, looked like someone who’d outgrown his baby face without telling you. his lashes were darker than you remembered.

“i’m just trying stuff,” he pursed his lips together, blinking slowly, “doesn’t mean it’s good.”

you shook your head. “it is!”

on the field, you weren't aware that caleb had scored again. the crowd burst into cheers while you didn’t. you didn’t even look.

caleb’s head turned toward the bleachers, expecting your face, expecting your grin, your thumbs-up, the kind of cheer he only cared about when it came from you. but instead... you were hunched beside zayne, whispering and smiling. like he wasn’t even there.

his stomach twisted.

he jogged back, tossing the ball between his hands with a bit more force now. his eyes didn’t leave the two of you.

caleb narrowed his eyes when he catches you giggling at something zayne said, leaning in closer to hear him better through the cheers.

and then he hurled the ball too far, too high, directly toward the bleachers.

right at zayne.

it landed with a loud thunk against the metal rail, bouncing down and nearly smacking zayne in the knee. “oops!” caleb called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “sorry!”

you both turned, startled. you looked down at the field, at caleb. and he was grinning too wide that it reached his eyes.

“guess i missed,” he added, voice bright and sharp like a joke with teeth.

sixteen was strange. not in a dramatic, movie-kind-of-way, but strange in the small, quiet shifts. like how caleb didn’t always wait at your locker anymore,

or how zayne stopped answering texts right away because he was “studying,”

even though you knew it probably meant he was tired or stressed. or avoiding something he couldn’t name.

you were still a trio, sure. but the threads were looser now. like someone had tugged too hard at one corner, and no one knew how to weave it back.

zayne had books under his arm constantly, a pencil always behind his ear. he talked about scholarships and internships and universities you hadn’t even heard of yet.

sometimes he forgot to look up when you waved. though sometimes he didn’t forget, he just pretended to.

caleb had his team. he walked different now, with a swagger he never used to have, like he’d grown into himself a little too fast. he laughed louder in hallways you weren’t standing in. sometimes you’d pass him and he’d smell like sweat and cologne and someone else’s perfume.

and you... you were trying not to be too obvious. not to sit too close. not to ask too much. because at sixteen, people started assuming things. and you didn’t want to mess anything up.

not with zayne, who still offered his umbrella when it rained. not with caleb, who still flicked your forehead when you zoned out too long.

you were careful now, too careful.

because you still saw them as your brothers. just caleb and zayne. nothing more. nothing less.

but sometimes, in the way they looked at you in hallways and crowds, you started to wonder if they still saw you the same way.

the rain had been falling since last period, but you didn’t realize how hard until you were already halfway to the gate with no umbrella and nowhere to run. now you were tucked under a narrow shed behind the gym, cold water dripping from your elbows, while your uniform clung to places you didn’t want it to.

you wrapped your arms around yourself. not from the chill, really. but from how aware you were of how your soaked shirt left nothing to the imagination. your skirt wasn’t doing much better even. if someone saw you right now…

“you shouldn’t be standing out like that.”

you jumped at the voice, breath catching in your throat.

zayne stood just a few steps away. he didn’t look like he’d run through the rain. he looked perfectly composed, and his umbrella hovered neatly above him, barely a drop on his shoulders. he wore his uniform right, as always.

he looked at you, and his gaze slipped downward to your chest, your skirt, your trembling thighs... then it snapped back up like he hadn’t meant to. but you saw it, and he knew you saw it.

you tried not to shift under his stare. “i didn’t plan to... get stuck.”

“obviously.”

he hesitated, then stepped under the shed, offering the umbrella out to you. his fingers brushed yours when you took it, lingering a bit too long. “i’ll walk you home.”

“it's alright, you don’t have to—”

“i want to.” he said it too fast, and when you looked at him, you couldn't quite decipher the expression he wore on his face, but you could see how his ears grew pink.

the umbrella barely covered both of you, so he stood close, closer than before. shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. every time he adjusted the angle to cover more of you, his fingers brushed yours.

your shirt was soaked through and completely transparent that you didn’t even need a mirror to know. zayne definitely didn’t mention it, but he wasn’t breathing the same way either. a little too shallow. his jaw clenched every time you moved, like he was trying not to look again.

and maybe that made it worse. that he was trying.

when a breeze blew and your skirt shifted, his hand shot out to catch the umbrella. that’s what it looked like. but it brushed your lower back on the way. and then he didn’t move it right away.

“sorry,” he muttered, voice lower.

you didn’t answer.

your house appeared too soon. zayne stepped up onto the porch with you, water dripping off the umbrella. he still didn’t say anything about the way your shirt clung to your chest, or how your thighs were practically visible through the skirt.

he just glanced once more, and then looked away, harder this time. “are you okay?” he asked. it came out rougher than he probably meant it to.

“yeah. thanks for walking with me.”

his jaw shifted again. “mhm, of course.”

you waited, expecting him to turn back down the path. but he didn’t, not right away.

so you offered softly, “do you wanna come in?”

his eyes lifted to yours. “i probably shouldn’t,”

the rain hadn’t let up.

zayne sat alone on the couch, damp blazer folded neatly beside him, with his hair still a little wet and curling at the ends. the television was on, but low. he wasn’t watching it, instead he was listening to the faint shuffle of your footsteps upstairs, the creak of your door, the sound of drawers opening and closing.

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. it wasn’t cold, but he felt restless. like his body didn’t quite know where to place itself in your house anymore.

and when you came downstairs again, changed into a loose shirt that hung too soft on your frame, shorts that showed just a little too much skin, he almost forgot to breathe again.

“are you feeling alright now?” you asked, drying your hair with a towel, casual like nothing had changed.

zayne cleared his throat, “what? mm. yes, i’m fine.”

you flopped beside him, your thigh brushing his before tossing the towel on the armrest. “it’s boring,” you said, settling back, curling one leg beneath you. “let’s just talk or something.”

talk.

zayne didn’t trust his voice for a second.

he turned to look at you, and that was a mistake, because you looked so relaxed. too relaxed. and your shirt had slid a little off one shoulder, exposing skin he absolutely should not be looking at.

his gaze dropped, snapped back up, then his adam's apple bobbed up to down. “sure,” he managed, voice strained.

you smiled. and that made it worse. “why’re you so stiff?”

“i’m not stiff.”

“you’re literally sitting like you’re being held hostage.”

“i’m—” he laughed, short and tense. “i’m just trying to be respectful.”

you tilted your head. “respectful?”

he cleared his throat again and looked away. “nevermind.”

you pulled your knees up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them as you watched zayne pretend to be interested in the tv. the air was still damp from the rain. he was sitting a cushion away, but it felt like a mile, or an inch. you couldn’t tell.

“you’re acting weird, zayne.”

zayne didn’t answer at first. his jaw clenched a little, eyes flicking to the tv and then, briefly, to your legs curled up beside him. “it's important to be cautious.”

“cautious?”

he nodded, still not looking at you.

you shifted slightly. “since when did that start being a thing between us?”

he finally turned, and you wished he hadn’t, because his eyes were so focused that it made your stomach twist in some unfamiliar way. “since now.”

you wet your lips, heart thudding. “what… what does that mean?”

he leaned back just a little, exhaling like he was debating with himself. then he reached out, slow, fingers brushing lightly over your cheek. “when we were kids,” he murmured, “i could touch you like this.”

his fingers drifted down to your shoulder, and your skin prickled under the contact. you hated how aware you suddenly were of everything. how close he was, how warm his hand felt on your skin.

“or here,” he voice dropped to a whisper, letting his hand pause on your arm.

his gaze dropped to your thighs, and you could almost combust from the amount of tension he's giving you. his fingers gently grazed your knee, then up to where your shorts ended. “and even here.”

your breath hitched. you didn’t mean for it to, but it did. his hand lingered a second too long, while you couldn’t look away from him.

then he pulled away, sharply. as if he had already decided for the moment to snap. “but now that i’m a teenager,” he paused. “it’s different.”

your chest rose and fell a little faster than it should’ve. “…different doesn’t always mean bad,” you suggested, voice quieter than before. you didn't know if that was an offer hidden in innocence, you hadn't meant it that way. but if zayne would accept it, you wouldn't complain either.

—

caleb [6:12pm]: practice just ended. you free? swing by. door’s open.

you stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, thumb hovering above the screen. the message was just casual, as if he hadn’t just been giving you space for the last few weeks. as if the three of you hadn’t started orbiting different stars lately.

you typed back. it's been a while, after all.

you [6:14pm]: yeah. omw.

the dorm building was already shadowed by the time you arrived. it was quieter now. dinner hour, probably. the air still smelled faintly of liniment and detergent, like it always did when you passed by the practice wing. you made your way up the stairs, familiar enough to not get lost but still unsure why your heart was beating faster with every step.

you didn’t knock. you only pushed the door gently, peeking in. “caleb?”

no answer.

you stepped in anyway, and paused. because the view was rather... something. he had his back to you, shirtless.

his shoulders were broad, not the lanky mess they used to be in middle school. they were much more... defined now. his back glistened with leftover sweat, and there were jagged, smudged bruises, patches of violet and red, splayed across his shoulder blades like careless brushstrokes.

he was digging through his gym bag, towel slung around his neck, muttering something under his breath about his socks.

you froze.

and maybe you should’ve said something, or made a sound, but your voice caught somewhere in your chest. not out of shock, not even embarrassment. it was just… you didn’t expect him to look like that.

not looking like your childhood best friend.

then he turned, eyes locking with yours. and for a split second, both of you just stared at each other. “damn, you’re fast.”

“you’re shirtless!”

“yeah?” he tossed the towel onto the bed like it meant nothing. “i live here.”

you stepped in, closing the door behind you. “you’re also… bruised.”

“yeah,” he muttered, shrugging one shoulder with a wince. “scrimmage got rough. elbows, knees, pride. everything took a hit.”

he grinned like it was fine, like it didn’t hurt at all. but still, you stepped closer in an attempt to check them out. “does it still sting?”

he tilted his head, staring down at you. only then you got to realize the height difference both of you had, he was practically towering over you already. “you gonna kiss it better?”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re insufferable as always.”

“but you came,” he shot back, half-sitting on the bed. “so maybe i’m still charming enough.”

sigh.

"do you have any ointment?" you asked softly, eyes scanning the mottled bruises on his back. caleb paused, then nodded toward the drawer by his bed.

you then moved to get it. the dorm room felt smaller now, more tender. maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t put a shirt on, or maybe it was the fact that neither of you had really spoken like this in weeks.

you returned and sat behind him so you could have better access to his back. “you sure 'bout this?” you asked, uncapping the ointment. “it might sting.”

he finally glanced back, eyes lidded, a breath of a smirk on his lips. “only if you’re rough.”

you snorted and dipped your fingers into the ointment. “what a baby.”

“only for you.”

you hesitated, caught off guard by his sudden flirting. he had always been like this ever since you were nine, and yet you couldn't help but recall what zayne had told you the other day. about how now that you're teenagers, the things that you used to normalize back in childhood feel different. then, you touched the first bruise, right below his shoulder blade. he hissed lightly in response.

“sorry,” you murmured.

he only shook his head. “nah, keep going.”

so you did. slow, gentle, spreading the cool gel across angry purples and dusky reds. your fingertips followed the slope of his back, avoiding the worse scrapes. it was quiet for a moment, until you spoke. “zayne said you bailed on cooking last night.”

caleb exhaled through his nose. “i didn’t bail. practice ran long and coach kept us past curfew.”

“you could’ve at least texted.”

“what, and ruin your alone time with him?”

you glanced at him. “...you sound bitter.”

“do i?” he didn’t say anything else. you kept your hand still against his back, watching his posture. the muscles under your fingers had tensed slightly. “you two talk a lot lately,” he added after a pause.

“we’re just catching up.”

“right.”

you moved to the next bruise. this one was higher, closer to his spine. he inhaled a little when your fingers touched the spot, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything either.

then you asked, “why don't you hang out like before anymore?”

“...we do.”

“doesn't seem like it.”

you didn’t mean to freeze.

but caleb turning around to face you with a half-grin, all mischief, kind of knocked the air out of you. the cut that he showed wasn’t deep, just a thin angry line over his chest, but he acted like it was life-threatening.

“hey,” he gestured, cocking his head. “wanna earn your nurse badge today?”

“you’re ridiculous,” your fingers hovered over the ointment tube, heart pounding like you were diffusing a bomb instead of treating a scrape.

“you’re taking forever,” he teased.

“maybe i should just leave it to get infected.”

“i dare you.”

you rolled your eyes and finally pressed the cream to his skin. his chest was warm under your touch, taut with muscle but still faintly bruised. he didn’t flinch, neither did he look away.

you, on the other hand, couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

until you did.

he was staring. not in a teasing way now, but in that way that made your whole brain short-circuit. he looked at you like he could see something you weren’t even sure you were showing.

then, without warning, he caught your wrist in his hand.

“you’re already sixteen, right pipsqueak?” he suddenly asks, voice dropping to an octave. “it’s impossible you don’t got a crush yet.”

you blinked up at him. he was close, close enough that you could count the lashes of his eyes, close enough to smell the faint citrus of his body wash. he smirked, just a little. “do you?”

your heart was doing that annoying thing again, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to make a break for it. his hand was still lightly around your wrist, and your mouth felt dry.

“i-i don’t like anyone,” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out too fast and defensive.

caleb’s brows rose, stretching his grin. “ohhh?” he leaned in slightly, tilting his head like he was trying to read something written on your face. “you sure about that?”

you scowled, heat crawling up your neck. “yes.”

“positive?”

“yes.”

he couldn't keep a straight face anymore as he gave out a knowing laugh and leaned back, finally releasing your wrist. “alright, alright. calm down, pips. i believe you.”

you rolled your eyes, pressing the ointment lid back on like it personally offended you.

but then caleb stood up with a stretch, ruffling his already-messy hair. “anyway,” he said, tone suddenly lighter, like that weird moment didn’t just happen. “how ‘bout we crash zayne’s place tonight? for dinner or something.”

“really?”

“like old times.” he glanced at you, shrugging a shoulder. “we haven’t done that in a while, right? bet he’s still hoarding those weird triangle sandwiches he thinks are gourmet.”

you let out a small laugh despite the aftertaste of your nerves. “you just want free food.”

“damn right i do,” he grinned. “but also… maybe i kinda miss the trio. just a little.”

you nodded slowly. “yeah. me too.”

caleb grabbed his hoodie from the desk chair and tossed it over his shoulder. “cool. c’mon then. let’s go bother the genius.”

—

the table was already set when you arrived, neatly arranged dishes with zayne’s unmistakable touch. curry rice, roasted vegetables, those weird triangle sandwiches caleb joked about, and even your favorite juice poured into mismatched cups.

zayne was wearing his usual cardigan and pajama pants, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy from cooking, but still frustratingly put-together. “you’re late,” he said with a straight face as you walked in, but there was a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

caleb strolled in behind you, tossing his bag on the floor. “yeah, yeah, blame basketball. you should be glad we even showed up, chef.”

zayne scoffed, already sitting down. “if i knew you were coming, i would’ve made extra protein powder stew.”

you snorted. “gross.”

“don’t give him ideas,” caleb replied as he plopped down across from zayne, stealing a piece of bread. “so, did you cook all this just to show off or something?”

zayne didn’t look at him. “i cooked because she always liked this combo,” said he, eyes flicking to you instead.

that made you blink, and caleb paused mid-chew.

“…right,” caleb muttered, clearing his throat. “well, i bet she liked my game-winning shot yesterday too. y’know, if she even saw it.”

zayne raised an eyebrow. “you mean the one you landed after ignoring your coach’s strategy and almost spraining your ankle?”

“oh, so you were watching?” caleb grinned, teeth showing. “that’s cute.”

you sat down slowly between them, feeling the air shift. what was supposed to be friendly banter had the undertone of something else now. there were too many sideway glances, too many moments when they were both speaking to each other, but their attention kept bouncing to you.

zayne passed you a plate. “are you okay? you look flushed.”

you nodded quickly. “just hungry.”

caleb leaned on his elbow. “you always get red when you're caught in the middle. c’mon, say it, who’s the better cook?”

you choked on your juice.

zayne didn’t smile. “don’t pressure her.”

“oh?” caleb leaned back, stretching, the hem of his shirt lifting just slightly. “scared of the answer?”

zayne finally looked at him with squinted eyes. “not really. but some of us don’t need validation every second.”

you reached for the rice, trying to drown yourself in the meal. both of them had grown taller, deeper voices with sharper gazes. and suddenly, this wasn’t just dinner anymore.

you missed when things were simple.

"you know, if we’re rating effort," caleb added, "mine would’ve been a five-star takeout. but nooo, zayne had to go full iron chef."

“that’s because i actually care if our internal organs make it past tonight.”

“please,” caleb rolled his eyes, “you burned toast until you were twelve.”

“i was experimenting,”

you took a bite of the stir-fry, trying not to laugh. “it’s good. really.”

that was all it took. "she said my dish was good," zayne turned with the faintest smirk.

“your dish?” caleb leaned forward on the table. “who do you think helped slice those vegetables? oh, right, me. with these very hands,” he held up his fingers like they were divine.

“you almost sliced your thumb.”

“but i didn’t.”

zayne sighed. “if we’re going there, who carried your groceries when your arms were sore from practice?”

caleb scoffed, “who ran across campus with your laptop when you forgot it before a big test?”

“who fixed your wi-fi?”

“who held your hair back when you puked in eighth grade?”

"who helped you rehearse that weird

speech for student council in ninth?"

they were both leaning closer across the table now, eyes locked together as their egos continuously inflated by the second. you watched like a spectator at the world’s dumbest showdown, until their focus now shifted onto you, now throwing the ball at your court.

“who’s the better listener?”

“who’s more supportive?”

“who makes you laugh more?”

“who’s more dependable?”

and then...

“who’s the better kisser?”

the silence was instant.

zayne blinked.

caleb's eyes widened.

your fork clattered onto the plate.

“…i haven’t kissed either of you,” you blurted, eyes darting between them.

so, caleb leaned back, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling. while zayne stared at his glass of water like it held the secrets of the universe.

for a moment, you couldn't speak. you could only keep your eyes glued on the empty plate before you, as if counting the leftover crumbs grazed along the surface. you tightened your grip around your spoon, biting your lower lip. your heart's thudding again, cause you have always pushed that thought away.

what thought? even now, you still did.

the thought of recognizing that there might be something beyond the threads of your sibling relationship. even though they were really just your childhood bestfriends, you were used to seeing them as your brothers. and now... the thought of kissing them was brought to the table.

you gulped, trying to shift your gaze anywhere, but instead landing on caleb, who's been staring at you for quite some time already. when your eyes met, he instantly glances down.

"how old are you now, [name]?" suddenly, you heard zayne speak from the other side. you look up at him, locking eyes with his emerald ones.

it took you a while to answer, trying to process the odd question. you could also feel caleb's eyes on you too, as if anticipating as well. "sixteen," you finally say, but you sounded so serious you didn't like it. "you attend my birthday every day, i mean, every year. how could you not know?"

your attempt at making the situation lighthearted was futile, as both boys remained expressionless. zayne spoke again, "you're turning seventeen next month."

you and caleb watched him in curiosity, trying to figure out the intent behind his words. he continued, "your age seems appropriate enough for... kissing. so, who's the best kisser, you say?" zayne finally averts his gaze away from you to focus on caleb.

caleb eyes him back, his two fingers resting on his philtrum. you noticed his ears turning red, as both men stared at each other in contemplative silence, as if they were telepathically sending messages.

and you were just there, clueless. you stand up, the chair making a loud sound against the floor. "i'll go- wash the dishes."

zayne barely flinched at the sound of the chair scraping, but his voice came quick, like it had been waiting. “leave it. i’ll do it later.”

you blinked, halfway turned toward the sink. “but—”

“sit down, girl.” caleb interrupted, softer than usual. he was still leaning back, hand now dangling over the edge of his chair, knuckles tapping lightly against the wood. his eyes flicked to yours and held them there. “it’s not like we’re gonna bite.”

you stared between them, and your fingers twitched against your thigh, but you sat back down, carefully. as if lowering yourself into a dream you weren’t sure you wanted to have.

“sorry,” you said, mostly to break the tension. “that was weird.”

“no,” zayne replied, sharp but low. “it’s not weird. it’s…” he trailed off, sighing through his nose, then leaning his arms onto the table. “you were the one who always said things would change. remember?”

caleb scoffed. “she was also the one who said she’d never date either of us ‘cause we were like… family.”

you looked at him, startled by the precision of the memory. his lips quirked, but there was no real smile behind it.

“you were eleven,” zayne muttered, almost to himself. “and we were idiots.”

“still are,” caleb added, shrugging.

zayne looked at him. caleb looked back.

again, that quiet stare-off. and again, your pulse picked up.

your throat felt dry. “you guys…” your voice faltered. “you’re not actually expecting me to answer that question, right? about the kiss?”

silence.

then, zayne leaned in slightly, “you don’t have to answer.” his eyes flicked to your lips. “but if you ever wonder… it’s not something we’d ever take lightly.”

caleb sat forward now too, “not a joke, pipsqueak. not this one.”

you looked down at your lap, hands clenched. “...i do wonder.” you weren’t even sure why you said it. maybe it was the silence. maybe it was the way they were both looking at you like you were something they couldn’t quite hold yet. maybe it was the way your heart had been thudding in your ears for minutes now, demanding some kind of release.

“you wonder,” caleb echoed, and his voice dropped. “about me? or him?”

"caleb." zayne warned.

"what?"

“…i don’t know,” you muttered. “both of you, i guess.”

the air fractured again. and this time, it stayed silent long enough that you had to look up. caleb’s brows were raised, lips parted like he hadn’t expected honesty. zayne’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, but his ears were pink.

caleb's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. “you can get your answer right now.”

your breath hitched. you looked at him, eyes wide, heart ricocheting off your ribs. "that's not- i didn't mean-"

“you sure?” caleb interrupted, a hint of seriousness blending in with his usual mischief. "because if you really wanna know, i'm not gonna pretend i haven’t thought about it too.”

you couldn’t look away. caleb was still there, waiting, giving you an out, but not backing down either.

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and his voice dropped even lower. “you’re sixteen, pipsqueak. you feel things. and we’re not kids anymore. maybe it’s okay to stop pretending we are.”

zayne’s footsteps were quiet but firm as he stood up to gather the plates, standing right behind your chair. “or maybe,” he said slowly, “we’re not going to pressure her into anything just because we’re feeling bold tonight.”

“i’m not pressuring,” caleb replied. “i’m offering. there’s a difference.”

these weren't the same boys that you chased frogs with back in your childhood summer.

the words left your lips before you could even think them through. "then... i'll take that offer right now." you couldn't take it back now. you couldn't even back out of it.

"you sure about that?" caleb's voice was a little hushed, as if he didn’t want to push too hard. you could feel zayne's presence radiating behind you too.

"yeah," you whispered, your voice trembling ever so slightly, but there was a sense of resolution in it. "i think i am."

the room grew even quieter, only the sound of your own breath and the slight shift of the chairs beneath you breaking the stillness.

caleb didn’t speak at first. he simply stared at you, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. but you didn’t. he let out a low breath, a small smile playing on his lips. “alright then, pipsqueak. you know what you're getting into?” he pulls the legs of your chair closer.

before either of them could say anything else, you broke the moment by standing up abruptly, hands brushing your clothes nervously. "well, i—"

"hey, no running away." caleb’s voice was playful, but there was something darker beneath it, a promise you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

zayne’s hand landed gently on your shoulder, guiding you back into your seat. his touch was reassuring but left a warmth that lingered, a contrast to the uncertainty that was swirling inside you. “don’t act like you’re going anywhere. you started this.”

right, yeah, you did start this somehow. you also would be lying if you said you weren't curious of how far would this go if you explored just a little further.

you glanced at caleb, but his eyes weren't on you. instead, they were on zayne. he was giving him a look that you couldn't decipher, but you could tell it was one that held an intent beneath.

slowly, you turn your head to look up at zayne still standing behind your chair. he looks down at you, but he doesn't speak. and then, you feel fingers grazing your jawline. and you're pretty sure it's not zayne's.

the grip on your jawline gets more forceful, and before you could look at the one who it belonged to, you feel a pair of lips press on yours. a yelp got stuck in your throat, and your hands instinctively find their way onto caleb's shoulders.

was he a good kisser? you couldn't tell. you didn't have experience anyway. caleb was only pressing his lips deeper, sometimes using his tongue, you weren't sure if it's right, but you were sure about the effect it had on you.

and caleb? he had his eyes shut tight, breathing desperately like he'd been waiting for this to happen. cupping your face tenderly because you've been the only girl in his mind, the only girl his body had been aching to have.

he pulled away, not because he's had enough, but because he was afraid that he might touch you somewhere else if he kept on going. his eyes flickered to your body, before going back into your eyes. for a second, you saw something raw pass through his façade, something vulnerable.

before you could even make it out, another pair of lips were already on yours again. from zayne's position, he bent over to give you a pick, pulling away to check on your expression, and when he saw the way you stared into his eyes, he dives in again.

caleb watched, his eyes followed the way your lips tried to keep up with zayne's pace. then, he interrupts, "you're enjoying it a bit too much." which pulled you and zayne both out of the trance.

your lips parted as you slowly leaned back, breath shallow, heartbeat loud in your ears. it was like time stalled. there was no ceiling fan, no ticking clock, no leftover dinner scent. just the phantom of both their lips against yours.

you didn’t know what you expected. fireworks? a spark? maybe clarity?

instead, it was a storm. a tangled rush of confusion and heat, of everything that shouldn’t be real suddenly becoming too real.

"so...?" zayne spoke, “was that enough for a verdict?”

you swallowed. “i…”

you didn’t know what to say.

because how could you weigh something like that? how could you explain the butterflies and the guilt, the thrill and the ache? how could you admit that for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were still just childhood friends anymore?

and ever since that night, something cracked between the three of you.

you didn’t talk about the kiss. no one did.

but you felt it in the way caleb stopped sending random memes to your inbox, in the way zayne no longer waited for you by your classroom door after school. the group chats fell quiet. the little traditions, the teasing, the banter, the familiarity. it all faded into something strained and tiptoed around.

at first, you told yourself it was just a phase. that maybe everyone was busy, that things would snap back eventually. but the silence dragged on.

one night, you opened your messages to see two unread texts. one from caleb. one from zayne. both were apology messages from the kiss that happened between the three of you. you read them both in the dim glow of your bedroom, but you didn’t reply. not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how.

you started to notice it in the small things first. the way caleb would be walking down the hall with his teammates and suddenly glance the other way when he saw you approaching. the way zayne, who used to brush his shoulder against yours in crowded corridors just for the excuse to say something dumb under his breath, now passed by like you were a stranger in a crowd.

they didn’t talk to you. they didn’t even look at you.

at first, you tried not to let it bother you. maybe they were just giving you space. maybe they were waiting for you to say something first. but then the days stretched on. and the silence felt less like patience and more like avoidance.

and it stung. more than you wanted to admit. because they were the ones who crossed the line. they were the ones who leaned in first, who kissed you, who said things with their eyes they couldn’t take back. so why were you the one left behind?

you were twenty-one now.

a different kind of grown-up, one with a job to keep, bills to pay, and a life that had settled into its own rhythm. it wasn’t the one you imagined back when you were sixteen, wide-eyed and fumbling through emotions too big for your chest. but it was stable and manageable.

still, in quiet moments, in the pause between your third sip of coffee and your laptop screen flickering awake, they crossed your mind.

caleb and zayne.

they’d both gone abroad. scholarships, dreams, ambitions you always knew were bigger than the small town you all came from.you weren’t surprised. they were always meant for more.

sometimes, you’d get a text. zayne asking if your mom’s garden was still alive, or caleb forwarding a photo of an old arcade machine you all used to fight over.

but it was always brief and distant. like you were all just family friends now, tethered only by history.

you had tried to date other people, and though some were sweet, others were exciting, none of them ever made you feel the way you did at seventeen, sitting between two boys who once made you believe the world could burn just from how close they stood to you.

no one ever matched the heat of caleb’s teasing gaze or the weight of zayne’s quiet stares.

no one ever made your heart stutter the way it did when they asked who’s the better kisser? as if the question wasn’t going to ruin you all.

and maybe that’s why you were still alone now. not because you couldn’t love, but because you knew what it felt like to be loved too much, too young, and all at once.

you wondered if they ever thought about it too. about you. about what the three of you were before the silence set in.

you were slicing carrots when your mother told you, half-casually, like it was nothing,

"zayne and caleb are flying home tomorrow. their families are throwing a welcome party."

you blinked, the knife pausing mid-air.

"they're… coming back?"

"mm-hm," she said, too focused on kneading dough to notice the way your breath hitched. "i already told them you'd cook something for the welcome table. they’re expecting your lasagna. and maybe that buttered chicken too. you know, your usual."

your usual. the one you used to cook for them.

you didn’t argue. instead, you found yourself in the kitchen the next day, apron on, ingredients lined up like a ritual. your hands moved on instinct, muscle memory from years of doing this for them. back when dinners were chaotic and filled with dumb jokes, competitive card games, and stolen glances over the rim of your glass.

you stirred the sauce and kept your focus low, trying not to think about it. trying not to count how long it had been since you saw their faces in person. how long since zayne last ruffled your hair like he used to, or caleb leaned over too close, grinning like he knew what you were thinking.

then the front door creaked open.

and you listened to the way laughter spilled in, the way the families greeted in unison to welcome them back. and you hear caleb's laughter, which made you stop on your tracks. it was much more manly now.

from the kitchen, you stayed half-hidden behind the archway. wooden spoon in hand, apron dusted with flour and sauce. you were supposed to be checking the oven, maybe chopping the rest of the bell peppers, but instead you stood frozen in place, eyes locked on the scene unfolding in the living room.

caleb was laughing, his voice louder than the rest, ruffling zayne’s little brother’s hair like he never left, then turning to dab up with one of the uncles who slapped his back in greeting. his presence was loud and unmistakably him. maybe it was the colonel uniform hugging his frame, the silver necklace glinting against his chest, the way he carried himself with that trained, effortless authority. god, he looked good.

your gaze shifted.

zayne was across the room, kneeling beside your grandmother’s seat, speaking with her in that quiet, earnest tone that made people naturally lean closer. his white coat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up just slightly, and even from where you stood, you could tell that he’d grown into his face. sharper jaw, broader shoulders. handsome in a way that made your heart fumble a little too hard in your chest.

and then, his eyes lifted, before finding you.

you quickly looked away, busying yourself with the spoon in your hand, stirring nothing in a pot that didn’t even need it.

because you couldn’t trust your face to not show how you were suddenly burning.

after a few more minutes of pretending not to notice them and pretending even harder not to feel anything, you set down the final dish. a hearty beef stew still steaming from the pot. wiping your hands on your apron, you called out, “alright, last dish is ready!”

the room erupted in cheers, your aunts already passing out utensils and your cousins hollering your name like you were some celebrity chef. you smiled sheepishly, bowing a little as people complimented the spread. you took your usual seat beside your mom, grateful for the buffer of familiar comfort. but just as you picked up your fork, your mom stood to help grandma to the buffet.

before you could blink, caleb slid into the now-empty seat beside you.

and then zayne, wordless and quiet as ever, took the one on the other side.

you froze, eyes locked on your plate, heart thudding at the proximity of two very specific colognes, both achingly familiar.

for a moment, none of you said anything.

so, just for politeness, and maybe survival, you cleared your throat and forced a small smile. “…hey, you two.” you didn’t dare look at them directly, not yet.

but you heard the shift in caleb’s posture, the way his voice dipped low in that teasing lilt. “hey, pipsqueak.”

and zayne, ever so composed, “it’s been a while.”

yeah. it really, really has.

your fork paused mid-air when one of your aunts leaned forward, glass of wine in hand, “so, caleb. zayne. any girlfriends yet?”

you could’ve sworn the air thinned.

caleb chuckled, low and smooth, leaning back with one arm draped lazily over his chair. “nah. no one’s been able to handle me long-term.” he winked, and the table erupted in laughter. you could feel your shoulders stiffen.

zayne, gave a polite smile and shook his head. “i’ve been too focused on med school to even think about dating.”

“come on,” another aunt chimed in. “not even one? you boys are too good-looking to still be single.”

you didn’t mean to look, but your eyes flicked between them. caleb's smirk was still present, but his gaze, barely, shifted toward you. zayne remained calm, though you caught the way his thumb tapped anxiously against his water glass.

they didn’t answer further. and yet somehow, the silence that followed was louder than the laughter before it.

you were halfway through slicing a piece of roast when caleb, ever the instigator, tilted his head in your direction with a sly grin. “actually,” he said, voice loud enough to slice through the other conversations, “has anyone asked her if she’s got a boyfriend yet?”

you froze, your fork hovering awkwardly in the air. all eyes turned toward you, some playful, some genuinely curious. you forced a smile, trying not to glance at your mom’s reaction or the sparkle of amusement in caleb’s eyes.

“what?” you tried to play dumb, a breathy laugh escaping you. “no one asked.”

“then let me be the first,” he said, folding his arms as he leaned in with mock sincerity. “so? got anyone these days, pipsqueak?”

your throat went dry. you didn’t want to look, but you felt zayne’s gaze like a weight. when you finally dared to glance his way, his brows were relaxed, but he was a bit too focused on you, in an expectant way.

“no,” you answered softly, clearing your throat. “no one serious.”

caleb raised an eyebrow. “so there was someone not serious, huh?”

“guys—” you laughed awkwardly, ducking your head. “can we not?”

you slipped away from the noise the moment no one was looking, carrying the weight of too many glances and questions that clung to you like static. your mom had insisted on washing the dishes herself, brushing you off with a soft smile and a quick, “go rest, you’ve done enough.” so you did.

you took the stairs slowly, the sounds of laughter and familiar music growing fainter with each step. it should’ve felt comforting. but instead, it left a strange hollow space in your chest.

when you reached your room, you didn’t even bother turning on the light. you closed the door gently, then leaned your back against it for a second, just breathing.

then, with a quiet sigh, you crossed the room and sat at the edge of your bed. you stared down at your hands, still smelling faintly of garlic and oil. you tried to focus on that instead of the dinner table. instead of the way both zayne and caleb had looked at you.

your phone buzzed beside you.

you cracked one eye open and reached for it lazily, expecting a family group chat meme or your mom asking if you wanted dessert. instead, it was from caleb.

“come outside.”

you stared at the text for a moment, your thumb hovering. no punctuatio and no context? classic caleb. it made your heart twist in a way you hated still felt familiar.

you sat up, hesitated. but curiosity got the better of you.

you padded down the hallway quietly, slipping past the laughter and the glow of the living room lights. then, you stepped out the front door.

there they were. caleb was in his uniform jacket, arms crossed, looking off into the distance until he noticed you. zayne had his hands in his coat pockets, gaze already fixed on you as if he'd been waiting longer than caleb had texted.

you raised a brow. “what’s this?”

caleb gave a crooked grin. “we’re going to the moth house.”

zayne nodded. “thought we’d check if it’s still alive. it's not so far from here, isn't it?”

the words made something warm stir in your chest. that old place where you'd all sneak off to and swear eternal friendship over moth-eaten pillows and muddy sneakers. a piece of your childhood that still breathed somewhere in the outskirts of this town.

you blinked, then smiled. “seriously?”

“come on,” caleb said, already walking ahead. “you’re not gonna chicken out, are you?”

you rolled your eyes, but your feet moved before you could stop them. “you’re both still idiots,” you mumbled, but you were already smiling too wide.

you ended up running.

it started with caleb nudging you with his shoulder and saying, “last one is a rotten egg,” before sprinting down the familiar dirt path. zayne let out a breath of disbelief—“seriously?”—but took off right after. and you, despite your protests, despite your boots not being made for this, ran too.

just like you used to.

your laughter echoed through the night, tangled with the sound of crunching leaves and pounding footsteps, breathless and utterly alive.

the moth house sat tucked behind the trees, barely visible until you were almost in front of it. a small, forgotten wooden thing, its paint chipped and its roof a little more caved in than you remembered. but the moment you saw it, your breath caught.

it hadn’t changed.

caleb reached it first, pushing the creaky door open. zayne followed, and you arrived last, panting, eyes wide, something nostalgic and aching blooming in your chest.

“still standing,” caleb muttered, stepping inside.

“barely,” zayne added.

it was pitch black inside. the smell of damp wood and dust clung to the air. and then, in true zayne fashion, had been bringing a lamp all along. warm yellow light spilled across the floor and the walls.

you let out a soft gasp. there they were.

the remnants of your old world.

your pink barbie doll, hair tangled and limbs askew, sat against the wall. beside her was one of caleb’s beat-up toy cars, the wheels long gone but the lightning bolt sticker still scratched onto the side. and scattered near the corner, a few torn pages from zayne’s dinosaur encyclopedia, edges curled with time.

“this is insane,” you whispered, stepping further in. “i thought all of this would be gone.”

“guess we left more than we thought,” zayne said quietly.

caleb crouched down near his old toy car, brushing dust off it with the edge of his sleeve. “feels like we were just here last summer, huh?”

you leaned against the wooden wall, the lamp's dim glow casting soft shadows across their faces as they talked. caleb was squatting again, fiddling with his old toy car like it still mattered. zayne had his arms crossed, leaning on the opposite wall, the corners of his mouth occasionally twitching up in amusement at something caleb said.

they weren’t arguing. they weren’t bickering as always like before. they were just… talking.

you watched them like you were outside a glass window, nose pressed to the surface. both of them had become striking in their own way.

you felt your chest tighten. your gaze dropped to the floor, your heart started to pace without permission. because no matter how much older you were now, no matter how long it had been… your mind drifted. to that night. to that stupid kiss.

you hadn’t thought about it in years. or maybe you had, just not out loud. not where it could reach the surface. but here, in the moth house, surrounded by remnants of childhood and all the things you used to be, the memory pulsed.

was it supposed to be forgotten?

just one of those reckless, messy things you all agreed to pretend didn’t happen?

because you never talked about it after.

never got the answer to the question they’d both pushed into the air. and yet here you all were. again. so why did it still feel unfinished?

"i have the answer already." your voice cut through the soft crackle of the old lamp, quiet but clear enough to make them stop mid-conversation. caleb froze, halfway through repositioning the toy car on the floor, while zayne’s head turned slowly, brows knitting with confusion.

“what?” caleb asked, blinking up at you.

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat was. then, you looked down, and then back up, steadying yourself. “the... ‘who’s the better kisser’ thing,” you clarified, and your voice, though small, left no room for misunderstanding.

and just like that, stillness came.

zayne’s expression didn’t change at first, he just stood straighter. then you noticed the subtle shift in his eyes, locked onto you like he was trying to pick apart your thoughts, decode every layer behind your words.

caleb didn’t even try to hide his reaction. he blinked once, twice, before sitting back on his heels and leaning forward slightly, as if you’d just challenged him to a match. his smirk didn’t appear, but the intensity behind his stare said enough.

they were both looking at you now. hard.

not with confusion anymore.

no. this was something heavier. like possession. like the past had suddenly started breathing again, crawling back to life.

neither of them said a word yet. but you could tell that they wanted to know, and they weren’t planning on letting it go. not this time.

"so..." caleb finally said. "who is it?"

and zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"you're both good kissers!" the words left your lips before you could take them back. a soft, honest confession. you didn’t even say it to provoke. you just... told the truth.

silence followed.

caleb blinked at you, wide-eyed for a second. and then, he huffed out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. a short, breathy laugh slipped from him, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “silly girl.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep himself from grinning too much.

zayne didn’t laugh. he just looked down, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. you watched his lashes lower, his brows pinch, his lips pressed tight like he was trying to suppress something. either a sigh, a thought, or the quiet bruising of his own pride.

no one spoke for a while.

it was almost funny. you’d answered the question they left behind all those years ago. and yet, here they were... grown, taller, stronger, and still just as thrown off by you.

caleb scoffed, shaking his head. “nah, i’m gonna have to disagree with that.”

you looked up at him, blinking. “what—?”

he crossed his arms, gaze narrowed but playful. “you just said that to keep the peace. i call it. no way we were equally good..”

zayne, who’d remained quiet until now, finally lifted his eyes again. boldness, maybe. “he might have a point,” zayne said. “we were teenagers then, and inexperienced. it wasn’t exactly a fair measure.”

you turned to him, startled.

he glanced at caleb, then back at you. “for a real answer, there should be a reevaluation.” he said it plainly, but the weight behind it made your stomach twist.

caleb raised his brows, looking half-impressed and half-annoyed. “oh? you serious, doc?”

“just being thorough,”

your throat went dry. you suddenly weren’t sure if coming to the moth house was such a good idea after all.

you tilted your head slightly, “so… are you saying you have experience now?”

zayne’s lips tugged upward, just a little. “no,” he admitted, stepping forward, slow and sure. “not exactly.” his eyes didn’t leave yours. you could hear caleb shift behind zayne, but he didn’t say a word. he was just watching, waiting.

zayne stopped just a breath away, “do you want to try it again?”

your heart thudded. too fast. too loud. this was real. this was now. and caleb… caleb still hadn’t moved. but you could feel the heat of his stare burning right through you.

before you could even open your mouth to respond, before you could decide what you wanted, zayne muttered a soft curse under his breath. something like “fuck it,” barely audible. then, in one motion, he removed his glasses, carelessly tucking them into his coat pocket, and closed the distance.

his hands were warm when they cupped your cheeks, surprisingly gentle for how impulsive the gesture was. and then, he kissed you.

it was rushed, but deliberate. like he wanted to make sure you felt it, all of it. your fingers twitched at your sides as your eyes fluttered shut, your thoughts melting into the warmth of it.

zayne only pulled away when he had to, just enough to study your expression, forehead still resting against yours. “are you still unsure?”

“n-no,” you barely managed to whisper, your voice caught between your breath and whatever was thundering in your chest.

but that was all zayne needed before he kissed you again. this time, deeper. his hands slipped back to cradle the base of your head as if he didn’t want you pulling away. there was a quiet intensity in the way he moved, like he was making up for lost time, or maybe staking a claim.

you didn’t even notice your hand gripping the front of his coat until your knuckles tightened. everything else blurred out, the creaking of the old moth house, the muffled breath you both shared, even caleb’s presence—

until caleb shifted slightly.

you felt it, a presence behind you.

before you could even react, a pair of lips brushed your shoulder. and a slow burn followed the touch, trailing through the fabric of your shirt like it wasn't even there.

your breath hitched. “caleb…” you whispered, unsure if it was a question or a warning.

“pipsqueak,” he said lowly, voice husky and calm, as if this had always been part of the plan. “we're so sorry.”

as you turned to face caleb, his hand on your hip tightened slightly, pulling you ever so gently but insistently closer. you could feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his chest pressing against your back while he leaned in. you shuddered.

zayne, not to be outdone or left behind, leaned in to capture your lips once more in a searing kiss. one hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head to grant him better access as his mouth moved over yours with a hunger that stole your breath away.

you found yourself sandwiched between them, the solid wall of caleb's chest at your back and the lean, muscular frame of zayne pressed against your front. you could feel every inch of their bodies, the hard planes and soft curves melding together in a way that set their nerves alight with sensation.

zayne's hand fisted in your hair as he kissed you with a desperate, almost punishing intensity. he tore his mouth away, panting harshly against your lips. "this is dangerous," he rasped, his voice strained with barely restrained desire. "i might end up doing something else if we keep this up." his eyes searched yours.

and behind you, caleb pressed closer, the hard ridge of his arousal grinding against the curve of your ass through the fabric of his pants. "mm, should we stop?" he murmured, but his actions belied his words as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his lips and teeth and tongue busy mapping the sensitive skin there. 

you were already losing yourself, drowning in the feeling of your two childhood friends. and god help you because you don't ever want to be found.

caleb paused, his hand stilling on the soft curve of your shoulder as he looked to you with a mix of desire and hesitation in his eyes. "is it okay if we touch you more?" he asked, almost pleading like an eager puppy seeking permission.

"where?" you breathed, the single word a question and an invitation all at once.

"here," caleb murmured, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your stiffening nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt.

at the same moment, zayne's hands slid down from your hips, hesitating for a heartbeat before cupping the rounded globes of your ass. he squeezed gently, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pulled you back against him, grinding his hard length against the cleft of your rear.

"and here," zayne whispered.

your moans filled the moth house as memories of simpler times flashed through your mind. you remembered chasing after zayne and caleb in the sunlit yard, their laughter echoing while playing tag, innocent and carefree as ever. how naive the three of you had been, unaware of the seeds of desire that had already been planted, the embers of attraction smoldering beneath the surface of your childhood bond. little had you known that years later, those innocent games would evolve into this - the feeling of caleb's fingers boldly cupping your clothed sex, the heat of his touch searing you even through the fabric of your panties.

"oh!" you gasped, your hips bucking instinctively into his hand. it seems as though the past and present blurred, the ghosts of your youth intertwining with the raw, carnal hunger of the moment.

zayne's hands kneaded the globes of your ass, his grip tightening when he felt you respond to caleb's touch. "fuck," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, from not simply taking you right then and there. "you have no idea how long we've wanted this, wanted you."

"zayne..." you whispered. for someone who'd been protective of you, who'd been the most conservative than any other man, he acted like the opposite of what you've deemed him as in your entire childhood.

and behind you, the boy who had your back the most, the boy who jumped into any risky scheme with you, had his fingers rubbing and circling your clothed slit with a newfound confidence, a pent-up urgency that spoke volumes about the years of longing he had harbored for you.

then, the haze of lust momentarily lifted by the sound of caleb's grunt of discomfort. "it hurts." you turned to look at him, concern etching in your flushed face. for a second, you let go of zayne's shoulders and followed caleb's line of sight. to his... prominent bulge straining against the front of his pants.

instantly, you averted your eyes. "okay, maybe- maybe this wasn't a good idea after all—"

"mine too." zayne spoke up, just right behind your ear. "it's a natural reaction, especially when we're this close to you—"

"of course, i know that, idiot!" you whisper-screamed, backing off a bit to give yourself some personal space for a few moments. you gulped, "do we know what we're getting into? ...what if our families find out about this?"

"we aren't telling them, are we?" caleb said, already working on undoing the buttons of his top.

"yes, but," you paused, trying to gather your thoughts, because the words for what they were haven't formed yet. only now you've realized the severity of what you were up to, the hypocrisy of everything that have led you to this. you looked up, only to see both guys giving you curious gazes, with half-lidded eyes. "i've... always seen the two of you- as my brothers."

"bro...thers?"

"do you still see us that way?" zayne's voice made you stare at them. he stood with his glasses now forgotten in his pocket, dark hair tousled from the boldness had taken over him earlier. the white coat was long gone, he probably already took it off while you made out, and all that remained was the black shirt beneath, sleeves messily rolled up to his forearms, revealing veins and tendons you’d never once paid attention to when you were kids. the dip of his collarbone peeked out just above the neckline, and his chest rose and fell with a tension he didn’t bother hiding.

and caleb with the top buttons of his shirt undone, his collar skewed, sleeves rolled, forearms lean and marked with a few cuts and scratches. the light caught on the curve of his throat, the slight sheen on his skin, and the faint scar on his wrist from the time he tried to teach you how to climb the mango tree. his hair was a little messy too, a little too perfect in its imperfection, like he had run his fingers through it on the way here.

you didn't know when or how it happened. only that that was all it took for the three of you to get lost further.

you glanced down at your hand full of white liquid, some were also dripping down your chin you could feel. it's an uncomfortable position to be kneeling against the dirty ground for half an hour already, but that was irrelevant compared to the amount of cum that was spilled into your chest, into your face, and into your mouth.

you chased your breath, staring up at zayne and caleb in pure bliss. they sat next to each other on a wooden ledge, both chasing theirs too. zayne had his head rolled back that you could see the way his adam's apple occassionally bobbed, while caleb have had kept his eyes on you the whole time you sucked him and jacked the other guy off.

caleb wipes the bead of cum off the corner of your mouth with his finger. "are you tired?"

you shake your head. "no, i wanna keep..." you bring the finger in your mouth, licking it with your tongue.

in response, caleb slightly widens his eyes at your sudden action, but he enjoys it. he always enjoyed when you did something he wouldn't expect. he pulls his finger out of your mouth, and you whine, but he slides it down your chin, gliding it across your clothed chest, and down your stomach. until he leaned down to touch your pussy.

you squeaked, "caleb?"

"you like being touched like this?" he teased your clit.

then, you felt another finger pinch your nipple through the fabric. "i reckon she likes this more." you turn to look at zayne, who's staring hard into your eyes. he had his glasses back on. he always did around you ever since you've mentioned about how it looked good on him. so while your mouth got stuffed in his cock earlier, with his fingers on your head, his other hand made an effort to put the glasses back on with a "look at me."

you squirmed at both men's work, eyes fluttering shut to back. they watched you curiously, until caleb's finger shot itself inside. deep inside. "pipsqueak," he gives you that look again. that look he does when he's being vulnerable. "you're so fucking tight."

zayne shot caleb a glance, intrigued. but he was silent.

caleb licks his lower lip, "can i... can we,"

zayne looks at you.

"can we check how tight it is?"

"what do you mean?" you asked, trying to speak coherently even through a moan. "y-you already are....?"

caleb pulls away, leaning back. zayne does the same. they didn't say anything, they didn't answer your question, so you were just there, clueless. still kneeling. then, your eyes shifted to their throbbing, erected dicks. like both were waiting for you, were waiting to be inside you.

now you know what they meant.

but you couldn't believe it.

back then, in this same moth house, you used to count the moths up the ceiling, laying on each other's shoulders as innocent kids. now, the same men were asking you to get on them. with the same eyes that smiled at you across the field, running and giggling.

[tokyothirstygang]

TW: EXPLICIT/SMUTTY CONTENT BELOW Okay okay but imagine being shy in bed with Ran and he’s doing everything he can to bring out the freak in you 🥵

You’re no stranger to taking Ran's cock.

You’ve hooked up with him countless times yet something about him always made you shy.

Tonight, he has you in one of his favorite positions: You’re lying on the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide with your knees to your chest while he stands in front of the you pounding down into you.

The feeling of him deep inside you was always so good you shouldn’t have been able to keep quiet. For some reason, every time you wanted to scream and call his name that embarrassed feeling would creep in and silence you.

You could feel heat rushing to your cheeks and the irresistible urge to cover your face with a pillow. You mostly kept your moans to yourself, and he only managed to get a bold reaction out of you right before your orgasms hit.

Ran let you get away with it for a little while. He thought it was hot that he could make you so intimidated. Now, he was starting to get impatient. This time when you cover yourself with the pillow, he protests.

“Come on, baby. You know me. Let me see that pretty face.”

He slows the pace, giving you a chance to comply. When you don’t, he gives you a sly smirk though you can’t see it.

“Oh, Is that how you wanna be?” He asks, the intensity in his tone making you shiver.

He keeps thrusting himself into you at a slow, steady pace making sure you feel every inch of him. Stealthily, he leans down to your level. He quickly uncurls your fingers from the pillow and tosses it onto the floor far out of your reach.

“Now you’ve got nothing to hide behind.”

You’re surprised by the sudden action but before you can react, he uses his left hand to take both your wrists and slide them up over your head.

As he centers his face inches from yours, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. He uses his right hand to gently cup your chin to keep you from turning away.

“I think you’ve been holding out on me.” He taunts, smiling at the way you’re trying to bravely hold his gaze. “I tried to let it go but…” he gives you two hard thrusts that make you cry out. “I think you can do more for me.”

You can feel your face blazing more than usual as he continues.

“If we’re gonna keep fucking like this, I need to show you how I want my good girl to act.”

You agree, and his lilac irises light up.

“Okay, let’s try something.” He releases your hands and flips you on to your hands and knees. He pulls you up just enough so that your back is against his chest then he whispers in your ear.

“See, when I fuck you like this-“ he slips back inside you and starts giving you deep strokes. “I need you to let me hear how good that feels for you.”

He reaches down between your legs to play with your clit and grins to himself when he feels your hips buck at the sensation.

“Just let me hear you, baby. I know you like it…fuck, your pussy is dripping down my cock.”

The sound of his voice whispering in your ear matched with the feeling of him deep inside you has your toes curling and eyes rolling back.

“I-It feels…feels so good.” Your voice is barely audible.

“Louder, princess. I know you can do it.”

For once you push your own insecurity aside and let yourself fully enjoy the moment. You put all your focus into how amazing he’s making you feel, and give him what he wants.

“Ran… fuck! …You feel so good!” This time your voice comes out at full volume and by the way his cock twitches inside you, you know he’s loving it.

He slaps your ass in gratitude and you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks.

“That’s it, keep talking like that. What do you want me to do to you, hmm? How do you want it?”

“Harder! Please…I need you to fuck me harder,”

He wastes no time picking up the pace.

“Does that feel good?” When you nod your head yes he gives you another order. “Then say ‘yes, daddy’.”

You can’t see him but you just know he’s smirking to himself. He must be loving what he’s doing to you.

You expect yourself to be embarrassed when “yes, daddy” leaves your lips but you aren’t.

As soon as he hears it, a low growl escapes him. He was bringing out the freak in you, and you were apparently doing the same to him.

You continue on like that for awhile longer, letting him push and pull you into whatever position he wants all while giving him the dirty talk he’s been dying to hear.

When you’re getting close to your next orgasm, he can feel it.

“You about to cum for me?” You nod and he gives you one last request.

“Say my name for me then. Say my name when you’re cumming on my cock like this.”

He has you so lost in your lust you can barely speak but as your orgasm hits you manage to call out his name over and over until you’re done.

“Fuck, get down here.”

He pulls you off the bed and down on to your knees on the floor. You barely have time to get yourself into position before he’s moaning loudly, stroking himself and cumming all over your tits.

You watch him as his head tilts back and a tremble runs through his body. It’s definitely the hardest he’s ever cum with you and now you were kicking yourself for ever holding back with him.

“Damn…” he laughs as he finally snaps back to reality. When you lock eyes with him, you see something in them that’s never been there before.

“I might have to keep you.”

———

I’m losing my mind over this and I hope you are too

[phantasm-ae]

Okay but like… i saw this pic around my fyp and I can’t help but imagine getting Ghost a bunny solely because it looks like him JSJSJSKSKSJSJSK

Anyways, heres a drabble on that

cw: suggestive smut, p in v, afab readerxghost, oral (f receiving), slight fluff

Headcanon: getting fwb Ghost a bunny that looks like him

Pairing: Ghostxreader

something something giving Simon a bunny because it looks like him.

Not planned. Not scheduled. But honestly, when is it ever with him anyway?

You'd just gone out for groceries. That was the plan. Grab milk, maybe eggs, more of that tea he practically scarfed down when he took over the place. God he just went through your fridge didn't he?

But you can't really get mad can you? Insufferable bastard that he was. Worming his way through your own life without permission.

Without favor.

No pursuit.

No accommodations just forced entry.

And now. Apparently. Into your arms in the form of one very large -- Jesus look at the size of that thing! -- and very pissed off rabbit. Heavy too. Solid. All hulk and muscle in a way that rabbits really shouldn't be. Like a furry little brick of war crimes and unresolved trauma. Yep. That's Simon.

You're 90% sure he even growled at the shelter worker when they tried to put him back in his carrier. The weighty plastic mauled and gnawed on. Too tiny. Too small. Too kind to accommodate a creature like that. Yep. That's Simon

"you sure you want him lass? Got kittens in here and puppies if you want", the shelter worker had said. Looking at you concerned and weary. Probably worried that you were in and out of your knocker with this one. Toeing the line between worry and are you mentally stable enough for this?

But you were already shoving bits of cash across the counter. Attention fully taken by the brooding thing with a warm and knowing smile

"Yeah", you'd said, watching the rabbit try to murder a carrot with a slow, surgical malice. "This one"

Now here you are, hours later, spent, sated. Filled, and panting in your bed. Sheets tangled. Skin still humming with Simon half-on top of you. Blanket of muscle strewn across your waist. Half buried in the pillow beside your head because "missed you birdie. needed you yeah? gone without you so long"

And of course you were dumb-dumb but not dumb-dumb... right?

So you'd believed him.

let him.

Welcomed him.

let him strip you bear and lay you down the kitchen counter. Sopping. Crying. Panting and whining while he buried his face to the nines down your core. Cold marble against fevered skin. Your shirt bunched up on your waist, baring your pebbled tits in view, while his hands practically muscled and gripped their way onto your thighs.

Held. Palmed. Clawed. Prisoned.

You were sure the indents and bruises on your inner thighs were moments where he lost accidentally lost control. Never having intentionally hurt you. Never capable. Never wanting to.

Slurping and sucking on the folds of your labia and clit like it was a personal mission between his mouth and your pussy alone. Sacred. Cleric on an altar. Groaning like he'd been starved for too long.

Stranded.

Parched.

And now, nirvana was between your legs

There was no gentle easing. Never really is whenever SImon got like this. God did you love it though. Just full assault. Tongue. Lips. Teeth. Mean. Overstimulation be damned

"cute this way yeah birdie? cunt practically pulsin' for me"

He liked the tears. Liked the tremble. Liked the way your body tried to escape even as it begged him not to stop. Because who was Simon if he didn't enjoy making his little bird scream and quiver underneath his touch.

You came once, and he didn’t even pause -- just gripped your thighs tighter, thumbs bruising into soft flesh, and kept going. Like your orgasm was an agreement. Like your moans were consent to ruin. By the time he finally rose -- chin soaked, mouth swollen, eyes dark and shining with something unspoken -- he carried you into his arms. Dizzy.

Wrecked.

Whining and whimpering incoherently.

Shaky.

Newborn fawn.

Fresh kill being hauled into your bedroom where he proceeded to manhandle you onto the bed -- face down, ass up, a position that felt less like suggestion and more like claim.

You barely had time to gasp, to find your breath between the heat and blur of it all, before he was behind you again -- pressing his weight over your back, one big hand flat between your shoulder blades, holding you down.

Like you’d run. Like you could.

“Still twitchin’,” he muttered, voice dark, ruined. A low hum against the shell of your ear as he ground his cock between your cheeks, already hard. “Didn’t get enough, huh?”

You whimpered, a sound punched out of your throat that didn’t sound like a yes or a no -- just need.

And he knew. Of course he did.

Because Simon always knew.

And now, he’s still draped over you like a weighted blanket with intimacy issues. Breathing soft and even. Sated and spent. Seed dripping down your thighs and sheets. Mission accomplished. The heat of his skin soaking into yours. A hand resting over your belly, thumb stroking there absently, like he's grounding himself. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

Which is exactly why you decide now is the time.

You shift a little, enough to get his hand to loosen. Enough to twist beneath him with a grin you know he can feel more than see.

“You asleep?”

He grunts.

Close enough.

You press a kiss to his cheek, lips skimming the edge of that jaw he rarely lets you near. “Got you something.”

Another grunt. More wary this time. His body tenses a hair, but you’re already slipping out from under him, ignoring the way your legs shake as you pull on his shirt -- it’s long enough to cover most of the carnage -- and pad toward the corner of the room.

The carrier’s still there. Heavy. Silent. Ominous.

Trying not to wince as you notice a growing dent and another hole at the side. Freshly mauled and gnawed. God you hope he doesn't eat anything important here.

You kneel beside it, unlatch the door, and wait.

There’s a pause.

And then: the slow, deliberate thump of massive paws as the creature waddles and hops out.

Surveys the room

Tactical.

observant.

Calculating. Fucking perfect

Immediately starts chewing the corner of Simon’s boots like it owes him money. Simon -- still half-asleep, still blissed-out and boneless -- blinks once, slow and confused. Sits up just enough to see over the covers.

“What the fuck is that?”

You grin. “Your emotional support rabbit.”

A long pause.

The rabbit, undeterred, begins gnawing at a strap. You think it’s almost... judgmental.

Simon stares. “Big bloke. Looks like it wants to kill me.”

You shrug. “That’s why I got him. Seemed fitting.”

Simon’s quiet again. Processing.

Then he leans back on the pillow, one arm flung over his eyes.

“Course you did.”

Another pause. The rabbit finishes murdering the boot and hops onto the foot of the bed. Heavy. Menacing.

“...What’s it called?”

You try not to laugh. “Didn’t name him yet. Figured you’d want to.”

The rabbit growls. Growls.

Simon groans. “You’re not right in the head, birdie.”

You grin and climb back into bed, curling into his side, watching as the rabbit hops up between you both like it owns the place.

“Neither are you,” you whisper into his shoulder, already smiling.

“He just needs a little space. And maybe therapy.”

Simon folds his arms. “Does it bark?”

“It’s a rabbit.”

“Still not convinced.”

Silence, thick and suspicious.

The hulking mass of the bunny flops onto its side without warning. A resounding thump thump follows as its weight meets the slightly dusted carpets of your floors.

Limbs stretched out, as if to say I’ve decided this rug belongs to me now.

Simon stares. The bunny stares. Something probably ancient passes between them.

“I don’t want it.”

“Didn’t ask if you did.”

“He’s not living here.”

“He’s not here for you.”

Another long pause.

“…You named it after me, didn’t you?”

You bite back a grin. Yes “He named himself.”

Simon exhales, a long-suffering sound muffled by the pillow. The rabbit twitches an ear, unimpressed. The two of them -- standing-off like old soldiers in a temporary ceasefire.

You plop a box of greens on the counter. “Just don’t feed him anything weird.”

Simon, muttering: “'should’ve stayed deployed.”

You, grinning: “You’re welcome, by the way.”

masterlist

[theodorenmyth]

They have to end together🥹🥺🥹 but not without Theo literally begging for Reader's forgiveness and Reader being super mean to him 🥹🥺🥹

A Sky without You

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!reader

Summary ; You’re no longer the sweet, shining boy everyone knew. You shut down—silent, cold, and distant. The entire Gryffindor house and even professors worry as you isolate yourself, always disappearing to the Astronomy Tower with no light left in your eyes. Meanwhile, Theodore falls apart. He can’t sleep, can’t eat, and can’t pretend anymore. After a Transfiguration exam, he snaps—confronting his so-called friends for the cruel bet and finally admitting he loved you. To his shock, they feel the guilt too. All of them apologize, deeply, knowing they’ve broken something they can never fully fix.

A/N ; this is OFFICIALLY my longest fic yet.. ENJOY THOUGH :3 (if this flops I'm going back to writing 200 word fics.) I'll upload the continuation of this fic tomorrow because I'm actually so burnt out.

Warnings ; Emotional distress, guilt, lingering heartbreak, depression, isolation, emotional breakdowns, emotional confrontation, unresolved tension, lingering trauma, grief, guilt

Word count ; 7.3k+

It’s been weeks.

And not a single day passes where your name isn’t whispered like a fading ghost through the halls of Hogwarts. Once the boy everyone turned to—bright-eyed, always smiling, the sun in a red and gold tie—you’ve become a haunting. A memory people are too afraid to speak of too loudly.

You were the kind of person who remembered birthdays, even when others forgot their own. The kind who carried extra quills because “someone might need one,” who stayed up helping classmates study, who sat with crying first-years during meals and listened to them like their little fears mattered. You offered kindness like it cost you nothing. Because to you, it didn’t.

Now you walk the same corridors, but it’s like your footsteps don’t make a sound anymore.

You show up. You sit down. You leave.

That’s it.

No greeting.

No grin.

No helping hand when someone drops a quill or trips in the hallway.

You, who once walked slower just to keep a first-year company.

You, who once stayed behind after class to help erase the board for a tired professor.

You, who once twirled around in the snow just to see how many snowflakes you could catch on your lashes.

The portraits have stopped trying to greet you. The ones that used to cheer when you passed now fall quiet as you go by, like even they feel the weight pressing against your shoulders. The ghosts don't float near you anymore—not even the friendly ones. You don’t light up when you see friends. You don’t wave from across the library. You don’t laugh at Neville’s clumsy spills or Ginny’s sarcastic jokes.

You’re a shell. A hollow echo of the boy you used to be.

The castle feels colder.

Students murmur behind their hands, not with gossip but worry. “He hasn’t eaten in days,” someone whispers. “I saw him in the common room at four in the morning—just staring at the fire.”

Your name is now spoken with a frown. With hesitation.

“He used to help me with Herbology every Tuesday...”

“He gave me chocolate frogs once because I was homesick."

“He called the stars his best friends, remember that?”

“He hasn’t even looked at the sky.”

And it’s true. You haven’t.

You don’t go to the Astronomy Tower anymore. You don’t look up when the night sky reveals itself. You draw your curtains early and press your face into the pillow until it stops hurting—until it starts again the next morning.

Every smile you wore was carefully crafted, stitched from sincerity and softness. And it shattered so completely, no one even remembers what it looked like now.

You don’t cry. That’s the part that scares them the most. You don’t scream, don’t lash out, don’t even flinch.

You just exist.

Barely.

And the whole school feels the absence of your warmth like a cold draft no one can shut out.

You showed up to class, yes. Sat in your usual seat. Gave the right answers. Nodded at professors. But there was no life behind your eyes.

No spark.

No joy.

You didn’t greet anyone in the halls.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t wave.

You didn’t exist—not in the way you used to.

Even Peeves, who used to adore pranking you because of how dramatically you’d react, had stopped. He floated quietly past you now, expression unreadable.

Because whatever happened to you,

It silenced even him.

“Have you eaten?” Draco asked, sharp but quiet, sitting on the armrest of the common room sofa.

Theodore didn’t respond.

He sat slumped into the far end of the couch like he was trying to disappear into it. His cheek rested against the back cushion, eyes fixed on the fireplace but unfocused—glassy and hollow, as if he weren’t really there. The room flickered with golden firelight, shadows dancing across his pale face, but he didn’t even blink. His jumper was rumpled and too thin for the cold, sleeves stretched and chewed from anxious fingers. The collar sagged. His hair was a mess. He looked like a memory wearing itself thin.

Draco frowned. “Seriously, Theo, you look like hell.”

No answer.

Blaise groaned, walking behind the couch to toss a blanket over him. “You can’t mope around like this forever—”

“Yes, I can,” Theodore rasped.

That made them all stop.

Pansy looked up from her book. Astoria stilled mid-sip of her tea. Mattheo straightened where he sat by the window.

It was the first thing he’d said in days.

“You—what?” Lorenzo asked, like he hadn’t heard him right.

“Yes,” Theodore repeated, barely above a whisper, “I can.”

His voice cracked on the second word. Not with emotion, not yet—but with disuse. Like it had been tucked away somewhere dark and cold and forgotten.

“I can rot here,” he continued, sinking deeper into the couch. “And I will.”

“Theo,” Blaise said, quieter now, gentler, “this isn’t—come on, you need to eat something. Or sleep. You’re barely human right now—”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve been missing classes.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve been skipping meals.”

“I don’t care, Blaise!” Theodore snapped suddenly, sitting upright.

The outburst startled them all.

Pansy jumped. Astoria’s cup clinked against its saucer. Mattheo looked alarmed.

“I don’t care if I’m failing, I don't care if I look like a goddamn zombie, I don’t care if I die in this fucking room,” Theodore snarled, breathing hard. “Because at least if I die here, it won’t be out there, where he can see me.”

His voice cracked for real this time.

The room was silent. No one moved. No one dared.

He dragged a hand down his face. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “I can’t even walk past the Astronomy Tower anymore without wanting to scream. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face when I—when I said those words. That moment. That exact second he realized…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

“He trusted me,” he said instead, voice shaking, “and I broke him. And for what? Six hundred fucking galleons? A laugh?”

The guilt rolled off him in waves, suffocating and bitter. He curled forward like he couldn’t hold the weight anymore.

“I haven’t seen him smile in weeks,” he croaked. “Not once. Not a flicker. I took the brightest thing in this school and I dimmed it. I killed it.”

Pansy covered her mouth. Astoria looked close to tears. Mattheo dropped his gaze.

“You should’ve seen him,” Theodore whispered. “Before me. Before the bet. He was like—like something out of a fairytale. He helped everyone. He’d stay up until four in the morning studying just so he could help a first-year through a test the next day. He knew the names of every constellation, every planet. He’d talk about the universe like it was magic. Like it was alive. And I…”

He finally broke.

The first tear slipped down his cheek silently.

“I told him I loved him under a sky full of stars and I lied.”

No one spoke.

Not even Draco.

Not even Mattheo, who was usually the first to crack a joke when things got too heavy.

“I haven’t been able to sleep since,” Theodore whispered, tears streaming down his face now. “Not when I know he probably cries alone every night and I—I did that. With my words. My mouth. My heartless—”

His voice choked off, and he slammed a fist into the arm of the sofa.

“I wish I’d never taken that fucking bet.”

Mattheo shifted uncomfortably, guilt etched into every line of his face. “We didn’t think it would… go this far. We thought you’d laugh it off. That he’d figure it out.”

“He loved me,” Theodore said, voice flat. “He loved me more than I’ve ever been loved in my life. And I crushed him. For all of you.”

None of them had anything to say to that.

Because he was right.

And they were just starting to realize how much it cost.

Across the castle, in Gryffindor Tower, things were just as broken—if not more.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls like memories refusing to fade. The chairs around the common room were half-occupied—students whispering quietly, watching you from the corners of their eyes but saying nothing. Not anymore.

You sat curled into your usual spot by the window, the one with the draft you used to complain about but secretly liked because it made the stars feel closer. You didn’t complain anymore. You didn’t speak. You barely moved. A blanket was draped around your shoulders, though you hadn’t pulled it there yourself. It was always there, every night—someone’s silent attempt to bring you comfort you couldn’t ask for.

“Please,” Hermione’s voice cracked. She knelt beside you, her hand hovering, not quite touching your knee. “Just one spoonful, love. Just one. You have to eat something. You haven’t even touched breakfast, and it’s nearly dinner.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t blink.

You hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of toast in days. And even those were forced down, dry and tasteless, with shaking hands and an empty stomach that didn’t growl anymore. It was as if even your body had stopped trying.

Ron sat on the floor behind Hermione, his brows drawn together, lips pressed in a tight line. “He’s not gonna answer, Hermione. He hasn’t said anything in days.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped, and then immediately softened, her gaze flickering back to you. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

No one did.

Harry stood further back, near the stairs, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He hadn’t said much since that day. He was angry—but not at you. Never at you. Just at the situation. At the pain carved into your face. At himself, maybe, for not stopping it. For not being able to fix it. For not noticing that you were falling in love with someone who had only ever meant to break you.

You didn’t look at them.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did, you’d see the way their eyes shimmered. You’d see the way they looked at you like you were something fragile, something precious and cracked, and it would all become too real again.

So you kept your gaze on the sky, even though you didn’t see it anymore. Not really.

The stars—once your solace, your home, your peace—now felt like strangers. Cold and distant and cruel. You used to sit here for hours, naming constellations, tracing galaxies with your fingertip on the glass, yapping on about black holes and nebulae and planetary alignments until someone dragged you away.

Now your fingers were still.

Your mouth silent.

Your soul, lost.

It wasn’t just the heartbreak. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the humiliation. The cruelty of it all. The laughter that had echoed through the Great Hall still haunted your ears. The way his voice, the same voice that once whispered “I love you” under starlit skies, had gone sharp, cold, hollow as he dumped you in front of everyone like you were some failed potion.

A joke.

A bet.

Just a name on a list.

And somehow, despite all of that, you still missed him.

You missed him.

Not the version that had laughed with Mattheo and Draco while you fell apart.

Not the version that walked away without even flinching.

But the version that had held you close under blankets in the Astronomy Tower. The one who whispered stories about the stars with you. The one who let you talk for hours and never told you to stop. The one who kissed you like he meant it.

You missed the Theodore who ran his fingers through your hair just to watch you fall asleep in his lap.

You missed the feeling of his arms around you, strong and warm and protective in ways you didn’t know you needed. You missed the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles when you were anxious. The way he’d press his lips to your temple like a promise, so soft and lingering it felt like he was memorizing you.

You missed his touch.

But you never said it out loud.

Not even to yourself.

You couldn’t.

Because that would mean admitting you still wanted him.

That you still loved him.

And after everything, how could you?

You hated yourself for it. For the way your skin still itched with phantom memories. For the way your body leaned just slightly to the left sometimes, as if expecting him to be there. For the way you still dreamed about him, still woke up with his name on your lips and tears on your cheeks.

And yet, every night, without fail, you curled into that windowsill. You watched the sky. You waited for something—anything—to bring you peace.

But it never came.

Your dorm mates stopped asking if you were okay. Seamus had tried to make you laugh with one of his awful impressions of Snape, but when you didn’t even blink, he sat down and said nothing else. Dean left a chocolate frog on your bed one morning. You didn’t touch it.

Neville looked like he was going to cry every time you passed him.

Even Lavender, who usually only cared about gossip, had stopped talking about boys and started leaving little notes of encouragement near your books. You read them. You appreciated them. But they didn’t help.

Nothing did.

You moved through the castle like a ghost—quiet, present, but not alive.

The professors noticed too. McGonagall, strict as she was, gave you extra time on essays. Flitwick excused you from practicals. Even Snape, of all people, narrowed his eyes when you walked into Potions late one morning and just stared at you before silently returning to the board without his usual cruel remarks.

They all knew.

Because you weren’t you anymore.

You were the boy who used to light up when someone mentioned a meteor shower. The boy who believed in soulmates and kissed like love was the only thing keeping the world spinning. The boy who gave everything—and got nothing back.

Now you were the boy who sat in silence.

The boy who flinched when someone got too close.

The boy who hadn’t smiled in twenty-nine days.

The boy who whispered names of stars under his breath at night, not because he wanted to share them, but because he was afraid he’d forget.

Because the only time you still felt anything at all,

Was when you closed your eyes and pretended his hand was still wrapped in yours.

Professor McGonagall nearly lost her composure in the middle of the staff meeting.

“He’s failing Astronomy,” she whispered to Flitwick, her voice thin and frayed at the edges. “He adored that subject. He breathed it. He stayed after every class, even when he didn’t have to, just to help clean up the telescopes or talk about star formations no one else remembered. He used to smile so brightly when he pointed at the constellations—smile, Filius.”

Flitwick’s ears drooped slightly as he folded his hands in front of him. “I know,” he murmured. “He used to come to my classroom during breaks and ask questions about star-related charms. Said he wanted to see if stardust could be replicated magically. His curiosity was… infectious.”

Professor Sinistra, normally so composed, rubbed her arms and shook her head. “He was the only student who’d ask to stay after class just to keep looking at the sky. He told me once that the stars made him feel safe. That no matter what happened, the sky stayed the same, and that gave him hope.” Her voice broke slightly. “Now he doesn’t even look up.”

“I tried to give him an extension on the recent charting project,” she added, voice quieter. “He just left the parchment blank. When I asked if he needed help, he told me, ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ Then he walked out.”

McGonagall’s hands trembled on the table. “That boy has never—never—spoken to a professor like that before. Not even during his worst days. He apologized once for being late when he was ill. And now he’s failing?”

There was silence for a moment—thick, heavy silence.

Then Slughorn spoke, eyes sad behind his spectacles. “I had him in third year for Potions Club,” he said quietly. “Brilliant young man. Polite, thoughtful. He used to make these beautiful little memory vials with constellations etched into them—gave one to me after a particularly long week. Said it reminded him of his mother. Always thinking of others. And now…” His voice cracked. “He didn’t even show up for the last two club meetings.”

Snape sat across the table, arms crossed, face blank. But his eyes were hard and sharp. “He’s late to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Every day. I don’t deduct points anymore,” he said coolly, but the slightest furrow in his brow betrayed more than his tone. “He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t raise his hand. He simply exists.”

“You said he gave the correct counter-curse last week,” Flitwick offered gently, as if trying to find something good.

“Yes,” Snape replied slowly, “but he didn’t look at me once. Didn’t even react when the others applauded. It was like… it meant nothing.”

McGonagall leaned forward. “He doesn’t sit with anyone anymore. Not at meals, not in the common room. I found him asleep on a bench near the astronomy tower two nights ago. It was freezing. He’d been out there for hours.”

“That poor boy,” Professor Sprout murmured, dabbing her eyes. “He always helped my Hufflepuffs with Herbology, even when they didn’t ask. Always smiling, always kind.”

“I saw him in the corridor yesterday,” Hagrid added softly, his massive hands folded tightly on the table. “He didn’t even notice me. Just walked by like a ghost. I said his name—twice. Not even a flinch.”

Dumbledore had been silent this entire time, his hands steepled beneath his chin, expression unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, voice low but heavy with weight. “I spoke with Harry last evening. He’s tried everything. So has Miss Granger. So has Mr. Weasley. They said he doesn’t respond anymore. That he simply nods and walks away.”

There was a pause.

“Do you think… we should intervene more directly?” McGonagall asked, hesitant, as though even saying it was invasive.

Dumbledore’s gaze drifted toward the high window, where stars were just beginning to appear in the dusky sky. “There is a grief that burrows itself so deep into a person that no spell, no potion, and no lecture can reach it,” he said gently. “This is not just heartbreak. This is… loss of self.”

The staff exchanged solemn glances.

“Do we know what caused it?” Slughorn asked finally.

Snape’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Theodore Nott,” he said plainly. “It was him.”

“He broke up with Y/N in the Great Hall,” McGonagall said bitterly. “In front of everyone.”

“And it was part of a bet,” Snape added coldly. “Made by him and the other Slytherins.”

The room erupted in quiet gasps and soft curses.

Hagrid’s face turned red with anger. “A bet?! That poor lad gave that boy his heart—he was over the moon for him!”

“I believe,” Dumbledore said gently, “he still is.”

That silence came again—heavier this time. More suffocating.

“I should speak with Mr. Nott,” McGonagall said finally, standing.

Dumbledore raised a hand.

“No,” he said, voice grave. “He already knows what he’s done. He’s suffering in his own way.”

“So we just wait?” Flitwick asked softly.

“We wait,” Dumbledore said, “and hope the stars he once trusted so deeply… guide him back.”

Theodore stood outside the Astronomy Tower again that night.

Just like every night since the day he broke your heart.

Same hour. Same silence. Same ache that never dulled. He didn’t go inside—not anymore. He stood just outside the archway, where the wind howled through the corridor and the shadows swallowed him whole. The tower didn’t feel like his place anymore. It never truly had.

It was yours.

Yours, with your star charts and wide eyes. Yours, with your laughter that echoed like music between stone walls. Yours, with the way you’d twirl in the moonlight, pointing at constellations like you were introducing him to friends. The tower had felt warm once, enchanted even. Now it felt hollow. Like a tomb.

And yet, he came back.

Every. Damn. Night.

Maybe it was punishment. Maybe it was hope. Maybe he was chasing ghosts.

Maybe he just wanted to be close to you, even if only in memory.

The chill wind bit at his skin as he pulled your old star chart from his pocket. It was frayed at the edges, creased from his constant unfolding, but it still smelled faintly of you—like ink, old parchment, and peppermint. He clutched it like it was sacred.

He unfolded it slowly, fingers trembling.

The little doodles you'd drawn along the corners still made his heart twist. Tiny constellations with smiley faces, a stick figure labeled “Y/N,” one beside it labeled “Theo,” both lying under a cartoon sky filled with glittery stars. Your annotations were messy in places, but charming.

Beside the comet sketch, you had written:

“We’ll see this one together next winter. Promise me you’ll be there.”

He hadn’t even remembered the comet until now. It was due to pass overhead in December.

He wasn’t sure if he’d live to see it.

Not like this.

Every night he stayed in this spot, cold and hollow, his thoughts looping back to the same image:

Your face in the Great Hall.

When he’d said it. When he’d laughed. When he told you it was all a joke.

He saw it in every nightmare now—

Your bright smile faltering.

Your eyes going glassy.

The color draining from your face.

The way you didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even argue.

You just… looked at him like he’d killed something inside you.

Because he had.

And the others? His so-called friends? Mattheo, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Astoria, Lorenzo… They’d laughed like it was nothing. Tossed their galleons on the table. Cheered like it was a victory.

But even they had stopped laughing now.

Because it was affecting him, too.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t joke. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t feel like himself.

He wasn’t.

He was just a shell—full of regret, sick with guilt, and haunted by the sound of your voice whispering star facts to him in the dark.

And even they were starting to see it.

Even Snape had given him a strange look in class, as if recognizing something deeper—something broken.

But Theodore didn’t care what they saw anymore.

He only cared about the one person who no longer looked at him at all.

He held the chart tighter to his chest, his breath shaky as he glanced up at the stars above the tower. They sparkled like they always had—but somehow felt dimmer. Distant. Cold.

You used to make them feel close. Like they could be touched.

Now, they were just reminders.

Of what he had.

And what he lost.

His lips parted as he whispered into the night, voice raw, shaking.

“I miss you.”

It cracked through the silence like thunder.

“I miss your voice… I miss how you talked about Mars like it was your best friend. I miss how you held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. I miss how you looked at me like I mattered. Like I was someone worth loving.”

He stared down at the parchment again, eyes burning.

“You loved me like I was the stars, Y/N. And I loved you too. I was just too much of a coward to say it.”

A beat.

The wind whistled through the corridor.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold wall, letting his head fall against the stone.

“I ruined everything.”

His voice cracked.

“You gave me the universe… and I shattered it like it meant nothing.”

He paused—waiting. Hoping. Begging for a sign.

But there was nothing.

No sound.

No footsteps.

No familiar giggle from the stairway.

Just the cold, and the empty ache that he feared might never go away.

And the knowledge that he’d broken the only thing in his life that had ever truly been beautiful.

The Astronomy Tower stood the same, and that hurt more than anything.

Because everything else had changed.

You walked slowly, your hand brushing the familiar stone wall. You could feel the ghosts of what had once been—his hand clasping yours, your laughter echoing into the sky, the way the stars looked brighter just because he was beside you.

And now?

Now it felt like a tomb.

Your chest ached with every step. You hadn’t been back since that night. Since the night everything inside you died and turned to something quiet, cold, and bitter. It had taken every ounce of your remaining will to drag yourself up here again.

But something called to you.

Maybe it was foolish hope. Maybe it was grief.

Maybe it was the part of you that still whispered his name in the dark.

When you pushed open the heavy door, the wind hit you first—chilly, but familiar—and then the stars, blinking quietly, as if waiting for you to return.

You took a deep breath, stepping onto the balcony. The stone railing was cold under your fingertips, but grounding.

It was just you and the sky again.

You closed your eyes, lifting your face to the stars.

“Cassiopeia’s crooked again,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You always hated that.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I told you the stars didn’t care about symmetry. You told me I talked too much. But you never stopped listening.”

Your voice cracked. “Why didn’t you stop listening when it mattered?”

Silence answered you.

At least for a moment.

Because then—footsteps.

Soft. Careful. Familiar.

Your heart sank, and you didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

He always walked like that around you—like he was trying not to wake you from a dream.

You didn’t move. You barely breathed.

“…Y/N?”

His voice hadn’t changed.

But you had.

You turned, slowly.

Your eyes met his—and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

He looked…

“God,” you whispered without meaning to, “you look…”

You couldn’t finish.

Because he looked awful.

Theodore Nott had always been pale, sharp, elegant—but now he looked fragile. Like a single gust of wind would knock him over. His cheekbones were sharper, his eyes rimmed red. There were dark circles under them, the kind that didn’t come from lack of sleep alone. His robes hung looser on him. His hands were shaking, even though he tried to hide it.

And his eyes—those haunting, sea-glass eyes you used to love so much—looked empty.

“I didn’t think you’d come back here,” he said, voice rough.

“I didn’t mean to,” you replied softly, still shocked. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

He took a step closer, cautious.

You didn’t move away—but you didn’t get closer, either.

You couldn’t.

“Why do you look like that?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “What happened to you?”

He swallowed, eyes flicking away. “You.”

You flinched.

“Don’t say that,” you said harshly.

But it was too late.

You both knew it was true.

“You haven’t been eating,” you murmured, eyeing him. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

You stared at him for a long time. “Why?”

“Because I miss you,” he admitted, barely a whisper. “Because I hate myself. Because I keep hearing your voice in my head and it hurts more than anything else ever has.”

He took another step closer.

You let him. Barely.

The wind swirled around you both, tugging at your robes.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t be looking at you. I shouldn’t care.”

“But you do,” he said quietly.

And gods help you—you did.

“Why are you here, Theodore?” you asked, voice shaking. “Why now?”

He blinked slowly, as if every word he was about to say was a struggle.

“Because I’m sorry.”

Your hands curled into fists.

“Too late.”

“I know.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because I never got to say it before,” he whispered. “Not when it mattered. Not when you were breaking. Not when I should’ve thrown the bet away and fallen to my knees in front of you.”

You stared at him, lips trembling.

“You want to say sorry now?” you asked, voice brittle. “After you made me a joke? After you humiliated me in front of the whole school? After you laughed with them like I was a fucking—toy?”

“I didn’t laugh,” he said, voice cracking. “I never laughed.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t stop them.”

“I should have,” he admitted. “I should’ve grabbed your hand and told them all to go to hell.”

“Then why didn’t you?!”

“Because I was stupid. And scared. And weak. I cared more about what they thought of me than I did about how I was hurting you.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I told you about my parents,” you said, voice soft. “I told you about being alone. I told you how scared I was of being someone’s pity project. And you—you used that against me.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.”

The silence between you grew sharp.

You took another step forward, now inches away.

“You killed something inside me, Theodore.”

He looked ready to break.

“And you know what’s worse?” you whispered. “I still love you. Even now. Even after everything. Even when I don’t want to.”

His lips parted, eyes wide.

You laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that pathetic?”

“No,” he said, voice urgent. “It’s not. It’s not pathetic, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And I—I ruined you.”

“Yes,” you whispered. “You did.”

He reached for you—slowly.

But you stepped back.

“I can’t forgive you,” you said, choking on the words. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”

He froze.

“I need you to understand something, Theo,” you said, voice breaking. “I would have given you everything. I did. I would’ve walked through fire for you.”

You looked up, eyes glassy.

“But you set the fire yourself.”

Then, quietly, “And you watched me burn.”

His breath hitched.

You stepped past him.

He didn’t stop you.

But this time, he turned too. He watched you walk away.

And when you looked back—just once—you saw it.

Tears. Real ones.

He collapsed against the balcony the second you disappeared down the stairs, shoulders trembling.

The stars above both of you blinked down in sorrow.

And neither of you noticed that the brightest one flickered out.

Theodore Nott was a haunted boy now.

There were nights he couldn’t sleep, so he just laid on his back in the cold green haze of the Slytherin dorms, watching the shadows from the Black Lake dance along the stone ceiling. His hands trembled. His thoughts did not.

Because every single thought was you.

Your voice. Your laugh. The way your eyes shimmered when you looked up at the sky and started yapping about Sirius or Mars or that little cluster of stars that supposedly looked like a cat you always insisted that one existed.

He would’ve laughed at you once. Thought you were ridiculous. Too bright for your own good.

But then you had kissed him.

And suddenly, stars had felt real.

────────────────

You weren’t laughing anymore.

You weren’t talking about constellations.

You weren’t… you.

Everyone noticed.

Gryffindor tower had turned somber. The usual energy was gone. No more jokes. No more harmless explosions from Fred and George. No more friendly morning bickering with Ron, or walking with Hermione to breakfast, or teasing Harry for being the “chosen one” with a crooked grin that made people smile just watching it.

Now?

Now you barely left your bed.

You stopped eating unless someone forced you to.

You didn’t go to Astronomy class anymore—your favorite class. Professor Sinistra even visited McGonagall personally to let her feelings out of her chest.

And she wasn’t the only one worried.

Even Snape asked.

He called on you once during Potions, something he rarely did, and when you didn’t respond—just stared blankly at the board with bloodshot eyes—he paused for a moment.

His voice wasn’t sharp. Not like usual.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” he said, quieter. “You’re excused for today. Leave your things. Go back to your common room.”

You didn’t argue. You just left.

The whole class went silent.

Because everyone had heard the rumors by now.

The whole school knew what Theodore had done. The bet. The humiliation. The way your face had cracked in front of every house like a mirror shattering in slow motion. You hadn’t said a single word to Theodore since that day.

But he hadn’t stopped looking for you.

────────────────

“Where is he? I haven't seen him all fucking day.” Theodore snapped, slamming his hands on the table in the Slytherin common room.

The others flinched.

Blaise glanced up from his book. “Still being dramatic in Gryffindor tower, I imagine.”

“Don’t,” Theodore warned. His tone was darker than they’d heard in weeks. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

Mattheo exchanged a glance with Draco. “Mate,” he said slowly, “we didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” Theodore snarled. “You didn’t think. None of us did.”

The common room went quiet again.

Theodore raked a hand through his hair, pacing.

“I—I thought he’d bounce back,” Lorenzo offered weakly. “He’s Gryffindor’s golden boy. Always so… cheerful.”

“He’s not,” Theodore said, voice hollow. “Not anymore.”

Astoria finally spoke, soft but sharp. “We did this.”

No one argued.

Because it was true.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just you that had changed.

Theodore was unraveling right alongside you.

He hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He skipped more classes than he attended. He carried your astronomy notebook around like a damn talisman, flipping through it every night like it would summon you back.

There were notes in the margins about him. Tiny doodles. Scribbled hearts. One page even had his name next to a constellation you made up—Theodon, the “prickly lion star.”

He had laughed when he saw that. Now it made his eyes burn.

He missed you so much it hurt to breathe.

────────────────

Back in Gryffindor tower, you sat curled in a blanket on the windowsill, journal unopened in your lap.

Harry watched you from across the room, arms folded.

“Talk to me,” he tried again. “Just a word. Anything.”

You blinked slowly, like you were underwater.

“Y/N,” Hermione whispered from behind you. “You’re scaring us.”

And you were.

Your hands didn’t tremble anymore.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t throw things.

You just… stared.

And that silence was worse.

Because you had never been silent.

You had always been the one to talk through your feelings, ramble about them. Even when things were hard, you lit up the room with useless facts about constellations or reminded people to breathe, smile, take care of themselves. You were light.

Now you were fading.

Hermione knelt beside your seat, placing a wrapped chocolate frog on your lap. “I saved this for you.”

You didn’t take it.

Ron shifted uncomfortably near the fireplace, staring at the floor. “He doesn’t deserve you, you know,” he mumbled. “Not after what he did.”

You flinched.

“He doesn’t,” Harry agreed.

“I know,” you finally whispered.

The three of them froze.

It was the first time you had spoken in two days.

You set the chocolate frog aside gently.

“Then why does it still hurt?” you asked, voice hollow. “Why does it feel like the stars stopped shining?”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.

Harry reached for your hand and squeezed. “Because you loved him.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. “Yeah,” you rasped. “I really did.”

────────────────

That night, you returned to the Astronomy Tower for the first time in weeks.

You didn’t tell anyone. You just climbed the steps quietly, hands shaking, heart aching. The door creaked open. The wind whispered like a ghost, cold and biting.

You stepped out into the night.

The stars greeted you like old friends.

You stood there for a long moment, just breathing, letting the wind whip through your robes. You remembered where you’d sat with him. Where he kissed you. Where he looked at you like you were the only thing he could see.

You knelt down and opened your journal.

Your quill trembled.

But you wrote.

You drew every star you could see. Every one you remembered. Every one he made you forget.

And for the first time in weeks…

You cried.

Not from heartbreak, but from relief.

You were still here.

The stars hadn’t gone anywhere.

And maybe—just maybe—you could find your way back to them.

────────────────

Far below, Theodore sat in the courtyard, your notebook pressed to his chest like a shield.

He stared up at the tower window, wondering if you were there. Wondering if the stars had taken you back.

Wondering if he’d ever be enough to stand beside you again.

And for the first time in his life, Theodore Nott felt like the loneliest boy in the universe.

The halls had grown quieter when you passed.

Not out of awkwardness. Out of worry.

Professors had stopped asking you questions directly. Neville tried to sit next to you in Herbology, but you barely acknowledged him. Even Lavender and Parvati, who once couldn’t stop teasing you about “your moody Slytherin boyfriend,” had learned to keep their distance. You were polite. Distant. Untouchable.

But slowly, you were reclaiming little pieces of yourself.

You returned to Astronomy class regularly, always sitting near the back. You still never spoke, but you were there. Present. Listening.

And you were writing again.

A few Gryffindors had noticed. Hermione peeked at your parchment once and saw it—pages and pages of stars, sky maps, invented constellations. She cried about it later in the common room, but didn’t let you see.

Even Professor Sinistra took notice.

She left you small things after class. A note. A paper star folded from map pages. A diagram of lunar phases that included your birthday marked with a tiny, golden moon. Her way of saying, I see you. You’re still here.

────────────────

Theodore had grown pale.

He still walked the halls with that same cool expression, that perfect posture, that quiet air—but he was hollow now. Glass-eyed. Slower. The shadows under his eyes had turned permanent.

He avoided his friends, the Slytherin common room, the Quidditch pitch.

He was grieving, even if he couldn’t admit it at first.

But guilt was a loud, living thing.

And it clawed at him every day.

────────────────

It all happened after a Transfiguration exam.

Theodore was the last to leave the classroom, trailing behind with his hands buried in his pockets and his head low. He hadn’t slept. Again. He was lingering behind while others rushed out into the corridor, buzzing about how hard the written section was or how McGonagall’s stern gaze could petrify you harder than any spell.

His footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, the usual hum of students long since faded. But then he heard them. Laughter. Familiar voices that made his stomach twist with guilt.

Mattheo. Draco. Blaise. Pansy. Astoria. Lorenzo.

They were leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, like nothing had changed, like they hadn’t shattered something unfixable. The laughter stopped when they noticed him. Mattheo's grin faltered and pushed off the wall.

“Theodore,” he called, catching his sleeve. “Oi—what’s got you in a mood? We haven’t seen you in weeks. Did the Gryffindor go all dramatic on you again?”

Theodore yanked his arm away, eyes flashing with something colder than anger.

And for once, he didn’t walk away.

He turned on his heel, slow and deliberate.

His voice was razor-sharp when it came. “What the fuck do you want?”

They stared at him.

Draco raised a brow, amused. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Theodore snapped. “Or has all that hair gel finally seeped into your ears?”

Mattheo laughed again, but it sounded forced this time. “Holy shit, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Theodore took a step forward, his voice a bitter cocktail of fury and heartbreak. “You’re all what’s wrong with me. You, this stupid bet, and every single time I let you make fun of him.”

Pansy blinked. “It was just a joke—”

“No, it wasn’t.” His voice cracked. “It was him. It was someone who trusted me. Someone who smiled like sunlight and helped every person he met—including you. And I let you turn him into a fucking punchline.”

The silence was crushing.

He was shaking now—shoulders tense, jaw clenched, hands curled into trembling fists.

“I loved him,” Theodore whispered, barely holding himself together. “And I destroyed him because I was too much of a coward to say no. You think I’m upset because the bet ended? No. I’m upset because I wake up every night wishing I’d never taken it. Because now he won’t even look at me. And he shouldn’t.”

His voice dropped even lower. “Because I don’t deserve it.”

None of them spoke.

And for the first time since the bet started, Theodore saw it—guilt. Real guilt. The kind that sinks into bone and never lets go.

“I can’t sleep,” Theodore said hoarsely. “I can’t breathe in our dorm because I hear him laugh. I walk through this school, and I can’t go ten fucking feet without remembering him. And you think this is funny?”

Mattheo’s smirk wavered. His usual bravado slipped away, bit by bit, as Theodore’s words hung in the air like poison.

No one had ever seen him like this. Broken. Raw. Honest.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his shoes. Blaise’s arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression had gone pale. Pansy’s lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say. Not yet.

Finally, Astoria stepped forward.

“Theodore…” Her voice was soft. Guilty. “We didn’t think it would end like this.”

He scoffed bitterly. “What? That I’d actually care? That I’d fall in love with him?”

“We thought it was a crush,” Blaise muttered. “A laugh. A way to get under the Gryffindors’ skin.”

“You used him.”

Silence again.

Pansy cleared her throat, voice shaking now. “He used to help me in Potions. Every week, even when he had his own homework. He brought me Pepper-Up Potion when I was sick last winter.”

Theodore’s jaw clenched. “And you still watched me break him.”

“We didn’t know,” Mattheo said, quieter than he’d ever spoken before. “We didn’t know you were serious.”

“I wasn’t at first!” Theodore shouted. “That’s the worst part. I wasn’t. I was just like you. Laughing. Lying. Pretending it meant nothing. But then… then he started showing me stars. Telling me about the universe like it was a love letter. And I—” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I started seeing myself in the sky.”

No one spoke.

Until Pansy stepped forward, tears prickling at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We’re all sorry. We didn’t just hurt him. We hurt you. We made you into someone you're not.”

Lorenzo nodded, voice hoarse. “We were cruel. And we deserve whatever comes from it.”

Draco’s lips pressed together tightly. He gave a single, solemn nod. “We were wrong, Theodore.”

Theodore stared at them, throat tight, chest aching.

“You don’t deserve forgiveness,” he said coldly. “But you can start by never mocking his name again. Ever. And if you really want to make it right… start by remembering the kind of person he is. Not the one we turned him into.”

Mattheo ran a hand down his face and let out a shaky breath. “You’re right.”

“We’re sorry,” Astoria repeated, voice almost too soft to hear.

Theodore didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

Because the damage was already done.

But at least now, they knew it.

[houseofaegon]

I feel like Bob would be so panicked to be a dad but also so excited. What do you think he’d be like when you’re giving birth? I feel like he’d feel like he was gonna pass out, but then yelena would snap him out of it and tell him he has to be there for you. 

Yours pt. 2 ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Warnings: labor scene, pregnancy (birth), found family, soft!bob, girl dad!bob, thunderbolts chaos, tribute to nat cause i miss my baby

Summary: You were exhausted, nine months pregnant, and completely over it. Bob was hovering, Bucky was baby-proofing the compound like it was a warzone, and the Thunderbolts were preparing for the arrival of “the heir” with all the grace of a SWAT team on caffeine. One labor joke sends the whole team into full-blown labor panic—until your water actually breaks.

Word Count: 3057

Author’s Note: this is part 2 of Yours. i got so so so so many requests from you guys screaming for more dad!bob content and to turn yours into a series. can’t say no to yall, also bc i am so obsessed with bob being a dad and the thunderbolts being the chaotic found family. i laughed so hard while writing this, i love girl dad!bob so much. me next me next put a baby on meeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! hope you all like this <3 love, bri.

You were thirty-nine weeks pregnant.

Your hips ached. Your ribs were being actively assaulted from the inside—tiny feet pressing like it was trying to escape out the side. You were hot all the fucking time, sweaty in places you didn’t know could sweat, swollen, hormonal, and deeply, profoundly miserable.

And Bob?

Your sweet, golden retriever of a boyfriend—who once whimpered just sucking on your tits—was now operating on a rotating diet of baby books, blind panic, and seventeen cups of coffee a day. He’d taken “nervous father-to-be” to Olympic levels of intensity. There were laminated checklists. Color-coded spreadsheets. He had a three-ring binder labeled “LITTLE PEANUT’S PREP PLAN.”

“Do you need anything, love? Snacks? A foot rub? A bubble bath? Prenatal yoga—maybe an orgasm?”

You blinked at him, dead-eyed. “I need to not be pregnant, Bob. I want this baby out.”

He flinched like you’d stabbed him, then immediately dropped into nursing mode, offering you a pillow, his water bottle, a heating pad, and his hand like it was a bouquet of peace offerings.

“Right, yes, okay—sorry, baby. Just—any day now, right?”

He smiled wide. Hopeful. Desperate.

“Yes,” you hissed, holding your lower back with both hands. “Which means today. Maybe. Hopefully. Dear god, please come out.”

It had been like this since the beginning—ever since you told him, standing in your bedroom, voice trembling, eyes wide as you whispered “I’m pregnant”—he had melted completely. Dropped to his knees. Sobbing and laughing, kissing your stomach like it was already carrying the entire universe. His entire universe.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he’d promised, crying against your skin. “Both of you. I promise, baby.”

And he had.

Oh god, he had.

To a completely unhinged degree.

He’d downloaded seven parenting apps within an hour. Subscribed to every newsletter. Turned on daily notifications that buzzed at 7 a.m. sharp with affirmations like “Today, little peanut is the size of a cantaloupe!”

You had no idea why he chose the nickname “little peanut”—but it stuck. So did the updates.

“She’s the size of a melon today,” he’d say with awe, hand splayed over your bump. “And apparently her fingernails are already fully developed. Isn’t that wild?”

You didn’t want to know the sex—not until the baby was born. It was the one decision you both agreed on instantly. Bob said he wanted “the moment.” The shock and awe. The magic of it. Even though he insisted on calling the baby her half the time anyway.

“What if it’s a boy?” you asked once, teasing.

“Then he’s my little peanut,” Bob had said. “But I still think she’s gonna be a girl.”

He said it with so much quiet certainty, like he already knew.

Bob wasn’t the only one who spiraled.

Bucky had been roped into “fortress duty” around month four. What started as helping you put together a rocking chair had turned into a compound-wide baby-proofing project that quickly escalated into paranoia-level security.

There were now corner guards on every sharp edge. Lock systems installed on all drawers. Bob and Bucky actually installed a childproof toilet lock. No one could open it without a manual.

Yelena nearly pissed herself trying to get it off.

“This baby isn’t even out yet and I’m already being terrorized,” she’d groaned.

Walker tripped over a stair-gate Bob installed in a hallway with no stairs. He took out three potted plants in one crash.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! I don’t even think babies walk until a year in!” he groaned from the floor, rubbing his back.

“Little peanut could be gifted,” Bob muttered, sipping his thirteenth coffee. “You don’t know.”

Alexei was absolutely thrilled. The moment you hit six months, he declared himself “Thunderbolt Grandfather” and started wearing a homemade apron that read “World’s Greatest Dedushka” in glittery red Sharpie. He brought you beet soup every night, no matter how many times you politely asked him to stop.

He insisted on “grandfather bonding rituals,” most of which involved sitting next to your belly and singing softly in Russian while cradling your bump like it was a sacred egg. He often told the baby stories about “strength, pride, and the Russian winter.”

Walker had no idea what was going on 90% of the time. He once offered you a cappuccino at seven months and asked how your “tumor” was doing.

Bob tackled him to the ground. Ava took the coffee out of your hand without saying a word.

Speaking of Ava—she was your shadow. Quiet, ever-present, always there with a hand at your back, a cold cloth when you overheated, or tea before you even asked. She didn’t speak much, but her presence was steady. Like a heartbeat just outside your own.

And Yelena?

Yelena was your rock. Your unofficial bodyguard. Your midwife-in-training. Your best friend and your biggest pain in the ass.

She glared at doctors, snapped at anyone who stood too close to you, and once elbowed one of Valentina’s intern in the face just for looking at you wrong. She referred to herself as “the godmother,” and called your bump “the heir.”

She’d cried—punched the wall actually—when the first ultrasound showed a heartbeat.

“Oh my god. It’s the heir!,” Yelena whispered, eyes locked on the monitor. “That’s our little baby.”

The Thunderbolts didn’t just support your pregnancy.

They wrapped themselves around it like a shield.

You had never been more exhausted. More uncomfortable. Or more profoundly, heart-achingly loved.

You waddled into the common room like a pissed-off general in the final trimester of war. Blanket dragging behind you like a cape. Water bottle in one hand, belly leading the way like it had its own gravitational field. Like a planet. Your ankles hurt. Your tits hurt. Your soul hurt.

“Move,” you groaned.

Yelena didn’t even flinch. She just kicked her feet off the couch and waved you over like royalty. A teasing tone in her voice. “Your throne, my queen.”

You dropped onto the cushions with a dramatic grunt. “I swear to God if this baby doesn’t come out in the next twelve hours, I’m gonna leave Bob and fake my death. Start a new life. Maybe become a lighthouse keeper and grow potatoes.”

Across the room, Bob gasped audibly.

“No!” He dropped the book in his hands and rushed to your side like you’d just been shot. “No leaving me, no faking your death, and—you don’t even like dirt, baby. I can run a bath! Want me to play Mamma Mia? Your body responds really well to ABBA.”

You glared at him, unblinking.

“My body responds really well to satanic music, sweetheart.”

Bob’s eye twitched.

Yelena wheezed from the other side. “She’s entering her final form. It's her villain era, and I'm all here for it.”

Walker was hunched over in the corner with a baby bouncer in his lap, trying to decipher the instructions while holding them upside down. “This thing has like thirty screws. Babies don’t even sit yet. Why does it need hydraulics?”

“Because it’s an all-terrain bouncer,” Bob replied seriously.

“Where are we bouncing the baby to? Fucking space?”

Bucky sat on the arm of the couch next to you, watching the exchange like someone who had aged fifty years over the course of the last nine months. He was drinking his fourth cup of coffee and had installed five baby gates this week.

Alexei was in the corner holding up a onesie with “Future Thunderbolt” written across the chest in glitter paint. “Is small now, but malysh will grow into it. Like destiny!”

“The baby not even born yet,” Ava muttered, handing you your fifth bottle of water for the day. “Maybe let the baby take a breath before assigning them to the team roster.”

Bob was hovering over a checklist.

“Has anyone seen the birthing playlist?” he asked. “I made a few. One’s classical, one’s rock, and one’s just the Mamma Mia soundtrack on loop.”

Walker blinked. “Didn’t you also make one called ‘Panic But With Vibes’?”

Bob nodded gravely. “Yes. For emergencies.”

You sighed, rubbing your belly.

Yelena glanced at you. “You look like you’re about to pop.”

“That’s because I am,” you snapped. “She’s training for the World Cup in there.”

“You okay?” Bob asked. “Contraction? Back pain? Foot cramp? Do you need another magnesium chew?”

“I need all of you,” you said sweetly, eyes fluttering shut, “to shut the fuck up.”

They froze.

Yelena snorted. “Now that’s the nesting aggression. Beautiful.”

You cracked an eye open and saw Bob staring at your belly like it might speak.

And that’s when you had the brilliant, evil idea.

You gasped. Loud. Clutched your belly.

“Oh—oh my god,” you said, eyes wide. “Guys. I think my water just broke.”

Instant detonation.

Bob shot to his feet like a nuke had gone off. The binder fell. Papers flew. He was on his feet in an instant, eyes wild, hair standing on end like static had just punched him in the soul.

“Oh my god—okay, okay, it’s happening, everyone stay calm—baby, where’s your go-bag? WHERE IS THE GO-BAG?!”

Walker launched himself upright, chair crashing backward. “SHE’S IN LABOR? I THOUGHT WE HAD A PLAN! I’M NOT READY FOR THIS!”

He tripped over the diaper pail Bob had installed yesterday and hit the floor like a falling oak tree. “I’M DOWN. MEDIC!”

Yelena leapt onto the coffee table in full combat mode. “I’LL GET THE WHEELCHAIR!”

“WE DON’T HAVE A WHEELCHAIR,” Bucky deadpanned, already on his feet and adjusting his sleeves like he was about to deliver the baby himself.

Alexei raised a towel in the air like it was a sacred artifact. “THIS IS IT! TO THE MEDBAY!”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE A TOWEL?!” Bob screamed.

“THE MOVIES ALWAYS SAY TO BRING TOWELS!”

Bob was circling you now, voice high and strained. “Are you having contractions? How far apart? Do you need to sit down? Stand up? Squat?! Do I boil water? I can boil water! I HAVE A KETTLE!”

“NO TOWELS! NO WATER!” Bucky roared. “Jesus fucking Christ it’s not the 13th century. Get your shit together!”

You blinked.

And then burst into laughter. Like ugly wheezing laughter. Full-on, tears streaming, belly-shaking hysteria.

Everyone stopped mid-chaos. Even Alexei froze mid-kneel.

You gasped for breath. “Oh my god, you should’ve seen your faces—“

Yelena’s mouth dropped open. “You little bitch.”

“You’re joking?!” Bob gasped, grabbing his heart like you’d physically stabbed him.

Ava turned on her heel and walked away. “I need a sedative.”

“I hope your child is a menace,” Walker groaned standing up from the floor, his hand on his hip. “You deserve it.”

“I think I just had a stroke,” Bucky dropped to the couch.

Alexei put down his towel like he was attending a funeral.

“I was kidding!” you said between gasps, wiping your eyes. “Oh my god. That was so worth it.”

Bob looked like he aged five years in five seconds. “You can’t do that to me,” he whispered. “I felt my soul leave my body.”

You stood, still giggling. “Relax. I’m not going into labor today—”

Pop.

Warmth pooled between your legs.

You went still.

So did everyone else.

You looked down and then up again, locking eyes with Yelena, who already looked halfway to a warzone. Bob’s mouth dropped open like he just watched his favorite vinyl record shatter.

“Holy fuck.”

“OH MY GOD IT’S REAL THIS TIME!” Bob screamed.

“EVERYONE MOVE!” Yelena barked.

“TO THE MEDBAY!” Alexei shouted with pure glee, raising his arms like he was about to be beamed up into the mothership.

“No—wait—oh my god—” You doubled over, contractions hitting you like a freight train out of nowhere.

Ava was already at your side, sliding under your arm without a word. “Breathe in. Slowly. Lean on me. I’m right here, I’ve got you. We're moving slow, okay?"

Yelena was on your other side instantly, bracing your elbow. “You’re fine. You’re breathing. We've trained for this, remember? You’re the heir’s vessel.”

“Why are you like this?” you gasped.

Walker ran toward the door, tripped over the labor bag Bob had pre-packed for the fifteenth time, and slammed his whole body into the wall.

“I’M OKAY,” he shouted from the floor.

Bucky stepped over him without pause, steadying Bob, who was currently spinning in circles with his hands on his head.

“She’s in labor. She’s really in labor. I’m not ready. I don’t remember the affirmations—where’s my playlist?! I didn’t charge the speaker!”

“You have one job!” Yelena shouted. “Get to the medbay!”

Alexei was following you down the hallway like a personal cheerleader, waving a rattle in the air like it was a battle flag. “THE LITTLE THUNDERBOLT IS COMING!”

Bucky shoved the medbay doors open so hard they dented.

And Bob?

Bob paced the hallway outside like he was about to give birth himself.

“Okay okay okay—breathing—she’s breathing—I should be breathing—is this what a panic attack feels like? Where’s the playlist?! Yelena, where’s the fucking playlist?!”

Ava placed you softly on the medbay's bed. You were already covered in sweat and absolutely screaming as another contraction hit you like a truck.

“DON’T YOU DARE PASS OUT, BOB!” you snarled as Bob peeked in the doorway, white as a sheet. “IF YOU FAINT I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL RIP YOUR SOUL OUT THROUGH YOUR NOSE.”

Bob whimpered. “Yes ma’am.”

Yelena smacked him. Just once. Sharp and fast.

“Snap out of it, Robert Reynolds. She needs you. The baby needs you. Pull it together.”

He blinked, then nodded like he’d been activated.

He rushed to your side, and grabbed your hand. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide, breath shaking.

Ava’s voice was steady. She was the calmest of the three inside the room.

“Okay, sweetheart. This is gonna hurt. A lot. But I need you to breathe. It’s time.”

You were soaked in sweat, clutching Bob’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your legs trembled. Your body screamed. Your vision blurred.

He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips—soft and desperate. One hand caressed your forehead. The other braced your back when you screamed again.

“Okay,” Ava said from between your knees. “Push.”

And you pushed.

You pushed like your life depended on it.

Bob squeezed your hand, whispering affirmations, crying with you.

“You’re almost there. Just a little more, baby. I see her—I see our baby—”

Another contraction hit. You screamed. Ava’s voice rose gently over yours.

“One more. That’s it. I've got it.”

And then—

A cry.

Sharp. Loud. Beautiful.

Your world stopped.

Bob froze. His breath caught. His hand flew to his mouth, and he sank to his knees beside the bed, weeping so hard it shook his chest.

“She’s here, she's so beautiful.” Ava said gently, smiling as she swaddled the tiny pink bundle. “It’s a girl.”

Bob let out a sound you’d never heard before—pure joy, broken and sobbing.

“I’m a dad,” he whispered, laughing through his tears. “Oh my god, I’m a dad. She’s a girl—I’m a girl dad! I knew it!”

Ava placed her gently on your chest, smiling proudly at you.

She was tiny. Red. Wailing. Beautiful. You stared at her, heart pounding, breath gone.

Bob’s hands hovered like he was afraid to touch something so sacred.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “She’s so perfect.”

Yelena leaned in from your right, eyes wide, damp with tears she was pretending weren’t there.

“Well?” she whispered. “What’s her name?”

You smiled. Bob looked at you. Then at her. Then back to your daughter.

"Lena Natasha Reynolds"

Yelena froze. Her lips parted. Her hands trembled.

“You—what?” Yelena whispered, voice cracking in disbelief.

You looked at her, still smiling through the blur of tears. Bob’s hand found yours, squeezing tight. You nodded.

“Lena Natasha,” you said softly. “For you. And Nat.”

She dropped slowly to her knees beside the bed, gaze locked on your daughter as if she couldn’t believe she was real. Her hands trembled as she reached forward, and you gently helped place Lena in her arms.

“Hi, little one,” Yelena whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You don’t even know… You have no idea how much I love you already.”

She stroked Lena’s soft cheek, holding her so gently it made you cry harder. Her hands were trembling. And then she let out the softest, most ragged sob you’d ever heard.

"You're so loved, little peanut. You have no idea," she whispered.

Bob kissed your face over and over, breathless. “You did it. You fucking did it, baby. You’re everything. You’re—God, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

He stood suddenly, kissed Lena’s tiny forehead, and bolted out of the medbay like a man on fire.

Bucky, Walker, and Alexei were seated outside like expectant sitcom dads. Legs bouncing. Eyes bloodshot. The moment they saw Bob burst through the doors, disheveled and red-eyed, they all stood.

Bob’s lips trembled.

"It's a girl."

Bucky’s eyes filled immediately. His shoulders dropped like he’d been holding tension for months. He stepped forward, grabbed Bob by the shoulders—and pulled him into a hug so tight it stole the air from the room.

“You did good,” Bucky whispered, voice rough. “She okay?”

Bob nodded into his shoulder. “She’s perfect. She’s so perfect.”

Walker burst into tears. Loud, hiccupping, ugly ones. “I knew it! I knew it was gonna be a girl! I felt it in my bones!”

Alexei screamed. Like, screamed.

“OUR LITTLE THUNDERBOLT HAS ARRIVED! I AM A GRANDFATHER!”

He immediately grabbed Bob and Bucky in a bone-crushing hug, shouting something in Russian. Walker joined, sobbing into Bob’s shoulder. Bucky just closed his eyes, hugging tighter.

And Bob—sandwiched between his brothers, laughed through it.

“She’s here,” he said, voice cracking. “She’s finally here.”

Back in the medbay, you cradled Lena to your chest, smiling through your tears as Yelena stroked her tiny head and whispered, “Your family’s insane. You’re gonna love them.”

"You were amazing," Ava whispered, brushing your hair back softly.

Bob returned minutes later, quiet now. He sat beside you, kissed your temple, and laid his head next to yours.

"Thank you," he whispered. “You gave me everything. She’s everything I ever wanted.”

And with Lena curled against your heart, Yelena beside you, Ava watching over, and Bob’s hand pressed to your cheek.

You believed him.

You were home.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[dragoneyelashart]

ride or cry (that is the stupidest name i've ever come up with, just go with it)

authors note: i finally wrote something other than angst (everyone cheer) warnings: smut

you were splayed out on silk pillows, hair a messy halo around you, skin slick with sweat, chest heaving. before getting bored and wanting to go annoy your girlfriend. bad idea though. billie had been edging you for hours making you grind down on her thigh while she worked, pulling you back every time you got too close. her fingers have been tracing slow, maddening patterns along your sides, lips brushing against the crook of your neck in teasing, featherlight kisses.

you whimper into her ear, hips stuttering as you press harder against her thigh, making the mess between your legs even more unbearable.

“you know, baby…” she murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, “i think you like when i tease you. hm?”

you nod helplessly, not even fully hearing her words—just chasing that high she keeps dangling in front of you.

“mommy, please…” you breathe, voice wrecked, trembling with need. “i just wanna be good for you…” she sighs, almost lazily, like she’s thinking about it. “mmm, but mommy’s tired…” she drawls, though there’s no real bite behind the words.

“please,” you beg, hips shifting uncontrollably, like they’re acting on instinct alone. “it hurts, i need you so bad, mommy…”

she clicks her tongue, eyes dark with faux pity. “tsk… my poor baby,” she whispers, brushing her fingers over your flushed cheek. “alright. come on, then.”

you climb onto her lap, shaky hands bracing against her shoulders. she holds you steady, her palm at your lower back, guiding you down slowly onto her length. you gasp, body arching as she fills you, the stretch making your thighs quake from overstimulation. you pause, breathing hard, letting yourself adjust before your hips start to roll. needy, languid, desperate. soft moans slip from your lips, little breathy whines that go straight to her core. billie watches you like you're a masterpiece, every twitch of your muscles, every trembling exhale, every inch of you unraveling just for her. “mommy… m’tired…” you whimper, voice barely there, cracked and aching. “need your help…” she smiles, sweet, slow, merciless, and wipes the sweat from your brow with her thumb. “mommy told you she was tired, didn’t she?” she coos. “come on, sweet girl. take what you need.”

you sob quietly, overwhelmed, but you obey, hips bouncing, rhythm messy and frantic now. the sound of skin slapping echoes through the room as you ride her, clinging to her like she’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. her hands rest on your waist, firm but not guiding, just watching you struggle, suffer, need.

your rhythm falters. thighs trembling, breath catching, your body shakes with effort, but you don’t stop. you can’t. you’ve been on edge for so long, and you're so close now you can taste it.

“that’s it, baby,” she whispers, voice low and velvety. “look at you, riding mommy’s cock like a good little slut. so desperate…” you choke on a moan, head falling to her shoulder, clutching at her like you might shatter. your muscles are screaming, nerves sparking, tension coiled so tight it’s almost unbearable.

“can’t- can’t do it, mommy,” you cry out, voice cracking as the tears finally spill. “too much… hurts…” she lifts your chin, forces your glassy eyes to meet hers. “thought you wanted to be good for me, baby?” she breathes. “thought you loved being mommy’s little whore…”

you nod, barely, tears spilling freely now, lips parted in a soft, gasping plea. “i do… i do, mommy,” you sob. “fuck, need you mommy please just wanna be good…”

she hums, almost lovingly, and one hand moves down, fingers sliding between your legs. they find your swollen clit with practiced ease, rubbing slow, torturous circles. you moan out, hips jerking wildly, movements turning feral, desperate. “there you go,” she whispers, eyes locked on your wrecked face. "that’s it. show me how much of a slut you are for mommy."

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @giannaeilish @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonglazesbillieeilish | send me an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[bernardsbendystraws]

ꔛ 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬…

⚠︎ smut, overstim, p n v, possessive behavior

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

EVEN THE SOUND WAS SINFUL. Lewd clapping of skin echoes as Chris holds onto your hips, lifting you partially as fucks himself into you.

“Is that—“ he stutters, hissing as your walls clutch around his length, “—is it good, baby?”

“I—“ Your mouth hangs wide open, your head dumbly nodding as you balance yourself with your hands on his chest.

You were supposed to be riding him, finally taking some sort of control. But Chris just doesn’t have it in himself to hold back. He needs to see you absolutely drunk off pleasure, shocked noises spilling from your lips every time he pushes you closer to the edge.

Chris lets out a long, deep groan. Your nails are clawing into his collarbones. It hurts so good—it’s enough encouragement to make him absolutely ravish you, snapping his hips up relentlessly while bouncing you on him with a tight grip digging into your hips.

“Fuckin’ hell.” His voice is soft compared to your screams.

Your thighs are tensing, flexing and pulsing with a burn as you the knot in your gut gather tighter and tighter. “Chris—Chris, I—“

He knows. The way you’re convulsing around his hard length tells him what you’re trying to say. He coos watching your body squirm, the wave of pure euphoria making every muscle twitch automatically.

But he wants you to feel it—he needs you to feel it.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” he husks, his hands collapsing tighter on your hips as he makes sure to keep you in place—making you feel everything.

As you scream out, Chris is struggling to hold himself back. He slows down his pace, not wanting to overstimulate you.

Your body is shaking. But—your lip is quivering as you frown. He didn’t finish.

Slowly, you let out a whine as you start to ride him, your legs burning and aching with immense pain. But you don’t care. You want him to finish, you need to make him feel good.

“Baby, baby—what’re you…what’re you doing? Don’t hurt yourself—“

His words struggling to murmur through his lips. The feeling of your cum leaking onto him and the loud squelch every time you sit on him fully makes his mind numb, his fingers digging into your side as his head throws itself back into the pillow.

“Want you to—to feel good,” you cry, biting on your lower lip hard.

Chris is struggling to hold back even more. He licks over his lips, gazing at you with hazy eyes while his stomach tenses with each movement from your rolling hips.

“Are you—are you sure?” he asks, groaning loudly as he feels your walls suck him in impossibly deeper.

As you nod, he gives a small smile. You’re so fucking adorable—overstimulating yourself and trying to ride him just because you want to please him.

“-want help, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you answer, crying out as you feel him flip you onto the mattress, thrusting deep and hard into your dripping heat.

“Just—just take it. Be a good girl and take it, doing so good for me, you—“

“It’s all for you,” you cry, grasping into his biceps as he rocks himself upward into you, making sure to pound against the spot that drives you wild.

“All f’me huh?” he tuts, grinning and licking over his lips as he watches drool pool from your mouth. “Fuckin’ perfect. Being such a good girl and it’s all for me.”