#home is where the heart is!!! or something

[loljaeyunz]

only ever you. [jakehoon x reader]

Word count: 5.7k

Summary: You're mad at your boyfriends over something dumb, and they make it their mission to make you forget why you were even mad.

Warnings: established poly relationship, smut, soft doms!jakehoon, kinda bratty reader at first but she melts, brat taming? (not really, idk like its so vague), mxm (just kissing and a finger sucking :p), abs riding, looots of praising, brief tit play, worshiping, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, your honor they're so in love.

a/n: this work is a purely self-indulgent fic, born from my deepest desires yall. which is: me wanting two boyfriends who love me and each other... is that really too much to ask? 😞 btw ts is nasty but like in a very loving kind of nasty, so beware.

"So this is how you're gonna act? Ignoring us?” Jake said as he followed you upstairs like a puppy. 

“I am not ignoring anyone.” 

“Uh-huh, because you ghosting all of my texts was my imagination, of course, baby.” Sunghoon remarked, he was also following you, just behind Jake. 

You sighed, barging into your room like a teen that just argued with her parents. Your intention was to slam the door in their faces but Jake caught it with the sole of his sneaker, wedging his foot between the frame and the door before it could crash shut. You sighed harder this time, throwing yourself on your bed to slide reels. 

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that. You knoo that’s just our job, none of it meant anything.” Sunghoon crawled on the bed towards you. You shrugged, keeping your focus on your phone. 

Jake climbed onto the bed next, kneeling at your feet and facing you like he was trying to get into your line of sight. His pretty hands were braced on your knees, thumbs absentmindedly stroking over the fabric of your sweats like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Still, you didn’t look up. Not even when you could see, out of the corner of your eye, that Jake was pulling his best puppy eyes and pout combo. 

“Pretty girl, stop that, hmm? We didn’t intentionally ghost you. Our phones were taken, that’s why we couldn’t text you.” 

You didn’t doubt your boyfriends. You trusted them, you knew where their hearts were, who they came home to, who they whispered goodnight to over FaceTime when schedules got crazy. Of course you knew that, and of course you knew you shouldn’t be petty about these things anymore. But it never helped that seeing your boyfriends smile at other girls still got under your skin. It was stupid, you told yourself. Immature. You weren’t seventeen and insecure anymore. And yet, there you were, scrolling through the videos of engenes from today’s event with a tight knot in your stomach and a petty little scowl on your face.

You were right in the middle of zooming in on a photo of one of the girls touching Jake’s arm when Sunghoon snatched your phone clean out of your hands.

“Hey–” you started, but he was already frowning at the screen like it offended him personally.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he muttered, locking the phone with a dramatic press of his thumb before tossing it somewhere behind him on the bed.

You lunged forward to reach for it, a glare already forming on your face, but Sunghoon was faster. One hand caught your wrist mid reach, the other pressing flat against your shoulder as he gently shoved you back down against the pillows.

“Nu-uh,” he said, voice low as he hovered over you slightly, palm flat against your stomach to keep you in place. “You’re dropping that brat act right now, baby.”  

You thrashed beneath him in frustration, your legs kicking uselessly at the mattress, arms squirming under his weight, but Sunghoon didn’t budge an inch. If anything, he looked mildly entertained, his brows raised like he was watching a particularly dramatic toddler throw a tantrum. Jake stayed quiet at your feet, eyes flicking between the two of you, but not interfering.

“Let me go, you asshole,” you snapped, wriggling harder. “You said – you said – I could have space! I literally walked away and then you followed me and now Jake’s all pouty, and you’re acting like some – some manipulative parent, and I swear to God, you two are the most annoying shitheads–”

Your rant didn’t get to finish. Sunghoon leaned down and kissed you. 

The kiss wasn’t sweet or slow. It was firm and a little rough, the kind of kiss that silenced you mid-sentence and made your breath hitch. His hand was still splayed across your stomach, keeping you pinned just enough to let you know he wasn’t playing around.

By the time he pulled back, your breath had hitched, your glare had softened and your voice was nowhere to be found.

“Better.” he muttered, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone. “Now, do you want to keep yelling, or are you gonna let us fix it?”

You scoffed, turning your head to the side like you weren’t already breathless from the way he kissed you. Your glare might’ve softened, sure, but you weren’t about to hand over the reins that easily. Especially, not when Sunghoon thought he could kiss the attitude out of you.

Your brows stayed furrowed, lips pursed in defiance. Sunghoon smoothed a thumb between your brows anyway.

“Stop scowling,” he said softly, still hovering over you. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

You gave him the flattest look imaginable. “You literally just kissed me to shut me up.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?” he said with zero shame, glancing back at Jake, who was still kneeling at your feet with his chin resting on your knee, clearly waiting for his turn to speak.

Jake shifted finally, crawling up from where he’d been stationed at your feet, the mattress dipping as he shifted to hover beside you. His knee brushed beside your hip, and soon he was hovering over you too, shoulder to shoulder with Sunghoon, their presence overwhelming in the way you secretly liked.

Your eyes flicked up, ready to shoot him a warning, but the moment you did, something else caught your attention: Jake’s necklace, the silver chain swaying ever so slightly, dangling down as he leaned over you. The little charm brushing against your collarbone when he leaned just a bit closer, smiling gently, eyes searching yours.

You hated how your eyes followed the chain, distracted for half a second too long.

“You’re really mad at us, pretty?” 

You blinked, your eyes darting between his necklace, his eyes, and the way his hand settled just beside your head on the pillow. God, they were so annoying. And kind. And pretty. And yeah, maybe you were still scowling. But it was getting harder to pretend you’re not affected by them. 

Jake’s hand rose to your throat, thick and long fingers wrapping around. But he didn’t squeeze, not even a little press. He just let his hand rest there.

At the same time, Sunghoon’s hand began to move slowly, sliding lower where it had been resting against your stomach. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, letting his fingertips trail just above the waistband of your sweats.

You swallowed hard, your throat shifting under Jake’s palm. He, of course, felt it, and his thumb ghosted across your jaw in response – so soft it made you shiver.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively the moment you felt it, that warm, sticky sensation beginning to pool between your legs, heat blooming low in your stomach. You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your face neutral, but Sunghoon’s eyes flicked down. He noticed.

His hand didn’t stop this time. It dipped lower, fingertips skimming past the waistband of your sweat. He moved slowly, too fucking slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop him. But you didn’t.

Jake leaned down, his necklace brushing your collarbone again, and his breath fanned across your cheek as he spoke, “How about you let Sunghoonie check if you are mad or not?” 

Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Sunghoon didn’t need your permission at that point, your body had already given him everything he needed. His fingers slipped past the band of your panties until they met bare skin. You sucked in a sharp breath, your whole body tensing as he found exactly what he was looking for.

You were soaked, your pussy hot and slick against his fingers. His fingers moved further, parting your lips gently. Your breath hitched again, squirming a little. 

He hummed, pleased, like he was proud of you. Like this was exactly the confirmation he wanted. “Thought so.” he muttered, the smirk in his voice practically audible. 

Sunghoon’s index finger and middle finger scooped up your wetness before slowly pulling back. You shivered at the sensation. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, your slick glistening faintly on his fingers, catching the low light in the room like something holy and obscene all at once.

He tilted his hand slightly, inspecting it with a smug smile before glancing sideways at Jake. “She’s dripping down there, want a taste Jake?” 

Jake’s tongue peeked out, barely wetting his bottom lip, his eyes dropping to Sunghoon’s hand. Sunghoon turned toward him fully and pressed those same fingers to Jake’s lips. 

Jake didn’t even hesitate, lips parting obediently as Sunghoon pushed his fingers past them. He sucked them in slow, cheeks hollowing, eyes fluttering shut, a low moan slipping from the back of his throat like he was tasting something sweet.

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. Jake’s lips wrapped around Sunghoon’s fingers so willingly, so prettily, his lashes fluttering like he was savoring every drop. You could hear the faint, wet sound of it, could feel the heat pulse harder between your thighs just watching the two of them.

And just when you thought that was the peak of it, Sunghoon leaned in.

You barely had time to process the movement before his fingers slipped free from Jake’s mouth, only to be replaced by something hotter, wetter.

His mouth.

His hand curled behind Jake’s neck, pulling him closer, and you swore you felt the air leave your lungs as their mouths moved together. Tongues tangling.

Sunghoon chased the taste of you now lingering on Jake’s tongue. You watched Jake melt into it, his free hand sliding up to fist in Sunghoon’s shirt, both of them kissing like they were starved, like you weren’t even in the room, and yet everything about it was for you.

It was filthy. And so, so beautiful. You even forgot why you were mad. 

Your breath came faster, the room was getting warmer. Your clothes started sticking to your skin. The sight of them kissing like that with your taste between them, made your hips shift involuntarily, like your body was trying to reach for something, anything. You were sure your panties were ruined by now. 

Jake pulled back first with a wet pop, his lips swollen, his eyes hooded. He looked dazed and wrecked yet he smiled. 

Sunghoon turned to you, expression almost the same as Jake’s. “Are you still mad at your pretty boyfriends, baby?” 

You didn’t answer with words.

Instead, your hand reached up and curled into the collar of Sunghoon’s shirt, tugging him down with enough force to knock the air out of both of you. He barely caught himself on his elbows, chest hovering over yours, his breath catching as your mouth crashed into his.

It was messy. Hungry. Just as fevered and wild as the kiss he’d given Jake moments ago, maybe more.

Sunghoon groaned softly into your mouth, the sound melting into you like smoke. His lips moved eagerly, parting for you as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. His body pressed into yours, the full weight of him almost collapsing on top of you as he tried to keep himself steady.

Then he bit your lower lip. You gasped, and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Your moans bled into the kiss, your thighs clenching again at the sound, the feel, the need.

And somewhere in the haze of it, while your hands were tangled in Sunghoon’s hair and your lips swollen from his bite, you felt Jake shift beside you. You couldn’t see him fully because of Sunghoon’s body. 

Then came the tug at your waistband, his big hands on your hips. You lifted your hips without thinking, without breaking the kiss, offering yourself up wordlessly.

Jake pulled your sweats down inch by inch, and your panties followed, sticking to the heat between your legs before peeling away. The cool air met your skin and you shivered.

Jake’s fingers brushed your thighs as he tugged the clothes down to your knees, then further, until you felt the soft drape of fabric being discarded somewhere across the room.

Without warning, sunghoon broke the kiss.

His hands slid down to your waist, and before you could blink, he was moving, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him in one smooth, powerful motion. You gasped, a startled yelp escaping your lips as your body was lifted and shifted like you weighed nothing.

You didn’t even register what happened until it was done.

One moment you were pinned beneath him, and the next you were straddling him.

You sat atop his abdomen, your thighs spread around his torso, your bare heat pressed against the hard plane of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. Your hands had flown to his chest to brace yourself, fingers splayed over the fabric, your eyes wide with shock.

“Sunghoon—” you started, breathless.

But he just smirked, looking up at you with that maddening calm, as if he hadn’t just manhandled you into place like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he wasn’t just making you go insane. 

Then he tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging lazily down your body and back up, voice dropping into something quieter.  “Why don’t you take my shirt off, baby?” he murmured. “Let you ride my abs properly.”

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers twitched against his chest, your mouth parting slightly in surprise. That... wasn’t something you’d ever said aloud. Not to him. Not to Jake. Not to anyone. But you had thought about it. You’d fantasized about it more than once, imagined exactly what it would feel like, pressed and grinding against firm muscle, nothing in between but skin and slick heat.

You didn’t even try to hide your eagerness. Your hands flew to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up his torso in one motion, and Sunghoon sat up just enough to help you pull it over his head. You tossed it aside, your eyes immediately dropping to his now bare chest. 

And fuck. 

Your mouth went dry. Your thighs instinctively squeezed tighter around his waist at the thoughts creeping in.

He smirked again, lazily, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Go on,” he said softly. “I’ve been working out just for you.”

God, he didn’t need to say, it showed. Your gaze stayed fixed on the cut lines of his stomach, his v-line disappearing beneath his sweats. You could see the way his muscles flexed subtly beneath your weight, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. Your wetness started to drip down your inner thighs now, sliding against his skin, hot and humiliating and unbelievably arousing.

Somewhere from behind you, Jake let out a soft groan. “Pretty girl making a pretty mess on you Sunghoonie.” 

Your cheeks burned.

Sunghoon’s hands stroked slowly up and down your waist, each pass of his palms dragging your shirt with it, lifting the hem ever so slightly, then letting it fall again. He wasnt urging you to move, just holding you there. Letting you take your time. Letting you look. Letting you want.

The friction of the shirt sliding against your torso made your skin hypersensitive, your breath hitching with every pass. But it was his eyes, the way he looked up at you that cocky smile still pulling at his lips that made your body move before your brain could catch up.

Your hips shifted. Lower. You pressed your bare cunt against the warm, hard plane of his abdomen, the ridges of his abs prominent beneath your slick folds. You let out a breathy whimper at the contact and your body reacted instinctively.

You started to move.

Slow at first, almost shy, rolling your hips in tentative little circles. Your wetness smeared against his skin, glistening on the taut muscle beneath you. The more you moved, the messier it got. Sticky, warm, heavenly, whatever you want to call it. You felt everything, the slight drag, the ridges of his body, the smoothness of his skin just enough to make it feel good.

Sunghoon hummed under his breath. His fingers gripped your waist a little tighter. “Baby... you look so good like this.”

You kept going, your pace picking up, the friction enhancing, so hot, so dirty, so unlike anything you’d ever let yourself do before. Shameless little moans fell from your lips, your body shuddering with each drag of your clit against him. But it wasn’t enough. 

Yes, you loved it, loved the way it made you feel, the way it made Sunghoon look at you. But the friction was shallow, teasing, just barely scratching the edge of the ache building inside you.

You needed more. 

As if Jake could read your mind, he came up behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth and sturdiness of him against your back. His hands slipped under your shirt in one smooth motion, palms warm and wide, sliding up your ribcage until they found your plush breasts.

You gasped, your back arching slightly into his touch. Jake’s hands molded around your breasts, the pads of his thumbs teasing over your nipples until they were stiff and aching. Each little pass sent jolts of pleasure down your spine, making your hips twitch harder against Sunghoon’s abs.

“ Knew you needed more.” he whispered into your ear. 

He kissed your shoulder first. Then the next kiss was open mouthed, wetter. His tongue traced along the dip where your neck met your collarbone before his lips latched on, sucking until you whimpered. You tilted your head without thinking, giving him more access, your body pliant under his touch.

He hooked his fingers under the hem of your shirt and began to lift. The fabric rose inch by inch, grazing your stomach, your ribs, until it bunched just beneath your arms. He didn’t stop there. He pushed it higher, baring your breasts completely.

Jake groaned, low and proud. “Mmmh, she’s so so soft.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes dragged up from your cunt to your tits, now fully on display as Jake cupped them again from behind, this time slower, more deliberate so could Sunghoon see every curve, everything. His fingers traced that curves, teasing the sensitive peaks, tugging lightly.

“She’s gorgeous.” Sunghoon murmured, and Jake agreed with a hum. 

He pinched one nipple between his fingers and tugged gently, while his mouth found your neck again, licking the spot he’d just marked.

One of Jake’s hands left your tit, slipping lower, trailing down your stomach in a slow, torturous line. You knew what he was about to do before he even got there. Your hips stuttered in their rhythm for half a second before resuming, grinding harder against Sunghoon’s abs.

His fingers dipped lower, lower, until they found the mess between your legs.

“Shit…” he breathed, almost to himself. “Love how you get so wet every time.” 

Jake didn’t tease, thankfully. He found your clit immediately, his middle finger rubbing slow circles over the swollen bud, syncing his movements to the rhythm of your hips.

The combination was instant, overwhelming. The friction of Sunghoon beneath you, the pressure of Jake’s finger just right, made your head fall back against Jake’s shoulder with a choked moan.

“Yeah, there she is.” Jake murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re close, pretty, don’t stop now.” 

You couldn’t even think about stopping.

Your nails dug into Sunghoon’s chest as your hips rocked harder, chasing the way Jake’s finger rolled against your clit in perfect rhythm.

You whimpered when Jake added a two fingers, dipping low and pushing inside without warning, stretching you open with an obscene slick sound that made both of them groan.

“Fucking hell” Sunghoon muttered, his hands tightening on your waist so hard that it hurt.

But Jake kept going, his palm pressed firm against your mound while his fingers curled inside you while you rode both of them. Rode the drag of abs against your clit. Rode Jake’s fingers pressing up into that spot inside you. Rode the edge that had been building in your gut from the moment they laid hands on you.

Your thighs trembled. Your moans spilled out faster, desperate, helpless. You were almost crying now. You were so close.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let go. Let Hoon feel how hard you fall apart for him.”

You chased it with everything you had, grinding messily, erratically until your body locked up, your breath caught in your throat, and your orgasm hit you so hard it knocked the wind from your lungs. You cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around Jake’s fingers, soaking his hand and Sunghoon’s stomach in the same breathless wave. 

You collapsed forward, panting, still twitching through the aftershocks, your head falling against Sunghoon’s chest. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your figure. 

You felt Jake leaning in against your back, his lips were at your ear when he whispered, “That’s our girl.” 

They let you breathe.

You laid there, trembling, chest heaving against Sunghoon’s bare skin. Your forehead rested just above his heart, the beat of it was calming. His arms tightened around your back, holding you to him like you were made of something precious and breakable.

“Did so good for us,” Sunghoon murmured, lips brushing the crown of your head. “So fucking beautiful, baby.”

His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles along your spine, easing the tremors still rippling through your limbs. He pressed soft kisses into your hair, onto your temple, and then just above your brow. You let yourself melt into him, every inch of your body boneless, content, loved.

You barely noticed the soft sound of rustling fabric behind you. Barely registered the shift of the mattress, the sound of a zipper, the thud of clothes being discarded onto the floor.

Until you felt something hard. 

The thick press of something undeniably real nudging against your ass, the slick head brushing your skin. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and you felt Jake, again, behind you, one large hand running up your spine. He exhaled a quiet groan at the sight of you sprawled like that, ruined and pliant between them. His other hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, lazily pumping himself as he leaned forward, lips brushing along the back of your shoulder.

`Ready for me?” He guided his length against your ass without waiting for a response, the tip brushing the swell of your cheek, dragging up and down slowly, deliberately, just to feel your skin shiver against him. His cock was heavy, hard, veins prominent along the shaft, the head flushed and leaking against your backside.

Sunghoon chuckled softly beneath you, feeling your breath hitch. “She’s so sensitive still,” he said gently, his fingers stroking your hair. “But I think she can take it, can’t you, baby?”

You just shifted your hips slightly, a soft movement of your ass pressing back into Jake, your legs spreading instinctively, inviting him in without a single word.

Jake cursed under his breath. “Fuck. I think we got our answer.” 

His hand smoothed up your spine again, and then gently,so gently, he guided your hips to arch, pressing the curve of your back just right, making you rise onto your elbows against Sunghoon’s chest. He leaned forward, letting the head of his cock nestle between your cheeks, then lower, until it pressed against your already soaked entrance. He ran the tip along your folds, collecting your wetness, groaning softly at how slick and warm you were even now.

Next, the thick head of his cock breached you, stretching you open inch by inch until your eyes fluttered shut.

“Ohh my god, Jake–” you choked, the fullness making your limbs tremble.

Jake’s hand gripped your hip tighter. He didn’t stop until he was buried deep, every inch seated inside, snug and hot and overwhelming in a way that made your whole body quake.

Your mouth hung open, a moan spilling out as your arms trembled against Sunghoon’s chest. His hands cradled your ribs gently, his thumbs stroking soft, comforting lines as if to say, You’re okay. You’re doing so well.

“Jesus, baby,” Jake rasped behind you. “I love your cunt so much.” 

Then he began to move.

A deep, fluid pull and a slow thrust back in, making your entire body lurch forward just slightly. Every time his hips met yours, the wet slap echoed through the room lewdly.

You cried out at the sensation, your head tilting back instinctively, spine arching deeper. You couldn’t restrain the sounds you were making even if you wanted. 

The pressure. The pace. The sound of slick skin meeting slick skin. Your body rocked between the two of them, Jake’s thrusts driving into you from behind, your chest pressed to Sunghoon's as he whispered praises between kisses to your temple. All of it was mind blowing. 

Your moans came in broken bursts, lips parted against Sunghoon’s skin, your fingers digging into his biceps like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Hey.” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the haze. His fingers cupped your jaw, guiding your gaze up to meet his. “Look at me.”

Your lashes fluttered, your lips trembling around another moan as you forced your eyes open, your vision blurred with tears from the intensity. You barely managed to focus on him, but his expression was impossible to miss; stern and adoring all at once.

“Who’s fucking you right now, baby?” he asked, his voice deadly smooth.

You whimpered, the question sinking deep into your already overwhelmed brain. You opened your mouth to answer but all that came out was a helpless, choked moan. Feeling Jake deep inside your gut didn’t help either. 

Sunghoon leaned closer, his nose brushing yours, his voice even quieter now. “No, no. Use your words,” he whispered. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

Your mouth moved soundlessly for a second, lost in the chaos of your body’s pleasure. Jake was relentless behind you, his hand tightening on your hip, other hand tightly squeezing your shoulder.

“I–ah” yet you tried. “Jake–”

Sunghoon smirked, but his eyes stayed locked with yours, his thumb brushing your cheek gently.

“Yeah, he’s fucking you so good, isn’t he?”

You whimpered in response, unable to do much else, your body still jerking forward with each of Jake’s thrusts behind you. You were barely hanging on, your breath catching every time Jake’s hips slapped against your ass.

Sunghoon tilted his head, brushing his lips against yours, not quite kissing you yet, just breathing with you. 

“You know he doesn’t fuck anyone else like this, right?” he murmured, the words threading into your ears like silk. “You’re the only one we come home to.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the other, then finally pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “The only one we fall asleep beside.”

Jake groaned behind you, slowing just enough to make every deep push feel like a claim. “The only one we dream about.” he added, voice wrecked.

Sunghoon’s fingers found your chin again, tilting your face to look at him. “So don’t even let that pretty little head of yours worry about stupid shit like that again, yeah?”

You blinked through tears, your chest tightening at how gently he said them, how true they sounded even through the blur of pleasure.

“Only you,” Sunghoon whispered. “Only ever you, alright?”

Jake’s pace faltered after a couple of rough thrusts. His hips slowed, dragging through your walls with an almost unbearable languidness, giving you nothing but deep, shallow rolls that made your insides clench around him desperately.

You let out a broken sound, hips trying to follow him back, chasing more. “Jake…” you breathed .But Jake didn’t give in.

Instead, you felt both his hands wrap firmly around your waist. You gasped as he dragged you backwards, gently but firmly, shifting your body off of Sunghoon’s abdomen. Your cheek brushed the wrinkled sheets as Jake settled you on all fours in the middle of the bed, your thighs already trembling beneath you from all the sensations going on in your body. 

You gasped and braced yourself fully on your arms, elbows digging into the mattress, shaking slightly. 

Without needing to speak, Sunghoon seemed to understand exactly what Jake was doing.

He sat up slowly. Wordless, he moved up the bed until his back rested against the headboard, knees bent and legs spread. Just enough for you to see the sharp line of his erection pressing up against the front of his sweats.

Then he reached for you, his fingers brushing gently through the messy strands of hair that had stuck to your damp skin. He smoothed them back, tucking them behind your ear like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

After making sure your hair wouldn’t be in your way, Sunghoon pulled his sweats down just enough. His cock sprang free, hard, the tip wet and angry. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, the other wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking himself slowly.

Sunghoon's thumb brushed over your bottom lip as you blinked up at him, your eyes glassy, lips parted in anticipation. 

“Open for me, baby.” 

You did and he guided the tip of his cock to your mouth, smearing the wetness across your tongue before slowly easing in. Inch by inch, he fed it to you, watching your lips stretch around him, his jaw clenching the deeper he went.

“Just like that.” he dragged the words, hand tightening in your hair as he held your head still, not forcing, just… guiding.

Behind you, Jake moved too.

You barely had a moment to adjust before his hips snapped forward again, pulling a ragged moan from deep inside you, muffled by Sunghoon now. Jake’s grip on your waist returned. His pace began to build gradually.

Their rhythm was intoxicating. Jake thrusted harder now, each snap of his hips sending your body forward right onto Sunghoon’s cock, which glided deeper into your mouth every time you were rocked. And yet… they were careful with you. Gentle, in all the ways that made your body feel safe even in this situation. Worshipful, you could say that.

Jake’s fingers squeezed your hips, thumbs stroking over the bruises he was no doubt leaving behind. “You’re doing so good for– for me, oh fuck!” he rasped, the strain in his voice impossible to hide.

Sunghoon groaned softly, his hand grabbing the back of your neck, his other hand petting your hair.

Your legs were trembling, your arms no better, and the pleasure was building again. The stretch of Jake inside you, the salty taste of Sunghoon, the fullness, the heat, it was too much and not enough all at once. Your moans grew frantic, muffled.

“That’s it, pretty. Let go for us. Let go all over my cock. Let me feel how much you love being loved like this.” 

You did as if his words were your cue. Your whole body locked up, a sob of pleasure escaping around Sunghoon’s cock as you came. Your body trembled more violently, walls fluttering around Jake, pulling him in deeper, squeezing him tight.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Jake cursed loud, the rhythm of his hips faltering until he came to a stop. Hips pressed against your ass as he let his cum paint your insides. He leaned over your back to kiss your spine, panting against the sweaty skin.  

And just as you were coming down from your high, Sunghoon exhaled sharply above you. His fingers tightened in your hair.

“I’m– fuck, baby, I’m gonna–ah–ah”

You looked up, your eyes still glassy, mouth still full, and you didn’t pull away, patiently waiting for him to release his seed down your throat.

Sunghoon moaned your name as his hips jerked, his head hitting back against the headboard with a thud. You tasted it before anything else, the warmth, the salt, his pleasure spilling onto your tongue as he held you close through it. You swallowed it all, Sunghoon’s hand finally left your head, dropping beside him mindlessly. His cock popped off your mouth with a wet sound, and your head lolled against his inner thigh to rest there. 

You all stayed like that for a while.

Jake eventually slid out of you with a low grunt, his hands still holding your waist, gentle this time, as he caught his breath. The absence made you shiver.

Sunghoon didn’t speak. He just moved as if your body belonged in his arms. He leaned forward and scooped you up from all fours into his lap, cradling you sideways against his chest like you weighed nothing at all. His hands held you so carefully, one arm beneath your knees and the other at your back.

You melted into him, cheek pressed against the curve of his shoulder.

He kissed you softly, lazily, tasting the lingering salt on your tongue with a hum of satisfaction. Then he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath still warm and slightly uneven.

“Now, give us an actual answer, baby. Are you still mad?” he asked, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the kind that only came when every inch of you was boneless and loved. “I don’t even remember what I was mad about.”

Sunghoon chuckled, nose brushing yours. He looked so pretty like this, sweaty, flushed, pupils wide.

From behind, Jake’s voice joined, a little rough, a little smug. “Good. Isn't worth remembering anyway.”

He leaned down, dropping a kiss to the top of your head as he pulled the blanket up over the three of you, wrapping you in warmth.

“You two are so annoying.” you mumbled into Sunghoon’s chest, but there was no real bite in your words.

“Yeah,” Jake murmured, settling in beside Sunghoon, hand draped over your thighs. “But we’re yours.”

a/n 2: tumblr glitched the fuck out while formatting this. if it ruined the writing, i'm throwing hands. hope you enjoyed ˆˆ

[reignpage]

Splish Splashing

Summary: in which Merman!Nanami courts and fucks Mermaid!reader Warnings: smut, f!reader, penetrative sex, lovemaking, mutual masturbation, merman anatomy, loss of virginity/couple's first time, dirty talk - praise, biting, blood drinking, cum eating, exhibitionism, unfortunate slips from past to present tense sorry lol - not proofread - will probs be edited later and more detail added Word Count: 2.7k

Merman!Nanami, for as long as he could remember, had always had a crush on you, another mermaid in his pod. How could he not with your iridescent scales, captivating hair which flows in waves around you, and seductive smile?

You were kind and graceful, offering your help whenever you could and leading the way for your family. A beacon of light in the darkness that he could not look away from. The quick conversations on his way to patrol the surface and you to teach the merlings were no longer sufficing; he wanted more. Merman!Nanami wanted to go home together, wanted to be in your presence from high tide to low, to know you inside and out, to be the thing that kept you tethered, the way you were for him.

For many moons, you two had been swimming around, grazing fingers and exchanging heated glances. In your eyes a curious, lingering depth could be found, enticing him to dive in, to succumb to the whirlpool and drown in all that you could give him. There was no doubt about it; you liked him back. He knew what he needed to do. 

The courtship began with small gifts like a small trident that he found from a shipwreck, fallen-off claws for your hair, and a hard-fought shark tooth as a protection charm. They were little trinkets that you could use every day; knowing you carried him with you as part of your routine made his heart soar. You accepted his gifts and his songs happily. 

But you deserve much more. So his search led him to the seafloor for something just as vibrant, as vivacious, and gorgeous as you. It was no easy feat but Merman!Nanami would not give up. He could not. Shaking off the persistent desire for mentorship from a pink-scaled guppy, he ventured into a burning, forbidden zone, where no mermaids or mermen dared look in the direction of – his fingers were sore and healing for weeks after he foolishly rummaged through the scalding rocks by the volcanic rift south of his pod’s coral palace, all to find a glowing emerald stone he had a friend fashion into a golden diadem. 

Of course, he had no regrets. 

At the full moon’s peak, when the whole Pacific Ocean’s humble citizens came together to celebrate the heightened forces that bind the community into a peaceful coalition with a feast, you two found each other in the crowd, practically drawn together, hearts beating as one. 

Your tails intertwined. Eyes locked. Voices humming the same tune. Palms pressed against the other, his fingers longer and webs slightly bigger, he led you through the other bodies searching for one another, the towers of coral, and rains of pearls, all the way up to the surface. Illuminated by the moon’s light, you looked up at him, shyly, and eagerly accepted his gift. It looked much better on your pretty face than he could have ever dreamed. 

“It’s beautiful, Kento.”

He breathed out, “Yes…you are. Uh, I mean, it is. No, you are. Beautiful. So beautiful.”

You laughed. “Thank you. But I do hope the night won’t end with just a dance and a crown, Kenny.”

Emboldened by the physical manifestation of his devotion, which weighed heavy upon your head, you reached up and kissed him. You shared the same air, fuelling his ambition and urging him to grip your hips with his calloused fingers. That was the furthest you two had ever gone, too shy to go too far too quickly. Nothing was holding either of you two back anymore. 

Turning ravenous, the kiss became sloppy and messy, saliva dripping down his chin, tongue mingling and teeth nibbling on sore lips. Merman!Nanami asked, “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

“Ken…if you don’t fuck me tonight, I’ll drown you myself.”

“Always so violent,” he mused. “Alright, my love. Let me feel you.”

The rubbing and grinding of your lower halves together was driving him wild. Like an impish eel, your arm slithered down, dainty fingers expertly navigating the sensitive slit on his tail. 

Merman!Nanami gasped. No one but him had ever touched him like that. No one else had delved into the burning pocket there and felt the smooth skin inside, swollen with need. He jolted. Your fingers are softer than his, more gentle, and satiny. It felt like Olympus submerged. 

“Have you touched yourself here before, Ken? Be honest.”

Red-faced and a little ashamed, he admitted, “Yes. Sometimes it feels better than touching my cock.”

“Hmm, I bet. I’m sure you could cum just like this right?” With your spare hand, you coaxed out the hot length of his cock and rubbed up and down, thumbing the underside of his leaking cockhead. “Wow…you’re so big. I’m almost scared it won’t fit. But we’ll make it fit, right, Ken?”

“S-sweetheart, p-please.” He didn’t know what exactly he was begging for. All he could think about was how right it felt to have your body pressed so close to his, breaths mingling, and tongues exploring the wet caverns of parted mouths. Merman!Nanami let slip a frightened whimper when something foreign begun to grow from his scaled slit. “What’s happening? That -ngh!- t-that feels odd.”

You nipped his bottom lip, swallowing the bead of blood and moaning at the sweet rush of his addictive taste. “No one told you about this, Kenny? You’ve never found it yourself? Oh, you’re like a poor little guppy.”

Clinging onto your breast and flicking the nipple there, hidden under jellyfish-like tendrils, he demanded, “Don’t make fun of me.”

The giggles from your soft lips almost brought a smile to his. 

“Sorry, Kenny. It’s a spur. It’s supposed to make me feel good…here.”

His fingers were guided to your slit. He was a stuttering mess, overcome with delirium and flustered at finally being able to feel what he’d envisioned during late nights and had only heard about through seaweed vines from bragging mermen. Hot, sticky and exceeding expectations, Merman!Nanami could only fumble about, poking and prodding like a useless clownfish. You should have left once you saw his inexperience. He wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Instead, you held him tighter and whispered encouragements.

Similar to his own, your slit had thin-scales surrounding the vulnerable area. When he groped there, you shuddered. And inside, it was smooth and swollen. Once he got a grip, emboldened by the marks you were leaving on his skin and the pumping of your fist up and down his throbbing cock, he pushed his fingers deep inside, webs flexibly pushed back.

A strange shyness overtook you, unused to baring yourself to someone else, forcing you to hide your face in the crook of his neck. There, you dug your teeth into his flesh, sending venom into his bloodstream just as you drank his blood mercilessly. His hips stuttered. "Good girl...it's alright...keep -hah- drinking."

The venom was making him lightheaded. You'd penetrated him, your very essence coursing through his body and filling him up. It was addictive. Maddeningly so. In that moment, Merman!Nanami understood the obsession mated pairs had with drinking from each other until they were rendered paralysed and unmovable for days.

Shaking his head to keep focus, he wrangled through the euphoric haze derived from being able to sustain you to your mesmerising cunt.

Whereas his was only a shallow space which hid his cock, yours seemed to go on forever. Impossibly tight and delectably gummy, he found himself scissoring his fingers, not to stretch you in preparation as he knew he should have but rather, just to feel you. 

At the apex stood a small clump that, when rubbed in circles, elicits louder moans from you. That must have been what all the mermen of his age were so proud to have found, he realised. 

There were pleats by the entrance and then a pillowy area reminding him of the heads of jellyfish. He curled his fingers against it. You moaned. “Does that feel good? Hmm? Do you want more, sweetheart?”

You jerked him off faster and faster. The feeling , coupled with your delicious voice, was going straight to his head. “Yeah, Ken. Please.”

“Oh, so polite. What a good girl. Come here, sweetheart. Come give Kento a kiss.” The novelty of the feel of your lips might never wear off, he thought. It was a kind of bliss no one could ever deserve. And the mere suggestion that you’d welcome him so wholeheartedly, under the dazzling stars and full moon, embracing him – all of him – was sending him deeper and deeper into a world of joy he’d kill to keep. 

The breast covering you wore had torn off some time ago, leaving your bare flesh touching his. Manic, he found himself muttering anything that bubbled in his head. “I c-can’t believe I’m supposed to go inside here. In your pussy. You’re far too tight, like a clam.” 

Through whines and whimpers, you scolded him. “Don’t compare my pussy to a clam, Ken. That’s bad.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He swallowed hard. Truthfully, he wasn’t thinking. No one could think clearly when the most beautiful thing to have graced the depths of the sea is in their arms, moaning their name and baring their mark upon their head and on their supple body. 

Merman!Nanami sent vibrations through the water with his sudden thrums; your teasing tongue had found his gaping gills. He had never felt that kind of pleasure before. Poseidon be damned, he didn’t even know he was sensitive there. More and more you were teaching him all about the body he’d carried his whole life, awakening him to a world of wonders and pushing him to want more. 

“Oh, my darling pearl, can I put it in now? Please. I want to cum -hah- inside of you. I want to feel you. To be one with you.” You hastily mumbled affirmations into his mouth. He sighed, relieved and impatient. Clumsily, he lined up with his cock, thumb accidentally skimming his newly-discovered spur and hissing at the sensitivity there. Inch by inch, he made his way inside. “Fuck! Ah, fuck, so good, so tight, so -hngh!- warm.”

Feeling your gummy walls with his cock was so different than with his fingers; it was as if he could feel you better. You were scalding, softer than anything anyone could find in the sea and on land, he was willing to wager, and so tight he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. Never in a million years. Not even if the gods themselves commanded it.

When he bottomed out and the spur at the top of the base of his cock met your clit, you both gasped. “K-ken…what a dirty mouth you have.”

“Forgive me, my love.” He pleaded, hips instinctively driving through your clenching walls. Merman!Nanami knew he should have taken things slow, should have been more romantic and made sure you were alright but your pussy was sucking him in like the most deadly current and he could only go along for the ride. “I just need to -hah- to make you mine. All mine.”

“I am yours, Ken. Always.”

A shaky smile filled your sight. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I-I promise to treasure you for life.”

You pricked a finger against his canine and allowed him to suckle at the blood trickling out of it. Merman!Nanami whimpered at your taste, already feeling the powerful effects of your blood in his system. He sucked even more down his throat, suddenly finding himself so thirsty. As if urged on by a supernatural force, his hips gyrated his spur against your clit in tight circles. 

“That’s really -oh so good, Ken- sweet. But I want to h-hear you say you’re mine too.” He cooed and kissed your pout away.

“I’ve been yours before I knew that our souls are one, sweetheart. I was only ever made for you.” His fingers trailed along the fins lining your spine, touch light against the crevice. The membrane twitched just as your walls clamped down on his dick. “Don’t! Ah, f-fuck, don’t tighten on me like that.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw hanging and flashing your sharp teeth. “Then don’t say -hngh!- romantic things to me. Ugh, fuck, I’m close, Kento. More. Give me more.”

“Yes, sweetheart, w-whatever you want.” Merman!Nanami was ramming and pounding and plunging into your quivering cunt. His spur was rubbing and grinding and kissing your pulsing clit, all while he tickled your spinal fins with one hand as the other kept your lower half in place. “I’ll give you the world. Anything to make you happy.”

Hand over his chest, feeling the rapid beating there, you said, “I only -ah, wait! Hey! I’m trying to be sweet too. Hmm soo good… you’re distracting me.” 

He whispered an apology on your cheek, not slowing down at all despite your complaints. “You’re already plenty sweet, my love. The sweetest. But go on, darling. Make my teeth rot, you adorable thing.”

In retaliation, you flicked his nipple just to watch his head be thrown back with a hiss. “I was saying…I only need you, Ken. Just you and your beautiful heart.”

“Say the w-word and I’ll -hah that’s it, sweetheart - I’ll take it out and give it to you.” And he meant every word. There would only ever be one deity he’d swear his life to and she was wrapped around his cock. Just one sign from you and he’ll roam the seas looking for whatever will make you happy.

Tails intertwined and no longer working to keep you two afloat, you both spiralled beneath the surface, falling deep into the depths of the water, uncaring of who could see. As far as he was concerned, there were only the two of you. You and your sweet laughter, your sloppy cunt, and loving embrace. 

The diadem on your head rattled with both the weight of the gemstone and the force of your rocking and jostling. You'd never looked more majestic.

So, when your mind-shattering orgasm, which left you a babbling mess on the crook of his neck, propelled him over a cliff, he painted your walls with a grunt. 

“Kento!”

There was no rhyme or rhythm to his thrusting, only a desperation to be emptied so you can be warm and filled up. Some drops of his cum were pooling out. He quickly scooped them up and brought them to your mouth. Finally, his cum wasn’t going to waste, beading into pearls in the water. You were absorbing them into your body, greedily gulping the spend and clamping for more. 

"Delicious, Ken...you've saved up a lot for me, haven't you?"

Merman!Nanami cradled your body as he slumped down on the seabed, sand disturbed. He was still inside you, albeit quickly softening, but neither of you made a move to get him out – the closeness was comforting. "All for you..."

Freshly fucked out, he still couldn’t grasp the fact that he finally touched your skin, tasted your kiss, and heard your melodious voice calling for him. It was everything he dreamed of and beyond. A life full of darkness, of loneliness, of swaying with the waves with no direction or destination ended. Together, everything laid out, bare for each other, you made vows that would last for an eternity. 

“We should probably go back to the party, Ken. Our friends will be looking for us.”

Merman!Nanami pinched your chin and tilted your head back. Unable to help himself, he stole another kiss, swallowing your moan. You giggled. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing the infectious laughter from your lips. If he could bottle it up and take it with him anywhere, he would, even if he had to sell his voice for the opportunity. 

“Hmm, I think they can wait after one more round, no, darling?”

You laughed even louder. “We’re not going to see them at all tonight, are we?”

He smiled. “No, I suspect we won’t.”

"You may not be planning on seeing us but we sure as Tartarus have been seeing you. A lot of you, actually. Perhaps too much, one could say."

Merman!Nanami's smile dropped and a deadpan expression took its place. "Hello, Gojo...and the entire pod."

[awawage]

Kpop Demon Hunter Idea

Thinking about a K-pop demon hunter AU. But the reader is the top K-pop singer of the moment, not even Huntrix can defeat them. The reader goes by the stage name (S/N), they have the most fans, and everyone who likes Saja Boys or Huntrix has heard of (S/N) and is probably a fan too. I was thinking like Lady Gaga because everyone love Lady Gaga, my queen.

But there's a secret: you're actually half demon oops.

I'm new to writing so it might be ooc.

One night, Rumi, the workaholic that she is, is the only one awake, working on the lyrics of her new song. That is, until she feels a disturbance in the air. There, outside the window a small red spot in the middle of Seoul.

She decides to venture out alone since Mira and Zoey totally deserve a break. The tear is was small, so there shouldn't be too many demons.

----

Well, that’s unexpected. The tear is right above K Entertainment, one of the biggest K-pop companies in Korea. That's where big singers get signed in, if you're with KE then your life career is only about to go up.

That's where you were signed at, the biggest idol in Korea right now, not even Huntrix or Saja boys can get on your level. She never met you before but your works has always inspired her and other Huntrix members to keep going. You're the K Entertainment golden child.

She needs to enter the building fast. Who knows what star is inside getting their soul sucked right now? But just as she starts to climb up-

“So you're here too, huh?”

“Jinu? What are you doing here, demon?” she says while pointing her sword at him.

“Woah woah, demon girl—” The blade gets closer to his neck, poking his skin. He lifts both arms. “I mean—Gwi-Ma sent me here. There’s a portal that’s opened in this building under his control. I was sent to investigate since I'm already in the human world.”

"Another demon ? Who's not controlled by Gwi-Ma...?" She slowly lower her swords.

"That's what I thought too, I thought you were the only one but perhaps there's a another one that Gwi-Ma can't control "

"We need to investigate "

"That's what I was sent to do"

He received a hit to the side.

----

Inside the building, there are no signs of life at all. Every worker has probably gone home by now. But it doesn’t stop the strange feeling that settles in both their hearts. Something isn’t right.Rumi turns to Jinu.

“Are you sure this isn’t some plan by Gwi-Ma—”

“My, my.”

They both jump and turn around.

Jinu in a fighting stance, his nails sharpening, and Rumi with her sword ready to strike, until she sees who it is. You.

There you are.

The golden child of K Entertainment. Idol of the century.

Even though Huntrix has won a lot of awards, you’ve won higher-prestige ones and have far more influence than they’ll ever have. A star-born singer whose career skyrocketed since your teenage years, and still going strong.

Rumi can’t stop her giddy expression; her eyes turn into stars. You were her favorite K-idol– hell, maybe her favorite idol, period. She debuted not long after you, but seeing your solo success surpass her group’s so quickly made her form a bit of disdain at first.

But after watching your interviews and fancams… she slowly fell in love.(Oohh 👀)

Jinu quickly noticed her facial expression and threw an annoyed look at you, who were you and how come you made someone like Rumi so... Charmed? By you with a single look.

In front of you stood two weirdos. Sure, they’re good-looking, but one is holding a sword, and the other literally grew claws.

You recognize both of them from the trending K-pop groups, Jinu from Saja Boys who looked super confused, and Rumi from Huntrix who looked like she could explode from joy (still holding her sword towards you).

You obviously know what they are. But let’s entertain them, why don’t we?

“May I know why you’re trespassing the building...with a sword, no less?”

“OMG you’re (S/N). Zoey would be so jealous…”

“Who?” A big gasp leaves Rumi’s throat. She’s shocked and in disbelief.

“How can you be a K-pop idol without knowing the king/queen of our generation!?”

“Alright, calm down. You guys are lucky I recognize you, or I would’ve called the cops by now. Rumi from Huntrix, right?” She nods.

She knows you probably knew her, but hearing her idol say her name still makes her proud of Huntrix popularity.

“And you’re from that new group… Soja Boys?” Rumi almost chokes laughing as Jinu sweat drop.

“Actually, it’s Saja Boys…” says Jinu.

You look at him, perplexed. “Strange name…”

Before holding a serious expression. “What are you guys doing here? You know it’s totally off-limits to non-workers. Doesn’t matter if you’re famous idols or not.”

Rumi and Jinu share a look. They need to find a way out of this without raising suspicion, a look you don’t miss.

“Um… we’re here to meet with an contractor! And hmm… oh! I think we got the wrong time, haha…”

Rumi quirks a wobbly smile. Jinu nods beside her, even though he doesn’t believe the lie himself.

“Really now…”

You can feel the mark pattern slowly spreading under your clothes, from your torso up toward your neck.

“Yup! But since we’re wrong- we’re gonna leave now!”Rumi quickly grabs Jinu’s arm who was surprised, as she makes him turn around with her.

Your hands begin to thin, and sharp nails start growing out.

"Wait.."

Your voice sounds ominous and slow, sending a chill down their spines. They freeze and slowly turn around.

There you are, in your demon form. Your once bright eyes are now yellow with slits, purple/blue marks spread beautifully along your neck and face.

“A demon…?” they both whisper.

You smile.

There they are, your next prey.

“I’ve been waiting"

[cheftsunoda]

hii, i have an idea for Kimi where he has a girlfriend that lives in another country but for his graduation she surprises him there even though he thought she was still in her own country

fairy godmother max— ka12

smau + blurbs

yn and kimi have been together since they were fifteen—growing up side by side, even as life started pulling them in different directions. now, with yn living in another country and kimi chasing his dream in formula 1, time together is rare, and the distance is harder than either of them expected. when kimi’s graduation day arrives, he assumes it’ll be just another milestone, another event she’ll have to miss. but what he doesn't know is that yn has a few surprises up her sleeve…with the help of a certain world champion.

fc : darianka on ig

(a/n) : i was waiting to post this until after kimi graduated and he officially has so yay kimiiiii!!!

—

yourusername

nyc📍

liked by kimi.antonelli, carmenmmundt, franciscagomes and 1,125,007 others.

yourusername : forever in love with the big apple but forever missing my boy 🤧

—

view 187,005 other comments.

georgerussell63 : real question is…when is the reunion and who is gonna tape it? uncle georgie needs a good cry

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : dunno when it’s gonna be but I’ll have someone film just for you george

liked by georgerussell63

↳ yourusername : in the mean time i can just send you those depressing ads with the dogs if you want

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ georgerussell63 : NO.

↳ carmenmmundt : the last time he watched one it took me 2 hours to get him off the couch

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

maxverstappen1 : i will send air-max to you rn if it means my child will stop being depressed

liked by kimi.antonelli and yourusername

↳ yourusername : thank you for the offer mother goose but sadly i have a shoot tomorrow

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : well whenever you need it, it’s yours

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : can we all just start calling max mother goose?

↳ maxverstappen1 : no. yn is the only one who has that privilege. everyone else runs the risk of getting throat punched.

liked by yourusername

kimi.antonelli : how am i supposed to focus on anything after you posted this 🧍🏻‍♂️

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : sei così meravigliosa😻

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : forever missing my girl, come home to me pls.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : omg i miss you so much. love you to the moon and back😭😭

liked by kimi.antonelli

franciscagomes : the prettiest angel in the world 😍

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : keeeeeeks! it was so good to see you last week. i missed you sm

liked by franciscagomes

↳ franciscagomes : was literally the highlight of my trip! love youuuuu

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt : I think it is safe to say that we ALL miss you. So get back to us ASAP!

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : trying my best carms 😁

—

The screen lights up with his name just as you’re about to crawl into bed.

Kimi 💙 wants to FaceTime…

You smile instinctively, heart tugging even before you swipe to answer.

“Hi,” you say, and there’s a warmth in your voice that only exists for him.

His face fills the screen a second later — hoodie on, hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it, eyes heavy with something unspoken.

“Hey,” he murmurs. And just like that, it’s quiet. The kind of silence that wraps around your chest and squeezes.

You can tell. He’s trying to be fine. But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes tonight.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods once. Then again. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. I miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you too.”

He leans back on his pillow, the phone angling just enough to catch the posters on his wall and the edge of his desk, cluttered with school papers and notes. “Graduation’s in a few weeks and everyone keeps asking who’s coming. And all I wanna say is you, but I don’t even know if you can be here.”

Your heart cracks just a little. “Kimi…”

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly, like he already regrets bringing it up. “I know you’re busy, and the flights suck, and F1 weekends don’t exactly stop for me to wear a silly cap and shake someone’s hand. It’s just… I want you there. Really bad.”

You don’t say anything at first. Because what is there to say? You want to be there too. More than anything. But your schedule’s been insane, and between time zones and obligations, it’s all starting to feel like you’re stuck behind a glass wall you can’t break through.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you tell him honestly. “I swear, I’m looking at flights every day. I want to be there more than you know.”

He nods, eyes flickering down like he’s trying to hide the weight of it all. “It’s not even about graduation. It’s just… I’m tired of missing you. Tired of this screen being the only way I get to see your face.”

You swallow hard. “I know. Me too.”

“I’d give anything just to have you next to me right now,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if we didn’t talk. Just to know you’re here.”

You press your hand to your chest like that might hold it together. “We’re almost there,” you promise. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Promise?”

You smile, aching and real. “Always.”

He lets out a shaky breath and leans in just a little closer to the camera, like if he tries hard enough, he might reach you through the pixels. And you sit there, both quiet, both hurting, but both still trying—because that’s what love looks like from miles apart. Not perfect. Just worth it.

—

You scroll past the name twice before your thumb finally hovers over it. Max Verstappen. You haven’t called him in weeks — not because anything’s wrong, but because life has been busy, chaotic, distant. Still, he’s always made it clear: “For you and Kimi? Anytime. Anywhere. I’ll send the damn jet if I have to.”

And tonight… you need the jet. The phone rings once. Twice. Then you hear his voice — scratchy, tired, but still very Max.

“You’re alive,” he says. “Was starting to think you ran off to join a cult in New York.”

You laugh under your breath. “Hi, Max.”

“Hi,” he echoes, but softer this time. “What’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Not because you don’t know what to say — but because saying it makes it real. Your heart is already in Italy with Kimi, counting down the days to his graduation, to seeing his name called, to the one moment he’s been dreaming of since he was a kid. And you can’t miss it.

“I need to call in that favor,” you say.

There’s a beat of silence. Then a low chuckle. “I knew this day would come.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “I’ve checked every flight, every connection, and nothing gets me there in time. He keeps pretending it doesn’t matter, but it does, Max. I have to be there.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Say less. The jet’s yours.”

Your throat tightens. “Really?”

“Really. I’ll have it waiting. You just tell me where and when. And YN?” His voice softens. “You showing up? That’s going to mean everything to him. You two… you’ve got the real thing. I’ve always known that.”

You blink fast, suddenly overwhelmed. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Good. Then we’re even,” he teases, a smile clear in his voice.

You shake your head, heart full. “I owe you.”

“Just send me a picture of his face when he sees you. That’s payment enough.”

And just like that, the plan’s in motion. Because sometimes, the people who love you don’t need explanations — they just show up. Or, in Max’s case, they send a jet.

—

You pace your room, nerves buzzing in your stomach like bees. Max has already confirmed the jet — it’s happening. You’re going. But there’s one more call you have to make before you start throwing clothes in a suitcase.

You scroll until you find the contact saved as Mamma Antonelli 💕 — because that’s how she insisted you save it after the first summer you stayed with them in Bologna. She picks up after two rings, and before you can even speak, her voice lights up.

“Tesoro! It’s been too long! Kimi told me you’ve been busy with work — are you eating? You always sound tired when you’re not eating.”

You laugh, heart swelling instantly. “Hi, Mamma. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Mm-hm. I don’t trust you. But I love you anyway,” she teases. You can already hear the clatter of dishes in the background — Sunday dinner prep, probably. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You sit on the edge of your bed, smile slipping into something more serious. “I… wanted to tell you something. Actually, I wanted to ask something.”

“Oh no. Are you eloping?”

You snort. “What? No!”

“Okay, okay, just checking. Then what is it?”

You take a breath. “I’m coming to Kimi’s graduation. Max is sending the jet. I haven’t told Kimi — I want to surprise him.”

There’s a pause, and then— “Oh, mio Dio. You’re going to make me cry.”

You smile, a little watery. “I couldn’t miss it. He’s pretending he doesn’t care if I’m there or not, but I know it matters to him. And I just… I need to be there. For him.”

You hear rustling in the background, her calling out something in rapid-fire Italian. Then Kimi’s dad gets on the phone, his voice warm and familiar.

“She told me. You’re coming.”

“I am,” you say, smiling into the phone. “But don’t tell Kimi. Please.”

“I would never,” he promises. “He’s been sulking around like a lost puppy. This will knock the wind out of him — in a good way.”

“He’s going to freak out,” you whisper, grinning now.

“He’s going to cry,” his mom adds in the background.

You laugh. “You really think so?”

“We know so,” they say in unison.

“Okay, then,” you breathe. “Let’s pull this off.”

“We’ll be waiting at the airport,” Mamma says. “And then we’ll get you hidden before he even arrives. We’ll make it perfect.”

You hang up a few minutes later, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. Your chest is lighter now — filled with excitement instead of guilt. This is happening. You’re going to be there. And Kimi? He has no idea what’s coming.

—

The jet is sleek and quiet, and somehow still feels completely surreal. You’re strapped into the soft leather seat with your hoodie pulled tight over your head, window shade half-closed as the engines hum beneath you. You can’t stop checking your phone — triple-confirming the flight path, re-reading texts from Max, and replaying the plan in your head like you’re about to perform a heist. And just as the jet begins to taxi down the runway…

Kimi 💙 is calling…

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“No, no, no, not now,” you mutter, scrambling to answer before the noise gives anything away. You slide down in your seat, like somehow that will make you less suspicious.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady and definitely not like you’re ON A PRIVATE JET.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “What are you doing?”

You blink at the window, watching the airport disappear into motion. “Um. Just… heading somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” he repeats, a soft laugh in his voice. “That’s vague.”

You gulp. “Work stuff. Last-minute thing. Super boring.”

You can hear the smirk. “That why you sound all nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired. Early morning.”

“It’s like… 3PM where you are.”

Shit.

“Time is fake,” you blurt. “It’s a construct.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Kimi laughs, low and warm, and somehow that makes everything worse. “You okay?”

“Totally. Totally fine. Just lots going on. Meetings. Presentations. Jet lag.”

You wince. Jet. Wrong word. Terrible word.

But Kimi, bless his oblivious heart, doesn’t react. “Well, I just wanted to hear your voice. I know things have been hectic.”

Your chest aches. “I’m really proud of you,” you say, suddenly emotional. “I know graduation is coming up and you’re probably pretending it’s not a big deal, but it is. You’re amazing, Kimi.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I wish you could be there.”

“I know,” you whisper, holding your breath so you don’t ruin everything. “Me too.”

Another silence. Then. “Okay. I’ll let you go. Call me later, okay?”

“Promise,” you say, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he says, before the line goes dead.

You exhale, head dropping back against the seat. Somehow, you didn’t blow the surprise. Barely. And now, you’re flying toward the one person in the world who has no idea you’re about to show up and change everything.

—

The jet touches down with barely a bump, sunlight flooding through the window as the plane slows on the runway. Your heart is pounding, fingers drumming nervously against your thighs. You can’t believe you’re actually here. In Italy. For him. As the cabin door opens and the warm air hits your face, you quickly pull out your phone. There’s only one person you need to call first. Max Verstappen.

He picks up on the second ring.

“You landed?”

“Just now,” you breathe, already smiling. “Max… thank you. I know you always joked about sending the jet, but—”

“I wasn’t joking,” he interrupts casually. “I’d do it again. And again. You two are disgusting and adorable and give the rest of us hope.”

You laugh, a little choked up. “Seriously. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Like I said…all I need is proof of his reaction. I want to see the exact moment his brain breaks in half.”

You grin. “Done.”

“Good. Go get your boy.”

You hang up just as you spot them — Kimi’s parents, waiting just outside the private terminal with barely contained excitement. His mom is the first to see you.

“TESORO!” she yells, rushing toward you with open arms.

You barely have time to drop your bag before she’s hugging you so tightly your feet actually lift off the ground. “You’re here! You’re really here! Oh, mio Dio, he’s going to collapse.”

“I missed you too,” you laugh into her shoulder, overwhelmed in the best way.

Kimi’s dad pulls you into a hug next, his hand warm on your back. “He’s going to lose his mind,” he says with a proud grin. “He’s been pretending he doesn’t care, but he’s been moping around like a ghost.”

“And now,” his mom adds, wiping tears from her eyes, “you’re going to walk in and ruin him. Perfectly.”

“Thank you both,” you say, heart full. “For keeping the secret. For being part of this.”

“We’d do anything for you,” his mom says, cupping your face. “You’re family.”

And as they lead you to the car, laughing and chattering about the plan, your heart feels light again.

—

You’re crouched behind the kitchen counter, holding back a laugh as Mamma Antonelli calls out, “Maggie! Tesoro, come here for a minute!”

Tiny footsteps echo down the hallway, quick and full of purpose.

“What?” Maggie’s voice is high pitched and dramatic in the way only ten year olds can manage. “I’m making Kimi a card! And I used the fancy markers!”

“Just come, piccola,” Mamma says, smiling wide as she stirs a pot on the stove. “I have something to show you.”

Maggie stomps into the kitchen, all pink socks and hair in a pink headband, holding a glittery construction paper card in one hand and a scowl on her face. “This better be good.”

You slowly peek out from behind the counter.

“Surprise,” you say softly.

Maggie stops immediately.

Her whole face drops—eyes going wide like saucers, mouth falling open as she stares at you. For a second, she doesn’t say a word.

Then—“YN?!”

You barely have time to nod before she shrieks and runs at you, throwing her tiny arms around your waist with all the force her little body can manage. You stumble back a step, laughing through the sudden sting in your eyes.

“You’re really here?” she asks, voice muffled against your hoodie. “For real real? Not just on my iPad?”

“For real real,” you promise, hugging her tightly. “Just for Kimi. But I had to see you first.”

She pulls back, cheeks flushed with excitement. “He’s gonna cry. I just know it. He’s been all moody and weird and saying stuff like ‘it’s fine’ even though it’s clearly not fine.”

You giggle, wiping your eyes. “That sounds like him.”

“I’m gonna help!” she declares. “With the surprise! I can distract him or hide you or pretend there’s a present and then BOOM—it’s you!”

You glance at Mamma Antonelli, who’s trying not to cry into her wooden spoon.

“I think we just found the mastermind,” you say.

Maggie beams. “I’m so good at secrets. Except for that one time I told Papa about the broken vase, but that was different.”

You ruffle her hair. “We’ll be careful this time.”

She nods like she’s just been given a secret mission. “He’s gonna be so happy. You’re his favorite person.”

Your chest aches with love. “He’s mine too.”

And as Maggie skips off to start planning “Operation Surprise Kimi,” you take a deep breath and smile—because in this house, with this family, you’ve never felt more at home.

—

The sun is warm and golden, spilling over the ancient stone buildings that line the courtyard. There’s laughter in the air, shouts of congratulations in Italian, the occasional champagne cork popping in the distance. Red laurel crowns sit proudly on graduates’ heads, marking the end of years of hard work. And Kimi?

Kimi Antonelli is right in the middle of it all, standing in his white linen shirt, the crown just slightly crooked on his head, cheeks flushed from the sun — and maybe from emotion he’s not letting himself show. He’s smiling for photos, thanking professors, dodging confetti and hugs and the occasional overzealous cousin, but something is clearly missing. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And you see it. From where you’re hidden behind a group of olive trees with Maggie and his mother, your heart aches for him. You should’ve been standing beside him. But not for long.

“Kimi’s still over there,” Mamma Antonelli whispers, lifting her phone to start filming. “Max and George said to absolutely not miss the moment. Max said he’s taking bets on whether Kimi cries or faints.”

“I think both,” Maggie whispers gleefully. “Or maybe he’ll scream like a goat.”

You’re trembling a little, heart hammering as Mamma gives you the softest little nudge. “Vai. Go.”

You nod, swallow hard, and step out from behind the trees. Kimi is turned slightly away, laughing at something his best friend just said. His crown has slipped further down his forehead. His hand is gripping the side of his phone like he wants to text someone — probably you. And then, he hears it.

“Nice crown, graduate.”

He freezes. His body stiffens. His head snaps up. Slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe it, he turns around.

And there you are. Standing a few feet away in the same sundress you wore the summer you first visited Bologna. Hair curling from the humidity, eyes shining, heart in your throat. You’re smiling — already crying — but smiling. For a full five seconds, Kimi doesn’t move. Then he drops everything — the diploma folder, the champagne glass someone handed him, even his crown slips a little more off his head — and he runs.

His arms are around you in seconds, lifting you clean off the ground like he can’t believe you’re real. You’re laughing and crying into his shoulder, fingers buried in the back of his hair.

“You’re here,” he says, over and over again. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “Surprise.”

Kimi pulls back just enough to look at you, tears now clearly in his eyes. “How? How are you here?”

You grin. “Max sent the jet.”

He blinks. “Max?!”

“And your mom helped. And your sister. And George’s only request was that you cry. So, you know. No pressure.”

He laughs through the tears, breath hitching as he leans in and kisses you like he’s starving for it — like months of distance and missed calls and sleepless nights dissolve in that one moment.

Behind you, you hear Maggie yell, “HE’S CRYING!” followed by the sound of Mamma Antonelli’s voice narrating in shaky, emotional Italian for the video.

“Look! Guardalo! Max, George — sta piangendo come un bambino innamorato!”

You break the kiss, burying your face in Kimi’s neck as he holds you tighter than ever.

“I didn’t want to miss this,” you whisper. “I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t,” he breathes. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

And as red petals and confetti rain down from the sky, as friends cheer and his family watches with misty eyes and proud smiles, Kimi kisses you again — this time slower, softer, like a thank-you, a promise, a homecoming all in one. You showed up. You always would. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly right.

—

The sun is low by the time you arrive at the Antonellis’ countryside home, warm golden light spilling across the terracotta tiles and olive trees. Kimi’s laurel crown sits on the dashboard of the car like a trophy, slightly bent but still proud. He holds your hand the entire drive — knuckles white, like if he lets go, you might disappear again. You don’t blame him. You still can’t believe you’re here either.

As you step out of the car, you’re immediately hit with the familiar scent of garlic, tomato, and fresh basil — the kind of smell that makes your heart ache with nostalgia. Mamma Antonelli is already out on the porch in an apron, yelling something toward the kitchen window.

“You brought her home and you graduated? Finally, we can breathe again!” she announces dramatically, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling you in for another warm, crushing hug. “You’re sitting next to me. I don’t care what Kimi says.”

“She likes you more than me,” Kimi mutters beside you, grinning. “Confirmed.”

“I’ve always liked her more than you,” she shoots back, ruffling his hair before disappearing inside.

Dinner is a beautiful kind of chaos. Plates piled with pasta al forno and roasted vegetables, bottles of red wine passed around the table, someone shouting over someone else every few minutes. Kimi’s cousins are arguing about sports, his uncle is showing your graduation surprise video to anyone who will watch, and Maggie is seated at your side, proudly telling everyone how she was “basically the mastermind.”

Kimi watches you through all of it — not in the way people usually mean when they say that, but really watches. Like he can’t believe you’re real. Every time you laugh or lean in to wipe tomato sauce from Maggie’s cheek or clink glasses with his dad, he looks at you like he’s still catching his breath. At one point, as the noise dies down just slightly, he leans over and kisses your temple.

“You fit so perfectly here,” he murmurs. “You always have.”

You smile against your wine glass. “Maybe it’s because I love all of you more than you love each other.”

Mamma overhears. “Grazie, finally someone tells the truth!”

Later, as dessert is brought out — a homemade tiramisu that’s already half gone by the time it reaches your side of the table — Kimi takes your hand under the table and squeezes it. You look over to find his eyes a little glassy again, his voice low and full of that kind of sincerity that only happens when the world slows down for just a second.

“I meant it earlier,” he says. “You being here… it made everything feel real. I didn’t care about the ceremony or the diploma. I just wanted you.”

You squeeze his hand right back, heart full. “And now you have me.”

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, and murmurs. “Forever, if I get my way.”

—

The house is finally quiet. The last of the dishes have been cleared, Maggie’s tucked into bed, and Kimi’s parents are somewhere inside. The warm night air spills in through the open window, carrying the scent of jasmine and summer. You’re curled up on the little balcony just off his childhood bedroom, one of his old hoodies draped over your shoulders, your knees pulled to your chest as you look up at the stars.

He joins you a moment later — barefoot, hair a little messy, still glowing from the day. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits down beside you, thigh brushing yours, hand finding your knee like it belongs there. Which it does.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.”

“You sure you’re real?” he asks, turning toward you. “Because you keep disappearing on me.”

You smile, tipping your head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m real. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for months. You sit in silence for a moment, watching the lights flicker in the distance. Then he speaks again, voice low and honest in a way that only ever happens when the world finally goes quiet.

“I really thought you wouldn’t come.”

Your heart squeezes. “Kimi…”

“No, I know it’s not your fault,” he adds quickly. “I just— I told myself I didn’t care. Told everyone it was fine. But it wasn’t. I wanted you there. Needed you there. And then you were.”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. “I wanted to be there the second I found out the date. I would’ve moved mountains. Or at least begged Max to move them for me.”

He laughs — soft and tired, but real. “You don’t know what that did to me. Seeing you. I think time stopped for a second.”

You turn your head and meet his gaze, moonlight catching the gold in his eyes. “It stopped for me too.”

Kimi leans in and kisses you gently, slowly — no rush, no heat, just something warm and full of meaning. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you close until you’re practically in his lap, curled against him like the final missing piece has clicked into place.

“I don’t care how busy things get,” he whispers. “How far the races are or how many airports we have to go through. I just want you to keep showing up like that.”

“I will,” you promise. “Whenever it matters. Always.”

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo, voice full and sure.

And there, on that quiet balcony with the stars overhead and the world asleep around you, Kimi holds you a little tighter — like he finally believes this isn’t just a dream.

—

The morning comes slow and golden. A breeze slips through the open window, carrying the scent the garden below. The room is still — warm and hazy, touched by early sunlight. Somewhere down the hall, you can faintly hear the clink of mugs and the low hum of his mom talking to Maggie. But here, wrapped in Kimi’s arms, the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady and grounding. One of his hands is tangled lazily in your hair, the other curled around your hip like he never quite let go during the night. He’s warm, impossibly so, like the sun lives beneath his skin. You shift a little and feel him stir.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice still raspy from sleep. “Still here?”

You smile without opening your eyes. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He kisses the top of your head, slow and sleepy. “Good. Would’ve chased you if you did.”

“Would’ve made you work for it.”

“I’d work forever if it meant waking up like this.”

You finally lift your head and look at him. His curls are messy, one cheek slightly smushed against the pillow, but he’s still devastatingly handsome in that quiet, undone way. His eyes are soft, heavy-lidded, full of something deeper than just sleep — something closer to awe.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“You’re here,” he says back, like it’s still the most unbelievable thing in the world.

He brushes your hair back gently, fingers ghosting along your jaw like he needs to memorize it again. “Last night felt like a dream. The dinner. The surprise. You. This.”

“This is real,” you whisper.

“I know. That’s the best part.”

You snuggle closer, nose tucked beneath his jaw. “Your mom’s making coffee.”

“She’ll wait.”

“I think Maggie’s outside our door.”

“She’ll survive.”

You laugh into his chest, and he pulls you even tighter. “Let’s stay like this a little longer,” he says. “Just you and me. No rushing. No flights. No leaving.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Just us.”

And you stay there — tangled in sheets and sun and each other — hearts steady, breaths slow, the morning stretching out like it was made just for the two of you.

—

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 2,572,003 others.

yourusername : my boy graduated and i got to be with him thanks to our fairy godmother @/maxverstappen1. my heart is so full <3

tagged : kimi.antonelli

— view 189,017 other comments.

georgerussell63 : i cried. a lot. in tears just thinking about it. my children are so grown 🥹

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : more than the dog ads?

liked by georgerussell63

↳ georgerussell63 : more than the damn dogs.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ carmenmmundt : he has been showing the video to literal strangers and saying how much of a proud dad he is.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : oh georgie.

liked by carmenmmundt and georgerussell63

maxverstappen1 : i'll buy you each a jet if it means i get to see that look on kimi's face again.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : so good to us maxie

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ lando : wait i am like the only one who hasn't seen this video. someone send it. NOW.

↳ georgerussell63 : i sent it to you like two days ago, muppet. check your texts.

↳ lando : oh good now im in full blown tears.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

alexandrasaintmleux : sooooo cute mon ange

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

charles_leclerc : totally not teary eyed. congratulations kimi!!

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli : my whole world. i love you now and forever.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : god i try so hard to be disgusted by you two but i just can't. what is wrong with me?

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ lando : motherly instincts

liked by yourusername, kimi.antonelli and maxverstappen1

—

[luviestarz]

jungkook fic recs! part 4

★ ridin || jjk - @letsbangts (when the car ride has you both wildin)

★ LOVE HIGH ! - @frmisnow (in which. being a lovesick loser, freshly engaged and high is a crazy combo...)

★ Self-Care Sunday | JJK - @shina913 (You arrive at your mani-pedi appointment to find out that your usual technician is unexpectedly out. Instead, the salon owner’s son offers to do your nails instead.)

★ oxygen | jjk - @gimmethatagustd (If you get caught, you'll both die. Jungkook wants to be yours anyway.)

★ starstruck (1) - @trivia-yandere (jungkook, a highly award-winning actor, has his eyes set on you, an upcoming actress, to be his love interest in his new movie.)

★ bridges we almost burned 𓇼 𓂂 ˚ ◌ - @kooffeecup (when you see your boyfriend giving ride to the new intern frequently because he thinks it’s convenient, something snaps inside you.)

★ ࣪ ִֶָ love wins all ࣪ ִֶָ . - @kooffeecup (You ended things with Miyeon to escape the web of his lies—but the truth was far heavier. Your heart had begun to crave something it shouldn’t: the quiet warmth of his father, Jungkook.)

★ 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 - @alexlwrites (The one where everytime you get dumped you pretend that you never met the guy before to mess with their heads. To the point that if you run into them somewhere you reintroduce yourself and act like you’ve never seen each other before.)

★ admiring from afar - @jeonsalibi (you owed a friend a favour, a favour which entailed a blind date. but the catch, it was only blind on your side.)

★ pink hearts & black clouds | jjk. masterlist - @eternalguk (Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.)

★ Manifest It - @luvismenu (yn and jungkook have a little “game” going on where they explore a bunch of different kinks that they’re mutually interested in)

★ dear stranger - @jeonstudios (lucky you, getting stuck in an elevator, your worst nightmare come to life. lucky you, getting stuck with a stranger.)

★ hotter than hell | jjk. (m) - @chateautae (jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.)

★ Making of a lover (Yandere CEO! Jeon Jungkook) - @smileyoongle

★ The Ex Text - @shadowkoo (The 2 AM texts have started again. It’s a bittersweet familiarity that you can’t run away from, and despite wishing to forget him: no one will ever measure up to the exceptional standard set by your ex, and you’ll never have anyone as good as him either. Like a permanent mark on your heart, Jungkook’s presence has become an insatiable craving, an addiction you'll never outgrow or cast aside.)

★ It’s not over - @jmstoesblog (Seems like the story with your ex was not over yet.)

★ ˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒔 - @nvrngl (it's the middle of the night and jungkook stumbles ( yet again ) through your window, wounded, sheepish, irresistably adorable.)

★ no longer strangers | jjk - @soft4gguk (jungkook x inexperienced!reader, strangers to lovers, summer love au, jk’s a photography major <3)

★ Failed quickie - @vminizzle (coworker!jungkook x f.reader making out in public place (their workplace), marking, swearing, hair pulling, mention of tattooed jk)

★ FADE INTO YOU ☕️ jeon jungkook. - @nmjoo-n (“oh angel, for how fucking adorable you are, you sure don’t use that pretty little brain of yours much,” or jungkook has no limits when it comes to you. you’re his, he’s gonna get it through your head, eventually.)

★ Ruin the Dress... Shirt (M) | JJK - @fortunexkookie (What could possibly go wrong during a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner with your brand new boyfriend? Let’s be honest, you shouldn’t have even asked.)

★ Tease - @jkwrites-m (One night. One tight dress. One look that wrecked Jungkook’s entire fucking existence.)

★ ❝ after hours ❞ — jjk (m.) - @y2kooks (You always showed up right before sunset—hot, bothered, and craving your favorite drink. But one night, Jungkook locks the door early… And suddenly, you’re the only thing on his shelf worth tasting after hours.)

[st4rbwrry]

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠  ୨୧ ˖ ࣪ . . . 5.4k. black fem!reader ◞ countryside setting◞ lowercase intended ◞ soon to be married◞ rough sex ◞ unprotected ◞ age difference ꒰ 36 + 25 ꒱ ◞ praise ◞ oral ꒰  f. ꒱ ◞ fingering + finger sucking◞ hair pulling ◞ creampie ◞ pet name usage ꒰ darling, baby , sweetheart, old man ꒱ ◞ manhandling ◞ choking + spanking ◞ overstimulation ◞ minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated <3 𓊇ྀི

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . my first rick fic soo i’m hoping i did his characterization well ! here’s some visuals for theme . <3 ‘n here’s the smut linkies > > ( ❤︎. ❤︎.)

the black 1967 chevy impala quietly pulled into the gravelly driveway of a small cottage nestled within a tiny town. the neighborhood’s always silent around these hours, only semi-peaceful disturbance of cicadas bellowing in the freshly mowed grass. the worn out cowboy boots on rick’s tired feet stumble up the main entrance of the home, keys jangling from the loop he had his finger secured in. when entering his house, it’s nearly pitch dark had it not been for the kitchen light being lit. an old white, floral printed couch that was usually wrapped in plastic was now pulled out to reveal a bed where two women slept peacefully in silk pajamas. your best friends, and bridesmaids. 

tomorrow was a special day. a wedding was to be held at a cathedral not too far out of town. something small, something memorable. he was never one big on attention, though family was sacred. he’d already planned to have a separate gathering for either side of your families to celebrate the marriage. the thought of being wed to you tomorrow brought joy to his heart. he’s waited so long to fully make you all his. he would’ve married you from day one had you not been difficult to lock down. however, he loved the chase. 

heavy feet thud up the old wooden staircase, nowhere near as quiet as he seemed courtesy to the alcohol running rampant in his veins. pushing forth the bedroom door, rick’s instantly soothed when he catches sight of you. sitting on the floors that bear the gentle patina of age by your side of the bed, a plush area rug in earthy tones providing a cozy contrast to the cold hardwood beneath. the large four-poster bed dominates one wall, its rich, arched mahogany frame polished to a warm sheen. soft, billowy curtains in a subtle floral pattern hang from the windows, filtering the moonlight into a cool glow. 

in the corner, there’s an antique sewing machine that sits atop an oak nightstand. you’re surrounded by spools of thread, sequins, and scissors. occasionally, you’d sip on your mug, or his since it read ‘daddy of the year’ — containing raspberry leaf tea. the fluff of your curly ponytail swings as you turn to face your fiancé, a smile beaming bright from his presence. there’s two long tendrils of hair that frame both sides of your pretty face. lashes still curled and brushed with mascara, and lips pigmented with liner and gloss. a natural beauty. 

rick notices you’ve got on a shirt of his. it’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it gets him out of character suddenly. he’s got a deep grin on his face, smile lines puncturing and blue eyes twinkling. you let him greet you with a hand patting at the top of your head, his hand easing down to cup your face before he’s plopping down on the floors before you. 

“hey there, darlin'," he slurred, his speech slightly slowed from the alcohol. 

calloused hands brush along your knee, your hands intricately stitching final touches to your wedding gown. his thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on your thigh, resting on his elbow as his gaze lazy drifts over your features. you always knew when he had a good time with the guys because he’d come home smiling like a lovebird just because he missed you. they were nice to be around, but nothing compared to coming home to you. 

“hi, baby. how was your night?” the delicate tone of your voice instantly brings peace, rick humming elatedly. 

“night was good. knocked back a few cold ones. even caught the falcons game. a damn tragedy,” rick says with a suck of his teeth at the end. 

“yeah? you bet money?” 

“only ‘bout twenty.” 

“mm, good thing it wasn’t nothin’ too drastic,” you go to cup the underneath of his jaw, holding the needle and thread in your other. you shift his jaw from side to side, the cap on his head hiding his eyes that haze over. you caught a whiff of beer and cigs on his breath and clothing mixed with his cologne. “can smell it on you for sure. got some tea on the stove if you want.”

rick pulls back slightly, chuckling. “sorry ‘bout that. i’ll take some in a minute.” 

his eyes drift along your figure, his baby blue button-up you wore hugs every curve of your body tight. a few buttons undone that shows your cleavage, a silver necklace or two swinging. the high pony on your head that’s curled at the ends sway around you heavenly. 

“played pool and stuff?” 

he blinks, humming, “yeah, shot a few rounds. daryl cheated though, swears he didn’t but y’know i can catch me a liar like nothin’ . — this shirt looks good on you.” 

rick’s voice is a low purr, fixating on the softness of your thighs he continues to rub on, a decadent scent resembling tiramisu casting over his nose. eyes even catching some glitter on your skin. “think you could show me what’s underneath this garment, sweetheart?” 

smiling, you continue sewing. “don’t try to turn this about me. you’re an hour late.” 

a contrite expression overtakes as he knocks his head back to look up at the clock on the wall, now realizing it’s way past the hour he promised to be home. rick sighs, lifting the brown cap on his head to run a hand back, curly ringlets sitting at the nape of his neck. “shit, i’m sorry, sweetheart. you know i always stick to my word.” 

a giggle escapes. “don’t beat yourself down, old man. it’s alright. i’m glad you had a good time with the boys.” 

“you a ‘lil jealous?” he tosses his hat aside, bringing himself closer to you to kiss your knee. 

rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “i was with my girls. we had a good time, too. couldn’t sleep, though. got an idea to add some embroidery to the dress.” 

it didn’t occur to rick that you’d let him see the dress this early on. honestly, you didn’t care too much for old traditions. they say it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress, but superstitions didn’t bother you none. it was already untraditional that you were being wed without family. it was a plan you had for a long time. for your first wedding, you just wanted it to be something small with each of your close friends. run away together after. come back in two weeks and have a family gathering, then a couple years in, possibly five — you’d renew your vows with a bigger setting. and by then, hopefully, a big family of your own. 

“it’s lookin’ gorgeous, you did a good job.” 

“thank you, baby.” 

his touch maps the contours of your body through the fabric of the shirt. you’re sitting on your bottom but your left leg is folded in, foot resting on your other thigh. rick leans back a bit to adjust where he laid, catching sight of white lace underneath. he hinders himself. 

“i saw a few new homes they’ve been building in the newspaper. i figured we could go view them, you know, after we find some time.” 

rick nodded thoughtfully, now tracing patterns over your arm with his fingers. “yeah, that’s soundin’ good anything in particular you're looking for? big backyard for a garden? a nice kitchen so you can bake your famous pies?” 

“hmm, i’ve been wanting something really vintage, something built in the 70s. ‘bout forty acres, enough to have a garden and an area for you to grill with the boys . . and the kids to play,” you smile dreamily at the thought. “i love our home here, but a bigger space would be nice. that’s always been the plan, right?” 

rick nods assuredly. “right, we always talked about that. we can make that happen. i w’na make you happy. you deserve the big house with the wraparound porch, and the giant kitchen so you can bake me pies.” 

“you hungry or somethin’? you keep talking about these pies,” you joke. 

“i repeated myself? whoops,” rick palms his forehead, the both of you laughing. “guess i am. i need to sober up. c’mere.”

rick remains rested on his elbow, fingers trailing closer under your shirt, grazing your tummy and inching his face closer to your thighs. your back rests against the bed, biting your lip with a giggle as you clamp your legs shut.

“no, no, mister. save your energy. we gotta be up bright and early.” 

“gimme one of those sweet kisses, it’ll wake me right on up,” he’s playfully biting at your hips now, the dress you held in your hands now displayed on the floor. 

the quickness of heat encasing your face makes you shift back, stirring your waist unwittingly. full bearded face that grows like nothing, giving him a trim just a few days ago, patched with stubborn grays tickle your inner thighs the further he spreads them and the harder you clench them to stop him.

“nuh-uh, not when you’re like this. one kiss will lead to ‘em sneaking somewhere else. and you know it.” 

“mhm,” it’s like he’s not listening. “one little kiss, huh sweetheart?” his voice was a low rumble, body practically thrumming with tension and need.

pushing away your dress and tools so neither of you would get hurt, or your dress ruined, you nod for his approval, “just one, rick.” 

he couldn’t help the cocky smirk displaying as you relented, eyes glinting with triumph. “that’s my girl.” 

hands roaming your body possessively, each touch inflames you both, gasping as his rough hands grope your waist and leads up to your tits he kneads in his palms. rick loves to touch you, even if it’s for a simple kiss. they encapsulate yours with hunger, whimpering into his mouth when his tongue touches yours, tasting liquor and tobacco. tea tree scent of beard butter on his facial hair still strong and it weakens you. the kiss gets messier, rick grabbing at your neck as you lean your head back and accept every rough suck of your lips he takes. the two of you are eating at each others faces like it’s the first time you’d gotten to. 

he could feel the heat building between you, his restraint slowly ebbing away. he had broken the kiss to catch his breath, eyes darkening with raw pleasure, "damn, ꒰ ♥︎ ꒱',” he rasped, his voice rough. “i want you so goddamn bad right now.”

pawing at his chest, black shirt enveloping his muscles, you gnaw at your lips. “said one kiss. gettin’ greedy, rick.” 

rick’s lips trailed a path from the pulse points on your neck to just below your ear, his breath giving you goosebumps. “i said i need you.” 

as he sits on his knees before you, his big hands are tugging at your panties, face stern as he pulls them down your ass as you lift, the pads of his fingers digging into the plump of your ass. looking up at him in a daze, your mouth drops in submission once he’s tearing them off your skin, gasping from the air your slick folds are exposed to. without being aware, you’re full on soaked. lips between your teeth, you study the way rick lowers himself before you, crouching at your pussy’s level.

“let me see you, baby,” he whispered, lifting your legs and pressing them up to your chest. “hold ‘em f’me.” 

your face is in a pout, gyrating your pelvis forward, fingers hanging in your mouth with the gleaming, princess cut diamond ring stunning in view. raising your legs, you keep them straight, high, and pressed to your chest. opening yourself up for him, head resting on the edge of the bed. rick felt the way his dick twitched from the sight, indenting his fingers into your plush skin, guiding his thumb up and down your wet slit, knuckle delicately pinching at your clit, pulling back a bit to see the string of cum follow. you always kept her trimmed clean and smooth, shiny under the lamps light.  

“look at that, s’fuckin’ precious,” he grunts, your frustrated whines catching his full attention. sounding like a fragile little puppy. “oh, i get it. want me to shut up and get t’the good stuff, yeah?” 

you’re staring down at him in a haze, eyelids lowered and nibbling at your nails with your mouth hung, nodding with a pant. 

“don’t chew your nails like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice close to a growl. “givin’ me all kinds of ideas.” 

“mmm, like what?” you tease back.

“like having that pretty little mouth occupied. but it’s not ‘bout me right now.” rick’s teasing, landing a soft smack on your inner thigh close to your pussy. you jump, leaking down to your ass cheeks. it’s a sticky mess he created. “she needs it bad?” 

“y-yes, rick. need it now,” you admit. 

rick’s huffing out a chuckle, sucking on his thumb to get a quick taste before he’s groaning, ducking his head down to give your pussy a full, sloppy, open mouthed kiss. it sounds like water, his saliva leaking onto you.  “always taste so good, can’t wait till tomorrow baby.” 

“yeah?” it comes out in a nasally whimper, delving your manicured nails into the backs of your thighs. “a-are you happy?” 

“it’s g’na be the best goddamn day of my life, sweetheart.”

his admission makes your face heat up even more, grinding towards his in a desperate, silent plea. it gets rick off, honestly. seeing how fueled you are for touch now. the desire to eat at you is threatening to overwhelm him, so he engulfs you into his mouth without another thought. a small sob crawls in your throat, rick’s eyes primal as he catches yours while a guttural growl rumbles in his chest. teeth sinking into your lip, you whimper and continue holding yourself open for him, jaw dropping and panting heavy from every gentle lick he gives your clit. you gasp when his mouth trails up your inner thighs, spanking them on either side as he shifts his head to catch your bud into his mouth once again, pulling it between his lips gently before releasing and swallowing you up wholly. 

the method of his tongue starts off soft, then transitions to teasing laps followed by firmer, more demanding sucks, determined to wring every last drop of cum from you. with your stomach caving in, a high-pitched whine escapes your lips as he devours you, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you try to escape the intense sensations crashing over you. using your strength to keep your legs in the air, your fingers thread through his hair, tugging harshly as you grind down onto his face, chasing the pleasure building in your core. losing balance when your knees bend, rick guiding his face all over your pussy, allowing you to use his face. the disgusting noise of rick slurping you up and matted beard scraping at your skin makes you lose your mind. 

“rickkk,” you’re crying softly, hiccuping and melting into his touch the more he molds at your flesh with his rough hands and sucks on your pussy. 

“y’cummin’, sweetheart?” his tongue continues to work, steadily sloshing it after pulling back the hood, tears welling in your sockets and feeble, whiny sobs surpass the lewd sound of spit swapping with cum. 

“mm—h-hmm. y-yes.” 

“c’mon, then. fuckin’ gushin’ all over my tongue. gimme somethin’ sweet to slide into.” 

with eyes rolled back, you mindlessly move your waist that stutters from every lick, sitting in a puddle of mess. frantically, your palms slam on to the backs of your thighs to hold them still as they tremble, smacking at them yourself to coax vibration towards your sensitive pussy all the while urging your fiancé to land a hit where you needed it. and he hits hard in repetitions on either side again like you love. the tickles of his beard makes you incredibly wetter as it scratches all the right parts. it’s getting creamier, and rick knows because there’s a sweeter taste on his palate, and when he goes to curl his fingers into you — pushing and pulling, and because the angle in which you sit is adding pressure to your tummy, it’s all on his hand. gooey and delicious. rick grunts, rubbing your clit with his thumb adjacent to fucking you with his fingers. 

“awee, fuck! g-god, baby,” your heartbeat picks up quicker, gasps flowing in the air as you grab his wrist and clamp your legs together creating more tension as you cum. 

it takes you quite a while to ease, arching your back off the side of the bed as your stomach presses into his face, rick smelling your lotion and kissing your belly. your eyes can’t help but stare in a daze, every rise and fall of your chest is followed by wheezily pants. legs shaking and skin getting sweaty. the shape of your eyes are daunting. biting your lip as you scratch at his semi-soaked beard to pull him in for a kiss, staring him down with blown sepia pupils and low lids mimicking feline. 

rick takes the way you look at him as a threat. 

“keep staring at me like that ‘n i’m liable to fuck you right now,” his voice is hoarse. 

“g’na keep staring ‘cause i love you,” grinning, you continue to play with him. you liked making him mad. 

“mhm, you love your old man?” he muttered gruffly, his grip on your hips getting tighter. 

your heart skips a beat, chest tightening with emotion. eyes fluttering closed briefly, then snapping back open to stare at him intensely. “yes, i love you.” 

it’s swift when rick goes to lift you up. scooping you up by the column of your underarms as if you were a small pet and placing you down onto the mattress that your body bounces onto gently. giggling in your state, you hum drunkenly as rick’s hands roam over your hot skin, turning you so you’re laying on your stomach with one of your knees raised by your side. the button-up you wear is well over hiked up your full ass, clenching your fist holding the material with visceral appetite, wiggling your butt and hearing your slick that’s glued to your inner thighs. 

rick’s got his neck bent slightly to the side, eyes squinting, your act of seduction only worsening his need to roughen you up a bit. he stays silent, unbuckling the hefty black leather belt on his waist and dragging down the zipper ever-so slowly. the lust in the room rises, the alcohol still thrumming in his system as he pulls out his cock. it’s . .  fat. pulsing visibly with a swollen head and dense veins — could be a replica of his forearm, really. it’s hanging halfway out of teal boxers, pubic hairs dark and unruly. pulling them further down his crotch so his balls fall out and jolt for your joy. loving the feel of them plopping against your sticky clit from behind. 

the sound of him patting the heftiness of it along the plump of your butt ricocheted in the small room. rick’s palming the arch of your back, pushing it deeper so he’d get you in the angle he wanted. bent just enough so he could catch a glimpse of your cunt soddened and open. 

“s' thing real pretty, ain’t it?” rick wets his lips, curls falling in front of the frame of his face as he gets a closer look like he’s never seen her before. or, like his face didn’t reside there only five minutes ago. “g’na get fucked real nice.” 

being under his monitor always felt nerve-racking. he’d take his time observing your body to see what makes you react to what, or simply get a kick out of the squirming and mewling you act out when peevish. stepping out of his boots and bottoms, he’s allowing you to feel just how scorching his skin was on yours. 

“rick.” there’s that crankiness he was talking about. it comes out as a solid groan, continuously swaying your legs side to side even though he’s got your waist locked. 

rick lowers his chin, spitting directly on his dick before wrapping his veiny hand around and pumping over the length of it, stroking over the sensitive head before he’s aligning the tip with your dripping entrance. the pink of it showing a tight ring after careful back and forth insertions. a sharp cry ripples from your throat as he fills you completely, walls stretching to pull in his size. you can feel every throbbing inch of him buried deep, the sensation bordering on yummy in its intensity. your nails dig into the sheets as you adjust to the sudden intrusion, body trembling with the effort of relaxing around him. unable to make a noise, you bite down on the sleeve of your shirt as your eyes falter shut. after a few moments, a dull ache of fullness only serves to heighten your arousal, breathless in his possession. 

“g’na fuck you so dumb, make you s’full,” rick hisses, sliding halfway out before plunging forward again. 

you push back against him, encouraging him to start moving as your pussy clenches greedily around his shaft. turning your head to look at him over your shoulder,

you keep your eyes on his, lashes kissing your cheekbones delicately while you see rick shuffle his black t-shirt up his midsection a bit more, drooling at the sight of his tanned chest and hard stomach. a stripe of hair leading down from the navel, strong arms with light brown frizzy hair, and deepset eyes that lure you in to danger. you fucking loved this man. 

“those eyes of yours, darling,” he announces almost with warning, wrapping his fist around your ponytail to pull your neck back for a quick, harsh peck to your full lips. 

letting go, his hand finds a new place to grip, and that was your neck. holding you in place while grinding his dick into you. your vision starts to blur as his hand compresses tight around your throat, clawing at his wrist as the pressure exceeds. the weight of your ass claps back onto his groin as the two of you rock together. rick’s thrusts rough and steady, pounding his cock into your pussy depravedly. 

“atta girl. take it all.” 

unexpectedly, your mind goes blank from the intensity of it all, and just a few thrusts sends you hurtling towards another orgasm, eyes scrolling back and sobs ensuing. rick’s hold on your throat loosens just enough to allow you a precious breath, but the momentary reprieve only fuels his own lust. he watches, transfixed, as your face contorts in pleasure. gasps coming out in ragged breaths, the sudden influx of oxygen only serves to amplify the sensations, and you stutter out his name as you gush and cum hard. pleasure ripping through you, pussy clamping down on his dick tightly. 

“ungh, f-fuck — ooh fuck.” 

you go to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds, not wanting to wake your friends sleeping in the living room, almost forgetting they were here. 

rick’s eyes narrow at your attempt to be silent. “ uh-uh, darling. i don’t give a fuck about waking your friends. don’t cover your mouth.” 

whining once again, your favorite, rick gropes your neck to keep you fully still as he fucks harder into you. “eyes on me. look me in the face.” 

doing as he says, you maintain eye contact as best you can, screwing your face up the deeper his dick hits inside of you, moaning when he goes to slap your cheek gently and clawing at the sheets in response desperately. every pound gets greedier, a sheen of sweat on rick’s forehead as he prolongs groans and grits his teeth while his hips slam against your ass. a particular noise you make full of broken moans ruins him. 

“yesss, good girl,” his brows are knitted, voice getting gruff and guiding your body to bounce back on his dick. 

“s’s-so — deep,” the broken tone of your voice emits, crawling your way forward for a sense of relief. just needing it a bit. 

“you ain’t goin’ nowhere, girl,” rick grumbles, pulling you back so both of your legs are straight now, grinding his dick into you before removing his hand from your throat to capture your ponytail to yank your head back. 

“p—lease, baby,” you beg. 

“just a lil’ more. just a little more,” rick nearly pleads, voice softening and turning into whimpers as he grounds his dick into you, lifting his weight off a little before crashing his hips back down again and again. “ugh, shit.” 

there’s specks in both of your visions, finding yourself sucking on your fingers as rick licks and nips at your neck, relishing the moment. the moonlight that was once outside began to disappear, clouds settling slowly into dawn. you don’t know how long it’s been since he’s stepped foot into the room, but you knew for sure that you’d both be ridiculously tired by morning. 

rick builds up the strength to let you go, for now that is. pulling out tenderly, he’s bringing you up off the bed and lifting your frame in his arms. with your arms draped over his shoulders, you nuzzle your face within the crook of his neck as he goes to sit on a wide wooden chaise facing the opposite side of the room. getting comfy for you both, rick’s got two of his palms on either side of your face to give you a few more sweet smooches. joining in soon was raw, wet kisses. descending his hands to smooth down your backside before kneading the doughy flesh of your butt. manspreading, he’s making sure you’ve got enough room to move, balancing yourself above him using the throw pillows as leverage for your knees. 

“drop down slow, baby — slow. listen to your cum coatin’ my dick,” rick whispers, hips stuttering, trying to find his own willpower in not fucking up into you. 

the moment narrows down to the pressure of splitting yourself open on him, the musky scent of his skin filling your nostrils, and the steady pulse of his heartbeat against your palms. arousal sticky and loud all over you both. weak whimpers spew as you sink further and further down to the hilt, taking your time and grinding your hips. a soft moan escapes your parted lips as you revel in the warmth and stiffness of him inside you, your pussy clinging to every throbbing inch like a second skin.

“baby, you’re in my tummyyy. you’re so deep. feels so good.” 

"you’re stuffed full, baby?”

“mmmhmm,” you murmur, eyelids drooping as you let yourself melt into the feeling of being so deeply filled by his dick. your hips continue to undulate slowly, grinding against him in a hypnotic rhythm that seems to draw him further under your spell.

switching up, you arch your chest towards his and keep your hands on his chest, driving your ass up and down on him to keep the tip of his dick nudging at your spot. it made you both feel good, rick’s touch back on your ass as you gyrate and fuck him. 

“get it,” rick grunts in your ear, guiding you up and down while easing his way into thrusting his hips upward, fingers sinking into your supple hips to urge you on.

the way you fuck him is steady and mildly rough, every pop of your ass onto his muscular thighs resounds in the room along with rick fucking up into you to match rhythm. the fat of your ass claps on his skin just as loud, rick raising two hands and slamming them down together before helping you fuck him. up and down, harder. he keeps you where you want to stay, but couldn’t fight the urge to grope your brown skin ravenously before pivoting his groin and beating his dick up each time you plummet. 

“r-rick, fuck babyy — mmmgh.” 

rick’s gaze is riveted to your face, breathing heavily into each others mouths as your bodies connect lewdly in the quiet confinement of your shared bedroom. birds began to chirp on the outside, and the light hitting your bodies felt poetic. his hand takes your ponytail and pulls your head back, your arch getting sharper and your mewls never ending. 

“w’na marry you right now,” you whisper out of high, giggling when his mouth laps at your collarbone. 

“you’re silly, sweetheart. you’d w’na get married while i’m fuckin’ you like t-this — fuck.”

“yess, with your dick in me. i love ittt!” 

rick gives your ass a playful spank, voice husky as he chuckles and keeps you grounding on his dick. his eyes blaze with unbridled lust and love as he watched you succumb and go dumb, body writhing. 

“you can marry me again with my dick in you later, yeah?” 

“yess, promise, baby?” you pout.

fuck, you really had a way with making him submit to your every wish. “long as you let me fill you up. c’mon, milk it baby. it feels so good. be a good girl. you’re doing such a good job.” 

the more he praises you, the weaker your body grows. you wanted to make him happy, and you wanted your promise granted, so you do what he needs you to and that’s bounce on it faster. rick chokes, jaw lowering as you lift and clench your pussy tighter, fucking him good. 

“mmm, fuck yeahh, just like that," rick growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "ride it nice ‘n good, darling. show me how much you want it."

he leans forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he continues to guide your movements, his tongue delving to tangle with yours. the chaise creaks beneath you, the wooden frame somewhat creaking and scraping against the tile floor with each frenzied bounce.

“i fucking love you,” you cry out, thighs trembling and close to giving out. that bubble ready to burst. 

“i love you too, darling.” 

rick delivers loving kisses to your lips, sucking and pulling at your lower lip and rushing tongues. he feels close to cumming as well, shoving your chest to his and planting his feet flat while leaning his back fully against the chair for sturdiness before he’s rutting up into your pussy as you claw at his skin. it wasn’t intentional for you to scream the way you did, certainly needing to apologize to the girls once they wake up — but he felt so, so fucking good. fucking you just the right way. 

spurts of cum trickle down his groin and thighs as you mindlessly find yourself squirting, biting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes. from the mirror nestled in a corner across the room, he could see you dripping down his dick along with your cream. 

“ooo, give it to me. give it to me.” 

every spoken word is aggressive with despair, rick fucking every ounce of cum out of you that he could get you to produce before he’s nutting warmly into you. jaw clenching, fingers embedding into your skin harder as if scared to let you go. thick ropes spurting and pussy sloshing over wetly mingled. 

he’s got his forearm thrown around you, cradling you into his arms warmly, and it’s comforting. resting his chin on your shoulder, he’s intaking your scent — a scent he’d have forever being married to you starting today. he had such a soft spot for you. you run circles on his back, staying put in the embrace, smiling stupidly. 

rick pulls back to see your face. “are you okay, baby?” 

nodding, you smile tiredly. “just sleepy.”

“mm,” rick scans the room for the clock on the wall. “it’s close to seven. i’ll make sure to get up and let the girls know you’ll need a lil’ more time before getting ready.” 

pawing at his jaw, you give him one big kiss. “you’re so sweet, baby. thank you. can’t wait to marry you.” 

rick smiles, adoring that you keep reminding him of that. it makes him feel ultimately secure. “twice, right?” 

“mhm, twice.” 

© 𝓢𝓣4𝓡𝓑𝓦𝓡𝓡𝓨! all rights reserved. please do not copy, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[buckysleftbicep]

private gallery 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sexting, phone/video sex, masturbation (m & f), oral sex (f rec), rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie

summary: sexting while he’s on a mission seemed like a good idea, until bucky comes home early and fucks you like he’s been counting the days.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: hi loves! i love the idea of phone sex / sexting, i think it's pretty hot, and here's my take on bucky doing just that! i hope you enjoy it! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

It started with Bucky's shirt.

One of his old ones, soft from too many washes, black faded to charcoal, sleeves loose enough to slip past your elbows. It hung just a little too long on you, clinging in places and bagging in others, but it still made you feel close to him.

Safe.

Like he was there in the room with you, instead of halfway across the world on some mission that wasn’t quite classified but still distant enough to keep him mostly off the grid.

You hadn’t meant to send anything. You really hadn’t. You were just curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath a throw blanket, nursing a mug of tea that had long since gone cold.

The lights were low, the silence thick, and your phone screen glowed faintly in the dark as you scrolled thumb dragging slow over your camera roll until you landed on the last photo the two of you had taken before he left.

It was a simple one. His chin tucked over your shoulder, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, his arm slung lazily around your waist like he always had to be touching you, which was true.

Your smile was soft. Lazy. Your eyes half-lidded, hair messy from bed. It had been two weeks since that photo. Two long, aching weeks.

He still texted you, when he could.

Little things.

A quick “miss you” before lights out. A blurry image of the skyline, always from strange places. A half-joking voice note once where he said, “They’ve got me living off protein bars. Save me leftovers,” like he wasn’t out there risking his life for something you weren’t even allowed to ask about.

But the replies came slowly, and they were always short—just enough to let you breathe, but never enough to fill the space he left behind.

And it was that space—the hollow of it, the need—that made you do it.

You lifted your phone again, shifted your weight where you sat, and tugged the hem of his shirt just far enough down your thighs to frame the shot.

Your knees were drawn up, one bare shoulder exposed, your smile caught halfway between innocent and deliberate. It wasn’t explicit. Not even close. But it felt like something—a tease, a thread you knew he’d pull if you gave him the chance.

You didn’t overthink it. Just typed:

“Still smells like you.”

And hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

Then you tossed your phone aside like it burned.

Your heart was pounding. You weren’t even sure why.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in less. Hell, he’d kissed every inch of your skin. Touched you in ways that still made your legs tremble if you thought about it long enough.

But this was different. The distance made everything charged. Every word, every image. And something about that photo—about the softness of it, the suggestion felt like more than just missing him. It felt like wanting him.

You tried not to think about it as you got ready for bed. You left your phone face-down on the nightstand, buried your face in his pillow, and told yourself not to obsess.

But in the morning, the reply was waiting for you.

Two words.

“Fuck. Baby.”

You sat up too fast, stomach flipping, and opened the photo he’d attached.

His boots were kicked up against a wall of stacked sandbags. The sun was low, desert light bleeding gold across the sky, casting long shadows across the terrain.

You could only see the lower half of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble on his throat, the faint tension in his parted lips. It was so him, and so not him, like a snapshot of something private, pulled from a world you didn’t belong to.

Beneath it:

“I miss you like hell.”

You stared at the screen for a long moment, then tucked the phone against your chest and exhaled.

It didn’t stop there.

A few days later, you sent a shot from bed. Nothing scandalous—just the soft tangle of your legs under half-kicked sheets, one bare thigh caught in golden morning light. The caption was short. Flippant, almost:

“Too much space without you here.”

Another from the bathroom—mirror fogged, droplets still clinging to your skin. Only your collarbone and the curve of your neck visible, hair wet, mouth parted like you’d been mid-sigh. You typed:

“Shower’s not the same without you.”

And hit send before your brain could stop your fingers.

Then you panicked. Tossed your phone across the bed, buried your face in your hands and groaned into the quiet.

What the hell were you doing?

He didn’t reply for hours.

But when he did?

“You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed. Your pulse throbbed low and slow in your belly.

A few hours later, just three more words:

“Show me more.”

And that was when it shifted.

The line between playful and needy started to blur—not all at once, but gradually. Incrementally. Like dipping your toes into warm water and not realising how deep you’ve gone until you’re sinking.

You found yourself leaning into it. Subtle provocations. A bite of fruit caught on camera, lips parted just enough. A sleepy video of you stretching in bed, the hem of your shorts sliding higher than necessary.

You weren’t posing, exactly. But you knew what you were doing.

You left him a voice memo once, late at night—soft laughter curling at the edges, his name whispered like a secret. Breathless. Wanting. He replied with a single line.

“Play that again. Slower.”

The escalation was inevitable.

One night, you propped your phone against a pillow and hit record. Ten seconds. That’s all. Just your hand, sliding low across your stomach, dipping below the band of your sleep shorts.

You didn’t touch yourself. Not really. But the implication was there—the slow exhale, the tension in your muscles, the camera cutting out just before anything too much.

You didn’t write a caption.

You didn’t need to.

He left you on read for an entire day.

When he finally replied, it was a photo—his hand, gloved, twisted tight in a white bedsheet. You stared at it for longer than you should’ve, pulse hammering behind your ribs, and saw the words beneath it.

“I don’t have the words for what you’re doing to me princess”

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You laid in the center of your bed, one hand between your thighs, too wound up to find relief. It wasn’t about the tension—not really.

It was him. Or rather, the absence of him.

You didn’t want the release if it wasn’t his hands, his voice in your ear. You wanted the weight of his body pinning yours to the mattress, the rasp of his breath when he lost control. The look he gave you when he was so far gone in you, he forgot how to be quiet.

By the third week, it wasn’t even teasing anymore.

You were in a tank top and soft shorts, sprawled across your bed. The cotton rode low on your hips, one hand resting just beneath the waistband, fingers grazing bare skin. You took the photo slow. Deliberate. Soft lighting. Warm shadows.

You looked at the camera like you knew what it would do to him.

The caption?

“Can’t stop thinking about you.”

You didn’t expect a response right away, but it came quicker than anything before.

A voice note.

You hesitated—thumb hovering over the play button.

Bucky’s voice was rough. Lower than usual. Just a little frayed at the edges.

“Don’t send that kind of shit unless you want me jerking off to it in the middle of a barrack full of mercs.”

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat.

Then, after a beat—quieter, deeper:

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

You didn’t send anything else that night.

You couldn’t.

You were already curled around the pillow he used to sleep on, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, your body wound up with no place to go. You didn’t come—not properly—but you hovered close. Just enough to feel it ache in your bones.

The next morning, your phone lit up.

Call me tonight, when you’re alone

You stared at the message for a full minute, thumbs poised. Then, without thinking, you typed:

“Been waiting for you to ask.”

You hovered over the message, thought about deleting it. But you didn’t. You let it fly.

No reply came.

But just before midnight, your phone buzzed. The screen lit up with his name, and the words:

Incoming Video Call.

Your heart stuttered. Your breath hitched.

And you answered.

The screen lit your face with soft, flickering blue, catching on the curve of your cheekbone, the hollow of your throat. You hadn’t moved since the call came in.

The phone vibrated once in your hand and you stared at his name on the screen like it might vanish if you blinked too hard. And then you picked up—not thinking, not breathing—just hitting accept because you couldn’t not.

And suddenly, he was there.

The image was a little grainy. The lighting was bad—shadows cutting across his face in places, harsh fluorescents glowing behind him. But none of it mattered.

Because even through that poor connection and a scratched front camera, Bucky still looked devastating. Like he’d walked straight out of your memories and into your bedroom. His hair was pushed back, his jaw dusted in scruff, a faint glisten of sweat still clinging to the side of his neck.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Just those two words. But they wrapped around your spine and tugged hard.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. You’d prepared for this—half-expected it after the last few days—but somehow you still felt caught off guard.

Because this version of him, this present Bucky, this heavy-lidded, shirt-stretching, arm-tensing Bucky was a living weapon, and you were entirely unarmed.

His gaze dropped slowly. His mouth curled just a little.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

You glanced down, smoothing your palm over the fabric like you’d forgotten. The neckline hung off your shoulder. The hem brushed the tops of your thighs. “I just missed you.”

He chuckled softly, but it was breathless. “Fuck, you look good in it.”

You didn’t respond. Not verbally. You just shifted your legs slightly, enough to show the bare stretch of skin where the shirt stopped and your thighs began. His eyes tracked it instantly.

“You’ve been torturing me,” he muttered, voice pitched low now, almost reverent. “All those pictures. All those fucking videos. And now this.”

You tilted your head, letting the shirt slip just a little further down your arm. “Thought you could use a reminder of what you're missing.”

His eyes burned. “Take it off.”

Your chest rose sharply.

He didn’t growl it, he didn’t snap. He just said it—low, intent, like he needed it more than breath.

You peeled it off slowly, fingers curling into the hem, lifting the worn cotton inch by inch until your bare skin caught the light. You pulled it over your head and let it fall behind you, leaving you in nothing but your panties—soft and thin and dark with the heat that had been building through the day.

His breath hitched audibly through the mic.

“Fuck. You’re even prettier than I remember.”

You smiled. “Your turn.”

He didn’t hesitate. Just reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up to reveal that perfect stretch of hard stomach and the dark trail leading below his waistband.

His abs flexed as he pulled the fabric over his head, tossing it off-camera. His vibranium arm gleamed faintly as it dropped back to his thigh, and your thighs squeezed together instinctively.

“You wet already?” he asked, eyes dragging over you like he was memorising it.

You bit your lip. “You wanna see?”

He groaned. “Show me, baby. Please.”

You shifted onto your back, propping the phone just right so he could see your whole body. Your hand drifted down, fingers hooking the edge of your underwear, dragging it slowly to the side until your pussy was bare and glistening in the soft glow of your bedside lamp.

His breath caught. You watched him exhale like he’d just been punched in the gut.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he muttered. “Look at that mess.”

“I made it thinking about you,” you said softly. “Thinking about your fingers. Your mouth. The way you fuck me when you’re too worked up to talk.”

His hand was moving already. Just slow strokes at first, under the waistband of his sweats, but you could see the outline of him—thick and heavy and aching—and when he tugged them down, your mouth actually parted.

“No boxers?” you asked, a breathy tease.

“Didn’t need ‘em,” he said, eyes glued to the screen. “Knew I wouldn’t last long.”

Your fingers moved to your clit, slow circles at first, dragging slick over swollen nerves. You moaned quietly, hips tilting into your own touch as you kept your eyes locked on his face. He was jerking himself now—long, firm strokes, the head flushed and leaking as he tightened his grip.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice shaking. “All fucking mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed. “Always.”

He swore again, his free hand bracing against his thigh as he fucked into his fist, watching you like he couldn’t decide whether to slow down or come apart.

“Spread wider for me,” he demanded, breath hitching. “Let me see how wet you are.”

You obeyed—lifting one knee, baring yourself fully for him. He made a sound then, dark and ragged.

“Fuck, baby. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I want you to cum with me.”

Your fingers moved faster now, circling, pressing. You were soaked—obscene sounds rising between your thighs as your pleasure climbed. Your hips rolled helplessly into the motion, breath coming in short gasps.

You couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. You were close — embarrassingly close—the pressure in your core wound tight, ready to snap.

“Say my name when you come,” he gritted out. “I want it in your mouth when you fall apart.”

“Bucky,” you moaned. “Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck—”

He was right behind you.

You cried out his name as your orgasm tore through you—sharp and fast and deep—your body arching, thighs trembling, pleasure blinding and raw.

You barely had time to breathe before you heard it—the low grunt, the curse, the slick sound of him spilling over his hand as his eyes fluttered and jaw locked.

“Shit. Fuck. You’re perfect,” he gasped. “Perfect.”

When it faded, you lay there panting, spent, legs still twitching. He mirrored you—head tipped back, chest heaving, hand slick where it rested on his stomach.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

And then he looked at you.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “I miss you James."

“I know,” he said softly. “I miss you too.”

You pulled his shirt back on, the fabric warm from your skin. Bucky smiled, eyes soft now.

“Keep wearing it,” he murmured. “Until I can pull it off you for real.”

“You better hurry home, Barnes.”

“I will,” he said. “First chance I get.”

It was close to 2 am when you heard a knock on your bedroom door, you opened the door without thinking, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

You hadn’t expected him this early, hadn’t dared to believe he could really be home. And yet, Bucky stood there in the dim hallway light, silent and eyes dark, his chest rising like he’d sprinted the last block just to get to you.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. He just stepped inside, slammed the door with one hand, and grabbed you like a man starved.

His mouth was on yours before the lock clicked. Hot, hungry, no prelude. Just teeth and breath and weeks of desperation, his tongue claimed yours, kissing you like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a snarl of lust and longing wrapped in salt and spit and the sound of you gasping his name.

You tugged at his jacket, fumbling the sleeves as he walked you backwards. His hands slid down your spine, possessive and certain, gripping like he needed to confirm you were real.

When the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he broke the kiss long enough to lift you. Your back thudded against the wall as his hands slipped under your shirt, dragging it up and off like he was tearing away the weeks that had kept him from you.

“No bra?” he asked, voice hoarse against your throat.

You managed a shaky breath. “Didn’t bother.”

His groan was low, a dark rumble in his chest. “Fucking perfect.”

He didn’t waste time. He dropped you on the mattress, eyes drinking in every inch of your bare skin as you lay sprawled across the sheets.

You reached for his belt, fingers eager, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. His grip wasn’t tight, just firm enough to hold.

“Don’t,” he said, his gaze sharp, locked to yours. “Let me look at you.”

And he did.

His eyes moved slowly, reverently. Taking in every line, every shadow. Your nipples peaked under the weight of his stare, your thighs shifting restlessly where they parted for him. He stepped back, stripped off his shirt with one pull, then dropped his pants and boxers in a single motion.

He was already hard, thick and flushed and heavy against his stomach, and you reached again without thinking.

“No,” he growled, batting your hand away. “Spread your legs.”

You obeyed, legs falling open, your skin flushed and aching. He dropped to his knees between them, hands gripping your thighs, and dragged you closer to the edge of the bed.

His mouth was on you before you could take a breath. One long, hot lick that made your back arch off the mattress.

He moaned into your pussy, the sound guttural and needy. “Jesus, baby. You taste like a fucking dream.”

You fisted the sheets, thighs trembling as his tongue circled your clit, slow and unrelenting. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you pinned as he devoured you. No teasing, just his mouth working you open like he could undo the time you’d spent apart with every stroke of his tongue.

You cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth, sharp and tight and perfect. Your thighs shook, your breath stuttered, your entire body burning from the inside out.

“Thought about this every night,” he muttered, dragging his tongue down, slipping it into you with obscene ease. “Thought about how wet you’d be. How you’d taste after driving me crazy for weeks.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, already so close it hurt. “I’m gonna—”

He pulled back. Just like that. Leaving you throbbing, breathless.

You whimpered, hips chasing him. “Why—?”

He stood. His cock glistened with precum, flushed dark and twitching. He grabbed himself and stroked once, eyes still on you.

“Turn over.”

You rolled onto your stomach and pushed up onto your hands, arching your back as you felt him behind you. His hands gripped your hips, spread you wider. He dragged the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick, then slid inside with one deep, brutal thrust.

You cried out, nails clawing at the sheets.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. Just started fucking you like he owned you. The slap of his hips echoed in the room, his grunts raw and low, breath punching out of him with every thrust.

“This what you wanted?” he snarled. “Sending me those fucking videos? Making me jerk off in some goddamn bunker?”

You moaned, the sound wrecked. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back so your spine arched for him. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Yours, Bucky.”

“That’s right,” he gritted out. “Fucking mine.”

His flesh hand landed hard on your ass, the slap stinging and sharp, making your whole body jolt. You cried out, and it sent you over the edge. You came with a scream, muscles clenching tight around him, body shaking as pleasure ripped through you.

He fucked you through it, rhythm breaking, hips stuttering. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and deep, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as he emptied himself with your name on his lips.

He collapsed over you, breath hot against your neck, arms caging you in. Sweat cooled on your skin, and your heart raced in time with his.

Slowly, he pulled out, hands gentle now, dragging over your waist, your thighs, like he didn’t want to stop touching. You turned onto your side and he followed, pulling you into him, arms wrapped tight around your body like he was afraid you might disappear.

He kissed your shoulder, softer now. “If I knew I’d be coming back to this,” he murmured against your skin, “I’d tell Val to put me on more missions.”

You turned your head with a tired glare, swatting his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

He grinned, “Kidding princess,"

But his arm only tightened around you, and your fingers stayed tangled with his as the quiet settled between you—soft, spent, and just enough.

a/n: have a great day my darlings! ❤️ please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed it!

[vingtetunmars]

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he'd get another chance at building a family—especially not at his age, especially not after everything.

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy fic, domestic fluff, birthday surprise, emotional feels, warm, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is 58-59), set between season 1 and 2, jackson!Joel Miller, soft joel miller. No physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Thank you @dedicatedfangirl2001 for inspiring me! So this is technically a continuation of this fic, but it can also be read as a stand alone. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

Between the early mornings at the stables and the evenings spent passed out on the couch beside Joel, days had started to blur into each other. Your body always felt tired this time of year—mud season clinging to your boots, cold air snapping at your fingertips even under gloves. You’d chalked the nausea up to bad stew from the dining hall. But when your headache lingered past the usual, when the scent of hay and leather turned sour in your nose, it hit you.

You hadn’t had your period.

You stood in the feed room, half-empty bucket of oats dangling from your hand, the realization sitting heavy in your stomach. The math rolled around in your head, tumbling over itself. It had been… what? Over a month? Maybe more. You weren’t exactly counting days when every morning looked the same—Joel sipping black coffee, Ellie stealing bits of toast, and you rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you layered up for work.

But now, standing there, the silence of the stable around you, something clicked. You set the bucket down on the ground a little too quickly, pressing your palm to your stomach. No pain. No bloat. Just… a quiet sort of stillness.

The horses shuffled in their stalls. One of the younger colts let out a soft snort. You leaned your back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest.

You weren’t sure. But something deep in your bones told you—you already knew.

You didn’t tell anyone where you were going that morning.

Said you had errands to run—needed new gloves, maybe stop by the library. Joel didn’t press. He’d kissed your cheek, grumbled something about checking in with Tommy about a busted water heater, and told you he’d see you for dinner.

You walked to the clinic with your hands jammed deep into your jacket pockets. The cold bit at your cheeks, and every step felt heavier than the last. Not from dread exactly, but from the weight of maybe.

The clinic wasn’t much to look at. Two rooms, patched-together equipment, and a nurse named Carla who used to be a vet before the world ended. She was kind, though, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. You told her you wanted to rule something out. She just nodded, handed you a cup, and pointed toward the bathroom.

You stared at the strip of plastic on the counter like it held your whole future.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Carla didn’t say anything right away. She just looked down at the test in her hand, then back up at you, her expression soft.

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

The room didn’t spin. It didn’t crash down on you, either. Instead, everything went still—like the moment before a horse takes off into a gallop. Heart pounding, lungs full of something sharp and sweet.

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

Carla asked if you were okay. You nodded before you really even felt it, voice rough when you said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

The walk back home was slower. Like you were afraid to jostle the news loose, or maybe afraid it still wasn’t real. But your hand drifted down to your stomach more than once, resting there in quiet awe.

Now, all that was left was telling him.

And with his birthday just a few days away, you couldn’t help but wonder how in the world you were going to tell him.

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

He never made a big deal out of them before the world ended, and now… well, now they just felt like reminders. Reminders of what he’d lost. Of how much older he was getting. Of how goddamn long he’d been carrying around all this weight.

He’d never forget waking up on that birthday—the one that split his life into a before and after. Many years later, the world had changed, but the ache hadn’t. Not really.

Still, this morning started like any other. The early light crept in through the crack in the curtains, soft and gray-blue. Beside him, you were curled under the blanket, one arm slung across his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Home.

He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The muffled sound of someone in the street. A rooster off in the distance. You breathing slow and steady beside him.

You made it better—this day, this life. You had a way of pulling him back from the edge without even trying. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Your fingers twitched slightly against his chest. You were starting to stir.

He turned his head just enough to watch you, that soft haze of sleep still in your features. He found himself smiling, just a little. The lines in his face stayed, though. The ones that came from time and sorrow and holding it all in for too long.

You blinked up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered back, eyes warm and knowing.

He groaned, turning his face away slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

You gave a quiet laugh, but didn’t tease him for it. You never did. You just leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, fingers brushing along his ribs, gentle and grounding.

“I’m makin’ you pancakes,” you added softly. “Don’t fight me on it.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t real. “‘Course you are.”

He didn’t need gifts. Didn’t want anyone making a fuss. But if the day started like this—your warmth, your voice, your lips on his skin—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Even if he still carried the ghosts, this morning... it felt different. Like maybe something was waiting on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure what—but he trusted you’d tell him when the time was right.

You flipped the last pancake onto the plate, steam rising as you added a handful of thawed berries—ones you’d carefully saved from the last supply run. They weren’t exactly fresh, but they were sweet enough, and they made the stack look a little more festive.

Birthday pancakes.

Joel would pretend to grumble about it, but you knew he appreciated it. The small gestures. The quiet kind of love. You’d learned early on not to make a big deal of his birthday. Not out loud, anyway. But that didn’t mean you’d let it pass by like any other morning.

“Damn, something smells good,” Ellie mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in five different directions, sleeves too long for her arms. She plopped down at the table, blinking slowly. “Is it somebody’s birthday or somethin’?”

You smirked as you slid a plate in front of her. “Could be.”

Joel followed behind her a second later, moving slower, like his body hadn’t quite forgiven him for being nearly sixty.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down across from her, eyes drifting to the plate you set in front of him.

Pancakes. Berries. A little dab of honey. No candles, no singing—just the kind of breakfast you didn’t make unless the day meant something.

He glanced at you, brow raised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing your hand over his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t argue with me on your birthday, Miller.”

Ellie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Are these the blueberries?”

Joel chuckled under his breath, fork already in hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he took his first bite. You saw the tension ease in his shoulders, just a little. Maybe the day still carried shadows for him, but right now? With a warm plate in front of him and people who loved him on either side?

He was okay.

You sat down beside him, resting your hand on your lap, feeling the thrum of nerves underneath your skin.

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

Joel looked up, chewing his last bite with a quiet grunt. You stood up to answer it, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, when you opened the door, Tommy stood there with a crooked grin and two hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Mornin’, birthday boy,” he called past you, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “You look real good for a hundred.”

Joel let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face. “You had to come by, didn’t you?”

“You think I’m missin’ the one day a year I get to remind you I’m younger and prettier?” Tommy grinned, clapping his brother on the back as he passed by.

“Debatable,” Ellie chimed in, still chewing. “And you missed the berries.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria���s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

[akeaaan]

If Only...

Jinu X fem.Reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is my fourth fanfic of jinu and I'm going crazy someone stop me please. Also I'm losing ideas so if you have any request please do drop a note. I still have another idea of angst until I make some soft happy endings lol

Synopsis:

╰┈➤ If Only...

It was never supposed to happen.

You weren't supposed to feel this. To hesitate.

But fate — cruel, laughing fate — had always toyed with you, over and over again. And here you were, caught in its trap once more.

Your scythe had cut down hundreds of their kind. Demons had crumbled into dust at your feet, your blade unflinching, your heart colder each time.

But now?

Now you couldn't kill even one.

Why him?

You didn't belong in the spotlight. You hated it — the blinding lights, the staged smiles, the never-ending swarm of paparazzi. The fake interviews, the forced poses, the soul-sucking brand deals. You hated being told to be perfect.

So you stayed in the shadows, right where you belonged.

You let Huntrix shine in the public eye: Mira, Rumi, and Zoe — the idols, the faces, the voices. They danced in the light, while you hid behind soundproof glass.

You were their producer — the faceless fourth. The one who stayed up late tuning tracks, patching lyrics when writer's block hit, and crafting every beat that sealed away the honmoon. You wove magic into the melody, just like the ones before you.

Because this was tradition. Always three on the stage. Always one in the dark.

You were older than them — not by much, but enough to feel responsible. You were their unnie, their protector. You had more battle scars, more stories, more secrets. That's why they never worried when you went on solo missions.

And that was your greatest weapon: anonymity.

The demons thought there were only three.

There had always only been three — as far as they knew.

But behind every generation of Hunters, there was someone else. Someone offstage. Someone who wrote the songs, not to climb the charts, but to trap the shadows lurking in the echoes.

You didn't need powerful vocals.

You had powerful visions.

And now... your power betrayed you.

Your mind spiraled. A million thoughts screamed inside your skull.

Should I let my heart keep listening? Up 'til now I've walked the line—nothing lost, but something missing...

You had everything, didn't you?

A found family that never let go. Best friends who would die for you. Your parents—alive and well. A career that others only dreamed of.

So why... why did your chest ache like something had been carved out of it?

And then—you saw him.

That's when it clicked.

What you were missing wasn't something. It was someone. It was love.

The kind that doesn't knock politely—it breaks the door down and stands in your ruined threshold.

You cursed yourself, quietly, for saying yes to Bobby.

"Come on," he had begged, "You've got the lightest schedule. Just help us set up the fan sign?"

And because you were you—softhearted, capable, and impossibly easy to guilt-trip—you agreed.

Even went the extra mile.

You planned the whole event. Stayed up finalizing logistics. Then told the rest of the staff to clock out early and go home to their families.

Now here you were. Alone in the quiet morning, taping up last-minute signage outside the venue.

You were halfway through unfurling a tarp when you spotted them—four bundled shapes huddled in sleeping bags along the curb.

"...Idiots," you muttered, frowning. Fans like these were rare and reckless. Sleeping outside just to be first in line for autographs?

You shook your head and kept working—until one of them stirred. One pulled back his hood and stood, dusting off the creases from his shirt.

That's when you saw him.

Eyes still puffy from sleep. Hair a soft, tousled black. That calm, unreadable face framed by the dawn's early light.

Back then, you had no idea who he was.

You'd been off the grid for days. Locked in the studio producing songs for idols you barely knew. Huntrix had been hunting without you. You hadn't checked socials in a week.

So when he stepped forward and said—

"Uh... can I use the bathroom?"

—you didn't even blink. Just sighed, rolled your eyes, and jerked your head toward the venue.

"This way."

No thanks. No recognition. He simply nodded and followed.

You didn't think much of it. You were too busy—back to climbing a wobbly stool to hang the tarpaulin behind were the girls will be sitting .

Balancing on tiptoe, gripping the thin banner with cold fingers.

Until a quiet voice called behind you:

"You know, that thing's totally uneven."

You didn't have to look to know it was him.

"And you're going to fall if you keep shifting like that."

You gritted your teeth. "I'm fine."

"You're not," he said flatly. "At least let me help."

You finally glanced down—and your heart skipped. He was already walking toward you. Calm. Composed. His face unreadable, but his hand was outstretched, palm open like he already knew you'd take it.

You didn't.

And in that split-second—of course—you slipped.

"Shit—" you hissed as your balance gave out and gravity claimed you. The ground rushed up too fast. You braced, eyes squeezing shut, waiting for the sharp slam of wood against your back—

But it never came.

Instead, strong arms wrapped around your waist, halting your fall mid-air like it was nothing.

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you cracked one eye open—then the other.

There he was.

Smug. Too close. Too confident.

That crooked smirk on his lips practically screamed "told you so."

His dark eyes flicked over your face, glittering with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. The hold on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you in his grip.

He was close. Too close.

You could feel his breath against your mouth. Hear the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart. And yours—yours was stammering like it didn't know what to do with itself.

He tilted his head a little. "You always this stubborn?"

You swallowed hard. "You always this annoying?"

His smirk widened—but his eyes softened, just barely. "Only when I'm right."

Later that afternoon, the event hall buzzed with energy—fans lined up, banners waving, cameras flashing. But your focus narrowed sharply when your eyes caught a familiar face.

Him.

He was back, but not alone this time. He stood upfront at the signing table with a few others you recognized from earlier—those same guys who'd been in the sleeping bags back at the entrance. And now they were freshen up, styled, and posing as if they belonged.

The Saja Boys.

You stood stiffly near a concrete pillar, arms crossed, trying to keep your face neutral. Rumi, Mira, and Zoe exchanged less-than-thrilled glances. No one had told you this was going to be a joint fan sign. The Huntrix event you had personally organized—put your own hours into, from venue to logistics—was now sharing space with a brand new K-pop boy group?

Your eye twitched.

You caught sight of him again, seated right next to Rumi. They were speaking quietly, heads close. Something about the way he leaned in, relaxed but confident, made your skin prickle.

"Do they know each other?" you murmured to no one in particular.

You flagged down one of the event staff, your voice firm. "Who approved the seating chart? Who is that?"

She gave you a sheepish smile, clearly overwhelmed. "Oh—uh, that's Jinu. He's the leader of the Saja Boys.

Your stomach dropped.

Leader? Of course he is.

As if on cue, Jinu glanced up from the table and locked eyes with you across the venue. Recognition flickered instantly in his gaze—and then he smiled.

That same maddening, devastatingly charming smile from earlier. The one that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

You didn't bother looking back.

The moment you stepped off and slipped behind the black curtains marking the backstage area, it was like you could finally breathe again. The air felt less heavy away from the flashing cameras, squealing fans, and—most of all—him. You paced for a second, then stopped by a corner to scroll through your phone, pretending to be invested in it. Anything to not think about the way your stomach twisted when he was near.

The distant noise of the crowd faded just enough for you to hear footsteps. Lazy, heavy, tired ones. You looked up.

It was Jinu—of course it was. He stood a few feet away, sharp eyes unreadable beneath dyed bangs, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, the rest of the Saja boys passed by in a blur of exhaustion—Abby tossing his bouquet dramatically into a trash bin, Mystery yawning, Baby leaning heavily on Romance's shoulder as they all disappeared toward the van.

But Jinu? He was the only one who didn't just throw the bouquet in. He placed it gently—deliberately—on top of the pile. A folded piece of paper stayed clutched in his other hand, something he didn't discard. A letter from a fan, maybe. Or something else.

You glanced back down at your phone. He didn't leave.

"So what are you to them?" he asked, voice smooth, slightly amused. "Their manager? Event organizer?"

You looked up again. He was staring at you, head slightly tilted, brows raised in quiet challenge. The others were gone now—just the two of you. You squared your stance.

"I'm their producer," you replied flatly, folding your arms. Cool. Professional.

Jinu's lips tugged into a half-smirk as he slowly folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "And you planned the fan event too? Damn. All in one, huh?"

He took a few slow steps in your direction, casual but not aimless. Calculated.

"I'm a perfectionist," you said simply, holding his gaze.

"Mm. Figures," he said, voice lower now as he closed the distance just a little more, eyes scanning your face. "You've got that look. Like nothing ever passed by you."

There was something in the way he said it—less teasing, more observant. He didn't mean just the event.

You looked away first.

You always did.

And ever since that day, your lives kept tangling—deliberate or not. Jinu always seemed to be just a few steps behind you. Or ahead of you. Or waiting.

There was something about the way he smiled—just a little too slow, a little too soft. The way his eyes held yours longer than they should've, almost as if memorizing the shape of your face each time. And then there was the way his gaze would flick down to your lips before rising back to your eyes, like a secret only he knew.

It wasn't just glances. It was tension. Thick and charged, like static before a storm.

The day he reached out—his hand resting on your waist to move you gently aside in the crowded idol common room—it felt like something clicked into place. The contact lingered. Not enough to raise suspicion, but just enough to make your breath catch.

Then there were the late-night run-ins. The 24-hour convenience store closest to your apartment, where you'd both pretend surprise even though you frequented it around the same hour. That time he "accidentally" found you working late in the studio, hunched over your laptop, trying to produce a new track under deadline.

"I didn't know anyone else was here," he'd said. But his voice didn't match the words. It was too calm. Too knowing.

Neither of you made the first move right away. But one night, you both stopped pretending.

Your lips met—slow, hesitant at first, then hungry. The kiss tasted like everything you'd both been holding back. Like the first breath after drowning.

And somehow, it felt like more than just a kiss. It felt like a beginning. A fragile, burning beginning.

You were falling for him. And he was falling too.

But then you heard it.

A conversation behind closed doors—Huntrix voices lowered in warning, laced with urgency. Jinu's name. A word you weren't meant to hear.

Demon.

Your heart plummeted like it had been cut loose from your chest.

Enemy.

And now, here you stood—frozen in place, suffocating beneath the weight of everything you knew and everything you felt. Love, twisted with betrayal. Warmth, laced with danger.

I can't decide what's wrong, what's right... Which way should I go?

The lyrics echoed in your mind, torn from a memory you couldn't quite silence. A song that once comforted you—now mocking your indecision.

Your scythe's blade hovered dangerously close to Jinu's neck. Your hands trembled, not from fear, but from fury barely contained. Your jaw locked as your blurred vision clung to the shape of him. The boy you used to trust. The demon he became.

Jinu didn't move. Didn't even raise his eyes to meet yours at first.

The wind whispered across the rooftop ledge, catching the hem of his jacket and brushing through your hair like some ghost trying to push you apart. He let out a slow breath, and when he finally looked at you, it wasn't with defiance.

It was guilt. Heavy. Real. Like he'd been carrying it for lifetimes.

"I never wanted you to find out like this," he said quietly, voice low and raw.

Your grip tightened on the scythe's handle. The curved blade shimmered under the moonlight, inches from his skin.

"You lied to me," you hissed, each word heavy like it cost you something to speak them aloud. "All this time. You were one of them."

Jinu lowered his gaze again. "Four hundred years is a long time to regret something."

"Don't you dare make this poetic," you snapped. "You could've told me. You let me care about you—trust you—when you knew what you were."

He didn't defend himself. Just stood there, letting your anger land where it may.

"I'm still me," he finally said, barely louder than the wind. "Even if the past is monstrous... I never stopped being me when I was with you."

Silence stretched. Your blade didn't waver, but your heart did

You didn't know when the tears started to fall—only that they burned on the way down.

All this time, you thought he was your safe place. The quiet in the chaos. But now... now he was the very storm you'd been trying to survive.

Jinu stepped forward—slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching a wounded animal. Like he knew one wrong move would shatter everything.

"You're right," he said softly. "I should've told you. I should've let you hate me from the beginning. But I didn't want to lose you before I ever had the chance to keep you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, half-choked and broken. "So instead you let me love a lie?"

He flinched.

The scythe dropped from your hands with a metallic thud against the rooftop. You couldn't hold it anymore. Couldn't hold anything anymore. Not the rage. Not the love. Not the grief curling inside your ribs like fire.

"I don't know if I'll ever forgive you," you whispered.

Jinu looked like he wanted to speak, but the words never came. Maybe there weren't any left that could fix this.

And maybe... that was the point.

You turned away from him, the wind now at your back. The skyline blurred through your tears, the city below indifferent to the war inside your chest.

Behind you, Jinu didn't move. Maybe he knew chasing you would only make it worse.

Maybe he knew he'd already lost.

Your voice broke the silence one last time, barely above a breath:

"If only I knew what my heart was telling me... Don't know what I'm feeling, is this just a dream?"

And then you were gone— leaving Jinu standing alone beneath the stars, with nothing but regret and the sound of your fading footsteps.

[mooningningg]

notes, the anon who requested this had a few more ideas and i appreciate it!!!

★ Roommate!Sukuna when you get drunk and wasted.

The call came from an unknown number.

Sukuna almost didn’t pick up. Almost.

Then he heard it — loud music, giggling, and a girl yelling “tell himmm! tell ‘immm I miss his mean little face!”

“…Hello?” he said flatly.

A girl — not you — answered. “Uh, hi? Sukuna, right?”

His entire body tensed. “What the fuck.”

“I’m a friend of Y/N’s. She’s um… she’s really, really drunk. Like, climbing-the-bar kind of drunk. We tried to call a cab but she—wait, she’s throwing fries again—Y/N! Stop!”

He was already grabbing his keys. “Where.”

“Some place called Pink Rodeo?”

He hung up before she could say another word.

Fifteen minutes later, the bar door slammed open.

There he stood: tank top, sweats, hair a mess, jaw tight.

He looked like a demon on a mission. Several girls turned to stare. One backed away. A man instinctively took a step behind his girlfriend.

And there you were — at a corner booth, with your arms thrown around two friends like you were the queen of the night.

“There’s my husbanddd!” you shouted as soon as you saw him.

Sukuna blinked.

The girl who called him looked at him apologetically. “She’s been calling you that for an hour.”

“I live with her, not love her,” he muttered, shoving past some guy in a cowboy hat. “Big fuckin’ difference.”

You tried to stand, but one heel caught the edge of your friend's purse and you tumbled straight into Sukuna’s chest.

He caught you with a grunt.

“Ow…” you slurred dramatically. “My boobs.”

He stared down at you. “What the fuck does that have to do with—never mind. Shut up.”

“Don’t yell,” you whined, gripping his shirt like it was your lifeline. “You look so mad. Are you mad? You look like a mean cat.”

“‘Cause I am mad, dumbass.” His jaw flexed. “You let these morons call me?”

One of your friends raised a brow. “Well, husband, she did threaten to walk home barefoot.”

“And sing karaoke on the way,” another added.

You nodded proudly. “I was gonna do a Beyoncé medley.”

“You can’t even walk in a straight line,” Sukuna snapped, adjusting his grip as you melted against him like a drunk heating pad.

You frowned at him. “You’re so grumpy. Maybe you need…a kiss.”

He blinked. “Try that and I’ll drop you.”

You gasped, clutching your heart like a scandalized debutante. “You used to be nicer.”

“I was never nice. You were just less annoying.”

Sukuna’s hand stayed firm on your waist, fingers splayed like he owned the damn real estate. The way he adjusted his grip every time you stumbled—like it was second nature—made one of your friends raise a brow.

“Roommates, huh?” she muttered under her breath, eyeing the way his hand lingered low on your back.

Sukuna didn’t even look up. “Say it louder, maybe the street rats didn’t hear.”

But he didn’t move his hand. Not an inch.

One of your friends smirked. “Y’all talk like this all the time?”

You lifted your head, swaying slightly. “Mhm. That’s my boy. My little violence man.”

Sukuna turned to your friends, deadpan. “Next time she gets this wasted, leave her on the curb. Let a raccoon adopt her or something.”

Then, to you: “Come on, idiot. Let’s get you home before you start serenading a trash can.”

“I love trash cans,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging you toward the door, “and I need a fuckin’ lobotomy.”

But his grip didn’t ease up.

And even though you were floppy, giggly, and leaking perfume all over his shirt, he didn’t let go once — not even when you tried to kiss a parking meter on the way to the car.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh.

[lexiputellas]

The Real Victory

You’re horny. Like, dangerously horny.

Alexia is on the pitch, locked into the Champions League match against Manchester City. She lost the last game, and you know how badly she wants this one. You should be focused too. Supportive. Cheering.

But you're six months pregnant and your entire body is buzzing.

And all you can think about is her.

Not the game. Not the score.

Just her

The way her thighs flex when she sprints, thick and powerful. The way her brow furrows when she’s concentrating, that sharp little frown. The way her hands settle on her hips when something doesn’t go her way, fuck.That posture alone sends a direct electric shock to your clit, like a livewire.

It’s unbearable.

You can’t hear the crowd. You barely notice the plays. It’s just her, her, her.

“Oh, that ref is shit. He should’ve called that a foul,” Alba mutters beside you, snapping you out of your haze.

“What?” you blink.

“The ref,” she says, nodding at the pitch.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” you say, pretending to care. She’s already turned back to the game.

But you? You’re dying.

This feeling is consuming you, melting you from the inside out. You feel like you’re going to burst. Your hands are clenched in your lap, trying to behave, but your legs keep pressing together. You're sweating under your dress, soaked through your underwear, every shift in your seat making you want to whimper.

You can't take it anymore.

You grab your phone and open Alexia’s contact, fingers trembling as you type:

— if after 30 minutes of the game you don’t fuck me and give me at least 2 orgasms i will expose you to the internet. i’m not joking. i’m feral.

You hit send.

She won’t read it now, obviously. But when she gets back to the locker room, when she finally checks her phone, you want her to know what she did to you.

You type again:

— i’m a mess. i’m so wet it’s probably running through my dress and dripping onto the fucking seats. this is 100% your fault.

You stare at the screen, your heart pounding harder than the crowd’s chants.

Final whistle.

Barça wins.

The stadium erupts. People are screaming, waving flags. Fireworks. Hugs. Applause.

You don't care.

Finale. They’re going to the goddamn finale.

And all you want is her.

All you want is home

All you want is to be touched.

You turn to Alba. “Let’s go.”

She glances at you, a little surprised. “Already?”

“Help me up.”

She does, and you wobble a bit, pregnant belly leading the way. You make your way to the VIP lounge and ask for a bottle of water. Your heart is racing like you played 90 minutes.

“You having dinner with us?” you ask Alba casually, your brain screaming please say no please say no please say no—

“I don’t think so, actually. I promised Julia I’d have dinner with her tonight. Been a while.”

YES.

“Oh, okay,” you say, masking the desperate joy clawing at your throat. “I just thought—”

“I’m sorry!” she smiles. “We can have dinner later this week.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere. All you can think is: Where the fuck is Alexia?

Why is she not here yet? Is she still giving interviews? Talking to people? Laughing with teammates while you’re over here throbbing?

Then, finally, she walks through the doors.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your entire body clenches. She looks so fucking good. Post-game glow, loose ponytail, jersey stuck to her skin, thighs still tense from running. She’s flushed. Confident. Unreal.

You bite your lip. Hard. Press your thighs together again.

You love her. You hate her. You want to murder her and climb her at the same time.

“Oi, bebé,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek, arms wrapping around you.

You give her a dry peck back, but your eyes are blazing. She hugs Alba next.

“Hey, you coming to dinner?”

“Oh, can’t. Was just waiting for you to show up. I’ve got plans.”

“Okay,” Alexia nods. Alba leaves.

“Dinner out or do you want to order in?” she asks, turning to you with that too-casual tone.

“Order,” you narrow your eyes. She was really about to take you to a restaurant like she didn’t just read those texts? Is she insane?

Then again, she is insane. She's mean. She's hot. She’s yours. So so yours.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, grabbing your purse and holding out her hand.

You walk with her, past a few teammates. She says her goodbyes. Opens the car door for you. Puts her gear in the trunk. Starts the engine.

She’s humming along to the song on the radio. Calm. Collected.

You look at her. Really look.

What kind of monster leaves their pregnant, needy, drenched wife like this?

The way her fingers grip the wheel. The muscles in her forearms. The little furrow of concentration on her brow.

It’s criminal.

“What?” she says suddenly, catching your stare.

“You’re so mean,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“What? How am I mean?”

“You read the messages. And you chose to ignore me. You ignored your pregnant, unholy, unsatisfied wife”

“I didn’t ignore you,” she smirks. “I just wanted to see when you’d break.”

“When I’d— WHAT KIND OF MONSTER SAYS THAT? I hate you!” you yell, dramatic and breathless.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I hate you so much!”

She looks at you sideways, eyes dark and smug, and then slowly lets one hand slide off the wheel, straight to your thigh.

You gasp.

Her fingers press into your skin, spreading a little warmth, a little promise.

“You don’t hate me,” she says, low and certain.

And god help you, she’s right.

Her hand stays there hot, firm, steady on your thigh. Not moving. Just existing. Like a warning. Like a fucking claim.

And you're trembling.

“You don't hate me,” she says again, softer this time, almost teasing, like she already knows you're seconds from falling apart. “You’re just mad I made you wait.”

You twist toward her in your seat, glaring. “I wasn’t mad. I was dying. There’s a difference. You left me like that for ninety minutes. In public.”

“In a stadium,” she corrects, her thumb now rubbing slow, maddening circles over your skin. “While my team fought for the Champions League.”

“I fought for my life. ”

She laughs, actually laughs, and you nearly claw at her. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” you nearly shriek. “I threatened you. I explicitly said two orgasms and you acted like I said two cappuccinos,”

“I saw that,” she says, grinning wider. “And the one after. The part about your dress. And the seats.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“And?” you snap, voice shaky.

She hums, dragging the tip of her fingernail up and down your thigh now. You shiver. “And I guess we’ll see if you were exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I hope not.”

You make a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl. Your hands are fisted in your lap again, trying not to beg her in traffic.

The city blurs outside the window, but all you see is her profile, focused, gorgeous, unfazed. Your whole body is throbbing and she’s just…driving. Calmly. Like you’re not about to crawl into her lap.

You glance down at her hand on your leg. Her thumb is drifting closer to the inside of your thigh now. Dangerous territory. Too close. You spread your legs slightly without thinking.

She doesn’t say anything. Just flicks her eyes toward you with a slow smirk.

You clench your fists tighter.

“You’re a menace,” you mutter.

“You married me.”

“I was tricked.”

She chuckles again, completely in control, and your pulse is in your ears. She's wearing that smug, satisfied post-match look, jersey still sticking to her skin, and all you can think about is how much you need her on you, in you, now now now.

“Alexia,” you whisper, desperate.

She exhales through her nose, leans forward to turn down the music, then returns her hand to your thighs, this time higher, much higher.

“Shhh, bebé. Almost home.”

Your hips twitch toward her.

“No, not shhh. I’m going to die,” you say breathlessly. “You’re going to have to explain to the paramedics that you edged your pregnant wife into a cardiac event.”

She grins. “I’ll just say it was hormones.”

You whimper. Actually whimper.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says, but her voice is lower now, quieter, slipping into that tone you know means trouble.

Then she turns onto your street.

Your breathing stutters.

You’re seconds away from sobbing, from tearing the fabric of your dress apart, from climbing her while the engine’s still on. She parks the car and the moment it clicks into place, you undo your seatbelt and twist to her.

She hasn’t even opened her door yet.

You lean toward her, breath warm, hands shaking.

“I swear to God,” you whisper, “if you make me wait one more second,”

But she’s already moving. Turning to you. Hand slipping behind your neck and pulling you in for a deep, hot kiss. It hits you like fireneedy, claiming, hungry. Her tongue sweeps over yours and her fingers dig into your skin and just like that, you’re gone.

Your moan gets swallowed in her mouth.

She reaches down, pulls the lever, and shoves the driver’s seat all the way back.

Your breath catches.

“Come here,” she says, low.

“What?”

“You heard me. Come here.”

You scramble over the center console, breathless, messy, belly in the way, everything awkward and unhinged. But she helps you, strong arms around you, guiding you to straddle her lap. Her hands slide under your thighs, lifting you so you’re not too heavy, easing you down until you're sitting right against her.

The moment you're seated, your soaked center pressed against the firm muscle of her thigh, your arms around her neck, she kisses you.

Hard.

Messy.

Open-mouthed and fucking relentless.

You moan into her, rocking instinctively, already rolling your hips against her. Her hands slip up under your dress, grabbing the back of your thighs, your ass, your hips, tugging you closer until you're gasping into her mouth.

“Ale, fuck, I’m gonna explode”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, lips wet, eyes glassy.

Her hand slides between your legs. Straight under your underwear.

And when she feels how wet you are?

Her jaw clenches.

“You’re soaked.”

“I told you,” you gasp.

“Sit up,” she orders, and you barely register what she’s doing before she slides her fingers inside: slow, deep, no warning.

Your whole body jerks.

“FUCK”

Her other hand grips your hip, grounding you, holding you in place.

“You gonna ride me like you threatened to?” she breathes into your neck. “Or do I have to make you beg for it?”

You’re already moving. Hips grinding down, your belly tight against her chest, your thighs trembling with the effort.

“God, yes, yes, please, Alexia”

“You’re so desperate,” she whispers. “So messy. You wanted to come in my car so bad? Do it.”

Her fingers are already soaked, dripping, knuckles buried in your cunt as you grind against her like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. She’s letting you do the work, just watching, controlling the rhythm with the slow flex of her hand.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” she mutters, voice low, forehead pressed to yours. “Dripping all over me. Can you feel how wet you are?“

Your jaw drops. You moan, raw, desperate and she doesn't give you space to recover.

Her fingers curl inside you, deep and mean, rubbing against that swollen, electric spot that sends sparks flying up your spine. Her palm drags hard over your clit. Again and again and again.

You fall apart.

Your back arches, your belly tight and shaking, and then your cunt clenches down so hard on her fingers it hurts. You don’t just moan, you wail, the sound tearing from your throat like a sob. Your head tips back, body locking, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

She’s right there, whispering filth into your skin.

“That's it. Give it to me, bebé. Let me feel it. Let me feel all of it.”

You try to breathe, but your lungs won’t work. Your whole body is twitching, seized by the orgasm, soaking her wrist, her palm, the fucking seat. You’re gushing, crying, shaking in her lap like your body’s been possessed.

She holds you there through it gripping your ass with one hand, still inside you with the other, riding it out until you're limp and clinging to her.

When you finally collapse forward, she’s panting against your ear, voice rough with praise.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “You came so hard for me. Fuck.”

Your whole body buzzes. You’re not sure if you’re still crying or just breathless, but her jersey is wet with sweat, and your thighs are shaking.

“That’s one,” she says, slowly pulling her fingers out, wet, slick, obscene. She lifts them to her mouth and licks them clean while you just stare, wrecked and speechless.

Then, with a grin that’s all teeth:

“You still owe me another.”

“And I haven’t even ripped your fucking dress yet.”

[afterheese]

With you, always - Park Jong-seong x F!Reader

“So…” Jay’s voice cut through the stillness. “Are you gonna tell me the real reason you’re leaving?” Your fingers froze mid-scroll. You didn’t look up. “What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb, your voice stiff around the edges.

content warnings - dark!jay, noncon, workplace harassment, boundary crossing, unsettling behavior, slow escalation of discomfort, daddy kink (its jay it fits), hair pulling, degradation, creampie, breeding kink, lots of dirty talk and physical violence.

word count - 4.7k

this was requested

One more day. Just one more miserable day until you could finally leave this godforsaken job.

You were so happy when you got it. You worked so hard to make the perfect impression, nailed every question in the interview, and walked out beaming. You thought you’d made it. Thought you’d found a place where you could grow. But month by month, your excitement withered. Not because of the work. Not because of the hours.

Because of Park Jong-seong.

At the beginning, it was nothing. Harmless. Innocent, even. He brushed past you in the hallway, too close but not close enough to call out. A hand on your waist to maneuver around you in the copy room, just a little too familiar but still, you told yourself, maybe that’s just how people are here. Then it got... weird.

You’d just landed a massive client, one the team had been chasing for months. There was a celebration, naturally. Drinks after work. A cozy bar with loud music and coworkers packed into a sticky leather booth.

He sat across from you. Too many beers in, his tie loose, his eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on you like you were the only one in the room. At first, the questions were fine. He asked about your family. Your pets. Your weekend plans.  Then his voice dropped, soft but sharp enough to slice through the music. “So, how’s your sex life?”

You laughed. Reflex, not amusement. You glanced around the table for someone to back you up. But no one did. They just kept sipping their drinks, scrolling their phones, as if he’d asked about the weather. The silence stretched, and you could feel the peer pressure pressing in, trapping you. If you pushed back, you’d be the one who "couldn’t take a joke." The one who "made it weird." So you lied. Smiled like it didn’t bother you. “It’s great.” 

His head tilted, and something cold flickered behind his eyes. “Oh? I wouldn’t have guessed that.” The way he said it, made you feel icky. After that, the air felt wrong. The room felt smaller. The music, distant. You stood, grabbing your bag with a shaky laugh. “I’m heading out. See you guys Monday.”

You could feel his gaze drilling into your back as you slipped out of the bar. On the walk home, the streetlights buzzed and the night air felt too tight around you. The city, usually familiar, suddenly seemed like a maze you couldn’t quite escape. That was weird, you told yourself. Just weird.

But your skin prickled the whole way home.

“Hey, can you come to my office?”

You heard your name snap from somewhere behind you, sharp and clipped. You’d barely set your coffee on your desk before you were already moving toward Jay’s office, heart ticking a little faster for reasons you couldn’t explain. “Good morning,” you offered as you stepped inside.

“Close the door.” He didn’t even look up. His eyes stayed pinned to the stack of papers in front of him, his pen tapping in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Sure,” you murmured, easing the door shut with a soft click. Without preamble, he handed you a document. 

“What are these?” You took it, skimming the bold header. It was the contract you’d finalized late last night, the one you’d sent over right before you left. “Oh, this is the Mr. Kim contract,” you said, handing it back. His eyes finally lifted, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Did you proofread it before sending it to me?”

You straightened under his stare. “I did, sir.” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “Clearly, you didn’t. There are typos. Lots of them. You’re lucky I caught it before it went into the database.” He slid the contract into a folder with slow, deliberate movements and shoved it back into your hands. “Fix this. I want it back by the end of the day.”

“Yes, sir.” You left the office feeling smaller than when you’d entered. And from that day forward, it was as if something shifted. Jay made you feel less like a colleague and more like his personal assistant. No it was less than that. Like you were a fly he was tolerating until he could find the right moment to swat you away.

He dismissed your ideas in meetings with a wave of his hand. He talked over you, corrected you mid sentence, made a spectacle of pointing out even the smallest errors. And when he found one, he didn’t whisper about it in private. No he called you out in front of the entire office, his voice loud, his words sharp, carving you down to size in real time. 

So you adapted. You started triple-checking your work. Then quadruple-checking. Every email, every decimal, every line. You combed through them like your job depended on it because now, it did.

And that’s when you knew something was wrong. The next day, he made a scene over a report you’d scoured the night before. You’d reviewed it meticulously, certain it was flawless. But somehow, he found an error. A glaring one.

You couldn’t understand it. You’d checked it. You knew you had. And yet he stood there, brandishing the page like evidence, his voice cutting through the office like a blade. It didn’t make sense. Unless…. someone else was tampering with your work. Unless he was. 

It scared you. Not just the humiliation. Not just the constant belittling or the sting of his words in front of the entire office. No but what terrified you was that you couldn’t figure out why. Why would Jay do this? Why you? There was no reason. You combed through every interaction, every possible slight, but you found nothing. No trigger. No explanation.

It made it worse, not knowing. After months of verbal abuse, of being treated like shit, you came to the only conclusion that made sense. You couldn’t fight it. You couldn’t fix it. So you quit. You didn’t hand your resignation to Jay. You went over his head, straight to his boss.

“So sad to see you go,” Mr. Lee said as he scribbled his signature at the bottom of your resignation letter. He barely glanced at it, like this happened all the time. “If you need a recommendation, I’d be happy to write one for an employee like you.” Your chest eased, just a little. “Thank you, Mr. Lee.” He smiled. “You’re welcome.” You walked out of his office feeling lighter, like you’d finally cracked a window in a suffocating room. You were free. Until you saw Jay.

He stood in his office doorway, staring at you. His expression unreadable. You dropped your gaze, ducking your head, and slipped past him to your desk. One more day. Just one more day. And then you’d never have to see him again.

You buried yourself in your work, the clock spinning faster than you realized. By the time you looked up, it was nearly 8 p.m. “Shit,” you muttered, stretching back in your chair until your spine cracked in protest. You hit save, deciding to finish the rest in the morning. Computer off. Desk lamp off. Jacket on. Bag over your shoulder. You moved on autopilot, too tired to think, your focus already on tomorrow, the final day.

The elevator pinged as you pressed the button. You stepped inside, thumb hovering over the ‘Close Door’ button, eager to leave. The doors began to slide shut. Then a hand shot between them. You flinched, a sharp inhale snagging in your throat.

You let out a weak laugh as the doors reopened. Just the nerves. The laugh died in your chest when you saw him. Jay. He stepped into the elevator, nodding at you once, silent. You didn’t say a word. You just stared at the glowing floor numbers, silently begging the elevator to close faster.

The doors slid shut. The descent began. And you were trapped. Alone. With him.

“I heard you quit.” Jay’s voice fractured the silence, low and flat, echoing off the metal walls of the elevator. Your eyes shot wide, but you kept them forward, pinned to the glowing floor numbers. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him. “Yeah,” you said, quick, almost too quick. “Why?” He asked.

“I got a new job.” The lie slipped out, smooth and practiced. You didn’t even know where you’d go after this, but anything was better than staying here. “You did?” His surprise didn’t sound faked. “Yeah,” you repeated, sharper this time, hoping the conversation would die there.

And for a moment, it did. The elevator hummed softly as the floors ticked down. Almost to the parking garage. Almost out. Then— A jolt. The elevator shuddered violently, pitching you to the side as the lights blinked out. Total darkness. You caught your breath, heart hammering. Seconds later, the emergency lights flickered on, washing the space in pale yellow.

“Damn it,” Jay muttered, slamming his palm against the panel. “What—what just happened?” You tried to keep your voice steady, but the crack in it gave you away. “Looks like it’s stuck.” He jabbed at the buttons, but nothing happened. No movement. No sound. You stepped forward, pressing the call button, but it buzzed weakly, then died.

Jay sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “And we’re the only ones left in the building.” You swallowed. The weight of that landed hard in your chest. “So…it’ll be a while before someone comes to fix it?” He nodded, almost too calm. “Yeah. Could be hours.”

You stared at the elevator doors, cold creeping up your spine, wishing more than anything that they’d just open. Wishing you weren’t trapped. Wishing you weren’t trapped with him.

You stared down at your phone, pretending to doom scroll, desperate to distract yourself from the crushing silence. From him. From this boxed-in nightmare. The glow of the screen steadied your breathing. Made you feel less trapped. “So…” Jay’s voice cut through the stillness. “Are you gonna tell me the real reason you’re leaving?” Your fingers froze mid-scroll. You didn’t look up. “What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb, your voice stiff around the edges.

“I mean—” You finally looked at him, and that was your mistake. He was already moving toward you. He didn’t stop until he was inches away. One hand came up, pressing flat against the wall beside your head, boxing you in. He leaned in, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath.

His eyes locked on yours, steady. “I know you didn’t get a new job.” Your throat tightened. “How would you know that?” you managed, forcing the words out. His mouth quirked, like he was enjoying this. “You have this tell when you lie. Your nose scrunches up, just a little.” Your stomach flipped. “What?!”

Your voice cracked, too loud in the small metal box, but Jay didn’t flinch. He just kept looking at you like he could see straight through your skin. Like he’d been watching you much more closely than you ever realized.

“Jay, can you back up?” you said, your voice strained, trying to wedge space between you. “Why?” His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Do I make you nervous?” His face dipped closer, his breath hot against your lips. Too close, way too close. Without thinking, you shoved him hard in the chest.

He stumbled back a step but instead of getting angry, he laughed. It echoed through the metal box like it had nowhere else to go. “I always knew you were a stupid little bitch,” he spat, the venom in his voice hitting harder than his usual taunts. Jay had called you stupid before. Had called you incompetent. Had called you worthless. But he’d never called you a bitch. Never crossed that line.

“God, Jay. You’re such a miserable jerk,” you snapped, spinning away from him, trying to put distance between his words and your skin. “Someone should teach you some fucking manners.” If he wanted a fight, fine. You’d give him one. “No,” you hissed, turning back to him. “Someone should slap the fuck out of your dumbass.”

You barely finished the sentence before his hand was around your throat. It happened so fast you didn’t have time to process it one second you were talking, the next your back slammed into the cold elevator wall with a bone-rattling bang.

Your toes barely scraped the floor. His grip was iron, crushing, your nails clawing at his wrist as your eyes went wide, panic detonating in your chest. “Jay—” you choked out, but the man in front of you didn’t look like Jay anymore.

His face was tight, cold, unfamiliar. It wasn't the same person who used to taunt you in the hall, who used to lean over your desk with a smirk. His eyes were empty. Unrecognizable.

Your nails dug into his skin, clawing hard, desperate to pry him off you. His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, his thumb pressing hard enough to send lightning bolts of pressure shooting through your skull.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sputtering hum of the trapped elevator. Your legs kicked out, searching for ground, for balance, for anything. You scraped the toe of your shoe against his shin, a useless attempt to knock him off, but he didn’t flinch.

“Jay—” your voice came out broken, barely a whisper. “Let me go—” His stare was ice. Unblinking. Like he wasn’t even hearing you. Or maybe he was. Maybe that was the point. You swung your bag at him, a desperate move. It smacked against his ribs, and something flickered in his expression not pain, but annoyance.

“Shut up,” he muttered, pressing you harder into the wall. “You think you can just walk away? You think you can just leave?” His other hand came up, grabbing your chin, forcing your face toward his. “Say it again,” he hissed. “Say you’re leaving.”

Your throat burned under his crushing grip. Your vision blurred at the edges, a creeping darkness trying to pull you under. But you weren’t going out like this. You twisted, wrenching your arm free enough to drive your elbow into his side, sharp and hard. He grunted, and you felt his grip falter just enough for you to yank your head forward and slam it into his.

The crack of bone against bone echoed in the small metal box. Jay stumbled back, cursing, one hand clutching his forehead. You gasped, clutching your throat, gulping air like you were drowning.

Your body burned but adrenaline shoved you forward. You rammed your shoulder into him, sending him crashing into the opposite wall. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Your voice shredded through the silence, raw and shaking, but you meant every word.

Jay wiped a smear of blood from his eyebrow, his breathing ragged, but his smile came back twisted. “Feisty,” he muttered, his gaze still pinned to you. “This is gonna be fun.”

You launched yourself at him again, swinging wildly, your fists catching his shoulder, his ribs, his arm anywhere you could reach. You were fast, but he was faster. Stronger. Jay caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted hard. You screamed, pain flashing white-hot up your arm. Before you could wrench free, he yanked you forward, spinning you so your back slammed against his chest.

His arm snaked across your collarbone, locking you in place, his forearm pressing tight just under your throat. His other hand pinned your arm behind your back in a brutal hold. You thrashed, kicked, shoved your weight backward, but it only tightened his grip, his body solid against yours. Your breathing came in ragged gasps, his breath hot and steady against your ear.

“Calm down,” he growled, his lips brushing your skin. “You’re not going anywhere.” Your heart hammered so hard it felt like it would punch through your ribcage. You dug your nails into his arm, twisting, clawing, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Stop fighting me,” he whispered, his voice calm now, almost gentle but the steel in his grip betrayed the lie. “You made this so much harder than it had to be.” You threw your head back, trying to catch him in the face, but he jerked his head just out of reach. “Still fighting?” His grip tightened across your chest, cutting off your air just enough to make your head spin. “You can’t win this fight babe.”

You let out a strangled gasp, your free hand slamming against the elevator wall, searching blindly for anything emergency buttons, loose panels, anything. “You know what your problem is?” he whispered, his voice a soft pulse against your ear. “You thought you could just leave me.”

His hand slid from your pinned wrist up to your face, his fingers pressing against your jaw, forcing your head to the side, forcing you to look at the dark reflection in the elevator’s metal wall. “Look at us,” he breathed. “Just look.” Your own wide, panicked eyes stared back at you. His face hovered over your shoulder, his smile sharp and dangerous.

His palm pressed over your lips, firm and suffocating, his fingers curling around your cheek. That was his mistake. You bit down. Hard. Your teeth sank into the soft flesh between his thumb and index finger, tearing through skin until you tasted metal the blood blooming hot and bitter on your tongue.

Jay roared, jerking his hand back, but you didn’t let go until he ripped it free. “You little—” Before you could twist away, his other arm banded across your chest, yanking you backward. His palm slammed against the back of your head, and he drove you forward hard into the elevator wall.

Your forehead cracked against the cold steel with a dull, sickening thud. The impact rattled your vision, white sparks flashing behind your eyes. Your knees buckled, but his grip didn’t let you fall. “Fucking bitch,” he snarled, his breath seething against your ear, his free hand shaking with rage as he cradled his bleeding palm. “You just don’t learn, do you?”

Your pulse screamed in your ears. Your head throbbed, the sharp ache spreading down your spine, but somewhere beneath the panic, beneath the dizziness, the fight still burned. Your nails dug into his arm again, scrabbling for leverage, for space, for something you could use to shift this back in your favor.

You tried pushing back at him, but he was so strong. He held you there. “Stop fighting, baby,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and edged with warning. “You’re only making it harder for yourself.” You shoved against him one more time, desperation clawing its way up your throat until you heard him groan.

That’s when you realized. Something hard was pressing against your lower back. Your lungs forgot how to work. Your body went rigid. That’s when you realized why he was doing all of this. “Jay, please…” your voice broke. “L-Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I-I’ll quit. I’ll pretend none of this happened.”

His laugh was sharp, guttural, and anything but kind.  “The reason this is happening,” he whispered, his nose buried in your hair, “is because you tried to leave me.” The instinct to retreat fired through you. “I can’t let that happen,” he said, voice flat and final. “Hands on the wall.”

“Jay, please…” “I said—hands. On. The. Wall.” His hand wrapped around your wrist, and with one violent jerk, he slammed them against the cold steel. “If you want this to hurt more than it has to,” he breathed against your neck, “go ahead. Keep fighting but if you want to be a good girl…” his grip tightened, “then listen.”

Right now, that was the only choice you had.

You could feel his hands sliding up your legs, slow and deliberate. The cold metal of the elevator behind you was nothing compared to the chill crawling up your spine. You regretted wearing a skirt today.

Tears slid down your cheeks, silent and hot. He didn’t try to be gentle not even for a second. His fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt and shoved it up roughly, exposing you to the stale, flickering light above. Then came the sharp tug. He yanked your panties down in one swift, brutal motion.

“Step out of them,” he said, voice low and unwavering. Your eyes dropped. You stepped out of the crumpled fabric, your legs trembling. He picked them up, turning them over once in his hand like they were something delicate.

You didn’t want to know what he was going to do with them. 

Jay's eyes flicked from your trembling legs to the panties in his hand. He let out a dark, humorless laugh before stuffing the fabric into his back pocket. “You really shouldn’t have worn something so easy to tear off, baby,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s like you wanted me to ruin you.”

His hand came up rough, practiced fingers threading through your hair. And then he yanked you head back. You gasped, your neck bending back as he forced your gaze up.

“Look at you,” Jay growled, his grip unrelenting. “You don’t get to cry and act like a scared little bitch.” He shoved you hard against the elevator wall. The metal was cold, the corners biting into your chest, but you barely noticed through the adrenaline flooding your veins.

You opened your mouth to speak to beg but he silenced you with his arm wrapped around your throat, pressing just enough to steal control. “Quiet,” he snapped. “You’ve already said too much tonight.” You whimpered, but he didn’t care. His arm left your neck only to push your skirt higher, exposing everything every trembling inch of skin you wished you could hide.

Then you felt him. Hot, thick and hard against the inside of your thigh. “You feel that?” he hissed into your ear. “That’s what happens when you try to leave me.” He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one. His hand dropped between your legs, rough fingers sliding against your folds just long enough to feel how wet you already were.

Jay chuckled. “Filthy little slut. You like being treated like this, don’t you?” You shook your head, but your body betrayed you. “Liar,” he growled. “Fucking liar.” Then he grabbed your hips, and with one thrust, he slammed into you.

You cried out, nails scraping uselessly at the wall. He didn’t slow down. Not for a second. “God, this tight little cunt was made for me,” he groaned against your ear. “Say it. Say it belongs to Daddy.” You tried to speak, but he pulled your hair back so sharply that all you could do was scream.

“Say it!”

“Yours—Daddy—yours!”

“Damn right it is,” he snarled. “You’re mine now. Every inch of you.”

He drove into you again and again, brutal and relentless. His grip on your hair never loosened. His hips pounded into you with vicious rhythm, every slap of skin echoing in the silent metal box like a punishment. “You’ll never leave me,” he growled. “No one’s going to save you. You’re Daddy’s now.”

The elevator groans, a metallic whine of protest, as he fucks you harder, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. The walls are too close, the air too thick, and the flickering overhead light casts jagged shadows across his face sharp enough to cut. You whimper, nails scraping against the stainless steel in front of you, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. His breath is hot against the back of your neck, mocking, as your body betrays you, trembling toward a climax you don’t want but can’t stop.

"That’s it," he murmurs, voice low, almost amused. "Let go." You choke back a sob as it hits you, wave after wave of unwanted pleasure, your knees buckling. But before you can even catch your breath, his grip tightens, yanking you back into the present. "Oh, kitten," he purrs, lips brushing your ear. "You didn’t really think it was gonna stop there, did you?" A cruel laugh, dark as the elevator shaft beneath you. "You still haven’t made me cum."

Your stomach drops. The realization hits like a punch. "Believe me," he continues, fingers tracing the back of your thighs, "you are not leaving this elevator until you’ve made me cum like the good little slut I know you are."

A beat of silence. The hum of dead machinery. The drip of sweat down your spine. "Turn around." Your body moves before your mind can refuse. "Face me." The command is a blade pressed to your throat. You obey. "Lemme lift your legs up." His hands are already on you, hoisting you like you weigh nothing, pressing you against the cold metal. "Wrap your legs around me."

A hesitation just a fraction of a second and his voice drops, dangerous. "I said wrap your legs around me." You do. His hand digs into the soft flesh of your thighs, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises. His mouth moves against your skin, whispering filth, promises, threats words that slither into your ears and coil tight in your stomach. You turn your face away, refusing to look, refusing to see what he’s doing to you.

"Now look at me." The slap cracks sharp in the confined space. Your head snaps to the side, the sting blooming hot. "Open your eyes." Another slap. Your vision blurs. "I said fucking look at me.” You listen.

"Good girl." His voice gentles, a velvet stroke over raw nerves. "Oh, look at you, kitten. So beautiful and bruised. All marked up from my hands." His thumb traces the ache along your jaw. "You know I love you, don’t you?”

A kiss, slow and possessive. Your lips taste like salt, like tears. "Even when you make me angry," he murmurs, "even when you make me hurt you... I still want you." The elevator groans around you, a mechanical sigh, but you don’t notice. All you feel is him the relentless drag of his body against yours, the way he steals your breath and replaces it with his.

"Fuck, you feel so good." His groan is low, rough, vibrating through your bones. Your fingers scrabble against the cold metal wall. There’s nowhere to go. "You’re mine now, kitten." His teeth graze your throat. "Don’t you ever fucking forget it. Your smiles, your cries ah—they all belong to me."

The elevator lurches. A flicker of light. He doesn’t stop. "I’m not letting you go." A promise or a threat. "Ever."

His grip bites into your thighs, pulling you hard against him as his hips stutter. You feel it the tremble in his thighs, the ragged break in his breathing. He’s close.

“Jay, don’t—” Your voice cracks, the panic sharp. Jay doesn’t stop. His fingers dig in harder, a low laugh slipping against your ear, velvet-wrapped malice. “Not inside me. Please.” He leans in, lips grazing your throat. “Think you’d make a great mom,” he breathes, dark, sticky, dangerous. “Let’s make it happen.”

The words freeze you. Ice creeps under your skin. “No.” You twist, you fight, the panic swelling in your chest. You shove at his arms, but his grip tightens, unrelenting. His hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back until your throat is bare. The elevator groans under the slam of your back against the wall. 

“None of that now,” he whispers, his voice a blade dragged across skin. “I told you. I’m gonna put a baby in you.” His hips jerk against you, desperate, claiming. “Then you’ll never get rid of me.”

“Jay, please—” Your breath shatters. You’re trembling, from fear and the spiraling chaos of it all. “Want to quit? Too late, sweetheart.” His teeth scrape your neck, a violent tenderness.  His groan breaks loose, hot and breathless. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum.”

“Jay—noo—” Your scream bounces off the elevator walls. His hips stutter, and you feel it. A claim that leaves something inside you that you can’t shake loose.

The elevator doors open with a soft hum swallowed by the silence. Jay kisses your throat, slow, almost tender now, his whisper sliding like a noose around your neck. “Now you can never leave me.”

You don’t speak, you don’t move. There’s nothing left inside you.

You can never get rid of him.

[moonstruckme]

First time request! I'd love a poly Jily fic based on the prompt "blood swirling down a shower drain." Maybe the reader just got back from a mission that went wrong and is kinda out of it, trying to wash everything off. James and Lily find them and refuse to let them deal with it alone, just soft, quiet comfort, lots of gentle touches, and reassuring words.🥹 Thanks!!

Thank you for requesting! This turned out so much angstier than I intended. I really don't know what happened but...I'm sorry? Or for the people who are always asking for angst I don't deliver, you're welcome I think? I don't know it just happened I wasn't on the decision-making panel

cw: blood (lots of blood), reader is a bit in shock, nonsexual nudity, death (of a minor canon character, not someone we really know and love), set in canon so there's death eaters/the order/etc., quite angsty (for me at least) but there is comfort I promise

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

James and Lily are cuddling when you come home. Well, they’re sort of just holding each other and trying to pass it off as cuddling. Any one of you going out on an assignment for the Order always makes nervous wrecks of the two left behind, but Lily and James doing their best to distract themselves, a film on the television and each trying not to look like they’re glancing out the window every minute. 

The crack of apparition outside puts an abrupt end to the facade. 

They’re both up in an instant, but Lily puts a hand to James’ chest when he goes for the door. “Wait,” she says. She leaves a spot of blood on his shirt from where she’s picked the skin by her nail down to nothing. 

James’ heart revolts, but he listens. They both listen, until they hear the two-three-two knock that means it’s you. 

Lily manages to move faster than him. She has both the muggle and magical locking mechanisms undone in an instant, opening the door to you. 

To you, absolutely drenched in red. 

It’s in your hair; it stains your clothes; it cakes your face and your neck and your hands. There’s hardly an inch of you left clean. James can’t comprehend it. Was there…was there an explosion of some sort? Did you get splattered by something? He feels sick. 

“Is that blood?” Lily’s voice is admirably steady. 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

James really feels sick. 

“Are you hurt?” She reaches for you, bringing you inside. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds. 

“No, I’m—it’s old. I’m fine. Remus fixed it.” 

“Good old Moony,” James croaks. It’s meant to be a joke, but truly, he’d love to fly to Remus and Sirius’ flat right now to give his friend the hug of his life. If only there weren’t things for James to take care of here first. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” Lily asks, running a gentle hand up your arm. Blood flakes under her touch. 

“They were waiting for us.” Your voice is low, like it’s the sort of truth that becomes worse once said aloud. Your eyes look bigger and brighter in the midst of all the mess. James wants desperately to hug you, and yet—shamefully—he’s afraid of touching you; like despite what you say, he might find you less whole than you were when you left a few hours ago. “It was just supposed to be Dolohov there, but there were a lot of them. They knew we were coming.” 

“They did this to you?” 

“It…I…” Your gaze moves from Lily, to James, back to Lily again. You look exhausted, haunted, but worried beneath that. A moment later, James understands why. “It was Severus.” 

Lily reacts as though you’ve hit her. Her expression looks like a heart cracked open, but she doesn’t let go of your arm. 

“He used this spell,” you tell her, seeming sorry to do it, “that opens cuts all over the other person’s body. Remus was able to figure a counter-curse before I bled out. I don’t think Severus was aiming for me…” 

Even looking at your face, James is unsure of whether you mean that. The odds that Snape would try to hurt you seem equally as likely to him as those that he wouldn’t. You may only be trying to protect Lily. She looks so devastated, James wants to wrap you both up and never let you go again. 

Something Lily and James have always had in common is how they love. They may not always show it in the same ways, but once they’ve chosen someone, that’s it; they’ll live and die for them. They give away their whole hearts. James has just been luckier in who he’s chosen to give his to. His first love—outside of his family, of course—was Sirius. Lily’s was Snape. 

But, as much as James loves Lily, if Snape showed up on your doorstep right now James thinks he would kill him. 

“I’m sorry,” Lily says to you, her eyes shining. 

“It’s okay.” You extricate yourself gently from her grasp. “I’m going to shower.” 

“Sweetheart…” James reaches for you, but you ghost past his hands, only mumbling again, “It’s okay.” 

Nothing’s okay. Lily’s looking after you like her heart’s been cracked open. From the sound of it, you actually were cracked open for a while. There’s a fracture between the three of you that James doesn’t know how to fix. But certainly he’s going to try. 

“Come on.” He takes Lily’s hand, encouraging her down the hall with him. When she comes, he wraps an arm around her shoulders to kiss her hair. “It’s alright. Come on, lovely.” 

The shower is already running when they open the bathroom door. James shuts it behind them before starting to strip, and Lily’s questioning look only lasts a moment before she’s doing the same. He sets his glasses on the counter. 

“Hi,” he says, pulling the shower curtain open enough to pop his head in. You look surprised, which is a surprise in itself; you must really be lost in your own head not to have heard them enter. “Room for two more in here?” 

There is, of course, room—as if James would ever let you get a place without a shower big enough for three—but still he’s relieved when you nod. He steps the rest of the way in, making room for Lily to squeeze in behind him. You seem to have scrubbed your face clean and now are letting the water do the work on the rest of you. Blood swirls down the shower drain. 

James steps closer, giving you long seconds to back away, to let your face reveal hesitation or denial, before he kisses you. Slowly. Warmly. You soften like butter in the sun, arms coming around him as his do you. 

“Didn’t get to do that properly when you got home,” James murmurs after your lips part. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

He fights to keep his lips from twitching at the now-familiar dazed quality to your tone. It is taking every ounce of his concentration to not think too hard about the two stunning women he’s sharing a shower with right now. 

Since Lily is no longer up to being the asker of questions, James gives it a whirl. “Do you want to tell us any more about what happened tonight?” 

Your eyes go weary and somber. He sees your throat bob as if around something painful. “We, um. We lost Edgar.” 

Lily makes a wounded sound. “Bones?” 

James has already drawn you into a hug. You nod against his chest, choking out a weak, “Yeah.” 

“Was it…”

“It was Lestrange,” you answer before Lily has to finish asking. Not Snape. She breathes out. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, joining your hug. Water runs in rivulets down the three of you, transferring from one body to the other, off James’ nose and Lily’s hair and your chin, pooling in all the places you’re pressed together. James fights an ache in his own throat. You’d all known Edgar, but only you watched him die. This is a grief he and Lily can only share in parts of. 

There’s lots more kisses and murmuring before you get to the business of washing. James runs you over with a soapy cloth while Lily shampoos your hair, the both of them making sure no inch of you goes unseen to. Remus has done a good job; there are no scars where Snape’s curse tore you open. As the blood clears away, James can’t tell where it originated from at all. 

He tells you how happy they are to have you home. You smile at his exaggerated jokes about separation anxiety and squeeze his hand when he presses a thumb into the corner of it, chuffed with himself. Lily apologizes again for Snape, and you both promise her she’s not responsible for him until it seems almost like she believes it. James is kicked out of the shower in disgrace after mistaking your body wash for conditioner. He warms towels in the dryer while Lily works the tangles out of your hair with her fingers. 

When you go to bed, you’re still as exhausted as you were when you came home. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds, and there’s a haunted look about your eyes, and you don’t seem up to saying much. But you curl up with James’ chest to your back and Lily’s leg draped across your own, and you’re loved, and that counts for something.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

make this place your home - r.c.

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

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

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

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

note: my contribution to @zyafics mrga campaign <3

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“Don’t open your eyes yet!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.

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

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

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

“Nice try, Cameron.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s nice, I like it,” Rafe said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello MTV, welcome to my crib!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” you said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

You both erupted in bittersweet laughter.

“Oh y’know, I’ve had better.”

She nudged your arm with her elbow.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You prodded. 

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think he loves me?”

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

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

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

“Go!” She urged.

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

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

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

You didn’t have to search for long.

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

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

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

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

“Need a push?” You said.

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

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

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

“Depends on what?” You played along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked back up at him, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has something changed?” He wondered aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I want to know?” Rafe asked.

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

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

“Yes, I am,” you smiled up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cleo, look at him,” you scolded. 

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

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

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

“Kie, wait!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, baby, what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

[chrissv4mp]

VIDEOS GIRLFRIEND!BILLIE WOULD SEND YOU .ᐟ

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: lookin 4 something???

the video starts quickly—billie holding her phone up above her head, resting comfortably in what looks to be the couch on her tour bus. she hums softly, a soothing melody that you wish you had the chance to hear again face-to-face. then the camera pans back down, her fingers fumbling with the device before successfully setting it onto the couch opposite of where she was perched.

it's only then do you realize what she's wearing—a purple hoodie that's quite similar to yours... and as you squint, trying to remember where you recognize it from. before the answer can click in your mind, billie speaks up.

"i know you're probably wondering where i got this," she grins, cheekily. "or maybe you're wondering why i have this?" she adds, smile breaking out wider. "and—okay, don't blame me—but i snuck it in my bag before tour..."

your favorite hoodie.

and, clearly, hers as well.

"but!" she exclaims, then whips her head to the side at the sound of one of the cabin bunks creaking. then, quieter, "but i wanted to know that you're always here—or, at least, a part of you."

you can see the pink tint of her cheeks flushing even in the dim lighting of the tour bus, and it only becomes more apparent as she pulls the hood further down—covering her face in embarrassment as she giggles quietly, the sound muffled behind the thick, cozy fabric of your hoodie. the one that you'd been losing your mind while trying to find over the past few days. guess it's a huge weight lifted off your chest knowing that the person you trust most has it.

the room goes quiet for a moment too long—and then a long yawn rips through billie's throat, resulting in the girl lifting her arms up and stretching dramatically, a habit you'd also picked up on a few months into the relationship. billie sits up, scooting to the edge of the cushions and snatching up her phone again. she pulls the device close to her face, anything below her nose unseen in the camera.

"okay, well," she exhales, sleepy. "that's my cue."

her eyes flick to the camera, pulling the phone away a bit to grin at you through the phone. "i love you, pretty girl. i'll call tomorrow... if the timezones aren't fucked up—but if they are, still expect a call. just... later."

she blows a kiss, a tired smile pulling at her lips. "g'night."

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: i'd wanna fuck me too !!

"damn," billie purrs, tilting her head to the side. the sunlight from the open curtains of her hotel room illuminate her face. her lips part, eyes flitting across the screen—checking herself out shamelessly. "not to be conceded but... i see why you want me all the time, baby," she teases, leaning back on the couch, maroon and plush.

her hair is in a low bun, loose strands falling on her neck—so effortlessly perfect it's almost like she pulled them out herself. the video is nearly silent for a few seconds, the low hum of the A/C in the background setting a soft, quiet mood, almost like she's at home. her shoulders are relaxed, brows not furrowed like you'd seen them the last time she jumped onto facetime with you.

billie whistles low as she sets her phone down on the table, probably propped against her water bottle. "holy shit, i might actually start drooling over myself right now," she smiles, turning her head to the side and humming upon seeing the sharp line of her jaw.

"woah," she muses, giggling as she turns back to face the camera. "okay, baby—i need to call you, like, now."

she grabs her phone, tugging it off the table. the video still plays for a moment, even while billie looks like she's deep into finding your contact. then, with a quiet—needy—huff from between billie's pouty lips, the video ends.

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: bts for europe pt2... ur lucky...

the first thing you notice is her camera—not her phone, but an actual camera. the thought of billie taking the time to export the video off the camera just for you already had your heart warming. what made your heart warmer was simply just seeing her face, inverted in the mirror yet still looking as beautiful as ever. the camera view shakes a little in the awkward position of her hand, moving a bit closer—showing the background of what seemed to be a closed shop.

"aaahh!" she whispers, mouth opening in a low roar. her nose scrunches as she takes a step back, focusing the camera on the clean mirror for a second longer before stepping away fully and showing you where she was.

there's multiple racks of her merchandise—a plethora of reds, blues, yellows, and whites, colors that she'd been fixated on even before the meetings for her tour plans began. you remember her always coming home with boxes of her first samples of hoodies and t-shirts. unbeknownst to you, she'd ordered one of each sample in your size—feigning surprise whenever you slid the piece of fabric on and found out that it fit you perfectly.

her voice breaks throught the quiet murmur employees in the background. "nobody passing by knows that i'm in here... well, except for you," she thinks out loud, voice trailing off. "wait, but you're not passing by, so—nevermind, still counts."

"this is going in the vlog, by the way," billie announces in a quiet whisper, like it's a secret. "and you're the first person to seee!! i'm so excited for this next part, baby, you don't even know."

her shoes pad on the concrete floors, the camera view getting closer and closer to a rack of multiple hoodies, the designs varying—fabric in red with a graphic of billie from her rolling stone photoshoot ranging from a darker black hoodie featuring a lighter graphic of her name and a photo taken on her latest tour stop, amsterdam.

"dude, this shit is so sick," she admires, flipping the camera to show her happy expression. "might have to get a few to take home to you—gosh, you'd look amazing in the red."

then, she comes closer, murmuring much quieter, "and, preferably, nothin' underneath..." quickly, the camera pulls away from her face.

"okay bye!"

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: BERLINNNNN

billie's hand is on her cheek, jaw open wide in faux surprise as she points at a poster of herself with her free hand—eyes wide as she frantically taps against the window like she's seeing something that's a once in a lifetime experience. someone—ava—giggles behind the camera, shaking the view for a moment to point at the poster as well, a surprised gasp of her own falling from between her lips.

they're standing outside a shop, the window showcasing a display of billie's latest perfume release—your turn. the gates were still closed due to the early hour, the sun still slowly rising above the mountains. ava zooms in on billie just as she sticks her tongue out—then, unexpectedly, she sprints off camera, nearly tripping over her jeans with her suddenly fast steps. ava trails not too far behind, giggling.

"billie, i'm coming go the show tonight!" someone screams in the distance, loud enough for the camera to pick it up.

she doesn't stop running, and neither does ava—her head just whips around as she stuffs a hand into her pocket, her smile clear in the way she screams, "love you!"

"i love you!" the fan screams back, and ava can't hold in the giggles crawling up her throat.

ava chases after billie until they tumble into the back of their car, breathing heavily as their backs finally hit the seats, lips parted to take the chance to breathe after the sudden interaction. her blue eyes meet the camera again, a dopey smile playing at the corners of her lips. she slumps in her seat, falling to the side and laying across her side of the car with a few quiet chuckles. ava joins in on the laughter, the little sounds escaping billie's throat contagious.

"that was... unexpected," ava comments through her fit of giggles, the words cut off a bit at the end due to the engine of the car rumbling to life.

billie nods. "ugh, i love them," she huffs, pushing herself up again and buckling herself in. the click of a seatbelt echoes in the camera speakers as ava does the same. "if we weren't in a rush i would've ran over and tackled them."

ava huffs a laugh.

"lightly—" billie clarifies. then, with a deep squint of her eyes, hums and whispers, "maybe not, actually. don't wanna catch an assault charge in the middle of tour..."

the blonde behind the camera hums. "they'd probably cherish the bruise, billie."

billie bursts out into laughter—then, the video cuts.

letters. will this get me out of the motivation drought.... fingers are tightly crossed rn bcus i have something big and exciting planned 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @love4madii @livvydunneness @chxhir0 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @fleurfiles @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @ma1spa @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @skinnyhmhas @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz @emi-inspace

[sincerelyneo]

death by a thousand cuts | l.hc

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

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

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

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

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

❯ words: 9.6k

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

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

“Give me that!”

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

@ haechanahceah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except probably subtler. 

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

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

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

“We are not toxic.”

You are. 

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

“We’re just…”

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

 “Co-dependent?” Lia offers helpfully. 

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

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

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

And they wouldn’t. They never have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lia gasps. “Yeji!”

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

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

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

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

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

But there are some things sorry can’t fix.

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

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

It’s not a lie. Not exactly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lia reaches out, “Yeji—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted to see when he’d read it. 

And he did.

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

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

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

you can come, if you want.

Hyuck stares at the two messages.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what kind of thing is it?

Too uninterested.

who’s gonna be there?

Too nosy.

sure, if you want me there.

Too honest. 

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

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

Eventually he landed on:

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

He hit send before he could change his mind.

11:27PM

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

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

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

You were supposed to be smiling by now. 

But he didn’t walk in. 

He still hasn’t.

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

Still, you hoped he would come. 

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

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

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

Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe she’s right.

That’s why you sigh.

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

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

You flinch.

She notices. Regrets it. “Sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. Or try to. “Thanks.”

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

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

Just like he did. 

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

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

It slices through the room. Through you.

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

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

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

And Hyuck notices. You know he notices.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t say anything at first. 

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

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

“What are you doing here!?”

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

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

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

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

You stiffen. 

There it is. That.

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

“Don’t call me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Him. 

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

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

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

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

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

He does. Obediently. But then: 

"So, did you wear that for me?"

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

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

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

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

“I wore this set for Hyunjae, actually.”

A silence. Then the fucker starts laughing.

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

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

Your heart stutters when he nods toward your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so he does, again. Obediently.

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

“I’m decent,” you mutter.

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

“That’s mine.”

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

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

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

“I do.”

 So fast. So sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, I get that but—”

“But?”  you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. 

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s all you can focus on.

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

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

His hand lingers.

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

Your breath stutters. Your throat tightens.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve always meant it.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

A beat passes. Two. Three.

“You should go,” you whisper. “The party’s over. You’ve said what you needed to say. And I thought I could do this but I can’t.”

“No.”

Your eyes fly to his. He’s shaking his head, tongue in his cheek again as he sniffs.

“No,” he says again “I’m not leaving us like this.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Liar.”

“Hyuck—”

“You want me to say it again?” he asks, voice rising just slightly. Not angry. Only desperate. “You want me to beg? Fine. I will. I’ll fucking get on my knees if that’s what it takes.”

And then, to your absolute horror, he does. 

“Hyuck, stop—”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry for everything. For all of it. For her. For the lies. For shattering everything good we ever had. But I love you, Y/N. And I’m not sorry for that. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

You’re trying to stay angry. Trying to hold onto the rage but it’s slipping. Because you want him. You love him.

He’s still on his knees. Still looking up at you. Still pleading. You wish he’d just stand up. You wish he didn’t look so much like the boy you fell in love with instead of the man who broke you.

“Please,” he says again.“I know I don’t get to ask. But I’m asking anyway. I’m asking because I love you. I never stopped. I swear to God, I never—”

“Stop it,” you say, too fast.

It feels like your chest caves in. Because the thing about love is: it’s loud. Louder than hurt. Especially right now. You love him so much you could scream. But instead, you drop down to your knees. Right there in front of him. And before you know it, your hands are reaching for him. Stupid, traitorous things.

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop.”

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Because he’s Hyuck. And Hyuck never knows when to shut up.

“I know I ruined it,” he’s saying. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I wouldn’t forgive me either. I wouldn’t. But I can’t stop loving you. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve kissed girls who weren’t you and I’ve gone home wanting to claw off my own skin.”

You suck in a breath.

“You don’t have to forgive me now. Or ever. Just let me prove it. Let me try. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you for fucking ever, I swear—”

You’re kissing him. 

You have no idea why, but it just feels like you have to. Because you physically can’t not. Because the love of your life, him, is bleeding out in front of you and you’re the only one who knows how to stop it.

And when your mouth crahses into his, it tastes like heartbreak and history and every stupid, selfish thing he’s ever done. But you keep kissing him. Because just as much as it hurts—it feels like home. Like you’ve finally been returned to the place you belong. Like his lips have been waiting for yours all this time. 

He’s kissing you back just as fiercely. Like he might die if he doesn’t. And maybe he would. Maybe you would too.

You don’t know who moves first. You think it’s you, but maybe it’s him. You’re both equally desperate—lunging backward until his back knocks against the foot of your bedframe and you’re straddling his hips. 

His hands find your waist, landing heavy and possessive around you. But you don’t mind, because your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth—and God, you missed that sound. Missed him like oxygen.

His mouth moves to your neck, lips skimming every slither of skin he can reach, greedily not wanting to miss a single piece of you since he’s trying to make up for all the parts he used to take for granted. And you tilt your head back, giving him that access, because you’ve never been able to deny him anything.

“Tell me you’re still mine,” he breathes against your skin, half-choked.

You should tell him no. Should tell him he doesn’t get to ask things like that—not when he gave himself away so easily. Not now when he’ll never solely be yours like you’re solely his. 

But your heart is so tired and so in love it’s ridiculous, so instead you whisper: “I never stopped being yours.”

And then he’s kissing you again—deeper, this time. Until he pulls away and his forehead presses to yours, and he pants against your lips. “Let me love you,” he begs. “Please. Let me love you right this time.”

He feels solid beneath you. It’s making your brain fuzzy. It’s making you whimper.

“Okay,” you pant, tugging harder at those soft brown strands, as your hips shift and grind down against him, making him groan lowly. 

His hands clamp tighter around your waist, dragging you down harder, closer, like he’s trying to fuse you to him. And suddenly your skin feels too tight. You’re too aware of the clothes between you—what little there is.

Because you didn’t put on pants. Just that hoodie of his over your pathetic pair of black panties—thin, useless fabric—and now your pussy is rubbing right up against the thick outline of him through his jeans, and it’s overwhelming. You can feel absolutely everything you’ve missed.

Heat blooms in your stomach and you roll your hips again. It’s so shameless. So needy. But you don’t care. Not when it’s been this long. Not when it’s his fault it’s been this long—because you never would’ve let it be anyone else.

And he meets you in it. Each grind matched with one of his own, more harsh than the last. Until his hips are moving on impulse, chasing you like a man starved. His head drops to your shoulder, and his breath stutters. 

“Fuck, angel, slow down,” he chokes, “You’re killing me.”

You press your lips to his temple, to his jaw, anywhere you can reach, and whisper, breathless, “You deserve it.”

He groans—louder this time—like he agrees.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers splayed wide, dragging up the warm skin of your back like he’s relearning it. 

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” he breathes into your neck. “You can’t be real.”

But you are. You’re right here. Straddling him. Shaking for him. Letting him touch you like he never stopped having the right to.

He kisses your collarbone. Then lower—your sternum, the tops of your breasts, the edge of lace peeking from beneath his hoodie. His hoodie. That fact alone seems to snap something inside him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s pushing the fabric up and up and up, until it pools around your ribs and the cold air hits your bare stomach. You shiver. 

“Take it off,” he murmurs. “Please. Want to see you.”

You raise your arms, let him peel it over your head, and suddenly you’re half-naked in his lap—wearing nothing but that black set you wanted him to rip off, then didn’t, then did… and now, he is. Fingers working at the clasp, slipping the straps from your shoulders and tossing the bra aside in your room somewhere.

And then, he takes his time letting his eyes drag over you. Taking a sick pride in seeing his initial rest in the valley of your breast. 

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And something about that word—still—makes your stomach twist.

Your arms fold over your boobs on instinct, shielding yourself from the one person you’ve always felt safest with. Because still means there’s someone else now. Someone he’s looked at. Someone he’s touched. Someone you had to beat—and somehow did.

But you shouldn’t have had to.

He notices the shift immediately—how your arms cross, how your body goes stiff, how the room, warm just a second ago, chills.

“Hey. Hey,” he says, brows furrowing. He cups your face, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes. “Talk to me, angel. What’s wrong? What happened?”

You’re still straddling him, half-naked, kissed raw and dizzy, and yet you feel like you’re a million miles away. You try to speak, to explain, but the words choke you. How do you tell him something he’s never known? How do you make him understand? You’ve never done this to him before—and just knowing how much it hurts—you don’t think you ever could.

“I just—” your voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

He flinches—just enough for you to know it landed. But he doesn’t pull away.

The thing is, he doesn’t say her name. Doesn’t even mention her. Never has. But she’s here. Right here. In this room. Your room. In the silence. In his presence.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to wipe the thought away. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t think about her. This—” his hands cup your face tighter, gently desperate, “—this is you and me. Always you.”

Your jaw clenches, your eyes sting. “Then why wasn’t it only me?”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering away. He doesn’t answer—of course he doesn’t. He never does. And that’s been half the war between you. He doesn’t want to tell you the why.

Instead, his hands drift from your face to your waist, pulling you in like proximity might somehow make up for his silence. Like touch could smother your insecurities. 

His breath ghosts over your skin as he leans in.“Forget her. Just for now. Right here, right now, it’s only you. Only us.”

You hate that you melt. Hate that the ache in your chest loosens its grip the second his hands coax your arms from where you’d folded them. Hate that even after everything, he still knows how to make you feel safe inside the wreckage he caused.

He’s infuriating.

“Let me show you,” he whispers. “That it’s always only been you for me.”

His hands skim up your sides, thumbs brushing delicately beneath your tits. His eyes never leave yours—not for a second—as he kneads and explores and feels your body in his palm. And then his mouth follows.

Lips warm, slightly chapped, close around your right nipple. Your breath punches out of you. You can’t help it because his tongue flicks once, then again, then again until your spine arches and pushes the bud further into his mouth.

“Hyuck,” you moan, helpless, feeling the curve of his smirk drag against your skin.

His free hand trails up your other side, rolling the neglected peak between calloused fingers so deliciously because he remembers exactly what used to make you fall apart, and now he’s hell-bent on proving he hasn’t forgotten.

“God, you’re fucking unreal,” he murmurs against your skin, then bites gently, just enough to make you gasp. 

His words make you ache. Everywhere. Especially between your legs, where you’re still pressed tight against the thick, unrelenting shape of him through his jeans. And he hasn’t even touched you there yet, but it’s coming—you know it is. 

His mouth keeps going, warm and wet whilst he stays sucking just hard enough to turn your bones to water. And whenever you whimper he groans. 

“Please, Hyuck,” you plead. “Need more.”

He lifts his head, murmuring, “Yeah? You want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You nod, dizzy. 

“Fuck,” he groans and wastes no time lifting you off the floor like it’s nothing, carrying you to your bed. He lays you down gently, spreads you out beneath him like something precious. And then he peels off his t-shirt.

That tan skin—scattered with moles you’ve memorised, counted, traced with your fingers and your mouth—is on full display, just for you.

“I’ll give you everything,” he says, voice low as he drops to his knees, crawling between your legs. “Absolutely everything. As long as you don’t regret this. Don’t regret me.”

Your fingers sink into his hair before you can think. “I won’t,” you whisper. “Couldn’t.”

And then he dips down.

His mouth finds the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed kisses dragging tantalisingly up your skin. He’s not rushing. He never does when he gives head. It’s his favourite thing to savour. You. On his tongue.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, nipping at your skin, making you gasp. “How many times I’ve had to stop myself from texting. From begging you to take me back.”

“Who said anything about taking you back?” You say, hips shifting, dying for friction, but he pins them with strong hands, keeping you right where he wants you. 

“I did,” he says, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “Am I wrong, Y/N? Because if I am, we can stop right now?”

“No,” you whine on a trembling breath.

He smiles. “I didn’t think so.”

Then, finally, finally—his mouth finds the place you need him most.

He licks a slow stripe up your center, groaning from the taste of you in his mouth. He does it again, and then again, until your legs are trembling and one of your hands fists the sheets, the other tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, just how he likes. Just how you like.

He flicks his tongue, circles it, moans when you cry out for more.

“God, you taste the same,” he says hoarsely. “Still fucking perfect.”

You try to respond, to say something, but then he sucks again, so hard, you almost shoot clean off the bed.

“Hyuck—please,” it’s half a sob, a half moan, one hundered percent completley ruined.

He growls, arms locking around your thighs to keep you still, mouth relentless as he licks and sucks and worships like this is his penance.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mutters between licks, “I missed how fucking responsive you are. Always so good for me.”

You whimper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” he promises. “Not until you fall apart for me. Right here. Right now.”

He hums, the vibration making your stomach flutter, and you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

“Let me make you come,” he says, voice completely ruined now too. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my mouth. Please.”

And you do. You let him. Because you want this. Want him. Still. Always.

Your entire body coils, legs shaking, hands clawing at the sheets as your orgasm crashes through you. It’s shattering, making you cry out, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. 

Hyuck doesn’t stop. Not until your body finally slumps back to the mattress, boneless and trembling. Only then does he lift his head, lips wet and shiny. He crawls up your body, kissing your thigh, your stomach, the underside of your boobs, your jaw. Everywhere. Until he’s hovering over you, and you’re staring up at him, glassy-eyed and overwhelmed.

“You okay?” he whispers, brushing hair gently back from your face.

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. I just... I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I never really left,” he says. “Even though I know I should have. I’m too damn selfish.”

Your throat tightens. You reach up, tracing his jaw with shaking fingers. “I want you to fuck me, Hyuck.”

He blinks, then his eyes darken. “You’re sure?”

You pull him down until your foreheads press again and then whisper a soft, “Yes.”

Then he kisses you. Slowly. Passionately in a way you know this about to be more than just fucking. It feels like the before. The soft. His hands coming up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. Everything so tender and full of love. 

And somewhere between the kiss and the forgetting, his pants are off. His boxers too. He’s about to fuck you completely raw—like he used to—and for a moment, your body almost lets him. Because it remembers. The blind trust. 

But this isn’t then. And that’s why you reach out, fingers curling gently around his forearm. Stopping him.

“Condom,” you whisper, cheeks flushing as you glance toward the nightstand.

Because it shouldn’t have to be like this. Back then, you were on the pill. You were his. He was yours. There was no one else. But now? Now you’ve had to share him—with her. Maybe with others too. 

He freezes. And for a second, you swear he looks gutted. But then he nods.

Wordlessly, he reaches into your nightstand, gets one open and rolls it on his cock. He doesn’t protest. He never would. Because it’s not the condom that guts him—it’s what it means. It’s that reminder that everything’s different now. And why. A barrier he put there himself because he was reckless, drunk, stupid and ungrateful. A consequence he crafted with his own hands.

But he doesn’t let that thought linger too long. The past is the past—he hates thinking about it. It’s what wrecked him. What wrecked this. What wrecked you.

Now, all he wants is the present. Not even the future. Just this. Just you. Because you’re here. Beneath him. Asking him to fuck you. You’re his—if only for now. And that’s enough.

He slides back over you. And for a second—just one—you both just… look.

You’re looking at him like maybe this could fix it. He’s looking at you like he knows it won’t. Sex doesn’t fix anything. It’s what broke you two in the first place if you really think about it . But he’s still doing it. And so are you.

He pushes inside of you slowly and your breath stutters, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice tight and thick. “You feel like—”

“Home,” you whisper, beating him to it.

Because you do. And he does. And it’s pathetic. And perfect. And completely going to destroy you in the morning.

His forehead drops to yours and he lets out a shaky breath, like the kind that comes right before someone starts to cry. But he doesn’t cry—he moves. Gently. Tenderly. 

You cling to him, every nerve alight, oversensitive in that desperate, raw way that makes you breathless beneath him—letting him kiss you through it, through the pain, through the slow, aching stretch of him inside you. 

And in between those kisses and the thrusts and the way your fingers tangle in his hair again, he whispers:

“Missed you.”

“God, I missed you.”

“I’ll never stop being sorry.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to put you back together with every snap of his hips. And maybe he is.

So you let him.

You let him fuck you until you’re both a mess of moans and apologies and, fractured I love yous. Until you’re panting in time with each other. Until you’re cumming—together.

After, it’s quiet.

Not awkward or bitter or biting, but comfortable. You’re tangled in each other, limbs overlapping, as Hyuck brushes his nose against your temple. Eventually, he slips out of you, careful to not hurt you, but you flinch at the loss. He presses a kiss to your forehead, one to each cheek, and then he’s moving—disposing of the condom, finding his way back to your side. 

“Let’s shower,” he murmurs, thumb storoking your jaw. “Let me take care of you first. And after… we’ll talk, yeah?”

You don’t say anything—because you can’t. Your throat is raw from all the moaning and the whimpering. And also because you’re scared of the talking. Terrified, really. Of the hurting that’ll come with addressing it. 

So instead, you swallow and say softly, “I’ll be a minute. Just... need a sec before I move.”

He pauses, like he’s checking you over again, brows pinching. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Not in the way he means.

“No,” you whisper. “Just… been out of the game for a while.”

He pauses but doesn’t argue. Just leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your cheek. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll start the shower.”

He slips out quietly, to the bathroom attached to your room. You hear the soft creak of the cabinets. He still remembers where everything is. 

And then—of course—his phone buzzes.

You glance over. You don’t mean to look. You really, really don’t. You know you shouldn’t if you wanna rebuild trust and whatever. It’s just…It’s on the floor, fallen from his jeans with the screen lighting up. 

It was taunting you. 

And anyway, he’s the one that broke your trust first. He’s the one that made you so paranoid. He’s the one who made you like this. 

Yeji

if i find out you went to that party tonight, hyuck, and didn’t tell her the truth, i will.

Your stomach drops straight through the mattress.

Another buzz.

Yeji

i’m serious. how long are you gonna keep it from her that it was lia you cheated on her with?

you’re ruining our friendship!

And suddenly you’re not warm anymore.

Suddenly you’re freezing. And hollow. And very, very awake and out of the afterglow sex haze. 

You can’t breathe.

You feel sick. 

Are you sick? Are you dying? Are you about to have a fucking panic attack?

Because it feels like something has clawed its way into your chest and is now eating you alive from the inside out.

Lia?

It all makes sense. It all echoes.

“That sweet boy we both used to love.”

“He’s not yours anymore.”

The door creaks again. Hyuck walks back in, towel slung low on his hips. Completely clueless. 

“You okay?” he asks, soft and smiling. “Shower’s warm.”

You don’t answer because your heart is hammering against your ribs and because you physically, viscerally, cannot breathe.

His smile falters, just a touch.

And then you say it.

One word. One name.

“Lia?”

You’re not even sure if you want to scream at him, or sob, or laugh—because how dare he. How dare he touch you like that, kiss you like that, look at you like that, when he knew—he fucking knew—he’d fucked your best friend and said nothing.

The same best friend who held you while you cried over him for a year. Who told you it wasn’t your fault. Who had her arms wrapped around you less than an hour ago trying to comfort you about him. 

You hold out his phone, pointing to the screen. “You fucked my best friend, Hyuck?”

He freezes. He lifts an arm reaching out towards you or towards his phone, you can’t tell. Probably the phone to see how much you know so he can spin it. Twist it. Try to manipulate this—manipulate you—again.

“Angel—”

“My name is Y/N.”

The words are a blade. His hand drops.

“Y/N,” he breathes, swallowing thickly, “it’s not what it looks like—”

But it is. You both know it. 

“Yeji seems to think it’s exactly what it sounds like.”

And then it hits you. All over again. Yeji knew. Your other best friend. She knew. 

Did everyone know? Everyone you loved? Everyone you trusted? Everyone you thought was safe? 

And suddenly your knees give out. You drop to the floor, spine hitting the edge of the bed on the way down, but you don’t even register the pain. You’re already somewhere else, hands trembling, vision blurry, gasping like there’s no oxygen. 

That fucking necklace around your neck—the one he gave you, the one you swore you'd never take off—isn’t fucking helping. So you rip it off. The chain snapping in your fist and you throw it. It lands at his feet. 

It’s the first time you’ve taken it off since you were sixteen.

“Y/N—”

Hyuck’s voice sounds panicked now. Hurting. He kneels in front of you, eyes wide, reaching for you—

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

You flinch so hard you nearly hit the nightstand. You can’t stand the idea of him touching you now, even though you know there isn’t a part of you he hasn’t touched.

He freezes. Arm stopping in the air. His face furrowed. And you know that face. The face from the night, the one carved from guilt and horror and regret—but it’s too late.

It’s so late.

You’re sobbing now. And it’s ugly—gasping and choking and curling up on the floor. 

“I—I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you—”

You laugh. Actually laugh.

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, spit and snot and mascara streaking your face.  “Hyuck, you fucked my best friend. And then you came here, tonight, and touched me like…like I was still yours.”

“You are—”

“No. No, I’m not!” You snap. “I don’t even know who I am right now. But I definitely am not—and never will be—yours again.”

“Please, Y/N,” he whispers. “Let me explain. It wasn’t—”

“You’ve had time to explain.” Your voice trembles, but the words are steel. “I gave you so much of myself. So much trust. So much love.” You swallow hard. “But it wasn’t enough, was it? You needed to fuck my best friend. And keep it from me. And somehow rope the other one into it too, so now—”

Your voice cracks.

“So now I can’t trust anyone.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to lie, maybe to beg. But then he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you, regret written in every line of his stupid, beautiful face.

He doesn’t deny it. And that’s the last straw. You fold in on yourself. Arms wrapping tight around your knees as you bury your head and whisper: “I need you to leave.”

He doesn’t move.

You look up—eyes glassy, voice so quiet and weak.

“Get out, Hyuck. Now, please”

And this time, he listens. And you’re glad he listens. Because this time it feels different. This was it. The final fracture. Whatever you had with him? It’s dead now. You just wish you hadn’t kept it on life support for so long—wish you hadn’t clung so tightly to something already bleeding. 

That thousandth cut finally bled dry.