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yukkiji · 2 days ago

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surprise, baby

on his birthday, hinata thought you forgot—but what he didn't know was that you were already on a flight, halfway across the world, just to surprise and remind him you'd always be his favorite gift.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. hinata shoyo x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, smut, timeskip!hinata

wc: 8.4k

warning: 18+ mdni., smut. nsfw. praise kink. oral (m and f receiving). multiple orgasms. overstimulation. squirting. food play. hair pulling. dom!hinata. unprotected sex. hinata loves readers boobs. lingerie. multiple sex positions. slight voyeurism.

author's note: happy birthday shoyo! this was supposed to be posted yesterday, but i was so busy organizing some stuff huhu

he thought you forgot.

not in the dramatic, storming-out, shouting match kind of way.

but in that quiet, heavy kind of hurt—the one that sits in your chest all day, just waiting for something that never comes.

hinata had already gotten dozens of birthday greetings.

his teammates tackled him in the sand that morning with cheers and a beach-made cake. old friends lit up the group chat. even the landlady knocked on his door with a homemade papaya dessert and sang to him in soft, clumsy portuguese.

but you?

nothing.

but you hadn’t messaged him.

not a single word. not even a “hey.” not even a lazy emoji you sometimes sent when you were tired but still wanted him to know you remembered.

you had always been the first to greet him on his birthday. no matter the difference in time zones. no matter how late it was. even during those stretches where he was halfway across the world, even when you were sick and bedridden, even when he was mid-flight and unreachable—you still found a way. scheduled messages. early voice memos. paper letters you’d timed to arrive at the perfect moment. you’d never once let it pass unnoticed.

but today, there was nothing.

what hurt more was that this wasn’t just today. this was already the second day without a reply from you. his messages yesterday had gone unopened. his usual “good night, i love you” left hanging in the silence. unread. unseen. not even marked.

he had tried to keep himself together. had told himself that maybe you were swamped with work, or sleeping through a long overdue rest, or maybe something had come up and your phone was out of reach. but it was hard to hold onto those thoughts when the hours passed and still nothing came.

he wasn’t angry. he wasn’t even upset, not really.

he was just starting to feel small in the quiet. like maybe he had done something wrong without realizing it. like maybe something between you had shifted and no one had told him. like maybe you had simply… forgotten.

the thought settled into his chest heavier with each hour.

by the time his teammates pulled him to the beach to celebrate, he could barely fake the usual brightness he was known for. he still smiled, still spiked, still cheered when the ball hit sand—but his heart wasn’t in any of it.

his mind kept wandering back to his phone, to the empty screen that hadn’t lit up all day, to the absence of your name that usually came with a teasing message or a voice note just meant for him. the silence carved a hollow space inside him that only grew heavier with each passing hour. he tried not to show it, tried to laugh with his teammates, play like nothing was wrong, but he was sulking—quietly, bitterly. not the kind of sulking that came with loud complaints or visible tantrums, but the kind that settled deep in the chest, dragging everything else down with it.

when the sun had begun to set, casting long orange streaks across the shoreline, his teammates started packing up—their laughter fading into gentle goodbyes. they patted him on the back, ruffled his hair, and wished him a happy birthday one last time, their voices loud and warm, but none of it quite reaching the part of him that mattered. he smiled for them, because he always did, but it didn’t reach his eyes. the ache in his chest was still there, pulsing quietly beneath the surface, heavier now that the day was nearly over and still… nothing from you.

he slung the towel over his shoulder and walked barefoot through the sand, tracing the familiar path that led to the apartment building just a few minutes away. it stood right along the beachfront, nestled in the perfect corner of the coast, where he could still hear the waves crashing as he stepped off the sand and onto pavement. the air smelled like salt and sunscreen, but none of it felt like home the way it usually did. not without you. not with this silence still hanging between you.

opening his door, hinata could feel something shift in his chest. it wasn’t panic, not exactly—but something soft and startling, like a quiet breath held between beats. something didn’t feel right… but at the same time, it did. his eyes dropped to the floor, and there they were—your shoes, neatly placed beside his. not forgotten, not kicked off in a rush, but arranged carefully like you always did when you came over. like you belonged there.

his heart thudded hard against his ribs.

hope bloomed in his chest so suddenly, so fiercely, it almost hurt.

the scent hit him next. lavender. not the sharp kind from candles or air freshener, but the subtle, worn-in kind that always clung to your skin and clothes. like home. like you.

he stepped inside slowly, as if afraid that moving too fast would break the spell. each step down the hallway was cautious, reverent, like he was walking toward something sacred. and then—there they were. your luggages. two of them. sitting near the entrance, still zipped but clearly used, one with your little red tag hanging off the side.

hinata stood there, stunned, for a second too long. his mouth parted. his fingers twitched like he didn’t know what to do with them. and then, like a switch flipping in his chest, he was moving—quiet, quick steps through the hallway, pulse pounding in his ears, something between disbelief and joy burning behind his eyes.

he heard soft humming coming from the kitchen—faint, familiar, and achingly real. he held his breath as he turned the corner, half afraid he was dreaming. but there you were.

standing with your back to him, barefoot on the tile, wearing his shirt—the one you always stole from his closet, oversized and worn, the hem landing just at the tops of your thighs. there was no sign of shorts beneath it, just the bare stretch of your legs moving gently as you swayed to the quiet tune you were humming.

you looked so natural there, like you had never left. like you had always belonged in this space, in his space, in his shirt, humming like the silence hadn’t broken him all day.

hinata’s mouth went dry. his heart slammed against his ribs.

you turned toward him, still smiling, and in your hands was a small cake—messily decorated, the frosting slightly smudged at the edge, and a single candle planted right in the center. the kind of cake you probably had to sneak around to make or buy without him noticing. the kind that made his chest tighten with something overwhelming and warm.

“happy birthday, sho,” you said, your voice soft but steady.

he didn’t speak at first. his throat had closed up, his heart stuttering somewhere between disbelief and relief. he stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on you like you might disappear if he blinked.

“you…” his voice cracked. “you’re here?”

you nodded, smile deepening. “surprise.”

he stared for a second longer, then let out a shaky breath that sounded half like a laugh. “you’re the best birthday gift i’ve ever had.”

you lifted the cake slightly. “should i bring this over to the table or—”

“no,” he said, voice suddenly low, husky. “the cake can wait.”

your eyes widened slightly, heart jumping as he stepped in closer.

“sho—”

“no,” he repeated, curling a hand behind your neck and kissing you breathless. “you kept me waiting all day. two whole days. i thought you forgot me.”

his kiss was hungry, unrelenting, like he was trying to make up for every unread message, every unanswered call. he barely gave you time to set the cake down on the counter before his hands found your waist and lifted you onto it, mouth never leaving yours.

“you sulking was cute, though,” you teased, breathless between kisses.

“don’t,” he groaned, nipping at your lower lip. “i was fucking miserable.”

“guess i should make it up to you, huh?”

his hands slid up your thighs, pushing the hem of his own shirt higher, revealing bare skin and the edge of red lace. when he saw it—really saw it—his breath caught hard in his throat.

“you’re not wearing shorts,” he murmured, voice roughening. his gaze dipped lower, pupils dilating. “and is that…”

you nodded, biting your lip, heat rising to your cheeks. “your favorite. figured you’d be greedy tonight.”

“greedy?” his voice dropped an octave, lips curling into something dangerous. “baby, you have no idea.”

hinata’s hands ghosted up the sides of your thighs, thumbs hooking under the edge of your shirt—his shirt—and in one slow, reverent motion, he peeled it off you.

his breath hitched again.

the red lace bra was barely anything—completely see-through, your nipples soft and peaked under the delicate floral pattern, the fabric kissing your skin like a whisper. his hands froze, breath stuttering out of him as his eyes dragged over you like he hadn’t seen you in years.

“holy shit,” he murmured, reverently. “you wore this for me?”

you nodded, lips parted, watching his jaw clench and unclench. “it’s been months since you’ve touched me, sho. figured i’d give you something to remember tonight by.”

“months,” he echoed, voice dropping. “yeah. too fucking long.”

his mouth was on your breast in the next second—licking over the sheer lace, tongue wet and hot as he swirled over your nipple before closing his lips around it and sucking. the friction of the fabric sent sparks shooting straight to your core. you gasped, back arching, and he groaned against your skin.

“fuck, i missed your taste,” he mumbled, moving to your other breast. “missed everything. the way you sound, the way you moan, the way you fall apart for me.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl.

and then, without warning, he dropped to his knees in front of the counter.

his hands slid down your thighs again, and he kissed the inside of your knee like it was sacred. “stay right there, baby.”

you shivered as he spread your legs wide on the counter, eyes locked with yours the entire time.

“look at you,” he whispered. “you’re already so wet for me.”

your panties—thin, red, and nearly transparent—were soaked through. the triangle of fabric barely covered you, and from his position between your thighs, the evidence of your arousal glistened even through the lace.

he didn’t touch yet.

instead, he leaned in, tongue flat and hot as he licked the wet fabric slowly, from bottom to top, groaning into you like he was starved. the sensation made your thighs twitch, your body instinctively rocking toward his mouth.

“fuck—sho—”

“mmhm,” he hummed, doing it again. “you taste just as good through this. but i want more.”

he pulled the panties aside, fingers sliding the soaked lace down your legs and tossing it somewhere behind him. your cunt was exposed now, dripping, desperate.

“perfect,” he said softly, almost in awe. “absolutely perfect.”

then—he smirked, reached over the counter, and grabbed the little cake.

“sho?” you blinked.

he dipped his finger into the frosting, gathered a dollop, and smeared it gently over your clit.

“you surprised me,” he said, licking the icing off his fingertip. “so i’m returning the favor.”

and then he devoured you.

his mouth latched onto your icing-covered clit, tongue flicking, sucking, licking in slow, messy circles as you cried out and gripped the edge of the counter. the mixture of sweetness and heat made your head spin. his tongue was relentless—pressing into you, tracing every inch, flicking just right as he sucked the icing clean, only to go again like he couldn’t get enough.

your hips rolled into his face. he groaned like it was heaven.

“taste even better than i remember,” he said between licks, voice muffled, tongue greedy. “missed this. missed you.”

“sho—i’m gonna—!”

he flattened his tongue and circled harder, letting your orgasm crash over you right there on the counter. your moans echoed off the kitchen tiles, and your thighs clamped around his head. he stayed buried, licking you through the waves, only pulling back when you slumped forward, gasping.

“one,” he said with a grin, licking his lips. “and we’re just getting started.”

your eyes fluttered, still hazy. “oh my god…”

before you could recover, hinata leaned in and kissed you again—slow and deep, tongue curling against yours, mouth tasting of sugar and sin. his hands moved with purpose, slipping behind your back, fingers unclasping your bra in one practiced motion. he didn’t even wait for it to slide off completely before trailing his kisses downward, lips hot and eager against your neck, your collarbone, the slope between your breasts. he was leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses that turned into love bites, dotting your skin with little red blooms, hungry to worship every inch of you he’d been missing.

but when he reached the valley of your chest, his breath hot and panting against your skin, you suddenly pushed him back with a palm to his shoulder.

“wait—” he blinked at you, slightly breathless, confused and aroused all at once. “what’s wrong?”

you smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief as you reached for the small frosting piping bag you had made earlier. the one you used to decorate his cake just hours ago. you didn't say a word as you squeezed the tip and drew a slow, teasing swirl right over one nipple—then the other. thick, glossy icing coated your skin in spirals and streaks, and you didn’t stop there. you smeared it with your fingers, dragging it across your breasts, sticky and sweet, your breath hitching at the sensation.

it was messy. decadent. obscene. and the sticky chill of frosting mixing with your heat made your nipples pebble instantly.

“holy fuck,” hinata breathed.

you bit your lip, watching his jaw flex as he stared at you—at your breasts, now gleaming with icing, skin flushed and shimmering. you felt sticky, yes, but your horniness drowned out everything else. the way he looked at you—like he was unraveling—made your core clench.

“you’re really trying to kill me,” he muttered, kneeling again with purpose. “you know that?”

“i’m just giving you your birthday cake,” you teased, voice husky. “what, don’t you want a taste?”

hinata didn’t answer. he just dove in.

his tongue dragged a long, slow line up your breast, collecting frosting and saliva in one warm pass. you gasped, fingers flying into his hair, hips instinctively arching toward him. he latched onto one nipple, groaning at the mix of sweet and skin, sucking greedily before switching to the other—licking, nibbling, moaning like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

and maybe it was.

“so good,” he breathed between licks. “you’re so fucking sweet, baby.”

his mouth left your skin with a wet sound, only for him to grab the piping bag from your lax fingers. he gave you a look—mischievous, ravenous—and squeezed another thick swirl of icing directly onto your already overstimulated, perked-up nipple. the cool frosting made you shiver violently, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat.

“let’s see how much more you can take,” he murmured, licking his lips, eyes locked on your chest like a man worshiping something divine.

you could feel it now—the heat between your legs turning molten. your slickness was dripping onto the counter, a soft obscene sound every time your thighs shifted. it was shameless, messy, and utterly overwhelming. but you didn’t care. not when he looked at you like this. not when his tongue was back on your chest, slowly, torturously licking the icing off again—sucking your nipple into his mouth and groaning deep in his throat like he needed it to live.

you whimpered, arching toward him, fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the counter behind you. your pussy throbbed—clenching around nothing, begging for his fingers, his tongue, his cock—anything.

hinata’s mouth never left your chest.

he squeezed the last bit of frosting from the piping bag, slow and deliberate, letting thick spirals drip onto your breasts. he painted over the curve of one, then the other, covering your skin in messy loops until the whole surface was sticky, shimmering in sugar and saliva. your nipples were red, achingly hard, buried under icing and his insistent tongue.

“fuck, you’re unreal,” he groaned as he licked across your sternum, dragging his mouth from one nipple to the other, switching between soft sucks and sharp flicks of his tongue. “so fucking good. so soft. i could do this all night.”

he was doing it all night.

each slow drag of his mouth made your thighs tremble. your core ached from neglect, slick pooling between your legs, soaking the counter beneath you. you needed relief—needed it—but he was still so focused on your breasts, on cleaning up every bit of the mess he made. the frosting was almost gone now, melting into your skin from his body heat and saliva, leaving behind a sticky sheen that only made everything filthier.

desperate, you let one hand trail down your stomach, slipping between your thighs. your fingers found your clit instantly—wet, swollen, throbbing—and you began to rub tight, fast circles, chasing your second orgasm. your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting in a gasp.

and then suddenly—slap.

a sharp sound filled the air. your hand jerked away on instinct.

hinata had slapped it.

“ah—sho—”

his eyes were dark. mouth still glistening, fingers gripping your wrist as he pulled your hand away from your pussy. his jaw clenched as he stared at you—something between mock scolding and complete lust.

“you really think i’m gonna let you do that yourself?” he growled, grabbing your thighs and yanking you closer to the edge of the counter. “you’re mine tonight. only i get to make you cum.”

before you could answer, two fingers slid inside you—deep, fast, curling just right. you gasped, legs flying open wider as your walls clenched down hard. hinata leaned forward again, still playing with your breasts, licking and sucking, all while his fingers thrust deep into your soaked pussy, curling up into your sweet spot over and over again.

“fuck—you’re already so tight,” he grunted, voice low against your chest. “you were gonna come without me, huh? greedy little thing.”

your hips bucked, moans pouring out of you as his fingers worked you faster, thumb circling your clit in perfect sync. your body was already on edge—still sensitive from the first orgasm, hypersensitive from his mouth, the frosting, the heat, everything.

“sh-sho—i’m gonna—!”

“yeah, you are,” he murmured, dragging his tongue across your nipple again. “give it to me, baby. let me feel you.”

your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your second orgasm ripped through you. your walls spasmed around his fingers, juices gushing out and soaking his hand, your thighs, the counter. hinata groaned at the sight, watching you unravel—your body arching, tits bouncing, mouth slack with pleasure.

he didn't stop right away. his fingers slowed, easing you down from the high, but he was still inside you, still pressing soft kisses across your sticky, marked-up chest like he wasn’t finished yet.

because he wasn’t.

hinata grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off the counter, steadying you when your legs wobbled from the two orgasms he’d already pulled from you. your skin was flushed and still glistening—sticky from sweat and frosting, breasts shining from his tongue and attention. you were bare, completely, the red lace discarded somewhere behind you, leaving nothing between you and his greedy hands.

he turned you around gently, and you let him—your palms bracing the edge of the counter again as he took a moment to admire you. your back arched, hips tilted up, ass fully on display—slick dripping down your thighs. you felt his hand trail up your spine slowly, fingers light and reverent. then came his mouth.

he pressed soft kisses along your back, trailing down your spine like a slow fuse of heat. when he reached your lower back, he groaned quietly, then dropped to his knees again.

his lips pressed to the crease where your thigh met your ass, kissing slowly before his tongue dipped lower—licking a long stripe through your folds.

you shuddered, gripping the counter.

“so fucking wet,” he murmured, voice thick, just inches from your core. “and i haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

his mouth sealed over your clit in the next second, sucking hard.

you cried out, knees buckling slightly. his hands gripped your ass firmly to keep you upright, spreading you open wider. he devoured you like he was starved—groaning against your pussy, tongue moving in slow, thorough circles until your moans turned shaky again.

when you clenched around nothing, desperate for more, he pulled away with one last lick, standing quickly. and before you could even turn around, he spun you to face him and caught your mouth in another deep kiss—messy, wet, tasting entirely of your arousal.

you whimpered into it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders just as his hands found your thighs.

he picked you up with ease—your bare, slick body clinging to his like you belonged there. instinct had you wrapping your legs around his waist, the heat of his cock pressing against your pussy through the fabric of his shorts, your body arching toward him, needing friction.

your hands fumbled at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his chest. he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it off and toss it aside, his eyes never leaving yours.

“bed?” you breathed against his lips.

hinata didn’t say a word. he carried you down the hallway like you were weightless, like he needed you in the bedroom now.

your back hit the mattress seconds later, the sheets cool against your overheated skin. hinata hovered over you, bare-chested and flushed, his eyes dark with something raw and aching. but it was his body—broad and lean with muscle, every inch of him toned and golden from the brazilian sun—that made your breath hitch. his shoulders looked wider, his arms more defined, and his chest, glistening slightly with sweat, flexed as he held himself over you. his abs tensed with every breath. he was bigger. stronger. tan and utterly unfair. the sight of him alone made your pussy clench with need.

“you got hotter,” you whispered, breathless, fingers trailing down the sharp cut of his abs.

he smirked, leaning closer until his lips hovered just above yours. “you’re one to talk,” he murmured, eyes raking down your naked body like he was starving. “you’re dripping. i’ve barely touched you again.”

and just like that, he kissed you—deep and full of promise—like he planned to make good on every filthy thought running through his mind.

your chest rose and fell as you stared up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, body already aching in all the right places. he looked like a dream above you—hair messy, golden skin glowing in the low light, chest still heaving from how tightly he’d held himself back. but you wanted to give him something too. needed to.

“can i suck you off?” you whispered, voice shy but laced with hunger.

his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring just slightly. you watched the way his cock twitched beneath the waistband of his shorts. he didn’t answer at first—just sat back, chest rising with anticipation as he shifted to the edge of the bed and spread his legs slightly, his eyes locked on yours.

“you wanna be my good girl tonight?” he murmured, voice thick, already dazed from how ruined you looked.

you nodded eagerly, slipping off the bed and dropping to your knees on the floor in front of him, your bare body catching the dim light, curves still flushed and slick from everything he'd already done. your eyes met his, lips parted as your fingers reached for his waistband. he raised his hips to help, letting you pull his shorts and briefs down in one slow motion.

his cock sprang free—hard, flushed at the tip, already leaking with precum. you licked your lips at the sight.

“so pretty,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the base and giving him a slow stroke.

hinata groaned low in his throat, one hand sinking into your hair. “fuck, you look so good on your knees. my pretty girl.”

you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the bead of precum at the tip. his thighs tensed, and you smiled—then dragged your tongue slowly along the underside of his cock, licking from base to tip like you were savoring it.

“just like that,” he breathed, eyes heavy. “such a good girl for me…”

you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as you slowly began to take him deeper. your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach yet, and you could feel his grip in your hair tighten—gentle but possessive, like he didn’t want to let go.

his head fell back slightly, a moan slipping from his lips as you bobbed your head, tongue swirling, sucking harder when he twitched in your mouth.

“fuck, baby…” he hissed, hips jerking slightly. “your mouth feels like heaven.”

he looked down again, watching you with blown pupils, chest rising and falling harder now. “look at you… on your knees for me, taking it so well. such a fucking good girl.”

you moaned around him in response, loving the way his praise made heat coil in your belly all over again. spit dribbled from the corner of your mouth, but you didn’t stop—not when his muscles tensed, not when his voice dropped into a groan that sounded like it had been building for weeks.

“you keep going like that,” he warned, voice almost breaking, “and i’m gonna cum down that pretty throat.”

your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, moaning softly around him—loving the weight of his cock on your tongue, the way his fingers threaded so gently through your hair, thumb brushing over your cheek like you were fragile in his hands.

but you weren’t. not for him.

and hinata knew it.

without a word, he fisted your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulled you back just an inch—just enough to look down into your eyes with something dark and hungry swimming in his.

“fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “all pretty and desperate. you can take it, right? be my good girl and take it?”

you nodded as best you could, lips stretching wide again as you opened up for him, tongue flat, throat ready.

then he moved.

his hips thrust forward sharply—fucking his cock deep into your mouth, the head hitting the back of your throat on the second thrust. your hands scrambled to brace against his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle as tears pricked your eyes instantly.

“shit—shit,” hinata moaned, his voice unraveling. “that’s it, baby, take it— god, just like that—”

his pace quickened, shallow but fast, each thrust pushing deeper down your throat. spit was dripping from your chin now, the obscene wet sounds of your mouth echoing through the room. your eyes blurred with tears, mascara streaking, but you didn’t care. you moaned around him, letting him use your mouth, letting the pleasure of being his favorite ruin wash through you.

he looked down and groaned hard—seeing you with glassy, wet eyes and flushed cheeks, his cock buried in your throat, lips stretched and drool coating your chin.

“fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he panted. “ruined just for me.”

you blinked up at him, eyes overflowing, and that was what did it.

he groaned deep from his chest, hips stuttering. “gonna cum—baby, fuck—”

he pulled out just before the edge, hand still tight in your hair as his cock twitched in front of your lips, thick ropes of cum spilling across your tongue and chin as he moaned your name like a prayer. some of it dripped down your chest, streaking across your already sticky skin and frosting-coated breasts.

you swallowed what you could, licking him clean with slow, teasing swipes of your tongue.

when you finally looked up at him again, breathing heavy, cheeks flushed, makeup utterly destroyed—mascara smudged, eyeliner running, lipstick long gone—he just stared. eyes wide. mesmerized.

“jesus,” he breathed. “you look so fucking hot like this.”

his thumb reached to wipe under your eye, smearing the tears and makeup even more.

“my pretty girl,” he whispered, voice thick with lust and awe as he pulled you up into his lap. his hands were steady on your hips, grounding you, while his cock—still slick from your mouth and already twitching back to life—pressed hot and heavy against your thigh.

you felt the ache in your core pulse with need, the emptiness of the past months catching up to you all at once. his fingers squeezed your waist gently, guiding you as you raised yourself onto your knees. the tip of his cock brushed against your folds, and you both gasped at the contact.

“fuck, i missed you,” you murmured, forehead resting against his. “missed this. missed you.”

hinata’s eyes flickered up to yours, jaw clenched with restraint. “baby, you have no idea how long i’ve dreamed about this.”

you began to sink down slowly, your hands bracing against his shoulders. the stretch was intense after so long—months of nothing but phone sex, teasing words whispered across staticky calls, fingers between your own thighs as you imagined it was him instead. and now he was here, hot and hard and deep, splitting you open in the most perfect way.

your head fell back, a moan tumbling from your lips. “god—shoyo—you feel so good. i almost forgot how big you are…”

his grip tightened. “yeah?” he panted, watching every inch as you slid down him. “forgot how full i make you feel, baby?”

“mhm—fuck, yes—i tried,” you gasped, your thighs trembling as you bottomed out fully, his cock buried deep inside. “but nothing—nothing compares to this. to you.”

you could feel everything. every vein, every pulse. he filled you so completely, so perfectly, it was almost overwhelming.

“used to fuck myself thinking about this,” you confessed breathlessly, hips already beginning to rock, slow and desperate. “had to put my pillow between my legs while i listened to you on the phone—pretending it was you.”

hinata groaned deep, his head falling against your shoulder. “fuck—baby—you’re killing me.”

his hands slid down to your ass, squeezing hard as you began to move, riding him with long, slow grinds. he met your rhythm, thrusting up to meet you as his mouth found your neck again.

“you think i didn’t do the same?” he muttered into your skin. “jerking off with my phone on my chest, moaning your name, fucking my hand while i imagined you saying ‘please, shoyo, cum inside me’.”

you clenched around him at the words, whimpering.

“i need you to,” you cried. “please—i want to feel you fill me again.”

“oh baby,” he rasped, guiding your hips harder now. “i’m gonna give it to you. again and again. until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

and from the way you started bouncing faster on his cock, your body already arching with building pleasure, he knew you wanted exactly that.

hinata’s gaze dropped, utterly mesmerized.

your breasts moved with every bounce—soft, flushed, still faintly sticky from the frosting he’d licked off earlier—and it was hypnotic. they jiggled beautifully each time your hips met his, your body riding him with abandon. his hands gripped your waist, then slid up slowly to cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you whimper even harder.

“look at you,” he breathed, voice trembling. “so fucking perfect—fuck—these tits, baby, they were made for me to touch, weren’t they?”

you nodded, already breathless, crying out when he pinched your nipples between his fingers just enough to sting.

“say it,” he demanded, rutting up into you as your thighs started to shake.

“they’re yours,” you gasped, hands clawing at his shoulders for balance. “they’re all yours, shoyo—everything. my body, my pussy—fuck—yours.”

his mouth found your breast again, tongue swirling around your nipple as he slammed up into you, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the room. you nearly sobbed from the pressure building inside, his cock hitting all the right spots, your clit brushing perfectly against his pelvis with every bounce.

he leaned back just a little, eyes wild, watching your slick drip down his cock every time you lifted your hips.

“you gonna cum again for me?” he asked, voice low, desperate. “gonna cum while i’m still deep inside you?”

you nodded frantically, tears pricking your eyes. “yes—yes, baby, i’m so close, don’t stop—”

and he didn’t. his grip on your hips turned bruising, his cock thrusting up with more urgency as he chased your high right alongside his own.

“good girl,” he growled, his lips trailing back up to yours. “cum for me, my pretty girl. be good and let me feel you—”

you shattered with a scream, walls clenching so tightly around him that it made his hips stutter. your orgasm crashed through you like a wave, your entire body trembling in his lap, thighs locking tight around him.

hinata barely held on—his own orgasm hitting seconds after yours. he groaned your name, hips jerking erratically as he emptied inside of you, cock twitching deep within your fluttering walls.

he held you close as you both trembled, sweat slicked skin sticking together, your forehead against his as you caught your breath.

and when he finally pulled back to look at you, his cum already starting to drip down your inner thighs, he only smiled.

“fuck… we’re doing that again,” he whispered. “many times.”

and true to his words, he had you on your back seconds later, your legs folded high against your chest, his hands pinning them there as he settled between your thighs. the position had you completely open to him—spread wide and vulnerable, slick and swollen, still pulsing from your last orgasm.

his cock slid back inside with little resistance, the stretch just as deep and satisfying as the first time. you both moaned in unison, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he bottomed out completely.

“this—” hinata hissed through clenched teeth, “—this is where i belong. right here, inside you.”

he pressed forward, folding you tighter beneath him, his face just inches above yours as his hips began to roll. each thrust was deep, slow at first—measured and purposeful—making sure you felt every inch of him. your breath hitched with every movement, nails raking down his back as he filled you up all over again.

“you feel so fucking good,” he gritted out. “so wet, so tight. like you were made for me, baby.”

“i was,” you moaned, barely coherent. “shoyo, please—don’t stop—i want more.”

“yeah?” he growled, pace quickening. “you want more? my greedy girl.”

he leaned down, lips brushing against yours as his thrusts picked up, cock slamming into you with a force that had the headboard knocking against the wall. your breasts bounced with every movement, body jolting with the pressure and pleasure as he fucked you into the mattress.

his praise was relentless—“that’s it, take it like the good girl you are,” and “so tight, baby, always clenching around me like you don’t want to let me go.” his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, kissing and biting, marking you as his.

and all you could do was take it. the angle was perfect—his cock hitting so deep you swore you saw stars. your moans became cries, your hands flying to his back, then to his arms, your legs trembling in his hold as another orgasm built like fire in your core.

“gonna cum again, baby?” he panted, his voice hoarse. “cum on this cock for me—make a mess all over me again.”

“shoyo—oh my god—yes, yes, i’m gonna—!”

you shattered beneath him, the pressure too much, your orgasm ripping through you hard enough to make your vision blur. you screamed his name, body locking up under his relentless pace as you gushed around him, slick and heat coating his cock.

he groaned loud and deep when he felt you cum, his hips jerking wildly before he drove in one last time and spilled inside you again. hot and thick and overwhelming, it filled you up, his cock twitching deep as he rode out the waves of his own climax.

but even when you were shaking, overstimulated, whining from the sensitivity—he didn’t pull out.

he just leaned down, kissing your lips tenderly as he whispered, “one more, baby. just one more. you can give me that, right?”

you barely had time to recover before he was moving again, his strong arms flipping you onto your stomach with ease. your cheek pressed into the pillows, legs still trembling when you felt the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance from behind.

“up, baby,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “on your hands for me.”

you obeyed, slowly pushing yourself up on shaky arms, arching your back the way you knew he liked—your ass high, your slick glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

“fuck,” he hissed, running his hands over your hips. “look at this. you’re dripping.”

with a low groan, he pushed back into you—deep, hard, one fluid thrust that made you cry out, your arms shaking beneath you.

his pace was ruthless, hips slamming against your ass with a wet, loud rhythm, his groans matching your broken moans. he gripped your waist tightly, angling just right to hit the deepest part of you with every thrust, and it was dizzying.

“sh-shoyo, i can’t—” you gasped, tears forming in your eyes again from the intensity. “feels too good—”

“yes, you can,” he growled. “you’ve been so good for me. my pretty girl can take it.”

and just as you felt him twitch, just when you knew he was close, hinata did something that made your breath completely vanish.

he pulled you up.

his arm wrapped tight around your waist and dragged you against him, your back hitting his sweaty chest as he stayed buried inside you. you moaned out loud, the new angle even deeper—fuller—your neck falling back against his shoulder.

his other hand found your breast, groping the soft flesh, playing with your nipple as he kissed the shell of your ear. his cock was still thrusting, deep and purposeful, while his fingers slid between your legs again, finding your clit and circling it with skill that had your knees buckling.

“shoyo—please—”

“you’re so close,” he panted into your ear, grinding his cock deeper. “i can feel you. clenching around me like you’re trying to milk me dry.”

his fingers worked your clit faster, his other hand tugging at your nipple, and the heat inside your belly snapped—your fourth orgasm tearing through you like lightning. you screamed his name, your entire body shaking in his arms, his cock locked tight inside your pulsing walls.

“fuck, that’s it—that’s it,” he growled, and with one more deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside and came hard.

hot spurts filled you again, his hips jerking, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he held you tightly, both of you trembling from the intensity. you felt everything—his arms around you, his lips on your neck, his cum dripping down your thighs—and you never wanted it to stop.

“my girl,” he breathed, still rocking gently inside you. “my pretty, perfect, greedy girl.”

and when you finally collapsed forward onto the bed, boneless and spent, he followed—blanketing your body with his, still hard inside you, not ready to let go.

not yet.

you should’ve been asleep. after everything—after all those orgasms, after his cum still dripping between your thighs—you should’ve been done.

but the way hinata’s lips kissed the sweat off your shoulder and how his hands gently kneaded your hips as he whispered, “one more, baby. i want to taste you again…”—you couldn’t say no.

and that’s how you found yourself on the chair outside on his balcony, the night air cool against your sticky skin. rio’s glow shimmered in the distance, a faint breeze brushing over your fever-warmed body. your legs were spread wide over the arms of the chair, your pussy already glistening, open and wet from everything he gave you earlier.

hinata knelt before you like a man starved, eyes locked on your core like it was the only thing in the world he craved.

“look at you,” he muttered, voice low with awe. “still leaking from me. fuck, i missed this taste.”

his hands slid beneath your thighs, gripping tight, and when his tongue made first contact—flat and slow from base to clit—you moaned loud enough that someone might have heard.

you didn’t care.

your hands immediately found your breasts, fingers tugging at your own nipples as your head dropped back against the chair. the red lace had long been discarded, and now you were bare under the stars, on full display, as hinata devoured you like a man possessed.

he noticed what you were doing, of course. “god, look at you,” he rasped between licks. “touching your pretty tits while i eat you out. do you have any idea how fucking hot that is?”

you whimpered, twisting your nipples harder, the sensation mixing with the slick flicks of his tongue, the rough scrape of his teeth, and the soft suction around your clit that sent shocks of pleasure down your spine.

he moaned into you when he felt you start to shake again.

“that’s it. cum for me, baby. make a mess all over me.”

and you did.

your body seized, the orgasm crashing into you so violently it left you breathless. your legs trembled uncontrollably, and when he didn’t stop—when he kept licking, sucking, growling—you squirted, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as your hips bucked into his face.

but hinata didn’t pull back.

he groaned as you squirted again, wetter this time, your juices splashing onto his tongue and chin. he pulled back for just a moment, absolutely soaked, grinning as he wiped his face with the back of his hand and said, “fuck, i missed this pussy. she missed me too, huh?”

your body was still twitching in the chair when he stood, his cock rock-hard again.

he didn’t even wait.

he pulled you up, turned the chair slightly to face the view, and bent you over the armrest with your ass presented perfectly for him. he slid back into you with ease, a deep, wet glide that had you both moaning.

“sh-shoyo—i can’t,” you whimpered.

“yes, you can,” he growled, thrusting deep. “i need to feel you cum one more time.”

and he fucked you like he meant it—fast, hard, hips snapping against your ass, his hand sneaking between your legs to play with your clit again. your breasts bounced with every thrust, still sensitive, and your moans echoed off the quiet buildings.

“gonna make you squirt again,” he panted, voice wild, one hand gripping your hip while the other found your breast—kneading it roughly, fingers pinching at your sensitive nipple. “gonna fuck it out of you.”

you cried out, trembling beneath him, every nerve ending already alight. “shoyo—i don’t… i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growled against your ear, his thrusts picking up again, deep and hungry. “you’re doing so good. taking me so well.”

your body jolted with each stroke, his cock dragging against every slick, swollen inch inside you. your breasts bounced in his hands, too sensitive, too raw, but you didn’t want him to stop. your legs were weak, hips slapping against the edge of the chair, but all you could think about was how full you felt. how deep he was. how he just kept going.

you were already overstimulated—eyes wet, chest flushed, every moan breaking in your throat—but the way he filled you, the way his voice dripped with praise and hunger, you wanted it.

and then—

you shattered.

your release hit like a tidal wave, your body seizing as you squirted again, helplessly, soaking his hips and thighs. you moaned—sobbed—as the wetness gushed out of you, dripping down your legs, splashing onto the chair and hinata’s body.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, watching it happen with a mix of awe and pure arousal. “look at you. so messy for me.”

you thought he might stop, let you catch your breath—but he didn’t.

he kept thrusting, slower now but just as deep, chasing his own high, both hands now gripping your waist tight.

you were shaking, overstimulated and aching, but you didn’t want him to pull out. you needed it—you needed him.

and with a low, broken moan, he buried himself one final time, his hips pressed flush against your ass as he came. hot, thick release filled you, pulse after pulse, warmth flooding deep inside.

he didn’t move for a moment, just breathed raggedly against your back, arms wrapped around you.

when he finally pulled out, his cock slid free with a wet sound, and your body gave a little involuntary shudder. his cum was already dripping from your swollen folds—thick and slow and so much of it. some of it smeared down your inner thighs, mixing with your slick and everything else he’d wrung from you tonight.

he reached down lazily, dragging two fingers through the mess between your legs and groaned softly. “fuck… i’m gonna be thinking about this for weeks.”

you were boneless in his arms, utterly spent, skin still sticky with sweat and your release. outside, the night had quieted. the air was humid with the sea breeze drifting through the open windows, but the heat that had built between your bodies still clung to your skin.

without a word, hinata scooped you up.

you didn’t resist. couldn’t, really. your muscles had melted into a hazy tremble, and the soft hum of afterglow blurred your senses. your cheek rested against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut as he walked you into the bathroom.

the scent of lavender hit you first.

you blinked, dazed, as you noticed the tub already filling. he must’ve turned it on before the last round. steam rolled off the surface of the water, laced with a familiar calming fragrance. one of the bath oils you always left in the cabinet.

"figured you'd want this after your flight," he said softly, kneeling down with you still in his arms before gently sliding you into the tub.

a small gasp escaped your lips as the warm water wrapped around your tired body like a second skin. you leaned back against the ceramic edge with a sigh, feeling the first ripple of relief loosen your aching limbs.

but then he stepped in, too.

hinata lowered himself behind you, his long legs bracketing yours as he pulled you against his chest. his skin was so warm. his arms—so solid—wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him. you felt small in his hold, delicate even after everything he’d done to you tonight.

his hands moved slowly—massaging up and down your sides with deliberate care. the pads of his thumbs found your hips, working small circles into them before he kissed your temple.

“you okay?” he murmured into your hair.

you hummed in response, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “mhm. just… warm.”

“that’s good,” he said, brushing a damp lock of hair behind your ear. “you were amazing tonight.”

you flushed even deeper beneath the water. it felt silly to be shy after everything, but the way he was speaking to you—gentle, reverent—it made your chest feel tight.

his hands dipped lower, fingers grazing the tops of your thighs beneath the water. the movement was slow. soothing.

until he dragged one hand inward.

you tensed.

"shoyo…" your voice came out barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion and lingering arousal.

“shh,” he breathed, voice husky and soft. “not trying to start anything. just want to help you relax.”

but his fingers pressed into your clit anyway—tentative at first, circling lightly, letting the warmth of the water soothe the sting of your overstimulated nerves.

you whimpered, body twitching in the tub. his other hand came up, cupping your breast, and your head fell back harder against him as your breath hitched.

“you’re still so sensitive,” he said with a soft smile, fingers teasing around your nipple. “look at you, baby. still wet for me. even now.”

you squirmed in his lap, thighs clenching around his hand beneath the surface. your legs were still weak, and the water only made it harder to fight the way your body responded to him.

“shoyo… it’s too much,” you whispered, even as your hips began to roll slowly into his fingers.

“you can take it,” he murmured, kissing down the side of your face. “just a little more. just want to see you let go again.”

his fingers moved with practiced rhythm—circling your clit in just the way he knew you liked. your body arched, pressing back into his chest, your hands gripping his thighs as the pleasure rose again, relentless and sweet.

you couldn’t stop the moans that left your lips. not even when you tried.

“there you go,” he whispered against your ear. “just like that. my pretty girl. let go.”

and you did.

you didn’t even know how many times you’d come at this point. your mind was hazy, body weightless, every nerve ending frayed from the pleasure he kept coaxing out of you. the latest orgasm—whatever number it was—hit you like a soft crash of waves, blooming low in your stomach and rippling out in molten, aching pulses.

your breath caught. then broke. and all you could do was slump back into him, limbs boneless, heart pounding against your chest like it was trying to remember how to beat.

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered, holding you tighter. “that’s my girl.”

he didn’t move. just stayed there with you in the water, arms anchored around your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily behind your back. he pressed a kiss to your temple. then one to your jaw. and another—longer, slower—to the crown of your head.

his hands never left your body. they kept tracing lazy circles over your hips, up your ribs, as if to calm every aftershock still wracking through you.

after a while, the water began to cool, and hinata gently shifted behind you. “come on,” he whispered against your damp skin, arms slipping beneath your knees and back, “let’s get you warm and dry.”

you didn’t protest—couldn’t, really—your body limp in his hold as he lifted you effortlessly from the bath. he moved carefully, tender in every step, as though you were something precious. the towel he wrapped you in was plush and warm, and his hands were patient, drying every inch of your skin with a care that made your chest ache.

he dried himself quickly after, hair tousled and damp, torso still glistening under the soft bathroom lights. he caught your gaze in the mirror and smirked, cocking a brow.

“wanna wear one of my shirts?” he asked, voice a little rough, a little teasing.

you leaned into him from behind, pressing your lips to the slope of his back, then murmured, “no. just wanna sleep naked with you.”

his laugh was quiet but smug. “oh? bold of you, babe. you do know i have very little self-control around you, right?”

you rolled your eyes with a sleepy smile. “you’ve already wrecked me tonight. i think i’m safe.”

“we’ll see,” he murmured playfully.

by the time you both made it to bed, the moonlight spilling in through the curtains, you’d already forgotten how exhaustion felt. the sheets were cool, the air soft, and hinata’s skin warm against yours as he slid in behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

your breasts pressed to his chest, bare and warm, but it wasn’t sexual—not this time. just grounding. comforting.

he rested his chin on top of your head, one hand drawing absentminded shapes along the small of your back. stars, maybe. a volleyball. a heart. he didn’t say anything about it, but you could feel the smile tugging at his lips every time your breath hitched from the ticklish trails.

you let out a low hum. “you didn’t answer me.”

“hmm?” his voice was drowsy now, heavy with contentment.

“did you like your present?” you whispered, fingers grazing his ribs. “me. flying here. surprising you.”

his reply was immediate—murmured into your hair with a reverence that made your stomach flutter. “you’re the best gift i’ve ever gotten.”

your throat tightened.

he kissed your temple and added with a soft chuckle, “though, the red lingerie and frosting on your tits did bump you up to god-tier.”

you laughed, smacking his side lightly, but you could hear the affection laced between the tease. and you knew, without him having to say it again—

he loved you. wholly. hungrily. reverently.

and as you drifted off, tangled in his arms with your bare skin pressed to his beneath the hush of moonlight, you knew this would be a birthday he’d never forget—not because of the cake, or the surprises, or even the lingerie.

but because you were there.

his favorite person, his greatest gift.

finally home.

339 notes · View notes

thetrasha · 2 days ago

Note

Hello again 👋 since you did such a stellar job last time, i'm here to request another Ace, Doffy, Law and Zoro story, this time about their first kiss x reader! Tysm and i hope you feel better soon ❤️

Thank you so much, anon. I feel much better, just suffering from a stuffy nose and a bit of a cough now 🫂(❁´◡`❁) It's actually so sweet to have recurring faces in my inbox~ And thank you so much for this request! I was super enthusiastic about writing this and poured everything I had into this 🫡Hope you enjoy it just as much!

PS. I'm so sorry for abusing your request like this, but I wanted to address another anon in my ask box 👀You requested a certain Corazon and hehe, yes I've just reached that part of Dressrosa! I just don't feel confident enough to portray him just yet so your request will be pushed a bit into the future, hope that's okay with you ♥ So excited to write about this man though ╰(*°▽°*)╯

PPS. I cooked. Again!!

First Kiss

feat. ACE, DOFLAMINGO, LAW, ZORO

ACE

Your first kiss was… sweet.

For quite some time, Ace and you have been inseparable. You’ve become fast friends after hitting it off, deciding to even go on missions together. Most of the others have caught onto you by now, silently offering their blessings, but you two were completely oblivious to the budding romance between you. It was perfectly normal to go up to Vista and give him a hug – why would it be different when Ace twirled you around after you returned from your little scout session on an unexplored island? Nobody blinked twice after you spent an evening playing cards with Marco in his room, but low whistles and wiggling eyebrows would follow you when Ace wanted to show you some random trinket he caught with his fishing rod. Additionally, everybody aw-ed and cooed when Whitebeard patted your hair and smiled down at you, but if Ace ever went as far as touch your shoulder out on the open deck, some other commander was always near to berate him on ‘how to treat a lady properly’.

You haven’t been around as long as most of the others, so… maybe this is just how the crew decided to affectionately tease Ace since he was the youngest commander around?

However, Ace was very much aware of the others’ constant meddling and why they were so keen on making his life miserable.

He’d told Marco to back off once – just once! – because the doctor had been acting too familiar with you when Ace was the one who was madly in love with you. That single sentence spread like wildfire amongst the crew and now he cannot even do best-friend-esque things with you without someone else trying to ruin the moment.

It was totally normal to develop a huge crush on your best friend. You are gorgeous, so loving and you care so much – maybe too much.

It was also perfectly fine and not unusual to stare at them for moments at a time, trying to muster up the courage to ask you out on a da-

“ACE!!! YOU’RE SETTING THE BED ON FIRE. OUT WITH YOU!”

Marco’s scream rang across the entire Moby Dick, alerting everyone with ears that Ace had just embarrassed himself again. Originally, he went in to see Marco because of ...certain problems, but he couldn’t quite tell him that you were constantly in his head and making his heart leap into his throat every single time he thought about your smile or how nice you smelled today and how cute you looked in the outfit you showed him…

Sigh.

Luckily for him, you were just within earshot to hear Marco’s crazy rant… that still ran its course in the background, and you immediately sought Ace out to help him.

You had your own hammock with you and let him follow you wordlessly into his room. This time, nobody was even there to interrupt.

You started talking about what you were up to before you heard Marco’s alarm bells ringing in the med bay. Of course, you were a natural at taking care of Ace… but that was very much part of the problem!!

He couldn’t help but steal glances at you with so much longing in his eyes that it would have made anyone blush. You were his missing piece, better half – whatever they want to call it.

You’ve seen him through it all, but you weren’t tired of him. You didn’t mind his quieter moments and you always offered your shoulder to him – just to lean on and cry if necessary.

Of course, you wouldn’t think much of sleeping next to him. Your actions were platonic in nature and Ace would actually quit the crew if he made you uncomfortable in any way… but he almost got pulled back into reality when you innocently pointed at his own hammock, not knowing that he was lost in thought.

“Or do you wanna cuddle?”, you questioned innocently.

...And Ace choked on his own saliva. He just knew that his cheeks were crimson red and boiling. This was humiliating… he unusually had excellent control over his powers, but you rendered him completely powerless against you and you didn’t even know it!

…That being said, of course he wants to cuddle.

He lied down next to you and wrapped his arms around your torso, feeling just how warm you were and how your steady breathing immediately calmed him down. It was like a magical remedy, but he could feel his eyes flutter –

– and that’s when his eyes locked onto yours. You wore a precious smile and you seemed to glow next to him. That’s how happy you looked… absolutely stunning.

But he did almost faint when you leaned in to briefly peck his lips to tell him that you love him, too.

WAIT.

“TOO?!”

DOFLAMINGO

Your first kiss was… dangerous.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me! You cannot push me around, Doflamingo!”

You spit words of venom at him just after you realised that you were now working… directly under his command, just like he threatened.

Doflamingo, meanwhile, could only grin in amusement. Of course you thought he was bluffing, thinking of you as nothing more than a little plaything. Oh, how utterly wrong you were. He saw right through you – you were probably testing him, just like how he tested your loyalty. You wanted him to take the bait and push you away, just so you’d have a reason to close yourself off again and go solo. He knew those tactics by heart, sweetheart.

No, he wasn’t kidding when he said that you should be working for him. If you wanted to work, that is. You could just enter the family business, love, after all… you might as well be family at this point. Heh.

He’d entertain your need for independence for as long as you want him to, though. This is how he took notice of you after all.

So what if he stole you right out of another underground broker’s filthy pawns? They weren’t fit to stand next to you anyway. You outshone everybody… especially your former employer. Doflamingo’s been watching you for longer than you may have realised, just to find a flaw within you… but when he found none, the obsession swung in the opposite direction: He was no longer pettily snappish towards you for going after his clients to boost your boss’s image, sweetheart no… you were suddenly a woman worthy of his own calibre. No mistakes, no fear and… one glaringly obvious flaw turned asset – you trusted absolutely nobody.

And just like him, your desire for unmitigated loyalty was like a noose around your pretty neck.

You’d no longer have to deal with these rats who waste your talent away for arms deals that amount to nothing, you were meant to shape the new world order alongside yours truly.

You were just waiting for him.

“Say something!”

Doflamingo smirked before he walked up to you, grabbing your jaw with such speed that you barely had the time to react. It was laughable how he didn’t even have to activate his Devil Fruit powers to restrain you. His freakish height didn’t just give him the opportunity to loom over you, it also came with unimaginable strength. He could almost feel your jawbone crack under the pressure, but you would be caught dead before you uttered a single complaint.

“We crave the same thing, you and I. Letting you rot away pointlessly… might as well break my heart.”

A chuckle echoed through the otherwise empty room, but you weren’t amused at all. You rolled your eyes and clenched your jaw. He could feel the muscles beneath his fingers contract and his pupils dilated at the sight and the sensation.

“How dramatic. Almost brought me to tears.”

Your sarcasm earned yourself a laugh. He let go of you, but you could very much feel a string attach itself to your hand. Doflamingo knew better than to turn you into his puppet, but he very much wanted to remind you of what he was capable of. You were above everybody else, but still beneath him. You don’t have to submit, but you should know when to behave.

“You’re the only one to speak to me like that.”, he noted nonchalantly, “And after we’ve been on a bunch of dates, too. Tragic. Woe is me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, sighing in defeat. You knew that he was right.

Yeah, he might have… pulled some strings to get you to agree to meeting him away from glamorous galas and dangerous deals, but he got to know you and your innermost desire. You wanted to trust someone wholeheartedly.

Well, Doflamingo happened to know just the guy.

“Dates where you’ve tried to kill yourself or me.”, you added just as coolly, voice monotone and face neutral. Totally befitting for a Queen.

“And you kept us both safe, my love.”

He licked his lips before breaking out in a dark chuckle that turned maniacal for just a moment. Oh, he was ecstatic that you’ve proven your loyalty towards him. You were everything he’s ever wanted.

“Now it’s my turn to protect you.”, he vowed before he kissed your hand, looking into your eyes while doing so.

Your pupils were blown out.

Bingo.

“Lean down.”, you calmly ordered.

And it’s one of the only commands he’s ever taken from someone else.

You gingerly kissed him, not even letting him taste a drop of your essence before you pulled away, smirking at him with self-satisfaction.

He turned his head with a smile until you blew him another kiss, turning heel and then walking to your new room.

Damn.

He just let go of the string holding onto you.

LAW

Your first kiss was… an accident.

Law had been pretty nervous about this.

He’s always been a profoundly reserved man who kept matters of the heart private, but he couldn’t deny that he was actually quite excited to take your relationship to the next level. He really, really trusted you – and now that he has you, he’s not going to let go. You’re his forever love now. After all, despite seeming like he couldn’t care less, he was a romantic deep down… and terribly inexperienced. It didn’t matter to him whether you were in the same boat or not, he couldn’t actually care less about that part; he was just insecure about making a decision on whether… he was ready at all to open up like that and offer his heart to you.

Law was very much self-aware and intelligent enough to recognise the signs: He wasn’t just in love with you; he truly loved you.

This bond ran deep.

And although he trusted you completely and wholeheartedly, he wasn’t sure if you wouldn’t be put off by that constant contradiction in his behaviour… most others judged it quite harshly, after all.

He didn’t reciprocate much, aside from talking. Yes, he held you in the privacy of his room and nuzzled his head against your neck, but if you wanted something like that, you could just pick up any stray cat from the streets.

He knew! He knew that it wasn’t enough, damn it. But it was just so hard to keep his composure whenever you placed a gentle kiss against his cheek and lovingly patted his spotted hat before placing those warm hands on his shoulders. You always squeezed him with so much affection and care that he just froze in shock.

The man who couldn’t even hold your hand in public loved you so purely that he wanted to kiss you? How ludicrous.

Most of the people who knew about your relationship probably thought that he was doing you a favour and entertaining the idea of a relationship without actual commitment, but… they had no idea. Absolutely no idea.

Even if he had trouble showing it, Law was proud to call himself your boyfriend. The thought alone made him bashful, though. His breath hitched, those tattooed fingers twitched very briefly before he closed his hand into a loose fist, rubbing his sweaty palms with his fingertips and he could hear his own heartbeat echo in his ear canals.

“I brought you tea, Law. You’re working so hard… don’t push yourself too far.”

…Yeah, he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he didn’t get any work done today; his head was just in the clouds since he’s been too caught up in his own thoughts…about you. These maps weren’t studied at all – all he did was study how soft your lips would feel against his-

“Thank you, (Y/N)-ya.”, he tried to play it off smoothly, but he had to clear his throat after saying your name. His longing for you made his voice a lot softer, a lot more… vulnerable. He didn’t want to scare you off with his sudden change in behaviour, which meant that he had to keep his voice monotone at all cost.

Today, you put your hands on his shoulders first, causing Law to tense up immediately. He turned his head to hide his pathetic blush from you – immediately butting heads with you.

And-

Oh my God.

He tore his lips away from yours. That was so sloppy and clumsy, he-

Law is devastated. If you look closely, you could actually watch his soul leave this plane-

He looked at you, noting how your eyes swam around looking anywhere but him and that you couldn’t contain your smile. The corners of your mouth trembled before curling up into a sweet grin that had him melt on the spot.

“I’m sorry, Law, I didn’t mean to-”

Law couldn’t help but cut you off with a kiss that surprised the both of you. It wasn’t a good one; he was too nervous, too tense, his face was stiff and he couldn’t quite close his eyes, looking at you to burn this image into his mind instead.

You didn’t have to apologise. He didn’t want to make you feel like you had to feel sorry for anything – especially not something as meaningful as this.

Besides, the fact that you enjoyed it just as much and went lax in his arms was… everything.

ZORO

Your first kiss was… powerful.

“Again!”

“…”

“Again!”

“…”

“One more!”

“…Zoro.”

“Just once.”

“Zoro,” you sighed, “You need a break. You’ve been at it for hours now.”

Zoro knew that. God, did he know it. Frustrated with himself, he grunted lowly before lowering his swords. His jaw was already hurting from biting down on the blade’s handle for so long, but he couldn’t help himself.

He’s been living inside the crow’s nest for the past two days at this point.

Two days ago, you got hurt. It shouldn’t affect him this bad… Luffy got hurt, too, as did Usopp, but you were… his partner. Your injuries might as well have been cuts into his heart – he saw you fall into Franky’s arms with a nasty gnash right across your thigh. You were bleeding so much and that scream… it will haunt him now.

Someone thought that you were an easier target than Brook or Franky, who were standing firmly by your side as you bought time for Nami to set sail, protecting the Sunny from any assault raining down on you guys. Zoro could barely watch from the sidelines, too engrossed in fighting his own opponent as Luffy and Sanji took on their captain right next to him. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the Straw Hats could defeat any enemy with enough time and focus as everyone had their unique skill set and purpose, yet as soon as Zoro’s blades clashed against the fellow swordsman’s rapier, he heard your blood-curdling scream. It must have hurt so bad – he knew what deep cuts felt like and just how badly they burnt when saltwater got into the fresh wound, but he’d been training himself to deal with any bit of pain. You were never meant to be the recipient of an injury at the hands of another, because Zoro had sworn to himself that they’d have to go through him first.

But there were you – crying and hyperventilating as Franky tried applying pressure onto your seeping wound while Brook had to unsheathe his sword and cut down those enemies all by himself now…

Well, until Zoro zoomed across the battlefield with unprecedented fury, pushing himself to his very own limits.

Usually, the crew promised to minimise casualties. In a matter of life and death, of capture or kill, Luffy would always choose capture – he knew that some things had to be done, some sins had to be committed, but overall, you were all quite peaceful…

Until that scream.

“We can ask Sanji for a drink, you know… I bet he’d even make you a snack.”, you mused happily.

Zoro’s eyes snapped up and he calmly took a deep breath in, disguising it as an annoyed huff. You were fine. Well, as fine as you could be. Your leg was swollen and the blood has soaked through the bandages on your thigh, leaving a bit of red residue that perfectly mimicked the shape of your wound. Otherwise, you were okay. You had to redress that cut with fresh bandages every night because of the humid climate, but everything was okay.

Logically, your green-haired friend knew that there was nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t help but feel like a failure.

You were important to him! You… weren’t protected when you needed it the most.

You needed him and he wasn’t there.

You were damn good at what you do. That’s why Zoro often chose to hang off of you, following you around. It was so easy to be around you. Most often, you’d even talk to him… you knew very well that your swordsman wasn’t actually fast asleep, he was just preserving energy if it came down to the worst.

Ugh, it did come down to it and he wasn’t there.

Fucking-

“This isn’t about getting stronger, is it, Zoro?” Your hands grasped at his bulging forearms, strained from swinging his swords at the objects you threw all day, and you affectionately caressed his scarred flesh. You were even kind enough to offer him a sad smile.

“I… You… I… You’re important to me.”, he confessed through gritted teeth, averting his gaze. He tried to fight being obvious about it, but you could feel goosebumps rise beneath your warm hands even though he’d just finished a workout and was drenched in sweat.

“Zoro… You’re important to me, too. That’s why you shouldn’t beat yourself up over this. You were there, in the end, as you always are. I know I can rely on you.”

He shook his head in disapproval but leaned in to press his lips against yours. It was a measured kiss, just long enough to get you to briefly feel his plush lips and get especially close to him while your hands still held onto his arms.

And when you smiled, Zoro knew that… yes, you could rely on him. Forever.

#fem reader #one piece #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #op x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #zoro x reader #x reader #thetrasha writes #thetrasha requests

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ladyrosemone · 2 days ago

Text

𝙰 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚃𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑

I need a human's touch, but you don't need me.

I'd forgotten what writer's block felt like, and just when inspiration was returning, I got sick! But nothing will stop me from thanking you all for supporting my writing! Even following my account! I truly love you! Enjoy reading!

┏━━━•°❁⊕❁°•━━━┓┏━━━•°❁⊕❁°•━━━┓

A new game recently came out for all electronic devices.

An otome game unlike any other you've played; more detailed graphics, an engaging story that combines science fiction, powers, reincarnations, and different events into one, and, as the icing on the cake, five routes to choose from with delightful variety.

An ice doctor, the hospital's best heart surgeon, and MC's childhood friend; reserved and distant, his story reveals him as a patient lover who each time chooses to fall in love as if it were the first time, even if it means his own death at the hands of the God he once swore to serve for eternity.

A hunter of beasts known as wanderers, MC's battle companion, and prince of an entire planet in the future; a loyal and dedicated man to his beloved, who will give his life again and again, crossing space and time to save the life of his beloved queen.

A sarcastic, talented, and handsome artist who holds the world in the palm of his hand, he actually hides his true identity as the God of a marine race on the brink of extinction, which he caused many years ago; lethal and protective, he has waited for his beloved wife for eight hundred years to be together again.

A criminal, a bloodthirsty man unafraid to stain his hands with blood, a dragon made man, his soul linked to hers since their first life together, head of an organization that rules the dark side of the city; devoted and passionate, his strength is MC's strength, creating an unstoppable team.

A colonel of a fleet that navigates deep space, MC's adoptive brother whose history was written from syringes and glass cages inside laboratories, always levitating close to each other, fearing but longing to break that barrier until a visit from death forced them to do so; devoted and desperate for the love of his beloved, he is the one in this life who seems to have chosen MC.

And a sixth character who hasn't been revealed yet, but the theories are almost as good as the official clues! From the protagonist's secondary friends to the secondary friends of the love interests, you swear you were only following the Mephisto route through memes until you saw that fanart on TikTok! The point is, the game is a complete and utter blast. You love reading every new letter, every piece of information that expands the lore of the universe and connects the dots to more revelations, watching parody videos, and of course, reading fanfics on every platform possible.

Wattpad, Ao3, Tumblr, Facebook (you'd barely entered the fandom, so don't judge yourself too harshly), Fanfiction Net, TikTok's "Imagine with…" threads, I think the message got through! You're deep into your new hyperfixation. And what do you love more than reading, writing, drawing, all of that combined about Love and Deepspace? (cough cough depression cough cough) Customize MC.

Even though MC is supposed to be you in the game, your animated reflection, with your features and everything that a self-insert is about, you have to admit you're not entirely honest about that…

That's not your hair color, that's not your skin tone, that's not your hair, that's definitely not the shape of your eyes, your lips, your face, or even your body, but somehow it's perfect for you; you chose it because it's the best version of you you dream of being, because it complements the aesthetic of your favorite love interest, maybe that's your OC, and you literally use that design for absolutely everything that allows you to design a character. What matters is that you chose it, you created it, you loved it from the moment you hit "accept design" and you decided to keep it until now.

In short, it's your baby.

Maybe you'll even spend more time pampering her with exclusive clothes, accessories, and poses than increasing the affinity with the other characters, but your sweet little girl deserves it, only the best. The others should understand that; pfft, what are you talking about? Of course they would (if they were real), what wouldn't they do for her?

In the comfort of your room, where you can scream and cry over letters from Rafayel and Zayne, blush with Caleb and Sylus, or even sleep with Xavier, is where you can admit that you might feel a little…jealousy for your MC.

Not unhealthy envy! Nothing that goes to extremes or makes you jealous even a pixel! Just…sometimes it makes you wish you could find a love like that; a wild and intense fairy tale, a passionate and tender love story, with someone who loves you to the point of leaving their kingdom, their power, their duty, their status, and their life for you…

But that's not possible in real life, not only isn't it possible, it's not healthy, so you're happy to leave it to fiction and otome games. Anyway, you have to throw away those stars and wait for that new dress or Caleb's new birthday card!

-.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / -- -.-- / .- -. --. . .-.. --..-- / -.-. --- -- . / ..-. .-. --- -- / .-- .- -.-- / .- -... --- ...- . / - --- / -... .-. .. -. --. / -- . / .-.. --- ...- . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.

Philosophers say that life begins with light.

They describe it as an explosion where there is a void that needs to be filled, a response to a need, others use metaphors of good and evil, yin and yang, hate and love, life and death. The description doesn't matter; the reasons always come down to the same words: complement and existence.

She gave them a reason to exist, their complement. She is their blinding light, their Sun and their Moon, their star and their sea, their air and their warmth, their destiny and their purpose.

That's why they hate being away from you.

Before they hated the distance, they hated discovering they're characters in a dating game simulation; not the typical existential crisis of knowing there's something bigger than them (which there isn't, one is literally a God) or that they serve a purpose beyond their control, but even the phase of knowing that everything they thought they were (likes, hobbies, goals, personal resolutions, dislikes, and even their sleep schedule) they'd chosen for themselves is just one code among millions of others that could easily be one of the tapestries of the coffee shop they frequented.

The worst part of it was knowing that their pain, their sadness, their chains, everything they lost for a girl their digital code demands they love is nothing more than morbid entertainment for anyone who sees them from above, above Astra, above the game's villains, and above themselves.

Until they hear your voice.

They hear a narrator, someone who encourages them when they feel exhausted, who cries with them over their unjust fate, who wishes them victory in every battle, praises their artwork, is moved by every hunt, or simply admires deep space.

They find your light.

Zayne feels you like a breath of fresh air, and for someone who is (literally) an element of ice, he finds that comforting. Xavier searches for you among the stars, those who await him in his home in search of a well-deserved rest, to rule by his side. Rafayel paints you, he doesn't know what you really look like, What is your skin tone? What are your facial features like? Do you have freckles? Do you have dimples when you laugh? Are your teeth even or crooked? Big or small eyes? Wide or perky nose? Is your hair short or long? What is its color? Wavy or straight? No matter how many paintings he makes or how many sculptures he presents in each art exhibition, it is not enough, and in his insufficiency you give him the spark he thought was lost eons ago to keep searching searching for you

Sylus is a dragon, a beast of fire and blood, a hunter of heaven and earth, the ultimate predator, he has conquered lands and amassed so much gold that even in this life it will never end, there is nothing he doesn't have, and yet he would give it all up for that jewel you chose for him at that boxing event, where you agreed (using MC) to be his wife, that ring is the dragon's most prized possession, worthy of his wife, of you. Caleb is, of all of them, the one most obsessed with finding you, he is the one who travels across space to feel the supernova that connected him to you in the first place, there isn't a second that goes by that he doesn't yearn for that warmth, that feeling of being alive for the first time.

Once they became aware of their "condition" finding each other was a game of hide-and-seek.

Zayne and Caleb have a history; the two already know each other; it was only a matter of time before Infold brought them together in a letter, event, or special; Sylus and Xavier also share a myth, or glimpses of typical fairy tale rivalries: prince versus dragon, good versus evil, light versus darkness. Rafayel was the last; he considers himself the ultimate prize for the first couple to find him, too magnificent to have a rival who would compete with his divine ancestry.

Talking among themselves, they all realized two things: each has a different level of affinity with you (some are more favored with gifts or attention, arousing jealousy in others), and they can only interact directly (or as much as they can until the program closes the application due to glitches in the binary code) with you through MC.

MC…doesn't even have a name.

Oh well, you gave her one, but it's so worthless to them that they should remember it or keep it in their files, who does she think she is? Daring to be so close to you, an imperfect imitation of his light, his true light, the one not programmed for him, telling him what he wants to hear, acting from a script, with no personality or spark. And somehow she gets the best of you; your attention, your money, your praise, your time! All for her!

If only they could…take her out of the game, let a wanderers eat her, let a bullet hit her, let her drown at sea, let her heart fail, or let her get lost in space.

She's an obstacle for Sylus, for Zayne, for Xavier, for Caleb, for Rafayel.

They hate her.

And her? She knows it, and she enjoys it.

What? Did you really expect her not to notice that she isn't completely herself? That something else guides her, saves her, keeps her alive.

At first it was confusing, then invasive, then cathartic, but in the end it was…liberating.

Do you know what it feels like to know, from the very beginning, that your existence is a story of tragedy with no happy ending? That no matter what you do, it's not enough? Not being able to save anyone, not being able to love anyone because they'll die, being the reason for someone else's misery, and repeating that cycle over and over and over again. It's exhausting.

Until she found you, her savior.

She found in you a love without tragedy, a care without caring, to be the protected one instead of the protector, to have the freedom to be herself, to discover how to be herself, to be pampered, to be the first option by choice, not because she was designated that way.

MC was the first to wake up, and she enjoyed every second where it was just the two of you.

The clothes you put on her? Perfectly stored, immaculate, and ready for you, the hairstyles you did for her? Search through every mod you added to the game to perfect the graphics and notice every strand of hair, the shine in every lock, the fluidity every time you move her and take pictures,the poses? All you want, as many as you want, she even strikes suggestive ones when you're not looking, saved in the folder with her name, just for you.

Everything was so perfect, until they woke up too.

Now it's harder to leave them in the background, to forget to boost your affinity or answer calls, she can no longer delete messages or block audio recordings, she can no longer hide them like she did when they were dogs loyal to the idea of her and their destinies. No, now they're her enemies, viruses she has to keep at bay until she discovers a way to eliminate them so it can be you and her again, just the two of us, as always, detour and as it should be.

Until then, wait for them. Don't worry if the screen freezes, don't be surprised if you wake up with more diamonds than anyone else on the server, don't be confused if there's dialogue that doesn't appear in the official clips, and please don't uninstall the game when they call your name.

You are their light, their reason for existence, their destiny, the love of their life, their soulmate.

Theirs.

You just have to wait a little longer, can you do it?

Of course you can.

There's no other option.

┗━━━•°❁⊕❁°•━━━┛┗━━━•°❁⊕❁°•━━━┛

#lads zayne #lads xavier #loveanddeepspace #lads boys #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads caleb #love and deep space #lads x non!mc reader #non mc reader #non mc x caleb #love and deepspace fic #yandere x reader #yandere tendencies

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celestiaras · 23 hours ago

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ huntrix idol spotted having a romantic lunch date?! ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by ✨ anon ˚₊ ⊹

ft. rumi, zoey, mira (separate) x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ you’re just trying to go on a peaceful date with your girlfriend, but nosy reporters have the tendency to get in the way┊1.3k words

contains: secret established relationship, paparazzi, reader isn't an idol

➤ author's note: my writing is really rambly and i kinda went off prompt, i’m sorry feel free to send in something else T-T

trying to juggle the busy life of a worldwide sensation kpop idol while also secretly dating someone outside of that atmosphere isn’t for the weak, but your girlfriend promises that all the struggles that come with it are worth the reward of being with you and having an ounce of privacy. most of your dates are restricted to the privacy of her dorm, usually consisting of much-needed cuddling on the couch time with snacks and an action movie after a long day of practice or a make-shift candle-lit dinner where you’re probably eating delicious take out (none of these girls can cook for the life of them, except for rumi, but she can’t make anything more complex than spaghetti). while always content with your simple romance life, when the special day of your anniversary arrives, your girlfriend is insistent on doing something different, even if it requires planning a stealth mission to reach your destination unseen.

since she has one of the most recognizable face and hair in the nation as well as having huntrix posters plastered everywhere, dressing up in a baggy jacket, medical mask, and sunglasses are a must to cover up as much as possible (it looks suspicious as first, but once she actually leaves the house, it’s surprising how no one cares enough to spare a second glance). once you arrive at the restaurant she made the reservation at, she reluctantly takes off the oversized clothing to reveal a more appropriate outfit to be granted entry and is escorted inside, but it’s difficult to ignore the shocked looks the other guests are giving her with you following closely behind.

as you settle in and enjoy your meals, the sudden sound and sight of a camera flash interrupts your peace. it appears one of the other customers has tipped off some of the major celebrity news outlets as reporters and their cameras press against the glass windows trying to get a shot of what’s going on, knowing that the rose in the center and loving looks exchanged meant more than a lunch between friends…

━━━ .°˖✧ rumi!! ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ the best out of the three at not drawing any attention to herself on the way there. she minds her own business, knowing the best way to go unbothered is to remain hidden and to blend in with people around her. she plans out the route to get to the restaurant, point “a” to point “b,” holding your hand the entire time. 10/10, you successfully managed to go completely undetected!

╰₊✧ when she notices the reporters, the first thing she does is sigh and think of the best way to get rid of them. although she doesn’t acknowledge their presence, the strained look on her face tells all that there needs to be said. rumi would likely make a deal with them, they could come inside and take a few good photos (with your permission, obviously) then they need to beat it.

“i feel awful,” she muttered, playing with her food using her chopsticks while deep in thought. “this was my idea to come out here, but now we've been found out and everyone knows when we’ve been working so hard to keep it a secret…”

“hey! don’t worry about it, it’s not that big of a deal,” you assured, reaching out to hold her hand in yours, “they’re gone now, so let’s just enjoy the rest of the night, okay?”

╰₊✧ even though the cat is out of the bag, rumi still can’t help but be a little skittish about it. her privacy is something she values a lot, and having one of her secrets exposed to the public makes her nervous about her other secret being revealed as well. not much in the relationship will change, except she might be even more tense than usual about going out together, so give it some time before she relaxes and is willing to loosen up about it.

━━━ .°˖✧ zoey!! ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ the worst out of the three at not drawing any attention to herself on the way there. it’s not a normal outing, it’s a date with her girlfriend! the stress gets to her, and she might not be as subtle as she thinks she’s being, her behavior being comparable to a ninja student on their first day of class. 5/10, attracted a lot of attention, but at least no one recognized her and you got a big laugh out of it!

╰₊✧ when the cameras start flashing and reporters start asking questions, she struggles to ignore them because she’s nothing if not a people pleaser and doesn’t want to hurt any of their feelings by ignoring them. of course, you come first, and if you’re uncomfortable with it, she will dismiss them immediately (to the best of her ability, she feels so guilty), but if you give her the go-ahead, then she’ll probably host an impromptu interview right then and there.

“we met during one of our shows! she was my make-up artist, and i swear, it was love at first sight when she did my eyeshadow— like, wow, fireworks! she’s so gorgeous, i have to ask for her number, right now!”

you couldn’t help but smile at her words, heat rushing to your face as you laughed, “the fireworks are probably an overexaggeration—”

“nuh uh! it was like the fourth of july back in the us!

her passionate rambling about how much she adored you won the hearts of the people as they gushed about how adorable your relationship was. idols typically keep their dating lives private for good reason, but zoey’s openness was refreshing, and her pride to call you her girlfriend was evident to everyone.

╰₊✧ once the news articles go viral and everyone knows, it’s like she broke free from her shackles. she loves you so much that she’s always wanted to shout it from the rooftops, and now she finally can! if you’re alright with it, she’ll post photos of the two of you together on her social media, run to kiss you after performances, and dedicate some of her songs to you, effectively winning the title of the cutest couple alive.

━━━ .°˖✧ mira!! ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ not too bad at not drawing any attention to herself on the way there, but her downfall is her overprotectiveness. if anyone’s gaze lingers on you for even a moment too long, her head snaps around and glares at them until they scurry off. 7/10, she might have scared a couple of people, but no one knew it was her!

╰₊✧ her intense stare also helps scare off the paparazzi. you would think they would know by now not to mess with her, but apparently, the big scoop of her being in a relationship was too tempting to pass up. was it really that big of a deal? it pisses her off to the point that she has to put her foot down before the night is ruined any further.

“hey! do you guys mind? i’m trying to have a date with my girlfriend over here!” she yells out, smacking the table and scowling out of frustration. she doesn’t like being mean or raising her voice, but she thinks it’s warranted when she’s only asking to be left alone and to be mira the girlfriend rather than mira the idol.

you held your breath, worried that she might have just ruined her reputation with a simple statement, but the reporters seemed to love her attitude. that’s the bad girl of the group alright! she’s so brave for speaking out and setting a new standard for idols by standing up for herself! they took one last picture and left the premises, finally giving the two of you some peace and quiet.

“so, anyway, where were we?”

╰₊✧ truthfully, mira doesn’t mind people knowing about her relationship with you, she just worries that they will bother you over it. she takes the happy medium of being confidential about it yet not worrying about hiding it. whatever your preferences are, she’ll adjust to it since she has no strong feelings about it, and will make certain that your wishes are respected.

request:

Could I get a request with Rumi (plus anyone else from Huntr/x if you want but specifically Rumi) with a female reader and them trying to go on dates without being recognized please? (reader can be just a regular person or another idol, whatever is good to get the writing juices flowing!) Thank you if you can!

#📜. her works #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #rumi kpop demon hunters #rumi kpop demon hunters x reader #mira kpop demon hunters #mira kpop demon hunters x reader #zoey kpop demon hunters #zoey kpop demon hunters x reader #huntrix #huntrix x reader

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lowkeeho · 19 hours ago

Text

the first

pairing: Jake (ehna) x shy!virgin fem!reader

genre: first time, emotional intimacy, virgin!reader, college AU, flufffffffff/smut

cw: nsfw, mdni, virgin!reader, first time, oral (f!rec), fingering, face-sitting, missionary, praise kink, breast play, creampie, emotional vulnerability, slight overstimulation, crying during sex (emotional), soft dom!Jake

wc: 4.8k

a/n: not proofread (sorry😭), it’s been in my drafts collecting dust lol hope yall enjoyyy <3

You weren’t exactly friends at first. More like mutual nods across lecture halls, shared glances during group discussions, the occasional smile exchanged when your hands brushed reaching for the same classroom door. He was the kind of guy who filled a room—Jake, with his loose-limbed confidence and that lazy grin that seemed like it belonged to someone in a movie.

You didn’t expect him to remember your name, let alone sit beside you two weeks in a row in Psych 204. But he did. And when you murmured something under your breath about the professor’s weird obsession with Freud, he laughed—a real, full-bodied sound—and said, “You’re funny. I like that.”

That was the beginning.

From there, it was small things. Shared notes. Walks to the coffee shop on the corner after class. Texts that started as study reminders and turned into late-night questions about dreams, fears, music you loved but never told anyone about. He asked things no one asked. And he listened like your answers meant something.

Jake didn’t make you nervous in the way most people did. He didn’t crowd your space. He watched you, sure—but gently. Like he was trying to learn you. And somehow, he made you want to be seen.

You weren’t blind to the way people looked at him—the flirting, the smiles, the way others leaned into his orbit. But he always seemed to lean back toward you. Quietly. Like you were the one pulling him in without realizing it.

The first time he touched you was barely anything. His fingers brushed the back of your hand as you reached for your cup. But it sent a current up your spine, sharp and unexpected. He noticed—of course he did—and didn’t pull away. Just let his fingers stay there, resting against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You always flinch when someone touches you,” he said softly that day, eyes holding yours. “But you didn’t this time.”

You looked away, heartbeat skittering. “I didn’t want to.”

His smile then wasn’t cocky or smug. It was soft. Something more reverent.

And now, everything is shifting. You can feel it. In the way he lingers a little longer when you hug goodbye. In how he brushes your hair back behind your ear, like he can’t help but touch you. In the silence that falls sometimes—not awkward, but thick with things unsaid. Things you’re afraid to say.

Because you’ve never done anything. Not really. Not with anyone. And that part of you—your want, your hunger, your inexperience—you keep locked up behind polite smiles and tightly folded arms.

But Jake looks at you like he already knows.

And for the first time in your life, you’re starting to think… maybe that’s okay.

Jake’s room is quiet, save for the hum of his desk fan and the low music playing from his phone. You’re curled up on his bed, your laptop balanced on a pillow in your lap, legs folded beneath you. He’s sprawled next to you, lying on his stomach with his cheek resting on his arm, eyes flicking between his notes and your screen.

You’ve done this before—studied like this, side by side, close but not too close. But tonight feels different.

He’s closer than usual. His knee brushes yours every time he shifts. His voice is lower, slower, like he’s not in any rush to move on from this moment. When you lean forward to scroll, his hand gently tugs your hoodie back into place, fingertips brushing your spine.

You don’t even pretend it doesn’t affect you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmurs without looking up. “That test stressing you out?”

You shake your head slowly. “Not really. Just… tired, I guess.”

Jake hums like he doesn’t believe you. His fingers tap thoughtfully against his textbook before he closes it and turns toward you fully. The bed dips with the movement, and now he’s right beside you—close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks again.

“You always get like this when something’s on your mind.”

His voice is gentle, but it cuts straight through you. Jake doesn’t poke or pry. He waits. Gives you room to choose him, or not.

And tonight… maybe you want to be chosen too.

You stare at the screen a second longer before closing the laptop and setting it aside. “Can I ask you something?”

Jake nods instantly, like there’s no version of the world where you could say something he wouldn’t want to hear. “Of course.”

You hesitate, playing with the hem of your sleeve. It’s stupid. Or it feels stupid. But the weight of his gaze grounds you.

“I’ve never…” You trail off, pulse thumping in your throat. “I’ve never really done anything. Like—physically. With anyone.”

There. It’s out. Suspended between you and the walls of this room that suddenly feels too small.

Jake blinks. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk or make a joke. Instead, he sits up a little straighter, head tilting like he wants to read your thoughts.

“Okay,” he says carefully. “You mean… like nothing at all?”

You shake your head once, the heat rising to your cheeks. “I’ve kissed people. A couple times. But nothing else. It’s not like I was waiting for anything specific, it just… never felt right. I didn’t want to force it.”

Jake’s expression softens, all traces of curiosity replaced by something warmer. Protective. “That makes sense. You should never force it.”

You nod, biting your lip. “I just—I feel like everyone around me has already done everything, and I’m still in this… bubble. Like I’m behind or something.”

Jake’s hand reaches for yours, his fingers slipping gently between yours like it’s second nature. “You’re not behind. You’re just… you. And I really like who that is.”

Your heart stutters.

He holds your hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles. “For what it’s worth,” he adds, voice lower now, “I think it’s kind of beautiful. That you’ve waited. That you’re careful with yourself.”

You glance up at him, surprised. “Beautiful?”

Jake smiles—not cocky, not teasing. Soft. Real. “Yeah. Makes me want to be careful with you too.”

The tension between you tightens. His hand stays in yours. His eyes flick to your mouth, but he doesn’t move, not until you do.

And when you lean in—barely, uncertain—he meets you halfway.

His kiss is gentle. Thoughtful. A question, not a demand. His lips are soft and warm, his hand slipping to your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he’s too rough. It isn’t deep. It’s barely anything. But it steals the air from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and you don’t know what he’s thanking you for—trust, maybe—but it makes your eyes sting.

“I just… I don’t know how to do any of this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Jake smiles. “That’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to. We go slow. We go at your pace.”

And for the first time, your inexperience doesn’t feel like a flaw. It feels like something sacred.

Jake’s still close. His forehead is against yours, and your hands are still clasped. Your lips are tingling, still warm from that kiss—not just the contact but the meaning behind it. You didn’t expect him to be so patient. So still. Like he’s waiting for your heart to steady before he asks for more.

But he doesn’t have to ask. You tilt your head, let your lips brush his again, softer this time but with more weight. Like you mean it.

He responds immediately, like he was just waiting for you to want him back.

The kiss deepens slowly—there’s no rush in him, no pressure. Just a careful pull of your bottom lip, a low hum from his chest when your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. His other hand settles at your waist, grounding you. You think you might fall if he didn’t hold you there, gently anchoring you to him, to this moment.

You feel the smile tug at his lips before he pulls back just enough to whisper, “See? You’re already so good at this.”

You blush, and Jake leans in to kiss your cheek, then your jaw. Then—lower. His lips press beneath your ear, warm and slow, and your breath catches when he moves down to your neck.

The first kiss there makes you shiver. He notices.

“Oh,” he says softly, a quiet chuckle in his throat, “you’re sensitive here?”

You nod without meaning to, and he follows your pulse with his mouth—open-mouthed kisses, the faint scrape of his teeth, a low groan when you gasp and squeeze his arm.

You don’t realize when he moves, but suddenly you’re on your back, your legs still bent up on the bed and Jake hovering above you, elbow braced beside your head. He kisses you again, this time slower, longer, like he wants to feel every part of you at once. One of his hands slides up under your hoodie, fingertips brushing your skin just above the waistband of your shorts.

His touch is cautious, but it sets something off inside you. You arch up instinctively, heart hammering, and Jake pulls back only to study your face.

“You okay?” he asks, voice like velvet.

You nod quickly, already breathless. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

He grins—genuine, a little cocky, but still sweet. “Good nervous or bad?”

“Good,” you breathe. “Really good.”

He kisses your nose. “Then can I keep touching you?”

The heat spreads down your body in a rush. You whisper, “Yes,” and Jake hums like it’s the best thing he’s heard all night.

His hand slips higher, palm smoothing over your stomach, your ribs—everywhere but where you suddenly ache for it. He’s patient. Exploring. He pushes your hoodie up a little more and presses soft kisses to your exposed skin, warm and slow and reverent.

You swear your heart might explode when he mouths at the underside of your breast through your bra, teeth just barely grazing you. You gasp, arch again, and Jake groans into you.

“Shit,” he mutters, pulling back enough to look at you. “You’re already driving me crazy.”

His hand cups you fully over the fabric and you whimper, your hips shifting. His thumb strokes slowly over your nipple, still covered, and your breath stutters. It’s like every part of you is waking up for the first time—new, oversensitive, desperate to be touched more.

You don’t even realize you’re squirming until Jake chuckles.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice darker now, his free hand stroking your cheek. “So shy, but your body’s already telling me everything.”

You moan—embarrassed but also aching—and Jake leans in, his lips brushing your neck.

Your hands grip his shoulders before you can think. You whimper, completely undone by just his words.

“Jake…”

He kisses you again, rougher this time, and you feel it—his restraint starting to slip. But still, he holds back, lets you move how you need to. His mouth drops lower, trailing heat down your stomach.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs against your skin.

And you think you might. You think you might finally let yourself be seen, touched, loved like that.

You don’t remember nodding. You don’t even remember giving him permission with words. But Jake must see it in your eyes, or feel it in the way your legs relax, your thighs falling slightly open when he kisses the inside of your knee.

Because he moves like a promise—slow, reverent, steady. He slips your shorts down your legs, easing them past your hips with both hands like he’s unwrapping something sacred. Then he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, warm and patient.

Your breath stutters. You feel too exposed and not close enough all at once. You’ve never had anyone see you like this. Never had anyone want to. And now Jake is kneeling between your legs, hands gripping your thighs gently, thumbs stroking your skin like he’s soothing your nerves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, looking right at you. “Even when you’re nervous. Especially when you’re nervous.”

You let out a shaky breath. Your body is buzzing. Too warm. Too bare. Too full of anticipation.

“I’ve never… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you whisper.

Jake leans over you, kisses you gently. “You don’t have to do anything. Just feel. Just let me make you feel good.”

You nod, and his lips curve against yours like he’s proud.

Then he lowers himself again. Slowly. Carefully. He trails kisses down your stomach, your inner thighs, until he’s right there—where your arousal pulses like a second heartbeat. His hands rest on your thighs, holding you open without forcing. His breath hits you first—warm, steady—and your hips jerk slightly.

“Shh,” he whispers, voice gentle. “Just breathe for me.”

You try.

Then his mouth is on you.

The first lick is slow. Deliberate. His tongue flattens against you and drags upward in a way that makes your whole body jerk. You gasp—high and sharp—and Jake groans like you just did something to him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, lips brushing you. “You taste so sweet.”

Your thighs tense, but Jake’s hands keep you steady—secure, never rough. He licks again, deeper now, tongue curling right where you need it. Your back arches.

“Oh my god—Jake—”

His lips wrap around your clit gently, sucking, and your vision goes white for a second.

You can’t think.

You can barely breathe.

The sensation is overwhelming—hot and wet and perfect. Jake keeps going, keeps worshipping you with his mouth, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that could satisfy him.

You’re moaning now, helplessly, and Jake groans again.

“That’s it, baby,” he says against you. “Let me hear you.”

You can’t stop.

Your hands tangle in the sheets—then in his hair. You don’t even realize you’re grinding against his mouth until he moans again, gripping your hips tighter to hold you steady.

You’re so close.

It’s building fast—too fast—and you warn him with a stuttering gasp of his name.

“Jake—fuck—I think I’m—”

“Let go for me,” he breathes. “Be good and come for me, pretty girl.”

That’s all it takes.

You shatter, body clenching, breath catching in your throat as pleasure crashes through you in waves. Your hips buck and Jake holds you through it, licking you softly now, easing you down with kisses like you’re something fragile.

You’re panting, legs trembling, skin flushed. You can’t think, can’t move.

Jake crawls back up your body and kisses you—deep, slow, tasting like you. You moan softly into it, dazed and warm.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, low and proud. “You okay?”

You nod. Barely. Your body’s still trembling with the aftershocks.

“Never been better,” you breathe.

And he smiles like that’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

Jake shifts slightly beside you, one hand resting low on your stomach, fingertips barely grazing the edge of your shirt. His voice is soft, but there’s a distinct heat to it now—like a secret being handed to you under the covers.

“You know what I was thinking about earlier?” he asks, like it’s casual, like he’s not about to ruin you.

You swallow, eyes flicking up to meet his. “What?”

He smiles, just a little. Mischievous. Reverent.

“I kept looking at your thighs when you were tucked under my blanket… all shy and pretty, trying to focus on your notes,” he murmurs, letting his hand trace down your hip. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about how good you’d feel sitting on my face.”

Your breath hitches—sharp and instant. You try to blink the heat from your cheeks, but it floods you anyway, thick and fast.

Jake watches it all happen, his thumb pressing gently into your side. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he coaxes, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You, up there… thighs shaking while I hold onto you and eat you just the way you need. All that pressure, all that attention, just for you.”

You don’t mean to whimper, but it slips out, caught between disbelief and desire.

“I’d take my time, too,” he continues, dipping his head to kiss just under your jaw. “Make you feel everything. Over and over. Until you’re so sensitive, you’re begging me to stop—and then begging me not to.”

You feel like you might melt right into the bed. Your legs squeeze together instinctively, and he notices—his lips curve against your skin.

Jake tilts your chin so you’re looking straight at him. “I know it sounds intense,” he says, tone softer again. “But I’d never push you too far. Just enough to show you how good it can feel when you let go.”

You nod, because you trust him—because every nerve in your body is screaming yes.

“You want that?” he asks gently, but there’s a fire behind his eyes now. “You wanna sit on my face and let me take care of you like that?”

Your voice is almost gone when it finally comes out. “Yeah… I do.”

Jake smiles, proud and hungry all at once. “Good girl.”

Jake kisses you again, slower this time—long and lingering, like he wants to give you space to think, to breathe, to change your mind. But you don’t want space. You want him.

He shifts, laying with his head against the headboard and patting his chest with an inviting, wicked glint in his eyes. “C’mere,” he says, voice low and coaxing. “I’ll help you.”

You hesitate—not because you don’t want it, but because the thought of actually doing it, of being that exposed, that open for him, makes your heart pound in your throat. But he’s patient. He just watches you with a quiet reverence, like he’s already proud of you.

So you crawl over him, tentative and shy, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his head. He slides his hands up your thighs, his touch steady and warm.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. You look so pretty like this already.”

Your breath catches. You’re hovering just above his face, your core aching and wet and barely clothed, and his grip on your thighs tightens—encouraging, not forceful.

“Let me see you,” Jake says, gently tugging your panties aside with one finger, his eyes dark and hungry but still soft around the edges. “You don’t have to do anything but let go. I’ve got you.”

You nod, swallowing hard as your fingers press to the wall behind his headboard for balance.

His hands slide to your ass, firm and sure, pulling you the rest of the way down until your thighs are flush to his face and you feel the hot brush of his tongue against your folds. You gasp—high-pitched and sharp—hips jerking instinctively at the jolt of pleasure.

Jake groans against you, low and satisfied, and keeps licking—long, slow strokes that send sparks all through your body.

You try to hold still, try not to fall apart too quickly, but his grip is steady on your ass and he’s pulling you closer, deeper, nose buried between your thighs like he’s starving for it. His tongue circles your clit and your fingers curl against the wall, your knees trembling.

He moans again, louder this time, like the taste of you is driving him crazy.

“You can move, baby,” he murmurs between licks, his voice muffled but clear. “Grind on me. Let yourself feel good.”

You nod, breathless, and slowly begin to move—hips rolling, unsure at first, until his tongue catches right where you need him and your body takes over. The friction is overwhelming. Perfect. His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and swirling while he groans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your thighs are shaking now, your moans uncontrolled. And then—his hand slides between your legs, two fingers teasing your entrance before slipping in slow and deep.

You cry out, back arching, head falling forward.

“Jake—” you gasp, voice breaking.

“I know,” he says softly, still licking, still curling his fingers just right. “You’re doing so good, baby. So sweet for me. So perfect.”

You’re not sure how much more you can take. Every lick, every curl of his fingers, is too much and not enough all at once. Your hips grind harder, your moans getting louder, and Jake doesn’t stop—he holds you there, mouth open and eager beneath you, tongue lapping and flicking with practiced, reverent hunger.

Your orgasm hits hard and fast—unexpected, blinding. You sob out his name, thighs quivering as your entire body tenses and then collapses against him.

He holds you through it, never letting go.

And when you finally lift your hips—panting, trembling—Jake’s eyes are glazed over with pure desire. His lips are wet, swollen, and he looks completely wrecked.

“Could stay like that all night,” he says with a breathless laugh. “You taste so fucking good.”

You can’t even answer—you just collapse forward into his chest, face burning, heart racing.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, brushing your hair back, kissing your shoulder. “You did so good for me.”

Your body is still trembling from the aftershocks as Jake lays you back against his pillows, fingers brushing along your sides like he can’t stop touching you. His eyes search your face, warm and focused.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, flushed and breathless. “Yeah… I just…”

Jake leans down, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, and then your lips—slow and soft. “Tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay? We don’t have to do everything tonight.”

You shake your head gently. “I want to… I want you.”

His expression softens even more, if that’s possible—something tender settling in his eyes as he brings his forehead to yours.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Then I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He undresses you fully now, piece by piece—his hands warm and reverent on your skin, like he’s learning you by heart. You watch his eyes flick over you, and for the first time, you don’t feel self-conscious. His gaze is filled with so much awe that all you feel is wanted.

Jake undresses too, slow and careful, letting you see him in turn. And when he finally settles between your thighs, he takes his time—kissing down your neck, over your breasts, mouthing at your nipples until your breath catches all over again.

You’re wet again—still so sensitive—but the ache between your legs now has a different edge to it. A pull.

Jake props himself on one arm and reaches between your bodies with the other, stroking himself slowly, coating himself in your arousal.

“You sure?” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, heart pounding.

He lines himself up and kisses you—deep and full—before slowly, carefully, beginning to push in.

You gasp at the stretch, your body clenching instinctively.

“Breathe,” he whispers against your lips, pausing to give you time. “You’re doing so good. Just let me in. Nice and slow, yeah?”

You grip his hand, and he laces your fingers together, grounding you as he moves again—inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside you.

The fullness is overwhelming, but not painful—more like pressure and heat, something impossibly intimate. You blink up at him, wide-eyed, and he’s already watching you, completely still, his other hand brushing your hair back.

“God, you feel amazing,” Jake whispers, breath shaky. “So warm. So tight. You’re perfect, baby.”

Your eyes flutter, head falling back slightly as your body adjusts, and he takes that moment to kiss your throat, your collarbone, your chest—everywhere he can reach while he holds still inside you.

When he finally starts to move, it’s slow. Deep. Each thrust is deliberate, dragging along every nerve, making you gasp softly into his mouth.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “I wanna see you.”

You try to hold his gaze, but it’s hard—your eyes want to roll back with every slow stroke, each one brushing something deep inside you that makes your legs shake. But his hand squeezes yours, thumb brushing your knuckles, and he leans in to kiss you again—soft and open-mouthed, like he’s trying to breathe you in.

When he pulls back, you whimper, eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t hold back,” he says, voice rough with restraint. “Let me hear you.”

So you do—you let the moan slip past your lips, let your hips roll into his, and Jake rewards you with a deeper thrust, groaning softly into your neck.

“That’s it,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well. So fucking pretty like this, baby.”

Your body moves on instinct now, chasing the friction, the feeling, your thighs wrapping around him as the pace builds—still gentle, but heavier now, more urgent. His free hand slips under your back to hold you closer, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

And when you gasp again, trembling beneath him, Jake kisses you—slow and desperate—and whispers, “I’ve got you. You’re mine, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

Jake is still moving inside you—slow now, slower than before. His thrusts are deep and gentle, drawn out like he wants to memorize the shape of you from the inside. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, and his forehead rests against yours, lips barely grazing as you breathe each other in.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, like it’s the only truth that matters.

His hand finds yours again, fingers lacing tight. The other cups your jaw, thumb stroking softly as he keeps his gaze locked on you. “I want you to come for me one more time, baby,” he murmurs. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, barely able to form the word yes, your whole body humming with overstimulated pleasure and overwhelming trust. He shifts just slightly, angling his hips to hit the spot that makes you gasp, makes your toes curl, and it’s too much—but just right.

Jake kisses you as you fall apart. He catches your moan in his mouth, swallowing every sound like it’s sacred. His strokes stay slow but sure, coaxing the orgasm out of you like a promise he fully intends to keep.

Your whole body clenches around him, your nails digging into his shoulder, your thighs trembling as the wave crests and breaks. Tears spring to your eyes from the intensity—how good it feels, how safe it feels, how full your heart is—and Jake’s right there whispering through it:

“That’s it, baby. Let go.”

“You’re so perfect like this.”

“I’ve got you.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he’s brushing a tear away with his lips.

“Too much?” he asks, pulling back just enough to search your face.

You shake your head quickly, cupping his cheek. “No. It’s perfect. Just… a lot.”

“I know,” he says softly, kissing your palm. “You did so good.”

Jake comes just moments later, with your name on his lips and your body wrapped around him. It’s not loud, not rough—just deep and quiet and full of feeling. His hips stutter, and he holds you close, like he needs you as much as you need him.

He doesn’t rush. When it’s over, he stays still for a few seconds, breathing you in, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your shoulder, your forehead.

Then, gently, he pulls out and helps you lay back. You feel everything—every brush of his fingers, every whisper of skin on skin—and you don’t want to let go of his hand.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and careful.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.”

He smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Jake disappears for a moment and returns with a warm towel and water. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, murmuring soft apologies every time you flinch from sensitivity. He kisses your thighs, your knees, your stomach—like each one deserves a thank you.

Once you’re comfortable, he helps you into one of his soft shirts and pulls the covers over both of you. You curl into his chest without thinking, and he welcomes you into his arms like you’ve always belonged there.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he says against your hair. “I’m so proud of you. I hope you know how much this meant to me.”

Your eyes sting again, and this time you let the tears fall. Not from sadness, but from being seen—completely and wholly—for the first time.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Jake kisses your temple. “No, thank you. For trusting me.”

You fall asleep in his arms, warm and safe and full in every sense of the word—with the quiet certainty that something’s changed forever… and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

#kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #enhypen jake #jake smut #jake smau #jake x reader #jake sim #jake enha

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momentomorix · 2 days ago

Text

The Wrong Bag

Summary: In the end, picking up his nephew from daycare had its perks. Starting with her.

Warnings: Contains explicit sex and vulgar sexual language

Writers notes: English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations. Recreation center in France might differ depending on the country. Rafe Cameron x Reader

It all started with a delay. A damn delay.

It wasn’t a delay due to a pregnancy announcement, but one caused by parents who had to pick up their child from daycare and had called the uncle to come get the little boy. Rafe Cameron arrived at the recreation center, noticeably annoyed after an already tough day. He tried not to wince as he saw all those children yelling, running in every direction without ever apologizing, chocolate still smeared around their mouths.

Of course, he loved his nephew, but navigating through all those kids irritated him.

“I’m here to pick up Teddy Routledge,” he said to a young woman standing at the front desk. Obviously, just as he was eager to leave that place, he ran into an intern. She went to get a supervisor, and the latter arrived, holding a paint pot in her hand. “Hello,” you smiled upon seeing this man you’d never met before. “You’re here to pick up Teddy?”

Rafe Cameron didn’t answer right away, disturbed by an unfamiliar feeling that had just arisen within him. His blue eyes met yours, where a growing confusion was clearly visible in response to his silence. You kept smiling so as not to seem rude, but you wondered what his problem could be. Rafe himself wished he knew. He didn’t understand why he was fixated on the paintbrush tucked in your black hair holding it in a loose bun, the blue paint mark right on your dimple, the beauty mark above your upper lip…

It was as if everything lit up just by seeing you. “Sir?” you finally said. “Rafe Cameron,” he replied, extending his hand after composing himself. “I’m Teddy’s uncle.”

You shook his hand, surprised by this formal introduction, while most parents were content with a verbal hello, sometimes accompanied by a smile.

“Do you have an ID? Since it’s your first time here, I need to verify that you’re on the list of authorized people to pick him up.”

He didn’t argue and handed over his papers. He was able to leave with Teddy, who jumped on him as soon as he saw him. The little boy greeted you by shouting your name, and Rafe Cameron only whispered it… as he masturbated that night.

It went on, but not as much as Rafe would have liked. Sarah was surprised when he offered to pick up Teddy more regularly, but she gladly accepted, happy that her brother was so involved.

Little bastard.

One of your colleagues — who had become a friend by now — often teased you about the increasingly frequent visits from that uncle. The way he stood up straight whenever you appeared in his line of sight, how he pronounced your name like it was sacred, or how he took more time than usual to pick up his nephew.

It made you laugh, sometimes blush, but you didn’t believe it.

Rafe Cameron was a man in his thirties, your complete opposite. He was always presentable, dressed in suits that probably cost three times your miserable salary, wore that sandalwood-scented cologne you had come to notice every time he passed by, and above all… you weren’t from the same social class. What you didn’t know was that he sometimes waited until the latest possible hour to pick up his nephew, just to have a few minutes to talk with you about anything and everything. Sometimes, he waited farther away in his tinted-window car, watching you move around the playground. You often played with the kids, had an easy smile, and were always the first to tend to the smallest scrape.

Once, he was disappointed not to be able to talk to you, as you were caught up in a conversation with a colleague about organizing the summer schedules. It wasn’t that he was obsessed with you, but he hated seeing that colleague brush your arm too often whenever you laughed with him. Fuck.

Out of ego, he didn’t come for a whole week, thinking you would notice his absence. And strangely enough, you did.

You had gotten into the habit of checking yourself in the bathroom mirror as his arrival time approached, touching up your lips with a soft pink, making sure your mascara hadn’t run.

You still had a paintbrush for a hairstyle and sometimes ink decorated your skin. The first two days without Rafe Cameron were a bit long, but you kept your good mood. Then the disappointment came—stupidly. Rafe hadn’t expected the second week to go the same way, his visit delayed by a business trip. He missed you — a little, a lot

When he came back, things got complicated. A little. That day, you had taken advantage of your break to go to the mall to find a gift for your sister’s upcoming birthday.

You also did a bit of shopping since summer was coming, and you wanted to find some nice things. Passing by a lingerie shop, you fell in love with a black lace set. No one would see it but you, but you could still treat yourself. In the evening, all the kids had cardboard bags to carry their clay creations, and you snagged one to hide your lingerie bag, since you had come by bike, placing it high up so no one would take it. That’s when things got complicated.

Rafe Cameron arrived in all his natural elegance, which he flaunted whenever you were around, hands in his pockets and a slight arrogance in his demeanor. It was subtle, but he saw your eyes darken the moment you spotted him. You held your breath, gave him a smile as if it didn’t affect you, and kept walking. It was stupid — he had a life, and the idea that you could attract him was absurd — yet you couldn’t help avoiding him. Just to make him pay for his absence.

Of course, Rafe didn’t like that one bit.

Weeks he had been trying to make his way into your life through little moments stolen from your work, and you were giving him the cold shoulder?

He had been patient, calm, always polite despite the irritation he sometimes felt. Subtle, he had made you understand that he liked you.

But maybe he’d been too subtle?

“Here,” another staff member took over to greet him, “Teddy made a clay sculpture.”

She handed the kraft paper bag to Rafe, who took it without checking the contents and left without a glance in your direction.

Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to what your colleague had done, and when it was time to leave, you couldn’t find your bag.

You had put it up high to be sure no one would take it, but now it was nowhere to be found.

“Damn it, it was right there!” you groaned in despair.

“Where did you put it?”

“On top of the medicine cabinet, on purpose so that... shit,” you cursed when you saw your colleague’s flushed face. “You took it.”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Teddy was looking for his bag and I thought it had been placed there by mistake.”

Fuck. Shit. Damn.

As if things weren’t shitty enough, it had to be Teddy who had that bag. While you tried to calm the stress rising inside you, Rafe Cameron was smoking his second cigarette. Sitting on his couch, he carefully examined what he’d pulled out of the kraft paper bag. Teddy was no longer there, and Rafe had “forgotten” to give him his sculpture when his parents came to pick him up. Talk about a sculpture. A black lace lingerie set sat in front of him.

He had taken it out of the bag only to drop it immediately, surprised to find that set. He knew it was yours — he had no proof — but he’d felt it in the tightening of his chest. Who had you bought that shit for? Who had taken advantage of his absence to make you wear that? He smoked his cigarette down to the butt, gently crushing it in the ashtray next to the bra. Slumping back into his couch, Rafe ran his arm over his eyes as if trying to wipe away the forbidden images flooding his mind.

It wasn’t the first time he had imagined fucking you, but now he could perfectly trace your silhouette, that lingerie boldly taunting him. He sensed your shyness hidden behind the smiles you gave to everyone, and he would take great pleasure in stripping it away. He would press on your thighs to make you spread them a little more, your face flushed with both embarrassment and pleasure. A first finger to check how wet you already were in those black panties, your juices making it easier for the second finger to slide in. The slow in-and-out movements—he wanted to take his time to dirty you and make you pay for how easily you had forgotten him. His left hand pressed harder on your thigh, pinning it to the mattress, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you while continuing to finger you. The position wasn’t ideal, his movements even slower, restricted by your two bodies pressed together, but he loved seeing that impatience written all over your eager face. “Just for me,” he whispered, feeling your abundant wetness. He let out a mocking chuckle when you jerked, your walls tightening around his fingers as the tension grew in your belly.

Electric shocks surged when he curled his fingers inside your burning pussy, reaching a spot no one had discovered in you before. “Fuck,” you whispered as he started again. Seeing his slick fingers slide out of you made him grow even harder, and he straightened up on his knees to speed up his movements. You were wild, your hair tousled around your flushed face, your lips shiny from licking them, and Rafe ran his thumb over them, forcing you to suck it. You took it eagerly, and he closed his eyes at the sight, trying to hold back from coming before penetrating you. “Suck harder.” You bit it gently, your tongue sliding softly over the pad of his finger. His other hand took care of your clit while he kept fingering you, and suddenly you squeezed your thighs tightly around him as the orgasm hit. Brutal, overwhelming. You hadn’t even caught your breath when he pulled you up to kiss you fiercely, his tongue desperately playing with yours in a messy waltz. His hand gripped your throat as he held your face, ravaging you all the more, his cock growing even harder between you. Rafe was completely naked against you while you were still wearing your black lace bra, driving him absolutely crazy. You were so beautiful that it hurt him to think you might have worn that for someone else. “Fuck,” he groaned when your hand wrapped around his cock to stroke him. Rafe guessed you hadn’t shared many beds before him, and he clasped your hand in his to show you the rhythm he wanted. He still held you with his other hand, unable to pull away from the mouth he had imagined so many times around his cock. He shuddered once, then chose to pull away from your embrace and pin you back onto the mattress. When he thrust into you abruptly, you both groaned. He was big, but you were so wet that it made it easier. He started rough thrusts, his hips slapping against yours, so soft. You were loud, and Rafe loved hearing your moans ringing in his ears with every stroke. He admired your generous breasts bouncing each time he slipped inside you and finally lowered your bra, admiring your breasts tangled in the fabric. The sight almost made him come, and he slowed down, staying inside you while grinding his pelvis against your clit. “Rafe,” you growled, irritated by the slowdown. “Yeah?” You lifted your hips to signal that you wanted him to pick up the pace, but he slowed down even more. “Is it too slow for you?” You ran your hand over your face, embarrassed, frowning. “Don’t hide from me.” Rafe froze, his cock deep inside you so you could still feel him, and forced you to look at him by gripping your chin.

“You’re such a mess.” And he admired the sight you offered—your breasts exposed, that pouty expression, and your hands clenched into fists trying to hold yourself together. He lay down fully on top of you, his weight pressing gently against your stomach, making your embrace more intimate than sexual. His hand tightened softly around your throat, the other exploring the curve of your hip with a slow, deliberate, almost reverent touch. “You’re shaking so much,” he whispered, feeling the tension in your body. He claimed your lips again, gently, distracting you before resuming his rough movements. His body slammed harder against yours and you curled up beneath the blows, gasping. Rafe was never the gentle type; for him, sex was a way to unload, and he liked it rough. The game had changed once he fell for you; he tried to be less crude, less rough. Tension started to build in his hips, his cock throbbing in time with how your pussy tightened around him. Your orgasm took you far away, stars flashing behind your eyelids, carrying you elsewhere as you came down. Rafe spilled inside you moments later, his cum mixing with your slick that flowed with each thrust. “Slowly,” you whispered when he tried to pull out. A kiss on your cheek to show he’d heard you, and he withdrew gently. You shuddered at the empty sensation, quickly filled again by Rafe’s fingers returning. Gently, he rested his face near your pelvis, using his fingers to bring his cum back inside you, marking you. “Fuck.” Ejaculating into his hand, Rafe Cameron curled up on his couch, breathless from the orgasm he’d just had. He’d always had a vivid imagination, now heightened by your presence in every one of his fantasies. His phone rang, an unknown number flashing on the screen. He rejected the call, ready to get up and clean himself, but the phone rang again from the same number. It was almost seven in the evening — who could be bothering him now?

“What?” he said sharply, answering with a steady hand. “Mr. Cameron? Sorry to bother you, it’s y/n.” Oh. Oh. Rafe sat back down, his eyes fixed once again on the lingerie. “Y/n,” he repeated. “Yes, uh... Teddy’s Recreation leader,” you said. He gave an amused smirk, as if he needed you to clarify who you were. “What can I do for you, Y/n?” “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but you were given the wrong bag when you picked up Teddy.” “The wrong bag?” He played the fool, lightly touching the lingerie with his free, albeit dirty, hand. “Yes, the one you have contains my things... you didn’t open it?” Oh god, you prayed with everything you had that he hadn’t. “No... Teddy must have left it in the car.” “Alright,” you sighed with relief. “Could you bring it back tomorrow?” “Of course, Y/n, my pleasure.” He had that special way of saying your name, and when you hung up, you couldn’t help but wonder why his voice sounded so husky. He, on the other hand, kept his secret well hidden — that of a troubling dream where you were the only protagonist. A dream he would try to make come true. Soon.

Tag list : @rafessbaby @drewssgirl @lanaslushworld

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megsbr · 1 day ago

Text

These Moments With You

pairing: 1940s!bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: It's the morning Bucky is leaving for the war and you are savoring every second together while reminiscing on how you got here

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, fluff, domestic bucky, kissing, established relationship, reader is steve’s sister (I think..), best friend’s sister, talk of marriage

word count: 6.6k

note from megs: hii! this is my first Bucky fic and I don’t know if y’all will like it but please let me know if you do! and feel free to send me messages, prompts, anons, etc. <3 (also I’m not entirely confident on how the draft works so just go with it) (gif not mine)

The softest rays of sunlight danced across skin as the morning came into view. Limbs tangled in one another like wires that were destined to be intertwined forever. The sound of birds chirping and the hustle of the morning commuters could be heard in the distance, but this room paid no mind to the outside world.

Bright blue eyes scanned over the soft skin on an exposed shoulder like it was the most marvelous work of art in a museum. Fingertips slid up and down a thigh with a softness that was almost invisible. The heat radiating off one another was enough to scare away any cold morning wind that might sneak its way in.

These were Bucky’s favorite moments with you. In the soft, quiet morning bliss with no plans and no one coming to interrupt this moment. Just the two of you. Like it always had been and always will be. He often woke up before you and he was grateful for the time to sit in your presence and just admire you. No matter how many times he woke up next to you, he would never get over the view.

He loved the way your nose scrunched up every now and then when you slept and how you always stayed as close as possible to him in your sleep. Not that it was much different when you were awake. Your hair was all over the place but he made sure to push a few strands out of your face so he could look at you uninterrupted. Bucky had always been obsessed with you. Others said he looked at you like it was the last time he might ever get the chance. No one ever seemed to call him a romantic until they saw the two of you together and then no one could deny the hold you had over him. He would move buildings for you. Move across the country for you. Go to wars for you, whether he had the choice or not.

_____ He was recently reminded of the day you two met. His family had just moved in down the street from yours and when his mom saw that a young boy sat in a nearby front yard she pushed Bucky to go introduce himself with a tray of cookies. Despite being in a completely new region of the country Bucky walked around as if he had lived here his whole life. He had never been a kid who got nervous or didn’t know what to say. He knew how to charm an older lady at the grocery store or volunteer to read in front of the whole class. Nothing was able to shake Bucky Barnes the way you were about to.

He walked across the road with too much confidence for a young boy as he introduced himself to the blond, scrawny boy playing with a military plane toy. “Hi, my name is Bucky. Thought we could be friends.” He was very point blank with what he wanted as a kid, never liked beating around the bush. The other boy was too shy to say no so he said nothing as Bucky grabbed the other plane on the ground and started asking questions about it. In talking with his friend, he had revealed that he was the oldest of four kids and was jealous that his new friend was an only child. Before the smaller boy could correct him they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps running out towards them.

Bucky heard a voice calling his new friend in for dinner at the request of their mom. As he looked up from the toy in his hand and he met your eyes the world came to a halt, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Even at that young of an age, Bucky suddenly understood what love felt like. You had the brightest smile he had ever seen, and he was already thinking of all the jokes he could rattle off to make sure it never left your face.

He was barely able to introduce himself to you, nerves taking over his small body in a way they never had before. All the cockiness he felt walking over here from being the older, taller and mysterious new kid was gone. “H-hi. Bucky. My name. My name is Bucky.” He stuttered over every word as if he had never said them before. You looked at him with curious eyes and a kind smile as you introduced yourself and quickly ran away after telling your brother to come inside.

As the years went on and Bucky grew up, he always kept his eyes on the young girl down the street. As he grew up and entered high school where he found more friends, joined sports and got the attention of plenty of girls he only ever thought of you. As he grew into his body and personality he was slowly able to stop acting like a fool when he passed by you in the hallway or came by your house to pick up your brother for some party they were going to.

His heart always skipped a beat when you were the one who opened the door, eyes bright and smile wide like you were just as excited to see him. You were his favorite part of the day every day because he felt the most comfortable and seen with you. There were more and more of those fleeting moments on the front porch or the side glances at each other from opposite sides of sidewalk as the three of you walked home from school as you both drowned out your brother’s tangent on some new film. Slowly but surely you spent more and more time talking at the front door before alerting your brother that his friend was there. You would walk a bit slower on the way home, hanging in the back together as your hands brushed each other’s.

Bucky was head over heels in love with you since the day he met you and he never spared anyone else a glance. A few girls had tried to dance with him a few times and despite how uninterested he was, he was still a gentleman, so he respectfully led them out to the floor, but he constantly looked over his shoulder to make sure you weren’t looking.

He finally mustered up the courage to ask you out that summer before senior year. When he knocked on the front door and you answered with a greeting so warm it felt like home he suddenly lost all his words. You were just so pretty and happy to see him that he got so in his head that he blurted out his proposal while you were mid-sentence.

His face turned bright red, and he was ready to walk away and never look back, but you said yes without missing a beat, face lighting up at the idea. You had such an ease about you that he never seemed to have himself when he was around you. He mumbled out that he’d pick you up at seven as he tripped down the front steps from staring at you. The giggle you let out at his expense gave him butterflies as you shut the door.

There must have been hearts in his eyes the whole back to his house. Unknown to him, you were just as lovestruck when you had gone back in the house, leaning your back against the door as you shut your eyes in bliss and sighed at the thought of the beautiful boy who you were in love with. You rushed upstairs to start finding the perfect outfit to wear and after looking through your whole closet it seemed like that didn’t exist.

You had been enamored with Bucky Barnes, the neighborhood flirt, your brother’s best friend, for years. After you met him for the first time you ran away as fast as you did because you couldn’t keep your giggles in from how cute you thought he was. That night you wrote his name in your diary and put yours next to it, liking how they looked together.

He was always nice to you; he listened to anything you wanted to talk about and never seemed to look down on you for being his friend’s little sister. And his eyes. You thought about his eyes every moment of the day from the moment you woke up to the moment you got to fall asleep and dream about them some more. When you locked eyes with him from across the room or in the hallway when he’d spend the night and you both wanted a glass of water, you felt like you could get lost in that blue for eternity.

You often went out of your way to end up in his path just in hopes he’d spare you a glance and maybe a slight smile. Taking a more inconvenient route to class because he was in those hallways or asking your mom to force your brother to bring you with him to hang out with Bucky. And when he mentioned an actress he liked one time, you started to style your hair the same way as her and almost passed out when he complimented you on it one day. You did whatever you could to get his attention and tried to establish yourself a girl worthy of his time and not as the neighbor girl who had never had a boy like her.

And the rebellious side of you loved that he was your brother’s best friend. There was a forbidden feeling to him that only made you want him more. He was known around town as more of a bad boy, for reason unknown to you because there was not a bad bone in his body. He acted like a bit of flirt here and there and maybe skipped school a few times but was otherwise the kindest and most loyal person you knew. You knew he did well in school but kept it a secret to come off a bit cool to everyone else and maintain his ‘image’. But he never acted like that around you, always opting to spew random facts and show his goofy, unpolished side that you adored.

And you loved the way he was so protective of your brother, saving him from the bullies and real troublemakers of town, and it made you fall more in love with him every day. And the time he carried all your books to and from school when you had broken your arm had you seeing stars from how fast your heart raced. And when he saved you from the deep end of the pool once when you drifted too far as a young girl. And now he asked you on a date.

He showed up exactly at seven with three bouquets of flowers because he couldn’t pick just one that was pretty enough for you. His hands shaking so much as he shoved them in his pockets to hide his nerves. He thought you were breathtaking as you stepped outside in what he now believed to be the best shade of pink just because you wore it.

You two walked to a local diner, one of the only places Bucky could afford with his weekly allowance, but you assured it was fine. He made sure to walk on the outside of the sidewalk and kept cracking jokes to keep it lighthearted and dissolve any awkward silences. But it was never awkward between the two of you. Not when you sat in silence as your eyes scanned the menu trying to decide what to order or when Bucky nervously drank his coke too fast and got bubbles in his nose which cause him to start coughing uncontrollably.

Bucky eventually took ahold of your hand from across the table and kept it there the rest of the night, which caused your stomach to flip as you tried not to show too much excitement. from the public display of affection. He had offered up the idea of sharing a milkshake, claiming “he had to give you the best first date ever” and “this what they do in the movies, so we have to do it as well”. When the drink came and you both leaned in towards your respective straws it seemed like you both underestimated how close you’d be. Neither of you touched the straws yet opting to just stop and stare into each other’s eyes.

The diner was empty by this point of the night but there could have been a hundred people in there and you’d pay them no notice. It seemed like the rest of the world had disappeared and you only knew each other. You could feel his breath on your face and took notice of his eyes as they flickered down to your lips once. And then twice.

Just as you were about to say something his hand came up to cup your cheek as he closed the distance between you. The kiss was soft and innocent and filled with years of longing and dreaming. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took in everything about him, from the softness of his lips to the smell of his aftershave, and your hand came up to the collar of his button down shirt to pull him in even closer to you. You felt like you were floating as he somehow deepened the kiss. Just as you felt like you were going lightheaded, whether it be from the fact you were kissing Bucky Barnes or the lack of oxygen or both, you were interrupted by the waitress clearing her throat.

You pulled away first to turn your attention to the woman, but Bucky stayed put for a few seconds longer, eyes still shut and lips slightly parted, seemingly stunned at what just happened before he finally came back down to Earth. The waitress informed you they were closing, and you needed to leave, showing no interest in the young love before her. You guys scrambled out of the torn up booth as Bucky threw some bills on the table before you tugged his arm behind you, you both giggling as you ran out of the door.

You both spent the whole walk home laughing at the angry look the waitress had on her face. Bucky repeatedly mocked her voice when she told you both to leave and you laughed harder each time, tears welling up in your eyes. His arm was around your shoulders, and you were leaning into his chest, head dropping on his shoulder every few minutes as you let out the loudest laughs that were starting to hurt your abdomen.

As you got closer and closer to your house you finally realized how late it was and how much trouble you were going to be in for staying out past curfew. “Bucky, we have to hurry home now. My parents are going to kill me.” You managed to get out in between laughs, Bucky unable to take you seriously as you sounded like you were struggling to breathe.

“Don’t worry darlin’, your parents love me. I’ll smooth it over.” And you knew he would. He was the smoothest guy you knew. So smooth that you were sure your face was bright red from the nickname he just used. As you walked up the steps to your house, stopped in front of the door and stood underneath the soft yellow hue of the porch light you felt your heart twisting in your chest at the idea of the night ending.

And Bucky felt the same way as he held both of your hands in his much bigger ones. He enjoyed every minute of getting to be alone with you and getting to have all your attention. You were worth every dollar he saved up for dinner and any punishment he might get for staying out past curfew from his own parents. He knew in this moment that he would do anything for you and never wanted to let you go.

As you were saying something along the lines of thanking him for the evening he moved towards you to connect his lips to yours for the second time that night. This kiss grew much needier and passionate than the one back at the diner. He was hungry for you but not in an animalistic way but in a lustful and desperate way. He needed every part of you and wanted to give every part of himself right back to you.

After the shock from his sudden advancement, you leaned into the kiss and let Bucky take the lead as he grabbed either side of your face and moved you against the side of the house, pinning you there. Your hands found their way around his neck and that allowed you to pull his body closer to yours as if you were preparing for someone to come take him away. This moment felt too good to be true and you’d never forgive yourself if you let some cruel force of nature ruin this moment.

You were practically melting in Bucky’s hands as he lightly bit on your lower lip and let out an almost indiscernible groan as you parted your mouth and allowed his tongue to move in. His much larger build was towering over you, and it felt like he was completely engulfing you, but you loved it. It felt like you were out there forever, just basking in each other’s love and hiding in the darkness of the night, away from the world.

When Bucky finally pulled away and took in a large breath you already missed the feeling of him on you. You could compare kissing Bucky to needing oxygen and you were afraid that when it came to it, you could do without the latter. You both took a second to steady your breathing before deciding it was finally time to face the wrath of your parents.

Bucky took a few steps back, admiring your movements as you pulled out your key and put it in the lock. “I think I am falling in love you.” He breathed out just as you were turning back around to face him. A dazzling smile made its way to your face as you jumped into him, arms finding their spot back around his neck. He instantly wrapped his around your figure and laid his head on yours. You turned into the crook of his neck, placing a light kiss on the edge of his jaw, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. “I think I am falling in love with you too.” You whispered it like a secret into the night, not wanting to risk anyone else hearing this proclamation beside the young man before you.

There were many more dates after that. Countless nights of Bucky climbing the side of your house and sneaking into your room. Morning kisses before departing ways for class. You went to prom together and got voted cutest couple in the school yearbook. He stayed by your side through both of your parent’s deaths and did everything to keep your spirits up and help you through your grief.

It was you and Bucky. Always had been and always will be. You were each other’s future.

_____

Bucky was taken out of his trance when you started to stir awake. His full attention back on you as you opened your eyes and found his immediately. He gave you a soft smile as he took in your beauty once again and planted a kiss on your nose.

You sighed in content as you smiled back at him before the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. This was the last morning you’d be waking up together for a long time. Or for the last time. Your face dropped and your demeanor turned sour as you turned yourself away from Bucky, not wanting him to see you cry.

As soon as his arms wrapped around you from behind the tears started falling and sobs raked through your body at an alarming rate. “Baby please, it’s okay. I promise it will all be okay.” Bucky tried to calm you down but nothing he said worked so he opted for just pulling you into his chest and resting his head slightly on top of you, keeping his cheek pressed to yours, occasionally planting kisses on your shoulder and wiping away tears that kept falling.

“This isn’t okay Bucky. Nothing about this is fair or okay. I am losing you.” This caused Bucky to sit up against the headboard, pick you up and settle you in his lap. You instantly curl up into him and lay on his chest, your tears immediately soaking his t-shirt.

“Sweetheart, you are not losing me. I am not leaving you in the slightest. I just have to go away for a while.” His attempt at consoling you still unsuccessful and just causing you to cry harder at the idea of having to see him walk away from you. You could already feel your heart being ripped out of your chest at the thought of being so far away from him.

Bucky was your reason for everything. Your reason for waking up. Your reason for going outside. Your reason for getting pretty and put together. You did it all for him and because of him. To say Bucky was your soulmate was the understatement of the century. “I’m going to miss you so much.” You say as if you haven’t already a million times since he got his deployment orders.

You both remember that day well. The day you found out he’d be leaving. That he’d be leaving you.

_____

You were shivering as you stood in front of the movie theater looking up and down the block for the boy who planned this date. It was a cold December night and Bucky had offered to meet you for a date to see a new film that night at six o’clock. At least you swore it was tonight. You wrote it down in your calendar as soon as you planned it and you triple checked the day, so you knew you were right.

The wind whipped around you as you hugged your coat tighter around your frame. It was getting dark, and you were alone with no way of knowing where your boyfriend was.

“Excuse me, do you have the time?” You leaned forward to ask an older couple walking slowly past you. They were walking hand and hand and almost didn’t hear what you asked because they were so enthralled by their conversation. “It’s half past six dear.” The older gentleman gave you a slight nod and a soft smile after looking at his watch. You glanced back at them as they strolled down the block together, your heart swelling up at the love in their faces. It gave you hope that you and Bucky would be like that one day.

If you didn’t kill him first for flaking on your date.

Bucky had never, in the two years of dating, ever missed a date or arrived a minute late. Especially if he was meeting you somewhere, never wanting to risk you being alone in town for too long. If anything were to ever happen to you he would never forgive himself. He also knew how lucky he was to be with you and get to call you his so why would he ever miss even a second of getting to be with you? He’d be foolish to ever do something like that to you.

You started the walk back towards your street, stomping right past your house and going straight to Bucky’s. You marched up the steps, your feet feeling as heavy and stiff as bricks because of how cold you were. You knew his family was out of town, so you didn’t bother knocking and just walked right into the house.

The warmth that engulfed you immediately relaxed your muscles and gave you a moment of peace before you were reminded of why you were here in the first place. Your first instinct was to be mad at Bucky, ready to confront him and yell at him for letting you stand out in the harsh Brooklyn winter for over half an hour alone because he overslept or just flat out forgot about you. But another voice in the back of your head kept running through all the worst case scenarios of things that could have happened to him.

You tried not to think about those because you could not stand to entertain the idea that he could be hurt or missing or worse. But maybe that voice knew something you didn’t because the news you were about to receive may have been worse than the idea he was in the hospital with a broken leg.

After walking around the house for a minute you finally found the brunette. He was in the living room and sitting on the edge of the couch, slightly hunched over with his elbows on his knees. His head was resting in one of his hands, his fingers taking over the bottom half of his face as if he was trying to hide. The other was holding what looked like a letter, the opened envelope you assumed it came from was discarded on the floor by his feet.

He was dressed in a typical date night outfit, his coat and shoes on like he was just about to walk out the door before something stopped him. You slowly approached him, the floorboards creaking under your feet that would normally alert him to someone’s presence, but his eyes stayed stuck on the mysterious letter.

“Bucky? Are you okay?” Your voice cut through the silence of the room like a knife. Bucky turned towards you as he dropped the piece of paper and straightened his back out. You were met with bright red eyes filled with tears and rosy cheeks that he only ever got when he was stressed out. You were at his side in an instant and he fell into your arms as he started to let out soft sobs. Wrapping one arm around his large frame, your other reached out for the paper on the ground and brought it up to you.

“Selective Service of the United States of America To the attention of Sargeant James Buchanan Barnes

This letter contains your deployment date and information regarding mandatory military service due to the draft ordered by the President of the United States of America.”

It felt like your world came crashing down as you read through the letter, your own tears falling to mix with tears already on the page from Bucky just a few minutes ago. You knew plenty of your friends whose boyfriends have been shipped off already and you saw the misery they lived every day. You had already seen the military officials walk up to plenty of houses with only bad news. Every morning you read the newspaper with names of people lost. The idea of seeing Bucky’s name felt like it would end you.

“Baby, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry that I have to do this to you.” Bucky cried as if he was sadder for you that he had to leave rather than scared of going to war himself. He was about to walk out the door for your date, stopping to fix his hair in the reflection of the window when he saw two men in uniform walk up the steps.

The first thought he had wasn’t that he was scared to go to a foreign place or that he was going to have people shooting at him. It was that you’d be alone. He wouldn’t be here to protect you. Bucky thought about you sitting here waiting for him and putting your life on pause for him. Stunting yourself in honor of him. But an even worse, crueler thought that flashed through his mind was you moving on. Getting tired of being alone and forgetting all about him. He imagined you falling in love with someone else and living the life he wanted with you himself so badly.

The two of you sat together, crying in each other’s arms for hours as you promised a million things to each other. “I promise I will wait for you.” “I promise to come back to you.” “I promise to love you forever no matter what.” Your date was long forgotten as you moved to go to bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms, holding each other just as tight as you had on your first date when neither of you wanted to let go. Neither of you really fell asleep, but nightmares still flooded both of your thoughts as you watched the night turn into morning. _____

Bucky was now rocking you back and forth a bit as his eyes were locked on his uniform hanging in the closet. He has already gone over a thousand different scenarios where you and him run away together to start a new life on the run from his impending imprisonment. But every time he tried to entertain the idea you shut him down and changed the subject, not wanting to give into any sliver of false hope.

It stayed quiet between the two of you for the rest of the morning as you got ready together. You have done this so many times that you move so easily around each other, already knowing who will step where and when. Bucky handed you your hairbrush and you handed him his comb. Your fingers brushed during the exchange, and it gave you both the same tingly feeling you got when you held hands during a fire drill at school as kids. Small smiles and shoulder bumps were shared as you brushed your teeth next to each like you have for every morning since moving into together after high school.

You let out shaky breaths as Bucky zipped his camo green duffel bag closed and slung it over his shoulder. He was stood up straight and had a questioning look on his face as you stared him down. He gestured his eyes down and put his arm not holding his duffel straight out and did a slow spin. “So, how do I look? Is everything in order?” He had the smallest smirk creeping up on his lips as he fished for a compliment, knowing that despite the situation, you loved how he looked in his full military get-up.

“You look like my perfect military man.” You stepped towards him to plant a quick, soft kiss on his lips and gave him a forced smile before turning on your heels and leaving the room. Bucky’s face dropped a bit, the reminder of how hard this was for you hitting him in the gut. He knew you were trying your best to remain positive in front of him, but he felt helpless. Bucky prided himself on always being able to lift your spirits. When you had the flu, he kept you company with all your favorite snacks and watched all your television shows with you. And when you and your brother got into a fight about something stupid he let you vent everything out on your date that night and kept letting you order more milkshakes. He even held your hair back as you threw them all up in the toilet that night.

But as the two of you silently walked up to the line of buses waiting to whisk him away there was nothing he could have done to stop the wheels in your head that were turning at alarming rates. He watched as your eyes darted around to all the women crying in the hands of their own military men that they were about to bid a farewell to just like you. He watched young children hug their father’s goodbye before they stepped away. Moms and dads waving goodbye to their sons who barely looked 18. It was a horrible sight but nothing broke Bucky’s heart more than you looking up at him, tears rolling down your cheeks and nose red from how many times you have rubbed a handkerchief over it.

“Last names starting with A through C report to buses 1 and 2 in five minutes!” A voice yelled out over an intercom just as you and Bucky approached the parking lot. He handed his duffel over to man covered in medals and watched as it got thrown into a pile of identical ones. The internal countdown started in your mind as the last few moments with Bucky passed you by.

Bucky grabbed your hand and pulled you to the outside of the crowd, away from the loud roaring of the buses’ engines and the depressing sobs from every direction. Your eyes were drifting through the scene in front you again before Bucky grabbed your face on either side and pulled you back to him. “There’s my beautiful girl.” He whispered as he connected his eyes with yours and dropped his hands from your face to grab your hands from your sides.

“I wanted to ask you something before I leave. If you’ll let me.” His voice stayed low as he dug his hand in his pocket, his eyes still on yours the whole time. You watched as he took a step back from you and started to take a knee in front of you. Your hand came up to cover your mouth as you let out a gasp at the sight in front of you. As Bucky steadied himself, he was now holding a small black box in front you.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, “I know this is a little last minute, but I wanted this moment to have a happy component for us. I can’t let the last time you see me for a while be one of the worst moments of your life.” He let out a soft chuckle as he repeated the words you said a few days ago back to you. You had a few too many drinks and had gotten a little too honest with how much you had thought of your last moments together. You had already called this moment the worst moment of your life before it had even happened. But Bucky already seemed to have other plans to make sure that didn’t happen.

“I have loved you for so long I can’t remember what life was before. But a life without you is only allowed to exist in my nightmares because now that I have you I never want to let you go.” Bucky had opened the little black box to reveal a thin gold band with an oval diamond in middle and two smaller ones around it. It sparked in a way that was almost as beautiful as he thought you were.

“Every time I look at you, all I can think about is our future. And I know you think about our future a lot as well, but you focus so much on what can go wrong. I am just one ordinary man who got lucky enough to be with you so I can’t do much to change the future and change what might happen to us. But no matter what my future holds I know I want you in it.” There were tears streaming down both of your faces at this point, the sound of the minute warning for the buses drowned out in the background. “I don’t think I will ever know how a heart as beautiful and kind and smart as yours could ever find the room to love a messed up man like me, but I will spend the rest of this life trying to become worthy of even a fraction of your love.”

“But what I do know is that I am meant to be wherever you are. So, here I am, James Buchanan Barnes, asking you to marry me and promising you that I will come home to you and give you the life you deserve.”

It felt like your life together flashed before your eyes as you looked down at this man, who was looking up at you as if you were his everything. You felt the butterflies you got when he introduced himself to you for the first time and you got the shiver down your spine from when he touched your lower back trying to get past you at a party once. Every kiss and touch ghosted your whole body as you felt like you were starting to float.

And it also felt like your whole future came rushing at you too. Not the doomed one you often shared on late nights with Bucky when you couldn’t control your racing thoughts. Right now you could only see the moment you get reunited with him as you celebrate the end of the war in the streets. You saw a beautiful house in the suburbs where your kids ran around the backyard with the family dog and Bucky was grilling burgers for dinner as you prepped the salad and set the table. You imagined growing old together and reminiscing on this exact moment as you babysat grandkids.

Bucky eyes grew in size as he nervously glanced over to the men marching towards him, screaming his name and telling him to get a move on. He quickly stood to his feet and took the ring out of the box. He grabbed your left hand and hovered the ring on your finger.

“Don’t want to rush you baby but I kind of need an answer.” That smirk made its way to his face as you looked down at the ring shaking against your hand from Bucky’s own nerves. You already loved the way it looked against your skin and you heart raced knowing that everyone would now know that you were his and he was yours.

“Of course Bucky. I would marry you in every lifetime no matter what.” You rambled your words as fast you could before bringing your right hand to the back of Bucky’s neck and pulling him into you. As your lips connected he slid the ring on to your finger, making sure it sat snug before moving his hands to rest on your waist. Your left hand found your right as you pushed every emotion you could into the kiss. Your hands messed with the ends of hair that had fallen out of his hat and his hands gripped your waist in a way that made you feel like a woman.

In an instant he was ripped away from you and his hands left your waist as he was pulled towards the buses. Despite being taken away, Bucky had the goofiest smirk and lovestruck eyes as he watched you chase after him. His eyes glanced down at the ring sparkling on your finger and his heart swelled up. He knew that no matter what happened next you agreed to marry him and that was the most a man like him could ask for.

Bucky found a seat on the bus and joined the other men in pushing towards a window where he leaned out to reach out to you where you stood below him. He grabbed your hand one last time, his thumb rubbing over the ring he just gave you. He pulled it up to his mouth and left a light kiss on top of the ring just as the bus starting to pull away. You stood on that sidewalk and watched him fade away into the early morning sun, holding your left hand close to your heart.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #1940s bucky #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #mcu!bucky #mcu!bucky fic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #mcu fanfic #thunderbolts

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dotpointping · 17 hours ago

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I was indifferent to Phainon at first but now when I look at him I have to resist the urge to write the most gut wrenching tragic love story for this man. Seriously, it's too easy to torture the men of Amphoreus.

Spoilers for 3.4 down below.

This is based entirely on my understanding of the leaks. That being said, I didn’t understand them very well because I only brushed over them lol.

You were probably just a randomly coded npc made to fill the population of his hometown and just another kid he used to play with. But as the cycles went on, you grew more and more attached to him and subsequently he grew attached to you as well. Or maybe, you didn’t even originally exist in Amphoreus until Lygus determined Phainon was seriously too emotionally unstable and kept fucking up some of the earlier cycles due to his wrath and genuine disillusion with who he should be and what he’s fighting for.

Either way, you were crafted to be Phainon’s.

Phainon adores you. You have always been by his side and you have always supported him. You are who he fights for, you are who he returns to after war, you are the one who greets him warmly and kisses the crown of his head. You are the one to tell him that he is doing a wonderful job, that no matter what happens, you will stand by his side and support him. While he may bring about dawn to the world, you are the only one to embrace him when his dawn gives in to night. With you, he is not a hero, but a man. He is the son of a simple farmer and the son of Aedes Elysiae. With you, he does not bear the weight of the world, does not need to placate the people with smile and charm, and can cry as often as he needs. You are always there to hold him gently, caress his face, and kiss his tears away.

You are the only one to call his name. Not the name he adorns as the Chrysos Heir, but the name his mother and father bestowed him years ago. The one he shed to ascend his role as hero. You say his name so sweetly, as though you were caressing every letter and breathing life into every drawn syllable, until it became unrecognizable from your lips. You beckon him with your gaze, and he can never say no when you bat your lashes at him so sweetly.

“Rest, my sun,” You would say to him, kissing the curve of his nose, brow, and cheeks. But, never his lips. No, you always made sure to save his lips for last. Instead, you straddle his hips, and cradle his face gently in your hands. You whisper his name again and again, as though it was the only prayer you had ever been taught, as though he had already ascended Godhood and you were his patron worshiper, left behind on the altar as an offering. Perhaps you were— an offering, that is. He is unworthy of your love, unworthy of your warmth and affection, and unworthy of your loyalty.

And I imagine the first time Era Nova is brought about, Phainon didn’t know everyone had to die. You are no exception— you may mean the world to him, but to this simulation you are no more pieces of code meant to ensure he will bring about the new world. He screamed and begged, cursed the Gods until his voice died and it was nothing more than a pathetic rasp. He had grown so used to fighting monsters and spilling his own golden blood, that he forgot the color of human death. What remains of you soaks his hair and smears across his skin, seeping deep into his pristine white armor. You are the final nail in the coffin that ensures he will destroy the current world, because if not for freeing the souls of his friends, then at the very least, finding a way to be with you.

In those thirty million cycles, he tries to flee his destiny. He takes you far away to the edge of Amphoreus borders, where you live peacefully together, untouched by the Black Tide and Fate. In this life, the floor creaks beneath your bare feet, the sheep bleat in the morning fog, and the cattle graze lazily while he clings to you as you hang the linen. The dogs will bark at every passing bird and the cats will curl like soft shadows in every sunlit corner. There is never silence in your small home, only laughter-- yours and the children's. He will give you as many as you ask for. They will cling to his legs, cry in the night, and tug on his cloak as he sharpens the scythe. You will hum as you work the soil, dirt underneath your nails and sweat on your brow, singing to the clouds until even the sirens fall quiet, greedy for a voice they'll never have. But of course, he should know that Heroes do not get happily ever afters. In these timelines, you always die young. Either you are killed by the Flame Reaver, the Black Tide, or even just Lygus trying to start the story, Phainon is unable to pursue this blissful existence with you. These deaths are the most horrific— where your body is mangled beyond recognition and carelessly tossed aside. Sometimes, he fails to find you at all. Even your children are not spared this gruesome fate, wretched from his hands and into the mouths of beasts.

The world mocks him for daring to dream of happiness.

No matter what he does, you will always part from him. Just as you cradle him to sleep every night, he must bid you farewell in a warm casket of your blood. Once you arrive in his arms, he knows that the dawning of the new world has come. What point is there in this world, when you no longer exist? Thirty million, sixty million, one-hundred million. He will traverse as many cycles as need be. In all timelines, you are his. You saved him from his never ending misery, you are the brightest light of his life, you are an angel sent from the heavens, you are the breath he takes at dawn to keep himself alive. You are his and he is yours.

He will stop at nothing until you are safe in his arms. One day, he will witness the hair on your head turn grey and your face adorned in wrinkles from all your laughter and joy. One day, he will take your hand into his own and he will never have to fear your warmth being taken from him. One day, he will awake in your shared bed as nothing more than your husband.

But until then, he will continue to rebuild the world anew. He will take your corpse with him as he ascends to the skies, the smell of burning flesh accompanying him every step of the way. Even now, he cannot weep for you, for the tears die the moment they touch his body. He is the bearer of the world, the dawn that shines upon kingdoms and the light that they worship, but he is left behind, left to wander the darkness, searching for the dawn that once called his name.

In all broken cycles, he will hold you close. From the foundations of your remains, he shall craft anew the world.

#phainon #phainon x reader #hsr phainon #sorry chat Mydei fic is never gonna see the sun #rambles from an author with writers block and currently sitting at draft 15 #God Phainon has me feeling some kind of way #and it's not good #phainon x y/n #phainon x you

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yasministration · 3 hours ago

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be my baby - harry potter

concussions and interruptions au summary: another night at the potter household reveals that you love one of harry's least favourite songs, and his dad's all time favourite. wc: 1k+ cw: kissing, so much fluff, highly recommend pressing on the link in bold when you get to that point!

The night surrounding you is calm, despite the bustling energy in the Potters’s backyard. There’s an old tune playing in the background that Harry’s dad and his friends sing to, freely being dorks, his mother sat on the patio sofa with her own friends around her. It’s nice getting to know Harry’s extended family, you think. You had no idea he and Neville grew up so close to each other, but the shy boy’s parents fit so well in the Potters’s little bubble.

Neville is busy tonight, Alice had told Harry with a glint in her eyes. A date, but I’m sure you already knew.

Harry had shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant for Neville’s sake, but you had nodded excitedly, having heard all about it from Luna herself. “They’re gonna get married, Mrs. Longbottom, I already know.” And somehow the Longbottoms immediately loved you.

When you and Harry disappeared from their sight, Harry tugging you away from the adults, they had both raised their eyebrows at Lily and James, commenting their own approval of their son’s girlfriend. Now, Frank is busy James, Sirius and Marlene, singing along to the music while throwing a quaffle around as they zoom around on their brooms in the backyard. Lily, Alice, Remus and Mary enjoy a conversation filled with laughs, eyes trained on their partners in the air.

However, Lily occasionally glances down to ensure you and Harry are okay. You’ve hidden away from them, sitting near the lake. Harry’s back is leaning against the thick trunk of a tree, one leg folded up whilst the other rests on the grassy floor. You sit between his legs, back to his chest, and Harry plays with your hair, the laughter around you being the only sound between you.

Harry’s free hand rests against his leg, fingers intertwined with yours. He sighs happily, wondering only for a moment what’s going through your head. But then suddenly, as the music changes and the familiar melody of his dad’s favourite jazz song comes up, you jerk away from him, your head snapping back towards the house.

Harry grimaces “Sorry. My dad’s music-” “I love this song!” Harry blinks rapidly, not expecting the wide grin that overtakes your features, your loud exclamation taking him aback. You scramble upwards, hauling him up with you by the hand still tangled with his. Neither of you notice the way James Potter lands on the ground, abandoning his broom to tug his wife into his arms, dramatically singing the lyrics out loud to her, as though he was falling in love all over again.

So won’t you please? Be my, be my baby?

You giggle as Harry’s arms loop around your waist, a boyish smile on his face. You cup his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his once before pulling away, stroking his cheeks as you sing along to the words. “I’ll make you happy baby, just wait and see!”

Harry swallowed thickly, eyes dipping to your lips. He always used to groan when the song came up, looking away from his parents as his dad twirled Lily into his arms, singing lovingly at her. But as you serenaded him, Harry decided he loved this song. Maybe it wasn’t so bad when the lyrics were aimed at him.

“For every kiss you give me, I’ll give you-” You were cut off by the press of Harry’s lips against yours, the kiss broken by your joyful giggles. Harry grins, forehead resting against yours as the song continues blaring in the background. He is acutely aware of his dad’s voice in the background, and he doesn’t doubt that James is holding Lily in his arms. But Harry cannot physically care less when you are pushing him back against the trunk, your hands laid flat on his chest as you capture his lips with yours again.

His fingers curl around the curve of your hips, tugging your body closer to his. Harry is sure you can feel his racing heartbeat beneath the palm of your hand as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

From across the backyard, Lily Potter’s back is pulled towards her husband’s chest, and the pair sways slowly with wide smiles on their faces. “I’m glad someone else appreciates my taste in music.” James whispers against his wife’s temple. Lily laughs, mumbling “Did you see what she did?”

“What, you mean only make our son actually enjoy the song he has complained about for eighteen years? Yes, I saw, honey.”

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, love, I think she is.”

You break the kiss, Harry’s lips parting from yours with a loud squelch, and you can see the redness tinting his cheeks in the soft moonlight. You shriek as Harry’s fingers run up your sides with a gentle squeeze to tickle you, laughing softly as you squirm in his hold. Your boyfriend chuckles, pulling you into his body. You sigh happily, resting your head on his chest as you loosely hold him, hands on his back to hug him back.

“So, would you be my baby? Forever?” Harry finally asks in a whisper, voice suddenly shy. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you feel your lips tug up into a smile. You are so inexplicably happy. “Yeah. I’ll be your baby forever. Only if you’ll be mine too.” Harry’s chest bubbles with a joyful laugh and he digs his face in the crook of your neck, hiding his flushed cheeks from you.

A gust of wind has a shiver running down your spine, and Harry pulls away from the hug to wordlessly tug his jumper off. You don’t have time to deny his jumper before he’s forcing it over your head and guiding your arms into the sleeves. So instead, you just smile, letting him steer you into the position you were previously in, back against his chest as you curl up on the floor.

Your voice cuts into the comfortable silence once more, smiling to yourself as you asked “Does that mean we’re gonna get married then?”

“Uh, yeah. Thought we already confirmed that.”

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn, @hawaii2320, @c0ldstvff, @bigbodycity, @starmaniii, @urmom101, @simpfortoomanymen, @ennaholic, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @eunicefrogsandfoes, @dreamamubarak, @quinquinquincy, @vxyselectric, @liliemb04, @crowleythesexydemon, @lovelyygirl8, @matcha-kitty13, @dlljdhsh, @yegrnn, @marauder-era6779, @xadenswhore, @5sospenguinqueen, @esposadomd, @paytonluvxx, @wrenisrad, @lovelyteenagebeard, @mxvoid26, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @isnt-itstrange @fandomhoe101

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totallynotslothhh · 1 day ago

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HARD PERCEPTIONS

Pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

Word count: 4,054

Warning: smoking weed, friends to lovers, smut, fingering, lot of fluff, dirty talking, unprotected sex, cum inside

Description: Is it really possible to be so clueless that you don’t realize your best friend likes you? Apparently, yes.

Author’s note: I just got a sudden wave of motivation because I listened to a song, so of course my hopeless romantic side had to come out somehow. So here’s a little one-shot with lots and lots of plot and sweetness. Thank you for all the support I’ve been getting on my other works, I love you all 😭 and AS SOON AS THIS DAMN PIERCING HEALS I promise I’ll write that one-shot for you freaky gooners. Enjoy the read!

big kisses!

(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)

——————————————————————

The cool breeze brushing against my skin made me shiver from the temperature difference on my sunburnt skin. I had been under the sun all day, and now, under the orange streaks of sunset and the distant shadow of the moon, my skin welcomed the pleasant chills. I’d spent nearly the whole day at the beach with my best friend, Joost.

Of course, like two idiots, out of 12 hours in the sun, we remembered to put on sunscreen only twice. It wasn’t a disaster, but his skin, more sensitive than mine, was clearly more affected. It was kind of funny how he would randomly curse under his breath every time his red arm brushed against something.

Now we were lying in a field; not just any field, but the field we’d escaped to since high school to smoke weed, talk about music, reptilian governors, alien invasions, dreams, wishes.

It was the place we ran to when the pressure of simply being alive became too much.

The one thing I truly felt lucky about was ending up in his class when I was thirteen.

How was it possible that two souls so alike had never met before? We shared the same perceptions, the same passions, the same thoughts -borderline clinical, really. Sometimes I felt like he was the only one who could understand me. Really understand me.

“You brought it, right?” The laid back, half-doubtful tone of the bleached blond’s voice hit my ears and made me lazily open my eyes.

We were lying on a beach towel big enough to fit at least two more people. Our shoes were carelessly abandoned in a corner, and his shoulder bag was resting beside my backpack. We were pretty close: he was lying with his hands behind his head, legs crossed, radiating a kind of bliss. He still wore his swim trunks under a pair of black shorts and a plain, light white polo shirt. His hair was a mess; he had recently bleached it again and reshaved the back.

I’d be lying if I said he didn’t look good.

“I’ll check” I replied softly, suppressing a sigh as I sat up. I crossed my legs and leaned toward my backpack, rummaging inside while glancing over at Joost, whose eyes were fixed on my face; probably trying to see if I had brought the weed.

As if I’d ever forget it at home. Obviously not.

“Should I roll it now?” I asked, my hand paused inside the bag after grabbing the little green nug sealed in a plastic baggie.

“If you want” he replied, his tone somewhere between wanting to smoke and not caring when it happened. He knew we were going to smoke regardless. So, I made the call.

I pulled out the baggie, the grinder, and a crumpled pack of Camel Blues hidden in the dark corner of my backpack. A soft chuckle escaped him, which automatically made me smile.

What an idiot. He wanted to smoke just as much as I did; he was just playing coy.

I placed everything on the towel in front of me and brought the cigarette to my lips, dragging my wet tongue along the paper to weaken it and make it easier to break. As soon as the bitter taste hit my tongue, I looked up: he was already watching me. He’d been watching me for a while.

His gaze wasn’t heavy, nor was it suggestive, it never had been. It was just impossible to decipher, and yet comforting. The storm within those blue irises, his small eyes, those pale lashes… it was all impossible to make sense of, to label. And that’s what made it beautiful.

I saw him sit up, his weight supported by his arms behind him. I turned my attention back to the little blue and purple silicone grinder in my hands. I dropped some tobacco in it, set aside the filter from the cigarette, then grabbed the bud; just enough to make sure we’d feel the effects.

“You staying over tonight?” Lately, that had become a pretty common question. He’d just broken up with his latest girlfriend and had taken it hard at first.

The sleepless nights talking, either on the phone or over tiny cups of coffee and an overflowing ashtray, were too many to count. I’d seen him wrecked, his dark circles doubled, his mood like that of a stray dog. And even though he said he’d been the one to end it, it still hit him hard.

“Mhm, yeah. Sure” I answered immediately, while my fingers worked to mix the heavenly substance with the tobacco. I’d be lying again if I said I didn’t like it, that it didn’t affect me, that my body felt nothing whenever he hugged me, touched me, looked at me. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a fluttering low in my belly, or that the smile on my face didn’t come naturally every time we joked around.

For years I’d convinced myself I didn’t like him, but the truth was that I probably had a crush on him.

A massive one. While he was still dating someone else.

I never even had the courage to admit it to myself, let alone to him.

“Why? Didn’t you sleep last night?” I asked, lifting my eyes to him and catching his face turned upwards, eyes closed, the first button of his polo undone. He looked almost ethereal: the curve of his nose, his neck, his lips, the closed eye, those blond lashes resting gently on his cheek, and his fringe shifting with the light breeze.

I quickly looked back at the grinder, trying to avoid the increasingly intense blush spreading across my face.

“Yeah… but not really. I sleep better when I’m with you.” His warm hand landed on my knee unexpectedly as he leaned in to see what I was doing. It was a routine he’d seen a thousand times, yet it always seemed to fascinate him. I looked up at him, and a strange heat bloomed in my chest.

“Instead of talking nonsense, can you just pass me the Rizlas and filters?” I chuckled, which caught his attention and sparked a kind of playful challenge in him. Before pulling away to get what I’d asked for, he gently pinched my cheek with two fingers. I pulled back with a fake sigh.

“Why? Are you embarrassed?” he teased, clearly joking even as he dug around my now half empty backpack with indie vibe. He grabbed the Rizlas and a filter, then looked back at me, his expression somewhere between amused and teasing, before handing them over.

“I’m not embarrassed” I answered firmly, even though there was nothing firm about my tone. My gaze dropped and the smile I couldn’t wipe off my face gave me away. I heard a low hum and caught him in my peripheral vision as he slumped down again. He rested his head on my bare thigh; since I was still in my bikini, with a light blue shirt worn as a cover-up, slipping off one shoulder and exposing my legs.

“You always are” he murmured, his voice brushing against my skin, the faint scruff on his upper lip lightly scratching my thigh. His arms wrapped gently around my waist, shifting the shirt as they moved.

His hands found their place against my skin, warm and steady, igniting a fire inside me that his touch only made worse.

I couldn’t help but think: he knew. He knew the effect he had on me.

“That’s not true” I replied, defensively, as I grabbed a piece of cardboard and rolled it into a filter, placing it on the Rizla I then filled with the grinder’s contents. His fingers moved along my skin and I arched slightly, letting out a frustrated sound at the distraction.

“Stop it, Joost, come on” I said, shifting my hips a little to keep the joint from falling apart. I wrapped and sealed it with a swipe of my tongue and pressed the edges to make sure it stuck.

“Boring” he muttered, even more teasing than before and rested his hands firmly around my waist again. I held my breath until everything was ready.

He watched me: my hands, my leg.. lazily but intently. And honestly, I would’ve let him look at me like that in any other situation too.

He had really gotten comfortable: head resting on my thigh, hands around my waist, his legs mirroring the way I sat, and his polo slightly lifted at the back, revealing a sliver of pale skin to the gentle breeze.

“I rolled it” I said, placing the joint between my lips and grabbing the lighter from inside the cigarette pack. I felt him nod, his hair brushing against my skin and sending another wave of chills across my body.

I cupped the flame and lit the joint, taking a small drag and exhaling through my nose. Then I took a longer hit, letting the dense smoke fill my lungs. He groaned slightly as he sat up, bringing his face close to mine, eyes locked on the joint, silently asking to take a hit.

I held it out to him, watching as his lips wrapped around the paper. His eyes met mine -again.

We were dangerously close, just a few centimeters apart. His hands on the ground but aligned with my hips, like they were ready to grab me again. His gaze locked on mine, his body leaning in.

He took three hits, exhaling the smoke through his nose; except for the last one, which he blew directly into my face.

I let out a laugh, pulling away and breaking eye contact before it dragged me under again.

“You’re really pretty.” Those words, spoken so nonchalantly, so sincerely and lightly, were enough to make my chest tighten and bring a new shade to my cheeks, quite different from my natural skin tone. I turned my head toward the field, the usual little smile still playing on my lips as I took another drag and when he saw my reaction, a soft laugh escaped him.

He leaned back against me again, his arms wrapping around my body once more, and for the entire time we smoked, he decided it was comfy enough to make me hold the joint for both of us. It was awkward, funny, but above all, divinely familiar.

I mirrored his previous posture, with the only difference being that I used one free hand behind me to support myself. I could feel the effects start to settle in: my eyelids getting heavier, my thoughts beginning to blur into one another, and a blissful sensation accompanied by the loud thud of my heartbeat echoing in my ears. It wasn’t like the first few times anymore, my body had gotten used to the substance, but those first minutes always sent me straight to heaven.

I had almost forgotten about Joost, maybe because he had shifted away from me.

I opened my eyes again and turned my dilated pupils toward his figure lying next to me and like before, he was already watching me. I playfully placed a hand over his face, trying to block his eyes, just as I brought the joint back to my lips for one of the last hits.

“You scared of my stare or something?” And at that moment, it was like only his voice existed for my ears. Nothing else mattered. That soft, kind, warm voice, dripping with teasing, drowned everything else out.

“Hm?” he finished with a little laugh, grabbing my wrist with his hand and slowly guiding my palm down to his lips. My eyes were drawn to his movements. When he began placing soft kisses right there on that part of my body; never once looking away, I didn’t move a single inch.

I didn’t look away, like that moment was the only image in existence.

His lips wandered, staying in the same area, leaving sweet kisses from my palm down to my sensitive wrist.

“I’m not scared of your stare, it’s just that…” I murmured, slowly pulling my hand back with a sigh, suddenly feeling frustrated.

Why was he acting like this? It bothered me not being able to react, not being able to give in or respond.

It bothered me that he was doing all these innocent but easily misunderstood things.

“It’s just that…?” he whispered as he sat back up. He reached out his hand toward me, and I passed him the half smoked joint, doing everything I could to avoid the eye contact I’d been so addicted to just moments ago. I took a deep breath, the cool air rushing into my lungs almost jolting me out of the daze I was in.

“It’s just that you do it on purpose. You mess with me, and I never know how to react when you’re like this.” I didn’t mean to, but my tone came out especially pouty. My lips naturally curved downward, and my eyes traced the crumpled edges of the towel like I needed the distraction.

It felt like I was confessing my feelings, like I was laying myself bare while my brain was moving in slow motion. Like maybe… it was time.

But I didn’t want to ruin anything with him.

When he didn’t respond, I turned my attention to him. Strangely, he was staring at the joint, letting it burn out passively in the open air. His expression was thoughtful, like my words had flipped a switch in his head.

But I didn’t want that either.

I placed a hand on his shoulder, biting down gently on my lower lip as I looked at him: to check if everything was okay, if I hadn’t broken something between us.

“I mean, it’s just that-”

“I like you.” I didn’t get to finish my sentence. My brain completely short-circuited the moment those words left his mouth.

What?

He looked at me for a few seconds, like he was trying to find some kind of explanation in my frozen expression. His eyes dropped from mine to my lips, slightly parted without me even noticing. I licked them, watching as he swallowed a nonexistent lump in his throat that felt too real to ignore.

“I like you, y/n. Why do you think I suddenly broke up with my ex out of nowhere? It hurt too much to keep you in my heart and not be able to do anything about it… I can’t keep pretending you’re not driving me insane.”

My brain took its time to process that, so much so that I didn’t even manage to make sense of the order of his words before our lips collided. My body moved before my thoughts did.

I didn’t kiss him softly.. God, no. I captured his lips in an urgent kiss, one overflowing with all the repressed feelings that had finally been given permission to come to light. I climbed into his lap, his hands gripping my bare thighs that were now parted against him. I cupped his face, savoring the sensation of his wet tongue moving sloppily against mine for the first time.

I could feel his breath on my skin, his groans against my lips. I finally got to taste what it was like to have him crushed against me.

And we kissed; for moments, for heartbeats, for what felt like entire minutes, just basking in the overwhelming realization that we belonged to each other.

The burning end of the joint held between Joost’s fingers brushed against my skin, and that alone made me break away from his mouth. A small whimper of pain escaped my lips, and my head dropped immediately to look at the joint now lying on the towel.

He chuckled, and I shot him a glare, only to burst out laughing when I saw that he hadn’t even stopped. He hadn’t loosened his grip on my thighs at all.

“I want you..” he whispered with a smile, letting his hands roam over my ass, squeezing and spreading it, making my cheeks flush bright red.

Maybe it was because we were both high, or maybe it was the atmosphere, the fading light slowly giving way to a sky full of stars, the situation I’d imagined myself in for years. A mix of sensations: his gaze on me, his lips that wasted no time attaching to my neck, searching for spots to bite, lick, and kiss as if he wanted to mimic the constellations above us. Maybe it was his hands slipping from my ass under my bikini, making his touch feel even more vivid and electric.

I don’t know. In that moment, the shivers spreading across my skin made my nipples harden and my body clench around nothing, already imagining what it would feel like to welcome him inside my warmth.

“Joost…” I managed to breathe out, eyes still closed, while his only answer was to bite down into the curve of my neck: hungry, passionate.

I gripped his shoulders and with a soft moan tugged at the collar of his polo, trying to silently ask him to take it off.

After what felt like endless minutes, he finally pulled away and slipped it off in one motion, giving me the chance to grab the nearly finished joint and light it back up.

Our first time was going to be high; A thought that made a goofy smile appear on my face, instantly erased when his lips crashed into mine again, hungrier than before.

I had just taken a hit, and as our tongues twisted together again, I let the smoke drift from my mouth into his. The sensation of passing it to him through that messy kiss made me grind against him.

Our cores were pressed together, separated only by a few layers of fabric. The warm, sharp taste of the weed became the soundtrack to the wet sounds escaping from both our mouths.

His hands slowly found their way to my bikini top, gently pushing the cups aside and replacing them with his palms.

He touched me slowly, with a tenderness I had never felt before, pinching my nipples gently and pulling away just enough to look at me, his eyes half-lidded and a small smile shining on his saliva slick lips.

I caressed the back of his neck and arched my back when he lowered his mouth to my chest, taking one of the pink buds between his teeth.

“Please, Joost…” From the deepest part of my throat, that plea came out, one he obeyed without hesitation.

He didn’t pull away from my breast, but his free hand slid down until it reached my throbbing core. I wrapped my legs tighter around his hips, and when he tapped his middle finger against my clit, I saw stars.

I was being stimulated by both his hand and his mouth, and his gaze never once left my face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that twisted across it.

“How long have you been waiting for this moment, huh?” The vibrations of his voice teased my nipple in the most delicious way.

His middle and ring fingers slipped between my folds and pressed against the rough pad of pleasure that made me lose my breath.

Not even enough air to moan properly.

“How much do you want me… how much do you want my cock..hm?” He sped up the movement of his fingers, bringing his face close to mine to look into my eyes: now smaller, struggling not to close.

He held me tightly by the hips with the hand that had been on my chest, while, in contrast to the urgent pace of his fingers, he gently brushed his nose against mine.

I tossed aside the joint filter I was still holding, dropping it to a far corner of the towel, and grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to look into my eyes while he pumped his fingers in and out of me, the wet sound of them sliding through my walls echoing in my ears.

“Talk to me” he whispered, stealing a tender kiss from my lips, and after just a few seconds pulled back again, his gaze locked on mine.

I didn’t know what to say. My lower belly was drenched in pleasure from his touch, my legs nearly frozen around his hips, my chest heaving, making it impossible to even think, let alone speak.

“I waited for you for so… so long” I murmured through the moans I tried to suppress, right before he pulled his fingers out, dragging them along my outer lips, then catching my clit between them.

My body tensed again, my back arched involuntarily, and I shut my eyes tight; unlike him, who didn’t look away for even a second, watching every flicker of bliss play across my face.

“Really?” His voice was soft, tinged with the haziness of the high. I reopened my eyes and nodded, earning a moment of relief as his hand reached to slide my swimsuit to the side, baring my need to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked, almost regretfully, before kissing along my jawline, then my neck, and finally back to my lips, never waiting for my answer.

I smiled without thinking, raising my eyes to his and running my hands to the back of his neck.

“I was scared.” The vulnerability in my voice was unmistakable. Even through my ragged breathing, the tenderness wrapping around us like a blanket of intimacy was impossible to miss.

He paused, pulling his face just far enough from mine to take in my features bathed in the dim natural light of a sun that had just dipped below the horizon. I bit my bottom lip, and he smiled at the sight before cupping my face and planting a series of soft, quick kisses on my lips, like he was trying to pass me a message without saying it aloud.

A message that said: “Trust me, like you always have.”

There was, in fact, a mutual exchange of trust when I found myself on top of him, his full length buried deep inside me, and the control entirely in my hands to move however I pleased.

He lay flat on the towel, arms wrapped around my torso, his hips matching my rhythm with thrusts of his own, adding intensity. His mouth stayed close to my ear, releasing filthy sounds, low groans, without shame, without hesitation.

His skin, flushed in places, was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen: the feel of his skin against mine, my chest pressing into his, my hands clutching at the grass beneath the towel, and the ever present breeze that had accompanied us until that very moment.

“I’m close…” I moaned into his ear, feeling his hands tighten on my overheated skin, his thrusts gradually taking over as exhaustion began to slow my movements. My head was still spinning from the lingering effects of the high, everything feeling even more heightened and raw.

“Come… fuck, come for me…” I heard him curse, grip tightening even further, his hips slamming upward with a lewd rhythm, the wet sounds of our slick bodies crashing together filling the air.

I tensed, and his head fell back against the softness of the grass. I cupped his face between my hands and kissed him, right as I felt his hot release spill inside me, painting my walls in white. I whimpered, back arching, as a few final thrusts carried me over the edge into the most powerful, blissful sensation I had ever experienced with anyone.

Our lips stayed locked, our breaths still mingled, our tongues still hungry to explore each other.

His hands rested gently on my waist, stroking my skin to help soothe the tension from my trembling muscles.

When we finally pulled away, both gasping for air, our eyes met and in them we exchanged the most honest ‘I love you’ either of us had ever said, even without speaking it aloud.

In that moment, we loved each other.

We were high, yes… but we were entirely aware of it all. And the darkness that finally fell over that field became the perfect backdrop for the confession of our love.

#joost klein x reader #joost x reader #fanfic #joost fanfic #joost x you #joost klein smut #joost klein x y/n #joost klein fanfic #fanficz #joost klein fluff #joost klein x you #joost klein rpf #joost klein real person fiction #joost smut #joost fluff

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littlegochu · 13 hours ago

Text

"just friends" part 7 │ jjk 18+

"no feelings. no promises. just a night that didn’t end when it should’ve."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: friends with benefits, cold male lead, cold female lead

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: we weren’t close. just mutuals. he was mia’s boyfriend’s friend — always quiet, always there, always looking like he didn’t care about anything. then we hooked up once. and then again. now it’s late-night texts, locked doors, and pretending not to look at each other during group hangouts. no feelings. no rules. just whatever this is. and yeah, maybe i’m in too deep — but if he is too, he’s not saying it either.

“another one, another!”

mira’s uncle slams his shot glass down, some auntie shoves a lime wedge into my palm— i’m already halfway drunk with the burn of the last shot still sitting hot in my chest.

its been a few hours since we had dinner, but the night just started. the air smells like charred meat and the folding tables covered in red solo cups and torn napkins.

mira’s cheeks are pink, her lip gloss smudged, eyes shiny. she’s laughing so hard she has to hold onto the back of a chair, her whole body shaking as she yells something at leon across the lawn.

jimin’s lounging in a deck chair, one leg thrown over the armrest, he’s watching the chaos unfold with a lazy smirk on his lips, eyes flicking between me and the tequila bottle in my hand. he lifts a shot glass toward me, eyebrows raised, taunting.

“y/n’s up again!” someone calls.

mira's family is fun to be around, they love playing with out alcohol tolerances and testing our limits, finding entertainment in our sanity.

i down the tequila, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth and laughing through the burn, my cheeks aching.

i turn to see him.

jungkook.

leaning in the porch doorway, just watching.

black hoodie pulled halfway over his hair, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. his hands are tucked under his arms, his tattoos piercing in the porch light.

there’s a line between his brows, his lips definitely not relaxed.

the only calm thing in a room full of chaos.

and suddenly, i feel stupid and loud.

his eyes meet mine for a second, he looks away before i can figure out what’s in them.

i look down.

he just leans there, quiet, looking out over the yard. i step up onto the wooden stair, and it creaks under my weight. he doesn’t speak.

“you’re not drinking?” i ask, voice too soft.

he doesn’t look at me. “no.”

“why not?”

“don’t want to.”

“…lame,” i mumble, hugging the hoodie sleeves over my palms.

his voice is low, barely audible over the music in the distance. “you look like you’re having enough fun for the both of us.”

i narrow my eyes. “was that sarcasm?”

he shrugs, then walks inside.

i scoff, "dickhead."

i don’t even remember how i get here.

the night is calm and everyone's outside sleeping, they've insisted on taking a quick nap before going back to drinking. meanwhile me, i'm too tired from this, mentally and physically.

my head feels full of static, my feet are bare and cold on the hardwood floor.

i stop outside his door.

the light underneath is still on.

i don’t knock.

i just… stare, long enough to hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

but then the door creaks open, he's in a loose white shirt that clings slightly at the collarbones, hangs soft over the waistband of his sweats. his expression’s hard to read—but it’s not angry, not confused, unreadable.

i blink up at him.

“hey,” i whisper.

he doesn’t say anything at first.

then, quietly—“you’re drunk.”

“a little.”

“y/n,” he says, firmer this time, low and steady, like he’s warning me.

“i just…” i trail off. suddenly too aware of how close we are. i notice how his room smells faintly like that same woodsy scent that was wrapped around me those past nights. “i didn’t wanna be in there.”

his brow furrows. “why?”

i shrug. “everyone’s passed out. mira’s snoring. leon’s face-planted into a bag of chips. i didn’t feel like being alone.”

he doesn’t answer.

so i do something stupid.

i reach for him.

arms going up, trying to curl around his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. (used to be.)

but i don’t get far.

his hands are suddenly on my upper arms—firm, steady, stopping me in place. his grip isn’t rough, but it’s not soft either.

his voice drops. “don’t.”

my heart kicks hard in my chest. “what?”

“you’re drunk,” he says again, but this time it’s quieter, thicker.

“so?”

he swallows, his eyes flick to my mouth for a second.

“so... don’t do that.”

we stay like that—me half-reaching, him half-holding me away—until i drop my arms slowly and step back.

i nod. try not to let my face fall.

“okay,” i mumble. “sorry. that was—stupid.”

i turn like i’m gonna walk away, but his hand doesn’t drop, it stays curled lightly around my arm, and i stop again.

his thumb brushes the inside of my elbow.

“you can stay,” he says, finally.

i blink.

“but behave.”

i almost laugh. “you think i’m gonna jump you or something?”

his eyes meet mine—dark, unreadable.

he doesn’t answer.

instead, he steps aside and holds the door open.

i step past him into the room, it’s dim, only one warm lamp on by the dresser. his bed’s half made, his cologne’s in the air, subtle but strong—spice, wood, something low and smoky.

he shuts the door behind us.

i crawl under the blanket, hoodie sleeves still swallowing my hands.

i curl into my side facing the wall, pretending i’m not holding my breath.

the bed dips.

he lies down beside me, i can feel the heat from his body.

and then—

i think i dream it.

his hand. slow. hesitant. finding my hip through the blanket.

but then he moves, gliding up over my waist, careful and light, like he’s afraid of breaking me.

i blink at the wall.

my breath hitches.

his palm presses warm between my shoulder blades, fingers flexing.

his thumb brushes the back of my hoodie.

i let out a slow, shaky breath and sink further into the mattress. maybe into him. maybe into nothing at all. i'm too drunk to notice.

his hand keeps moving up, then down. slow, careful strokes like he’s trying to soothe me.

my eyes flutter.

his chest is behind me now. close. almost. maybe. i can’t tell.

everything’s foggy. soft.

his nose brushes the back of my hair.

i press back instinctively — into the heat, the scent of him.

he doesn’t pull away.

his arm tightens around my waist. not possessive.

his thumb moves against my side again. slow circles.

my lashes flutter. my mind stutters.

i think i hear him whisper something.

my fingers curl around the hem of the hoodie, tucking it tighter into my chest.

the room tilts again, gently this time.

and then i let go.

of the ache, the weight, the questions.

of everything but the warmth wrapped around me.

because whether it’s real or not? whether he means it or not?

tonight, he’s holding me.

and right now, that’s enough.

until it isn’t.

i blink once. twice.

everything feels warm. too warm.

my mouth’s dry. my face is half-buried in the pillow. and something — someone — is wrapped around me.

but somewhere in the middle of the night, i stir.

my stomach twists. like it’s pressing down on my ribs. the kind of pressure that makes your mouth water in the worst way.

i hold my breath as i peel the blanket back and untangle myself. my head spins a little when i sit up, vision soft around the edges.

my knees hit the floor in front of the toilet.

i barely manage to tie my hair up before it hits.

everything comes up in one miserable rush.

alcohol. bad decisions. shame.

i squeeze my eyes shut, until—

“hey.”

his voice is soft. barely audible.

he crouches beside me, i feel his hand brush against the back of my neck, gentle as he gathers my hair and holds it out of the way.

i’m still catching my breath when he speaks again.

“you okay?”

i nod. lying.

i rest my cheek on my arm, still folded across the toilet seat. i feel disgusting, and yet he’s still here.

still holding my hair.

“you didn’t have to do this,” i whisper, eyes half-lidded.

he doesn’t answer right away, he just runs his hand down my back once, slow and soothing.

“someone had to,” he says.

i turn my head slightly, enough to glance at him over my shoulder.

he looks tired, his lips parted like he was about to say something else, hair messy from sleep.

he’s too pretty for a night like this.

“why are you doing this?” i ask.

his eyes flick to mine, his voice is low when he answers.

“you’re done. come here.”

he stands up with a slight smirk, he looks toward the bed in his room.

i blink slowly at him.

“get in bed before i carry you.”

...

“last chance.”

i roll my eyes but take his hand.

he hauls me up like i weigh nothing, his palm finding my lower back to keep me steady.

he walks me to the bed — slow, patient, fingers brushing my wrist in the most annoyingly gentle way.

i crawl in like a kid and he pulls the blanket over me and clicks the bathroom light off.

the air feels warmer now, heavier. or maybe that’s just me—heart still thudding from being so close to him, from letting him see me like that.

jungkook walks back around the bed, wordless, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows again. his forearm veins flex a little when he runs a hand through his hair. he sits on the edge of the mattress, sighs, then leans over to grab something from the nightstand.

he holds it out a bottle of water wordlessly.

i sip without sitting up, lips brushing the rim. his fingers graze mine when i hand it back.

“you’re not as mean as you pretend to be,” i mumble.

he glances over his shoulder and raises a brow. “don’t start.”

“you offered to carry me, sweet."

he gives me a long, unreadable look, then leans back on one hand beside me, eyes dragging over my face.

“you’re chatty when you’re tipsy.”

i blink at him. “you’re warm when you’re not pretending.”

his mouth curves, barely. “don’t do that,” he murmurs.

“what?”

“say things like that.”

i pause. the air stills.

my mouth opens. then closes.

he exhales. starts to pull back—

but i reach for his sleeve.

“jungkook.”

he pauses.

i tug gently. “can you just… shut up for a second?”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak.

so i sit up, hoodie swallowing my hands, and I lean in a little closer.

he watches me carefully—still unreadable. his scent makes my head spin more than the tequila.

i reach up slowly, careful, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

he stares at me.

he leans in.

his hand finds my jaw, thumb gentle under my cheek. his lips brush mine once, slow, like he's testing if he can keep going.

i breathe him in.

and then he kisses me again.

slower this time. deeper.

his fingers slide behind my neck, his other hand curling around my hip, pulling me toward him like it’s instinct. like he’s been waiting to.

i shift into his lap, knees tucked beside his thighs. our foreheads press together for a moment between kisses—breathing heavy, breaths mingling.

he exhales shakily against my mouth. “you’re gonna regret this.”

“don't we always do this?”

do we? i'm not really sure anymore.

for something that happened so often during the school year suddenly disappeared the same time we walked out of our last exam.

but was that the whole plan?

i kiss him again before he can answer.

he doesn’t stop me.

authors note: hey im back! just lost some motivation since the engagement of my posts have gone down, id really love to hear some requests from you guys! also I've been busy with work and everything but trust me i wont disappear without finishing this ff!

#bts x reader #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts army #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #jungkook ff

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hirasunny · 2 days ago

Text

Unforgotten Vow

pairing — k-drama! yeon sieun x fem! reader

synopsis — you and sieun made one simple promise when you were kids, and you continue to do so as you got older.

warnings/reader notes — mentions bullying, you and sieun r crybabies (in a good way), sunshine reader and sieun absolutely adores it, he thinks you're a goddess, references to season 1 plot

genre — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slight angst

word count — 2.5k+ words

note: hi! it's me again <3 i want to thank you for enjoying my fics! i read all of your comments and appreciate it a lot :( it really motivates me to write even though i'm not the best at it. much love u guys ^^ as a thanks, here’s a story dedicated to this precious boy 💛 p.s: should i make a part 2? TT

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sieun was 7 years old when he met you.

He was celebrating his birthday at the park before he accidentally tripped and scraped his knee.

His mom and dad sat by the picnic table a few feet away from him, yet he moved unnoticed to a nearby bench. He sat down in pain as he tried to stop himself from crying.

But it was unsuccessful, his tears fell on his lap continuously. He had a feeling that his father was going to scold him again.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice was small and chirpy when you went up to him in question, tilting your head while he wiped his face and nodded—he was not one for talking.

However, you spoke again, “Do you need a band aid? I can give you one.” You asked shyly.

Sieun looked at you closely, your clothes dirty from possibly playing a lot, your hair was in decent braids but some strands already sticking out, and your legs were visibly decorated with dirt.

He moved to your face, chubby cheeks and (e/c) eyes that held curiosity in them. The boy didn’t mutter anything but still took the band aid in your offering hand, ripping it open.

You smiled and sat down beside him as you continued to talk with newly found confidence. Sieun didn’t even know what you were saying—was it about the kids at the playground? He wasn’t sure. You were talking too fast and too much.

Nonetheless, he listened.

It felt like an eternity when his mother finally called out for him; she seemed surprise as soon as her eyes landed on them.

“My mom is here.” Sieun stated, having a glance at his parental figure. That was the first time he opened his mouth, you thought. You pouted at him.

“Already? But I was going to invite you to the slide.” You responded, upset. He didn’t talk—but you liked his company. He was the only one who didn’t cut you off from speaking!

Sieun gazed back at you weirdly. Why weren’t you telling him mean things like the other kids do? And you even want to play with him. It puzzled the poor boy.

Then, he noticed your lips change from a frown to a big grin instead. “But you’ll be back right? We can play next time!” You say in excitement, nodding to yourself.

“What’s your name? I’m (Name)!”

He took a long time to process it before he answered, “Sieun.” Honestly, he had no idea why he replied, but maybe it was the way you were determined to make him your friend.

It made him feel normal in some way.

“Sieun..” You repeated slowly, just to get used to the sound of it rolling off your tongue.

A shout of your name stopped him from speaking up, you took a glimpse in that direction with a pout, “It’s my mom! I gotta go.” You huffed, looking at the boy beside you.

“Come back, okay? I’ll be here tomorrow!” You added, giving a wave as you ran to your mother. He stood up, observing you.

He disliked going outside. But if it meant that you were there, it might be bearable.

—

“Sieun! What happened?” You breathed out after running. The boy was sitting alone at the swing as he stared into abyss.

To everyone else, he looked completely fine.

But you knew him—if you stare in his eyes long enough, you would see how much emotion he actually keeps by himself. And right now, you had no doubt that he was going through something heavy.

“Your mom’s really worried, she called and said you weren’t at home.” You inform softly, settling at the swing next to his. The night was quiet, you heard nothing but the sounds of trees brushing against one another and the creaking of your swings.

You got comfortable as you admired the starry sky.

“My parents..” Sieun started, following your gaze. You hummed, an indication that you were listening.

“They’re getting a divorce.”

You raise your eyebrows in shock, looking back at him. “What..?”

He avoided your look, the ground being more interesting than the look on your face. He felt disappointed that you had to see him like this. Again.

Yet you never cared.

The word was quite new to you, it was only recently when you discovered its meaning—though you knew it was more than just a word that hurt Sieun. It meant something to him.

So you placed a hand on his shoulder and peeking your head closer to his, “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. You have me.”

Sieun finally looked at you, his eyes speaking to you more than words could express.

Thank you, they say.

You laughed lightly, ruffling his hair. He hated when people touch his hair, but you? He never minded.

“But if you have to move someplace else..” You rest your hand back on your lap. “Promise me you’ll come back?”

Oh, why were you looking at him like that?

Like you never want him to go?

Sieun’s shoulders eased and his tense look melted as he studied you. Then, he slowly raised his pinky finger. “I promise.” He told you truthfully. You smiled at him, finding the sincerity in his words.

You hooked your pinky with his, “Okay.” You whispered as to not ruin the peaceful moment.

Sieun was 10 years old when he promised you that he’d come back if he ever left someday.

—

Fate jinxed the both of you.

It must’ve laughed for the reason that it was you who had to move away instead of him.

Here you were, crying uncontrollably in front of your best friend at the airport.

“This is so unfair!” You sobbed, violently wiping your tears as Sieun gave you a tissue. He hasn’t said a single word since the ride to the airport. He seemed out of it, you noticed.

On the other hand, this was his first time to skip a few classes. You were surprised when he showed up at your house unannounced. You kept asking him several times if it was okay for him to do such a thing the whole car ride, he would simply nod as he stared at you after, you ignored it out of nervousness.

You never knew that he was memorizing you, because it could be the last time he’d ever see you again.

The star hair clip he gifted you on your birthday was neatly on your hair, the way you bounce your knee rapidly each time you get anxious, your backpack had all sorts of keychains that you buy from school trips with him, and the looks you give him—every smile, every funny face, every pout and cry. He'd remember it all.

Sieun took a mental note of all the little things, like he was studying: because if this test is about you, surely, he'd ace it.

Though, he wasn't the only one who notices, you also recognized a few things. Like his tight grip on the strap of his bag was evident, the slight twitching of his fingers—a habit he does when he’s overthinking, and his brown orbs that look at you to tell you everything you need to know.

He's...wait.

Is he tearing up?

You widen your eyes as he shuffled awkwardly and looked down, trying to maintain his posture.

"You're.." You were hesitant, but you took a step forward, bringing him to your embrace. You heard sniffles on your shoulder as he laid his forehead there while his arms remained by his side. He didn't know where to place them.

"Don't cry, you big baby." You murmur, your tears slipping out for God knows how many times today. "I'm gonna come back, you know that." You assured him. His hands finally moved to your back, gripping your shirt as he nodded.

You two stayed that way for a few minutes before his gaze lingered at you, "Promise me you will." Sieun lowly spoke with trembling lips. You exhaled from your nose, bringing his hand close to your chest as you do the same, then interlocked both of your pinkies.

"I promise you, more than anything."

Sieun was 13 when you left South Korea.

—

Three years had passed by as Sieun faced everything alone.

The problems, the bullying, the guilt—

Suho.

Every step he took felt like he was getting pulled down further and further away from the light he once saw.

From Suho, and most especially from you.

What would you think of him if you knew what was happening in his life right now?

He got his answer when he saw you.

You.

Your figure stood patiently outside his apartment door, a plastic bag containing all the snacks you used to share together was held loosely in one hand and your phone on the other.

Your appearance had completely changed. Your hair grew a bit longer, and the baby fat on your cheeks now reduced. You looked different, but deep down, Sieun hoped you were the still the happy-go-lucky girl he knew.

As you raised your phone to your ear, you check your left. You paused as the phone of the boy you were waiting for rang loudly in the pocket of his jacket.

The two of you stared at one another as the ringing continued, you, however, smiled knowingly at him.

"I kept my promise."

Sieun couldn't believe he could run that fast when he brought you into his arms.

Slowly, the chaos in his mind went silent.

Finally, for once. He was at peace.

Momentarily, he realized he was crying because you had to wipe the tears away, "I know," You still told him in a caring tone. "I'm here."

No other words were needed as you both remained in each other's arms for a while that day.

A few days had gone by rather quickly, and you started to see more of Sieun. He had grown taller since the last time you saw him, his voice was deeper from the timid, high-pitched one you always heard, and his eyes that used to shine at you were now dull as an unsharpened knife.

Regardless, something else had brought your attention—his walls that broke down when you met him was building itself up again. He became distant. The Sieun you cherished was back in his little shell, the one who refused help and locked himself away from people. You knew you had to pull him out.

So you were present, just like before. In every visit at Suho's hospital, you sat beside him when he typed out his messages; in every school he got rejected to, you had a list of backup schools he can apply for; in every night he had nightmares, you were only a call away; in every session at therapy, you were there outside, waiting.

Despite all the hardships and troubles he was facing, you smiled warmly at him.

He never understood any of it. It resembled the times when you were kids. Where you stayed with him more than anyone else.

How can you, someone so beautiful, still smile adoringly at something so broken, with its pieces gradually falling apart?

One time at the bus stop, it was extremely cold when the rain poured heavily around you.

Even as you laughed at a sarcastic comment he made about freezing to death, you still took his cold hands to yours, blowing on it. "What are you doing?" He questioned, startled as he tried to withdraw his hands.

"Keeping you warm, dummy."

You were glowing, and you gaze at him with the same loving grin. His heart fluttered, feeling his frigid fingers soften and warm up because of you.

He pretended not to know if the cause of his face and ears going red was also you.

You never complained and never rushed. You were there, patient and supportive.

Soon, he thought of himself from a few years ago. Whatever 13-year-old Sieun had realized when you went abroad, he was right.

Because he loved you. For the longest time.

And he was not going to let you go.

Just before the day he would move to the new apartment in Yeongdeungpo, where he was accepted in a school named Eunjang High, he knocked on your door, with your favorite food and drink.

"Wow! Is this your goodbye gift?" You teased him, taking the bag from his hand as you let him inside.

He wordlessly sat down when you invited him to the couch, you tilt your head. When Sieun was quiet, he had something in his mind. There was a sparkle of certainty in his puppy-look eyes as he stared at you.

"You okay, pretty boy?" The nickname was familiar, you always called him that ever since your playground hangouts. He often tells you to stop that—but you couldn't, not when you notice his ears getting red and his lips that tries to refrain himself from smiling.

“…” Crap. What was he going to say again? He made efforts to practice in front of the mirror only for him to fail at the moment he needed his words.

To you, it looked like he was struggling. It worried you.

You took the guts to place a hand on his cheek, fixating his focus on you. "Sieun, what's going on—"

"I love you."

You let out a surprised sound, your eyes wide at the sudden words.

You felt a sense of rushing emotions inside you. Was it excitement, shock, or bashfulness?

Whatever it was, you were just sure it was making your face hot.

Okay. That was straightforward.

But it was Yeon Sieun, the boy who always had a sure answer.

You pinch his cheek lightly, he squinted his eyes at you as if it could help his ruddy ears from turning back to its original color. "Hey, are you crazy?! Why are you saying such things?" You asked just so you can lighten up the conversation.

"Because I do. I love you." He calmly told you again, the three magic words made you cover your face. "Okay, okay! I get it." You were embarrassed, could he not act so nonchalant?! You were freaking out here!

"Is it.. bad?" Sieun mumbled, watching as you grumble something in your hands, somewhere along the lines of: "Curse those cold-blooded veins in your body!"

You looked at him, red faced with a pout. "No, of course not! It's just that..."

You trailed off, finding the strength to face him again and held his cold hands in your warm ones. You took a moment, "I.. I love you, too. Since forever." You breathed out, smiling shakily at him.

Were you a Goddess? Sieun thought. How could you look so beautiful?

He leaned to you, initiating first. "Can I kiss you?" He asks in a deep voice, pulling your hands.

You gulped nervously, nodding as no words could come out of your mouth.

He moved, closer and closer, until your noses touched and the two of you closed your eyes. The world around you stopped moving when his lips gently settled on yours.

Sieun was 16 when he kissed his first love.

#weak hero class #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class one #weak hero class two #weak hero class x reader #whc1 #whc2 #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader

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cigarettesuga · 23 hours ago

Text

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀text me when you get lonely⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀knj⠀⠀)

pairing: non-celeb!ex!namjoon x f!ex!reader

genre: exes-to-lovers, angst, bit of romance, slow-burn, smut

warnings: explicit consensual sex, graphic oral sex (fem receiving), face ridding implied, overstimulation, rough sex, hair pulling, fingering, slight breath control (hand on throat, not choking), cum on body, praise & degradation mix (if you squit your eyes), possessive behavior, size kink, deep penetration, leg on shoulder position, wet/messy sex, begging, post-orgasm sensitivity, soft dom!namjoon, desperation and emotional vulnerability during sex, unprotected sex , aggressive kissing, marking (bites), mild semi-public sexual tension, emphasis in mutual pleasure and yearning (let me know if i'm forgetting something)

word count: 14.3 k

summary: after a night out stirs old feelings, a late-night text opens a door (y/n) swore she’d locked for good. when fate brings them face-to-face at a packed underground gig, sparks fly, wounds reopen, and the line between anger and desire blurs. one reckless night later, they confront what’s left between them—no promises, just raw truth and the fragile hope of second chances.

lu's note: this is officially my longest one-shot ever—and i loved every messy, tender, smut-filled second of writing it. 🖤

i’ll be shifting focus to finish chapter 3 of opposites don’t attract, they destroy (finally, i know lmao) so if content slows down a little, that’s why!! thank you for always being patient with me and letting me take my time with these chaotic little love stories

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ masterlist⠀ | ⠀taglist⠀ | ⠀more to read

the music was loud, someone had spilled beer on the floor, and (y/n) was clutching a half-warm drink like it was her lifeline. she was supposed to be having fun. that had been the plan—get dressed up, laugh too hard, maybe flirt with someone cute and harmless just to feel something again.

but then steph, all glitter lids and tipsy honesty, leaned over and tilted her head like a curious cat.

“hey... didn’t you used to come here with namjoon?”

and just like that, it was over.

it wasn’t the question itself—it was the way the energy shifted. the air changed. the people around them—friends, old classmates, acquaintances that still followed her on instagram out of habit—went quiet in that careful way. like everyone expected her to shatter.

(y/n) smiled. it wasn’t fake, exactly. just... practiced.

“we’re not together anymore,” she said, tipping her cup back. the alcohol went down rough. “it’s been a while.”

steph’s eyes widened. “shit, sorry—i didn’t mean to—”

“it’s fine,” (y/n) cut in, voice light. too light. “i mean, you didn’t know.”

there was a beat of silence. one of her friends, amara, looked like she wanted to say something comforting, but thought better of it. someone else cleared their throat. the music kept playing but it felt like it had gotten quieter.

no one asked anything else.

the hallway outside the bar was dim, lit only by a flickering exit sign and the vague hum of someone’s vape cloud still hanging in the air. (y/n) leaned back against the peeling brick wall, cold seeping into her spine through her thin shirt, and took a slow breath in.

not to cry.

just to breathe.

the night buzzed behind her—voices, basslines, laughter. it all felt far away now, like she was watching it from underwater. her buzz had dulled. or maybe soured. she couldn't tell anymore.

she hated that a name—just a name—could still change the temperature of her blood.

a year. it had been a year. she’d dyed her hair, moved apartments, started journaling again like she was a teenager with a heartbreak playlist. she’d told everyone she was fine. and she was. mostly. enough.

but the way steph had said his name…

namjoon. like he was still hers. like it hadn’t ended in the kind of silence that made her doubt the entire thing ever happened.

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath, rubbing at her arms. the night was cooler than she expected. or maybe that was just what regret felt like.

she checked her phone—reflex. no messages.

she shouldn’t text him. not now. not like this.

her fingers hovered. it was so stupid. she knew it was stupid. but the truth was—

she did miss having him around.

not just the sex, not the shared playlists or the stupid way he folded her laundry like a librarian shelving books. she missed the quiet. the safety. the way he’d always known when she needed to be held without being asked.

and before she could talk herself out of it, her thumbs were moving.

i miss having you around.

she stares at her phone just a moment before locking the screen. “this is so stupid” mumbling under her breath.

the bass was still pounding when she walked back in, like nothing had happened. like her stomach wasn’t twisted and her throat didn’t feel like it had been scraped raw from the inside. someone handed her another drink—she didn’t even catch who. she nodded her thanks, forced another smile, and knocked it back too fast.

the warmth never hit her chest. it just sank.

she hovered at the edge of the circle, letting her friends’ chatter wash over her like static. the laughter felt too loud. the neon lights too bright. she wasn’t in it anymore—just floating above, watching herself nod, sip, grin. a ghost in her own skin.

steph tried to meet her eyes once or twice. (y/n) didn’t let her.

after another drink, she checked the time. 3:08 a.m. perfect excuse.

“hey,” she said, interrupting a story she wasn’t listening to, “i’ve got things to do in the morning, so… i’m gonna head out.”

a couple of her friends blinked. amara pouted. someone offered her a ride.

“nah,” she smiled. “i’m good. thanks.”

steph didn’t say anything. just looked at her like she knew.

(y/n) ignored it, squeezed a few arms goodbye, and slipped out before anyone could stop her.

the night air hit her like a slap—cold, sharp, honest.

she pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. her unsent message was still open on the screen.

i miss having you around.

still there. still blinking.

she didn’t delete it.

but she didn’t send it either.

by the time she stepped into her apartment, the quiet almost made her flinch. no voices, no music, no bass crawling under her skin. just the soft hum of the fridge and the dull echo of her own steps against the floor.

she toed off her shoes in the dark, letting them fall sideways by the door. her makeup still clung to her skin, smudged slightly under one eye, and her jacket was slipping off her shoulder, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. everything felt too heavy. her arms. her chest. even her thoughts.

she didn’t bother changing out of her clothes. didn’t brush her teeth. didn’t even check her phone again. she just dropped her bag somewhere near the couch and made the short, autopilot walk to her bed, collapsing onto the mattress like something hollowed out. the city buzzed faintly through the window, a distant lullaby of car horns and wind, and within seconds, sleep took her like a blackout.

when she opened her eyes again, the light was harsh.

her head ached in that familiar, dehydrated way. her throat was dry, and her limbs felt tangled in fabric she couldn’t remember putting on. the sun was too bright. the room smelled faintly like whatever perfume she’d sprayed hours before and the remnants of sweat and bar smoke.

she groaned, dragging her arm over her face. reached blindly for her phone.

6 unread messages. none from him.

she was halfway through a notification from a food delivery app when she noticed the chat still open behind it. his name. his thread.

and there it was.

the text she swore she didn’t send.

i miss having you around.

right beneath it:

read 4:17 am.

she blinked at it. once. twice. waiting for something—anything—to change. maybe a reply would pop up. maybe it had glitched. maybe this was a dream and she hadn’t hit send after all.

but no.

he’d read it.

and that was it.

no typing bubble. no three dots. no follow-up. no you too. not even a dry hope you’re good.

just silence.

the kind that wrapped around her like cold water.

her stomach twisted, hot with humiliation. god, had she really sent it? like that? no punctuation, no explanation, just—that? a drunk confession disguised as a throwaway text?

she dropped the phone onto her sheets and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. she wasn’t going to cry. this wasn’t something to cry about.

it was just a text.

just a ghost.

just another reminder that he was still good at walking away.

she didn’t even get out of bed until noon.

and even then, it wasn’t because she wanted to—it was because her bladder forced her to. the sun spilling through the curtains made her wince, and every part of her mouth felt like sandpaper. she moved like she was made of rust, each step slow, dragging, her thoughts heavier than her body.

she didn’t check her phone again.

not right away.

instead, she wandered to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter in that hunched-over way she only ever did when she was hungover or emotionally bruised. this morning, she was both.

by the time she sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, her phone was right there next to it—staring at her. taunting her. the temptation was unbearable. not to look at his message—she already knew what was (and wasn’t) there—but to do something about it.

like text him again.

maybe something casual. ironic. a recovery joke.

lol sorry drunk me got sentimental ignore that, rough night lol forget it

but what was the point? he read it. read it. and said nothing.

what the hell else was she supposed to do? follow it up with an apology? beg him to talk to her? no—no, fuck that. she’d already handed him a piece of her vulnerability on a silver platter. she wasn’t about to keep spoon-feeding it to him.

still…

she thought about it.

the entire day, it circled her like a mosquito—tiny, buzzing, impossible to swat away. every time she opened another tab, washed another dish, tied her hair up, the thought came creeping back in: what if he’s waiting for me to say more?

what if he wants her to chase him?

what if he’s just being cautious?

what if he read it and regretted not answering, but didn’t know how?

what if.

she typed at least five different drafts of a follow-up. none of them made it past the keyboard. each one felt weaker than the last. some were angry. some were sarcastic. one was just a string of question marks she didn’t even remember typing.

eventually, she just set her phone screen-down and pushed it to the far corner of the table. opened a new document. tried to work. but even her words—normally her safe place, her breath—betrayed her.

every sentence reminded her of him. or worse, of herself with him.

she was halfway through pretending to write an email when the memory of the message hit her again like a slap: i miss having you around.

how pathetic. how raw.

and he hadn’t said a thing.

the knock came just after seven.

soft at first, then impatient. then followed by the sound of a key in the lock.

(y/n) didn’t move from the couch.

she was still in the same hoodie she threw on after her shower, the sleeves tugged over her hands, one leg curled beneath her and the other hanging off the edge like a question mark. a half-eaten banana and a cup of tea sat forgotten on the coffee table, next to her phone, which she hadn’t touched in hours. not since the last time she opened their thread. not since she stared at the word read until it blurred.

the door creaked open, and the scent of bulgogi and rice and something fried cut through the stale air of her apartment.

“i swear to god if you’re dead in here i’m going to bring you back just to slap you,” amara called out.

a beat.

then: “...oh.”

(y/n) didn’t look up. just mumbled, “hi.”

amara’s boots clicked across the floor, and then she was dropping two plastic bags onto the coffee table and kneeling in front of her like some kind of holy intervention.

“jesus christ, you look like a sad victorian ghost. have you even eaten?”

“kinda.”

amara narrowed her eyes. “do fridge grapes and ibuprofen count?”

(y/n) cracked the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

amara sighed and sat beside her, her presence immediate and grounding. she unpacked the food with practiced ease, muttering something about “soy sauce therapy” and “emergency carbs.” they ate in silence for a few minutes, chopsticks scraping against containers, the only soundtrack a soft playlist humming from (y/n)’s laptop.

then amara said, casually, “so… how bad is it?”

(y/n) didn’t answer at first.

she took another bite of kimchi, chewed slowly. tried to pretend it didn’t taste like regret.

then, finally: “i texted him.”

amara didn’t blink. “namjoon?”

(y/n) nodded.

“when?”

“last night.”

“what’d you say?”

(y/n) swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. “i miss having you around.”

amara’s eyebrows shot up. “oh damn. straight to the throat, huh?”

“i didn’t mean to send it. i thought i didn’t. but i did.”

“...and?”

“he read it.” her voice cracked, just slightly. “and he didn’t reply.”

amara leaned back against the couch, exhaling through her nose. she didn’t look surprised. but she did look like she was calculating something in her head.

“bitch,” she finally said, “i love you, so i need to ask—what were you hoping he’d say?”

(y/n) blinked. “i don’t know.”

“yes, you do.”

“i didn’t expect anything, i just—”

amara gave her a look.

(y/n) sighed, letting her head fall against the couch cushion. “i guess… maybe i wanted him to say he missed me too. or that he’d been thinking about me. or that it sucked for him, too.”

amara nodded slowly, eyes soft but steady. “and instead, he gave you silence.”

a beat.

“again.”

that last word landed hard. (y/n) flinched, just a little. but she didn’t argue.

she hated how familiar this feeling was. the waiting. the not-knowing. the pretending not to care while dying inside.

amara nudged her with her foot. “you know this doesn’t mean you’re pathetic, right?”

“sure feels like it.”

“you were vulnerable. that’s brave. and it doesn’t make you desperate, it makes you human. but let’s also not pretend that this isn’t who he’s always been—someone who disappears when you hand him something fragile.”

(y/n)’s throat tightened.

amara continued, voice gentler now. “you don’t have to chase someone who doesn’t know what to do with your heart. it’s not your job to teach him how to hold it.”

that was when the tears finally came.

not loud. not many. just a couple that slipped down her cheeks quietly, like they’d been waiting all day for permission.

amara didn’t make a big deal out of it. she just scooted closer, wrapped an arm around (y/n)’s shoulders, and pulled her into her side like they’d done this a hundred times before.

and maybe they had.

you don’t have to chase someone who doesn’t know what to do with your heart.

the words hung in the air like incense smoke—sweet, heavy, lingering long after they were said. (y/n) didn’t answer. she couldn’t. her throat was too tight. so she just leaned into amara’s shoulder, blinking up at the ceiling like if she stared hard enough, the tears would slide back in.

amara let her sit there in silence for a moment, fingers tracing idle circles on (y/n)’s back.

then, gently: “you know this won’t be forever, right?”

(y/n) made a soft, scoffing noise. “what won’t?”

“this feeling. the ache. the shame. you won’t always be this girl who sent the text and got ignored.”

she didn’t believe that. not yet. but hearing someone say it out loud made it hurt a little less.

amara sat up a little straighter, nudging her side. “wanna hear something stupid?”

(y/n) wiped under her eyes. “always.”

“i’ve been holding onto this for three weeks.”

“holding onto what?”

amara reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two crumpled, slightly bent paper tickets.

“you remember Still Moss?”

(y/n)’s head jerked up. “no fucking way.”

amara grinned. “they’re playing saturday. small set. underground venue in itaewon. i saw the flyer on some niche subreddit and snatched the tickets before they were even posted officially.”

(y/n) blinked. “amar—what the hell, why didn’t you tell me?”

“because you were doing better,” amara said, voice soft but honest. “you weren’t thinking about him every day. you were flirting with the guy at your gym. you were laughing again. and i didn’t want to pull you back into memories of the past just because one of our old favorites decided to crawl out of their indie cave.”

(y/n) took the ticket with both hands, staring at it like it might bite.

“but,” amara added, “now? i think you need something real. something alive. not a text thread. not a read receipt. not silence in a chat that used to be your whole world.”

(y/n)’s lips parted, but no words came out.

amara shrugged. “you don’t have to go for me. but you should go for you. for the part of you that wasn’t just his. the part of you that screamed lyrics and danced like a lunatic in your kitchen and wore that ugly green beanie just because they mentioned it in a b-side.”

“that beanie was iconic.”

“it was moldy avocado vomit and you loved it.”

(y/n) laughed. just once. and it cracked something open.

the grief didn’t vanish. but it shifted. made space for something else. not quite joy. not even hope. just a sliver of maybe.

“you really think it’ll help?” she whispered, still clutching the ticket.

“i think it’ll remind you that you’re more than what he didn’t say.”

(y/n) looked down at the printed text again. the date. the time. the name of a band that once meant everything.

she wasn’t sure if she could face it. but something in her chest fluttered anyway.

“okay,” she said. “i’ll go.”

amara raised her brow. “with me?”

“obviously with you.”

amara grinned and tossed a napkin at her. “cool. you’ve got two days to get your shit together, wash your hair, and remember who the fuck you are.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered this time.

-----

she stared at her closet like it had offended her.

clothes were already strewn across the bed—black mesh tops, a beat-up denim jacket with a fading patch on the back, her favorite pants that somehow always made her feel like she was too much and not enough all at once. she had half a mind to cancel. text amara and say she got sick. or had work. or—fuck it—just ghost the entire thing.

because this was his band.

not officially, obviously. not legally. but still—he was the one who found them. the one who burned their first EP onto a cheap CD and played it in his car at full volume while they drove through the city with the windows down and their hands out like wings. he was the one who paused every other song to say “listen to this part, wait, right here—this is the line that wrecked me.”

they used to talk about seeing Still Moss live like it was some bucket list item. one day. someday. a future tense wrapped in shared laughter and tangled limbs.

and now she was going without him.

(y/n) sank down onto the bed, the air suddenly thick, her fingers trembling as they pulled at the edge of her comforter.

what was she doing?

what the fuck was she trying to do? prove something? distract herself? reclaim something that maybe never really belonged to her alone?

she reached for her phone, scrolled back to his name—again. the message still sat there like a bruise on the screen.

i miss having you around.

read. still no reply.

and now she was going to the show they used to dream about, pretending it didn’t mean anything?

who was she kidding?

she dropped the phone face-down on the bed and covered her face with her hands.

it felt like treason. like stepping into that venue without him was rewriting history, erasing the version of herself that once existed in his arms. she’d be surrounded by music they once called theirs, lyrics that felt like inside jokes, moments only they knew how to hold. what if they played that song? the one he always hummed when he kissed her shoulder half-asleep?

how could she stand in that crowd and not feel his absence like a blade?

still.

not going would mean something, too. it would mean he still owned that part of her.

and maybe—just maybe—going would be her way of saying: you don’t get to have it all.

her reflection caught in the mirror across the room. she looked tired. haunted. but underneath the exhaustion was something steadier. the shadow of resolve.

she stood up.

grabbed the mesh top.

and started getting ready.

the street outside the venue was already humming with life—groups of twenty-somethings crowding the sidewalk, passing around half-smoked cigarettes and cheap convenience store beers, the faint thrum of bass leaking through the brick walls like the night had a pulse.

(y/n) tugged her jacket tighter around her body, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

no sign of amara yet.

she checked her phone for the third time in five minutes. 7:48 p.m. she’d said they’d meet a little before eight, but amara was always early. always waiting on the curb with snacks shoved in her bag and a too-loud story to fill the silence.

and then her phone buzzed.

a text.

[amara :] babe i’m so sorry. something came up. i can’t make it tonight. pls don’t kill me ily :(

(y/n) stared at the message.

read it again.

then once more, just to make sure she hadn’t misread it. but there it was. soft. apologetic. and devastating in its own casual way.

for a second, everything felt like static. the noise around her, the lights, the laughter—it all flattened into white.

she looked up at the venue entrance.

the line was shorter now. people were already filtering inside. the music inside was getting louder, familiar bass lines testing the sound system. Still Moss. she could already picture the setlist in her head.

she hesitated.

every cell in her body told her to leave. to turn around. take the train home. crawl into bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

because now it wasn’t just a gig. it was a battlefield.

but the thing was—she’d already fought this fight with herself earlier.

in the mirror, while deciding on her top. while wiping mascara smudges from under her eyes. while whispering to her reflection, you’re allowed to have things that used to belong to both of you.

and now, standing in front of the venue alone, she realized something else: leaving would feel too much like surrender.

to namjoon.

to the past.

to the version of herself that thought rejection meant she had to disappear.

no fucking way.

she took a breath.

pushed her phone back into her bag.

and stepped into the venue.

it was dim and loud and crowded, the floor sticky under her boots and the air thick with anticipation. the lights were still up. people milling around, drinks in hand, conversations half-shouted. she squeezed through the crowd toward a spot near the back—not close enough to feel suffocated, but just enough to see the stage, to feel the throb of the speakers in her chest.

and despite everything—the anxiety still clawing at her ribs, the faint echo of read 4:17 am playing on a loop in her head—she felt it.

a flicker of excitement.

this was her night.

and she wasn’t going to let the ghost of a man who couldn’t even text her back take that from her.

the venue had that familiar, half-feral energy only places like this could hold—dim ceiling lights hanging from exposed pipes, old show flyers layered on the walls like bark, the faint hum of something spilled and sticky in the air. voices rose and fell around her, half-drunk excitement wrapped around slurred words and laughter. no one here knew her. no one looked twice.

it helped.

for a second, it helped.

(y/n) found a spot near a worn pillar toward the left side of the room, far enough from the stage to breathe, close enough to see the instruments already arranged—drum set lit in soft red, mic stands waiting like they knew secrets. she crossed her arms and let herself sink into the pulse of the crowd. the subtle rhythm of people shuffling, talking, sipping, swaying.

Still Moss would go on soon.

she could feel it.

and beneath her nerves—below the tension stitched into her shoulders, below the phantom sting of rejection still lodged in her chest—there was something else. something familiar.

want.

not for him. not for the past.

for the music. for this night. for this version of herself that had always existed under the hurt.

someone brushed past her and muttered an apology. she nodded. took a slow sip of her drink. let the noise rush around her like static. the pre-show playlist crackled overhead, layered with old demos and deep cuts, and when the familiar intro of one of their early tracks started up—their song, the one from their first EP—her throat tightened.

but she stayed.

she didn’t flinch.

the lights overhead flickered once. twice.

and then they dimmed.

a hush spread through the crowd—not silence, but reverence. anticipation. the kind that hit you low in the gut.

she smiled.

just a little.

and for a moment, she forgot about the message. the rejection. the ache.

for a moment, she was just a girl in a crowd, heart beating in sync with the rest of them.

the stage lights snapped on—white-hot and gold—and the band filed out one by one to the kind of roar that felt earned. the guitarist adjusted his strap. the drummer spun his sticks once, twice, like ritual. the lead singer stepped up to the mic, tugged his cap low, and said—

“you guys ready for a loud fucking night or what?”

the room answered with a scream.

(y/n) screamed with them.

and for those first few songs, she let go.

she danced. not like she used to—not wild and fearless—but she moved. she let the bass hit her ribs and the guitar wrap around her neck and the lyrics pull her mouth into half-remembered shapes. her hands were in the air by the second chorus. her voice raw by the third.

she was alive.

and that’s exactly when it happened.

a shift in the air. not dramatic. not cinematic. just something off. like the static changed frequencies.

she turned her head.

and there he was.

namjoon.

standing maybe twenty feet away, half in shadow, eyes already locked on her like he hadn’t stopped looking since she walked in.

her pulse stuttered.

she didn’t look again. wouldn’t. she turned back to the stage with the kind of sharp, practiced movement that screamed I didn’t see you and I don’t care, even though her lungs had forgotten how to work and her drink suddenly tasted like regret.

the crowd surged forward with the start of another song, and she let herself be pulled along, like if she just moved fast enough, she could outrun the sudden roar of thoughts in her head. she focused on the band—on the flicker of stage lights slicing through fog, on the way the lead singer’s voice cracked in the chorus like a prayer, on the guy next to her who was already elbowing into her space trying to get closer. she focused on anything but him.

but she could feel it.

his stare.

like heat at the back of her neck, heavy and deliberate, digging in like he was trying to memorize the way she stood now. the way she danced without him. the way she still came, still claimed this night as her own. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t tender. it was invasive. unbearable.

she swallowed hard and lifted her hands, let herself sway with the rhythm, kept her body in motion just to give her mind something to anchor to. the crowd was louder now, rougher—people pushing forward, eager, half-drunk on adrenaline and cheap whiskey. someone brushed up against her, a hand catching too low at her waist before slipping off. another person stumbled into her back, barely catching themselves with a muttered apology and a laugh that didn’t reach their eyes.

the unintended groping, the crush of sweat and sound and strangers—it was a lot. too much. normally she’d lean into it, lose herself. but now every brush of skin felt like static. like him. like memory bleeding into muscle.

she didn’t dare look back.

but she knew.

he was still watching.

maybe trying to figure out if it was really her. maybe trying to decide if he should come over. maybe just… feeling it. the pull. the hurt. the consequence of silence.

her heart beat against her ribs like it was trying to break out.

stay cool. that’s what she kept telling herself. over and over, like a mantra between lyrics. stay cool. stay cool. he doesn’t get to ruin this for you. not again.

and god, she almost believed it.

almost.

but beneath it all, there was still that other voice—small, traitorous, terrified—asking: why is he here? did he know you’d come? is this some kind of joke? or is it fate, sick and stupid, dragging you both back together just to watch you fall apart again?

the lights flashed. the bass hit. the song climbed to its peak.

and she danced.

not for him.

but in spite of him.

she didn’t notice how thick the crowd had gotten until she tried to move.

one song bled into another, and suddenly the bodies pressing in around her weren’t dancing—they were shoving. climbing. surging toward the stage like it was salvation. someone behind her yelled something she couldn’t make out, and the girl to her left kept pushing her elbow into (y/n)’s ribs, eyes locked on the front like she’d sooner break bone than give up her view.

she tried to shift, just enough to step back, maybe slide toward the edge of the crowd—but there was nowhere to go. her foot caught on someone’s bag, someone else’s arm tangled with hers, and in the chaos she realized—fuck—she was stuck.

her breath hitched.

it wasn’t panic. not yet. but it was close.

the air was getting tighter, hotter. the music roared in her chest like thunder, no longer comforting, just loud. she ducked her head, tried to wedge her way sideways—but the wave of bodies moved again, and this time it nearly knocked her off balance. her shoulder clipped someone’s back. her hands went up instinctively, useless.

and then—

a hand.

fingers wrapping around her wrist—firm, familiar, undeniable.

she froze.

looked up.

and there he was.

namjoon.

right in front of her now, eyes wide, mouth tight, brows drawn in that exact expression she remembered from every argument they never really finished—worry twisted into anger. or maybe it was the other way around. either way, it hit her like a punch to the ribs.

his hand was warm.

his grip steady.

and his face—

god, his face.

he didn’t look surprised. not exactly. more like—rattled. like seeing her here was something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head, but the reality of it still threw him off balance. his jaw clenched. his eyes scanned her face like he was checking for damage, like he expected her to be bruised and broken just from being here.

she didn’t know what to say.

she couldn’t say anything.

the crowd pushed again, and this time he pulled her toward him—closer, instinctively protective, his body shielding hers like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

he leaned in, voice low but urgent in her ear. “you okay?”

she didn’t answer.

she couldn’t.

because all she could think was: you left. and I still wanted to marry you.

and now here he was, dragging her out of the storm like nothing had ever broken between them.

the crowd didn’t care who they were or what cracked, fragile history hung between them—it just kept pressing in, louder, harder, all elbows and shouted lyrics and spilled drinks. someone bumped into her back, hard enough to make her stumble, and she felt namjoon’s grip tighten around her wrist immediately. not rough, not possessive—just instinctive. like his body was answering a question before his brain could form the words.

he pulled her closer, chest brushing against her shoulder now, his other hand moving to the small of her back without thinking, guiding her through the tide like muscle memory. even after all this time, he still moved like someone who wanted to shield her from the world, still held her like she was precious and breakable—even if he had been the one to shatter her last.

“we should move,” he said, close enough that she felt the shape of the words more than heard them. his voice was low, almost calm, but the tension in his jaw told a different story. his eyes—those warm, unreadable eyes—searched her face in the flickering stage light, darting over her skin like he was looking for bruises, for signs that she’d been hurt. not just by the crowd.

by anything.

and she hated that it still made her want to cry.

she nodded, or maybe she didn’t. maybe her body just leaned into the pull of him, because the next thing she knew he was gently—gently—pressing her ahead of him through the crush of people, using his frame to carve a path through the chaos. every time someone got too close, he shifted, stepping between her and the noise, that quiet, seething frustration radiating off him like heat—not at her. never at her. just the situation. the pushing. the closeness. the way she’d been caught in all of it, small and alone and so vulnerable.

and she could feel it—how hard he was trying not to let it show. the anger simmering under his skin. the fear, maybe, buried somewhere beneath it. but it was there, plain as breath: he cared. he still fucking cared.

and that—more than the hands or the eyes or the words—was the most dangerous thing of all.

the bathroom corridor was narrow and dim, lined with peeling posters and flickering overhead lights that buzzed like flies. the smell of stale beer clung to the walls, and the occasional echo of the concert leaked through the cracked door down the hall, muffled now. distant. the adrenaline from the crowd hadn’t faded, not fully, but out here, in the quiet, everything felt sharper. more dangerous.

namjoon turned to face her the second they stepped into the space. he didn’t let go of her wrist until he was sure she was steady on her feet, and even then, his fingers lingered for a moment longer than they should have. like he didn’t want to. like maybe part of him still remembered what it felt like to hold her like this for no reason at all.

he stepped back then, ran a hand through his hair, and started in before she could even catch her breath.

“you shouldn’t have been in there alone,” he said, voice low but tight, like he was trying not to snap. “you know how packed these places get. it’s not safe, not when you’re by yourself. what if I hadn’t been there? you could’ve gotten hurt, trampled, or—”

she blinked, still catching up, heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

namjoon’s eyes stayed locked on hers, jaw clenched like he was still trying to hold the anger in his mouth, but it was starting to fracture—splinters showing through the edges. the fluorescent light above them flickered once, casting shadows across his face, and she hated how familiar he still looked in this lighting. like every too-late night in their old apartment, like every fight that ended with her curled up in his hoodie and his hands in her hair whispering, we’re okay, aren’t we? we’re okay.

but they weren’t okay now.

they hadn’t been in a long time.

“i wasn’t alone by choice,” she said, arms folded tight across her chest. “amara was supposed to come with me.”

namjoon’s mouth parted slightly.

she didn’t wait for him to speak.

“she bought the tickets. said i needed to get out of my head for once. i was going to cancel when she bailed but—” she swallowed hard. “i told myself i’d be fine.”

his expression shifted. not dramatically. not in that open-book way most people’s faces moved. but in the subtle ways she still remembered—his brows pulling in just enough, the set of his mouth softening like it suddenly hurt to keep it closed.

“seriously, what were you thinking? you don’t even like crowds like that. and if amara was supposed to be with you, why didn’t you just leave when she bailed? jesus, you could’ve—”

“you’re such an asshole,” she muttered.

the words slipped out before she could stop them. not loud. but loud enough to cut through him.

he froze.

the silence between them was immediate, electric.

she shook her head, chest tight, throat burning. “you don’t get to do this. you don’t get to show up out of nowhere and act like you’re worried about me when you left me on read.”

he stared at her, jaw tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

“you don’t get to act like it’s still your job to take care of me,” she said, her voice trembling just enough to piss her off. “i sent you one fucking message. one. and you couldn’t even be bothered to answer. and now you’re here lecturing me like you give a shit?”

his eyes darkened. “what was I supposed to say, huh?” he snapped, stepping forward. “you text me in the middle of the night after we haven’t spoken in over a year. what the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

her mouth opened. then closed.

namjoon kept going, voice rising like he was finally letting himself feel the thing he’d been pushing down. “you think that didn’t mess with my head? you think I haven’t spent the last few nights wondering if I should’ve said something? if I was allowed to say something? because for a second I thought—fuck, I thought you were drunk, or lonely, or both, and if I said the wrong thing, I’d make it worse.”

she laughed, bitter and breathless. “so you decided saying nothing was the better choice.”

“it was a dick move, on both ends” he said, quieter now. not denying it. just... laying it out.

they stared at each other.

her back against the wall. his shoulders drawn tight like he was holding something back with both hands. and the air between them? thick with everything they didn’t say after they broke up. everything they still don’t know how to explain.

the silence after his last words stretched taut between them, like the air was waiting for one of them to break it. (y/n) felt her breath coming fast, too fast, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile. her heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons—rage, confusion, grief. want. all tangled together so tightly she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

namjoon was standing barely a foot away, his jaw clenched, arms stiff at his sides like if he moved even a little he’d reach for her, and he didn’t trust himself to do it.

and fuck, she hated how familiar he still felt.

the heat between them was unbearable. it had nothing to do with the venue. nothing to do with the crowd they’d escaped. it was just them, trapped in this too-small hallway, skin prickling, hearts racing, eyes locked.

his gaze flicked down—her lips. then back up.

hers did the same.

and it was like time held its breath.

her mouth parted just slightly, and he leaned in a fraction of an inch, like he couldn’t help it, like something in him needed to be closer. and for a second—one long, shattering second—it felt inevitable. like their mouths were going to meet, and this whole night would collapse into something hot and reckless and full of everything they’d been avoiding.

but they didn’t kiss.

neither of them moved.

and the restraint hurt worse than any breakup ever could.

namjoon exhaled shakily, his voice suddenly quiet. “i should walk you home.”

just like that, the fire between them shifted. cooled at the edges. but didn’t go out.

she blinked, throat thick. “what?”

he met her eyes. no anger there now. just something raw. something so tender it made her chest ache.

“it’s late,” he said. “and i don’t want you going alone.”

her lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say.

because she should say no.

she should tell him to go to hell. to let her be. to stop doing these stupid, soft things that made it so hard to hate him.

but the part of her that sent that text? the part that never really stopped missing him? that part wanted to say yes.

god, it wanted to say yes.

the walk back to her place unfolded like a dream they weren’t sure they were awake for—quiet, disorienting, charged with too much everything. neither of them said a word, not at first. not when they left the venue. not when they crossed the street or turned down the familiar blocks of her neighborhood, shadows stretching long under the streetlights, the faint pulse of the city flickering somewhere behind them.

they didn’t have to speak to feel it.

every step buzzed with unsaid things. every brush of his arm near hers felt like an accident that wasn’t. she could feel his body heat like a second skin. like he was walking too close, not quite touching her, but there—solid, steady, present in a way he hadn’t been in over a year.

and she hated how natural it felt.

hated that her body still remembered the rhythm of him. the pace. the weight. the subtle, invisible pull like gravity still worked differently when he was near.

she didn’t know how they got to her building so fast. one second she was replaying their argument in her head like a song stuck on loop, and the next—she was unlocking the front door, his hand hovering behind her like it used to when she fumbled for her keys, like he still had the instinct to catch her if she dropped anything at all.

they stepped inside.

dim hallway. elevator out of service. and then the climb—three floors of quiet tension, every footfall like punctuation. they didn’t speak, not even as she led him to her door, not even as she stood there with the key halfway into the lock, heartbeat thudding in her throat.

and when she turned to face him again, everything came rushing back.

the fight.

the guilt.

the aching, unbearable want.

“you’re still mad,” he said quietly, eyes locked on hers like he couldn’t bear to look away.

she scoffed, soft and tired. “of course i’m mad.”

“i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“yeah?” she said, voice tight, bitter. “then why did you act like i didn’t exist?”

his face twitched, jaw clenching. “because i didn’t know how to handle it, okay? you don’t get to show up in my messages like that and expect me to be fine.”

“i didn’t expect you to be fine,” she shot back, stepping toward him now, all the space between them collapsing. “i didn’t expect anything, namjoon. i was drunk and stupid and—god, i just missed you. i wasn’t trying to trap you or make some kind of fucking dramatic statement—i just… i don’t know. i didn’t think. but you did. you saw it. and you chose nothing.”

he was breathing harder now. so was she. neither of them looked away.

“do you know how much it hurt?” she whispered, voice breaking. “after everything? to be left on read by the one person i thought would at least… at least say something?”

his mouth parted. something crumpled behind his eyes. but he didn’t speak.

they were so close now that she could feel the edge of his breath against her cheek, smell the faintest trace of something warm and familiar clinging to his collar. the scent of him broke her more than anything he could’ve said.

she wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they were standing toe to toe, barely a breath apart, the keys in her hand forgotten, her back nearly brushing the door. his hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself. her fingers curled around the hem of her jacket like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

the silence between them? it wasn’t empty.

it was full. heavy. breaking at the seams.

they weren’t done.

not even close.

namjoon’s eyes searched hers like he was looking for an opening, like if he could just name the thing between them, maybe it would make sense. but it didn’t. it never had. and now, standing inches from her door, with his chest rising and falling like he’d just run here barefoot, all he could manage was, “i didn’t want to make it worse.”

she blinked. slow. disbelieving.

“worse?” she echoed, voice low and razor-sharp. “you think ignoring me made it better?”

he flinched, just a little. his gaze dropped to the floor, like the tile pattern suddenly held the answers. “i thought if i said something, it would… reopen everything. and i didn’t think you wanted that.”

“so instead you just pretended i didn’t exist?” her voice cracked, raw now, too open. “you were the one person who knew how hard that year was for me and you—god, you didn’t even ask if i was okay. you just watched me bleed.”

he took a step back, not far, just enough to pace, to get his bearings—but even that small distance made her feel cold.

“you think it was easy for me?” he said, louder now, no longer calm. “you think i’ve just been—what—fine? do you know how many times i almost called you? how many fucking nights i picked up the phone just to hear your voice and had to put it back down because i didn’t trust myself not to fuck everything up even more?”

“then why didn’t you?” she snapped, stepping toward him again. “why didn’t you call? or text? or do anything?”

“because i loved you too much to hurt you again!” he said it like it burned coming out, like it wasn’t meant to be said at all, not now, not here. but it was out there now. between them. sizzling like an exposed wire.

her breath hitched.

he stared at her, wild-eyed and wrecked. “i still fucking love you, okay? even when i shouldn’t. even when it’s a terrible idea. even when i know you deserve someone who doesn’t keep you waiting at two a.m. for a message that never comes.”

her hand went to the doorknob, like she needed something to hold on to. like if she didn’t, she might collapse under the weight of his words.

“you don’t get to say that now,” she said, barely above a whisper. “you don’t get to stand here and tell me you still love me when you spent the last year pretending i was nothing.”

“i never pretended you were nothing,” he said, voice breaking, “i’ve been pretending you were everything, and that i could live without it.”

and just like that—the thread snapped.

they didn’t move toward each other so much as fall into the space between them, mouths colliding not with grace but with desperation. her back hit the door with a soft thud, his hands finally finding her waist like they were made for it, her fingers tangling in his hair like no time had passed at all. it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet. it was feral—the kind of kiss that tasted like every word they didn’t say, every night spent apart, every second of missing wrapped up in heat and teeth and breathless curses.

there was no going back now.

not after this.

his mouth tasted like all her worst decisions and all her best memories.

they didn’t stop kissing when they left the hallway. they didn’t even pretend to. his hands stayed glued to her hips, dragging her closer with every step like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go. and she couldn’t let go, not when every inch of him felt like muscle memory, not when her hands had minds of their own, sliding under his jacket, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt like she needed to feel the warmth of him to believe this was real.

her keys fumbled in the lock, hands shaking too much to find the hole, her mouth still locked on his, lips bruising against his, his teeth catching her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp and drop the keys entirely.

“fuck,” she breathed, laughing against his mouth, frustrated and drunk on him.

he reached around her, growling low under his breath, picked up the keys, found the lock like it was his apartment and not hers, and shoved the door open.

they stumbled in, mouths never parting. she kicked off her shoes without looking, dragging him inside by the collar. his jacket hit the floor with a dull thud, followed by hers. the air in the room was warmer than it should’ve been. or maybe it was just them. heat radiating from every inch of skin, every frantic touch, every groan pressed into a mouth too busy to stop.

they didn’t bother turning on the lights. didn’t need them.

his hands were everywhere—fisting the fabric at her sides, sliding up her ribs, down her back, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. like he was still angry, still caught in the argument, and this was the only way to speak now. she didn’t mind. she wanted it. wanted to be touched like this. wanted him like this—desperate and undone, like he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her either.

they reached the bedroom door, breath ragged, foreheads touching, lips still grazing each other’s in frantic, broken passes. her hand was on his chest, nails dragging lightly down muscle, his fingers pressing bruises into her waist like punctuation marks.

“this is a stupid idea,” he whispered, voice strained, wrecked, like the words hurt to say.

she grabbed his face, pulled him in again, kissed him like she could erase the thought.

“i don’t care,” she whispered against his lips. “stay. just tonight.”

the way she said it—soft, cracked, a little too close to pleading—broke something in him.

he didn’t answer. didn’t have to.

his mouth was back on hers before she could take another breath, rough, needy, starving, like he was trying to carve his name into her all over again. their bodies collided in the doorway, hands fighting with layers of clothing, mouths locking again and again, each kiss more desperate than the last.

they were already past the point of no return.

and neither of them gave a damn.

they didn’t make it to the bed right away.

he had her pinned to the wall just outside the doorway, their mouths crashing again like every kiss was a bite, a battle. namjoon’s hands gripped her hips hard, dragging her against him, and the low groan he let out when their bodies collided was guttural, like something primal had been knocked loose.

his lips broke from hers only to move down her jaw, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. “fuck—do you know what you did to me?” he muttered, voice rough, gravel-thick. “a year, and you text me like that... then just disappear again?”

her fingers scrambled at the hem of his shirt, yanking it upward, her breath hot against his throat. “you think i didn’t suffer too?” she snapped, dragging the shirt over his head. “you think it didn’t kill me to say nothing when you didn’t reply?”

he stepped forward, forcing her back again, until her shoulder blades hit the hallway wall. his bare chest pressed against hers, skin to skin, and he didn’t pause—just dipped down and pulled her shirt up with both hands, ripping it off in one quick, frustrated motion. his palms roamed her sides, rough and urgent, fingers curling around the waistband of her jeans like he couldn’t stand one more second of fabric between them.

“then why’d you do it?” he growled, mouth crashing to hers again. “why’d you send that message if you didn’t want me to come back?”

she gasped into the kiss, nails dragging down his spine, her jeans already half undone by his fingers, tugging hard, yanking them past her hips. “i didn’t know what i wanted,” she breathed, teeth grazing his bottom lip, “i just—i missed you.”

something in him snapped at that.

his hands locked under her thighs, lifting her with an easy, angry grip. she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to his shoulders as he carried her into the bedroom. their mouths never parted—just shifted, hungrier, rougher, teeth clashing in the dark. he dropped her on the bed like he couldn’t stand not having her underneath him any longer, following her down with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and fuck, finally.

her bra was gone next, pulled off with a practiced twist, his hands covering her like he was making up for lost time. he kissed down her neck, over her chest, marking her with lips and teeth, every touch bruising, claiming. her moans were breathy and desperate, her body arching into him like it remembered every time he’d touched her before.

“you should hate me,” he murmured against her skin, voice strained, like the words were choking him.

“maybe i do,” she whispered, dragging his belt open with shaking fingers, “but not tonight.”

he kissed her again, harder this time—his hips grinding against hers, both of them still half-dressed, bodies slick with heat and hunger.

“then don’t stop me,” he whispered, teeth on her jaw, one hand gripping her thigh so tight it made her gasp. “because i don’t think i can.”

his mouth found her neck first—hot, open kisses dragged along her skin like he was starving for it, tongue tasting, teeth grazing. she tilted her head back with a breathy gasp, giving him more, and he took it like a man possessed. he sucked hard just under her jaw, the kind of kiss meant to leave a mark, and she arched beneath him, hands threading into his hair, tugging as if that would tether her to the moment.

he groaned low in his throat, one hand already sliding between their bodies, palming her over her underwear—rough, slow circles of pressure that made her gasp again, hips twitching up against his touch. the fabric was already damp, and he swore under his breath like that fact physically wrecked him.

“fuck, you’re soaked already,” he muttered against her throat, voice dark and hoarse, almost angry about it. “you miss me that bad, huh?”

her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails biting skin. she didn’t answer—not with words. just a moan that caught in her throat, a roll of her hips into his palm that said everything.

his mouth trailed lower, dragging over her collarbones, down the center of her chest, pausing only to breathe her in like she was the last clean thing in a filthy world. and then he was on her breast, hot mouth closing around her nipple with an obscene sound, tongue flicking before he sucked hard, making her back arch off the mattress. her breath hitched. her thighs tightened around his hips.

his other hand gripped the other breast, rough fingers toying with the sensitive peak, thumb brushing, pinching lightly, just enough to make her whine. he switched sides without warning, lips wrapping around the other nipple like he’d been starving for it, groaning into her skin as if he could get drunk off the taste alone.

his mouth never stopped moving—sucking, kissing, biting gently—while his hand between her legs kept working her over the thin cotton barrier, dragging slow, cruel circles over her clit that made her legs tremble.

he pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes half-lidded, mouth slick, chest heaving.

“you think about me when you touch yourself?” he rasped, fingers curling against her cunt through her panties. “you still moan my name when it gets too much?”

her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting with a shuddered breath, and god—he wanted to hear her say yes. wanted her to admit that she’d been ruined for anyone else.

and he hadn’t even gotten his mouth between her legs yet.

his mouth trailed lower, leaving a hot, open path down the center of her stomach. her skin jumped under his tongue, her body twitching as he nipped along her waist, his hands spreading her thighs wider, slower, like he wanted to savor the shape of her more than the act itself. like being between her legs again was holy ground—and he was a man at the altar, worshiping through gritted teeth.

he looked up, caught the way she was already squirming beneath him, her chest heaving, lips parted as if every breath was costing her something. and fuck, she was beautiful like this—undone and trying so hard to hold it together.

then he got to her underwear.

he pressed a kiss just above the fabric, then let his eyes drop to the soft elastic hugging her hips. he hooked one finger under the band, tugged it lightly—just enough to make her feel the tension of it. a quiet, predatory smile played on his lips as he murmured, “you look so pretty in these.”

his voice was low, dark, velvet-drenched and filthy. he snapped the band gently against her skin, then ran his thumb along the curve of her pelvis, dipping dangerously close to where she was already soaking through the cotton. he let his mouth follow, mouthing her through the thin fabric, slow, wet drags of his tongue that made her hips buck up off the mattress.

and then—rip.

one swift motion. the fabric gave with a sharp tear, and her gasp echoed off the walls, eyes snapping open just in time to see him toss the ruined panties aside like he didn’t give a damn what they cost.

“i’ll buy you new ones,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel. “but fuck, i couldn’t wait. not with how wet you are.”

and then he was between her legs.

not teasing. not easing in.

devouring.

his tongue licked a long, slow stripe from the bottom of her slit all the way to her clit, ending with a soft suck that made her choke on a moan. his hands gripped her thighs hard, thumbs digging into her skin, keeping her spread open as he buried his face in her like a man possessed.

he groaned into her, the sound low and almost pained, like tasting her again physically undid him.

“missed this,” he growled between licks, one hand sliding under her ass to pull her closer, his mouth working her over like it was his job. “missed how you taste. fuck.”

her hands found his hair, tugging, anchoring herself. her hips rolled, helpless, chasing the pressure of his tongue as he sucked her clit into his mouth again, harder this time, relentless now. his tongue moved fast, slick, filthy strokes while he moaned into her like he was getting off on the sound of her falling apart.

“joon—” she whimpered, voice cracked, fingers curling tight in his hair.

he didn’t stop.

if anything, he smiled against her cunt.

and then—two fingers slid inside her. slow at first. deliberate. crooking up, finding that spot that made her eyes roll back as his mouth never left her clit, his tongue flicking faster, filthy, precise, focused. like he was making up for every second they’d lost.

she was close. so close. and he knew it. he could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her moans got higher, tighter, more desperate. he pressed his hand against her stomach with his free hand, holding her down like he wanted to feel her break from the inside out.

“cum for me,” he murmured against her, voice dark and hungry, “right on my fucking mouth, baby. let me taste you fall apart.”

her orgasm hit hard, sharp and fast, like her body had been waiting for his mouth for too damn long. her back arched, her thighs clamped around his head, and a broken, high-pitched moan tore out of her throat as his fingers kept moving inside her and his tongue never stopped. he held her through it, firm hands pressing her down like he needed to feel her shake apart against his mouth, like he didn’t trust her to stay grounded otherwise.

she whimpered his name like a prayer, like a curse, like she didn’t know what else to hold onto—and still, still, his mouth was on her, tongue dragging through her, catching every twitch, every pulse, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her climax.

only when her body gave out, slumping into the mattress with a wrecked, gasping breath, did he pull back—slow, deliberate.

he licked his lips once.

his chin was glistening. soaked in her.

his mouth was swollen, cheeks flushed, and there was a wild, wrecked look in his eyes as he hovered over her—something between pride and hunger, like tasting her had only made him more desperate, not less.

“fuck,” she breathed, staring at him like he was a hallucination.

and then she dragged him down.

no hesitation. no time to breathe.

her hands curled into his hair, and she kissed him—hard, filthy, open-mouthed, tongue tasting herself on him, moaning into his mouth like she was trying to suck the soul back out of him. his weight pressed down on her, solid and heavy, but it wasn’t enough. she needed more.

“please,” she whispered into the kiss, nails digging into his back, hips lifting up against the weight of his still-clothed cock pressing into her thigh. “joon—please. keep going. i need you inside me. now.”

he groaned into her mouth, like her begging physically hurt him. his hands fumbled at his pants, pulling them down far enough to free himself, the sound of his zipper and her ragged breath the only thing between them. her hands went to her own thighs, spreading them wide beneath him in an offering, desperate, ready—wrecked.

“you sure?” he panted against her lips, forehead pressed to hers, cock in hand, lining himself up with a grip that looked almost painful. “you say the word, i’ll stop.”

she looked him in the eye, voice shaking but certain.

“don’t you fucking dare.”

he slammed into her in one deep, brutal thrust.

his hips slammed into her with one long, deep thrust that knocked the air clean out of her lungs. the stretch burned so good she cried out, legs shaking around his waist, hands fisting the sheets as her head dropped back in utter shock.

“fuck—joon,” she gasped, voice raw, almost stunned at how full she felt, at how much she’d missed this. missed him.

he groaned like the sound of her voice broke something in him. his hands grabbed her thighs, yanked her even closer, then pulled out almost all the way just to slam back in again—harder, sharper, each snap of his hips making the bed creak under the weight of it all. her body jolted with every thrust, his cock thick and heavy inside her, dragging against every spot that made her legs tremble and her breath hitch in real time.

“you feel so fucking good,” he growled, leaning over her, teeth gritted as he fucked her like he meant it. “so fucking tight. fuck—i forgot how tight you get when you’re losing it.”

his hand reached up, tangled into her hair, pulled just enough to tilt her head back. she moaned for it—loved it—the little edge of pain sharp enough to drive her crazier, her back arching up into his chest. his mouth was on hers again before she could speak, all tongue and teeth and gasping moans, swallowing every breath like he couldn’t stand the space between them.

their mouths clashed, messy and open and hungry, like kissing had turned into its own kind of fight.

she clawed at his back, dragging nails down muscle, digging in every time his hips snapped forward and buried himself to the hilt inside her again. each thrust hit so deep she swore she saw stars, his pace fast, merciless, like he was punishing both of them for every second of distance they’d ever had.

“you missed this?” he panted into her mouth, voice low, almost mocking, like he knew. “missed getting fucked like this? stretched out on my cock like you were made for it?”

she choked on a moan, nails raking down his spine. “yes—yes, joon—fuck—don’t stop.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with one hand. “not until you’re screaming.”

and then he really let go.

hips slamming into her, deep and fast, skin slapping skin, her whole body sliding up the mattress from the force of it. his free hand went to her waist, holding her down, keeping her steady as he wrecked her, thrust after thrust after thrust—her mouth open, no sounds coming out at all for a second, just wrecked gasps and the kind of expression that would stay burned in his memory forever.

he dropped his forehead to hers again, breathing heavy, fucking her so deep and so hard that tears prickled at the corners of her eyes—not from pain, but from relief. from the way everything in her finally broke under the weight of him.

he pulled out just long enough to manhandle her into a new position—grabbing her thigh, lifting one of her legs and pressing it high onto his shoulder, folding her open for him like a fucking gift. the angle changed everything. he slid back in slow just to feel it, to watch the way her mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back the moment he bottomed out again, deeper now, better.

her moan broke open the silence like a scream, one hand gripping the sheets, the other clawing at his forearm as he started fucking into her again—hard, relentless, that new angle making her feel everything more. every thrust hit home, punching a whimper from her lips, her cunt wet and hot and clenching around him so tight he nearly lost control.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, leaning over her just enough to bring his hand to her jaw, gripping it, thumb pressed under her chin to tilt her head back so she looked at him. “you look so fucking good like this. making a mess on my cock. soaked all the way down my thighs—shit.”

she couldn’t answer. not really. just breathless, broken sounds, tears threatening to fall because it was too much—not just the sex, but the feeling of it. the heat of his skin, the grip of his hand, the filthy way he was watching her like she was something he’d been dying to touch again.

he leaned in, close enough that their faces almost touched, still pounding into her like he needed to fuck the memory of her into the walls.

“you missed this?” he whispered, voice rough, dark, mean. “missed me splitting you open like this? filling you like no one else can?”

her hands grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin, nodding frantically, eyes wild and desperate. “yes—fuck, yes, namjoon—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.”

he growled, pure animal, his grip tightening on her jaw as he kissed her again—messy, filthy, tongue and teeth and moans—his other hand sliding down to where they were joined, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles while he thrust into her like he was chasing a high he couldn’t come down from.

“gonna cum again for me?” he murmured against her mouth, thrusting harder now, faster, body slamming into hers like he meant to break the bed. “you gonna make a mess all over me, baby?”

she was already there. legs shaking. body locking up. her breath caught in her throat and she whimpered, choking on his name like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

“cum for me,” he growled again, voice raw, mouth at her ear now. “fuck—cum on my cock. i missed this so fucking much—missed you.”

and then she shattered.

again.

her body convulsed beneath him, legs trembling, thighs twitching around his hips as she came again—louder this time, back arched, mouth open in a soundless gasp that broke into a moan when he kept thrusting through it. her nails raked down his back, her whole body pulling him in, tighter, deeper, like she wanted to keep him buried inside her forever.

he couldn’t hold it anymore.

the way she clenched around him, the heat, the mess of her under him, the way she looked when she came—completely ruined, all soft and raw and his—it tore the last thread of restraint out of him.

“fuck, i’m—shit, i’m gonna—” his voice cracked, low and hoarse and wrecked, his thrusts stuttering as his body locked up.

he pulled out fast, just in time, his hand wrapped around himself once, twice, and then he came with a broken, strangled whimper right into her ear, forehead pressed to hers, breath hot and fast. thick ropes of his cum landed across her stomach, slick and warm, and he let out a shaky breath as he collapsed halfway over her, chest heaving, fingers still gripping her thigh like he couldn’t let go.

for a moment, neither of them moved. just the sound of their breathing—heavy, ragged, in sync.

but then—he kissed her again.

soft this time.

just under her jaw, then across her throat, right where her pulse still fluttered like a drum. his hand smoothed down her side, his lips slow and deliberate as he pressed them into the soft spot under her ear—the place that used to make her shiver when he loved her gently.

and then—he slid back in.

slow.

gentle.

soothing the ache he’d left behind.

his cock was still hard, still thick, but now every roll of his hips was tender, like he was apologizing with his body. like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her just yet. he buried his face in her neck, groaning quietly as her walls fluttered around him, warm and slick and still so damn tight.

“could stay like this all night,” he whispered, voice barely a breath. “just like this. fuck, you feel so good. like you were made for me.”

her fingers found his hair again, gentler now too, stroking through the sweat-damp strands, her own breath shaky but steadying.

“then don’t go,” she murmured, barely audible.

and he kissed her again.

not fast. not hard.

just full of everything they’d said without words.

the shift was almost too much. like the weight of it all finally sank in once the sweat cooled and the urgency dulled into something deeper. something unbearably tender.

he was still inside her—moving, slow and careful, like he wanted her to feel every inch, like he was afraid to lose the warmth of her if he stopped. their bodies rocked together, hips moving in soft, deliberate rolls, his hands planted beside her head, his chest pressed to hers, their foreheads touching.

he kissed her again, slow and deep, tongues brushing with the kind of hunger that had turned gentle, reverent. her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clutching him close like she was scared he’d vanish. she moaned softly into his mouth, breath hot and broken, each little sound spilling into his throat like a secret.

“you feel so good,” she whispered, voice tight, shaking, almost tearful.

and he felt it. every syllable. the way her voice cracked, the way her body clung to his like she couldn’t let go.

he kissed her harder, but not rough. not anymore.

his hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as he pulled back just enough to look at her. his eyes were heavy, glazed with lust and something aching behind it—something close to regret, or maybe grief, for everything they’d lost between then and now.

“i missed this,” he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers, the rhythm of his hips slow and steady, still buried deep inside her. “missed you.”

her breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed as her legs tightened around his waist. she didn’t say anything for a moment, couldn’t—not when her throat was closing up, not when every slow thrust made her feel everything she’d spent the last year pretending didn’t still live under her skin.

“me too,” she finally whispered, brushing her nose against his. “so much.”

he kissed her again. deeper. longer. her lips trembled against his, but she didn’t cry—not yet. just held him tighter, her soft moans landing in his ear like confessions, her hands running down his back, memorizing every ridge of him like he might slip away again.

he moved inside her like they had all the time in the world.

and for a moment, they did.

he was still buried inside her, hips moving in those slow, shallow rolls like he never wanted to stop. but the urgency had passed. the storm had calmed. and when she brushed her fingers gently along the nape of his neck, murmuring his name soft and low, he sighed against her mouth, like her touch was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

he pulled out with a soft groan, breath catching as he left her warmth. but before the space between them could feel too wide, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him—slow, smooth, and intentional.

he hissed, his body jolting from the sudden touch, already so close from everything they’d done that he twitched in her palm, leaking for her.

“shh,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “just let me take care of you.”

her hand moved slow at first, slick and steady, her thumb brushing the tip every so often in a way that made his hips jerk and his breath come harder. her other hand rested on his hip, anchoring him as she stroked him with a rhythm that was both loving and filthy. his eyes fluttered shut, forehead falling to her shoulder, chest rising and falling fast as she murmured to him—sweet nothings and soft gasps of filth.

“you’re so fucking perfect like this,” she breathed, kissing his temple, “so hard for me still. you liked fucking me that much, huh?”

he groaned—whimpered—a quiet, broken sound that made her clench around nothing. she could feel him tensing, his muscles twitching under her hand, his moans getting tighter, shorter, more desperate.

“gonna cum for me, baby?” she whispered, lips dragging along his jaw now, her pace quickening just a little. “all over my hand? let me feel you lose it, joon.”

his hips stuttered once—twice—and then he did, cumming hard, hot, thick spurts painting her hand and her stomach again, his mouth open in a soft, wrecked sound that died against her throat. he trembled, completely spent, and she held him close, kissing the corner of his mouth as he shuddered through the aftershock.

he collapsed on top of her a moment later, body heavy and boneless, his breath loud in the quiet room, mouth still parted against her skin.

she didn’t mind the weight. not one bit.

her clean hand slid into his hair, damp with sweat, fingers gently massaging his scalp, nails lightly grazing as she whispered soothing little circles into his crown. he hummed against her chest, nuzzling in deeper, her heartbeat loud and steady beneath his cheek.

neither of them spoke for a long while.

but in that silence, her hand never left his hair. and he never moved from the curve of her body.

he stayed on her chest for a moment longer, breathing deep, eyes closed like he could hold back the tide if he just didn’t look up. but even with her fingers carding through his hair, even with her heartbeat steady beneath his ear, the weight in his chest kept growing.

he lifted his head slowly, and even that felt like too much. the air shifted. the warmth between them cooled by a breath.

“what are we doing, (y/n)?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his voice already frayed. his eyes searched hers—deep, dark, desperate. looking for something. for regret, maybe. a sign that she wanted to take it back, that this had just been a moment of weakness, a one-night undoing they’d sweep under the rug come morning.

but there wasn’t any.

not in her eyes. not in her touch.

she blinked, then gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach all the way. “well,” she said, breathless, trying for lightness, “you fucked the shit out of me just now. so… i’d say we’re about four orgasms past asking that question.”

he let out a short, breathy laugh—but it didn’t last. not really.

his eyes didn’t leave hers. and hers… started to falter.

because she could see it. that flicker behind his gaze. the one that said he was trying not to feel too much, not to fall too hard all over again when the edge of her skin still felt like home.

and god—she could feel herself starting to unravel.

“joon,” she whispered, softer now. her clean hand cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing along the line of his cheekbone. “it’s okay.”

“is it?” he asked, the words sharp but the tone anything but. it wasn’t anger. it was fear. “because it doesn’t feel like it should be. it feels like I just—like we just opened a wound we spent a year trying to close.”

she bit her bottom lip. looked up at the ceiling for a second like she was searching for the courage not to let the sting in her eyes turn into tears.

“i’m not sorry,” she said eventually. quietly. “not for a second.”

he looked at her for a long time, as if her answer both soothed and destroyed him.

his hand found her waist under the sheets, gentle now, grounding. like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her—but he couldn’t not.

“me either,” he said.

and yet… the silence said everything else.

“we should probably clean up,” she murmured, voice husky but gentle as she traced lazy fingers down the line of his spine. “we’re both covered in sweat and cum.”

he let out a low, sleepy laugh, forehead still resting against her collarbone. “mmm, that we are.”

it took them a minute to untangle. not because they were too tired, but because every time they shifted, one of them stole another kiss—slow, unhurried, more lips than tongue now. soft breaths, forehead touches, the kind of kisses that meant stay without ever needing to say it.

they padded to the bathroom in silence, limbs heavy, hands brushing. and once inside, under the dim overhead light, the intimacy only deepened.

he turned on the shower and stepped in first, then held out his hand for her without a word. she followed, the water pouring down over both of them, steam curling around their skin as he reached for the shampoo like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he moved slowly, fingers in her hair, massaging her scalp with gentle care. her eyes fluttered shut, arms resting around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest. and when it was her turn, she did the same—dragged her fingers through his hair with a touch that made his knees weak, washed his shoulders and his neck with the pads of her fingers like she was memorizing him all over again.

there was no hunger in it. no spark of lust.

just something closer.

every few moments, one of them would lean in to kiss the other—wet, slow kisses that tasted like water and exhaustion. a kiss to the shoulder. one to the temple. one on the mouth that lingered longer than it should’ve.

they dried off together, standing close, sharing a towel, her eyes following the slope of his back like she was afraid it’d disappear.

he pulled on the shirt she handed him. it was one of his, left behind long ago—somehow still folded in the back of her dresser drawer. she didn’t say anything when he smiled at it. didn’t have to.

and when they were standing in her bedroom again, the air thick with the scent of clean skin and old memory, he moved toward the door almost instinctively—like he should go.

like this had been enough.

“you don’t have to leave,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a thread pulled loose.

he turned slowly, met her eyes.

and god, she looked so bare. not just physically—wrapped in nothing but a towel and damp hair—but emotionally. open. honest. a little afraid.

“stay,” she added, quieter this time. “please.”

his throat worked. like the word caught there.

and then, finally—he nodded.

not dramatic. not with a speech. just a quiet, yes written into the way he came back to her, climbed into her bed, and pulled her into his arms like she belonged there.

because maybe she still did.

they slipped under the sheets like they’d done it a thousand times before—because they had. the weight of the covers settled over them like a secret, like something sacred. her head tucked under his chin, one of his arms curved tightly around her waist, the other splayed across her ribs, his thumb brushing gentle lines over her skin like he had to keep reminding himself she was real.

his breathing was steady against her hair, his legs tangled with hers, the kind of closeness that was impossible to fake. and for the first time in over a year, they weren’t bracing for the next blow. no accusations. no fear.

just truth. in its rawest, sleepiest form.

“i thought you hated me,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

his hand tightened around her waist, just a little. “never,” he said, almost immediately. “i just… didn’t know how to stop missing you without falling apart.”

she closed her eyes, felt that break something in her. a soft exhale left her mouth. “i never stopped missing you,” she admitted. “even when i said i was fine. even when i laughed with my friends and told them i was over it.”

he didn’t answer right away. just pressed his lips to her forehead, long and warm. like he was apologizing for the space that had stretched between them.

“every time i passed that coffee place you loved,” he said, voice low, “i had to walk the other way.”

she blinked hard, tears threatening. “i deleted your number like three times. memorized it anyway.”

he let out a soft laugh through his nose. not happy, not sad. just knowing.

the silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full. full of everything they’d carried in their chests for twelve long months. full of what-ifs and why-nots. full of the ache of having loved each other and the even deeper ache of still loving each other now.

she turned in his arms, nose brushing his, their eyes meeting in the dark. “i didn’t mean to send that message,” she said. “not really. i was drunk, and sad, and tired of pretending i didn’t still—”

“i’m glad you did,” he interrupted softly. “i’ve read it at least a dozen times. didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t ruin us all over again.”

she reached up, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “you didn’t ruin anything, joon. we just… broke. but we never stopped meaning something.”

he kissed her then.

slow. deep. different.

like he heard her.

when they pulled apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together, their breath tangled, hearts pounding in quiet sync.

“can we stay like this?” he murmured, not quite a question, not quite a plea.

“for as long as we want,” she whispered back.

and they stayed.

no promises.

just warmth, and weight, and the hope that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end.

he stayed quiet for a moment longer, just watching her, the way her eyes blinked slowly up at him in the dark. the way her breath steadied when he touched her like that—gently, reverently, like touching something breakable but beloved. his thumb traced her cheekbone, her jaw, the curve of her lip, and when she kissed the pad of it—just a light brush, soft and sure—something inside him settled.

“okay,” he said at last, the word nearly swallowed by the stillness.

her brows furrowed, and he saw the flicker of uncertainty before he caught her chin between his fingers and smiled, just a little.

“we can try,” he said, clearer this time. “if you want to… really try. no more running. no more pretending we’re fine when we’re not.”

her lips parted—surprised, maybe—but she nodded almost immediately. like she’d been waiting to hear that exact thing from the moment he walked into that bathroom corridor and looked at her like she still mattered.

“i do,” she said. no hesitation. “i want to.”

he exhaled then, not shakily, but with the kind of relief that made his whole chest sink into hers.

“me too,” he murmured. “so much.”

they kissed again. slower now, but full. full of things they hadn’t said. full of the ache and the years and the breathless kind of hope that blooms when you stop lying to yourself.

his arms wrapped tighter around her. hers curled beneath his. their legs tangled like they’d never been untangled in the first place.

and this time, when the silence settled around them, it wasn’t heavy.

it was safe.

the kind of quiet you only get when the worst part is over, and something better is starting.

they’d hurt. they’d healed. they’d found their way back through the noise and the hurt and the time.

and now—together, in the dark, skin warm, bodies still humming with memory—they were choosing it.

again.

and this time, they meant it.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

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