#“you're not missing anything i looked into it” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

docrobinavitch · 3 days ago

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did i do it to myself?

dr. abbot x f!librarian!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually suggestive content, swearing, alcohol, age gap, exes to lovers, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort words: 6.3K synopsis: after three months together, you were sure you were in love with jack abbot. but then, he breaks up with you with little to no explanation and you're left reeling. after several failed relationships where you were constantly made to believe your feelings and wants were too much, you assume this is why jack has left you. in a bid to get him back, or hurt him, or both, you show up at a bar you know him to frequent and test his patience. a/n: this is for all my sensitive girlies, you are never too much!! i wrote this in a fugue state bc i missed jack let me know if u like as always my inbox is open to yap <3 syd

JANUARY

You knew he would be at the bar that night. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but you knew his schedule and you knew he was off today. And sometimes when he was off, he went to the speakeasy at night.

The same speakeasy the two of you had your first date at.

Okay, so, maybe you hadn’t known if he would come tonight. Maybe you had just been coming to the speakeasy most Thursday nights since he had broken up with you. It wasn’t that you wanted him back, you just wanted to make him suffer. The way he had made you suffer.

At least, that’s what you had convinced yourself. Because the alternative was too humiliating. You had always had a habit of falling too hard and too fast. You were too sensitive, cared too much, got attached too quickly. You were planning future vacations and creating Pinterest boards for the apartment you would eventually move into just a month or two in. And when it was all over, it was always you who was falling apart while you watched from afar as the other person always seemingly escaped unscathed.

Your friends wouldn’t say so, but you knew they found it all a bit pathetic. With Jack, especially, they hadn’t understood the draw. They had teased about his age, referred to him as grandpa in your conversations, pointed out his weird schedule, how you rarely saw him because of it. They thought you probably didn't even know him very well, that whatever infatuation you had was just a carefully curated delusion.

But they didn’t see what he was like when you were alone together. How could they know about the times when he made you dinner in his kitchen when you were too busy to even think about what to eat? How he had twirled you around in your socks on the linoleum floor while Dancing in the Moonlight spun on his record player.

They didn’t see all the times he quietly ran his fingers through your hair the way you liked when you were sad. He never made you feel like your feelings were too heavy or a flaw, which was foreign to you. It was why you had been left reeling when he ended it.

“I don’t understand.” You were shaking your head, sure you had misheard him. Sitting across from him outside your favorite coffee shop, holding the shaken espresso he had insisted on buying for you, that you now understood to be some kind of fucked up consolation prize.

“I just…” He tore his gaze away from yours, as if it would lessen the blow if you couldn't see his hazel eyes glint green in the sunlight when he said it, “I don’t think it’s working.”

You had never gotten more of an explanation than that, too in shock to ask anything in that moment. You weren’t sure, but you thought you must’ve asked him to leave because the next time you looked at the seat where he had been it was empty and your iced coffee completely melted.

You were aware, as you always were, that to everyone else who didn’t attach themselves like cling wrap to their significant other, three months wasn’t a whole lot of time to date someone. Especially when you were adults on opposite work schedules. You hadn’t even said the L word yet, but that was just because you knew from experience that it was better for everyone if you waited until the six month mark to do that. You were very much in love with Jack Abbot, but you thought you'd scare him off if you were the first to say it. All the rules you had to set for yourself to make yourself more like a cool girl and less like Velcro in your relationships.

With Jack, you had followed the rules. You had made sure not to call too often, not to cry in front of him, not to seem too eager to spend more than just a night together, leave in the morning after coffee, don't leave your toothbrush behind in his bathroom, and on and on the list went. You liked him so much, you were extra careful. And you thought it had been working.

Until it wasn't.

And now it had been a little over a month since he had broken up with you and you were at the bar. This definitely broke the rules, but what did it matter if he thought you were a crazy ex girlfriend? You were still just an ex.

And when he walked into the bar that night, you pretended not to notice. You ignored the thrum of your pulse in your ears when you heard his rough voice give the bartender his usual order. Whiskey, neat, with a twist. You kept your attention on the bouncer that had been talking with you the last twenty minutes, hoping Jack saw him and felt green waves of envy. It was needless, though. The bouncer was loyal and married with kids. Had been showing you pictures of his wife and kids just five minutes earlier. But that was just fine, as long as it looked like something else altogether to Jack.

You knew you looked hot tonight, you had dressed this way intentionally. Knee high black boots, red crushed velvet maxi skirt with a long slit that stopped mid thigh, and a black mesh top with intricate floral patterns down the sleeves. The New Year had just passed so it was probably too cold for the outfit, but you also knew how crazy it drove Jack when you showed a little skin.

He had taken a seat at the bar top, but you were at a table in his line of sight, as was the bare skin of your thigh. And you felt it, when he noticed you. The heat of his gaze was unmistakable. His eyes were so intently focused on the slit in your skirt it felt like his hands were already on you.

The bouncer left you after a couple of minutes, called back to the door, and you heard it when Jack immediately stood and began to walk towards you.

He sat at the chair across from you, setting his glass on the table, "What're you doing here, kid?"

You allowed your eyes to trail up to his. It hurt as spectacularly as you thought it would, seeing him up close like this again. A knife twisted in your side at the tired look in his eyes, the gray stubble across his jaw that you longed to run soothing fingers across.

Reaching towards his drink, you pulled the spiraled orange peel from it and placed it between your teeth, chewing it lightly.

"That seat's reserved for people who actually intend to fuck me." You said, jaw clenched.

He laughed softly, "Well I guess I'm in the right seat, then."

You grimaced, "That's not funny."

"I wasn't joking."

You narrowed your eyes at him before leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest, abandoning the orange peel on the table in front of you, "Okay, well it's reserved for people I intend to fuck, then. So, if you could find another seat…"

"You think I don't know you came here to see me? The same place we had our first kiss? Dressed like that and flirting with strangers in front of me?"

Your lips twisted upward in satisfaction when he couldn't help the hungry look in his eyes when they landed on the bare skin of your thigh, running a hand across his jaw in agitation.

You rolled your eyes, "Is your name on the deed to the bar or something?"

His eyes darted back to yours and the corner of his lips tugged up into a smile, "I don't remember you being so prickly. You used to be sweet."

"Yeah, well, breaking up with someone out of the blue and for no reason will do that to a person. I'm not a doormat."

He sighed and shook his head, "Come on, really?"

"What?" You asked sharply, "Did I mischaracterize it? Because that's how I remember it."

He leaned on his forearms so he was closer to you, his probing eyes locking on yours, "You wanted to end it, too. I was just the one to pull the plug."

For a second you thought maybe you were hallucinating. You actually physically recoiled from him in surprise, waited for him to repeat himself. But he didn't.

An incredulous laugh tore out of your throat, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He shook his head, "You weren't in it at all the last few weeks."

"Jack," You said breathlessly, "That could not be further from reality and I think it's fucked up that you would try to blame me for the fact that you ended something special for no good reason."

"I'm not blaming—"

"I mean I would've done anything you asked, I was fucking in love with you, so for you to say that I wasn't in it whatever that even means to you, is frankly deranged."

He seemed taken aback and it took you a few moments to even catch up with what you had said in your annoyance, but once you had, your chest tightened with panic.

"What did you just say?" He asked slowly.

You felt short of breath and you stood in such a hurry, you rattled the table and almost knocked Jack's drink over, "You're right, I shouldn't be here."

"No, hang on—" Jack secured a firm hand around your wrist, "Sit back down."

You tugged lightly, "I have to go."

"Hey," Eric, the bouncer, made his way over to the two of you, chest puffed out. But Jack made no move to release you. "This asshole giving you trouble, baby?"

You smiled sweetly at him, "I'm okay, Eric."

Jack laughed humorlessly, "'Baby', huh?"

"Don't do something stupid, man." Eric said, stepping closer to Jack.

You had never known Jack to be aggressive in any way, so when he stood up and gently pushed you behind him, you were floored.

"Why don't you back off my girl, hm?" Jack said, deathly quiet.

My girl? You had a passing thought that maybe you had fallen and hit your head at some point earlier in the day. Surely that was the only logical explanation for whatever this fever dream in front of you was.

"She never mentioned a boyfriend, only an ex." Eric and Jack were now eye to eye, nearly chest to chest as they sized each other up.

"Um, boys?" You moved around Jack so you were standing to the side of them both, "I'm fine, okay? Eric? Eric." Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from Jack and looked down at you. You nodded reassuringly, "I'm good. Promise."

He took another long look at Jack before backing away, "You'll shout if you need me?" You nodded, and then he went back to the door.

"The two of you sleeping together?" He was more on edge than you had ever seen him. Knee bouncing as he sat back down. Jack was always the picture of calm and collected, especially in a crisis. So to see him so worked up now, really over nothing, was foreign to you. "He was acting awful… Familiar."

You sighed, "No. I know him from the library. He comes in for our Adult Literacy Program."

His knee stilled when your words registered and he looked over at you before sighing and running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head, "M'such an idiot." He murmured.

You chewed on your cheek and turned to look towards the door, "I'm gonna go home, Jack."

His head shot back up, "Wait, can we just talk for a minute, please."

This was what you wanted, you thought. For him to be asking for you, desire seemingly reignited. But not like this. You wanted to have the upper hand this time and you had revealed your hand too quickly. He was in control again.

"I'm sorry." You said softly and excused yourself from the table.

SEPTEMBER

It was a beautiful fall day, perfect for the outdoor flu shot clinic you were running out of the library. You were running around with your clipboard in your hand, pen occasionally between your teeth as you checked in with all the professionals who had volunteered to administer the vaccine, pharmacy techs and nurses from the community.

But while you were doing so, you spotted a man you didn't recognize. Head full of thick, graying curls and an easy smile as he spoke to one of the nurses you had checked in with a few minutes ago. You frowned and looked down at your clipboard. The only volunteer you were missing was a Mrs. Dana Evans, RN.

"Excuse me, sir?" You politely tapped him on the shoulder, "The clinic's not open yet, you can wait inside until we're ready—"

"Oh, I'm not here for the shot, already vaccinated."

You nodded slowly, "Um, okay, well this is a private event so if you could—"

"Sorry," He chuckled quietly, "I'm Jack Abbot, I work at PTMC. One of our nurses, Dana Evans, said she was supposed to volunteer here, but something came up. She asked if I could cover for her." He pulled out his hospital ID, the word DOCTOR written under his name and photo.

You looked up at him quizzically, "We don't get a lot of doctors volunteering here."

He cocked his head to the side, "Why, because they think it's below them?"

"No, I think it's because most of them haven't administered a vaccine in so long that they have no idea how to do it anymore."

He huffed a laugh, "Well, you don't have to worry about that, I know how to use a needle."

He winked at you and, well, he was very handsome. It made your knees weak. You cleared your throat and broke eye contact, "Okay, well, thank you for being here, Dr. Abbot. Just don't maim anyone, please."

"Just, Jack, if you don't mind." He reached out a hand to shake yours, "I don't think I got your name."

Almost against your will, your brain registered his toned arms and prominent veins that snaked down from his biceps to his hands. And the freckles, God, the freckles that dotted his skin were gorgeous. You swallowed hard as you took his hand and gave your name.

"You organize this by yourself?" He asked, dropping your hand.

You nodded, "Yeah, every year. We usually get a decent turn out."

"That's really good. You're saving lives, you know?"

You bit your lip, and shrugged, "I suppose. The community's really important to me, it's part of why I became a librarian. Libraries were always there for me when no one else was." You realized you had overshared too late when you noticed the gentle smile on his face, "Sorry, um, I just really love the library."

"Don't be sorry," He shook his head, "It's sweet. You're sweet."

You laughed nervously and hung your head, hoping you weren't as transparent as you felt. Sweet. Just one word and it felt like he had reached inside your chest and pulled your heart out with his bare hand.

"Well, I should get back to it. I'll, uh, see you around?"

His grin widened and he nodded, "Counting on it."

You spun away and— Walked directly into the table behind you, nearly losing your balance as your thighs slammed into the hard surface. Oh, awesome.

You didn't turn back to see if he had seen (of course he had, there was no way he could miss it), but you did hear an unmistakable chuckle as you scurried away.

Humiliated, you avoided him the rest of the event. If the snacks or water needed to be refilled by his station, you had one of your other librarians do it.

Hours later, when the clinic had ended, you were beginning to put away all the folding chairs when a voice came up behind you, "Thought you said you'd see me around?"

You jumped, turning to face him and he laughed, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just couldn't help but notice you handed out everyone else's snacks and waters yourself, except the ones near me."

Catching your breath from the near heart attack he'd given you, you shook your head, "That… wasn't intentional."

"Oh, no? Was it also unintentional when you went by and thanked every volunteer for their help except for me?"

No, it had all definitely been intentional. You hung your head, "I didn't think you'd notice."

He blew out a long breath between his lips, "Man, I must be more rusty than I thought."

You frowned, "What?"

"I've been trying to flirt with you all day, but I must have done an awful job if you were avoiding me."

You bit your lip, tried to figure out if he was fucking with you somehow. It wasn't that you hadn't been flirted with before, you had. But Jack Abbot struck you as the kind of man who just flirted with everyone all the time at baseline, never meaning anything by it. So it had mortified you when you had gotten so flustered.

Deciding he was probably being genuine, you smiled, "I wasn't—I mean, I was avoiding you, but only because I thought I was being pretty embarrassing earlier."

He hummed, "Well, I thought you were adorable. You should walk into tables more often." You laughed and his grin widened, "When you've finished up here would you want to grab a drink with me?"

"Yeah," You said immediately before you could think on it too much, "Yeah, I'd like that."

He was waiting outside for you once you clocked out and walked you to his car, "Where are we going?"

"I know a place," He opened his car door and gestured for you to get in.

You smirked and climbed in the car, watched through the window as he smiled back at you and gently closed the door.

JANUARY

The snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked away from the speakeasy. Your breaths steamed out in front of you and you tightened your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep the heat in. It wasn't long before you heard an additional pair of shoes behind you and you rolled your eyes, "Jack, I said I don't want to talk."

"I know," He slowed once he caught up to you, "But could you at least let me drive you home? In complete silence?"

"I don't mind the walk."

He scoffed and shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders, "You're gonna get sick and then you're gonna have to come see me, which seems like the last thing you want."

"There are other doctors in Pittsburgh."

He laughed, "Sweetheart, you ever see a doctor in this city that's not me, I'd consider that infidelity."

You hummed, "Sounds like a you problem. Didn't you promise me silence?"

"Yeah, that was taken off the table when you refused to let me drive you."

You stopped cold on the sidewalk, causing him to nearly walk straight into you, "You can't walk me all the way home without a jacket, you'll freeze."

He raised his eyebrows, "So you agree that it's too cold to walk?"

You really didn't want to get in his car. You'd be warm and enclosed in a place where the smell of him infiltrated your every sense. He'd be close enough for you to touch. To remember all the times you'd made out with him in that car like a couple of teenagers. Including the day you met.

You chewed the inside of you're cheek, "You'll be quiet the whole ride?"

He made an X over his heart with a finger, "Promise."

You leaned your head back to look at the sky, thought about begging God to intervene on your behalf, remembered you didn't believe in God, and sighed, "Fine."

And so Jack walked you back to his car, opened the passenger door just like he had a few months ago, closed the door gently before walking over to the driver's seat.

You crossed your arms over your chest and turned to look out your window. It was bad enough the whole car smelt like him, like his bed, like his clothes. If you looked at him too, you thought you might combust. Or worse, cry.

So you sat like that in silence for a minute or two. Until you felt the warmth and heaviness of his hand on your thigh.

You whipped your head around, "You promised—"

"I said I would be silent," He murmured, "I never said anything about touching you."

You stared stubbornly down at his hand on your leg. His fingers were slowly fingering the edge of the slit in your skirt, teasing.

You scowled in his direction, "This is cheating."

"I didn't know we were playing games." He glanced in your direction, then back to the road, "Besides, I thought we were on the same team." He said softly.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the window, "It was you who broke up with me, Jack." You said quietly. But you made no move to push his hand away.

His fingers slipped past the fabric of the skirt and you were struck dumb by the feeling of his calloused fingers stroking gently against your inner thigh, "Starting to think that might have been a misunderstanding."

You felt your resolve slipping. You started the night hurt and confused, as you had been for several weeks now, lashing out like a wounded animal. He had tamed you so easily, a few gentle words and the stroke of his fingers against bare skin and you were putty in his hands again. It would've made you angry if not for the desperate yearning that grew and expanded in your chest with every moment that passed.

When he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex, you were practically vibrating in your seat. Jack had grown more brazen, slipping his hand higher and higher between your legs. You had conceded a couple of minutes ago, spreading your legs to provide him more access and had heard his sharp intake of breath when he noticed.

He parked the car, removing his hand from your leg as he did, and then you both turned at the same time to watch the other.

"We should probably talk," Jack said.

You inhaled slowly and shook your head, "You promised me silence."

He tilted his head, gave you a look that suggested he was fighting a losing battle against himself, "C'mon, kid." He said softly, "We shouldn't be doing this if we're not gonna sort this out first."

You unbuckled your seatbelt, "You should've thought about that before you put your hand up my skirt."

He scoffed, but was unable to argue further because you were climbing across the cabin of the car so you could straddle his lap. You had to hike your skirt up all the way to your waist to accommodate the spreading of your legs and Jack slowly inhaled through his mouth at the sudden feel of you on top of him.

"Until we get out of this car," You whispered, forehead leaned against his, "No more talking. Please."

His eyes latched onto yours and his hand cradled the side of your head, anchoring you to him. He nodded against you, helpless to deny both you and himself a taste, just a taste, he told himself.

His first kiss was hesitant, almost like he couldn't believe he was here again, tasting you like it was the first time. He kept his hands on your face, slipped his tongue into your mouth, thought that kissing you again felt like having his favorite dessert again after going years without. He knew this taste, this feeling, but having been denied it so long it felt like the voltage had been ramped up, every sound and sensation feeling brand new because of the intensity.

You had your hands in his hair, pulling at it as you whimpered into his mouth and ground your hips down onto his growing erection. Most of his time with you had been seared into his brain, but he had somehow forgotten how needy and desperate you had always seemed to be. You had always kissed and fucked like you thought it was the last time you would ever do it and it drove him insane every single time. So insane, in fact, he was starting to think he might cum—

There was a tapping on the glass of his window and the cabin of the car lit up with sudden light.

"Oh, fuck," You cursed and scrambled off him, rushing to pull your skirt down to cover yourself.

Oh fuck was right. A security officer for your complex was staring disappointingly into the car, gesturing for Jack to roll down the window. He sighed heavily before he complied and cleared his throat, "Evening, officer."

The officer gave Jack a bored look, "Do either of you live here?"

Mortified, you pulled your hands from your face and looked towards the officer, "Hey, Trey. Slow night?"

Jack fought a smirk at your attempt at a joke, covered it with a cough into his fist.

Trey sighed, "Think you'd mind moving the party inside so I don't have to call the cops?"

"Of course—" Jack started to say, but you cut him off.

"He was just leaving, actually," You said and began to climb out of the car, avoiding Jack's piercing stare, "Sorry, Trey. Won't happen again."

Jack watched through the windshield as you walked off with Trey, not even looking back at him. He debated following after you, ask you why the fuck you would just walk off like that after driving him nearly out of his damn mind.

In the end, he leaned his forehead against his steering wheel, counted to thirty and then backwards to zero, and then drove home.

NOVEMBER

It had been two and a half months since Jack had first met you, since he became absolutely enamored by every thing about you. The way there was constantly a pen somewhere on your person, be it in your hair, behind your ear, or between your teeth. How you smiled easily and everyone fell in love with you the second you opened your mouth. He didn't think you knew it, the power you had over people. But he saw it every time, the quick descent for even the most grumpy of visitors at the library. You'd have them laughing and smiling just a minute into a conversation. Much like how you had charmed him that first day.

Constantly, he found himself thinking, that's my girl. And, recently, with more frequency, I love you.

But he hadn't said it yet because he couldn't get past the gnawing feeling at the back of his mind that something was off. That you weren't in it the way he was. You gave him the sweet eyes you gave everyone else and he started wondering if he had just fallen in love with you the same way everyone else did. That there was nothing special or unique about it to you.

He had been confident after your first couple of dates, and then more so when you began staying the night or the weekend.

But you never stayed more than two nights in a row, even if he asked you to. He cleared a drawer out in his apartment, a shelf in his closet, but you kept living out of your duffel. You never left your toothbrush, even after he showed you where he kept his in the medicine cabinet, made space for yours. And they were little things, sure, things that maybe he would've ordinarily dismissed if it wasn't for the fact that he felt completely head over heels for you. And he wasn't sure how to be with you if you didn't feel the same.

And then, he had asked to meet your friends. He had asked you to come over for dinner over the phone and when you said you couldn't, that you had plans with friends, he asked about those plans.

"Oh," He said, trying to keep his tone casual, "Is it a girls only thing or are significant others going?" Because he knew enough about your friends, when you had talked about them, to know that most of them had long term partners.

You had admitted that it was an insecurity of yours, that you often felt like the only one without a partner.

"Uh, I think… I think partners were invited, yeah."

He let the silence fall, thought you would invite him yourself. But then second after second passed and he couldn't help it, "Okay… Do you think I could come along?"

He felt humiliated when you didn't immediately say yes, when he heard only static and your faint breaths for nearly a minute.

"Yeah, that would be… nice." You said finally.

"Look, I don't…" He ran a hand through his hair, "I won't come if you don't want me to."

"No, no, I want you to." You said quickly, "I do. I just, they can be… difficult sometimes. When I introduce them to someone new."

"Okay. I can handle it."

And he thought he could. But it was clear from the moment he sat at the table that they didn't want him there. That they thought he was just the flavor of the month and he'd be gone soon. Apparently, you did this whole thing often. Bringing new partners around. And again, he was left feeling like the connection he thought the two of you had wasn't all that special.

When he drove you home in silence that night, he saw you turn to him in his peripheral, "Is everything… okay?"

He wasn't sure if he was overreacting or not and probably, he should have just honestly communicated what he was feeling. But then he thought, why bother? In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't been seeing each other all that long. Why burden you with his emotional baggage? Why beg for you to love him the way he was trying to love you when you seemed so disinterested?

"Yeah, everything's fine." He glanced your way and smiled.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" You asked when he parked in front of your building.

He shook his head, "No, that's okay. I have some errands to run early tomorrow, I wouldn't want to wake you on your day off."

You watched him for a moment before nodding, "Yeah, okay."

You reached a hand up to cup his cheek, scratched at his stubble lightly, just the way he liked before kissing him. Jack savored it, the feeling of your mouth against his, the taste of your tongue in his mouth and your fingers running through his hair. He pulled away first, pressed a kiss to your forehead and gave you a slight smile, "Goodnight, kid."

He broke up with you less than two weeks later.

JANUARY

You were re-shelving some returned books that evening when you felt the presence of a patron nearby, staring at you, likely waiting for some sort of assistance. "I'll be with you in just a moment." You said, as you always did, to make sure they knew you knew they were there.

"Not a problem, I'm pretty patient."

You spun to see Jack standing there, leaning against a chair and smirking at you.

"What're you doing here?"

He shrugged, "I didn't know how else to get you to talk to me. I've been calling you for days."

Every time you saw him again, your stomach twisted painfully. After your brief lapse in judgment the other night, you had decided it would be best to just lock him out for good. You didn't want to hear what he had to say because how could he possibly justify all the hurt he had caused? There was nothing stopping him from doing it again once he got bored or when you did something to scare him off. Which was bound to happen, just as it had the first time.

"I thought you would get the hint." You said pointedly and walked around him to get to the trolley with returned books on it.

"I really just would like you to hear me out. Just for a couple of minutes, okay? And if you still want me to go, I'll go. You'll never hear from me again."

You threw up your hands in exasperation as you grabbed some books, "Fine. Be my guest."

"I broke up with you because I didn't think you liked me as much as I liked you."

Your hand froze still on the book you were re-shelving and you turned your head to look at him, "Bullshit." You spat.

He put a hand over his heart, "Honest. I had no idea you were in love with me."

You scoffed, "How could you—God, I could barely ever breathe around you because I liked you so much." The backs of your eyes burned, and you brought a hand to your chest, "It still feels like that, actually."

"You always had your foot halfway out the door—"

"That's not true—"

"I made room for you!" He was whisper shouting, conscious that they were in a library, "I made room for you in—in every corner of my life. I invited you to everything, I wanted to show you off everywhere we went. I wanted to be with you all the time, I was always asking, begging you to stay, and you never seemed to want to." He ran a hand through his hair, "You wouldn't even leave your toothbrush at my place."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, and then shook your head, "No… No, those were tests."

He frowned, not sure if he had heard you correctly, "What?"

Finally, you sighed and sat at an empty nearby table and Jack followed, "When… When you invited me to stay over for longer, or to… to leave my toothbrush, you were testing me to see if I was going to be a clingy girlfriend. And I wasn't. I always said no. I followed the rules."

He stared at you for a long time, taking in what you had said and softened his voice, "Baby, what rules?" He asked softly.

Your eyes were glassy and you pushed your palms into your eyes, "I have… rules that I follow at the beginning of every relationship so that… So that I don't seem as attached as I am."

He shook his head, "And why would you do something like that?"

You laughed humorlessly and looked up at the ceiling, as if to force the impending tears back in your eyes, "Do you know the feedback I always get when men inevitably leave me?" You sniffled and looked at him, "That I'm too clingy or needy. Or I want to move things along too fast and they want something more casual. That it freaks them out how into them I am and they just don't want to hurt me. That I said I love you too soon and it scared the shit out of them. And I liked, loved, you so much I was desperate to make sure that didn't happen with you."

You shook your head and looked down at your hands, "I guess I over corrected."

Suddenly, Jack was angry. Not at you, but at every man who had ever made you feel like you were too much.

"Hey, look at me," He said softly, waited for you to oblige him, "You should never ever feel like you have to dim your feelings or make yourself more palatable for anyone. And you absolutely do not have to do it for me."

You didn't seem like you believed him, so he went on, "The girl I fell in love with wears her heart on her sleeve and cares so damn much about everything. I knew who I wanted from the moment I saw you and it's the girl who organizes events to keep her community safe and walks into tables when someone flirts with her."

Finally, you laughed and looked up at him, "You mean that?"

"Yeah, I told you, you should walk into tables more often. I'm a sincere guy."

You laughed again and then hiccuped, "No, not that. When you said you love me?"

He leaned his forehead against yours, "Yes, I love you. And I want you to leave your toothbrush in my medicine cabinet."

You took in a shaky breath and closed your eyes, "Do you think me and my toothbrush could come over tonight?"

He cradled your cheek with his hand, stroked his thumb along your cheekbone, "It's an open invitation. Whenever you want for as long as you want."

You sighed and closed the distance between you, kissing him gently and slowly.

"You know, now that you've said this," You swallowed and opened your eyes, "That I can be as in love with you as I want and act like it, that you've unleashed a monster?"

He shook his head slowly, "If you're a monster, I'm a monster."

You snorted, "Very poor reference to The Notebook."

He faked offense, "I thought it was pretty romantic, actually. My point is…" He forced eye contact with you again, "You are with a man who has absolutely no shame showing how in love with you I am. And I am very in love with you. So, do your worst. You won't scare me off."

You bit your lip to hide your giddy smile, "The crazy thing is I think I actually believe you."

#mine #the pitt #jack abbot #dr abbot #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #the pitt fic #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x you #dr abbot smut #dr abbot angst #dr abbot fanfic #dr abbot x you #jack abbot x you #dr jack abbot x reader #x reader

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checkeredflagggs · 2 days ago

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Win It All

pairing: sebastian vettel x wife!reader x charles leclerc

summary: when, after a lackluster start to a season, charles gets pole the vettels come to watch him win it all

a/n: I love it when charles remembers he’s fucking charles leclerc and does something nearly impossible

a/n2: I have a tab in my notebook on unusual (for me at least) pairings I want to try to write and this one was on it — so one done!

Masterlist

Bluesky

yn.vettel

liked by sebastian, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, and 2,831,723 others

yn.vettel: what a way to spend a break

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user1: RED ALERT RED ALERT THE VETTELS ARE STILL ALIVE

↳user2: I live for her updates

↳user3: for real — they both need to post more 😭😭 I need more complete updates on my favorite Germans…

sebastian: best day

↳yn.vettel: 💚💚

user4: my parents (no joke)

charles_leclerc: sending love ❤️

↳yn.vettel: thanks schnecke

↳user5: ohhhhhh???

lewishamilton: breaks are important — glad to see you're spending them correctly 🖤🖤

↳yn.vettel: make sure to visit soon!

scuderiaferrari: good to see the vettels again! liked by yn.vettel, sebastian

↳user6: ok but what does this mean??

↳user7: is SEBASTIAN COMING BACK PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

↳user8: you guys can't keep doing this…first max to Mercedes now seb back with Ferrari??

↳user7: listen we need some form of comfort in these trying times…

jensonbutton: going on a hike without me??

↳yn.vettel: shockingly I do like spending time with just my husband…

↳jensonbutton: blasphemy

↳user9: miss ma'am you are NOT alone with just your husband…

user10: and if I speak??

↳user11: speak your truth

↳user10: and if it's CLSVYN??

↳user11: …I see the vision

Bluesky

user12: I have never wanted anything more

↳user13: I don't even know who I'm more jealous of here…

user14: I think I have the same hopes and dreams

user15: no but the vettels literally attached themselves to charles the minute they saw him…

↳user16: they saw a handsome French speaking man and said is he taken? Then didn't wait for an answer

user17: it might not be just hopes and dreams…

↳user18: say more right now!

↳user19: well Charles hasn't dated anyone is like ages? But he's always almost slipping and saying things that could be boyfriend or girlfriend or even partners

↳user19: then there's the vague almost soft launch like photos he posts — there's NEVER any evidence that there's more than one person with him but it's all romantic dinners and boat rides and date like activities

↳user19: and the vettels (although they don't post much) have had a couple of close calls themselves — dates where there MIGHT be a third glass, shadows that COULD be someone in the background, shoes the don't LOOK like they belong to Seb or yn

↳user19: and now you have yn's last photo in her vacation dump — there is absolutely a third person with them and charles has already talked about how he spent some of his break doing some hiking and nature walking

↳user19: nothing (and I repeat NOTHING) is concrete but I fully believe that charles is dating the vettels

↳og.user: i’m giving you all the hugs and kisses oh my god this is amazing

user20: so we all know this season is boring and decided to make up our own silly season huh?

↳user21: best way to do it tbh

Private Messages, The Vettels and Charles

Private Messages, Sebastian and yn

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 729,283 others

f1gossip: Sebastian and YN Vettel are back! In a surprising turn of events, the Vettels joined the paddock for the Hungary GP! Seemingly no one's guests, the Vettels drifted from garage to garage visiting everyone in their path before settling down in Ferrari, on Leclerc's side of the garage.

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user22: oh my god it's happening! It's happening!

↳user23: yes!!

user24: I love it when they visit!

user25: I've missed them in the paddock!

↳user26: so have I…

user27: the king and queen are back!

user28: I'm so used to giving and now I'm receiving…

↳user29: first Charles on pole and now the vettels are back?!?

↳user30: Hungary is giving us everything

user31: ok but did anyone else catch Charles' face?

↳user32: 100% he did not expect them to be there

↳user33: I'm expecting a mega crazy drive from him now

↳user34: no but for real — he's got his partners there and he's got to impress them

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 3,924,283 others

f1gossip: I don't even know what's happening right now…Charles Leclerc won pole, won Hungary, and made out with both Sebastian and YN Vettel…

view all comments

user35: he really won it all this weekend

↳user36: let's be real here — they were reaching out to him first

↳user37: ^^thats right — this is not a new thing

user38: Charles pole or Charles win? NEITHER! ITS ALL ABOUT CHARLES VETTEL

↳user39: I didn't know I needed the Charles x yn x Sebastian relationship until I got it

user50: I don't need sleep. I NEED ANSWERS. I NEED THE TRUTH

↳user50: how long has this been going on? Is it a an actual relationship or just a "thing"?

↳user51: when did it start? who started it? WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?!?

user52: the fact that we're not going to get any answers from these people as well

↳user53: i knnnnoooooowwwwww. Sebastian and yn are both seemingly allergic to posting online and somehow charles has managed to keep a secret?

↳user54: no that's the big question! How did Charles Leclerc manage to keep a secret this big actually secret?!?

user55: ok but can I join them??

user56: hot hot hot

user57: new favorite couple

user58: did you see the way the Arthur acted?

↳user59: omg yeah he was so exasperated — this is something the absolutely do all the time

↳user60: that was peak younger sibling embarrassed by his older brother…

Taglist

If you want to join my taglist, interact with my taglist post. I won’t be adding anyone else

@daniskywalkersolo @thenerdysimp @quinquinquincy @lecfosimaxbull @gr3yhues @armystay89 @simplylovelysworld @mimisweetz @angelluv16 @hamiltonforwdc @alexxavicry @suns3treading @ymrereads @monzipan @stuffyownswrld @kuolonsyoja @ky14-1 @devilacot @justheretoreadthxxs @minrayven @albonoracers @hc-dutch @somerandomf1fan @purplephantomwolf @shadowreader07 @spilled-coffee-cup @galaxygurlll @anamiad00msday @freyathehuntress @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @ihaveitprinteddout @deena-beena-weena @lilyofthevalley-09 @nightrose-18 @kodeelyn @star73807-blog @avengers-assemble123456 @howling-wolf97 @boke-hinata-boke @hannahmotors10 @mountainshuman @daisydaze111 @evie-119 @shadowreader07 @r0nnsblog @1800-love-me @edgyficuselastica

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malfoys-demigod · 2 days ago

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Johnny Storm Headcannons

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Johnny and his shy girlfriend!

a/n: it has been a wild minute since i wrote.. as usual! but i really wanna join in the johnny storm love right now! what better way with a headcannon!

OKAY... Johnny Storm with his shy girlfriend!

He Notices Everything

He always clocks when she tucks her hair behind her ear, bites her lip nervously, or avoids eye contact when people compliment her. He finds it adorable and ridiculously endearing.

“You do that thing again,” he’ll murmur while brushing a thumb over her cheek, smirking. “The lip thing. God, you’re gonna kill me.”

He's Loud for Her

In public, he’ll boldly declare, “That’s my girl!” when she does literally anything — like winning a trivia question, successfully ordering food, or even just entering the room.

But when she gets flustered, he immediately leans down and whispers, “Sorry, baby. But you're just so cute like that.”

Soft for Her, Always

Johnny? Mr. Human Torch? Brash, cocky Johnny Storm?

Turns into complete mush when she’s sleepy and curls up next to him. Runs his fingers through her hair like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Protective but Not Overbearing

He never forces her to be social but always keeps a gentle hand at the small of her back at crowded events.

He’ll sense when she’s overwhelmed and whisk her away with a wink: “Rescue mission complete, princess.”

Genuine Praise, No Ego

Johnny hypes her up constantly, but not in the fake way.

“You think you're shy, but you don’t see yourself the way I do. You light up the room without even trying. That’s way more powerful than anything I can do.”

He’s So Soft in Private

He talks about her like she’s the best-kept secret of his life. In interviews, if someone asks about his love life, he just smiles a little and says, “She’s quiet. But she’s my favorite sound.”

Over-the-Top Romantic Gestures

He’ll fly into her window (literally) just to bring her her favorite snack or take her star-gazing at 3 a.m. because “the sky looked like you tonight and I couldn’t sleep.”

Publicly Cool, Privately a Disaster

To everyone else, Johnny’s smooth and untouchable.

But behind closed doors? He’s texting her “baby pls send selfies I miss your face 😭😭” and asking if he looked okay in his suit 30 times before an event.

He’s Smitten, and It’s Obvious

He blushes more than she does when she kisses his cheek.

He brags about her all the time: “Yeah, my girlfriend’s basically a genius. She’s shy, but don’t be fooled — she could destroy me with a sentence.”

#johnny storm x reader #joseph quinn x reader #johnny storm x you #johnny storm x y/n #johnny storm imagine #johnny storm fanfic #johnny storm fluff #johnny storm fanfiction #fantastic four first steps #johnny storm #joseph quinn #mcu imagine #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel #fantastic four x you

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siren-ha · 2 days ago

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p: needy husband Nanami x free-use wife

synopsis: nanami comes back from work and takes what he wants from you all while you're cooking.

tw: MDNI!!! smut, free use dynamic (consensual), sex in the kitchen-?, unprotected sex (lemme just remind u tht theyre fiction, u r not. so dont do it), degradation, praise, spanking, fingering, a lil rough, overstimulation (if u squint), breeding kink, nanami calls reader mumma once, he cums inside.

The front door opens with a click. Nanami slides in with exhaustion in his body and slips out of his shoes. He sets his bag down and closes the door with brows furrowed and lip tight from the long day.

Just as he was about to call your name- he hears your soft humming coming from the kitchen. And just like that, the tension in his shoulders lessens a bit.

You're in the kitchen, standing at the stove in one of his button down shirts- an old one- the one you chose cause it smelt like him. The sleeves are rolled messily, the hem of the shirt grazing your mid thigh. Nothing underneath, of course- like always.

You’re focused, stirring something in the pan, humming a tune he doesn’t recognize. The kitchen’s warm, the scent of butter and garlic drifting in the air. The only light is from the stove and the overheads under the cabinets, making everything golden, like a dream.

“Sweetheart,” he calls softly, not wanting to startle you.

“Hey,” you answer without looking back. “Dinner’ll be ready in ten. You’re early.”

“I missed you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough against your neck.

You smile faintly. “Rough day?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, his hand trails down the front of your thigh, fingers teasing the hem of his shirt — your shirt now — pushing it up just an inch.

"You're not wearing anything underneath." he observes, breath catching.

"Did you want me to?"

A soft groan escapes his throat, "You're making it hard for me to be patient, baby."

You press your back against his hardness and say, "Then dont be"

Thats all it takes.

He pushed you against the stove, one hand reaching to lower the flame- safety first, always- before he slides his hands under your shirt to grope your breasts roughly.

He groans into your neck when he feels how soft and warm you are for him.

“You’re always like this,” he murmurs, hips already grinding slowly against your bare backside. “Always ready. My perfect little wife. My good girl.”

"Mhm, always and only for you." You whimper, your head falling back on his shoulder.

His hand slips between your thighs — he doesn’t have to do much. You’re already wet, already open for him. He circles your wet clit with his long, huge fingers.

“Of course you are,” he chuckles darkly, leaning to place a kiss on the side of your neck. “Standing here like this, cooking like you’re not meant to be used. You like this, don’t you?”

You nod. “I love it.”

He unbuckles his belt, the metallic clink cutting through the room like thunder. You keep one hand on the pan, still half-stirring, because he told you not to stop.

“Bend a little."

You do, arching just enough. You don’t need to look back — you can feel his eyes eating you alive. A quiet hiss escapes his lips when he slides his red, hot, pre-cum leaking length into you, the fit perfect, like always.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel like you missed me.”

“I did,” you whisper. “I waited all day. Thinking about this."

That breaks something in him.

He thrusts slowly at first — deep, possessive strokes, his hand fisting in your shirt to pull you back onto him. You’re moaning already, trying not to drop the spoon in the pan.

“Don’t stop stirring,” he says, voice thick with amusement. “Dinner matters, right?”

You let out a soft laugh through a whimper. “Y-yeah…”

But then he picks up his pace, roughly so- hitting that spot in you. Your hand pushes the salt season making it fall to the ground at the sudden force.

"Tch tch tch, messy little slut." he mutters, "Can't even follow simple orders when im inside you huh?"

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, breathless.

“You will be,” he groans, pulling his dick almost all the way out before slamming back in. He brings on of his hands to your clit and starts rubbing you roughly and quickly.

And he does — over and over, until your legs are trembling, until you’re begging him to slow down or don’t stop, you’re not sure which anymore. He holds your waist tighter, rutting into you like a man starved, burying every groan into your skin.

“I should come home early more often,” he rasps, losing control.

You whine his name, eyes fluttering shut.

“Go ahead,” he says biting the side of your neck. “Let go. I’ve got you, baby"

You do — gasping, trembling, thighs shaking as your climax hits you harder than you expected.

He doesnt stop his thrusting- not when he didnt reach his high.

"You're gonna take my load yea? Drip my cum out from my pretty little pussy?"

You nod hissing, getting overstimulated. He spanks your ass, "I asked something."

You whimper at the slap and nod, "Y-yes, i want it all in me nanami."

He groans at that as his thrusts get sloppy and frantic- a sign he's getting close. "Yea, 'ts right baby, take my babies, yea? You'll be such a cute fucking mumma."

And just like that, with a strangled groan and hips stuttering- he spills inside you, pushing deep and holding you there. His body goes still, wrapped around yours, panting quietly.

The room's quiet except for the heaving breathing of you both. And then, without missing a beat,

"Round two?"

"Nanami-!"

Lets just say, you both had quiet delightful dinner...

©siren-ha all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

siren ✍(◔◡◔): ok, this is my first ever nanami fic in genral....... kind of scared to step into animeblr but im sure y'all r pretty kind nd sweet! so pls welcome me~

jjk taglist: open! lmk in comments if u wanna be added.

interactions are always appreciated!

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heartyluv · 2 days ago

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Note: Longest fic I have ever written, my goodness. To my luvly @stargirlygirl who I'm doing this collab with and who has listened to all the ideas I've cooked up and tossed away—I LOVE YOU! Let me let you luvlys jump into this. ✨ Please, if you’d like, —Click Here— for the moodboard!

Warning/Contains: Vampire/Mechanic!Caleb, you’re a reincarnation of his past lover, ANGSTY, you’re grieving the loss of your mother, mentions of lacking the desire to go on without you, you get bitten by him without having a choice (i think that’s it, but if i missed one, please feel free to tell me!)

Word Count: 8.7K

Summary: When Caleb lost you, life held no meaning for him anymore. The only escape he had? He made a business out of it. But is it a trick of the mind when you're presented to him again, alive? The only con? You have no recollection of the history you've shared and now you're here for an interview at his auto shop. He won’t make the same mistake of letting you slip away from him again.

Once Bitten, Twice Repaired

“Hey,” an employee calls as he approaches the working man beneath a ‘95 Chevrolet Camero. “That interview I told you about. She’s here. Waiting out front.”

The intricate undercarriage that's currently in Caleb's face has him focusing with a tunnel vision level of concentration as he takes his time to inspect one more part of the suspension before responding. Only seconds pass until he's whistling with triumph just as he identifies what’s the issue with the dated vehicle.

He rolls out from beneath the automobile with a grin, then pulls himself off the mechanic creeper to stand at his full height.

“She’s eager,” Caleb smirks with a raised brow at the early bird who could potentially be a new employee in the next half hour.

“And excited,” Gideon chuckles. “You want me to bring her to your office or..?”

“Nah, I got it,” he assures, tapping on the trunk as he departs. “But do me a favor and get an order put in for some new shocks and struts for this one right here.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all!”

On a regular day, Caleb had someone else talk with and handle new hires and prospective candidates when the time came. But seeing as the girl that Gideon told to come in had arrived sooner than instructed, he actually wanted to greet the face behind the overachiever himself.

Being the owner of an auto shop, the 6'2 motor enthusiast preferred to be where his interests were. If you asked him, he wasn't too fond of the technicalities, but running his own business made keeping his identity hidden an infinitely easier task.

His love for cars is a bone deep infatuation that's lasted for as long as he can remember—which is funny to think about for someone with a significant number of years on his belt compared to the average life expectancy of anything “normal”.

The double-edged sword of living as long as he has to watch their creation and evolution into the machines they are today, has been a journey that's given him a meek light through the never-ending dark tunnel which harbors a past too painful to reminisce on.

It's exactly why he doesn't. Or at least tries really hard not to, anyways.

Pushing past one of the doors that separates the waiting area from the garage, he nods to the receptionist. As he looks around the room though, there's only one person present and it’s not who he’s looking for.

"Gideon said there’s a woman here for her interview?" he questions the older lady sitting in the office chair.

"Mhm," Gladys nods. "Should still be here since she only stepped outside a minute ago."

Caleb's lips pout in thought with a slight tilt of his head. Stepping into the early rising sun that's fairly tolerable compared to what it can be later on, he stands root in one spot in search of the lingering mortal.

It consumes only milliseconds of his time before he sees who he presumes to be her, sitting on the ground to the left with a baby kitten in her lap.

"Oh, you sweet little thing," you coo. "It's okay, I got ya."

He freezes. There’s no way. Not a chance.

"You're shivering bub, my goodness. I'll talk to boss man and see if I can keep you warm while we chat. It's not unprofessional, right? In fact, I think it's showing how resourceful I can be." Your titter that follows has the vampire beside you tripping the fuck out.

You sound exactly like her. Your laugh is eerily similar. And when you look at him...

"Oh!" you chirp, quickly standing with care to the animal that's as small as your palm when you realize his presence. “Sorry! This little guy was meowing like crazy while I was waiting and I couldn't leave him out here like that."

He can't move. He doesn't want to in fear that if he makes any sudden gesture, you'll fade into thin air like a mirage. That he'll blink and nothing will be there but the memory of the universe once again stabbing him with a knife curated of nothing but sick jokes.

"Um, Sir?" you step closer with worry. "Everything alright?"

The same nose, the same curve of your lips, the same light that twinkles behind your irises—you were a carbon copy of the woman he failed to protect over a century ago and had the unending life he lived to thank for the fact that he couldn't join you.

Vampires are incapable of taking their own lives. Not only a rule that's been set in stone for longer than he's been alive to protect the population of his kind, but the genetic makeup of one wouldn’t easily allow it.

And believe him when he says he’s tried.

No matter what one's mind may want, the vampiric influence held more dominion.

So, when he came home after hunting to see you dead on the kitchen floor of your small cottage years ago from your heart condition claiming you faster than he could comprehend, he was cursed to live on without you what he presumed would be for eternity.

But there must be something that now pities him or finds his everlasting grief comical to put you before him once more.

Bubbly, cheerful, and all the more beautiful. Seeing you again for the first time is enough to make him as sick as his last.

"Should I call someone?" you mumble, walking around him to run inside and ask for some back up for the statue, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist stops your venture and startles you.

"Tomorrow. C-Can you start tomorrow?" he spoke lowly, his violet eyes unable to look in your direction as they stared at the concrete out of uncertainty of what he'd say or do.

You even felt like her. You are her. And he needed a small amount of separation to correct his behavior before he could determine what it took to keep you. He wouldn't lose you this time.

You gasp. "I got the job?!"

He nods sharply in an attempt to control his instincts. "Seven AM."

Realizing he's still touching your smooth skin, he drops your appendage like it's made of flames.

And when he regains the little sense he has left, Caleb storms back inside without another word and leaves you in the desolate parking lot.

Gladys knew better than to inquire about what happened when he passes her, seeing as she watched enough to create her own assumptions courtesy to the see-through glass door.

Gideon looks back and forth behind his buddy as if you'd be hidden by the brooding male when he steps into the working area.

"You look... I don't even have a word for it. Where is she?"

His thumping steps don't stop on his retreat into his office as he gruffly responds, "She's my responsibility."

Whatever was your side the day you secured the first job you applied for after making your big move, it was an accomplishment well deserved and would be the kind of luck you'd be holding onto going forward in all your endeavors.

Finally, things were looking up after your mother had passed away. It took you some few years to get back into the groove of life, but growth and grieving weren’t linear, and that was okay.

That’s the mentality you’ve been trying to instill to give yourself grace for being so stagnant and admittedly lost for all this time. But where you are now is what matters, not the rock bottom that you grew too comfortable in.

Securing a job that would temporarily keep you sane as you adjusted to your all new everything was important. Not only would your pockets and bank account see profit, but perhaps your heart would benefit all the same and not ache as much being surrounded by the things you and your mom used to spend countless hours gushing about.

Cars were her world and when you were made an addition, naturally the same would apply from being raised solely by the automotive expert. Not only were you thankful for the skills and the memories, but they let you keep a part of her anchored to this world that could never slip away as easily as she had.

Hitting the jackpot and finding a position online for the decently popular location was pretty cool. It was close to your new apartment, the pay was good, and the expectations matched your criteria.

This is what progress looked like.

The smile on your face couldn’t be shaken as you approached the doors that have brought you genuine joy to see for the last two weeks. In fact, this entire building, it's been a consistent reminder of what you were working to achieve in the long run.

Starting up your own establishment in a world of cars is a dream you and your mom were always meant to reach before something took her as if it needed her more than you did. Now that your head was back in the game, that vision would be coming into fruition if it was the last thing you did to honor her.

“Morning, Gladys,” you greeted in passing.

“Mornin’,” she replied as her French tip nails tapped along the keyboard.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you playfully shove Gideon’s as he fishes for something in his toolbox and he chuckles.

“You better not have that thing in there.”

“That ‘thing’ has a name, jackass!”

You opened and looked into the oversized tote, surging with love because of the gray fluff ball that you’ve been bringing into work with you ever since you found him. Keeping that luck held tight wasn’t an exaggeration and you were convinced this little dude was your charm.

“Isn’t that right, Muffler?” you coo, reaching a finger in to scratch his chin as he meows with what you hope is joy. He’s been as loud as a damaged part no matter what you did, and you wouldn’t change that for the world.

Everyone you pass is greeted with waves and whispered hellos on your way to your “mentor”. He's deep in the engine bay of a pretty metallic army green pickup truck, his back muscles rippling beneath his white tank top as he leans into the complex area.

“We’re reporting for duty Mr. Xia, sir!” you salute, the image of Muffler doing the same in your head enough to make you snort.

After his freezing episode and you came into work the day after, he made it a point to apologize immediately, but didn't attach an explanation behind it.

And you didn’t really need one despite your curiosity.

Being given what you received without hesitation, even though you didn't understand why, was not a victory you'd question.

He's loosened up quite a bit in your brief time here, too; making a few corny jokes that you’d never admit was actually funny, testing your knowledge from time to time like a pop quiz, and sticking by you every step of the way in your adjustment to the new environment.

Though for some reason, he refused to look at you. If he did, it was never for long—almost as if letting the gaze that you couldn't help but be drawn to when you caught it, was forbidden. Too much.

There was something inside of you that wondered if his strange reaction the first time you met had a deeper reason you didn’t understand.

“Lookin’ at this—think you could you tell me what's wrong?"

He doesn't have to look to know you're there. Past all the drilling and heavy machinery, your arrival was made known to him five minutes before you even opened the door.

You believe that ability is a keen talent rather than a natural skill, as you’re unaware of the true nature of the blood drinking mechanic who’s gained such a power through his transformation. It’s why you grin with such impress at his never-faltering accuracy.

"Of course I can."

Caleb tries not to buckle under pressure when your sweet perfume and the intoxicating aroma of the delicacy pumping through your system consumes his heightened senses the moment you lean in close. The urge for his fangs to bare is most difficult to keep at bay when he briefly eyes the vein that trails into your navy blue jumper and past the top of your breasts.

If he could sweat, he’s sure he would’ve made a puddle by now.

Although your scent is nowhere near identical to what it once was, this is the most inebriating it's ever been. With a tensed jaw, he works to keep his control before he makes a mistake that would cost him everything he’s intending to do.

He's been training you since day one—if you wanted to call staring at you while you asked him questions and he'd respond with a head movement a little too late—training.

In truth, your knowledge and expertise impressed the vampire who couldn't understand where you came from, but the fact that you seemed to carry zero memory of him and your past? That perturbed him even more.

You talked with him like this is the first time you and he have ever spoken. Like he didn't know what you felt like from the inside, like he didn't know all your ticks and all your favorites.

But perhaps this was the first time, because not too many of those things seemed to apply anymore to the somebody that he used to know, and he was unsure about how to juggle that fact.

You liked coffee instead of tea, preferred the hot summers over frigid winters, you were boisterous and out there instead of quiet and reserved.

You were different. But was it betraying you to like this you all the same despite the changes?

"There's nothing wrong,” you answer after your once over.

He smirks. "You sure?"

"Positive.” You’re smug as all hell and he likes it.

You pull Muffler out and giggle as he licks his nose from eating the dry food you left in there for him to snack on until you got him settled in Caleb’s office.

"Isn't that right, Muff?"

He looks between you two, silently admiring the position it holds in your hands. After you came in the first time with the noisy feline and begged to be able to bring him in on the daily, he should’ve said no. Anyone else, he would’ve—not a second wasted in his swiftness to decline.

But with you? How could he?

"Yeah?” Caleb folds his arms and leans against the vehicle. “Enlighten me. What makes you say that?”

"Well." Petting Muffler, you continue. "My mom used to always say, 'The difference between a mechanic and an artist is that a mechanic’s work needs to be perfect every single time.'”

"Ayrton Senna," Caleb nods in appreciation for your quick wit quotes.

"Look at youuu. But yes, exactly. And that means we can't afford to make a mistake, not with things as important and as intricate as this. Liquids are full and in their designated compartments, belts and sensors are in tack. No rusting or misplaced parts in sight. Yeah, this is good to go."

The immortal grins cockily. "Interesting. Now,” he gestures to where you presume the keys to be. “turn it on."

Your eyes widen. "Wait! That isn't fair! You didn't say to check it while it's running!"

“A mechanic’s ingenuity comes from their willingness to look beyond the obvious—”

"—for solutions.’ Steve McQueen, yada yada," you groan, tossing your head back in defeat. "I hate when you're right. Mom is rolling in her grave right now."

"She was important to you." Not a question, but an unveiling that similarly hits too close to home.

"My world," you correct with no malice in your tone. "Everything I've been doing since I came here... It's so I can give us what we should've had the time to do."

"I'm listenin’," he nudges your arm after you grow silent, using playfulness to break your walls down so that he can make his way in and determine what he may or may not need to do.

"I shouldn't be trauma dumping on my boss."

He shrugs. "You call it trauma dumping. I call it talking to someone who... understands."

You whip your head in his direction, Muffler purring like a motor on his journey to the land of sleep just as you halt his head rubs.

“You’ve lost someone, too? I mean who hasn’t though, right..?”

“I’ve lost a lot.” He focuses on the dirtied floor while you move beside him to lean like he does.

You frown when you see the clear disturbance in his face. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

If he had a heart that gave him life, it would’ve been pulled from his chest and put in your hands so you could watch how fast you make it beat.

I’m sorry, Caleb.

To him, you're indirectly and unknowingly apologizing for leaving him when it was never your fault or intention. Hearing that brings him an odd sense of closure. And determination.

Because there’s no need for you to be sorry. You just have to stay this time and he aims to make sure that happens. He won’t allow for the same mistake of letting mortality be your weakness.

“Whoever they were, I’m sure they added so much to your life.”

He chuckles wryly. “You have no idea.”

“Do you miss them?”

“It’s all I do. At least, all I did. Now? I… I think I may have something, someone, so different and new to not replace what I had..”

Carefully you watch his sharp jaw tick, and his thick neck move as he turns to face you, giving you his eyes for longer than the milliseconds you’re used to.

“But to give me the chance to make sure I never lose it again.”

You stare into his orbs with so much familiarity and understanding as if there was a time where they were what you’d called safety. Refuge.

It should freak you out to think like that, but instead, this is the most grounded you’ve felt since Mom. That bizarre reality is what makes you break the connection with fluttering lashes and watery eyes.

“I’m gonna make this right. I promise,” he whispers, and before you can try and decrypt if that was something dedicated to you or a declaration meant for the universe, Gideon calls out from across the garage.

“I’m this close to throwing a wrench and you’re lucky if I miss! Enough slacking!”

Honestly, you don’t know who he’s talking to, but it still applies to you and Caleb, even if he is the boss.

Blushing, your focus is pulled away from the hankering vamp and placed upon your sleeping kitty.

“He’s right… Thanks for the talk. It was…” you shake away the initial words on the tip of your tongue.

It was needed. It made me feel. It’s something I need more of.

“I’ll get to work.”

He watches you briskly walk to his office to get Muffler set up before your shift.

While he doesn’t exactly know what just happened between you two, he’s giving the glory to chance, that the subtle exchange of shared experiences created a resonance that has broken an invisible layer.

What’s certain? He’s taking advantage of it.

“I have no business doing this,” you chastise yourself silently just outside Caleb’s office. “I need to be bringing Muffler home. It’s way past his bedtime. And it's kinda late. But it’s not… like it wouldn’t be weird if I asked, right? It’s a boss-employee thing. Something to—”

Your back-and-forth external monologue is interrupted by the door opening in front of you and out walks the man who's been running circles in your mind ever since that enigmatic conversation last week.

Caleb didn’t miss how you redirected the exchange you were sharing toward him after he asked you about your unspoken plans. Skillfully, you placed the attention onto him so that he'd speak on the things that have brought him his own anguish rather than opening up about yourself.

But little do you know, biding his time and relearning the woman you are now, has been a monumental asset that's gotten him further than he could've imagined.

It's how he's already earned your trust in the month of you being here and why he's gained a definitive understanding of how to dismantle those barriers so that he could be the one to replace them and protect you instead.

The more he became familiar, the more prevalent your need to have a sense of control over the arbitrary system of life, became. You needed to be the one to open up on your own time, not when it was asked of you.

Cut to you talking yourself up into inviting him over for dinner for the last fifteen minutes to prove that accurate assessment true.

Of course, you wouldn't know that he has been listening to every single word of your contemplative banter or that he was internally begging for you to not withhold the request he knew you were hesitating to ask.

Who you are made sense for someone who lost the only person who gave them love, stability, and comfort in this lifetime (so far). You were like an open book already. But for Caleb, being the ever-greedy man he has always been, he wanted access to your glossary, cliff notes, and all the things in between.

Whatever higher power above has returned you to him, he would make them proud and be the one to refurbish you from all you’ve lost.

So please, please ask him so he can tell you yes!

While he harbors all the information and memories that you don’t and was certain about your universally aligned connection, you on the other hand, were mystified.

Besides the fact that you had what could be labeled as a very unprofessional attraction to your boss, it wasn't just a physical thing. Oddly, he brought you a semblance of normality that stumped you no matter how you tried to come up with a logical explanation.

There was none. Not that you could think of in your hours of trying.

You couldn't understand why you seemed to be so tethered and drawn to him, but the reincarnation of your soul? That did.

You found yourself wanting him near, craving his opinion and the sound of his voice, even wanting to hear him ramble for hours about all the same automotive knowledge you already knew.

"You alright, pips?" he smiled.

Get your head in the game.

"You're really sticking with that nickname, aren't you?"

"What? You don't like it?"

"It feels like an insult."

"I'd never insult you."

"You insult Gideon all the time."

"You're not Gideon though, are you? Besides, he deserves it."

Their aggressive but humorous jesting throughout the day never failed to make you and everyone else hysterical. You always wondered how Gideon got away with talking to his employer the way he did, but the clear bond between them was more than enough of an answer.

"Sometimes," you agree.

"You've got somethin' on your mind." He shuts the door and locks it. "Care to share?"

"How do you do that?" You follow him around as he checks on everything once more.

"Do what?"

"Always know what's up with me. It's so trippy."

"I've had a... good amount of time, I guess." (Just a few years of being your other half as experience, no big deal.)

"I guess," you parrot, smiling like a doofus when he winks at the noticeable heated rush of pink to your cheeks.

Shaking off the reluctance, you blurt out what you wanted to propose before you can further convince yourself that you were a fool for even thinking about it.

"Do you—Would you want to come by my place… for dinner?"

Caleb stops where he is, and you regret it instantaneously.

"Shit. Okay, hold on, please don't fire me. I only wanted to thank you for making my time here so gratifying and—Alright, maybe I should've invited you to a restaurant or something so it's more appropriate and palatable, but we always get off late, Muffler needs to be brought home, and I didn't—"

"Pipsqueak," he interrupts your tangent. If only you knew he was all in the second you made it a consideration. "I'd love to."

"Come on in," you gesture, and the contement that washes over the man who already knows your layout, is otherworldly.

Being able to walk freely in your space without sneaking and keeping silent is way easier than waiting until you were showering or sleeping to climb in through a window to snoop around.

Yes, he has followed you home and invaded your privacy, as well as rummaged through your things without your permission.

And yes, he took one of your shirts and a pair of (dirty) panties with him for safe keeping to... hold, on the nights he missed you more than he could reason with.

It was fine, though. Look at how close you were! Already inviting him in with no qualms about it.

Muffler was the worst guard cat he's ever seen, though. He’d meow cheerfully at his feet in each room he followed the invasive man into on the nights of his trespassing, but Caleb chalked it up to still being so young and familiar with him from all the hours inadvertently spent together.

He had your kind heart to thank for such a companionship that works in his favor.

"I know you said you weren't hungry, but I'm still glad you came by. TMI, but I'm pretty much alone now and it's been difficult making friends since, well, you know. I’m really thankful, is what I’m trying to say.”

Obviously, he couldn't eat what you were going to prepare and worried telling you was going to make you change your mind. But that didn't deter you at all after he promised that he had a hearty lunch and didn’t mind stopping by if you were still open to it.

You were shocked because you swear you've never seen him or Gideon for that matter, eat anything. Come to think of it, you’ve never seen a lick of sweat fall from the two consistent hard workers, either.

Diet plans? Botox? You didn’t judge. Maybe you could ask about that another time.

Caleb made sure to drink some blood bags five because look at the size of him that he gets from his close friend Zayne who walks the same vampirism “lifestyle”. The preventive measures would guarantee that he wouldn't be ravenous and endanger you from being possessed by an insatiable hunger he couldn't trust himself to control around something so incredibly enticing.

"If there's no one else you think you can turn to, I'm always going to be there, you know?" he added.

You don't have anything proper to say to that, so you simply tip up the corner of your mouth in response and get Muffler settled before cooking yourself dinner.

Caleb sits at your cute kitchen island and has small conversation with you as you busily move around while simultaneously analyzing all the things he's already memorized about your home-in-progress.

All the while, your mind is flooded with the notion that this feels so… right? That you wouldn’t necessarily mind more nights like this.

Nip it in the bud, sista. This is your boss.

Once you're finished and have a simple plate of chicken breast with the starch and vegetable of your choosing, Caleb sits at the small table across from you.

"Good?"

"Mhmm," you nod and cover your mouth as you chew the piece you consumed. "It may look simple, but this was one of Mom's favorites. Chicken breast is so versatile, you know? And we'd always eat late after working on whatever project we were obsessed with at the time. Chicken tacos, quesadillas, or a salad—it was always so different even if it was the same cut of meat or meal."

"Mm..” he hums. “Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but your mother sounds like your sole drive for everything you do." He rests his chin in his palm, watching you eat and waiting for you to give him what he's looking to get answers to.

"She is. I mean, I'm working this hard and doing it all on my own to get the garage that's been on our radar since I was like five. I owe that to her.”

Bingo.

"You wanna go into business for yourself?"

"Our plan was to move up here together and buy the property she had her eye on for all these years... but the cancer had other plans."

His eyes narrow in thought. "And if that doesn't work?"

You stop mid chew, looking at him with a newfound carefulness.

"Why would you say that?"

He sees the offense mar your normally enthusiastic visage and quickly activates damage control.

"I don't mean it offensively, pips. Just a question I'm asking as someone who knows the difficulties that come from starting his own from the ground up."

"All I've done is have anxiety about the what ifs and the potential losses. I don't want to be controlled by that anymore. I can do this."

The memory of what your life together once was, the times in which you'd say something almost identical, rings in his mind like a raging alarm.

Through all his concerns that pertained to the fragile state of your heart before it showed you how necessary it was for you to worry; you always brushed him off. Always tried to act like you were stronger than something you would never have control over in a world of underdeveloped medicine and healthcare.

He'll never forget how you consistently rejected his urgent propositions to turn you, to make you like him and rid you of your condition to live with him pain and worry free for eternity.

But you refused to take what you deemed "the easy way out".

Your determination to conquer it on your own like your father had been doing at the time, made him admire you and your resilience.

That admiration was buried the same day you were.

He willingly let that be your demise when he should’ve taken matters into his own hands regardless of how many instances you assured him that you were doing everything right to give yourself the best chance.

Look where that decision left him. If one could have a play by play of the timeline of his pain and despair, you would've seen what it did.

What's to say this same negligence being shown towards your aspirations wouldn't do the same now?

The thought of you trying to leave because something didn't pan out how you anticipated. Or of you letting your pride be your downfall with the potential of being so overcome by another monumental loss directly connected to your last to the point that you try to leave him entirely—again...

No. He wasn't enabling another repeat of anything remotely similar.

"There’s no shame in asking for help, pipsqueak. I can be that for you. Why don't you let me—"

"I don't need your help, or your pity!" you cut off defensively.

I don't need your help. I don't need you.

I don't want you, Caleb.

He's blinded by irrationality. You do need him. You always have. You always would.

"If you don't, then who else but me do you think will be there? You said it yourself; I make things easier for you, don't I?"

Quickly you've completely lost your appetite and what was once a good idea has surprisingly turned sour.

"Me," you emphasize, index finger pointed to your chest. "I've always had my own back through all this. I did it on my own! Who do you think you are, Caleb?"

He wants to tell you. So badly has he thought about it putting it all on the table.

I'm the man whose soul you governed. I'm the vampire whose existence you welcomed and accepted. I'm the immortal who barely recognizes who you are now, but I don't want the old version—I want the one I've been regifted to love me just as you once did.

I’m the only person in the entire world that you once depended on for everything and I couldn’t even do that right.

Besides the likelihood of you believing him being lower than hell, comparing you to what only he recalls is a mistake he can't afford to continue making. Not when it begins to impact the building relationship he was fortunate to have now.

"I'm sorry—"

"You should be," you scoff. "Do you know how many times I’ve been “warned”, told about the negatives? The likely failures? Why can’t anyone be happy for me? Why can’t anyone just… celebrate or congratulate, or-or just encourage, without trying to make me feel like I’m inherently doomed!? I’m not some ticking time bomb of disaster!”

He doesn’t have anything to say, but his silence speaks volumes.

“And you know what? I-I think… I need you to leave. Before I say something I'll regret."

Listening to you now is the last thing he wants to do, but it's what he has to if he wishes to not further ruin what he's doing a damn good job of doing already.

With a heavy mind and an ache inducing blunder, his night with you steered in the complete opposite direction than he expected and is concluded by the loudest farewell of a slamming door to his back.

He already made you a promise and though you’re oblivious to the fact, your fate with him has long been sealed.

"Like I just got this car from my father a couple months ago for my birthday right, but my grandad has been freaking me out about some transmission thing! So, I'm worrying and thinking 'Maybe I do need to get this looked at, just in case' and that's when I looked up some good mechanics nearby and you guys popped up, your reviews were pretty fire, so I figured maybe—"

The frantic fast-talking customer abruptly stops her tumultuous rambling to catch her breath, grumbling to herself about how she needs to remember her breathing exercises with a woosah and a countdown from ten.

"I'm just really hoping you can help me understand what I need to be panicking for," she finishes, her cheeks patchy with red from the mix of the warmer temperature and hysteria.

You smile understandingly at the young teenager who's brought in her 2017 Volkswagen Jetta in a frenzy just as the shop was closing up for the day.

It's always nice to see people seek out knowledge about the things you're passionate about because you get to unleash that inner nerd, but not when it has them is such disarray.

"You have nothing to be panicking for," you assure with a hand to her arm in solace. "I'm almost certain that your grandad is concerned about manual transmission. See, Volkswagens are equipped with something called Tiptronic transmission and what that does is replace the manual one. Back then, if you shifted your gears incorrectly, your vehicle could suffer from that mistake and maybe even your pockets if the damage was bad enough. Now? Tiptronic is sort of fused with automatic, so in the event that you make such a mistake, your car will recognize and correct it for you to prevent any damage to the transmission."

The redhead nods in understanding and huffs out a breath of relief. "So I'm like, not going to screw it up right? I'm not driving in some death trap?"

"Not at all," you chuckle. "It's a hybrid system. What it does is offer you convenience, so you won't even notice. But it's still wise to learn and understand your gears by heart and the overall functionality of your car. Even if something may not be utilized, a good and conscious driver knows how to operate all of it effectively."

She closes her eyes like she's just found peace. "You actually just prevented an impending spiral, oh my gosh you don't even know. I thought I was going to have to miss out on my trip this weakened because my dad screwed up!"

"Next time, just give us a call about any questions that we may be able to answer over the phone so you can save yourself the trip! But yeah, we ran you a diagnostic for your peace of mind and everything is up to date and in the right order, so you're good to go."

The now tranquil teen offers you several thank yous before gleefully getting into her driver's seat and carefully peels out of the parking lot.

With another busy day coming to a resolute close, you look around the mostly empty garage besides a Gideon who throws you a thumbs up for your explanation as he gets ready for closing after the hustle and bustle, and an attentive Caleb wrapping up an oil change.

It's been four whole days since your bout that ended up with you kicking him out. And you were wrong about what you did and the things you said.

Dead wrong.

But you were positively livid to hear another voice questioning you like you weren't capable. Admittedly, that's where you made your first mistake.

Caleb wasn't just another voice, and he wasn't knocking your capability to achieve. He cared, and instead of letting him do that and listening to his logical concerns, you surrounded yourself with titanium and pushed him away because of your egotistical stance of self-sufficiency.

It wasn't your wish to sound so bitter and guarded. It was a defense mechanism from all the discouragement rained down upon you no matter who you once trusted to share your dreams with.

"You're already moving across the country. I know the house didn't sell for that much to afford living expenses and a business."

"Something like that is usually passed down from generations in terms of seeing substantial profit... You sure?"

"You're still grieving, friend. I think you're rushing this."

"If your mom hadn't been able to do it, what makes you think you're going to do different?"

Rather than checking all the naysayers, you'd freeze and feel your nose burn with sorrow.

All the anger and frustration that's been pent up was given to him instead of being properly dished out to the ones who really deserved it, and you were riddled with guilt because of that.

He's shown you kindness, given you care and liberties to do things no one else would. He made you feel like you again, yet you liquidated a moment you could've taken to experience sincere congeniality because of your unresolved issues.

The shame kept you out of work the day after, the matter only worsening as you ignored and steered clear of him for the last three including today. You've been so avoidant that you haven't even been bringing Muffler in, and that's what solidified your position with the troubled vampire.

It's a revelation you weren't too sure how to cope with, but you missed him.

You missed him so much that when you didn't get your good mornings and stupid pop-up questions, all you wanted to do was go home and wallow in your stupidity and useless pride.

But it's high time for you to swallow it and take charge like the adult you were.

You walk over to him with a twisted face full of irresolution. There was no script written out in your mind about what you'd say or how you were going to make amends, but you were hopeful that he'd understand in your attempt.

"Hey," you whisper, twiddling your fingers to keep yourself busy until he responded as you stood beside him.

"Pips... hey" Caleb answers, not taken aback at all by your sudden appearance. Identifying you without fail is a favorable advantage when he can't hear you mutter about all the things being pondered in that turning cogwheel of a brain.

He was unable to hear you make the eventual decision to speak with him because for the first time since you've met—even when you were alone in your home—you were hauntingly silent, keeping all your thoughts in the safe space behind your skull.

To say that he yearned for you was an understatement.

Your smile, your stories, your voice—they were irreplaceable just as much as they were unobtainable. And sitting on the floor of your bedroom at night while you slept as Muffler purred himself to sleep in his lap wasn't cutting it anymore.

"If you had the time, I was wondering if... if we could talk—"

"Yes," he cuts you off unintentionally. "Sorry... Yeah, I'd like that. Please."

Nodding at his eagerness that you struggle to refrain from giving a reaction to, you eye his sexy hands that he cleans with a nearby rag before calling out to Gideon to keep an eye on everything until he returns.

Crossing the threshold into his office, you roll up the sleeves of your flannel and try calming your jittery hands that don't have a clue what to do with themselves.

Once you turn to face him, he can't explain why he anticipated for you to be calm and orderly, but instead, you begin to spill your guts like there's a time limit that will come with consequence if you're not finished in time.

"First of all, I'm sorry. So sorry. My anger was misdirected, and you didn't do anything wrong. Instead of taking your advice with discernment, instead of understanding where you were coming from, I boxed you in with all the other people who never cared about me. A-And I don't know if I've ruined the dynamic we have outside of what we are as two people who work together, but I want to fix it if I have."

Your breath shudders as you prepare to reveal what you've been feeling but were too scared to say out loud because of the ramifications that may tag along.

"Caleb, I know you might think I'm crazy or some mourning mess with attachment issues when I say this, and maybe I am. I just... I don't have anyone else, a-and I can't do everything on my own like I thought. I feel like I need you... but I'm not your responsibility and neither is my trauma, but I can't..."

Your words begin to drone out and it's not because he wishes to disregard what you're laying out for him.

It humors him... because he knows all of this already.

I feel like I need you.

Once again has he become an extension of you, this time so much so that he can feel the restraint he's been wrapping himself up in, release him with every word you articulate.

Caleb is drawn to you like the stars that stick to the sky, done with the waiting and the cautiousness, and slams his lips onto yours as he cups your jaw hungrily in his hands. You're nearly knocked to the floor by the sheer force, but the desk you clatter against braces the fall.

His lips slowly massage yours like a starved man being free from the shackles of famine, a primal satisfaction taking hold of him when your hands slowly find purchase in his locks and you moan into his mouth.

You wanted him? He was already yours.

The smell of all the blood fueling your healthy palpitating heart makes him feel like he's growing dizzy and the headiness of the arousal that he senses gathering in your shorts begins to...

Hold it. Hold it!

But the vampiric dominance conquers his long forgotten humanoid instincts, overriding his attempt to repress his true identity.

This was happening now, then. There was no need to hold off anymore. He had all he needed with the perfect opportunity to take it.

Patience didn't exist anymore. You would have dozens of lifetimes in unity for that.

From the beginning, getting you in a position like this was the final play before he gave you an irreversible hardship that he would pledge an undying oath to guide you through.

Caleb vowed to stop you from abandoning him again and the desire to fulfill that is what draws his fangs out.

For the first time in a long one, all the control he had once mastered after decades of being a creature in hiding, is being revealed before you can realize.

The fact that you're pressed to him in a closed room like an unwary sheep left to the slaughter, precedes you as you lose yourself in the slip of his tongue past your puffy lips and the feel of his strong hands imprinting on your waist.

But don't mistake his devotion to you, what he's about to do, as punishment.

He'll teach you everything. He swears it, cross his useless heart and hope to die.

He'll kill for you when you're scared to do it, please you when you need him to. He'd go hungry if it meant making sure all your newfound needs were satisfied.

It's the least he could do for the only man who'll ever be allowed to love you and is about to strip you of all you've ever known to give you something that you will make better together.

Taking care of his eternal beloved was always his purpose. You came back to him for a reason.

And what an unknowing angel you were to give him the opportunity to succeed this time.

His kisses trail down your neck and a nip to your flesh offers an unusual blend of pleasure and a pain you can't quite say mixes, but overrides.

"I've waited for you for so long..." he whispers, licking up the length of your neck and grunting when you whine and press your breasts to his hard chest.

"You're so dramatic," you grin foolishly as you pull back. "It's only been like four days—"

Your eyes widen and your already elevated heart rate steadily reaches heights that only makes his thirst for you edacious.

"Caleb...?" Your tone pitches with concern and perplexity. "What—"

"I remember when you used to be mesmerized by me." He angles his head, observing you and the way your throat works to swallow your timidity. "Do I scare you now?

The sight of his pointy and sharp elongated canines makes you incapable of responding. You have to be dreaming. That's the only way for what you're witnessing to make any sense.

"How did you—I don't understand..."

"You will, pips. I promise you will. I won't make it hurt as much as it hurt me. I always protect you, you know that."

"Hurt?! This is not... What the fuck are you talking about?! I don't know...w-what is wrong... with you?"

"...If I told you that I've always been this way? The times you trusted me with our Muffler, the lunches you'd eat in here because I eased your rampant mind, every instance you laughed your pretty little head off because of the things I've said. Oh, honey... I was this, hiding—waiting."

His hand trails up to grasp your throat with zero pressure applied, taking a moment to inhale you deeply.

"Before you, before the materials that keep this building together, I have walked this Earth for a long, long time. But I haven't been able to live without you."

A devoted kiss to your jaw. "You remember... I've told you that I know what it means to lose."

Another. "I watched my biological family be murdered by the same beings that turned me into what they are. They used me, materialized me in their war against the humans. I was a killer, unstoppable. But when I had a deliverance, a liberation, come into my life to show me how much control I had over my own fortune with the power I possessed... I was accepted without an ulterior motive—loved. I was in love. Pips, I held onto that with both hands. Until I was stupid enough to let it slip."

Warm tears pour over your waterline and down your cheeks as he shushes you sweetly to calm your worries. "You're not afraid of me. You're afraid that you're not."

His mouth falls to the crook of your neck. "I don't want you to fear us. I just want you home."

A sharp and painful stab is impaled into the side of your neck as a forceful pressure is pushed deep the more your blood is being extracted from every vein and artery that will no longer need the crimson to function.

You cry out clamorously from the burning ache taking over your body and muscles when you cling to his biceps.

Were you pulling away or succumbing to this? You couldn't comprehend.

No sobs can escape the more the decadent fluid spills into his mouth and makes a mess down his chin while it stains his top that was once only dirtied by grease.

His venom rewires your system to welcome the change, to embrace who you will become as you fall slack. He continues to consume even when your brightened skin grows pale the longer you're drained until you're completely immobile and unconscious.

Caleb holds you up by the back of your head to savor every drop, growling with delight just as he finishes. With inhumane speed, Gideon shoots into the room, his fangs presented and posture ready for a fight.

He drops his guard as he watches his comrade from all these decades, claim you until you have nothing more to give him.

Pulling back, Caleb licks away the trickle trying to escape and kisses your forehead as if seeing you like this pains him.

"You'll forgive me when you wake up, pipsqueak."

He keeps his eyes trained on you at the same time he commands his addled friend, "Bring the car around back."

Gideon looks at your comatose form then does as he was asked with harboring questions to be asked later.

Careful of your fragile state, Caleb effortlessly carries and places you atop the plush armchair you liked to sit and eat your sandwiches on.

He's done exactly what he wanted to. You are where he has always envisioned. But when you wake up, is he prepared for what you may say or do?

Your maker will want you to know that you're not isolated, that everything isn't over.

You will get your mother's garage, you will cement her legacy into this planet, and you will do it with him. But he wasn't too certain that he'd be the proper voice of reason or the one you’d initially want to hear.

So, he decides on the best alternative solution.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket and with eyes flipping between you and his screen, it takes him two scrolls before he presses the contact and call button of the person he needs to reach.

One ring. Two. Three. Four… Damn.

"Yes?" the voice answers impassively, thankfully before he was forced to try again until he got a response.

"Zayne," Caleb starts, wiping his mouth from the messy consumption. "You got time to offer some friendly advice?”

“I have two minutes.”

Caleb offers a dry chuckle. “Tell me, what was the first thing you did after you... turned your wife?"

Silence. An uncomfortable one. Lengthy.

"What have you done?"

"Something I was supposed to do."

"If you've made an intentional decision that you're confident about, why do you call me with vexatious riddles? Whatever it is, is it not what you wanted?"

Pressing his lips together, he leans down to brush your untidy hair away to see you without any obstruction blocking a view so captivating.

"It is. But I'm not entirely sure if I can say the same for her. Not yet."

"Her?" Zayne questions in slight alarm. Caleb feels like he can already hear the thousands of questions he wants to ask and points he's dying to make all professional like.

He's thankful that he keeps it short.

"Bring her over before she wakes and does something mindless without properly understanding what she is."

"Done. Will your wife be there?"

"And that matters why?" But Zayne doesn't even give a moment long enough to answer.

"Do as I've instructed you and we will go from there. Do not waste any more time. She needs to be controlled and monitored for her first feed."

Hanging up, your soulmate hurries to sweep you into his arms and fixates on your lifeless face in silence on his way outside. Caleb haphazardly explains to Gideon that he needs to hold down the fort for some time before either of you return and while he wants to inquire more, he knows that now is not the time.

You're placed in the backseat as he maneuvers you until you seem comfortable enough for the long ride and throws one of his sweaters over your body out of habit from all the nights he would do the same in your bedroom with your blankets.

He kisses your chilling lips when he's done and grins faintly.

"I'm gonna get Muffler for you. Our family sticks together. Always.”

Climbing over you, he presses your foreheads together before he gets ready to get behind the wheel to make the way toward your new future.

"I told you, pips. I promised I would make it right."

A/N: I’m nervous as all hell to see what anyone is going to say LOLLLL!!! Writing this was admittedly a challenge. It forced me to really lock in over the last week and I think I really needed that in an effort to improve my writing. Hours upon hoursssss I spent, so I can only hope with fingers crossed🤞🏽. I luv you. MWAH!

🍎 Tags: @xiaprint @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @meadowinthesky @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc @hilliserose @alyakhq @rina-lidou @celestialhoneycaleb

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @jadestone2 @lamogliedizayne @sylusqt

+ @nikirangs, @deathrye

*Photos do not belong to me!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads x you #lads caleb #caleb xia #lads angst #love and deepspace angst #lnds caleb #caleb angst

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54nboo · 21 hours ago

Text

‘bandaids.’ bob reynolds.

summary: bob reeeeeeeaaaaaalllllyyyyy likes your new suit.

pairing: bob reynolds x thunderbolts!reader

insp by: @opheliabbarnes perv bucky. i also JUST watched a bob edit with the song ayo technology by 50 cent and wow… boner city

word count: 3.3k

cw: very suggestive themes, bob is super pervy and super dirty minded, reader has a semi skin-tight suit, mentions of erections, mentions of public sex, mentions of wanting to die, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, mentions of just lots of stuff.

a/n: this is my first ever slightly saucy fic guys… be kind to me world… thank you opi for proofreading love you my day one

minors dni 😠

"hey, do you have a band-aid? ava mentioned you have a stash— oh."

bob's hand freezes on your door handle. his sentence dies in his throat, like he had hit a wall mid-sentence— the wall being you, halfway into your suit, bare back turned, zipper still undone. your arms are stuffed halfway into the sleeves, suggesting that you've been struggling with it for a while now.

you're not exactly naked, but there's a considerable amount of skin on display for bob to see— shoulder blades, spine, the soft curve of your lower back— stretching all the way down to where the suit is bunched and clinging desperately to your hips, caught on a zipper that refuses to budge.

"oh hey." you smile as you greet him, watching him in the reflection of your mirror, "great timing. can you zip me up?"

bob pauses in the doorway. he wasn't expecting you to welcome him in. he wasnt expecting you to be smiling at him as if he had walked in on a normal day— like your back wasn't half-bare and your suit wasn't clinging to you in all of the right places.

but he's not complaining. not even a little. there's a small part of him that feels like he should be ashamed of entering your room without knocking, but when has it ever failed him? it was only last week when he had come knocking to ask if you had seen his missing sock and walked in on you pulling on a pair of tight jeans.

they had no business being that tight, and you had no business squeezing into jeans a size smaller than you really needed.

you had just looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, and all he could do was nod and stammer as he backed out of your room. sock be damned. he had thought about it for three days straight, and then every so often when he closes his eyes.

but this? he would never forget this. this was jerk-off material.

"yeah." he licks his lip. his voice is calm— casual— but he can't hide how his eyes trail down the length of your legs, "yeah, i can do that."

he steps further inside your room, making sure to let the door click softly behind him. he tells himself it's because you wouldn't want anyone else to see you like this, but he knows it's because he doesnt want anyone else to see you like this— not when you look so guarded, so unbothered, like it means nothing to you when it's tearing him apart in real time.

you turn slightly as you pull your hair back for him, and bob swears he could combust right then and there. the sunlight streaming in from your window hits your back with the utmost precision, highlighting every line and every dip of your skin that the suit doesn't cover.

his fingers twitch at his side. he's not even touching you yet and his mouth has gone dry— completely, humiliatingly bone dry. tongue stuck against the roof of his mouth, breath immensely shallow, and his heart pounding in that pathetic traitorous way it always does around you.

"you're not..." he blinks, faltering for a moment as his eyes catch the curve of your back. his voice drops, barely audible, "wearing anything under it?"

"under what?” you raise a brow at him, “my suit?"

bob hums. it’s quiet, like he regrets it but can’t bring himself to take it back. what the hell possessed him to ask that.

and you laugh. "i'm wearing underwear." you answer like it’s just an innocent and genuine question— like bob isnt imaging your boobs pressing flush against your suit, or that he isn’t hoping you get a little cold and your nipples peek against the fabric.

you're so close that he can smell you. warm skin, the faint sweat that sits idly on your neck, and the subtle smell of something that lingers in your clothes.

and then bob reaches out. his finger tips graze the zipper where it rests against your lower back, and for a second, he just... pauses. not because he doesn't know how to do it, but because the the contact alone is enough to completely unravel him. you're so warm.

he starts to pull the zipper up. as his knuckles drag against your skin, he watches as goosebumps trail up your spine.

"your hands are cold." you laugh, light and easy, like you don't care. like you don't feel how low he reaches down your back.

he wants to die. right there. on the spot. just collapse and never get up so he doesn't have to deal with the awful humiliation of how bad he's holding himself together. you dont say anything, just raise a brow like you know, and that's somehow worse.

"sorry." he mumbles, "it's, uh— a little cold in here."

it's a dirty white lie. the room is fine. he's the problem.

bob's fingers fiddles with the zipper, pulling it up. he tries to ignore the way the suit tightens around your body, like it was tailored specifically to ruin him. every inch he closes seems to draw the fabric tighter, wrapping around you like a second skin.

the suit shrinks around the curve of your ass and the dip of your hip, and all he can do is watch shamelessly in the mirror as you slide your arms in, the fabric slotting perfectly under the swell of your breasts, sculpted around them in a way that should be illegal.

"who's hurt?" you quietly ask as you smooth the sleeves of your suit, taking a look at yourself in the mirror.

“oh, uh…” bob finishes the zipper with a satisfying click. he lets his hands fall to the front of his lap, interlocked to hide the growing bulge in his pants, "mel."

"she's still here?"

bob hums, "val wants to see the suits. she put her hand on the counter where alexei dropped a glass earlier. yelena got all the glass out of her hand... but.." he licks his lips, "she's still bleeding pretty bad.”

your lips curl into a smile and you look up at him as you strap your utility belt on, and oh god, bob wants to die, "is that what that noise was?"

bob hums, but his mind is far away. he wishes you wouldn’t look at him like that. like you aren’t even surprised that it was him that showed up at your door. like you knew he’d come with a flimsy excuse like val and a cut that isn’t even his.

you just look so good, and not even because your suit is skin tight. don't get him wrong— being skin tight definitely helps, but there's another reason why he's hiding his lower half behind his hands. its because you look strong. bob almost wants to ask you to throw him onto your bed just to see if you can.

he watches as you walk over to your closet and reach up to the highest shelf— your suit straining against your waist and ass— and pull out a small tin of band aids. bob watches you unscrew it, your gloved hands moving easily over the can.

"you um... you have so many." he swallows, eyes flicking from your hands to your face.

"yeah.” you let out a breathy laugh as you pull two out, “turns out you don't really need them when you live with assassins who don't even cry when they get stabbed."

you hand them to him and he takes them without a word. his fingers brush against yours— not even for a second— and it short-circuits something in his chest.

you dont walk back to your closet and reach for the highest shelf like he wants you to. you dont stretch on your toes and give bob the agonising view of your suit riding up your back and give him an excuse for staring like an idiot.

instead, you place the tin on your desk— simple, casual, and thoughtless. and somehow its worse, because now bob knows you’re not doing it on purpose. youre not stuck in the same tormenting spiral like he is, and you’re certainly not hot for him like he is for you.

and then he watches you walk to the door, too enamoured— hypnotised, really— by the way the fabric of your suit clings to your thighs, how every step you take stretches it just right, tight and smooth and totally unfair.

he doesn’t even realise you’re leaving under your hand shifts on the door knob, pulling the door open. you turn back to him— real slow— and smile at him like you hadn’t just rearranged every single thought in his brain.

“you coming or what?” you ask as you hold the door open.

and god help him, he doesn’t even think. he just surges forwards towards you like you’ve got a leash around his neck and all you have to do is tug.

you and bob walk into the living room. it’s already chaos— the team standing around in front of valentina like they’re being strip-searched, and mel standing off to the side typing down all of valentina’s complaints into her ipad.

“i mean, if i wanted someone to look like they’d just crawled out of an arsenal, i’d have asked alexei.” valentina drawls as she circles yelena like a hawk, eyeing the bits and bobs on her suit, “this doesn’t scream hero. it screams… assassin.”

yelena doesnt even blink, “that’s because i am one.”

then valentina sees you and bob walk in. her eyes drag over you first— dissecting your suit choice with critical eyes— and then she cocks her head at bob, who’s holding mel’s bandaids.

“ah, there you are.” valentina pivots mid monologue, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she beelines towards you two. she makes a grabbing motion for bob, who holds the bandaids out, and she takes them. “there’s your bandaids, mel.”

mel scuttles forwards with a small smile and takes them with a small ‘thank you’. valentina barely acknowledges it and turns back to you.

"it's a bit... skimpy... don't you think?" she says, lips turning like she’s being generous with her wording, “i did give you two options, didnt i?”

bob wants to disagree. he wants to say no, the suit fits perfectly— or maybe something worse, something honest— like it almost fits too well, and that you look so good that he hasn’t looked away from you ever since he stepped foot in your room. but he doesn’t.

you dont miss a beat— "i'm a stealth specialist, valentina. did you expect me to choose the one that sounded like maracas every time i walked?"

bob lets out a small sigh of relief at your words. he likes your suit just the way it is. he really likes your suit. more than he should. its actually kind of a problem.

valentina doesnt try to argue with you. instead, she just exhales sharply through her nose and waves you off like youre an annoying fly in her orbit. “whatever. natasha romanoff wore something similar and look how popular she was— and bonus, you’re the only one who doesn’t look like a linebacker!”

yelena, from across the room, scoffs under her breath.

valentina ignores her. “oh, and don’t get it all destroyed or anything. your suit isn’t cheap and i dont want to have to buy you spares if i don’t need to.”

“i’ll try not to.” you give her a half-assed smile and turn on your heel, already walking towards the elevator, “wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

valentina’s voice follows you, “where are you going?”

“to test out the new suit.” you call over your shoulder as the elevator doors slide open for you, “gotta make sure it holds up before i go out and destroy it.”

valentina opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but surprisingly— for the first time in her life— she has nothing to say.

you step inside and give your team a smile, but catch bob rooted into the ground like he’s deciding whether or not he’s allowed to follow. you press a hand against the doors to stop them from closing.

“you wanna join me, bob?��

bob doesn’t answer. he just moves— fast and clumsy, almost tripping over his own foot in his rush to get to you. when he slips into the elevator next to you, you pretend not to notice that he’s smiling like a complete idiot.

“honestly? its not that bad. a little tight on the thighs, but i’m not exactly complaining.”

bob hums in agreement.

“apparently it’s bullet resistant, heat-resistant, stab-resistant… basically every-resistant you can think of. that’s probably why val said it wasn’t cheap.”

bob nods.

“i mean, she called it skimpy, but if you think about it, it’s way more tactical. less fabric equals less drag. it’s simple physics, bob.”

you're talking to him— about how the suit can fit accessories and weapons if needed, and how it feels sleeker and way lighter than your old suit— but bob isn't listening.

bob is good at fake listening. it's a bad habit that’s become a skill. he knows how to nod at all of the right times, and sometimes even bothers to give a half-asses reply if he knows you're not paying close enough attention.

he hears you— he thinks he does— but the words just mesh together into a big pile of alphabet soup. all he can focus on is the curve of your mouth, the shine of sweat on your temple, and god, the way your suit clings to you every time you move.

right now, he's more preoccupied on how your suit stretches thin against the curve of your ass rather than the bullseye you just hit with your dagger. he's chewing on his thumbnail as a vice, barely resisting the urge to just reach out and pull you in by your thighs. his spot on the floor helps hide the bulge in his pants, and his arm is stuffed under his shirt, pinching the skin on his stomach to at least try to hold back.

it’s even harder when you’re showing him these awesome new parts of the suit and dragging your hands against your body like it isn’t driving him absolutely insane. he really would be interested and pay attention if you didn’t look look like that.

he swears he could drop to him knees right now and worship the ground you walk on. kiss the space between your shoulder blades. say something stupid and reckless that destroys all the respect you have for him. he would grab you and crazy passionate love to you right in front of everyone if you had asked him to.

“you’re staring.”

bob blinks— caught. you’re looking down at him like youre about to discover every thought he’s been thinking for the past hour, and his stomach drops. his mouth opens and then shuts again.

“i was just trying to…” he scratches the back of his neck, nodding like he knows what he’s talking about, “y’know… focus. on your form.”

you raise a brow, “my form?”

“yeah.” he nods, “it’s really, uh… efficient.”

you’re so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of your skin, and if it was even possible, he feels his dick strain even harder against his pants. he has to bite his lip to keep himself from making a sound.

“okay.” you shrug.

bob’s not really giving you much to work with, but he’s good company. instead, you turn around and point at a strap across your back. it’s twisted and digging into your skin, and no amount of reaching behind you is fixing it. “you mind helping with this harness? i can’t reach it.”

bob doesnt want to get up. not because he doesn’t want to help— he wants nothing more than to help you— but because his entire body has betrayed him. he’s been sitting on the floor the entire hour acting like he’s simply keeping you innocent company— but there’s nothing innocent about the building, burning tension pressing against his pants.

he didn’t know what he expected. if anything, he had done this to himself. you’ve been moving around the training room in that damn suit, stretching and working out and talking to him while he sits there and ogles you. he could’ve solved this hours ago with a quick bathroom fix, but no, bob had to be selfish and have you all to himself by sticking himself to you like glue.

and now you’re asking him to come and touch you?

bob thinks he might be cursed. or he’s being tested. or both.

he gets up. he hopes— prays— that you dont suddenly turn around and look at him, because then you’d see it— all of it. by the time he’s behind you, he feels rabid. he’s almost afraid he might drool on you.

“it’s digging in kind of weird.” you tell him as you pull your hair out of the way, “just needs to be untwisted.”

his finger slips under the strap, sliding down against your back and grazing against your spine. you know he’s just trying to untangle it, but you don’t expect him to be breathing down your neck.

“this one?” he murmurs, dazed out of his fucking mind.

“mm-hm..” you don’t flinch or move. if anything, you lean into his touch.

you don’t mean to, and neither does he— but somewhere between his hands brushing against your harness and your shoulder dipping to give him more access, you both start to lean into each other— just slightly, just enough— and the space between you disappears like it was never there to begin with.

and then you shift. just a little. just enough to feel it. the press of something firm against the small of your back. its barely a second, but it feels like years for bob. the press of your back against his cock wrings out a small whimper from his mouth.

he wants to die.

he freezes behind you. his hands are still working clumsily at the twisted strap, and suddenly every ounce of his blood is either pooling in his cheeks or rising to the tip of his dick.

did you notice? did you hear him? you must’ve. there’s no way you didn’t hear his pathetic whimper. it was right there—

his finger slips from your back and he steps away. you start to turn around, and he’s convinced this is it. he expects you to look at him with disgust, or tell him that you think he’s a gross pervert and that you never want to see him again. he wouldn’t blame you.

but no— you’re smiling at him like he’s just done you the biggest favour. like you hadn’t just accidentally bumped into the biggest and most humiliating problem that was currently ruining his entire life.

“thanks, bobby.” you beam like you hadn’t just reset all of the chemistry in his bloodstream, “you mind getting me some water? i’m exhausted.”

bob swallows so hard that it hurts, “yeah. no—no problem.”

he turns, and practically scampers away like a disgraced rat— head down, footsteps clumsy, still trying to hide the absolute mess he’s become underneath your presence— and then he hears you.

“hey bob?” you call.

he freezes and turns. his eyes are so wide and guilty, and his hands fumble with the front of his sweater like it’ll shield him from the absolute humiliation bleeding through his entire body.

“you might wanna…” you tilt your head, your lip tucked between your teeth like you’re resisting the urge to laugh, “sort that out before anyone else sees.”

bob stops.

oh. my. god.

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds angst #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds fanfic #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts #bob reynolds smut #lewis pullman #the void #sentry #robert reynolds

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my-beloved-idol · 1 day ago

Note

what would huntrix/saja boys be like when they’re drunk? maybe a lil suggestive..wink wink

K-POP DEMON HUNTERS HEADCANONS ✦ THEY ARE DRUNK

includes: saja boys & huntrix.

warnings: explicit language, suggestive content (almost NSFW)

✦ JINU

Starts off just nursing a drink with hooded eyes and a smirk like he’s above it… until he downs three shots in a row with no change in expression. Becomes a touch-starved man slowly. Hand on your thigh. Then under it. Then not-so-innocent fingers tracing your inner tight. He knows he's turning you on and is absolutely doing it on purpose. Leans in close when he talks, lips grazing your ear. Doesn’t even say anything spicy—it’s the way he says it. Low and raspy. Kisses you lazily, like he's drunk on you more than the liquor. Tongue slow, confident, coaxing yours out to play. Slurs compliments that hit way too hard: “You're so fucking hot. Like unfair hot. Like... 'ruined-my-life' hot.” Can’t stop staring at your mouth when you talk. Tries to kiss you mid-sentence. Misses most times. Will randomly whisper, “Wanna leave?” like he’s asking for a favor. Might mean your home. Might mean your bed. Very into the idea of you taking control over him. Will tease you into doing it. Of course he gets it afterwards.

✦ ABS

Calm... at first. Until the alcohol really hits. Then? Instant flushed cheeks and messy hair. His shirt is either open or gone. Thinks everything you say is the funniest thing on earth. Grabs your face to kiss you between laughs. Keeps challenging people to dumb games. Spin the bottle, truth or dare, “if you beat me at rock paper scissors I’ll take off my pants” kinda challenges. Will lift you up for fun. Fireman carry. Over his shoulder. Bridal style. Or just a lift where his hand is in your butt, holding you against him. Whispers the dirtiest shit in your ear with an arm around your shoulders —chuckling softly but half-serious. “I’d totally wreck you right now if there weren’t people around.” Grabs your hand and places it on his abs with a smirk. Doesn’t say anything and continues talking. Might try to start something, anything, in a closet or hallway. You’ll stop him. He’ll pout. Then grin. “Later?”

✦ ROMANCE

Drinks with pinky up. He would think he’s being smooth. In reality, he’s just dramatic, rambling, and saying things like, “If I die tonight, bury me inside you”. Knocks over a lamp trying to sit next to you. Insists on slow dancing, even if there's no music. Will end up pulling you into his lap if you refuse. Starts telling people you’re his muse, too loudly. “I’d write a whole damn novel just about their thighs.” Winks at you across the room while licking his drink off his lips way too slowly. Then texts you from across the room: “I want you so bad rn.” Even though you’re in the same building. Bites your collarbone accidentally-on-purpose. “No one will notice if we leave, my love…” (Everyone does).

✦ MYSTERY

Only drinks whiskey. Straight. Says it’s “to stay sharp.” He’s obviously lying. Watches you drink, watches you dance, watches your mouth when you talk. His eyes never leave you. Speaks in low tones — deep and straight to the point. “You look good like that.” Might grab your jaw mid-sentence when you’re talking and make you look at him. Just to watch you fluster. Refuses to admit he’s drunk until you catch him stumbling. Then shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to take care of me tonight.” Would actually whine like a little dog if you take his next drink away, moving his hair back just to look at you with puppy eyes. If you tease him, he growls. Actually growls. And then mutters something filthy in your ear like a threat. “Don’t make me mark you in front of everyone. I’m not waiting until we get home”.

✦ BABY SAJA

Let’s be real… it takes him a while to get drunk. Probably wine hits him quicker than any other drink. Loud as fuck. Starts laughing at everything you say in the silliest way. He either becomes hyper clingy or wildly inappropriate. No in-between. Kisses you on the cheek like ten times in a row like he’s drunk on you. Might ask “Why aren’t we making out right now?” in front of everyone with the dumbest grin. Curls up in your lap like a big baby. Keeps rubbing his face into your neck. Flirts in the worst ways — “Your face looks soft. Wanna sit on mine?” Lowkey horny and super needy but gets so embarrassed about it. It’s so unlike him it makes you laugh. “Touch me. Kiss me. Anything. Please.” Obviously handsy but whines the whole time, like he’s the victim.

✦ ZOEY

Normally composed, but drunk Zoey lets go. Hair down, shoes off, voice louder. Drinks something fruity and insists you taste it from her mouth. Gets real honest when she’s tipsy. Tells you exactly what she wants from you. “I’d let you ruin me right now if you asked nicely.” Talks very close to your lips. Stays there. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss. Just... waits. Calls you “babe” more than usual. Says it with bite to your shoulder. With meaning. Kisses you like she’s proving a point. Hands in your hair, knee between your legs, breathless after. Refuses to dance unless it’s with you —and it’s dirty. Slow grinding. Slow kisses. Tries to act cute but keeps dropping suggestive comments. “Bet you’d like to see me without this dress, huh?”

✦ MIRA

Doesn't mean to get drunk. Blames everyone else. Still takes another shot. Gets mean flirty. “You think I’m cute like this? You’re easy.” Sits with legs spread, shirt half undone, cheeks flushed. Looks hot and she knows it. Says, “So are you gonna kiss me or just keep staring like a coward?” Puts her hands on your thighs under the table. Pretends it’s casual. (P.S.: It’s not). Mocking smirks. Teases you for blushing. If you flirt back, she gets smug. If you don’t, she gets offended. “I’m throwing myself at you, what more do you want?” Will take you to the bathroom to make out and then walk away like nothing happened. Dares you to take her home. “You’re all talk.”

✦ RUMI

Hiccups mid-sentence while confessing she wants to kiss you. Laughs and tries again. The queen of drunk texting you while sitting next to you. “You're so pretty I wanna eat you out.” “...you what?” “Like in a cute way!” Rumi? Blows you kisses across the room like she’s in a music video. Sits on the counter, table, couch, actually anywhere, and beckons you with one finger. Kisses that get deeper, longer, needier the more you respond. Drunk grinding. Bites your earlobe and says “Oops.” Not sorry. Wakes up like nothing happened. “Do you remember—” “Nope! I’m innocent.”

Note: So, uh... I got a little carried away. Hope you guys like it!

321 notes · View notes

luvismenu · 3 days ago

Text

sad girl — jeon jungkook ! repost

pt.1 creepin’ around while he gets high

summary: you were never supposed to fall for him. not the man who signs your paychecks. not the man with a wife and two kids. but he says he’s unhappy. he says it feels right with you. you know it’s wrong. and still… you stay. because nothing has ever made you feel more alive than being someone's secret.

pairing: rich married man!jungkook x babysitter!oc

wc: 8k

warnings: mature themes, adultery/infidelity, smoking.

important note: deleted this bfore cuz i got shit on for not writing “more smut”. after thinking about it a lot , here it is again !!! without the smut. i mainly wanted to write this as an angst fic, because hello?? cheating isn’t fun. but i think some ppl took it the wrong way. the smut wasn’t important at all. i kept it vague on purpose , those parts just had details that gave more meaning to the story. it wasn’t meant for jerking off at all lmao. anyway, this was supposed to be a 6 part mini series , not sure if im going to continue this fic,, i most probably won't , but yeah… leaving part 1 here.

you love your job.

it’s not your dream job. not even close. you’ve never once imagined yourself as a babysitter. not when you were younger, not even as a backup plan. it was never part of the picture.

you didn’t grow up thinking, “i’m going to take care of kids someday.”

truthfully, kids have always been a little confusing to you. unpredictable. too loud or too quiet, too much or too little. like tiny humans with moods that change faster than the weather.

but somehow, here you are. and to your own surprise… you're starting to enjoy it.

why?

“kids, stop running around. you're going to hurt yourselves.”

that voice. deep, calm, firm. it cuts through the chaos like a thread pulling everything together.

your heart skips before you even look up.

but you already know who it is.

he steps into the room, and everything seems to still around him. not because he tries to take up space, but because he just does. tall, confident, effortless. he doesn’t need to raise his voice. he doesn’t need to try.

but the kids don’t stop. they’re too lost in their game, laughter bubbling up like music, tiny feet thudding against the floor as they spin in circles.

he lets out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and amusement and reaches for his watch, sliding it off his wrist. you don’t know why that makes your stomach turn, but it does.

“but appa, it’s fun!” one of them whines, dragging out the word like it might change his mind.

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he sets the watch on the table.

“fun, huh?”

jeon jungkook.

the reason you tolerate this job.

technically, he’s your boss. the one who hands you a generous envelope every weekend to watch over his kids. but “boss” feels like such a dull, inaccurate word for him.

because jungkook is something else entirely.

the way he walks, so sure of himself. the way he speaks, low and even, like he never needs to prove anything. the way his smile changes the whole room. or the way his brow furrows when he’s thinking, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back more than just thoughts.

the way he shrugs out of his jacket, the slow roll of sleeves up his forearms, veins and ink peeking out with every movement—

you pretend not to look. but you do.

everything about him feels like gravity. like something you shouldn’t be drawn to, but are anyway.

“are they giving you trouble, miss ___?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

he lowers himself onto the couch like he belongs there— because he does. his tie loosened, legs spread comfortably, one arm resting behind the cushions.

you take a breath, trying not to sound breathless.

“no, mr. jeon,” you say softly, eyes flicking back to the kids. “they’re just playing.”

his gaze stays on you a beat too long. unreadable. and then,

“take a seat,” he says, voice smooth. “you don’t have to chase after them.”

you nod and settle into a seat across from him. the cushions dip under your weight, and the room feels quieter somehow.

“yohan, yewon. come sit,” he calls. his tone is calm but firm, a slight shift in authority that even you feel in your spine.

they pause. glance at each other. then make their way over to you, slipping onto the couch on either side like you’re the center of some small universe they orbit.

“yohan wants to play more,” yewon grumbles, arms crossed.

“no, i didn’t! yewon noona said she did!” yohan snaps back, already offended.

you lean in, steady and gentle.

“hey. what did i say about pointing fingers?”

they go quiet. the room settles again.

“that it’s bad,” they mumble, voices small.

“and?”

“and we shouldn’t lie or blame each other.”

“that’s right.” you smile at them, soft but proud. “so, what do we say?”

they glance at each other again before offering quiet little apologies.

“good,” you say, your voice lighter now. “you’re both being so good. i’m proud of you.”

across from you, jungkook watches. he hasn’t said a word.

but you feel the shift. the way his body sinks deeper into the couch, the slight raise of his brows, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

admiration, maybe. or something quieter.

he knows his kids. they’re sweet, sure. but they’re stubborn. they rarely listen the first time. almost never apologize on their own.

and now they’re sitting quietly beside you like you’ve cast some gentle spell.

he doesn’t say anything.

but he sees it.

and you feel it.

“kids,” he speaks up.

his voice is calm, steady. the kind that draws attention without effort.

the kids immediately look over.

“yes, appa?” yewon answers, tilting her head.

yohan just watches him quietly, eyes wide and waiting.

you look at him too, trying not to make it too obvious how your heart stutters when he shifts in his seat, forearms resting on his knees.

“could you go to your room for a bit?” he says, glancing briefly at them before his eyes flick back to you. “i need a moment with miss ___.”

“okay,” they both say in unison.

they each lean in to kiss his cheek— yewon on his left, yohan on his right —and your chest warms at the sight. it's so quick, so natural. something they do all the time.

he taps two fingers against the back of yohan’s head as a reminder, murmuring, “no running.”

“we won't!” yewon insists, grabbing her brother’s arm and pulling him into a slow walk up the stairs.

and just like that, the room falls quiet.

jungkook sits up straighter. it’s subtle, but you feel it immediately; the shift in atmosphere. suddenly, you're very aware of your posture. you mirror him, hands neatly folded on your knees, back straight, nerves prickling up your spine.

his gaze lingers.

“is everything okay, mr. jeon?” you ask, voice low.

he nods slowly, then reaches for the coloring books the kids had left behind— sprawled open across the glass coffee table. his hands move with quiet precision, gathering them one by one, tapping them into a neat stack, arranging them by size..

why does it feel like he’s preparing for a difficult conversation?

“you won’t need to babysit them,” he says finally, looking up at you. “for…” he pauses, dragging the word just long enough to make your chest tighten.

your heart skips.

your throat closes up.

was your crush on him that obvious?

were you too careless?

shit— what if this is it?

he sees the way you tense, shoulders rising, fingers curling slightly against your knees. he pauses, then adds, “for two weeks.” he nods, “ the kids will be staying with their grandparents for two weeks.”

your mouth opens slightly, relief just barely catching up to your confusion. “you mean... i don't have to come in just for two weeks? not like... fired?”

he chuckles under his breath, a soft huff that somehow makes you feel ridiculous and reassured all at once.

“yes,” he says. “just two weeks. you’ll continue on the weekends once they’re back.”

you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for an hour straight.

he watches you with a small, unreadable smile.

“you looked terrified,” he murmurs.

“i thought i was getting fired,” you admit, cheeks warming.

“why would i fire you?” he leans back slightly, eyes still on you. “they listen to you more than they do to me.”

you can’t think of anything to say to that. at least, nothing that wouldn’t give you away completely.

so you just nod, eyes flicking down to your lap, trying not to notice the way your pulse hammers in your ears.

you swallow hard, thoughts spiraling before you can stop them.

of course you’ve been a little… taken with him. who wouldn’t be?

he’s attractive. older. confident in that effortless, dangerous kind of way.

but he’s also married. off-limits.

completely.

you would never cross a line. never do anything reckless. this is just a passing crush. something you'll get over in a few weeks. a harmless little fantasy.

so you blink out of it and look up to see... he’s already watching you.

leaned back, one arm slung over the couch, completely at ease. there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth ; is it amusement? a smirk? you don't know but, whatever it is, it shoots straight to your core.

you shift in your seat. try not to squirm.

god.

if he weren’t someone else’s—

a soft chime echoes through the house. not loud. not intrusive. just a delicate sound, like wind brushing across crystal.

you blink, the thought still unfinished in your head. the tension still caught in your throat.

then the door opens.

not slammed. not swung. it glides. quiet and smooth, like everything else in this house.

heels click against the marble floor. sharp. unhurried. certain. and you don’t have to look, because you already know.

ms. xinyi has returned.

and she doesn’t enter like someone coming home.

she enters like she’s stepping onto a stage. commanding, composed, every line of her body deliberate.

her dress is deep red silk; elegant, fluid, expensive in a way that whispers it rather than shouts. the kind of red that means power, a color that speaks of control. her hair is slicked back, earrings glinting beneath the warm lighting. a purse hangs from her wrist, small and sharp, probably worth more than your entire semester’s tuition.

you stand immediately.

not because anyone tells you to. not even because you’re afraid.

but because that’s what you do when she’s in the room. because it’s her name on your schedule. her rules you follow.

jungkook may be the one who stays, who smiles at pickup, who folds the envelopes with your pay.

but ms. xinyi is the one who made the call to hire you.

and the way her eyes sweep the room now, like she's calculating. makes it very clear:

she hasn’t forgotten that.

“ms. xinyi,” you say softly, a little breathless.

she doesn’t smile. she just nods once.

you’d called her “mrs. jeon” the first time you met her, hands politely folded in front of you, voice careful with respect. but she had only smiled, graceful but distant, and said, “please. address me as ms. xinyi. ‘mrs. jeon’ makes me sound old.”

and you’d nodded, of course. because when a woman like her tells you to call her by name, you don’t argue.

jungkook gets up, but he doesn’t move to greet her like you do. no warm hug. no soft smile. nothing like the way he usually welcomes her home.

instead, he heads toward the bar tucked into the corner of the large living room. a sleek, dark wood counter with crystal glasses lined up on top, all under soft recessed lights. he reaches for one, his movements smooth, and pours himself a drink. it’s not alcohol.

drinking alcohol isn’t allowed while the kids are still awake— ms. xinyi’s rule. one of many.

you watch the way his jaw flexes as he lifts the glass to his lips, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

xinyi's eyes skim over you with practiced grace. she sighs, so quietly you almost miss it, but she recovers quickly, expression smoothing as if nothing slipped.

“the kids,” she says. “are they asleep?”

you nod politely, your voice soft but sure. “they’re upstairs. had dinner already. yewon finished all her veggies this time.”

a hint of something that might be a smile curves on her lips. she nods. “good.”

then, without missing a beat, “what about their mandarin practice?”

you nod again, hands clasped in front of you. “yes ma’am. they learned quite a bit today. they were good, really focused.”

you aren’t just their babysitter. you were hired with purpose. ms. xinyi wanted her children to have more consistent exposure to chinese. they know the basics already— of course they do, their mom is chinese. but she’s barely home, and jungkook… well, he knows as much as they do. maybe less. so she brought you in ; to help them speak fluently, confidently.

you’ve spent time building a gentle routine around their packed schedules. school, homework, and everything else expected of kids their age, and you weave language learning into their downtime, softly, kindly.

sometimes through games, sometimes through stories. not always strict. not always serious. they’re just kids. and they trust you more when you let them breathe.

“thank you for your hard work,” ms. xinyi says, lips painted in a matching shade of deep garnet.

you nod, swallowing your breath. “of course.”

she walks past you, toward her husband. jungkook is now leaning against the edge of the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his glass.

he doesn’t speak when she approaches. just looks at her, calm and unreadable like usual.

she pauses in front of him and her gaze lingers.

then, with a glance back at you, she says, “can you tell the kids to go to sleep? tell them i’ll come kiss them good night later. they might fuss— but you can handle that, right? ms. ___.”

you nod quickly, eyes low. “yes, ma’am.”

you turn and head up the stairs, careful not to make a sound.

when you’re finally out of earshot, the calm cracks.

xinyi doesn’t raise her voice, but the cold edge in her tone cuts clean. “could you at least try to act like we’re in love?”

jungkook’s brow tics. he lifts the glass again, finishes the last sip, and sets it down with a soft clink.

“we’ve been acting for years,” he says quietly.

“so act a little better.”

there’s a pause.

she exhales through her nose, stepping back just slightly but never breaking eye contact. “you’re getting more distant every week, jeon. i can’t be the only one trying.”

“you’re not trying,” he replies, tone low. “you’re working. just like always. and now you’re mad that i’m not playing along like i used to.”

“i’m not just working for fun,” she snaps, though her voice stays poised. “we both agreed to this life. we’re business people. you of all people should understand.”

“i do,” he says. and he does. but that doesn’t make it easier. “i’m cooperating. for the kids.”

“then co-operate better,” she says, her words clipped. “when they come back from my parents’ house, they can’t see this—” she gestures between them, not cruel, just… resigned. “this cold.”

he doesn’t answer.

“my father thinks you’re slipping,” she adds.

jungkook’s jaw clenches. he doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, it’s only one word:

“okay.”

because what else can he say?

he can’t say he’s tired of this.

he can’t say he’s lonely.

he can’t say he’s barely holding the pieces together when everyone around him keeps demanding more.

so he says okay.

because that’s the only answer that won’t burn it all down.

“is mama busy again, ms. ___?” yohan asks, voice quiet as he snuggles deeper into his blanket, only his round cheeks and curious eyes visible now.

you’re helping yewon into her bed, gently fixing the corner of her plush bunny pillow when the question catches you off guard.

“hm? no, of course not,” you say, smiling gently as you glance at him. “she just got back home.”

“then why isn't she here with us?” yewon asks, a little pout forming on her lips as you pull her blanket over her, tucking her in neatly.

“because…” you draw out the word on purpose, standing up and placing your hands on your hips dramatically, eyes flicking between the two of them. “she needs to rest, doesn’t she?”

they both pout now, matching each other without even realizing it. you chuckle softly.

“don’t give me those cute faces,” you tease, leaning down to gently boop yohan’s nose. he wrinkles it with a quiet giggle.

but then his expression turns serious. “does mama and appa not like us anymore?” he says suddenly, so quietly it almost gets lost in the hum of the nightlight.

you blink, startled.

“han-nie!” yewon gasps, sitting up a little in her bed, “you can’t say that!”

“but it’s true!” he whines, glancing at her before turning back to you. “they’re always busy! especially mama! you miss them too, noona!”

you sigh, moving to sit at the edge of yohan’s bed. your hand reaches out to smooth his hair gently.

“you both know your mama works very hard, right?” you say softly. “and your appa too. they work so much because they love you. and when they come home, they’re tired. they just need a little bit of time to rest before they can give you all their attention.”

they both nod, but their eyes are still a little sad.

“plus…” you smile again, trying to cheer them up, “ms. xinyi told me she’d come up soon to give you both your goodnight kisses.”

that gets them to brighten a little.

“really?” yewon asks.

you nod. “really.”

“i won’t sleep till she gets here then!” yohan says quickly, determined now.

“me neither,” yewon chimes in.

you look between them and feel a tug in your heart. “oh and.. i heard you two are visiting your grandparents for the next two weeks,” you say, keeping your voice excited. “won’t that be fun?”

“yeah,” yewon says, “grandma lets us have lots of desserts!”

“and grandpa has a really big tv!” yohan adds.

“i bet they’ll be so happy to see you again,” you say, standing back up, smoothing out your skirt. “they’ll spoil you silly.”

“can you come too?” yohan asks suddenly, hopeful.

you pause, smiling gently. “i wish i could, yohan. but i’ll be right here when you come back, okay?”

“promise?” yewon says sleepily.

“promise,” you nod. “cross my heart.”

they both settle back down into their pillows, more at ease now.

you wait a moment, watching their eyes flutter slower and slower before you quietly reach for the door and close it with the softest click.

time to go home.

“i’ll take my leave now,” you say quietly, standing in front of ms. xinyi with your bag hanging neatly on your shoulder, hands clasped in front of you. your voice is calm, respectful. “please call me if you need any assistance before the kids leave for their grandparents.”

ms. xinyi nods once, eyes sharp but polite. “i’ll keep it in mind.”

you return the nod and turn to go, already picturing your long walk to the bus stop, the change of clothes waiting in your small apartment, the silence of a home that doesn’t echo. a far cry from this polished, glass-and-marble world you spend your weekends in.

but before you can take a step, she speaks again.

“do you go by bus, ms. ___?”

you pause, slowly turning back around. “yes, ma’am.”

her lips press together briefly, thoughtful. “jungkook will drop you off tonight.”

and just like that, he appears— quiet steps behind her, tugging on a sleek jacket, fingers adjusting the collar like he was already getting ready to step out. timing too perfect to be coincidental.

your eyes widen, a little panic creeping into your chest. “oh no, you don’t have to— i mean, i’m fine. really. this is… normal for me,” you say quickly, words tumbling out too fast, hands gesturing as if that’ll help your case.

jungkook glances at you once as he pulls the zipper up. his face is unreadable.

“sure,” he says, voice smooth and low. “wait outside for me. i’ll be there with my car.”

then, without waiting for your reply, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to ms. xinyi’s cheek. your eyes flick to her face, watching her expression shift for a moment— almost content.

maybe… they’re fine again? you can’t tell, but the tension that hovered earlier feels thinner now. less sharp.

he walks past, straight out the door.

ms. xinyi turns back to you, her hands now loosely folded in front of her. there’s a gentle smile on her face— elegant, polished, practiced. “i insist. it’s late. and it was my fault, staying too long at the office party. you had to stay extra hours because of me.”

“but miss—”

“i won’t take no for an answer, ms. ___.” the smile stays, but there’s weight behind her voice. soft power. “you know that, don’t you?”

your shoulders drop slightly, and you nod, looking down. “yes, ma’am. thank you for your kindness.”

you bow your head once, polite, and finally step out into the quiet night, where jungkook’s car is already starting up in the driveway.

the car is quiet. smooth engine, soft instrumental playing low on the radio. jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel. yours, clutched around your bag.

you sit straight, posture polite, and you’re hyper aware of him beside you — he’s relaxed, driving one-handed, leaning slightly back into the leather seat like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. just another person he’s offering a ride home to.

but still, your heart’s going a little crazy.

he suddenly speaks, voice low. “i was going out to get a smoke, ms. ___.”

you blink, startled a little. he doesn’t look your way. just keeps driving.

“that’s why my wife said i could drop you. you’re not troubling me or anything.”

you shake your head quickly, fumbling over your reply. “oh— okay. thank you. really. i was fine taking the bus, though.”

he hums, noncommittal. “still. late night bus isn’t the safest.”

you nod, lips pressed together. you want to say thank you again, but you don’t want to sound like a broken record. the silence returns, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. just… a little charged.

you don’t realize you’re staring at his hands until you are — long fingers wrapped around the wheel, thumb tapping softly to the beat of the radio. his wrist, the veins on his hand, the simple silver ring he wears.

wow.

you swallow.

and then, without warning, he pulls over. not suddenly, but gently, easing the car toward the curb and shifting into park.

“you don’t mind if i get cigarettes, right?” he asks, glancing at you.

you shake your head. “not at all mr. jeon. take your time.”

he nods and steps out.

as soon as the door shuts, you let out a long, shaky breath.

what the fuck.

you’re in jungkook’s car. you’re in his fucking car.

it literally smells like his cologne. and the air freshener clipped to the vents and maybe a little like coffee. your fingers twitch, and you’re not even sure where to look — the leather, the sleek touchscreen, the dash, the mirror with that tiny photo of his kids tucked into it. you feel like an outsider just breathing in here.

he returns a few minutes later, slipping back in with a small paper bag in hand.

“sorry,” he mutters, adjusting his seatbelt and pulling away from the curb.

you don’t respond immediately. just watch the road ahead.

“no problem at all.”

the rest of the drive is short.

when the car slows in front of your apartment block, you quickly gather your things.

“thank you for the ride, mr. jeon” you say, already opening the door.

but then he gets out, too.

you freeze.

this— this is a small neighborhood. your apartment is in one of those plain buildings, paint chipped at the edges, a rusty bicycle chained to the stairwell. nothing glamorous.

you step out, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks around, taking in the area. and then he looks at your building.

“cute place,” he says.

you smile awkwardly, hugging your bag tighter. “o-oh. yeah. it’s, um, it’s fine i guess.”

he nods once, then meets your eyes again. “i’ll see you soon, ___.”

you bow instinctively, eyes flicking down. “goodnight mr. jeon”

he turns, walks back to the car. the headlights blink once as he unlocks it.

you stand there for a second longer, heart thudding, as his words echo in your head.

“i’ll see you soon, ___.”

he said your name without the “ms.” in it.

just ___.

you step inside your apartment with legs that feel too light. your fingers still smell like his car. and you close the door behind you, quietly, slowly, like you’re afraid of breaking whatever spell that was.

yeah. that was… intense.

the sun’s dipping low by the time you step out of the campus gate, bag slung over your shoulder, your phone buzzing with a low battery warning. beside you, minjun sips the last of his vending machine coffee, yawning dramatically.

“so you’re finally free this week, huh?” he asks, grinning. “no more mansion babysitting?”

you nod, pulling your hair back with one hand. “yeah. the kids are leaving for their grandparents. i think they’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“must be nice,” he laughs. “wish we got two weeks vacay too from this... hell-hole.”

“please,” you scoff. “never gonna happen.”

“rich people really live in another universe, huh.” he mutters, “by the way ___, if you ever disappear suddenly , i’ll assume they adopted you into their fancy bloodline.”

you’re about to reply when your phone buzzes in your hand —

mr. jeon.

you blink.

minjun peeks at the screen. “is that him? your boss?”

“shhh,” you hiss, already answering.

“yes mr.jeon?”

jungkook’s voice is calm. “ms. ___, are you free tonight?”

you glance at minjun, then ahead at the road. “uh— yes, i am.”

“good,” he says, and you swear you can hear the small smile in his voice.

your stomach does something weird.

“you're sure, right?” he asks

“yes,” you say, too quickly. “i’m free. do you need me to come over?”

“yeah. come when you can.”

“i will,” you nod, even though he can’t see.

and you hang up.

minjun’s staring at you. “sooo… you are not supposed to be babysitting but he still wants you over?”

“don’t start.”

“i’m just saying,” he raises his brows, “sounds suspicious.”

“bye minjun!!”

“text me if you end up in a scandal!”

you roll your eyes and wave him off, heart thudding harder than it should.

the kids are leaving. you don't have to babysit. he didn't call you for work.. did he?

you don’t know yet.

but you’re already walking faster.

the house was quiet when you stepped in.

jungkook opened the door, one hand on the knob, the other lazily tucked in his pocket. his expression was unreadable, as always, but his tone was polite. “hey. come in.”

you stepped in carefully, slipping your shoes off by the door. “thank you,” you said, eyes naturally glancing down the hallway, expecting to hear the kids, or at least see ms. xinyi pacing around on a phone call. but the space was… still.

“they’re not here,” jungkook said casually, as if reading your mind.

you blinked. “oh. they left already?”

he nodded, leading the way inside, you following behind slowly. “xinyi left this morning with the kids.”

you frowned slightly. “i thought they were leaving tomorrow…”

“yeah, it was sudden. her mom insisted.” he didn’t sound annoyed, just tired. “xinyi can’t stay long though. she has work, meetings. she’ll be back soon. but she asked if you could help out before she returns.”

you nodded automatically, because of course. “with what, exactly?”

“the kids’ stuff,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. “their mandarin folders, worksheets, the reading material. you know, that shelf you helped set up in their study room? xinyi wants it reorganized. she says it’s a mess.”

you smiled lightly. “it is a mess.”

“thought so,” he said, smirking a little. “you’ve got a few hours. i won’t be in your way.”

you hummed in agreement, already walking in the direction of the kids’ room.

“i’ll get started.”

it takes longer than you expect. papers are everywhere. yohan’s doodled over half the sheets, yewon’s managed to mix english flashcards into the mandarin set, and the books aren’t even standing upright anymore.

you roll up your sleeves and get to work. at some point, you stop checking the time. there’s something comforting about organizing their things— folding tiny papers, writing neat labels. it feels… peaceful. like you’re still around them.

and by the time you finish, the sky outside has turned navy blue and the hallway lights are dim.

you look around for jungkook. he hasn’t said anything since earlier. maybe he went out. maybe he’s in the study. but the house is too quiet. almost empty. he couldn’t have just… left.

you grab your bag and make your way downstairs, calling out softly, “mr. jeon?”

no reply.

you glance toward the kitchen. empty.

you pass by the sitting room. lights off.

you pause by the sliding doors that lead to the garden. there’s a breeze… and something else. something soft. a sound you can’t quite name.

you step outside.

and there he is.

standing under the open sky, alone, his back to you. the garden lights glow faintly along the grass. his dark hair moves with the wind. one hand is in his pocket, the other holds a slim cigar, glowing orange at the tip.

you don’t mean to stare.

but he looks… cinematic. loose black shirt. sleeves rolled. the way he stands so still, like the air doesn’t touch him. like he’s thinking about a thousand things you’ll never understand.

you clear your throat.

he turns slightly, glancing at you with no real surprise. “done already?”

you nod. “yeah. i didn’t want to leave without letting you know.”

he takes a slow drag, the smoke curling around his fingers before rising into the dark. “good timing.”

you hesitate, then walk a little closer. “why didn’t you go, mr. jeon? with them.”

his eyes stay on the sky for a second, then drop to the ground. “xinyi’s parents don’t like me much.”

that surprises you.

you blink. “why?”

he gives a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t sound amused. “they think i’m not enough. that i’m… not what they pictured for her.”

you look down. “but you’re—”

“rich?” he cuts in softly. “doesn’t mean i’m enough.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

he continues, flicking ash to the side. “i run too many things. i’m constantly flying in and out. the company’s in a complicated place right now. mergers. new investors. pressure.”

you stay quiet. listening.

just listening.

he looks over at you finally, the garden light catching his features. “it’s exhausting.”

your chest aches a little. he looks like someone who hasn’t slept right in days. you wonder if anyone ever asks him how he feels. if anyone even cares.

“sorry,” you say, softly.

he shrugs. “you didn’t do anything.”

you nod, then look away, eyes tracing the garden floor.

“how about you? college okay?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah. you.”

you laugh nervously. “uhm… yeah. college is fine. tiring. the usual. rent’s going up though, it’s… whatever.” you roll your eyes a little and then you realise, maybe you shouldn't be telling him this stuff, so you quickly apologise, “sorry i didn't mean to say that.”

he watches you for a moment. “don’t be.” then nods. “you’re working hard. college. babysitting kids. you’re doing good.”

you grin a little. “yeah, i guess.”

he lets out a quiet hum, then turns back to the sky.

you both fall silent. the kind of silence that doesn’t feel awkward at all. you tilt your head back too, following his gaze.

it is a beautiful night.

he takes a longer drag this time, eyes falling shut as the smoke leaves his lips in slow swirls. his jaw tenses slightly, neck lines sharp against the collar of his shirt.

you look away quickly.

your heart’s doing something stupid.

you should go.

but… you don’t.

you stay.

you don’t say anything. don’t even shift your weight. you just keep standing there under the soft garden lights, with your bag still in your hand and your heart beating loud in your ears. and as the seconds stretch on, when he realizes you’re still there; still watching him, he doesn’t look surprised.

you don’t see it. not really.

but he smiles. just a little.

and then he speaks.

“you smoke?”

his voice is low. smooth, like usual.

your eyes widen a little. “me? no. not really. i mean… no. it’s not good for you.”

he raises a brow, amused. “mm. it’s not.”

you shift on your feet. “it’s addictive. and bad for your lungs. like. obviously.”

he hums, eyes still on you. “wanna try?”

you blink. “pardon?”

he flicks ash off the end, lets it fall with a soft hiss onto the wet grass. “just once. it's not like you will get addicted off one puff.”

you hesitate. heart tripping over itself.

because you know this is stupid. obviously. you’ve said the words yourself— bad for you, dangerous, addictive.

but your thoughts are running too fast and none of them make sense. your limbs feel slow and heavy like you’re melting under the weight of his attention.

you shouldn’t.

you really shouldn’t.

but he’s looking at you with that.. amused little glint in his eye, and his shirt’s a little wrinkled, and his fingers look really good around the cigarette. and you’re tired of always being the one who makes the right choice.

what’s so bad about one?

he watches you, smoke curling past his lips again, quiet for a moment. “it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“sure,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “i’ll try it.”

his eyebrows lift, surprised. “you sure?”

you nod, too fast. “mhm.”

he smirks, a slow little curve of his lips. “thought it wasn’t healthy?”

you roll your eyes. “just one puff.”

he laughs quietly, drops the stub of his cigarette to the ground and presses the toe of his shoe against it. then he slips a hand into his pocket, pulls out a slim case, taps out a new one and holds it between two fingers like it’s nothing. like it’s casual.

“here,” he murmurs, handing it to you.

you take it.

your fingers brush his when you do.

you almost gasp but you don't , thankfully.

your fingers close around the cigarette he holds out, but just before you bring it to your lips, you drop your bag to the side with a soft thud on the grass.

you place the cigarette between your lips awkwardly at first, but you pretend to be cool about this. you keep your eyes on him the whole time. never looking away, and he doesn’t either. his gaze holds you in place.

he brings the lighter to the tip, flicks it open. the soft click sounds loud in the quiet.

then, his voice.

low. rough. lazy. “breathe in slow. not too deep. let it sit for a second. then let it go.”

you nod, and your fingers tremble just slightly as you try.

he lights it.

the flame glows bright, just for a second. burns orange, then settles into a steady red glow at the tip. and his eyes never leave yours.

you inhale like he said. it stings— more than you expected. burns your throat, makes your chest tighten, but you try to hold it.

you let it sit. then exhale.

it leaves your mouth in a shaky stream.

you cough a little, just once, and his eyes darken.

“that’s it,” he says, voice smooth like velvet. “you can do it. that's it. good girl.”

your stomach flips.

and then you try again. slower this time. his gaze never leaving your mouth.

“just like that,” he murmurs. “see? not so bad.”

you exhale again, and this time it doesn’t burn as much. it still makes your head spin. but not in a bad way.

you glance up at him, your voice softer now. “i kinda like it.”

he hums. “yeah?”

“yeah. i mean. i don’t know if that’s… right.”

he chuckles, steps a little closer, his voice brushing your skin. “doesn’t have to be right to feel good.”

your breath catches.

his eyes trail from your lips to your throat, very slowly. you take another drag, just to have something to do, but he’s watching you like he’s thinking about a dozen other things he’d rather have in your mouth.

your fingers shake a little again, but you don’t drop it.

he’s too close now. too warm.

you feel it in your stomach. between your thighs. every-fucking-where.

and when he takes the cigarette from you and presses it between his own lips for a second, eyes locked with yours the whole time— you swear you forget how to breathe.

you’re so fucking gone at this point.

you can’t stop looking at him.

the way his lips wrap around the same cigarette you’d just held between yours. the way his jaw flexes. the way his throat moves when he exhales; smoke curling out of his mouth like it was made to escape him that way.

you don’t even realize you’re staring.

not until his eyes drag back to yours— sharp and dark, the kind that doesn’t ask questions. the kind that already knows the answer.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.

and then his hand is behind your neck.

you don’t even have time to blink. to breathe.

to think.

his lips crash against yours, rough and sudden and so fucking real. your whole body locks up in shock before melting into the heat of it. it’s messy. desperate. everything at once. he kisses like he’s starved, like he’s wanted to do this for longer than he’ll ever admit.

you’re not supposed to do this.

he’s not supposed to do this.

but your lips part for him anyway.

and he kisses you deeper.

his other hand joins the first, palms warm behind your neck, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. the still-burning cigarette drops from between his fingers and he steps on it, crushing it into the grass without ever pulling away.

your fingers twitch at your sides. you don’t know where to put them.

you just… stand there. letting him kiss you like that. letting yourself kiss him back.

it feels like a dream.

it feels too good.

your lips don’t stop moving against his. they can’t.

you’re already too far gone— breathing him in like he’s the first drop of water after a dry, godless drought. your hands are clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down, keeping him close, greedy like you’ve been starving.

then suddenly, your breath catches.

you pull back.

“mr. jeon—” your voice is shaky, lips swollen. “shit.. i— we.. we shouldn’t... this is wrong.”

his hand cups your jaw, warm and grounding. but there’s something wild in his eyes. his voice comes out low, wrecked. “then tell me to stop.”

you stare at him. the garden lights behind his silhouette, the echo of your kiss still on your mouth.

you should tell him to stop.

you don’t.

instead, your fingers find his collar and tug again, hard this time.

fuck.

“just take me inside.”

“you’re so quiet,” he murmurs.

his voice cuts through the silence like a warm knife. his palm is on your head, fingers slow as they run through your hair, caressing in soft circles against your scalp. your cheek rests on his bare chest, his skin warm beneath you, rising and falling gently with every breath he takes. your hand is near his neck, thumb brushing the skin there, slow and absent-minded.

the room is still. faint moonlight slips through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. the sheets are pulled over the both of you, tangled between legs, your bodies tucked close under them — in his bed.

the one he shares with his wife.

you don't reply at first. you're thinking. you’re here, lying on a mattress you shouldn’t be on, next to a man you shouldn't be touching. and yet, your heart feels full. your body’s warm. you feel… good. and that’s what scares you.

he doesn’t say anything again, just keeps stroking your hair, so softly it makes your eyes flutter.

you were quiet, yeah. but only because there’s so much going on in your head. so much you tried to ignore earlier — the guilt, the reality of what you were doing, the wrongness of it all. you’d been quiet because you were trying to forget it. to focus only on him.

you stare off across the room, eyes fixed on a dark corner. not looking at anything in particular. just grounding yourself. and then your voice breaks the quiet.

“i can be loud.”

he pauses. then laughs a little, and you feel his chest rise under your cheek. “really?”

you hum again. “mhm.”

the next second comes as a surprise — his hand gripping your hair suddenly, fingers threading through the strands and tugging just enough to make you gasp. your head’s pulled up, gently but firm, so you’re looking right at him.

his eyes are darker now. and oh you fucking love it.

you love how easily he shifts from soft to rough. how he looks at you like he owns you. how your stomach flips at just the change in his tone. the power in it.

your lips part slightly, a soft moan escaping before you can hold it back. you don’t even blink. you just look at him. your eyes hazy.

he bites his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth, eyes flickering over your expression. “what? you like this?”

you hum again. it’s all you can manage.

his grip tightens, just enough to make you whimper. not painful. but enough to remind you who's in control. his voice is lower this time. firmer. “use your words, doll.”

your heart races. you want to kiss him so badly your lips practically itch.

but you speak first.

“i love it, mr. jeon”

he exhales sharply through his nose, almost a scoff, but amused. definitely turned on.

“yeah?” he murmurs, already leaning in.

you nod. and his grip loosens. his hand trails down, cupping your jaw instead as he leans forward, lips brushing against yours.

and then he kisses you.

soft. slow.

his mouth moves over yours with the kind of ease that makes you feel dizzy, like you’ve kissed him a hundred times before. you sigh into it, pressing closer, lips parting slightly as his hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place. you moan just a little, not even meaning to; it just slips out, the warmth of his mouth too good to resist.

his tongue doesn’t push in right away. he just kisses you. sweet and languid, like he has all the time in the world. like this moment is meant to stretch on forever.

and when you pull away, your palm flattens against his chest. you feel his heart is beating hard beneath it. just like yours.

you don’t look at him right away. your eyes are on the curve of his shoulder. your voice is soft when you ask,

“does this mean we can never see each other again?”

he looks at you.

then he says, “no.” almost too casually, like you didn’t just ask something loaded. “why do you think that?”

you blink, eyebrows raising slightly. your palm’s still on his chest, but your fingers curl a little, pressing into his skin. “i mean… we just fucked,” you say, half-laughing under your breath, even though your voice is tight. “isn’t that, like, a major babysitter deal-breaker?”

he snorts. actually snorts. and you almost want to smack his arm.

“just act like we didn’t fuck,” he says, like it’s simple. like you didn’t just sleep with a man who is married and has kids you take care of.

is he being for real right now?

“we don’t see each other much anyway. i’m always at work, remember? barely have time to breathe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “but you had time today.”

he shrugs, shifting a little beneath you, head sinking further into the pillow. “i finished a bunch of stuff early. got lucky.”

you try not to think about how it’s you he got lucky with.

your fingers stop moving against his skin, and for a second, you just stare at him. he looks so relaxed. one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your side now.

and then you ask, softly, “what about ms. xinyi?”

he blinks, like he forgot she existed for a moment, and then he sighs.

“what about her?”

“what if she suspects something?” your voice is quiet. a little strained. because the weight of reality is creeping back in, and you don’t know how to carry it.

he sighs again. not annoyed — more like, he expected this.

his hand lifts to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “don’t give her a reason to.”

you look at him, wide-eyed.

“just be you,” he says simply, like that’s all it takes. like you can just forget the way he kissed you like you belonged to him. like you weren’t crossing a thousand lines just by lying in this bed, with him.

your chest tightens.

you nod, but inside, panic floods you like a wave.

what if you mess up?

what if she sees it in your eyes?

he notices the shift in your expression and before you can spiral further, he pulls you back in.

his lips find yours again, slow and deep, and you melt into him just like that. your hand slides up to his shoulder, and your body leans in because he’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

when he pulls back, his breath brushes your lips.

“i need you to know this , doll,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours,

“you’re mine.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x y/n #bts fanfic #jungkook x you #cheating au #bts fic #jeon jungkook

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lambcultist · 2 days ago

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𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. ꒰ chapter one ꒱

　　　prologue | illusion masterlist | next

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡ when dealing with the snottiest bride in your career so far, the universe rewards you with another encounter with the bane of your existence. this time, you wake up in her t-shirt, in her bed, with her taste on your tongue. it may not be your proudest moment, but it sure was fun. word count: 8k.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ MINORS DNI (18+) wedding planner!reader x divorce attorney!ellie. bridezillas and minor panic attacks. smoking. alcohol. smut / one night stand. dominant!ellie, submissive!reader, making out, oral (both!receiving), face sitting, fingering (r!receiving), body hair + teeny bush mention, praise, hair pulling, hickeys, one single use of the word 'whore' as a joke. reader is incredibly horny and pussy-whipped. ellie’s actually a dickhead. reader is delusional. dina and jj being adorable.

── m so sorry this took longer than i wanted to come out! mental health and life going crazy right now. (๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑)

꒰ CHAPTER ONE: 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍. ꒱

it begins when she is under two stylists, one layering foolproof foundation and bronzer over her cheeks, the other working her hair into an effortless up-do.

of course, that's the issue. "i don't like this hairstyle anymore. i want something different. i spent three-fifty on this balayage on tuesday, i want people to see it."

now you stifle a sigh and, despite having perfected a pokerface, the corner of your lips still twitch.

this bride was particularly invasive during the process of meeting with her over the months prior to today. anything you planned had to be ran by her first, never mind that she made herself ridiculously busy every time you needed to get a hold of her.

you knew what kind of day you'd be in for when you woke this morning, but if you were lucky, it would have stopped with the meticulous planning process. but the world isn't often fair to you.

this one's a bridezilla.

you watch as the hairstylist begins removing each and every bobby pin from the bride's hair with haste, offering up other ideas, frazzled as she glances to the clock and worries over how much time is left to salvage this.

bridesmaids rush around the room, passing a bottle of champagne, a distinct murmuring of nervousness fluttering in the air.

a couple surround the stylists, the maid of honour in particular trying to soothe her friend. you don't miss the pleading tone in her voice, which seems to have the wrong effect. you watch bridezilla snap and turn her face away; the makeup artist's eyes grow comically wide as she halts any movement, narrowly escaping a mishap involving a rogue streak of eyeliner.

"what the fuck is that?" bridezilla shrieks, pointing to another girl. "your dress. that is not terracotta. that's orange."

"huh? it's rust."

you stand immediately, flicking glances between the other bridesmaids and the offending one. as dumb as it is, it wouldn't be the first time in your career that the semantics of colours were argued in the bridal suite.

yet something of the way each girl gives each other a wide-eyed stare tells you this is going to be hard to resolve.

it means they're scared of bridezilla.

it means this poor girl and her rusty dress are going to be the unwilling targets to the bride's rifle of a mouth for the whole day.

"you said rust or terracotta was fine," the bridesmaid protests, tripping over her feet as she rushes to the mirror. "i showed you a picture of my dress and you said it was okay."

"it looks different on camera then— ow! too tight." the hairstylist nods quickly, releasing the bride's hair, and once again scrambles to find another solution. now she's plugging in a curling iron and searching the pinterest board on the bride's phone for something else she might like. it doesn't stop the bitch from continuing. "you're going to ruin every single picture, robin. i might have to exclude you from them."

"i'm sure that won't be necessary honey," you cut in. "no pictures will be ruined. i'll leave a request with the photographer to alter the colour in post, if you'd like?"

few times in your life has a single glare made your blood feel this cold. but you understand immediately why each bridesmaid tiptoes around.

bridezilla is terrifying!

"why are you sitting there doing nothing?" she asks.

"no, no, i'm working," you insist. "my job right now is to handle any problems that may arise. i'm soon to check in with the groomsmen."

"then get off your ass."

your brows furrow, yet you force a smile, looking down at your feet on the floor. "i''m off it already."

you have already made up your mind; this couple will be charged extra, if not for the emotional hell this has been to endure so early on, it will be for the overabundance of attitude she's got.

"wait, wait." as you grab your file and start towards the door, rusty-dress-bridesmaid grabs your arm. her eyes are shiny, shoulders hunched. "sorry, i'm sorry, i don't know what to do. katy's mad."

not a single wedding flies by without a mini panic attack from anyone in the bridal party. you half-expected this.

"she's just a little bit stressed," you say, gently consoling poor robin before those tears leave her lashes. you take a tissue and motion for her to dab away the salt. "it's not your fault, you really couldn't have known the colour would be so trivial. it matches just fine, and the photographer can adjust the pictures—you're not ruining anything."

"okay, i don't need to hide?"

"not at all, hon." you smile at her, and she gives a tight-lipped one back. "when you look back on this, i'm sure katy won't even remember."

when you step outside the suite you rest your head against the back of the door and sigh, rolling the tension out of each limb before getting on your way.

as expected, the groomsmen have no issue. every so often there's a wedding with severely incompetent groomsmen—the best man forgot the damn rings once, and you definitely suffered a weekend-long migraine after that one—but thankfully today, no nightmare scenario has materialised.

your only complaint is that the groom is just too kind for his wife-to-be.

if she can find someone who loves her, why can't you?

why is it so hard?

pushing all discomfort (envy) aside, you dash around the venue and make last minute adjustments and fixes to the decor.

the reception hall is like something out of a movie. a wide entrance guarded by crawling ivy and fairy lights, a rustic sign that beholds the seating plan planted at the side.

you step in and make your way down, scanning every table, checking every name, every party favour, every candle. if something is out of place, you nudge it back into its spot.

finally at the end of the hall you meet with dina, making her own last minute adjustments to wreaths and hanging bouquets in all the necessary places. this was a flora heavy wedding, one that she's had to put a heap of work into, and the strict colour palette has stolen every orange flower in your shop.

"did she like her bouquet?"

"surprisingly, yes." you chuckle lightly. "it's probably the only thing she likes so far today."

"oh, shit," dina mumbles, raising a brow. "you okay?"

"always," you reply, smiling reassuringly. "but i think—"

in the most comedic of timings, the ground shakes with a clap of thunder, one so loud it seems to have been worryingly close to the building.

"—i think i need a drink," you finish.

torrential downpour begins outside.

dina snorts, rubbing your shoulder and leaning closer so you may hear her over the sound of the rain. "i hope i see you alive tomorrow."

"gee, thanks," you deadpan. "not helping."

you feel envious again, only this time it isn't over love. it's because dina gets to leave now.

she has the easy job.

"you got this," dina assures. she is your biggest cheerleader these days, she's the one to promise you that you can do whatever anxiety says you can't. she also comes packed with the art of distraction. "come by the shop tomorrow. i know it's your day off, but your nephew's gonna start acting out if he doesn't see you soon."

"okay." you sigh, unable to mask the smile that forms. "poor jj. stuck with his dada all week, huh?"

your phone vibrates in your pocket. once, then again, then again, and again, and you sigh. "i should probably go to battle now."

"mhm. good luck," dina says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "remember, there's no use crying over th—"

"things you can't control, i know." you begin walking back to the door with dina with tense shoulders and a creased brow anyhow.

yes, katy was distraught that her fabulous outdoor ceremony had to be moved indoors. all decor was thankfully salvaged and moved into the backup room, but no matter how much you tried to promise her this totally looked way better than the original plan, she wouldn't have it.

you've been screamed at and now you're running around on fumes, guiding guests to the new ceremony spot. many are appreciative. the guests are the best part. never rude, often just as perturbed by the happy couple's behaviour as you are—hell, they make you realise you got off lucky not knowing the couple personally. you wonder what these unfortunate people have been subjected to in the past by having known the couple.

you're just waiting for your brief moment of peace, soon to come once you send katy down the aisle.

"no, no. i'm not even buzzed yet. i'm not drunk enough for this."

you try your best to softly shush her, reminding her the guests might be able to hear her obnoxious complaining. well, you were kinder than that. but inside? that's what you meant.

"come on hon, are you getting nervous?" you ask instead. you can't imagine needing to be drunk off your tits to stand at the altar. if there weren't already a million blaring signs that this marriage won't be lasting, this is the proof. "don't be. he loves you no matter what."

stupidly. that man worships the ground katy walks on, you've already seen enough of him to know it. it's a miracle how he does.

ignoring you, katy calls her maid of honour over with a last minute glass of champagne. at this rate, she might be stumbling down the aisle. she sculls it effortlessly, to which you sigh at and busy yourself with neatening up her veil.

for you, this is a well rehearsed process. fixing the bride, adjusting the train of her gown and reordering the bridesmaids into a single line just as the music begins to play.

one by one, the women head down to the altar—you quickly pressed a tissue into the maid of honour's hands before she went, just in case the bride gets teary. although, something tells you that it won't be necessary.

and finally, when the music reaches a crescendo, you pull back the curtains and bestow upon the guests the sight of their bride and her satisfied face. she is just beaming at the attention, basking in their gazes, before beginning her walk.

you think that finally, you can have a break. from now until the ceremony ends, you can rest some.

only, when you look into the crowd, you find a face you never wanted to see again. in fact, you had sworn never to see this face again. it's just— stupid fucking freckles, a jaw so sharp you could cut yourself on it, her dark brows furrowed in distaste.

as soon as the curtains close, you throw a fit.

ellie.

ellie, again?

you sit, pressing a hand against your warming forehead. "fuck," you whisper, taking a deep breath before you explode into several pieces of broken-heartedness.

in the two weeks that have been and gone since your disastrous reunion with teenage angst, you've struggled to forget her again.

an onslaught of terror has been brought upon you. once again you are a bullying victim, this time by your own mind, and the visions of your past that keep haunting you. you can't shut them out as well as you used to.

outside the safety of the curtain, you hear sickening vows and the booming voice of the celebrant. rain still beats against the building's walls, and you resort to rocking back and forth in order to combat the pure suffering that the inconvenience of ellie's presence has caused you.

and, you may also be hugging yourself tightly so that you can resist the urge to peek out again, just to catch a glimpse of her utterly gorgeous face.

you march your way out of the reception, all but ready to get the hell out of here now the party has started and you've had a glass of champagne. you've got a whole season left of bridgerton waiting for you at home, a binging session necessary for your recovery.

and, probably, hours of fantasising about your own period romance. the one you deserved, free of phones and ghosting and all the like—ignoring the fact that said romance would be criminalised.

a gust of wind tousles your hair, rouses tiny bumps on your arms, the garden bushes and trees dancing in it. the path out there tempts you, but you remain steady on the way to the parking lot, rubbing your hands over your goosebumps. it's much too cold out for a walk in the garden.

your hand touches your phone already, itching to call a cab by the time you make it to the front of the venue. searching for the number, phone screen lighting your vision, and then there's a hand on your elbow, tugging you back beneath the shelter with a considerable force. and now, you hear the rain; coming down far too sudden, with all the might in the world.

you turn, a grateful smile aimed at this stranger, until you realise it isn't a stranger.

when the smoke disperses from her face, you find ellie's unamused expression. she scoffs lightly, "you should watch where you're going."

you don't like it. to be this close to ellie, smelling the tobacco on her clothes and feeling the tight grip her hand has on your arm. you don't like how quickly you can assess her, her loose suit, careless eyes, the cigarette dangling between her fingers on her free hand.

you don't like how the universe is seemingly determined to have your lives align despite you existing in entirely different galaxies.

"yeah, i know," you murmur, freeing your arm and staring into the parking lot, the wet road catching moonlight.

"i'm impressed," ellie says, giving an approving nod as she flicks some ash from her cig to the ground. "props to you for handling bridezilla. i don't like her."

"oh.." you laugh quietly, smoothing down your blouse and shrugging. after all, you have found that the worst part of today was not the bride. it was avoiding ellie. and failing. "it's my job, so..."

"you're corny," she mutters, taking a quick drag before letting the smoke billow out into the frigid air. she's studying you now, the way the orange lamp on the wall illuminates your features. you swear her eyes dip low for a split second, then back to your face. "i don't believe you like a single bit of this."

your shoulders deflate, heels scuffing against the pavement. your hands find your necklace, toying with the charm. cupid's bow. "like what? my dream job? that i worked hard for? i love it. i love love."

"that is such a lie." she chuckles. "i think you're bitter."

perhaps she still knows exactly who you are inside. all of your little tells. how you blink more when you lie, how you kick the ground when you're riled up. it's self-soothing.

ellie can read you to filth.

still, you proceed with your illusion of enthusiasm—if not to convince ellie, then to convince yourself.

"i'm bitter? please. i'm happy. but i was disappointed when i saw that you have changed. and not for the better."

now, she's laughing again. likely not expecting you to be so blunt, to actually confront her. but it felt good. "yeah? how'd i change?"

"you're an asshole." your words hang in the air, and it feels wrong now. but you can't stop. "jaded, and bitter, and mean. and i think you should get a life."

to that, ellie nods curtly. her shoes have become so interesting suddenly, the cigarette between her lips an excuse to be silent. get a life. she almost snorts.

you think you're certain of what changed ellie this way. and that very thing—that person—is flashing through her mind right now. and ellie was never like this before. she knows. she has changed, and she has no right to be down that you were disappointed in her. but she is; because why had she let herself turn out this way? and what good is it to be unkind to you?

she tuned out all of jesse's rambling about her needing something new, about her getting out of her own way in love. she still doesn't believe that. but maybe there was something valuable in it.

she drags her gaze over to you again, once, twice, thrice. you stand there, meek and ignoring her presence, and now ellie feels the need to fight a rising smirk. partly at her own blundering, and at the way you look.

too good to be true.

"you're cold?" ellie speaks up. "why didn't you bring a coat?"

"because i'm stupid and i don't think ahead," you deadpan, "is that what you're getting at?"

"no," she says, wrinkling her nose. "calm, darlin'. no more hostility. we're fine."

"are you mad at me?"

"no." ellie sighs. "actually, i'm thinking about getting a life."

"oh, good," you mumble, kicking a little pebble into the rain, and finally looking up. ellie's gawking further scares the shit out of you now. "how are you gonna do that?"

still, she looks over you, now tilting her head to one side. she's done that thing again where she closes a conversation before it's over, all in favour of something new. "what're you doing tonight? you got some way to relax after dealing with her all day?"

"just going home..." your brows pull taut, and there's a glint in ellie's eyes. too late, you realise it's cheekiness.

"it must be hard, you don't have anyone to take care of you, no?" she stomps out her cig, parading closer, and you take two steps back for every one of hers.

your back hits the wall, cologne permeating the air closest to your face.

"i'm gonna call a cab. come back to mine, yeah?"

"what the hell's wrong with you?" you whisper, bracing her with a hand on each of her shoulders. her breath warms the side of your neck, and yours hitches at the mere sensation.

it's the green light that ellie needed, and now, her hand grabs your jaw, lips brushing your nape. "you wanna come?"

"yeah," you say.

a gentle, quick kiss is placed upon your lips, and that is the beginning of your undoing. why, why, did she have to be gentle about this? she was already something you found hard to detach from, a vice, and to treat you delicately like this, it's the last thread to pull loose from the wound you stitched over the years.

it builds up, her kiss strong and warm, whiskey on her breath and her tongue gliding over your lower lip. your hands, they shake as you slide them into her hair, and a sudden frisson causes you to shoot up straighter when she takes a handful of your ass. she uses it to push you closer, her tongue invading your mouth the moment you gasp.

it's as if she tries to consume you whole.

you find yourself enjoying the idea of that too much.

she reaches for her phone in too much of a hurry, tearing away from your lips to find a number for a cab. you know that she can feel you panting against her neck, your impatient mouth brushing over a tiny mole.

she flicks a knowing look back to you and holds the phone to her ear, eyes hard like a warning not to try anything.

still, you lean down to the crook of her neck, where her top button is undone and exposing her clavicle. desperate to taste the salt of her skin, you press an open-mouthed kiss right there, starting a trail upwards. it's almost like you've taken on the challenge of breaking her nonchalant demeanour.

and you succeed.

the lightest break in her voice—a strain put on her mind, she forgets english.

you look up. it's the most subtle crack of the corner of her lips, a lopsided grin on her flushed face, that gets you to start giggling. ellie rolls her eyes, attempting to go back to some sort of neutral expression now.

"can't be patient for two minutes, can ya?" she pockets her phone after finishing the call, grabbing your jaw just as she did earlier, tilting your head up to bare your throat. "be good. cab's on the way."

and just like that, she resumes her earlier actions, lips attaching to your neck.

the pair of you stand close to the wall, huddling together in safety from the weather. ellie lets out the occasional chuckle, you coo when she so much as breathes over a sensitive spot. the rain falls sideways, nature forcing you into each other's arms. you'll take it. another sign, you think...

because this feels more than anything you've ever experienced. it isn't a hookup. it can't be. this is pent up hunger. it's tension having its way with you, so high that neither of you can do anything but act on it. it's destiny. the invisible string you're sure must have been tying you together is wrapping tightly around you, keeping your bodies bound chest to chest, lips to neck.

and almost like it pains her to pull away, ellie drags herself out of your neck when the yellow taxi parks on the curb. "c'mon."

you chance it and run through the rain together, hand in hand. she hears you laughing even through the sound of the rain, and pushes you into the cab first.

you take the middle seat in desire to be close to ellie, giving her no moment of peace the second she closes the door. she grunts as you start climbing all around her, leaning on her shoulder while she tries to tell the poor driver her address. you just need a reaction; hand squeezing her thigh, body so close she can't smell anything but you, or feel anything but your shivering.

"stop it," ellie whispers, "you whore."

you hold back a whine, conscious of the man subjected to your behaviour at the moment. you've never acted this way, not even remotely close to it. and ellie, she is just glad to be wanted. she barely wants this to stop. if she could, she'd have you squirming against the leather seats.

she leans back, legs spreading comfortably. she slaps your hand away before you can even inch down the inner seam of her slacks, rubbing over your knuckles with her thumb and staring out the window. with each pass of a streetlight you can see how rosy she's become.

cute.

"it's cold," you say, swallowing thickly.

"rain got you, huh?" ellie murmurs, pulling you into her side too naturally. she scowls at the window. she's under the influence of your perfume, what else could she do?

you spend the latter half of the drive fiddling with ellie's tie, her watching you do so with something of a smirk on her face. your restless energy is the most telling thing.

when pulling into the street, ellie fights you off of her and passes a hundred bucks to the driver. the rain has come to a halt for now, and she takes her time bringing you down the driveway and to the door.

the taxi speeds away the minute you get out.

at every moment, ellie can just feel you hanging around her. her tongue slowly licks over lips as she unlocks the door, planning her next move. what to do with you?

"shit— careful!" your jaw drops, nicknacks clanging against each other as ellie pushes you against a side table, throwing your hands out in front of you to save her furniture.

"it'll be fine," ellie says lowly, her chest to your back now. her hands roam everywhere, from their initial place on your waist, to grope at your tits, and then down your pants. "it's only you i'm concerned with right now."

you heart is aflutter, every second flickering by faster than usual. you throw your head against her shoulder when she cups your panties, you even hear her groan at the warmth down there.

"lace. you fucking kidding me?" ellie chuckles, rubbing over the material. "you're some kinda angel, aren't you?"

"what?" you whisper, turning to look her way. you wonder what it is she's seeing in you, heat pooling where her hand touches, rising from there to your chest and into your face. "y— yeah..?"

doe eyes, upturned eyebrows, quivering lips so kissable and sweet... ellie forces out a shaky exhale at the sight of you, now her voice a deep rasp. "you are unreal. definitely an angel."

you're stepping out of your heels on the way to the staircase, narrowly avoiding tripping, and stripping out of your blouse, just as she loses her jacket and tie.

the bedroom door busts open, hot tongues sliding together. your fingers fumble with the buttons of her shirt, she's unzipping your trousers and then smoothly gliding her way back to the clasp of your bra.

the longer it takes, the louder your whines are, though ellie swallows them without so much as a complaint, only pulling away once your bodies are bared to push you onto the bed.

she curses quietly, grabbing your hips and now laying back, pulling you over her. "here. want you on my fuckin' face, darlin'."

your heart almost beats out of your chest; her twang is back, the one you thought might've been gone and buried for good. there was no way you'd ignore whatever demand she made in the first place, but when it comes out like that, you're a goner.

and so your supple thighs rest either side of her head, hands flailing out to grab the headboard the second your pussy's on her mouth. "oh!"

"sit properly." hot skin spills out between her fingers when she takes a clumsy grip at your ass to pull you down, her voice muffled but eyes hooded; that predatory, snake-green gaze commands your attention.

and you writhe, body rolling with a mind of its own. you're unsure whether you're grinding down on her tongue, or trying to lift away out of sensitivity, but all of it's ridiculously sloppy. needy whimpers fall wildly from your lips, and you can't help but throw your head back.

"oh fuck, ellie!" you cry out, and you've never felt better. nothing worrisome intruding on your mind, in fact, nothing at all intruding on your mind. only her lightly suckling at your clit, the sensations keeping you higher than clouds. her tongue flicks impossibly faster at your thumping nerves, and you gasp. "just like that."

"yea, baby?" you hear the grin in her voice, you feel it against you—pure mischief in the way she repeats all the ministrations that get you moaning the loudest, and reaching up to squish your breasts in her palms, which you arch your back into.

when you lower your head again, you're stunned still by the look in her eyes, and the soft words let out between strokes of her tongue against your slick folds. "you are such a dream."

"oh, so good, i'm gonna... come." you use the headboard as leverage now, grinding precisely over ellie's lips, and she gives a pleased hum at your actions. "ellie..."

"come then," she says into your pussy, rolling your nipples between her fingers.

it washes over you in waves. a silent wave first, gasping for breath, then a whole lot of noise starts when the aftershocks kick in. she has your every move under control, hypnotised like your purpose is to bend to her will.

"oh, fuck, holy shit." you writhe messily now, legs shaking and squeezing tight on her ears. she won't let up, now scrunching your hips in her hands again in order to keep you perched over her face. all this just to hear you blubbering and whining in overstimulation.

finally you are freed, but ellie doesn't move. instead, she guides you into place between her legs, then rests her hands under her head and gives you a shiny smile. "down, down you go, atta girl."

smudging some makeup off your cheek, you wipe away the light sheen of sweat along your face and stare up, eyes half-lidded similarly to hers now. you sink your face into the space between ellie's strong thighs, kissing the red and engorged folds of her pussy.

instantly, one arm flies out to hold your head down, and she grits her teeth. "fuck. that's right, use that pretty mouth, angel."

auburn hairs tickle your nose and cheeks, and you're more than content staying buried right here with your lips wrapped around her clit, the bud swollen and aching under your sensuous licks, her taste as addictive as her touch.

the look in your eyes more salacious than ellie has ever seen before, the happy sounds you let out against her skin, the way you squirm between her legs; it's all got heat coiling tight in her stomach, so, so close to bursting.

"holy fuckin' shit, good, darlin'." ellie tightens her hold on your hair, pushing you closer to her cunt. "atta girl. keep goin'."

you swirl your tongue over her in circles, mewling at the little twitching of her clit, unaware that it's the first sign of her release.

"fuck, fuuuck, i'm gonna come." ellie pulls your hair tight at the root now, a sudden and sharp moan leaving her lips when her orgasm finally hits. her hips buck like a wild animal into your mouth, so rough you can't catch your breath until it's over.

she's lost for several seconds, and as soon as the sex-driven haze fades, she's aware of you peppering candy-sweet kisses along her pelvis, up the mesmerising trail of hairs under her navel.

"alright, c'mere."

you crawl up the bed as far as your trembling legs allow, dropping down at her side. your knee hooks over her waist and ellie's taken aback by the closeness, but she doesn't comment on it.

"you okay?" she breathes, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and flicking her gaze to your weak limbs.

"absolutely," you whisper, smiling into the crook of her neck.

"oh, good, you're up now."

you peel your eyes open, slow and painfully, bringing your hand up to rub them.

last night's mistake is holding you on her chest, the look on her face as unimpressed as it always seems to be.

"sorry, did i oversleep? you definitely could've woken me up."

"no, i couldn't've." ellie mutters something after that which you don't catch, and she pushes you away like you're some infectious parasite, sitting up.

despite the sharp sting you feel, you continue trying to smile at her. "i had fun last night..."

"yeah," she mumbles. ellie looks you up and down, from your dry makeup to her t-shirt hanging off your shoulders. she nods then, snorting. "well, so did i. should i call you a ride home?"

your smile falls real fast, an almost pout taking its place. "oh. that's... early, are you busy today?"

"sure. i just think it's best if you go home now darlin'."

sickness invades your system, boiling hot blood rushing to your face like a tsunami, and you can't look at ellie, now quickly rolling out of bed to collect your things and avoid tears.

it was going well, you thought.

now she's itching to throw you out.

and she follows you through her place, unable to get a word in with the way you stuff your belongings into your handbag, pulling on your trousers from yesterday and slipping into your shoes.

"hey—" ellie tugs on your wrist before you get to the door. she then fusses quietly with some hair behind her ear, the other hand passing you a jacket. "it's cold out there today."

how dare she?

"hey girl— ah." dina raises a quizzical brow, peeking over some planter boxes as she takes in the grim expression you greet her with. "what happened?"

freshly showered, dressed more modestly than before, and braving the world with a couple of tender marks on your neck, you've stepped into the floral side of enchantment everlasting to have what you like to call a 'debrief-with-dina' session.

"i've got a problem."

"you have many of those," she deadpans. before you can say anything else, dina lifts the boxes from the table to the floor, revealing her chubby-cheeked toddler who's trying to eat a flower. she glances back at him and sighs. "stop that, jj. those are bad."

you laugh softly, walking up to jj and leaning on the table. "hey bud."

"auntie!" he claps a couple times, dropping the flower and making grabby hands at you. you're quick to scoop him up for a much needed cuddle.

"whoo, you're getting heavier dude."

"i know," dina replies, laughing, "he's broad like his dad."

"big and strong!" jj chimes in. "like dada!"

you grin, putting the toddler down again, on the floor this time, so he can head off to his playpen. it's a small area fenced off in the corner of dina's shop, which you provided without her even asking. jj often spends days with you at enchantment everlasting, because he is still so young. it was necessary for him to have somewhere to play in.

but jj doesn't run off just yet. he tilts his head, narrows those big brown eyes. "what is on your neck? is auntie hurt?"

dina whips her head around, and you freeze in place.

"uh— no! no no, these are mosquito bites. very bad ones."

dina's cackling now, and you rub over the marks hastily, wishing they'd go away.

"ew!" jj exclaims, "those hurt!"

"so does your tummy when you don't listen to mama, and eat flowers," you tease, tickling his sides and causing him to run away.

now dina's closing in on you like a shark and you puff your cheeks out with a sigh, looking at the ground with your arms crossing. "yeah, yeah. i can think of, like, ten things you're probably about to say right now. just spit it out."

"who the hell did you fuck?"

"you won't like the answer." you start busying yourself by 'helping' around the shop, starting to cut up kraft paper for her to use in bouquets.

"don't tell me it was clara," dina says with a sigh. "again."

"what? no! i told you, i'm absolutely done with her," you say, words all rushed in desperation to defend yourself. "and i actually... like, enjoyed this one.'

"oh, okay, nice, we're moving up in the world." dina nods, chuckling at your refusal to look at her. "you're getting good sex for once in your life. i'm proud of you. now tell me who."

"i shouldn't kiss and tell!"

she says your name very sternly, which gives you a bit of a jolt.

"okay, okay, it was... ellie."

"huh?" dina winces. "williams?"

"what other ellie would i be talking about?"

"i don't know, i was hoping one who actually deserves to fuck you?" dina scoffs. "how did this even happen?"

"well, i told you that you weren't gonna like the answer," you mumble, setting down the scissors and shrugging. "she was a guest at the wedding. she was having a smoke when i tried to leave, and we were talking, and then... she called us a cab. and it was good."

"so how's your heart feeling this morning?" dina asks, dumping a whole pile of baby's breath on the table in front of you, along with a pair of shears to busy yourself with.

"hah..." you dryly laugh, starting to cut the stems. "it's fine. anyway..."

"be fucking honest, babe." dina glares at you. "or let me guess; she was an asshole about it, and then you cried, and now you're walking around like you got attacked by a whole buncha mosquitoes."

"i did not cry!" you blurt out. "the rest...? yeah."

dina exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "okay. you're done with her now, yeah? we're nipping this one in the bud before it gets worse. i was really proud of you for leaving that dinner date early. you can maintain your progress now."

"i..."

dina takes your silence for the objection that it absolutely is, and she shakes her head. "come on... it's a lost cause. you probably won't ever have to see her again—let's keep it that way. don't go out of your way for anything. let her come grovelling, which i think is unlikely, or, let it fade into distant memory. you'll be over it before you know it."

you draw your lip between your teeth, and it's almost like absolutely everything is a reminder of ellie now. her lips were here just hours ago. now reality is slapping you in the face. not even dina's balmy voice can blanket the cold truth right now.

your teenage love is hopeless. this must stay the way it is now, forever; nothing but a two week stint, because life doesn't work like it does in the movies. there's no heated apologies in the rain and tossing pebbles at your window.

and you are a grown woman who is still troubled by her past.

your phone buzzes in the pocket of your jacket. you reach for it and grimace at the name on the screen, looking around cautiously to hide it from dina.

ellie: missing something..? :)

attached is a picture of your bra on her bedroom floor, the risqué crimson lace juxtaposed against the cozy laundry near it.

"fuck," you whisper to yourself, staring at the flowers ahead of yourself.

it's a favourite, this bra. you can't believe you didn't notice it missing when you got home, but then again, your entire being is frazzled today.

you: can i come get it back?

your phone pings again and this time you stifle a groan.

ellie: aww. i can't keep a memento from last night? you have my jacket.

you: absolutely not. i'm bringing the jacket back btw.

ellie: alright fine :[ ellie: hurry up and come get your lingerie.

you slipped out of the shop without so much as a word to dina. you're certain you know what you're doing.

why would this happen if you were not meant to reunite with ellie? the universe seems to have its little ways of forcing you towards her. there is no way this isn't divine intervention. what are the chances?

"hey." you shove ellie's jacket into her hands the moment she opens the door, a pitiful smile reaching your lips.

but she says nothing, only scanning you in such a way that makes you feel naked, a low whistle sounding before she steps aside to invite you in.

and you step in, this time making it further than the foyer, and actually being led into the living room. it's scarcely decorated, almost minimalist if you discount the movie posters and random action figures scattered around the room.

ellie clears her throat, nodding toward the end table next to her couch. on it sits two superhero figurines, both with an arm raised. your bra is resting between them, each strap looped over the toys like they're holding it up.

and she's stifling laughter.

you stand there and gawk at the setup, then scrunch your face at ellie. "how old are you again? is this really funny to you?"

"oh, yeah..." ellie chuckles, shrugging her shoulders and looking at the ground. "you don't think so..? i wanted to make you laugh."

"no— well, it's..." you trail off, flicking between your bra and ellie. unfortunately that really hits you hard. nine years ago, you would have laughed with her.

"you just kinda looked, y'know, miserable as hell this morning." ellie pushes her hands into her pockets, sauntering closer almost cautiously, like you are a small animal she doesn't want to startle. "just needed to see you laugh."

your shoulders fall from their hunched position, eyes studying ellie. seeing her in casual attire, for the first time since you were young, it's just odd. she still dresses the same, never maturing past the graphic tee and flannel shirt combo, and the only thing that you hate about it is that she isn't that same smiley girl anymore. she's just—to put it the way you did last night—an asshole.

an asshole who looks very concerned right now. an asshole who you're starting to think must not be that bad deep down. her kindness cannot have just fled forever. it has to be in there somewhere.

"have you thought any harder about getting a life?" you ask, brows raised as you snatch your lingerie up and shove it into your bag like it's something clandestine she's never seen before.

there's a very brief pause, ellie meeting your eyes, and her arms crossing over her chest. "do not get attached to me."

"what— who the hell said i was doing that?" your voice is tender, tiny, and timid, and you're winded, as though someone pulled a chair out from under you.

why the fuck would she say something like that?

ellie's chest rises and falls with a quick and heavy sigh, her lips pursing. she almost seems like she can't bear to watch your reaction, but stays looking anyway. "don't look at me like that."

"what, how am i looking at you?" you reply. just like always, your hands go to your necklace, twisting and pulling the bow charm. ellie notices.

"you're looking at me like a wet sock. and you did it earlier, too. and at dinner a few weeks ago."

her tone is much more reserved now. and absolutely uncomfortable.

"stop looking at me like that."

"well i should probably go," you say. you can't walk another step without ellie grabbing your shoulders and shaking her head.

"no, no, no, wait." she pulls you close, if only to take a drag of your perfume in the air and to press her fingertips against the hickeys along your neck. "hey. don't go yet, okay? i didn't even get to tell you how pretty you look in this dress."

"you whistled at me in the doorway. wasn't that flattering by the way."

"no, no, i mean it now," ellie says—she almost whines the words. "c'mon, angel."

you look up to the ceiling, willing yourself not to just roll your eyes, and instead find tears brimming your lash line.

and when ellie sees this—well, that just won't fly. her eyes darken, arm snug around your waist. "c'mon. breathe. don't be upset. please. can i make you laugh?"

you keep your face tucked against her neck, making sure she can't see you wanting to smile. and you feel so stupid for it.

"what did the fish say when he swam into a wall?"

you huff into her neck. ellie can't help but chuckle, knowing she's fumbling, knowing this isn't impressing you at all.

"ugh, come on. you were the only person who ever found me funny. am i just not the shit anymore?" ellie sways you back and forth, squeezing tight.

"no," you mutter. "not really."

"dam."

"...was that the punchline?"

she starts laughing against your hair. "see, you do still find me funny."

"regrettably."

everything about ellie is a regret at this point.

the biggest one was letting cat take her.

"do you want to hear another—?"

"no."

ellie soughs, the peaceful circles she's rubbing into your back starting to dip lower. "are you sure? i've got a huge arsenal. i've learned new shit since we were kids."

"no thank you," you say firmly. "i don't wanna hear any more shitty—"

"are you a campfire? 'cause you're really hot, and i kinda want s'more..." ellie clears her throat and covers a laugh at her own line. "you get me..?"

"wait—"

she doesn't wait. she gently cups your cheek and tilts your head to the side, placing a kiss to the warm skin now exposed. her hand on the small of your back begins to move even lower, and yeah, you're fucked. arousal begins to pool in your panties, and you aren't sure whether it's worse that her pickup line worked, or that you're letting things go this far again.

"shh." ellie looks away for a moment, and the next thing you know she's falling back onto the couch, pulling you onto her lap. somehow you are worse than last night; absolutely desperate, squirming over ellie's lap, and she holds you tight to combat this. "you are so greedy."

"shut up," you whisper, a shudder causing your voice to crack when ellie runs her hand along your smooth thigh, fingertips caressing just below the hem of your dress.

ellie leaves a trail of kisses from your jaw to your lips, her brows creasing when you inch away, and she chases you until your back hits the seat and she's leaning over you. now your hand rakes through her hair, a terrifyingly heavy kiss leaving you pinned under her.

"that's— that's it," ellie stammers, pushing your dress up to reveal your panties. she grins, pulling the damp cotton to the side and sliding her fingers against the warm skin. she collects some of your wetness along them, putting some grit into her voice now. "so fuckin' messy, yeah? do you want me to fuck you?"

"yes," you reply, taking a shaky breath in. she is still languidly rubbing her knuckles through your sodden pussy, occasionally probing at your entrance. she likes the way you react every single time with a little jolt. "please."

"okay. i'll see what i can do for ya." she is pleasantly surprised by your pleading, and absolutely eager to reward it.

a high moan elicits from you when two fingers sink inside your cunt, gentle, curling into you. her digits reach deeper than you can ever feel yourself, and you're quickly beginning to move your hips in tandem with her slow fingering.

"you feel so fuckin' good," ellie says in a throaty murmur, letting out the mildest noises as you clench around her. "you're so fuckin' gorgeous, i hope you realise that."

"ah, shit, right there," you breathe out as ellie touches a certain spot, angling your hips as desperately as you can to open yourself up to her and take even more.

"don't start making demands," ellie warns, beginning to pick up a heady pace. a creamy ring forms around her knuckles and she gapes down at your soaked cunt, uttering a curse at the lewd sight.

you are panting and mewling, head lulling to the side and back arching off the couch, her name the only word you can manage now.

"atta girl, you just keep takin' it for me." ellie leans over you fully, attaching herself to your neck. she kisses over every mark she left last night, almost hoping to make them even darker. "i got you."

her thumb grazes your clit just the slightest bit, your noisy reaction spurring ellie to rub tight circles over the nub now, speeding up her movements and thrusting her fingers in with practised speed.

you begin to feel lightheaded and fuzzy, and ellie talking you through it all is what it takes for you to reach a high beyond just pleasure—it's like you're being guided to pure ecstasy.

"oh, yeah, atta fuckin' girl," ellie praises, keeping her movements steady through all of your wriggling and trembling, using her free hand to hold your hips down. "good, darlin'."

it takes some time for your laboured breathing to go back to normal, ellie holding you close and licking her hand clean like it's nothing, pulling your panties back into place ever so kindly.

"did you say you had somewhere to be?" she asks now, patting your backside twice. "you best get going."

you walk back to your car—with every single one of your items intact this time—except your dignity.

you're heading back for another debrief-with-dina session, bracing for a scolding.

holy... this was a long one. i hope you like it ♡

ellie's country accent comes out again whenever she's turned on or angry or excited ^^ so cute. she's also really mean. i'm sorry. she'll be sweet soon! things are gonna really start picking up next chapter!

🏷️ @abbysdollie @valeisaslut @eriiwaiii2 @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace @lacelottie @marieeeluvsyou @ssijht @chlocaine17 @snooopyinspace @andieprincessofpower @reneeisadyke @ssshhh-imreading @spideyellie @allieisabibliophile @adoringanakin @marirxse @loveitbuffs @bambi-luvs @softqirls @sevikasleftasscheek @ferxanda @elliewilliamsrighttit @serpentgirla @mikaelii @lavenderseedling @gold-dustwomxn @sewithinsouls @elliespookie @chappellroankisser @krilara @soldemiel

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tojigasm · 12 hours ago

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Clark who bans you wearing lip gloss at the office because it distracts him too much <333

He'll literally stroll right over to you while you're typing away at your computer, finishing up a paper for the week and just lean against your desk until you acknowledge his presence.

"Uhhh, can I help you?" The tease in your voice pairs obnoxiously with the exaggerated eyebrow raise you give him.

Clark doesn't say anything. Just stares down at your glossed lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before pulling you into a soft kiss.

You're momentarily stalled by the action. Almost embarrassed by Clark being so open about PDA in the office but you dont have long to mess over it when the pulls away just as fast. He keeps his hand on your chin, turning your face left and right while running his tongue over his lips.

"Cherry?"

You give a blank nod, still shocked.

"Yeah you're not allowed to wear that anymore." Is all he says as he turns around to heads to his desk.

"Wear what?" Your swivel your chair in his desks direction, eyes following him as he takes a seat.

"Your lip gloss — you look like a damn doll." His voice strains somewhat as he turns back to his computer. And you don't miss the way he discreetly adjusts the bulge in his slacks.

You immediately pull up the lip gloss brand page on your computer and add 6 more tubes to your cart.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent fluff #clark kent x reader fluff #superman

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mistyrani · 2 days ago

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Sistery

Jeong Dahyun x Male Reader

t/w: incest

You're 27, living in Seoul for seven years, distant from your family in Seongnam.

Your phone ringing with an unknown number.

Spam? A scam? You answer cautiously, "Hello?"

A young woman's voice, little bit familiar, answering, "Oppa, it's me, Dahyun!"

Your mind blanks. Dahyun? Your little sister? Her voice is deeper, confident, not the squeaky kid you last remember.

"Wait, what? Dahyun? How...?" you fumble.

Switching to video call, half expecting a prank.

Her face fills the screen, sharp cheekbones, bold eyes, a sly grin. She's look like a stranger in your sister's skin, nothing like the kid from seven years ago.

"Holy shit, you're... grown," you blurt, stunned.

She laughs, tossing her dark hair. "Yeah, time's a thing, Oppa. I'm coming to Seoul tomorrow with a friend. Can I crash at your place? Just me, for a night or two. Need a break from Seongnam."

"You've got a phone now?” you ask, still reeling. "Since when?"

"I got it last year," she says, rolling her eyes. "Mom and Dad finally caved. Said I'm 'responsible' now." She snorts, mimicking their tone. "Anyway, can I stay or not?"

"Yeah, sure," you stammer, brain catching up. "Just you, right?"

"Yep!" She grins. "Thanks, Oppa. Send me the location, I'll catch you up when I'm on my way."

"Yeah, I'll send it, take care."

Next day goes well, when the night comes.

You scramble to tidy your place, not want her complaining about your mess apartment to your mother.

When the doorbell rings, there's Dahyun, surprisingly tall, fit, in a purple blouse with grey sweater and jeans, backpack slung casually. Her friend shy and mousy, waves and leaves.

Dahyun strides in, scanning your apartment with a teasing smirk. "Wow, big city life, huh? This place is... cozy. It's been a while, Oppa."

You chuckle, still thrown by her presence. "Yeah, been a while, you want drink? coffee? tea?"

She flops onto your couch, kicking off her sneakers. "Anything's good," she said.

Over takeout bibimbap, you two chats, her art classes, her part-time job at a cafe, her dream of ditching from Seongnam.

"How'd you get a phone, anyway?" you ask, still curious. "Mom and Dad were strict about that."

She shrugs, chewing. "Hey, I'm 18, not a baby. They trust me... mostly," she added smirks.

"You sound like me at your age," you say, half-smiling. "They still on your case?"

"Always," she groans. "They don't get me. You escaped, though." Her tone's light, but it stings, reminding you of the gap you've let grow.

Her gaze lingers, probing. "You ever miss us, me? You're, like, a ghost. I didn't get to touch in with you, even before this phone."

Guilt twists your gut. "I miss you," you admit, voice low. "Work's a lot, but... I'm here now."

She smiles, softer. "Don't ghost me again."

She's mid-sentence, laughing about some cafe customer who tipped her with a cheesy love note.

Your phone ringing. The screen shows "Mom."

You pick up, "Hey, Mom, what's up?"

Her voice is rushed, "Sweetie, it's about Dahyun. She's supposed heading to Seoul today with a friend, said she needs a place to crash. Can you let her stay at your place? Just for a night or two."

You blink, confused, glancing at Dahyun, who's sprawled beside you, scrolling her phone with a grin. "Uh, Mom, she's already here," you say, brow furrowing. "Got here a couple hours ago."

"What?" Mom's voice spikes with surprise. "She didn't tell me she was already there! Put her on, let me see her."

You switch to video call, angling the phone so Dahyun's in the frame.

She scoots closer, her shoulder brushing yours, and you catch a whiff of her perfume, something floral, womanly, not the bubblegum scent of the kid you remember. It throws you for a second, her presence so different, so grown.

She leans in, her hair tickling your arm, and flashes a cheeky smile at the screen. "Hi, Mom! I'm fine, at Oppa's place now."

Your mom's face softens, but her eyes narrow. "Dahyunie, why didn't you tell me you were already there? I was worried sick!"

Dahyun shrugs, unfazed. "Forgot to mention. Oppa's taking care of me. His place is... small, but it's cool." She nudges you playfully, her elbow grazing your side, her confidence, her scent, the way she's no longer just your little sister.

"Small?" you mutter, faking offense, and she laughs, her voice richer than you remember.

Mom sighs, relieved but exasperated. "Just behave, both of you. And Dahyun, let me know next time!"

"Got it, Mom," Dahyun says, rolling her eyes but smiling.

You end the call, and Dahyun leans back, her shoulder still close.

"She's so extra," she says, shaking her head. "But, like, thanks for letting me crash, Oppa."

You nod, still processing how she's here, filling your space with this new version of herself, bold, vibrant, a woman now. "No problem, just... don't act like I'm a stranger," you say.

She grins, teasing. "Alright... Anyway, got any snacks? I'm starving again."

You laugh, standing to grab some chips from the kitchen, but her scent and the casual brush of her touch linger in your mind, a reminder of the sister you're only starting to know.

It's late, past midnight, and the Seoul skyline glimmers faintly through your apartment's small window.

You and Dahyun are still on the couch, the TV flickering with some muted K-drama neither of you is watching.

Dahyun's curled up, legs tucked under her, her sweater draped over the armrest, she's sipping a soda you found in the fridge, her eyes bright despite the hour, and you're both caught in a rare, quiet moment that feels like a bridge to the past you've missed.

"You finished your school?" you ask, leaning back, "You said art's your thing now?"

Dahyun nods, her fingers twirling a strand of dark hair. "Yeah, I'm into sketching, digital stuff mostly. My teacher says I've got 'potential,' whatever that means."

She snorts, but her voice softens. "I wanna do something big, Oppa. Maybe design for games or films, move to Seoul, or another big city for real. Seongnam's too... small, you know? Feels like I'm stuck in Mom and Dad's bubble."

You nod, remembering that suffocation, why you left. "Seoul"s not easy, but it's alive. You'd fit in here."

Her ambition surprises you, she's not just dreaming; she's planning. "Got a portfolio or something?"

She nods, grins, pulling out her phone. "Wanna see?"

She shifts closer, her knee brushing yours as she swipes through sketches, vivid characters, sleek cityscapes, all bold lines and colors.

"This one's for a game concept," she says, pointing at a cyberpunk warrior. "Took me weeks."

"Damn..." you say, genuinely impressed. "This is legit. You're serious about this."

Her smile widens, but there's a flicker of doubt. "You think I can make it? Mom thinks it's a hobby, not a career."

"Screw that," you say firmly. "You've got the talent. Keep at it, and you'll prove her wrong."

She laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Thanks, Oppa. You always got my back."

She shifts, stretching her legs across your lap like it's nothing, her bare feet grazing your thigh. "Okay, your turn. Spill. You got a girlfriend? Some fancy Seoul girl keeping you busy?"

You chuckle, caught off guard by her bluntness. "Nah, no girlfriend. Work's life, sad as that sounds. Dated a bit, but nothing stuck."

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. "What, no one's good enough for my big brother? Or are you just picky?"

She pokes your side, her fingers lingering, playful but with a naughty edge that wasn't there years ago. "Come on, there's gotta be someone."

You shake your head, feeling the heat of her gaze. "Nope. Too busy for that drama. What about you? Got some high school boyfriend sneaking around?"

"Hahaha..." her laugh is loud, almost a cackle, and she kicks your thigh lightly, "Me? Please. Guys at school are idiots. All they care about is flexing for Instagram."

She leans closer, her voice dropping, teasing. "Besides, I'm holding out for someone... cooler. Maybe a Seoul guy," her tone flirty, not quite sure if she's joking or pushing something else.

"You got standard," you say, half-laughing, nudging her legs off your lap. "But don't go breaking someone hearts yet."

She pouts, exaggerated, then grins, her eyes sparkling. "What, you think I'm trouble now? or maybe I am," she sticks out her tongue.

"You're definitely trouble," you mutter.

She stretches, her shirt riding up to reveal her smooth stomach, her hips shifting as she leans closer. "You're dodging my question," she says, her voice low, a naughty glint in her eyes.

"You're 27, living in this Seoul life, and no one's caught your eye? I don't buy it," She pokes your chest, her nail dragging slightly, and you tense, caught between amusement and unease.

"Stop fishing," you say, forcing a laugh, nudging her legs off your lap, "I told you, work's my life. No time for that."

You stand, needing distance, and head to the kitchen to grab another soda.

Her laughter follows you, light but with something sharper. "Lame excuse..." she calls. "Bet you're hiding some spicy stories."

You roll your eyes, cracking open the can, "You're too nosy for your own good," you shoot back, leaning against the counter.

She's sitting up now, her hair falling over one shoulder, her lips curled in a smirk that's far too knowing for the Dahyun you remember.

"Nosy? Me?" she gasps, mock-offended, then slides off the couch, padding barefoot toward you.

She stops close, in front of you, too close, her perfume wrapping around you again. "Maybe I'm just curious about my big brother's life. Or..."

She tilts her head, her eyes flicking over you, teasing. "Maybe I wanna know what kind of guy you are now."

Your throat tightens. "Dahyun, chill," you say, "You're my sister. Don't play like that."

"What, I can't mess with you? I'm not a kid anymore, Oppa," she pouts, steps back, twirling a strand of hair, her shirt hugging her curves in a way you wish you hadn't noticed.

You clear your throat, glancing at the clock. "It's late. I'm taking the couch, you get the bed." You grab a blanket from the closet, tossing it onto the couch, trying to shake off the tension.

She watches, leaning against the counter, her expression softer but still unreadable. "The couch? Really?" she says, crossing her arms, her tone half-teasing, half-concerned. "You're too tall for that, dummy. I'll take it."

"I'm good," you insist, spreading the blanket. "You're the guest. Bed's yours."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue, grabbing her backpack and walk toward bedroom. "Ughh... fine, you said don't be a stranger," she is mocking you.

She pauses at your bedroom door, looking back. "Anyway... thanks for letting me crash. And for, like, actually talking. I missed you."

Her sincerity catches you off guard, cutting through the earlier tension. "Missed you too," you say, voice softer. "Get some sleep now,"

She sticks out her tongue, playful again, then enters into your room.

You settle onto the couch, you're too long for it, the springs creaking under you. You lie awake, staring at the ceiling.

Your mind's a mess, guilt for the distance you've kept, confusion at her new boldness, and something unsettling about how her touch, her scent.

She's your sister, but the woman she's becoming is a stranger, and this visit is stirring things you don't know how to handle.

The bedroom door creaks open, and your eyes snap wide.

Dahyun steps out, barefoot, wearing one of your old t-shirts, too big for her, slipping off one shoulder, barely covering her thighs.

Her hair's mussed, her eyes heavy but sharp, "Can't sleep," she murmurs.

She walks toward the couch, her hips swaying just enough to make your pulse spike. "Your bed's comfy, but I'm too wired. Mind if I chill here?"

You sit up, blanket sliding off, suddenly aware of your thin sweatpants "Uh, sure," you say, voice rough, shifting to make room. "What's up? Seoul too exciting?"

She laughs, low and throaty, dropping onto the couch beside you, closer than necessary. Her bare thigh brushes yours, warm and soft, and you shift, trying to hide the heat creeping through you.

"Maybe," she says, leaning back, the T-shirt riding up higher, exposing more of her smooth, toned legs.

"Or maybe it's you. Been forever since we hung out like this, Oppa." Her eyes flick over you, lingering on your chest, then lower, and you swear her lips twitch into a smirk.

"Stop that," you mutter, half-joking, half-serious, pulling the blanket over your lap. "You're being weird."

"Weird?" She pouts, but it's playful, her eyes gleaming.

"I'm just catching up with my big brother. Can't I have a little fun?" She shifts closer, her shoulder pressing against yours, her perfume overwhelming now, making your head swim.

"You're not this boring at work, right? Got any wild Seoul nights you're not telling me about?"

You swallow hard, she is making you hard to think. "Dahyun, it's late. You should sleep," you say.

Her hand grazes your knee, light but deliberate, and your cock twitches, a surge of guilt following fast.

She's your sister, but the way she's looking at you, the way her touch lingers, feels like a line you're both teetering on.

Her fingers tracing a slow circle on your knee. "You used to tell me stories, remember? When I was little. Now I'm not little anymore, Oppa."

She leans in, her breath warm against your neck, and you freeze, every muscle tense. "Tell me something... exciting."

Her eyes flick down, catching the bulge under the blanket, and her lips curl into a smirk, wicked and knowing.

"Dahyun, stop," you say, voice rough, shifting to put space between you, but the couch is too small.

"You're my sister," you mutter, but it's weak, your pulse racing, your cock hardening despite the guilt clawing at you.

Her hand grazes your knee, slow, her fingers tracing up your thigh, stopping just short of dangerous territory.

"Sister?" she laughs, soft and throaty, leaning closer, her breath hot against your jaw.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Oppa. You see that, right?"

Her hand slides higher, brushing the edge of your sweatpants, and you grab her wrist, stopping her, your grip firm but shaking.

Her eyes meet yours, bold, unapologetic, and fuck, they're dark with something you can't ignore, desire, maybe, or just a game she's playing too far.

"Don't," you say.

She doesn't pull back. Instead, she leans in, her lips inches from yours, her bare thigh pressing harder against you.

"You're acting like you don't feel it," she whispers, her fingers slipping free of your grip, grazing your inner thigh now, dangerously close to your cock, which is fully hard now, straining against your sweatpants.

"I saw how you looked at me earlier. You like this, don't you?"

Your breath hitches, guilt and lust warring in your chest. "Dahyun, this is wrong," you manage, but your body's not listening, your hips shifting slightly toward her touch.

She's right, you looked. Her curves, her exposed skin, the way her T-shirt clings to her tits, it's been fucking with you all night.

But she's your sister, and the shame burns hot, even as your cock throbs under her teasing fingers.

She shifts, swinging a leg over you, straddling your thighs, the t-shirt riding up to show her black lace panties fully now clinging to her pussy, a faint wet spot visible for you.

"Wrong?" she murmurs, her hands on your chest, nails digging in as she leans forward, her breasts pressing against you through the thin shirt.

"Then why aren't you stopping me?" her hips roll slightly, brushing her heat against your erection. "Shit!" You groan, low and growly, your hands gripping the couch to keep from grabbing her.

"Fuck, Dahyun," you growl, as she grinds again, slow, her eyes locked on yours, daring you to push her away. "We can't."

"Can't?" she smirks, leaning in, her lips brushing your ear, her tongue flicking out to graze your lobe, "Your cock says otherwise, Oppa."

Her hand slides down, palming you through your sweatpants, and you hiss, your hips bucking into her touch before you can stop yourself.

She moans softly, "You're so hard," her fingers wrapping around your length through your sweatpants, stroking slow, teasing.

You grab her hips, meaning to push her off, but your fingers dig into her soft flesh instead, pulling her closer.

"We're fucked if we do this, Dahyunah" you say, voice shaking, but your hands betray you, sliding under the t-shirt, finding her bare waist, her skin hot and smooth.

"We're already..." she whispers, her lips grazing your neck, her hand slipping into your sweatpants, wrapping around your bare cock.

Her fingers stroking you slow and firm, and you groan, your head falling back, drowned by the heat of her hand.

"I'm not a kid, Oppa," she murmurs, her thumb circling your tip, smearing precum. "I want this. You don't?"

You're gone, can't hold the line.

You pull her closer, crashing your lips against hers, hungry and desperate, tasting her, sweet her tongue meeting yours with the same need.

She moans into your mouth, her hand stroking faster, her hips grinding against your thigh, her panties soaked now.

You break the kiss, panting, "This is so fucking wrong," but your hands are under her shirt, cupping her tits, her nipples hard against your palms as you squeeze, making her gasp.

"Then stop," she challenges, but she's grinding harder, her hand pumping your cock, her eyes filled with want.

You don't stop. You can't. You push the t-shirt up, exposing her breasts, perky, perfect, nipples begging for your mouth.

You lean down, sucking one, tasting her, and she cries out, "Fuck, Oppa!" her hips bucking, her hand tightening on your cock.

You pull back, grabbing her panties, yanking them down her thighs. Her pussy's glistening, pink and swollen, "Fuck, you're so wet."

Your fingers slide through her folds, slick and hot, and she moans, loud, her body arching into your touch. "You're asking for this," you growl, your thumb circling her clit, making her tremble.

"Yes, fuck, I want this," she gasps, her hands clawing at your shoulders, pulling you closer. "Fuck me, Oppa, please."

You're too far gone. You shove your sweatpants down, your cock springing free, hard and leaking. You grab her hips, pulling her onto your lap, lining up with her dripping pussy.

She sinks down, taking your cock inch by inch, her tight heat swallowing you whole.

"Fuck!" she cries, her head falling back, her nails digging into your chest as she starts to move, slow at first, then faster, riding you hard.

Her tits bounce with each thrust, her pussy gripping you, wet and perfect. You grab her ass, slamming up into her, matching her rhythm, the couch creaking under you, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room.

"You're so fucking tight," you growl, your hands squeezing her ass, spreading her wider as you pound into her.

She's moaning, unhinged, "Oppa, fuck, you're so big," her voice breaking, her pussy clenching as she rides you, her eyes rolling back.

You feel her tightening, her body shaking, and you know she’s close. "Cum for me," you demand, your fingers finding her clit, rubbing hard.

She screams, "Fuck, I'm cumming!" her pussy spasming around you, her juices soaking your cock as her body shakes, her cries loud and desperate.

You're not far behind, the sight of her, your sister, lost in pleasure, her tits bouncing, her pussy dripping, pushing you over the edge.

"Fuck, Dahyun," you groan, pulling out at the last second, cumming hard, thick ropes spilling across her stomach, dripping down her thighs.

She collapses against you, panting, her body slick with sweat, your cum smeared on her skin.

The silence is heavy, broken only by your ragged breaths. Guilt crashes in, hard and fast, as you realize what you've done.

She's your sister, and you've crossed a line you can't uncross.

She shifts, her eyes meeting yours, soft but unreadable. "Don't say anything," she whispers, her voice shaky but firm. "Just... don't."

She slides off you, grabbing the blanket to cover herself. "I'm going back to bed," she says, barely audible, and disappears into your room, leaving you on the couch, cock softening, guilt burning, and the memory of her heat, her moans, seared into your mind.

a/n: part 2?

part 2

#kpop smut #rocket punch smut #jeong dahyun smut #dahyun smut

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sillymusings · 3 days ago

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summary: Spencer takes his childhood friend up on her offer to hang out during his few extra days in Vegas (pt. 2, but can be read as a standalone)

word count: 2803 words

Laughter bustled around the table in the dimly lit restaurant. Soothing jazz music sounded from speakers somewhere no one cared to look, accompanying the noises of the cutlery clacking against the plates of the well-deserved dinner celebration. The air was thick with hope after another successfully completed case.

"Oh, come on," Morgan groaned. "We're in Vegas, people! How is it that none of y'all want to go out tonight?" The FBI agent had spent the better part of ten minutes petitioning for the team to pass their last Vegas night in style. According to Morgan, that meant going as wild in the city as they could.

"No, thanks. My last night out is still too fresh," Emily shuddered.

"Oh, yeah! That was a sight to see," JJ said through a chuckle, which Emily met with a glare.

"Not a word, JJ."

"Don't be so boring, you guys," Morgan persisted. He proceeded to try each of them at the round table, hoping that he could get somebody to cave. JJ made an excuse about needing to call her boyfriend, Will, because they hadn't spoken over the last couple of days. Spencer didn't blow her cover by revealing that the two of them had actually talked every day the team had been in Vegas.

Elle had a series finale of a show that she just hated to miss. She neglected to mention that the finale had come out two years before and that she had it on loop.

Rossi tried to play it like he had left his party days behind him, but he was forgetting that the team had caught him out quite a few times in just the last month.

When it came to Hotch, he didn't sugarcoat.

"I'll be honest," he started, giving Morgan some hope. "I really don't want to go."

Hope squandered.

Finally, Morgan set his eyes on Spencer. "How about it, pretty boy?"

Spencer tilted his head, gritting his teeth. "As enthralling as that sounds... I'll pass. I was hoping to get some rest over the next few days."

Unbeknownst to Spencer, he'd just given his team a much more interesting topic to discuss than Morgan's failed wild night out.

"That's right. You have a couple more days here, don't you?" Morgan recalled, a smirk falling to his lips.

Emily leaned her crossed arms onto the table, mirroring his expression. "Yeah, how exactly are you going to spend them?"

Spencer glanced around the table, realizing that they were all looking at him like he was the easiest puzzle they had ever tried to solve.

"I'm going to...visit my mom," he stuttered.

"Is that all you're gonna do?" Elle pushed.

He let out an awkward laugh as he felt the heat creep up his face. "I'm not an unsub, guys. You can stop interrogating me."

Hotch snorted. "But you're sure acting like one."

Spencer rolled his eyes, running a hand down the back of his neck. "Not you, too."

Hotch just shrugged but didn't elaborate further. A hint of smirk remained.

Spence," JJ spoke. "Generally speaking, this wouldn't have anything to do with a certain bombshell art curator who happens to be a childhood friend and the daughter of a former teacher of yours?"

"If this is your version of generally speaking, I wouldn't want to see you get specific."

"He's deflecting," Morgan laughed. "He's serious about this date."

"It's not a date. We're just hanging out," Spencer denied. He didn't admit, even to himself, that his heart sped up a bit at the idea of going on a date with you. He didn't want to get ahead of himself and label your time together as anything you might not want, but a part of him hoped.

Like most teens, Spencer'd had a few crushes in school. However, all of them were born from illusion, from simply imagining what it would be like with those people. His crush on you, on the other hand, developed from the time you actually spent together. He had always thought you were gorgeous, but he was captivated by your charisma and your humor, too. How you didn't treat him as if his differences made him unapproachable, like everyone else did. And if your run-in at your dad's classroom was any indication, you hadn't changed much.

"Garcia says to not be nervous, be a gentleman, treat her with respect, and be your usual lovable self," Morgan read off his phone.

"You told her?" Spencer groaned, although he warmed at the words of everyone's favorite girl genius.

Morgan looked at him like he didn't understand what the problem was. "Of course I did. It was too good to keep to myself."

"Now, she's going to expect a full briefing when we get back." Spencer rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

The rest of the night went on with more jokes about the date, and before he knew it, time had rolled into the next day's afternoon.

"You called!" You cheered excitedly as you watched Spencer make his way into the building of the gallery you worked at.

"Yeah," he relaxed. Seeing the excitement on your face eased the nerves that he'd been housing since he'd put the business card you gave him to good use. Truthfully speaking, he had spent an embarrassingly long amount of time deciding whether to take up your offer to call. He couldn't decipher whether your invitation to hang out was just a pleasantry you felt the need to deal out because of the history between the two of you or if you genuinely wanted him to reach out. "Sorry, it was last-minute. I wasn't sure if you actually wanted me to call. I didn't want you to feel compelled to hang out."

"Because of how long it's been." You connected the dots. "You thought I was just being nice."

He nodded.

You reached out and gently grabbed his hand. "Spence, my stubbornness doesn't let me do anything I don't want to. I asked you to hang out because I actually wanted to hang out with you," you assured.

His smile was a marvel. Not just the kind that made you want to give one back, but the kind that made you stop and stare. "Noted."

"Besides, I hate when people talk about making plans when they don't really want to. Out of pettiness, I always insist on actually making the plans, so that they have no choice but to hang out with me."

Spencer stared in bewilderment. "You're something else."

"I've been told. Although I can never figure out if people mean it as a compliment. or not."

"Well, I do."

Warmth crept up the back of your neck. "Well, good. It would be kind of awkward right now if you didn't. So, um, shall we start making are way around the gallery?"

Spencer blinked like your words had reminded him of where the two of you were. "Yeah, the gallery. How exactly does this work?"

"Well, normally, you'd have to pay to enter, but lucky for you, you've landed the lotto of being childhood friends with one of its curators, so I made an arrangement." You raised an eyebrow. "Do you feel so special?"

"So special," he reiterated.

"Great. Let's go!"

You lead Spencer around the entire gallery, taking the time to expand on the historical and artistic backgrounds of each work beyond just the given descriptions. Out of thoroughness, Spencer made sure to read those, too.

When you realized that you had spent nearly ten minutes just talking about the brushstrokes of a particular painting, you grew a little self-conscious about how interesting it all really was for him. "Sorry, I must be boring you with all these details."

"I like hearing what you have to say," he said simply. You tried not to focus too much on how much that meant.

Your family and friends had always supported your passion for art, which you were immensely grateful for because it wasn't always the case, but sometimes they just weren't as interested in analyzing things with you. Spencer, on the other hand, engaged. He asked questions and shared what he knew. It was almost like experiencing the beauty of art for the first time again when you were talking about it with him.

When he landed on the more philosophical questions, like the matter of what constitutes art, he didn't hesitate to ask for your take. "The thing is, Spence, that art can be anything that you want it to be. It’s an experience where I, as the artist, don’t create something for you to see it my way only, but also yours. I think of it like the only time where the teacher does not make you understand but teaches you to teach yourself," you expressed. When you caught him staring at you a little longer than you thought he would, you laughed it off nervously. "What? Does that sound stupid?"

You waited for him to nod or make a joke that would feel like it was at your expense–even though you knew he would never mean it like that–but he just shook his head. "No. I thought that was a really brilliant way of putting it, actually."

Little things like that happened the whole night. You were used to people diminishing your field and stating that it wasn't valuable, but Spencer understood your view on the importance of the arts. The best part was not having to justify or convince him of it because it was his view, too.

Once you had exhausted all that the gallery had to offer as Spencer's de facto tour guide, you took him to your favorite spots for food. After a couple more hours that seemed to fly by much too quickly for either of your liking, you decided to call it a night. The two of you wandered to your apartment complex, bursting with fits of laughter as you climbed up the steps to your unit.

"I still can't believe you signed us up for an all-you-can-eat frozen yogurt competition," Spencer stated.

You frowned. "I can't believe we lost."

Your go-to froyo spot had a legendary yogurt mountain that people competed to finish. The first team to eat all their froyo won a set of coupons that they could cash in to get free orders. You and Spencer teamed up against a few other couples. You didn't know what was more unbelievable between him not noticing as you very indiscreetly signed both of your names on the participation sheet or that he ended up agreeing to do it.

You'd remembered that Spencer wasn't crazy about sharing food, so you'd requested that your mountain be split into two bowls. It was a bare-minimum kind of gesture, but Spencer appreciated it nonetheless.

"Well, I hope you had fun at least," you sighed.

"It's not the kind of thing I ever saw myself doing, but it was actually really enjoyable."

A smirk spread across your face. "Uh-huh, see? Mission accomplished. There's a lot more of that in your future if you keep hanging with me."

"I might just do that," he muttered.

You bit back a smile, honing in on your surroundings for the first time since you'd arrived on your floor. "Thank you for dropping me off at my door. Although I'm sure you only did it because you're an FBI agent trained to be extra cautious when it comes to nighttime safety."

"Well, yeah. But mostly I just wanted to spend some extra time with you."

"Oh," you mustered, taken aback by his level of honesty. "Okay."

For a moment, the two of you stood there in front of your apartment door, neither saying anything. Spencer looked around with an unassuming stare, as if taking everything in. You tried to pretend to match his curiosity, but you had lived here for years and pretty much knew every inch of the place. Inside, you were dealing with your own dramatized turmoil as the questions rushed through your mind about what today had meant for the two of you.

You bit your lip and counted down in your head like you were getting ready for the big drop on a rollercoaster. Then, you went for it. "Spence, I have something I want to ask you."

He turned back to you immediately, eyebrows furrowing at your unnerved expression as he nodded for you to go on. "What is it?"

"Okay, here goes. Maybe I'm not supposed to be saying this, but I've never quite been the queen of keeping things to myself, so I figure why start now? I also don't shut up, which I've been told is a fault, but I personally think it shows my commitment to providing comic relief and entertainment because I'm a national hero, really. Although I now realize that might sound kind of pretentious in front of a real-life FBI agent. All this to say that if I don't tell you what's on my mind, I might spontaneously combust . . . so please just bear with my forwardness and–"

"Y/N, Y/N," he soothed through a laugh. "You don't have to justify yourself. You can just tell me what's on your mind."

"Us together today... was this a date?"

"Depends," Spencer began, voice low. "Did you want it to be?"

You started to answer, but he continued before you could. "Cause I-I did. I wanted to ask."

"Why didn't you?" You breathed.

"I was nervous. Y/N, you're so incredible. You're driven, talented, funny, and outspoken. You make me think about things from a new perspective. You did when we were kids, too. I guess I just saw the girl I had a crush on a decade ago and realized that those feelings were still there under the surface. A lot to take in."

Your eyes ran over his face, not quite believing that you had heard him correctly. But you were you, and apparently, you couldn't be serious for more than two seconds. "A decade? Gosh, we're old. When did we become twenty-something year olds?"

Spencer took it in stride. He shifted and landed a micro-step closer to you. You weren't even sure he realized that he did it, but you did, acutely aware of the minimized distance between the two of you. "Actually, the twenties have been popularized as the prime of a person's lifetime. I don't believe in that, but it seems to be the prevalent opinion."

You watched him wide-eyed. Watched how knowledgeable and informative he was. How he seemed to lose himself in the things he was saying because it all meant something. . . it all mattered to him. He looked so brilliant . . . so handsome, so adorable if you were diluting the things you were feeling in that moment.

All of a sudden, you couldn't help it.

One, two, three steps.

You jumped closer, arms wrapped around his neck as you leaned up to press your lips to his. Spencer didn't move at first, but then his arms spread across your waist and he pulled himself closer to you, his lips pressing back against yours.

Pretty boy.

"I had a crush on you a decade ago, too," you admitted.

His eyes widened. "Yeah?"

Your hands lingered on his shoulders, and his on your waist. "The genius pretty boy with information on practically everything who let me rant about art to my heart's content and didn't tell me to can it when other people would've? I was hooked back then."

"And now?" He asked shyly.

You gave him a look that asked whether he was seriously asking you that. But if he needed you to be honest and bold, you would be. "If that kiss wasn't enough indication. . . nothing has changed on my side either."

The biggest smile you had seen from Spencer yet washed over his face. "So where do we go from here?"

You grinned. "I have my artistic vision. We start by going on a second date and then a third date and, well, you get the gist. We take things slow and see where this can go. What do you think? Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad at all. I see why you're such an incredible curator. You have a knack for visions."

You shrugged. "I know."

"Now, about the first part of it," he said, reaching his arms to take your hands into his. "Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow?"

Normally, this would've been the time when you tried to play things cool, but for Spencer Reid, you couldn't be bothered with nonchalance. "I really, really would!"

He laughed and leaned down to kiss you again.

You spent all of his days off together, running around the city you both grew up in.

He headed back to Quantico in much higher spirits than he could've imagined.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #bau team

187 notes · View notes

yukkiji · 23 hours ago

Text

the way he sees you

rin’s frustrated—not at you, never at you—but at himself, for failing to show you just how beautiful you are in his eyes, so he decides to prove it the only way he knows how.

starring. itoshi rin x fem!reader

genre. fluff, smut, aged up!rin.

wc. 7.4k

cw. smut, praise kink, body worship, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft dom!rin, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare (with backrubs), emotional intimacy.

author's note: I love a soft dom rin <333

You weren’t the jealous type—not really. It wasn’t in your nature to glare or pout or start fights over attention Rin never asked for. But insecurity? That was harder to tame. It didn’t roar; it whispered, slow and sharp, slipping beneath your skin on the quieter days.

Especially when you were dating him—Rin Itoshi, the dark green-haired, teal-eyed striker with a face made for magazine covers and a talent that left crowds breathless.

He was famous. Handsome. Cold in the kind of way that made people want to chase him harder. Fans worshipped him from the stands and online, their devotion loud and constant. They screamed his name like a prayer. Called him a god. Made edits of his slow-motion goals like art.

And then there was you.

No screaming fans. No arena lights. No carefully curated photoshoots. Just…you. Ordinary, quiet, painfully aware of every flaw no one else probably noticed. You didn’t wear the right things. You never knew what to say when cameras were around. You didn’t glow like the women who tried to flirt with him after matches, didn’t carry yourself with the easy confidence that seemed to come so naturally to everyone who existed in his world.

You were plain, you thought. Forgettable. Someone who could disappear into a crowd and never be missed.

But Rin never looked at you like that.

In his eyes, you were something else entirely.

To Rin, you were perfect.

He never said it in the middle of a press conference. He didn’t flaunt you on social media or kiss you in front of flashing cameras. That just wasn’t him—and you’d never ask him to be something he wasn’t.

But behind closed doors, it was a different story.

When it was just the two of you—no fans, no noise, no pressure—Rin made sure you knew exactly how he felt. Not just with words, but with the way he touched you. Looked at you. Held you like he couldn’t understand how someone so beautiful could ever think she was anything less.

He worshipped you in the quiet. In the dark. In the way only someone deeply, truly in love ever could.

He loves to shower you with affection and compliments. In bed, that turns to soft-spoken praises, murmured against your skin like a prayer.

But every time those compliments leave his mouth, you brush them off with a nervous laugh or a quick change of subject. Sometimes you’d reply with a joking, "You're just saying that," or, "You need glasses, Itoshi Rin."

At first, Rin didn’t comment. He figured you'd warm up to his words over time. But with each dismissal, the quiet frustration inside him grew—not directed at you, never at you—but at himself.

He started to wonder if he wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t saying it enough, wasn’t proving enough just how beautiful you are to him.

Because in Rin’s eyes, you're the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on.

And he thinks it all the time. Especially when you're just sitting beside him doing absolutely nothing, and he finds himself staring like a man completely gone.

Sometimes, when you’re not looking, he even thinks: How the hell did I end up with her?

So after one of his games—one where he scored a winning goal and the crowd screamed his name until the stadium trembled—he asked you out on a quiet dinner date. Just the two of you. No cameras. No fans. Just peace.

You were hesitant. “Rin, aren’t you tired? We don’t have to—”

“I’m fine,” he said, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “I want to. I already made reservations.”

You blinked. “Reservations?”

He just nodded, eyes not leaving yours. “Rooftop. Private. Just trust me.”

Later, when you stepped out of the hotel bathroom in the soft formal dress he picked for you—one in your favorite color, with subtle details you adored—his breath hitched audibly.

“You really bought this?” you asked, smoothing your hands over the fabric.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes dragging slowly over your frame. “Wanted to see you in it.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he cut in, walking up to you. His hands settled on your waist. “You look… unreal.”

You smiled shyly, ready to downplay it again, but he leaned in closer, voice low. “Don’t say anything. Just let me look at you for a second.”

The way he said it… like he meant every syllable. Like he was trying to memorize you.

Once the evening wound down and the soft jazz of the rooftop faded into the background, the two of you made your way back to the hotel room. The hallway was quiet, dimly lit, the elevator ride silent save for the occasional brush of Rin’s fingers against yours—calculated, familiar, comforting.

He unlocked the door with a soft beep, letting you in first.

You kicked off your night mentally before physically—sighing as you stepped into the serene warmth of the room. The city skyline framed the windows with streaks of amber light and shadows. Your body ached slightly from the heels and the wine, and you made your way toward the bed, sitting down at the edge to finally take them off.

But before you could even bend down—

“Wait,” Rin said, voice quiet but firm. He knelt down in front of you without waiting for permission.

“Rin, I got it—”

“I said wait,” he murmured, already reaching for the buckle of your heel. His fingers moved slowly, undoing the straps with such care it made you shiver. “Let me.”

You stared at him, lips parted slightly, watching the top of his head as he focused entirely on such a simple task—gentle, almost reverent.

Once both shoes were off, he placed them aside, then lifted one of your feet to press a soft kiss to your ankle. His lips lingered there, then trailed up to your shin, soft and slow.

“You shouldn’t wear heels that high,” he murmured into your skin. “Your feet will hurt tomorrow.”

You huffed a laugh. “I looked good, though.”

“You always do,” he replied, looking up at you finally. “But you don’t need to do anything extra.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, and he caught it, his hands resting firmly on your knees now, leaning in with narrowed eyes.

“I mean it,” Rin said, voice lower, more serious now. “You’re beautiful just like this. You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

Heat spread in your cheeks. Your gaze flicked away, but his hand gently reached up to hold your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Say thank you,” he added with a small smirk.

You squinted. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re avoiding.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours—slow and warm, tasting faintly of red wine and that unspoken craving he never seemed to hide when it came to you. One of his hands moved up your thigh, the other pressing lightly against your waist as he deepened the kiss.

When he pulled back, his voice was low against your lips.

“I should’ve canceled the whole dinner and just eaten you instead,” he whispered.

You hit his arm lightly, rolling your eyes. “You already promised dinner, so we went.”

He grinned, hands still teasing along your sides.

“And now,” Rin murmured, dipping to press kisses along your neck, “I get dessert.”

A soft sigh escaped your lips as his mouth found a spot he knew all too well—just under your jaw, where your pulse fluttered. He sucked gently, slow and deliberate, until a soft pink bruise bloomed beneath his lips.

You could feel the smirk against your skin.

He pulled back to look at it, satisfied. “There. Now it’s obvious you’re mine.”

He met your gaze again, eyes dark and half-lidded with want, and leaned back in—kissing you with a possessive sweetness that stole the air from your lungs. His fingers trailed to the back of your dress, finding the zipper.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he whispered against your lips.

The sound of the zipper coming down filled the space between you, quiet but loud in the still room. Rin moved slowly, unzipping it with an almost reverent pace—like you were something delicate, to be unwrapped gently.

Once the dress loosened around your shoulders, he pulled back slightly, eyes scanning your face.

“Lie down for me,” he said softly.

You did as he asked, easing back onto the bed, your heart already thudding in anticipation. Rin followed immediately, his weight warm and grounding as he hovered over you. He brushed your hair away from your face with the backs of his fingers, his eyes drinking in every detail like he couldn’t believe you were really his.

Slowly, he slid the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders, one at a time. His lips followed their path—pressing gentle kisses against your skin as he peeled the fabric away, inch by inch. First your shoulders. Then the slope of your collarbones. Then lower, his mouth moving in time with his hands until your dress was down to your waist and your chest fully exposed to him.

Rin’s breath hitched softly, and for a second, he just stared.

Then his lips curved into a reverent smirk. “Fuck… you're perfect.”

He dipped down and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, hot and eager, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch slightly. His hand came up to cup your other breast, his thumb brushing slow circles over your sensitive skin while his mouth worshipped the other.

“Mine,” he murmured against you, voice low and muffled. “You’re mine… all mine.”

You gasped as he switched sides, lavishing equal attention to the other, letting his teeth graze just enough to make you tremble.

“So soft,” he whispered, dragging his tongue in slow swirls. “So beautiful… fuck, you're unreal.”

His free hand roamed the rest of your body like he needed to memorize it all again—the curve of your waist, the warmth of your skin, the slight shiver of anticipation under his touch.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned—low and deep in his throat.

“Say it,” he whispered between kisses, now trailing lower, toward your stomach. “Tell me you're mine.”

“You already know I am,” you breathed out, dazed from the way he was touching you.

He smirked as he looked up at you from where he hovered, now between your thighs.

“I like hearing it anyway,” he said, voice husky.

And with that, he sank lower—intent on showing you just how much he adored you.

Once Rin finally bottomed out, buried completely inside you, he let out a low, guttural groan against your neck. The heat of his breath ghosted over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as your walls fluttered around him in response.

His hands tightened on your hips, holding himself there, completely still, like he was trying not to lose control too soon. The stretch still pulsed inside of you, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. It wasn’t new.

“Rin…” you whispered, voice breathless. “You can move.”

He lifted his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he met your gaze. Then, with a small nod, he rolled his hips back and began to thrust slowly.

His pace was unhurried—intimate. Each drag of his length pulled a gasp from your lips, every movement sending waves of pleasure through your already-sensitive body.

It wasn’t the first time you’d done this with Rin. You’d been bare to him before—naked and vulnerable in the soft glow of the night. There had been hotel beds, post-match reunions, quiet moments in your shared apartment… times when you’d tangled limbs and kissed until dawn. You had given yourself to him more times than you could count.

But tonight felt different.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like there was no one else in the world. Or the way he held your face as he moved inside you, kissing your temple, brushing your hair back with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, voice strained as he picked up his rhythm just slightly. “Like you were made for me.”

Your nails dug into his back, dragging down with each slow thrust that pushed the breath out of your lungs. “Rin…”

He swallowed hard, pressing his forehead to yours. “Say it again.”

“Made for you,” you breathed, kissing him between the words. “Only you.”

Rin groaned, thrusting deeper now, his hips meeting yours with more urgency. But even as the rhythm built, it still wasn’t rushed. He fucked you like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your body responded to him. Like he wanted to worship you with every drag, every kiss, every whispered praise.

“You’re everything,” he muttered, lips brushing yours. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

And God, you felt it. In every slow grind of his hips, every breathless moan he pulled from your mouth, every time he whispered your name like it was sacred.

Rin moved with a kind of unhurried precision that made your chest ache, his touch warm and grounding as he molded himself against you like he belonged there. He didn’t chase the moment—instead, he worshipped the way you gasped every time he rolled his hips just right, memorizing the way your lashes fluttered and your lips parted to let out a soft cry whenever he pushed deeper, slower, firmer, as though he had all the time in the world to make you fall apart.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and thick with affection as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his breath brushing your skin like a secret. “So pretty like this…my pretty girl.”

The name made your entire body pulse in response—your legs tightening around his waist, your hands fisting in the sheets as a needy sound escaped your throat. It was always like that, always that phrase, the one that slipped past his lips like instinct, like truth, like something he meant more than anything else in the world. And every time he said it, your body responded before your mind could catch up—clenching around him so suddenly that it pulled a low groan straight from his chest.

“God,” he breathed, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You feel that? You’re squeezing me so tight… Every time I call you that—you love it, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer—not with how your brain fogged the moment his hips picked up a steadier rhythm, the slow, indulgent pace giving way to something deeper, more urgent, though still tender. Each thrust built upon the last, coaxing your pleasure upward in gradual waves, the heat coiling low in your belly beginning to spark toward something brighter, something impossible to hold back.

He kissed you then—not rushed or messy, but deep and reverent, as if he could press every word he didn’t say directly into your mouth. Your fingers found the nape of his neck and curled there, holding him close while his name broke from your lips in a whisper, soft and choked and trembling with need.

“Doing so good for me,” he whispered against your lips, nudging his forehead against yours as he pushed in again, hitting that perfect spot that made your toes curl. “Just like that, pretty girl. You always take me so well.”

The pace grew steadily more insistent, but never harsh—Rin’s movements remained fluid and controlled, guided entirely by the sounds you made and the way your body moved with his. He watched every flicker of emotion on your face, as though he wanted to remember each one for the rest of his life. You felt so full of him, so utterly consumed in every sense, and when his hand slid down between your bodies to touch you—gentle, coaxing, sure—you shattered.

The pleasure surged like a tide that had been waiting at the edge for too long, crashing through you with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. Your back arched sharply, mouth falling open in a cry as your release spilled out of you, the rush of sensation making your thighs tremble as you clenched tightly around him, even wetter now with the warmth that gushed between you.

Rin gasped at the sudden feeling, eyes wide, but he didn’t stop—not for a second. He held you through it, gritting his teeth as he slowed his thrusts just enough to help you ride the wave, his hand gripping your waist to steady you as you convulsed around him, leaving a wet mess beneath you both. He kissed you again, slower this time, brushing his lips across yours like he could soothe the intensity even as your body continued to twitch beneath him.

“That's it—let it all out, pretty girl. You’re so beautiful when you come for me,” he murmured, and you felt it again—that ache in your chest that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the way he looked at you like there was nothing else he wanted more than this. Than you.

You were still dazed, blinking away tears that had gathered from the force of it, when he pressed his forehead against yours again, breathing heavily now, his body tight with restraint. He didn’t chase his own release until he knew you had yours—until he felt you go soft and warm beneath him, your legs loose around his waist and your hands clinging to his shoulders like they were your anchor.

When he finally let go, it was with a low, shaky groan as he buried himself fully inside you, the warmth of his release spilling into you and filling you to the brim. You felt every pulse of it, his body pressed flush against yours as he held you close, trembling slightly from the effort of holding back for so long.

“God, you feel like home,” he whispered, voice unsteady, and then—because he knew what it did to you—he said it again, right next to your ear, in that soft, possessive way he saved only for you. “My pretty girl.”

And just like that, even though the storm had passed, your body fluttered again around him—gentle, involuntary, as if his words alone could draw out one last echo of the pleasure he had given you.

Rin didn’t move for a long time. He stayed inside you, holding you close, letting the warmth of your shared breath fill the quiet space between your bodies. He traced slow, lazy patterns against your spine, brushing away the damp strands of hair at your nape, kissing your skin like a promise.

And when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you—cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips kiss-swollen—he smiled in that small, quiet way that broke you every time.

“You always do that,” he murmured, thumbing the corner of your mouth gently. “You ruin me without even trying.”

You laughed—soft, exhausted, but happy—and reached up to touch his cheek.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

Rin’s eyes searched yours, still heavy with affection and that lingering haze of desire. His thumb brushed along your jawline before he leaned in to kiss you again—slow, deep, and tender, like a silent vow.

As your lips parted, you heard him murmur against your mouth, “Another round.”

Before you could even react, Rin shifted beneath you and effortlessly pulled you on top of him, settling you into his lap. The warm press of his hands on your hips steadied you, grounding you in his presence.

“I’m gonna show you just how beautiful you are,” he said, voice low and steady, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “Every part of you. Every sound you make. Every time you look at me like that.”

Your breath caught as he looked up at you, eyes dark and soft all at once.

“We’ve got all night, pretty girl,” he whispered, voice dipping into that velvety, coaxing tone that always left you aching for more. “Let me love you slowly. Again. And again.”

You felt yourself clench around nothing at the nickname—pretty girl—your body reacting to it before your mind even caught up. Rin noticed, of course he did, and his lips curved into a lazy, knowing smile.

“Oh?” he murmured, thumbs grazing soft circles into your thighs. “You really like that, huh? My pretty girl.”

Your breath shuddered at how gently he said it, like it was both a compliment and a promise.

And with your legs on either side of him, your hands braced against his chest, you leaned down and whispered back, “Then show me, Rin.”

Rin’s eyes didn’t leave yours for a second. One hand gripped your waist with a grounding firmness, the other slid between your bodies, curling around the base of his length. He guided himself to your entrance with a care that made your breath hitch, brushing against your folds in a slow, teasing stroke.

"Just relax, pretty girl," he murmured, the name falling from his lips like worship. "Let me in."

You did. You sank down on him with a stuttered gasp, your hands trembling slightly against his chest as the stretch made your walls flutter around him. He let out a low groan at the feeling, his head tipping back for a moment before his gaze snapped back to you—hungry, reverent.

“Fuck... always so tight for me,” he breathed, voice thick with awe. “You take me so well.”

You whimpered softly, your hips adjusting, your body gradually molding around him until you were fully seated. Every inch filled, every nerve ending singing. Rin’s hands cradled your hips as he whispered, “That’s it. Just like that. My beautiful girl.”

The moment stilled, just for a beat—your foreheads pressed together, breath shared in the space between. Then you began to move, slowly at first. A gentle roll of your hips, the subtle drag of him inside you sparking heat in your lower belly.

His praises didn’t stop.

“So perfect,” he whispered, brushing his thumbs over your waist as he helped guide your rhythm. “Every time. You feel like heaven.”

You moaned, and he felt you clench. He smirked.

“Ohh… you really love when I say that, don’t you?” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth. “My pretty girl. My gorgeous girl.”

You clenched again—harder this time—and Rin’s hips bucked up slightly as a sharp breath escaped him.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered, voice shaky as the pace began to build. Your thighs trembled slightly as your rhythm sped up, the slick sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, paired with soft moans and whispered gasps.

Rin’s hands slid up your body, large palms cupping your breasts before he began to knead them—slow, purposeful, like he wanted to memorize the feel of you. His thumbs brushed over your nipples until they peaked, drawing a needy whimper from your throat.

"Sensitive, huh?" he murmured, smirking when your hips faltered from the stimulation. “Even your tits are so pretty and full.”

Your breath caught as he leaned forward, mouth hot against your skin before he took one of your breasts into his mouth. His tongue swirled around your nipple, then flicked it teasingly, sucking just enough to make your body arch into him. His other hand never stopped its gentle torment—pinching, rolling, making your pulse race under your skin.

You gasped, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging as pleasure sparked down your spine.

“Rin—ah—”

He groaned at the way you moaned his name, and his hand on your back pulled you closer, pressing your chest against his mouth as he sucked harder. The wet heat of his tongue sent another rush of arousal through you, your walls fluttering around him again.

“You feel that?” he growled against your skin. “How you’re clenching around me every time I touch you like this?”

He pulled back for a second to meet your eyes—his mouth glistening, his expression dark and adoring all at once.

“Let me ruin you, baby.”

His voice was low, dark, filled with a promise that made your whole body shiver.

And then—he did exactly that.

Rin thrust up harder, deeper, burying himself to the hilt, stretching you deliciously full as a broken moan tumbled from your lips. His pace wasn’t fast, but every roll of his hips was heavy with intent—grinding up into you, dragging against every sensitive part inside you like he already knew what made your body fall apart.

At the same time, his mouth latched onto your other nipple, hot and greedy. His tongue swirled slow, teasing circles around the soft peak before flicking it with precision, suckling with just enough pressure to send heat pooling lower in your belly. Meanwhile, the breast he had already given attention to wasn’t forgotten—his hand moved up to cup and toy with it, thumb brushing over your sensitive bud with a practiced, lazy rhythm that made your back arch instinctively.

Your hands flew to his hair, tangled in the soft dark strands as you pulled him closer, needing him impossibly nearer. You buried his face deeper into your chest, and he let you—he loved when you got like this, needy and breathless and so full of him.

He groaned at your desperation, a muffled, low sound that vibrated through his chest and directly into your skin.

That moan made your walls flutter around him.

“Oh—Rin,” you gasped, hips rocking involuntarily in response. “Feels so good…”

He growled softly in response, clearly affected by the way you clenched around his cock, still buried deep and pulsing inside you. His lips trailed across the valley of your chest, wet kisses leaving a glistening trail as he made his way back to your neck, where he bit down gently—just enough to make you yelp, before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“All mine,” he murmured, voice raspy. “You hear me?”

You nodded quickly, too drunk on his touch to find words, your breath stuttering every time his hips rolled upward and his fingers gave your breast another teasing pinch.

But Rin wasn’t done yet.

He shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his angle, and you felt the head of his cock brush against that sensitive spot inside you just right. He didn’t rush it—he took his time, drawing his hips back just enough so you could feel every inch of him when he slid in again, slow and deep and perfect.

“God, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, hand slipping from your chest to your hip to steady you, guiding your rhythm as you rocked against him. “So fucking wet for me, baby. You like it when I take my time with you, don’t you?”

You nodded helplessly, nails digging into his shoulders, lips parted in a silent moan as you felt his teeth graze the shell of your ear.

“Want to feel every part of you,” he whispered, hot breath making you shiver. “Want you begging by the time I let you cum.”

His hands moved again—one trailing down to your ass, gripping and kneading, guiding you to grind against him in slow, tight circles. The other slid up your back to hold you close, skin flush to skin, as his lips found your neck again, nipping and sucking until your head fell back.

You were melting under him, overstimulated and still starving for more.

“Such a perfect body,” he muttered, kissing along your jaw, then dragging his mouth back to your breasts again, where he alternated between soft kisses and messy sucking, tongue flicking lazily while his hips never stopped moving beneath you.

You were grinding down into him now, chasing friction where your clit brushed against his lower stomach with every roll of your hips. Your thighs trembled from the effort, from the heat that was quickly building into something dizzying.

And Rin felt it. He knew.

“You close already?” he smirked against your skin, thumb circling the pebbled peak of your breast. “But I haven’t even gotten started on you yet.”

He thrust up again, slower this time—but deeper, angling his hips until he hit that spot that made your vision blur.

“You’re gonna fall apart for me so many times tonight, baby,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous as his teeth scraped your collarbone. “So don’t you dare cum yet.”

He caught your lips in a kiss, breath ragged and tongue tasting every whimper you gave him as you writhed in his grip—your body aching, desperate, almost there.

But not yet.

Not until he said so.

Rin’s hips rocked up into you in deep, deliberate strokes, his breath fanning warm against your lips as he kissed you slow and unhurried. Every movement was measured—like he wanted you to feel everything.

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. The moment he touched you there, your whole body jerked in response.

“Ngh… Rin!” you cried out, head falling back as your thighs trembled around his hips. Your hands gripped his shoulders as your rhythm faltered, chasing the wave of pleasure rising too fast.

He smirked, but it was gentle, not teasing—softened by the fondness in his eyes as he leaned in to press butterfly kisses along the side of your neck. His lips brushed lightly over your skin, reverent in their worship.

“You always sound so good when you say my name,” he murmured. “So sweet… so pretty.”

Your cheeks burned. You tried to bury your face into the crook of his neck to hide the warmth flooding your expression, but Rin noticed—he always noticed.

“You always say stuff like that,” you mumbled, voice breathless but laced with something vulnerable. “But don’t say it. It’s not true.”

His hand paused between your thighs, and so did his hips.

Rin pulled back just enough to look at you. His gaze wasn’t annoyed—it was pained, confused, like your words reached deeper than you meant them to.

“…Why do you always do that?” he asked, quiet. “Deny it, every time I compliment you.”

You didn’t answer right away, biting your lip as your eyes drifted to the side. “I just… I don’t see myself the way you do, I guess.”

He gently cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your gaze back to him.

“I get so frustrated,” he whispered. “Not at you—never at you. But at myself. Because if you can’t see how beautiful you are… then maybe I haven’t done enough to show you. To make you believe it.”

“Rin…” you started, but he didn’t let you speak just yet.

“I don’t mean just your face or your body—though you are stunning,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I mean the way you smile when you think no one’s looking. The way your eyes light up when you’re talking about something you love. The way you laugh like it’s the most natural sound in the world, and I swear I’d bottle it up if I could.”

He ran a hand slowly down your side, as if memorizing the shape of you all over again. “You’re so damn beautiful, and I hate that you can’t see it. Because I see it every day. In every moment.”

You swallowed thickly, heart aching from the weight of his words.

“And when you’re like this…” he added, his hand sliding back between your thighs. You gasped as his fingers resumed their slow circles on your clit, perfectly in sync with the roll of his hips. “Dripping for me just from hearing me call you my pretty girl—how could I ever think you’re anything less than perfect?”

You whimpered, overwhelmed, burying your face in his neck.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered. “And I need you to believe it—not just when I’m inside you. Not just when I’m praising you. But every time you wake up. Every time you doubt yourself. I’ll say it again and again until it sinks in.”

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close as your bodies moved together, slick and slow and warm. He pressed soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder—everywhere he could reach.

“Let me show you how wanted you are,” he murmured. “Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

You nodded against him, words caught in your throat, body trembling under his touch.

“Just like that,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion and desire. “You’re so beautiful like this. So soft. So good for me.”

Your body arched into him as you felt yourself inching closer to the edge, overwhelmed not just by pleasure—but by him. His tenderness. His sincerity. His love.

And through it all, Rin didn’t stop praising you—not once.

The familiar knot in your stomach began to tighten, your body trembling as each thrust hit deeper, more precise—like Rin knew your body better than you did.

“Rin… c-close,” you whimpered, voice catching in your throat as the heat coiled low in your belly. You tossed your head back, spine arching beautifully beneath him.

Your moan echoed in the room, breathless and soaked in need.

Rin groaned at the sound, his grip tightening around your waist. “That’s it,” he rasped, lips brushing your jaw. “Let go for me. I’ve got you, baby.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, sweat mixing between your skin as he stared into your eyes—like he didn’t want to miss the moment you came undone.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered, voice trembling with restraint. “I want to see you fall apart. I want to watch how good I make you feel.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails raking slightly down his back as your body tightened around him, your climax dangerously close.

“Fuck—you feel so good,” he groaned. “So tight, so warm… You’re perfect, you know that?”

You whimpered again, barely able to think, let alone respond.

“Look at me,” he said softly, cupping your cheek with one hand as his thrusts slowed just a little, pushing deeper instead of faster. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”

You barely managed to meet his gaze through the haze—only to fall harder when you saw the love in his expression. Not just lust, but adoration.

“Come for me, angel,” Rin breathed, kissing your lips as his thumb pressed tighter against your clit. “Be my good girl. Show me how much you love this.”

And with a broken cry, you shattered.

Your body locked up before quaking violently in his arms, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Your walls pulsed around him in rhythmic spasms, and Rin groaned deeply at the feeling, pressing his hips flush against you to ride it out.

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing your temple as you trembled. “So beautiful. So fucking perfect.”

Your legs wrapped tighter around him, clinging to the warmth of his body as you panted, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity.

“I’ve got you,” Rin murmured again, over and over like a mantra. “You did so good for me, baby.”

Rin’s thrusts didn’t stop even as your body trembled beneath him, still sensitive from your release. If anything, he moved with more urgency now—his rhythm erratic, rougher around the edges as he chased his own high.

“Shit…” he groaned, voice low and strained, “you feel so good—fuck, I’m not gonna last.”

You whimpered at the overstimulation, but held him close, letting him use your warmth as he needed. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath ragged and heavy.

Then, with a low, broken moan, Rin finally bottomed out—his hips pressing flush against yours as he buried himself to the hilt. His body tensed above you, muscles flexing with the force of his release.

“F-Fuck—you’re mine,” he gasped, the words escaping like a confession as he came deep inside you. “All of you… all mine.”

You felt the warmth spread through your core as he spilled into you, his hips twitching slightly with each wave of pleasure that overtook him.

He stayed like that for a moment—buried deep, breathing hard, heart pounding against your chest. One of his hands found yours and laced your fingers together, grounding himself in your touch.

Then he whispered, softer this time. “You always make me lose control, you know that?”

Your body was still tingling, your mind hazy, but you managed a tired smile. “You make me feel loved.”

Rin slowly lifted his head, brushing your hair back from your face as he looked at you—really looked at you. His voice cracked with sincerity when he spoke again.

“You are loved. Every part of you,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “And I’m never going to stop showing you that. Not with words, not with touches… not even with the way I look at you.”

Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, heartbeat drumming in your ears while the room buzzed with the afterglow of everything you'd just shared. Rin hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, strands of damp hair falling over his eyes as sweat cooled on his temples.

Neither of you spoke. Not at first.

The silence was thick with everything unspoken—love, longing, vulnerability, awe.

He was still inside you, deep and warm, his release nestled within you, and even though your body trembled from overstimulation, you didn’t want him to move. You held onto him like he might vanish if you let go, fingers buried in the nape of his neck as he breathed into your mouth.

Then he leaned down and kissed your forehead. Once. Twice. Soft, almost sacred.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice a rasp against your skin. “Fucking perfect.”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t. All you could do was stare up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, your limbs boneless beneath his weight, your body still wrapped tightly around his.

His hands began to move—slow and deliberate—sliding beneath your back. You shivered when his fingers brushed your skin, then melted when he started to knead gently into the base of your spine.

“Mmn… Rin…” you sighed, a low moan slipping past your lips. The sensation was too much yet not enough, and your overstimulated nerves sparked under his careful touch.

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “I know you're sore. Let me help.”

With one hand supporting your lower back and the other drawing soothing circles up along your spine, Rin shifted his weight slightly—not enough to pull out, just enough to adjust the angle. He was still nestled deep inside you, softening, but you could feel the occasional twitch of his cock as your walls involuntarily clenched around him.

“Still holding onto me so tight,” he whispered, voice tinged with quiet pride. “Like your body doesn’t want to let me go.”

You could only whimper in response, body trembling from the mix of sensitivity and the soft intimacy of his hands working over your muscles.

His fingertips pressed gently into the knots at your shoulder blades, and you exhaled, sinking into the mattress beneath you.

“You always get so tense here,” he said, voice low as he continued the massage. “Is it from work? Or from carrying the weight of being so fucking beautiful all the time?”

You let out a half-laugh, weakly swatting at his arm. “That was the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah? Still worked, didn’t it?” He leaned down to nip playfully at your jaw before trailing kisses along your neck. “You’re so easy to fluster after sex.”

You groaned, both at the massage and the way he refused to let your heart slow down. “Sensitive,” you mumbled. “You’re making it worse.”

“You love it.” He pressed his lips to your shoulder, then down your back, mouthing at the skin like you were made of something delicate. “You love when I touch you like this. Talk to you like this.”

You sighed deeply as he moved his hands lower, thumbs pressing into your hips, careful not to shift his weight too much as he remained inside of you.

And you did love it.

This part. The soft after. The way he didn’t rush to clean up or roll away. The way he touched you not just to satisfy a need—but to remind you that he saw you, held you, cherished you. Worshipped you in ways words could never fully express.

Your fingers curled against his shoulder blades as his thumbs rubbed slow circles along your lower back, drawing out the tension from your muscles. You felt every exhale against your skin, every tender murmur against your shoulder.

“I could stay like this forever,” Rin muttered, more to himself than to you, as his hand slid back up your spine, soothing every inch he’d touched.

You turned your head slightly to kiss the edge of his jaw. “Then don’t move.”

He smiled against your temple, wrapping both arms beneath you so he could cradle your body more securely. “I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

With his softening cock still inside you, your body cradled beneath his, and the quiet lull of his fingers massaging every sore spot he could find, you felt like you were floating.

You let out a quiet breath as you nuzzled closer, still wrapped in the afterglow with Rin nestled deep inside you. His hand continued to stroke your back in lazy, affectionate circles, the rhythm slow and grounding. Your cheek rested against his shoulder, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of his breath.

“You’re quiet,” Rin murmured, his lips brushing your hairline as he spoke.

You smiled faintly, lips curving against his skin. “Just… happy,” you whispered.

Rin’s hand paused on your back before sliding up to cradle the base of your skull, his fingers weaving gently into your hair.

“You should see how you look right now,” he said, voice low and thick with adoration. “Completely beautiful. Like you were made to be held like this.”

You lifted your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” he said simply. “Every time. Every damn time I look at you.”

You felt the flush rise in your cheeks, but you didn’t look away this time. Rin’s expression was so open, so honest—like you were the only thing he saw in the world right now.

He ran a thumb gently across your cheek, then down your jaw. “You should see what I see. The way your eyes shine when you talk about something you love. The way you laugh when you think no one’s watching. The way you touch me like you’re scared I’ll disappear.”

You bit your lip gently, gaze soft. “You’re not going anywhere… right?”

He smiled, slow and fond. “Not even if the world ends. I’m right here. With you.”

Your smile deepened, warm and shy, and Rin couldn’t help but grin as he leaned up to kiss it—soft and slow.

“I mean it,” he said, brushing your hair back from your face. “You're stunning. Inside and out. Not just when we’re like this, but when you're working hard, when you’re wearing your ratty old pajamas, when you're annoyed at me for leaving my socks on the floor.”

You snorted a little. “Because you do leave your socks everywhere.”

He laughed too, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. “Exactly. And you still love me.”

He shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting you in his lap without slipping out of you. His hands rested on your waist, warm and firm, thumbs brushing the curve of your hips.

“You’re my peace,” he said. “The one place I never have to perform, never have to prove anything. With you, I just get to be… me.”

You leaned in, forehead against his, your smile soft and full. “And you’re my favorite place to be.”

Rin’s eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like a vow. “And I’ll keep reminding you how beautiful you are—until you finally believe it too.”

You didn’t say anything back. You didn’t have to. You just kissed him—slow and full of everything words couldn’t say—as you stayed wrapped around each other, skin to skin, soul to soul.

And Rin kept rubbing your back gently, whispering little praises in your ear like they were your favorite lullaby.

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