#and the object he's attached to is tiny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mygnolia · 1 year ago

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it’s cupid, stupid! | lhs

୨୧ SYNOPSIS -› To hell with Lee Heeseung, you couldn't find someone you hated more than the boy who's by your side no matter what. You figured that maybe the summer before university would be the best way to finally let go of him, and to leave the hate you have in your childhood- but no. What do you mean you have to spend ALL summer with him?

୨୧ PAIR -› golden boy!heeseung x fem-pres!reader

୨୧ GENRE -› fluff, pining, hurt/angst, slow burn (oops), bakery au, summer au, post highschool au | ୨୧ TROPES -› (slightly one sided) enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers | ୨୧ WC -› 20k (jfc)

୨୧ INCLUDES -› CURSING, food mentions, a self indulgent characterization of my grandmother but she’s also everyone else’s in this fic, the bakery has foods from like 40 different cultures, both mc and hee get burned but it’s tiny, heeseung’s parents r lowk overachieving assholes this is NOT a reflection of anyone irl, ew so much banter, heeseung and mc drink from the same straw ik that’s an ick for some LOL, underaged alcohol consumption (and being drunk)…sorry

୨୧ REN SAYS... thank u thank u thank u peng aka @jlheon for beta reading this in one sitting for me!!! your comments were so cute i'm so glad you enjoyed reading it <3

plsplsplspls reblog and send feedback/asks if you liked this!

Lee Heeseung might only have eleven characters to his name, but they spelt trouble in forty different ways.

It starts with the same old Lee Heeseung spilling his applesauce on you in the first grade, with his cup of mushy lukewarm grossness splattered across your new pants with glittery stars on them. You shriek when it happens, frantically wiping off the mess and yelling at his Lightning McQueen lunchbox with all of the bottled up rage a six year old can have. His eyes are wide, but all his friends laugh and say girls are so angry all the time, so he stops himself from apologizing. Which, you think his friends were being a little rude to all girls alike, but what mattered was that Lee Heeseung never ended up saying sorry.

But that’s just one way of spelling it. He hit you in the face with a ball, ran into you when your knee was scraped and you almost were bursting into tears, and tripped you in the lunch line.

Did the universe hate you, or did he?

You figured it was the latter.

Heeseung’s been stuck to you your entire life with some extra strong adhesive that you can’t seem to get off. You wish you could get some of the same glue that stuck you two to the hip and attach his tongue to the nearest streetlight, but things almost never worked in your favor. If you could catch him, just once, like one of the dumb boys who lick frozen poles in winter, you’d be satisfied.

The blackmail would trump any sort of Heeseung related adversity your elementary grade self had to deal with.

Unfortunately, the years have rendered you no protection against him, and in the small victories you find yourself in, you also see Heeseung right next to you. The exam you aced was topped by Heeseung with a 98%, just a bit higher than your 96%, and it couldn’t even feel good to talk about it because you knew all your friends talked about was how he did the best. Better than you.

There was no accomplishment anymore when Heeseung was around.

Heeseung was perfect in everyone’s eyes, a golden boy in their praises and a role model for their parents. If people didn’t want to be with Lee Heeseung, people wanted to be Lee Heeseung. That? That was something you hated. How could people want to be someone who you couldn’t stand?

Summer is a new slate- a very humid new beginning for you to get away from people at school and hang out with only your closest of friends and to ghost any new message you get. That is, if you choose to. Or, you could have an objectively more “hot girl summer” where you go to pools and post pictures on social media and talk about strangers on the internet. Unfortunately, none of those things seemed to be a viable option, with your friends in different countries and in cute swimsuits. Your visits to your grandmother had been so pushed back with all of the finals on top of exams and end of the year festivities that it had been a while since you last saw her. Spending time with her this summer was your number one priority- your friends could wait a few weeks to hang out again.

You spend your first Saturday at her house making pastries with oddly reminiscent spices and a sprinkle of your childhood within every slice. If there’s one person you can trust to stay the same, it’s your dear grandma, with her decade old recipes and hard to find ingredients that she sometimes makes you go on a manhunt for. It’s endearing in a way to know that her cooking will never change, and maybe it’s the reason you make an effort to visit when you can. You love your grandma, and you always have, because she’s the only true constant in a world that’s constantly changing.

You’ve made a feast by the time the sun barely peeks from the edge of the ground. You’ve measured countless spoons of sauces and powdery substances that all look the same and you're surprised the sauce you burned still tastes good. She’s finished setting up the table, and you two can finally dig into your favorite authentic cooking. Even if you see her quite frequently, she doesn’t always cook. Sometimes it’s leftovers, sometimes it’s take-out. But today was different.

After you’ve both finished, your grandma hands you plastic wrapped dishes filled with mere fractions of what you two have made. She tells you to go to the Lee’s down the road, and your eyes narrow slightly. Lee is also the last name of Heeseung. So, what would be the odds it was him?

Not likely. Heeseung would think he’s too cool to live in an area like this. His parents are probably minted- and if not loaded, then well off.

Well, you were 100% wrong! Lee Heeseung does seem to live here, and you will admit the porcelain figures of calico cats in the dark as shapeless silhouettes were a little frightening at first. Your grandma washed away your previous concerns with a “Of course they’ll be home! Heeseung always answers the door for me.” and pushes you out of the house to deliver the two boxes of leftovers that smell delectable. If you weren’t so full, you’d just take a different route and have it for yourself.

You can hear the ‘it’s our neighbor!’ And a pair of footsteps tumbling down the carpeted stairs to answer the doorbell.

Lee fucking Heeseung in his sock and pajama clad glory. How punchable he looked in this very moment, with his warm brown dyed hair and white t-shirt.

“I have leftovers. For your family.” His widened eyes immediately go back to their normal state, and he reaches out to meet your offering halfway.

“You live here?” He asks, in a calm, civil manner that you don’t think you’ve ever seen with him.

“Grandma does- I’m just her errand…runner.” You respond, in a not so smooth way. You wince internally at how choppy your words come out, but make no further effort to fix it. By now, it’s Heeseung who’s holding the styrofoam boxes. Your job is done. “Do you live here?”

He nods solemnly, a smile filled with a smidgen of pride dusted across his features. He loves this house- Heeseung’s been in it his entire life, and it’s obvious the memories that have stayed with him since childhood make him far from ashamed to say it’s where he’s grown up all these years. But you? Could you say the same thing about the simple abode you went home to everyday?

Maybe not. Another reason why Heeseung had it perfect, and another reason to resent him.

You sighed to ease the tension that had condensed between the two of you. His mom wondered what took him so long, and he wondered the same question.

Before you’re about to turn away, he blurts, “Thanks for the food.” You turn around, nodding a silent ‘of course,’ and walking away.

At that very moment, there was no reason to hate Lee Heeseung. But as you walked away and back to your house, you hated the calico cats and the gate you entered through the house he went back inside to.

The nostalgic board game high with your grandma does not last for long. As if the universe needed another reason to hate you, the unfortunate truth was that there was always more in store when you were subjected to a bad day, a bad week, or even a case of bad luck. You come back to the mahogany door to terrible news- your grandmother is sick. You rush out of her house the same day with the names of medicinal cures scribbled on a notecard and an urgency in your step. You buy her enough to last for the next few lifetimes, but it doesn’t matter. Anything healthy you could find in the fresh food aisle, you put in your cart, and when you came home, she was already up and sweeping the cold floors with a cough threatening to overwhelm her.

Sometimes, you wish she didn’t overwork herself. You gently coerce her into laying on the couch, taking some of the medicine you got with a cup of warm water to ease her throat. She says nothing and you expect nothing in return for the last minute shopping you’ve done, but her eyes hold a sincere thankfulness that you know she will never speak aloud. When she’s retired to her bed, you finish unpacking the groceries and complete the mental task of chores your grandma would’ve exerted herself to finish independently. When you’ve finished, your hands are dry with soap and cleaning products, and your arms ache from the mopping, but the house is clean, and your grandma is sleeping well in the other room. You turn off the tv with one of her shows and switch off the light, heading back to your room and changing out of your clothes. By the time you crawl into your bed and charge your phone, the moon is the last thing you remember seeing before you fall asleep.

Monday comes unexpectedly, despite time still being on its course. You find yourself flipping through the cookbooks that littered the walls in your grandmother’s room, and in turn, the absolute urge to busy yourself in her passions manifested in the impulsive decision to work at her bakery.

“Could- could I go work in the shop?”

At first, her rejection was through scowls and furrowed eyebrows wondering why someone like you would want to fill their youthful summer days dusting surfaces with flour and kneading doughs instead of living the dream and swimming in turquoise waters. Her second rejection is easier to register. “I already have Hee helping me.” She states plainly, excusing the idea of two people in one room to run her business. Your nose scrunches up, and the temperature of your blood increases tenfold.

“Heeseung,” she clarifies, with almost too much enthusiasm. “He’s in your grade. Goes to your school, too.” She smiles, brushing a section of hair behind your ear and examining the imperfections on your skin. You frown, the obvious displeasure plastered on your features. It’s not hard to notice you don’t like what she just told you. “You don’t like him?”

“It’s whatever.” You tell her, shrugging away from her gaze and shrinking in on yourself. “I don’t care much for him.”

What a lie! “It seems like you don’t like him.” She comments.

Of course you don’t like him. Heeseung is stuck up, arrogant, and looks past people like you- people who just aren’t as perfect as him. “I mean, why can’t I help you? Shouldn’t Heeseung….rest for the summer?”

“It’s fine- he’s helped me out multiple times anyways.” She concludes, closing the book she was reading previously. “I wouldn’t mind you coming down to help, I’m sure 17 year olds like you and Hee can run things by yourself.” You raise an eyebrow at both of your names mentioned, but don’t speak out against her.

You can run it by yourself, but you won’t, simply because your grandmother seems to have an affinity for some boy you just happen to hate. Plus, if Heeseung messes up, you get all the triple chocolate cake to yourself, so you’ll pray on his downfall until then.

Wednesday morning is when you head over to the bakery, at a much earlier time than usual. The business doesn’t open until at least an hour later, and you spend the time preparing the mixing stands and covering the sweet rolls to be baked in a light sheen of oil. When the sun shines more vibrantly in the morning sky, and the cars honk at the traffic, a ruffled head of hair enters the building, and you’re very worried that you might’ve forgotten to lock the doors. “Sorry, we’re closed!” You yell out, but Lee Heeseung’s tuft of tinted hair is already in your vicinity.

“The real question would be why you’re here, Miss _____.” He glances towards you, curiosity glazing his eyes over. You immediately scowl at his slightly teasing tone, one that could feel even condescending if he pushed that boundary just a bit more. Lee Heeseung might objectively be better than you in the eyes of an average high schooler, but frankly, you were just the same, and he had no right to sound that amused when you woke up and came here first. It’s 8:03am, and you already found just one more reason to hate him.

You roll your eyes, knowing that with your back turned to him, he wouldn’t notice the obvious displeasure. “I can’t help out my grandma?”

It’s so quiet in the place that you hear him suck on a breath behind you. “She’s your grandma?”

“Did you not remember when I dropped off the food? Oh right, you probably wouldn’t spend your time on something so…,” you pause, racking your brain for a word you think he would use. “‘insignificant.’”

Rustling. He takes a bowl and a carton of eggs. “Don’t put words in my mouth. Sorry, it’s just so difficult to believe you’re related to her.” Were you really that detached from your culture, or was Heeseung just mean?

Lee Heeseung’s words get right under your skin, and it makes you see red. You frown in his direction, disregarding his words and moving on with your day. “Yeah, my grandma is nice, I just don’t know why she thinks you’re a saint.”

“She thinks I’m a saint?” And you see something for the first time, something that’s akin to stars in his eyes, and the corner of his lips turn in satisfaction. He doesn’t even comment on how you’ve let it slip that you’re jealous of their relationship.

“Maybe in your dreams.”

“You just said-“

You feel like two cats about the fight behind a dumpster, before the door jingles, and someone walks into your conversation with Heeseung.

“Sorry, is the shop not-?”

You rush to the counter before Heeseung does, counting it as a mental victory to take the first order.

“It is! What would you like?” It’s something else you can tell your grandma when you get home- that you’ve been starting off all the work in the bakery, and you’re ‘not sure what Heeseung really does.’

The professionalism masks the irritation on his features, and you would’ve killed to see Lee Heeseung’s frown once more.

When the customer is done telling you his order, you make sure he gets everything he needs, fully satisfied before the ring of the door is heard once more during his departure. The corner of your lip turns up into a grin, victorious as you childishly tease your co-worker.

“I’m going to do the most around here, and I don’t need your pretty face getting in the way of things.”

While he denies the rest, Heeseung doesn’t quite ignore what you said about his features.

When noon has passed, but the sun still glares down on everyone outside, you work just as hard as the white ceiling fan providing cool air for everyone inside. You work in silence, with a playlist filling the air and adding to the ambience, as you listen to your own music through your headphones. Heeseung works without interacting with you more than what needs to be done, and rarely asks for help. He doesn’t let people down; if anything, he exceeds their expectations, but never yours. It’s been like this since the beginning, and you’re convinced it’s something personal- some wrangle ever since you two learned what cooties were that lasted until now.

“____,” He starts, turning to you. You glance at him, waiting for the boy to continue. “Can you make the brown sugar milk tea- it’s on the-“

“I know where it is.” You snip.

Heeseung makes the right choice (in your opinion) to say nothing as you proceed to grab a cup and open the container of boba pearls. After you’ve taken a few orders, you move to the back of the bakery to pull the tray of matcha sheet cake onto the counter to cool.

“Have you seen the scissors?” Heeseung asks out of nowhere, startling you from the doorway.

Reaching for the ones you used to cut the parchment paper with, you hand the pair to him and with a mumbled ‘thank you,’ he makes his leave.

In an odd way, you’re stunned by the silence that follows. A “you suck, _____!” would be more in character for villainous Lee Heeseung than whatever just happened. But you’re way too occupied with the bakery, and go back to cutting squares in the matcha cake.

It’s the same for the next hour until the rush ends and you get a bit more time to yourselves between orders. Heeseung agrees to wash the dishes and you clean the tables to the sound of your playlist from the speakers.

“You have good music taste.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he emerges. He wipes his hand on a white towel and you stare at him, utterly puzzled. Where’s the malice? Where’s his snarky comments?

“I’m waiting for you to tell me it’s not as good as yours, or something along those lines.” You deadpan.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “I’m not that mean, I can give a compliment or two when I feel like it.”

“Oh, poor Lee Heeseung only has so much room in his heart to compliment people. How thankful should I be that you spend your daily supply of niceness on me?” You snap, cleaning off the tables. Your chest feels light and you don’t feel as angry as you did this morning, finding your digs to be more playful that serious

Blame it on the lack of sleep.

“I think you should be bowing down to me and only talking when I tell you to.” He jokes, and when you glance up, there’s a semblance of a smile on his face. “Anyways, when are you leaving?”

“Whenever you leave.” You tell him, shrugging.

“Your grandma said she didn’t want you to stay too late but she also wanted me to take you home, and I think she’d throw a fit if you didn’t. You were dropped off this morning, right?”

“I’d die before getting into a car with you, Lee Heeseung.”

“If I had to get into a car with you, that’s probably how I’d die.” He responds lightly. You furrow your eyebrows and rack your brain for some sort of retort that hurts Heeseung’s pride, but nothing comes up.

“My driving skills are very good, I’ll have you know.”

He jabs, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“How about, next time you come, you leave with your bumper falling off? Some bad driving, yeah?”

Heeseung could start feeling dizzy if his eyes continue to roll around in his skull. “Sure, we’ll see what your insurance has to say about that.”

The aroma of vanilla slips through the air, and momentarily distracts you as you make haste to get it from the ringing oven. Unfortunately, your enthusiasm spills over the rim, and when reaching inside, you feel the burn of the sheet cake as you leave it on the iron rack to cool. Heeseung doesn’t tear his eyes from the way you jump back, squeezing the tender skin between your fingers as you blow on it in puffs.

“Are you okay? Here-“ He reaches for your hand, but gentle. “Let me see that.” Heeseung soothes the slight pain with his thumb running over the burn, and his breath cooling it down slowly.

“I’m fine.” You tell him, slowly pulling your finger away. His gaze snaps back up at you, and you feel your disdain for him dwindle ever so slightly. Maybe the Heeseung that rushed to make sure you were okay isn’t so bad.

“Right. You’ll be fine.” And he doesn’t know if it’s something he tells himself, or if he’s telling you, when he goes to get some ointment.

“A grad party? With Heeseung? Invited?”

You can’t see him, but you almost hear Sunoo’s pout from the line. “Yeah, I don’t even know why you two fight anyways.”

You huff, laying back down on your bed after Sunoo’s confession made you shoot up in surprise. “Have you seen him? He’s the most stuck-up annoying person ever.”

Your friend hums. “To be honest, I don’t think you really know him.”

“I know him plenty. And there’s nothing good about him, like, ever!”

“You barely even talk to him, ____.” The last week proves differently, but you bite your tongue.

“I talk to him enough!” You’d defend yourself until the end of the earth. “He’s just…always around me- not like I even want him to, or he’s always hanging out with my friends, or-“

“Our friends.”

“Well, not really.” You think hard. “They’re only friends because you and I are friends, so I’m friends with Heeseung in a distant obligatory way. And I need to keep it that way by not coming to this party.”

“Come on!” Sunoo whines from the phone, and you laugh at his antics. “It’s a grad party, you’ll be too busy talking with everyone else to care anyways.”

“Well, maybe for a bit.”

“When’s the next time we’ll even be able to see each other anyways? Considering all of this college stuff.”

You break his facade. “We’re literally going swimming in two weeks from now.” Sunoo laughs. “No, ____. Swimming is different from eating snacks and playing dumb board games.”

He’s right, and you admit that it’ll be fun for something once last time.

Maybe Heeseung won’t even show up.

The next day at the bakery, you rush to ask him, almost too eager to know his answer. “Are you going to Sunoo’s party?” Please say no please please please-

“Of course. I’m his friend. You weren’t invited, or something?” His tone makes you want to light a fire on his head.

“I’m his friend, too. I was the first person he talked to about it, so of course I was invited, and of course I’m going.” You say it as if the boy in front of you didn’t make you single handedly question your attendance last night. You say it like your demeanor never faltered, not even once. You say it like Heeseung had no say in the decision.

Because he definitely didn’t.

“I’ll see you there, then.” He smiles at you, a glint of evil in his eyes as he gauges your reaction. You return his scheming grin, frosting a slice of cake before walking out and calling the order number. When Heeseung emerges from the paper white curtains, he sees you engrossed in helping a customer pick out a few of the best options for ‘something not so sweet.’

When you’re done, you turn around to take a sip of your iced tea. “Really?” He starts, stirring some milk into a swirling shot of espresso. “The red bean cake is your definition of not too sweet?” Your ear-to-ear smile falls when you hear the off-handed comment from Heeseung, leaning against the counter with his taro milk tea, with close to no sugar.

“I’m sure if they asked you, they would’ve walked out with a cake that tastes like a sponge.” You retaliate. You do your best not to look so affected, seeing as there were other people in the vicinity. It’s a bakery, you have to keep up the comforting atmosphere.

“I don’t really think you’re the best person to offer advice for those kinds of things, unfortunately.” His tone snips at your resolve, and with every passing moment you stare at his lips and listen to his words, the more you wish to sew them together.

“Sure, and they’ll be satisfied with eating basically paper? Your standards are also a little far-fetched.” You busy yourself with cleaning the cups and bowls from this morning, physically turning away from him.

He walks past you and into the kitchen, but not before saying, “I’m sorry one of us has good taste.”

You pray to every being that someone keeps Heeseung from speaking another insufferable word.

Sunoo’s house is as quaint as you remember, and although you don’t find yourself making the resemblance often, it suits him. With one hand occupied with holding a gift, and the other about to press the doorbell, you’re interrupted by an all too familiar voice.

“I guess you did show up. Sucks to see my dreams didn’t come true.”

“I will throw this at you.” You motion to the neat basket in your hands.

Heeseung sighs dramatically, before continuing in the same feigned tone. “Would be a shame if Sunoo only had one gift from us.”

“He’d understand.” You turn around to ring the doorbell, and Sunoo emerges, a bright smile on his face. He greets the both of you, and his quick side hug immediately reminds you of why you’re here.

You will have a good time. And you won’t let any auburn haired boy ruin that.

Despite being close to Sunoo, you’re not as close to the rest of his friends. He keeps his circle small, only with people he spends time with regularly. Which would be good for any other day, but for today, you feel almost like an outsider. Sunoo’s group of friends greet you all the same, and shower the boy behind you with affection. When you walk towards the kitchen, you catch some more of your mutual friends, and your nerves slowly ease away. You join their ongoing card game, an observer to it all as they yell in success or defeat.

The group of people playing Taboo suddenly doubles as the six of Sunoo’s friends decide they want in. With the way you move to the floor, you’re so preoccupied with making sure there’s enough space for everyone and that all the cards are there, that you don’t realize where you’re sitting.

Cross legged, on the ground, next to Lee Heeseung.

You can’t get up, and you weakly protest against the many thoughts telling you that a game of Taboo with Lee Heeseung would get you so heated that everyone would see steam out of your ears by the end of the first round.

“You know how to play?” Yuna starts to thumb through the cards, making sure all of them are placed in the right orientation. While the majority of you guys nod, a few of them shake their heads, and it prompts a quick explanation from Ryujin.

“So, everyone gets a set of cards in a team of 3, and you have to describe it without using the words in the white box below. So for example, if my word is Vanilla, I can’t use the words bean, flavor, ice cream, extract, or chocolate.” She shows everyone the example card, and you all nod your heads. “Okay, now we divide into teams!” You tune out the rest of her words as she divides you all into sections based on where you’re sitting, and it leaves you with a twisting feeling.

“Blue will be ____, Heeseung, and Jungwon!”

Truly, was luck ever on your side?

You don’t have time to ponder just how horrible things are going, because Jungwon’s excitedly pulling you two close into a circle to discuss game plans.

“Okay, just skip the cards you can’t answer, think about references rather than actual descriptions. Guys, the prize is good, Sunoo told me.” And the need to win anything reignites in your eyes, determination being your main motivation.

Jake, Sunghoon, and Yuna go first, and guess four cards correctly. You feel the excitement coursing through the air like electricity, as everyone’s competitive spirit shows through.

It’s finally your turn, and you volunteer to be the describer, picking up the cards with anticipation. You share a look with Heeseung and Jungwon, praying they share your wave of telepathy.

First word- Engine.

You scan through the words you’re not allowed to use, Jake watching over as your referee in case you slip up.

“Okay, it’s the thing in the-“ You’re about to say car, but you pause, quickly trying to reevaluate your descriptions. The timer looms, and you feel panic settle in. “The thing that powers the…vroom vroom.”

In Jungwon’s head, it clicks. “Engine!” You toss the card, reading the next. Egypt?

“It’s a 3D thing, but it has three sides in north Africa.”

“Pyramids.” Heeseung answers smoothly.

You grin unknowingly. “Right-right, okay. Where is it?”

“Egypt.”

“This is a Jesus related celebration-“ You continue, glancing at the hourglass as the sand slips through.

“Easter!” Jungwon says. “Christmas!”

“The second one! It’s one of the little things you… put up!”

“Stockings!” And you shake your head at Jungwon, goading them to think a bit more and guess. You glance up almost sheepishly, at a loss of words and stumbling over thoughts. Heeseung sighs, leaning back before looking at you again.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” You huff, flicking at the card anxiously.

“Like what? Like you can’t describe a simple word?”

“Oh, as if you could-“

“Ornament!” And with that, the timer ends. You glare at Heeseung, hard, and if you were anything like Superman, you really would’ve burned holes through his skull. Thankfully, with Jungwon was your mediator, you don’t say anything snarky back at him, staying silent as the other groups go.

The first round tension eases as the night carries on. As Jake and Sunghoon score 7 cards in one round, it prompts you, Heeseung, and Jungwon to come together, a jittery feeling as you sip from a can of soda and pray your brain works in tandem with both of them.

Remembering Heeseung’s your describer, you sink in your seat a little, feeling hopelessness consume your mind- but Jungwon doesn’t let you sulk as he cheers Heeseung on. “Last round!” He says, a sparkle in his eye. The teams are so close, and despite your team having the lowest points by being the last group to go, you know you can score the 6 points needed to beat Ni-ki, Ryujin, and Sunoo.

The hourglass is flipped, and you hold your breath.

“Naturally occuring formation,” he says smoothly, glancing at you and Jungwon. “Hot stuff.”

It clicks. “Volcano!” Jungwon smiles, feeling victory running through his veins. Heeseung’s lip curls up.

“It’s the saying with too many people, ‘three’s a..” He waits for you both to finish the line.

“Crowd!” Heeseung and you smile at each other as he continues to rush through the cards, briefly glancing over to the timer.

He falters slightly, before lighting up. “When you’re excited, you’re on ____ 9.” You finish it quickly, burning holes into the back of his cards before he continues. You have to win.

“Jungwon, we played this game in 2020 on Discord with the guys!”

“Among Us.” and you laugh at the references he makes to win.

“____, it’s the 60% thing you like at the bakery.”

Your breath hitches, and you almost forget to answer until you see the way he’s looking at you.

“Chocolate.” You mumble, and he cracks a grin again, relieved to get it in only four seconds.

With the way he looks at the words and furrows his eyes, you worry that the sand will slip through the hourglass completely before he can finish explaining the sixth and final word.

Heeseung chooses to deviate from the normal meaning of the words, and chooses to use a different meaning of it in order to not risk using a word on his unavailable list. “When something is more spicy than you expect, you say it has a little something to it.”

Your heart is beating wildly, and you’re barely in the same spot as you were when you first started, leaning over and closer to Heeseung’s curly fringe. “Kick!” you yell out, and the room explodes in commotion, carefully counting the tallies under every team name. Yeji sighs as she marks down your final tally, and you stand up, all in a group hug before you even realize it. You watch Heeseung, looking up at the way his eyes are closed and his smile’s wide. The adrenaline keeps you jumping with your partners, unaware of how Sunoo observes the carefree way you cling onto his friend, and the supposed bane of your existence. When you two finally stop cheering at your long awaited victory, you shoot Heeseung a glance, noticing how he’s already looking at you with the same gears turning in his head. Although you’ve created space, he’s zoned out, and you can tell he hasn’t noticed that you two once again make eye contact. It takes a raised eyebrow from you for him to look elsewhere, absentmindedly tonguing the inside of his cheek, feeling almost embarrassed to have been so close.

There’s a bubbling feeling in your stomach whenever you think about how he remembered- how Lee Heeseung pays attention to the little things. You push it down, because it’s nothing more than what coworkers do for each other. He’s cordial, as always. That’s all it is.

“Didn’t seem like you hated Heeseung much.” Sunoo comments, a smile puffing up his cheeks. You roll your eyes, helping him pick up some of the stray trash from the floor after the party is over.

“Don’t even!’ You start, debating if you should throw a Dorito in his face. “It’s just for the games, he was literally insufferable every other minute.”

Sunoo is unfortunately the victim to your back-and-forth, trying for you to see with reason but falling short to your simple petty nature. He fails to see how Heeseung has treated you, but deep down, you see it. You see the occasional stare Heeseung finds himself in with you, the frown on his features or the way he always carries himself as if he’s somehow better than you. It’s exasperating how easily he surpasses you, and always glances back to make sure you know. The looks he gives you are deceptive, and you basically see his thoughts laid out in front of him before he turns away. You swear to Sunoo that he has it out for you, always trying to boost that inflated ego of his by showing you how much better he is at anything.

“How are you so sure Heeseung just wants to rub it all in your face? Well, wait.” He pauses, tying a trash bag closed. “Why do you look at him so much that you catch him staring?”

Oh. You think about it, truly emptying your brain to find a proper answer, but deep down, there was none to be found.

“I don’t know, Sunoo,” you huff. “He just always looks at me.”

“Maybe he wants to be friends.”

Violently shaking your head, you smash in a water bottle, feeling a flash of confusion pass through you. “Why would he want to be friends with me? To show he’s such a nice and caring person?” The boy on the receiving end sighs, slumping to the floor in the kitchen. You stare at him, watching how Sunoo deflates before going to wash his hands in the sink. “You’re insufferable.” He calls out, laughing quietly.

A frown makes its way onto your features unknowingly, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you truly put yourself in your friend’s shoes.

Surely, Sunoo sees what you mean, right? There’s just no way Heeseung would want to be friends with you either- it’s not like you treat him any better than he treats you. Plus, Heeseung has had it out for you, always by your side for the best and for the worst times, somehow dampening your mood in both.

Right?

After a tight hug from Sunoo and your efforts to lift his mood after a long day, you get in your car, a random song from your playlist coursing through the stuffy air.

There is mutual hatred- well, maybe not hatred, but dislike. A definite dislike between you and some part time bakery employee who also happens to be the worst boy you’ve ever met.

You’re beginning to think that this feud between you two is a small flame that you’re shoveling piles of wood into, igniting from your own hands.

You have no idea how to prove it, though. You can’t let yourself look like an idiot by simply being nice to him if he really has it out for you and hates you- or else he’ll get some sort of upper hand.

Your plan goes like this; You’ll give Lee Heeseung one chance to prove himself as an arrogant and selfish person, and when it happens, it’ll be true solid evidence you have to dislike him. It’ll prove that Lee Heeseung hasn’t changed one bit, and that you were always right in your beliefs.

You trust the universe will help you out one time, and pray for the best.

So that’s why, when your grandmother invites you to join her at the Lee’s once again, you agree, finally getting to try not just the leftovers of Mrs. Lee’s delicious galbi recipe.

And that’s how you're standing in front of his doorstep with a welcome mat under your feet, and a porcelain cat staring up at you from the porch.

You hear the commotion that follows your knock, and you're greeted with a warm smile from whom you can only assume is Heeseung’s mother. After she invites you in, you meet the rest of the family, and make sure your grandmother has taken a seat. Heeseung glances at you from the stairs, before wordlessly joining the table, quickly grabbing bowls in the kitchen before coming to sit down. Everyone interacts, and you’re stuck smiling and shaking hands with his father and bowing to his grandmother, asking if there’s anything you can do to help.

When his mother brings the steaming aromatic food over, your eyes light up. “Here, Heeseung, sit next to ____!”

Your smile drops.

He takes the empty seat next to you, flashing you a grin. “Long time no see.” You roll your eyes, with the distance between the two of you closer than ever, you lean over to make sure your grandma gets plenty of cabbage kim-chi and warm sauces with her rice, helping her whenever necessary. By the time you sit back down, your bowl already is full of food. You glance over at the culprit.

Heeseung just shrugs when you raise an eyebrow, muttering a thank you before digging in.

“I hear you’re planning to attend the same university as Heeseung.” His mother’s words cause your eyes to widen, choking slightly on your bite before you feel someone’s hand on your back. “You okay, ____?” And the mirth in his eyes tells you he finds your reaction funny.

You shake your head in earnest, feeling yourself lose even more passion for school. She continues, reaching for some grilled meats with her chopsticks. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? You two are basically neighbors, and you’re always super hard working. Maybe Heeseung could learn a thing or two, since I hear so much about how you help out your grandma.”

You’re pleased to hear she likes you, but it all comes out at once, and her confessions leave you in surprise. You glance over at the boy next to you, hoping to gain some wicked satisfaction from it all, but what you see leaves you with a dejected look. Heeseung’s gaze is steely, and you notice the almost glare his mom sends her son after saying it. He feels small, unlike the confidence that surrounds him after test scores or when he got admitted into his colleges. Something doesn’t feel right, and it leaves a sour feeling on your tongue when you try to make yourself bigger than him.

“Heeseung has always done well. I’m sure he’ll continue to do well both at the bakery and in school.” You don’t mean to disagree with her, but it’s true. You hate to admit it, at least to his face, but Heeseung’s worked just as hard or harder than everyone else. He tilts his head in confusion as to why you’d voice something like that, and you roll your eyes, hoping that he never brings it up again.

You continue to talk with his mother, laughing at her comments and going along with whatever she has to say, no matter how traditional her views might be. You thank her profusely for the meal, and she waves you off with a bashful look. ‘It’s nothing,’ she communicates through her laughs and small hug when you two are about to leave.

“See!” Your grandma says on the walk back, as you carry tupperware of marinated meats and soup. “Hee isn’t so bad after all.”

“I guess.” You really have nothing else to tell her, not wanting to ruin the delicate moments between you two as the sun casts down a slim glow. “He didn’t really say much.”

His mom, however, made you realize just why Heeseung performs at the standard he does- because he really has no choice but to be the best, or to accept failure in front of his parents’ eyes. It’s a corrosive treatment, one that slowly digs away at anyone’s ability to be passionate about truly anything.

She changes the subject. “How’s the bakery?”

You want to tell her that Heeseung is annoying, that he runs around always telling you to do things, that he’s always too busy covered in flour and coconut cream to help you out. You want to tell her that you hate Heeseung, and that your quality of life decreases whenever he’s around. He messes with you, sends jokes and digs your way, and you don’t know how to get him out of there faster.

“Heeseung’s fine. I know he’s a big help to you.” And maybe, he’s become a big help to you, too.

There is one thing you’re not sure you can perfect- macarons.

They’re dumb, take so little ingredients yet such precision- and to be honest, do they even taste that good? In your personal opinion, they’re nothing amazing, and honestly, the scraps of chocolate cake that you don’t use for cake pops serves you well.

The night before, you and Heeseung both mutually agreed to stay for a bit longer, starting on the macarons so neither of you would mess up tomorrow morning in a rush. It’s a large order, and you get them relatively often. You try to get tips from your grandmother the night before that, writing them down in your phone and making sure you listen to every piece of advice she says. You write down the last thing in your notes, ominously typed out in bold text. “don’t overdo it.” it reads, and you stay up watching videos on how other people make them look so perfect.

Staying late for the shift meant you shifted your routine by a few hours- showering later, eating a bit later, and sleeping less than you should’ve. You were tired already, but the extra work only added to it, making you feel less and less confident in every piped macaron.

The alarm reads 8:00am, a criminally late hour if you want to get to work on time. Sending a quick apologetic text to your coworker, you rush out of the house, driving as carefully as you can to make it there while scraping as much time off as you can. Rushing in, you see Heeseung, leaning over and assessing your yellow batch. If the grid you used was supposed to be a 5 by 11 sheet, then there should be 55 macarons- but you notice, in a few places, there are missing confections.

One culprit. “How childish do you have to be to eat the ones I’ve made?” The immediate accusation has Heeseung looking up at you, straightening his back to narrow his eyes.

“Some of your macarons were hollow shelled.”

“What, so you go and throw them away without even asking me?”

Heeseung hates how the mood is immediately dampened, finding himself getting more heated around you. “We literally need 25 of each- only four of yours were hollow- I had to start making another batch because I didn’t want to risk mine being hollow, too.” He tries to explain, tapping his fingers on the counter. Your skin feels hot- how dare he mess with the batch you already worked so hard to pipe and fold? If you were to fish out the shells from the trash right now, you would be positive that they weren’t even that empty. You grab one of the tools from near the sink, going to inspect his red ones.

His attempt to make himself look human is shattered when you notice that none of his, are in fact, hollow like how he presumes they were.

“You didn’t even check yours!” You exclaim, feeling targeted.

He rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t even matter who’s batch it was- why do you care so much that I was trying to help you out because you were late today?”

That- that was your reason. Lee Heeseung once again spelt trouble, by meddling in your macarons when you could’ve so easily examined them yourself. He turns around to start washing the utensils in the sink, as you stand there and seethe. Blame it on the sleep, or on the stress of rushing out this morning, but all of it makes you walk out of the building, feeling the hot tears fill your waterline before they spill and cascade down your skin.

You worked so hard to make them- and even if they weren’t perfect, even if what he had to say was right, you just wished you could’ve seen it for yourself. You haven’t worked there much prior to the summer, and macarons have always been something you’ve wanted to nail, so to see Heeseung set the standard according to his own feelings and just throw out the ones you wanted to see- well, it hurts. It’s a jab at your pride, at all the effort you’ve put into learning and watching videos, sacrificing sleep to listen to people croak advice after advice on one of the greatest baking feats. It hurts to see once again that you’ve failed to be like Heeseung, and that he took matters into his own hands by assessing your tray for you

Fishing out your phone, you look for one contact to offer comfort. “Grandma?” You ask, sinking down to rest your head on your knees without sitting on the cement. You’re next to your car, not wanting to go through the efforts of finding your keys.

“What’s wrong?” She asks immediately after hearing your sniffle, and you tell her. You tell her about how your shells were uneven, and how you worked so hard for them, and how Heeseung threw them away before you could even see for yourself. She understands your pain, and tells you that no one can perfect something as difficult as macarons- and that during spring break, she had seen Heeseung go through the same thing. It helps, just a little, to know that he started from the same place as you, too. You calm down with her further reassurance, and wipe your puffy eyes before coming back in. You’re afraid the patrons will notice something’s up, and ignore Heeseung’s worried looks to pat cold water onto your eyelids in hopes of helping them look less red.

He sees all of it- Heeseung Isn't stupid, he knows what he’s done, but he can’t get himself to apologize. And as you knew, he went through the same heartbreaking process, and in his thorough reassessment of the situation, he doesn’t know why he didn’t see it from your perspective until you stormed out.

‘I'm sorry,’ he writes on the bag of lemon curd he made for your macarons. But it does little to salvage your disposition for today. You ignore him, never asking for any help, or any opinion even in the times you usually would. It’s quiet throughout the whole day, like a gray cloud has dampened the colors in the sky, and you clock out at exactly the right time after everything is done, put away, and cleaned. you refuse to leave a mess for Heeseung to point out, but you leave feeling angry, sad, but mostly, disappointed.

The next day, you arrive at the bakery to find Heeseung sipping from a dangerously large cup of instant boba and taro milk. His eyes dart up to witness all of your struggling glory carrying a shipment that came to the house instead of the shop. In a hurry, he grabs a few boxes from the top and sets them down on the counter, and whatever you were carrying follows suit. He treats you as if you didn’t fight, as if you two aren’t filling the room with tension the more you steal glances at each other. He grabs his drink, one that he’s prepared 15 minutes ago, and finishes almost another quarter of it in one long sip.

You want to tease him for how much taro he’s had when it’s barely 8 o’clock, but it’s not the right time. Days like this are always slow, only dragged out longer by the silence and lack of tasks. The awkward silence between you two fuels him to grab scissors and start opening the boxes.

“I thought your grandma might’ve told you I could handle it.” Heeseung comments, refilling the crushed water and oreo toppings. “I was checking the delivery updates pretty often.”

“Not often enough,” you snap. You fight back a glare, and proceed to open up your own box of extracts. “I’m her granddaughter. Maybe you should go enjoy summer with your friends. Don’t you have a beach trip to thirst trap at or something?” It’s meant to be an insult, but Heeseung quietly chuckles, finding it a little funny.

“Yes, we are having a beach trip soon. But i already told your grandma I’ll work in the morning before your aunt comes to take over.” You frown, wondering why your grandma never reaches out to you and asks you to help.

With emphasis on the syllables in his name, you fire back, “Let’s be clear, Heeseung, she wants my help much more than she needs yours.” He glares, stirring a cup with his eyebrows furrowed and lips curled down in distaste.

“I’m sure that’s why she was so enthusiastic about coming over to our house and talking to me.” It’s your turn to scowl, and you’re afraid Heeseung’s comments will only take years off your life and produce wrinkles on your face much quicker.

“Funnily enough, I heard she didn’t want you working there at all.” You cross your arms to look at him as a way to further your point.

He responds defensively. “Yeah. as if.” Even the way Heeseung rolls his eyes at you is annoying. “She just wants me around more than you.”

You can’t feel offended, especially when his tone is so light. It probably isn’t even true- how much your grandmother prefers Lee Heeseung over you, just like anyone else. The feeling burns you and you shrink away from the heat of the sudden fire accompanied by the implications of his words. Heeseung catches on to the sudden shift in your demeanor.

“Hey, I didn’t mean that.” He tries to apologize, watching you carefully.

The flames leave you angry with his response, feeling once again belittled by him. “Bullshit. Are you glad you’re the favorite for every single person you know?”

His eyebrows furrow, feeling the bite of your words, and the mood instantly changes. “That’s not what I meant, ____.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course that’s not what you meant, Heeseung. Of course you’re the one who’s perfect, and I’m simply the one who misinterprets all of it. Of course you have never had a bad intention ever and you are loved by everyone. Why can’t you just go? Do you really have to take one more thing away from me and make it your own?” The years of resentment pile up in the words you throw at him, and the built up wall you’ve created finally shows just why you should despise him so much. “Or was it not your intention to do that either?”

It’s too early, to be honest, to be fighting like this, and you’re definitely saying things that you’re going to regret. But you’re tired of being second to him- tired of never getting the recognition you so badly deserved from those who you actually wanted to hear it from. You’re tired of never being heard by your teachers, getting grades that swoop right under a certain someone’s. All on purpose. (right?)

Despite the sudden urge to bicker with you about how you think everything is about you, and how you’ve never given him a chance, the boy beside you is observant to how hurt you sound being so vulnerable. Heeseung finds himself trying to rethink the past ten years of shared childhood experiences. He’s never really thought about what he’s done to deserve such resentment from you, but the more he says silent, the more he realizes that he’s always so graciously soaked up praise from everyone, and because of it, you were always left sulking in his shadow.

“I’m sorry.” But it’s more than that.

You feel stupid for expecting anything deeper. “Is that all you have to-“

He cuts you off, trying to articulate the words and form reason. “No, there’s more. God- let me just think.” You hear how badly he needs to get it out, and you stay quiet, having let all of your anger out already.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m not going to apologize for all of the things I’ve achieved,” he says firmly. “Because that’s never how things were for me- I have no reason to feel bad about what I did.” And you can respect him for standing his ground in a situation full of misunderstanding. “I never did it to hurt you, and I never did it to get in your face and show I was better. But I’m sorry for hurting you unintentionally. I’m sorry I never realized that those things were just as important to you, and I’m sorry for always assuming the worst when we’d talk. I’m sorry I never apologized, and held all of this against you, and made this thing between us worse than it was supposed to be. And, I’m sorry, too, about the macarons. That was stupid. I really should’ve known.”

You feel overwhelmed, your mind trying to undo the years of built up feelings towards him under the assumption that he meant to do those things. “I thought you did it because you genuinely didn’t want to see me happy. Like that time you did the extra credit in biology just so you could score better than me.” You breathe, words coming out without really realizing what you’re saying. “Or like that time in first grade where you spilled your applesauce on me, and never apologized. I kept thinking, what the fuck did I do to deserve it? What had I done to make you feel like we had to compete?” Your open ended questions continue to resonate within your co-worker’s mind, and the more you ramble, the more he sees just how twisted he looks.

“In first grade, that was because the boys said I’d get cooties if I went to talk to you. Believe me, ____, I tried. But every single time I try to fix things between us, you never let me, I swear.”

It’s your turn to be confused, swearing that you never saw him apologize. “When have you ever tried to be nice to me?”

“I tried to let stuff go. Like all the little things we’d say about each other- I tried to understand why you were always so unhappy around me. But you always said I was meddling in your business or that I just wanted to find another way to get under your skin.”

It settles, then, the realization that you’ve turned him into the villain a bit more than you should’ve. You know there’s always been mutual dislike- there are certain times where you know Heeseung had it out for you, with his sneers, his comments or the way he’d smile at your defeat- but you weren’t a saint either. There were other times that maybe, he wasn’t out to get you, but you were always so consumed with the idea of hating Lee Heeseung that you hated the idea of him being a decent person, too.

“I’m sorry,” You say, leaving your emotions to witness. “I really should’ve paid attention to your genuine efforts back then, too.”

And you’re not the only one who’s at a loss for words this time. Heeseung is in uncharted territory, unsure of how to process the way you’re apologizing, and being so open. And he’s antagonized you too; made you out to be a mood killer and party pooper in every event imaginable, despising the idea of being around you because you two always disagree somehow.

“But, why do you do it? Why do you come here if it’s really anything personal?”

He answers in the only way he sees fit. “I want to help her out, she’s always cooked for our family, she’s let me come over a few times, just little things for my family and I. I never meant to take your grandma away from you like that, I promise. She’s just so kind, and she cares so much about me, so of course I want to care for her, too. I just didn’t think it’d be at the expense of you.”

Despite still feeling hurt, you nod, trying to be mature and talking about it rather than burying it deep. “All I hear about is how she wants you to come, and how she never needs my help anymore because she has you already volunteering. It’s like I barely mean anything to her.” Your words sting for Heeseung, but not because there’s any anger directed at him. Heeseung feels a pang of relatability in his chest, the inability to ever be enough for those around you gnawing away at your self-esteem.

He shakes his head, begging you silently to understand. “She doesn’t want you to work so hard.” He starts, running a hand through his hair. “She tells me about how she’s worried if you’re eating, or if you’re stressed. She’s watched you through-out your whole life, ____. All she’s ever wanted was for you to finally enjoy the summer you worked so hard for.”

“I just wish it felt that way.” You admit.

To hear such high praise from his lips feels foreign- the idea of Lee Heeseung noticing how hard you’ve worked, realizing the amount of effort you’ve put into your standing and accomplishments, it’s weird. You know he understands completely how stressful it’s all been, considering he was stuck to your side the whole time in highschool whether you liked it or not. Lee Heeseung has worked hard, if not harder, than you, and for him to be able to admit that is so much different than what your perception of him would think. It’s awkward to meet his gaze, and his small smile eases the tension a little when you laugh at his attempt to soothe things out.

“I feel dumb, for thinking so horribly of you. I honestly never thought you looked at me like I was an equal, just someone you could surpass.” He shakes his head, about to reach out and grab your wrist before he realizes just how intimate it would be.

“You’re not dumb, _____. You never have been. I’ve always looked up to you.”

There are knots in your chest- the ones that make it feel as tight and hard to breathe as you do right now- that slowly become untangled the more he speaks of you. His words undo them, little by little, and even if it takes a long time to fix the rift between you two, at least you know you have help.

Internally, your heart begs you to ask. “Why do you even care?”

He pauses, mulling over his words, and looking for a proper response. “I don’t know.” He sighs. “I just want to, we’ve been around each other since we were kids, and if there was someone who I’d hope to have by my side, whether or not we’re close, it was you.”

Your breath hitches at his confession, and your mind runs in a hundred different directions, without ever expecting those words to tumble from his lips. You promise yourself to do things differently from now on, not trusting your words to continue the conversation.

“We should finish unpacking.” And the rest is that.

When you two leave to go home, the old tension feels different- lighter, almost. As much as you know he would do things to get on your nerves, never understanding just why you were so negative and brooding around him, your perception of him wasn’t the best, either. And still, you may be a bit mad at him, and not exactly friendly, but at least you’ve both let go of the unspoken baggage.

When you sit in the passenger seat, you’re less inclined to turn away and face the window, and make small talk with the radio on.

Things aren’t perfect- the years of hurt he’s done to you doesn’t dissipate in a day, but it’s getting better, and you can only hope it continues that way.

A week passes between the two of you, and time flows easier now that you two talked things out. You don’t dread going to work, and you didn’t refuse when he offered to buy food on the way home a few days ago. Sure, some topics between you two are sore, and you’re not best of friends, but it’s light years ahead of what it was like before.

You can never truly get rid of the banter between you two- there are clever insults you’ve crafted in your head that you love to see his reaction to, and you’re just the right person for Heeseung to bicker with.

“Do you ever stop drinking that soy milk?” Your coworker asks. You nurse your cup, keeping it close as you rush to defend your end of shift drink. “You’re like, a baby.”

“It’s lactose free. And a very good basic drink.” You explain, frowning at yet another large cup of taro tea he holds in his hands. “Your drink probably tastes like nothing.”

He holds it out, and you raise an eyebrow. “Just use the same straw,” he insists. You truly don’t mind, but it’s so weird now to know that Heeseung, like, your friend. But you take a sip anyways, cringing at how your suspicions were right- There’s barely a hint of sweetness in there.

“Don’t make that face!” He comments when you grimace, and also feels the need to protect his opinion on 15% sweet options.

“Anyways,” you change the subject, determined to get him to see your sweet tooth ways. “Help me make some creme brûlée for my grandma. I’ve never tried.” And he sets his cup down, and for the first time possibly, Heeseung joins you to do something.

“It should be easy, right?” He says, and with a look of determination, you set off.

“Heat the cream.” You tell him, reading the instructions from your phone.

He retorts lightly, “So rude.” and you turn around to scoff, all in good fun.

“You’re insufferable.” And he tilts his head, offering you a small pouty smile when he turns on the stove.

The mood feels so much less stuffy than it did before when he says, “Must suck to always hate me like how you do.”

“I have an egg yolk in my hand that i’m willing to throw at you.” He chuckles, and peers over at your bowl.

“You’re pretty good at that.” He notes, and you fight the urge to beam at his compliment for your yolk-separation skills. After he’s poured in enough cream, he grabs the sugar and a measuring spoon, fishing your phone out from beside you and reading the measurements.

He adds so much less than what the recipe says, and you only know this because when you glance over, the scale reads a number much lower than 65 grams.

“Heeseung,” You call out, in a playfully stern manner, and the boy in question turns around like he’s been caught. “Bring back the sugar.”

“We’ve run out.” He says, the lie appearing as a wide smile on his face. Unconvinced, you walk over, and in turn, he holds the jar up out of your reach. You refuse to reach for it, knowing that the boy in front of you is much taller, but also that you don’t want to break the glass with some horseplay.

Your voice goes from demanding to reasoning. “Give it back. God, I can’t stand you and all of your low sugar preferences. The sugar is literally needed for the texture!” He simply shakes his head, walking over to add just one more unmeasured spoonful. “You didn’t even weigh it.”

Heeseung mocks you- a high-pitched and garbled version that follows the intonation of your words, and you let out a surprised scoff at his immaturity. Getting a whisk, you make sure the newly added sugar is fully dissolved. He returns with the pot of cream that bubbles slowly, with an oven mitt around the hot handle. Without a look in your direction, Heeseung holds out his arm between you and the heated cream, and it really doesn’t do much- but yet, at the same time, it does. It’s something he does subconsciously; and something you do your best not to pay attention to in order to properly reach for the whisk.

He slaps your hand away lightly, and you mumble an ‘ow!’ in response. “Don’t touch that. Let me whisk it. It’s hot.” He reprimands gently.

Yeah, you’re still doing your best not to pay attention to it.

When the mixture transforms from a deep yellow to a pale banana color, he leans down and checks the side of the bowl for any egg and sugar he’s missed. “Here,” you reach out. “Let me get the pot.” Heeseung glances up, and shakes his head quickly.

“No it’s okay-“ and it happens quickly, the hand that was whisking leaves to swat your hand away, but it instead makes contact with the rim of the metal appliance when he doesn’t pay attention to where his hand is placed. Although Heeseung only hisses quietly at the pain, you immediately feel bad.

“Just give it to me,” you demand, and pry the pot out of his hand to let him nurse his wound, leaving it in the sink and quickly going to the medicine cabinet for burn relief cream- the same one you used a few weeks ago. After you grab it, you return to him, reaching out your hand and waiting for him to show you the puffy red skin.

He slowly puts his hand on your palm, and you twist around his finger to apply the ointment, doing your best to spread it without pressing too hard.

“Thank you.”

You glare. “Don’t hold hot things if you’re not fully attending to them.” And he puts his hands up in surrender, taking a step back.

“I’ll be preparing your ramekins, boss.” The nickname has a nice ring to it.

When it’s done, the creme brûlée comes out with a slight wobble in the middle, indicating a well-cooked perfection. “Grab the blowtorch!” You shove him into the direction of where it is, and he complies. You sprinkle sugar over five of the six dishes, using a spoon to shape the sugar in the last dish into a heart since you thought it looks cute.

Heeseung comes back from your right, leaning over to watch you intently. “A heart? You make it seem like you’re in love, or something.” He jokes, evading a jab with your right elbow.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You argue like a-“ you’re about to finish your sentence with ‘child,’ but when you turn your head (in hopes that saying it directly would add more emphasis), you’re face to face with Heeseung, with a proximity between you two that’s far less than expected.

He takes a quick step away, and you glance somewhere else with a nervousness in your eye.

Neither of you say anything, not really sure if you should apologize or if he should, and you return to your current task, a small churning turning in your stomach. You take a step back to let him caramelize the sugar, and he holds the blowtorch with his non-burned hand.

It’s good, is the only thing you think when you crack the sugar and scoop a bit, admiring the texture. When you and Heeseung finished one each, you begin to clean up and wash the equipment you used.

“It’s late, _____. I’ll take you home.” He states the obvious, and for what?

“How else am I supposed to get back?” You laugh, and in response, he shrugs.

“Just a reminder as to which one of us is so graciously kind to drive you too and from the bakery almost everyday.”

“If I had a choice, I could’ve easily taken my own car. You know my grandma needs it for her errands. Like her Wednesday bingo night, or whatever.” He chuckles, holding the door open and unlocking the car.

Being in the same space as Lee Heeseung isn’t as excruciating as how it used to be- and now, it’s just an opportunity for you to finally ask your burning questions.

“Heeseung, I’m just curious. How did you even meet my grandma?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “I think it was the mailbox,” he starts, trying to remember. “She dropped her mail, and it blew out into the street, so I went to get it for her. And on the walk back, she just started asking me questions. Apparently she and my mom were closer than I thought.”

“And that’s how you started working?”

“First, it was community service. Just using the cash register- since we’re cashless, it’s nothing illegal to have me manage orders.”

“And she just thought you were an angel from the get-go, or something?”

“Who doesn’t?” And you glare, mocking him like what he did to you earlier. Heeseung’s lips curl into a grin at your antics, never taking it to heart.

“Me, obviously.” And it’s a half-lie, because secretly, Heeseung isn’t so bad.

“Well,” he starts, motioning. “I don’t think there’s anything I do or could do that you’d like.”

You splutter, “That’s not true!” And he raises an eyebrow at your indignant words.

“Name one thing that you like about me.”

“No!” You refuse, crossing your arms. “You already have a large enough ego from the teachers.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes at you, tapping his hands tapping on the wheel impatiently. “That’s lame, ____. You’re just further proving my point.”

With a sigh, you tell him, “I like how you helped us win in Taboo.” And he gives you a look.

“Cop-out.”

“What-? No!” Emptying your brain, you try to find something you truly like about the boy who makes life a living hell- or, well, used to (he still kind of does). “Okay, fine. I like that you care about my grandma.”

Heeseung stays kind of quiet, not really sure what to do now that you’re once again being sincere. “Well, she’s like- the only person who doesn’t expect something from me.”

Confusion floods your thoughts. “What do you mean?”

“I’m grateful for everyone in my life,” He prefaces. “But it’s no fun having to always work for people’s approval, sometimes, I wish that someone could just appreciate me for me, and that’s how your grandma is. No expectations with her. She’s just happy I’m still around- which, I know, is bare minimum, but at least I don’t have to try so hard for her to like me.” The light turns green, and the car rumbles as he slowly accelerates.

You mull over his confession. “Do I expect something from you then, too?”

“You expect me to perform well, because I always have- and therefore, I have to do well, or else you’ll just rub it in my face.” He states plainly, and you grimace for the second time today.

“Sorry, I won’t do that anymore.” Heeseung waves you off.

“It’s no big deal- plus, you weren’t the only one who thought I’d do well all the time. It’s something everyone thought of me. If anything, you were the one who just motivated me to always work harder.”

“But isn’t that a good thing? To be the best?”

He shakes his head and when you take a good look at him, Heeseung has a glassy look in his eye. “Sometimes, yes. A lot of the time, no. I just want to do well without anyone forcing that on to me. I don’t want the expectation to be perfect, because then, it’s so much easier for me to stumble.” You don’t realize just how much weight Heeseung carries on his back from the words of his peers and his family. And to you, he resembles a diamond; perfect, but from pressure.

“Well, from now on, I won’t expect it from you. And if I do better, then I won’t rub it in your face. So that’ll make two people you won’t have to worry about.” The response he gives you is non-verbal, but his change in expression is first laced with surprise, and then silent appreciation.

“Thanks,” he says, once again at a loss for words. “I appreciate it.”

You send Heeseung a smile, understanding how it feels to always have to do good. You can only hope that he gets his break from the pressure before he burns out.

“Oh, I should tell you now. I can’t make it next Friday. I have plans, and I’d figure I’d let you know now so you could find someone to replace me.” He announces. When he looks over to see your response, you nod in understanding.

“What are you doing?”

“Grad party.” Heeseung says plainly. “It’s Jake’s, so if I’m hungover, I’ll try to let you know if I’ll be good by morning.”

“So considerate.” You comment, albeit a bit teasing. He scoffs, making the final turn before reaching your house. “To be expected from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He questions. “And what kind of person am I?”

“Someone who’s going to have to work alone for the next two weeks if he doesn’t shut up.” He laughs, his eyes scrunching up as unlocks the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Of course, ____.”

A few days go by, but one morning, you walk outside to see Heeseung parked in his car, scrolling on his phone- and it takes you walking up to him to roll the window down.

“You didn’t even text me you were coming,” you start, pouting slightly.

Heeseung pats the passenger side. “Just- get in, will you?” And you comply, never one to refuse a free trip to work.

“So why today?” You ask, fiddling with your fingers and bag. “You usually never pick me up on Thursdays.”

“Since it’s your grandma’s birthday and all, I figured I could just pick you up, and drop you off. She called me yesterday asking to come over, and invite my parents, too. And they couldn’t come because of a work trip, but I promised her.”

You stay silent. “Fuck, that’s today?” And Heeseung laughs- not at you, just at the situation.

He nods, eyes still glued to the road. “Have you decided what you want to get her?”

“Flowers, definitely. Probably these treats she’s been thinking about getting from the store. I have this really nice collection of kitchen appliances that I know she’ll like.” And you’re rambling, but Heeseung makes no effort to stop you. “She loves to peel stuff by hand, but I was trying this thing out in the store and it actually works perfectly. Here, I’ll pull it up.” And he takes a quick look at the overpriced appliance, realizing that you also care immensely, but in different ways. “I still need to get her stuff, though- I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get to the flower shop if they close when we close.” And it leaves you dejected, since you know what flowers are her favorite, and how happy she’d be if she saw them on the table for a while.

“We’ll figure it out,” Heeseung promises, and you nod, believing his words.

You close a bit earlier than usual, and Heeseung writes on a small sticky note for patrons to come tomorrow. The bakery closes at 8:00 PM everyday, and usually 30 minutes can’t hurt- or at least, you hope it doesn’t.

When you continue to anxiously check the clock, he comes to your side, rubbing your shoulder and telling you that “30 minutes is plenty of time.”

“We have to walk there though, and clean up. There’s virtually no parking there ever since that other place opened up nearby.” And he curses, not taking something like that into consideration. While you might be ending earlier, you can’t just leave anything out in fear that someone’s going to try and break in, but you also don’t have nearly enough time to properly wash the dishes and wipe down the tables and counters. Instead, you both opt for putting away the large equipment and the food, turning off the lights so anyone who looks in gets the impression it’s closed with the lack of displays or people around. Then, you two can come back to finish organizing and preparing for tomorrow.

His reassurance is easy to listen to, and Heeseung’s ability to figure out a plan is comforting in and of itself. You’re grateful he’s even willing to come with.

“You can just wait in the car, really-“

Heeseung looks at you like you’re mad. “We talked about this,” he pressed. “It’s dangerous to go out alone. I have nothing to do in the car anyways.”

Finally, you shut off the lights and start dragging Heeseung’s arm, who’s still taking the key out of the lock as he’s being taken away by your impatience. Setting off in a brisk walk, you continue to check your phone, trying to beat time. Heeseung promises you once more that it’ll be okay, and you ask him what he got for your grandma to change the conversation. You both know her well, and your gifts reflect what qualities you care for most. You realize that Heeseung always keeps others in the back of his mind- like his thoughtful gift to Sunoo, with a handwritten card that Sunoo read a bit of to you guys before Heeseung stopped the further embarrassment. You didn’t realize it then, but the people in his life feel wanted all the time because he has the love to give them.

You get there barely five minutes before 8:00 PM, and the discontent that washes over the shop owner’s face is apparent. “We’re closed,” she says, and you can’t imagine it’s easy to stay by yourself in a room so stuffy and full of pollen. You walk up to her with Heeseung following behind you, observing the way you practically beg for her to let you find some flowers. You promise you won’t take long, and she sighs, unraveling some of the wrapping paper she knows you’ll want.

There aren’t many left now that the day is over- and you wonder what kind of people frequent the flower shops. Is it apologetic husbands trying to win over their disappointed wives? Is it children buying flowers for their parents and elders? Or is it people like you and Heeseung, who want to gift it to someone they care about?

“Can you trim the thorns?” And she shakes her head, continuing to ring your bouquet up. You feel horrible, understanding exactly how it feels when someone at the bakery asks for something so grandiose near closing, when your social battery has depleted and you don’t have any more smiles to give. And you know this, but you’re willing to go above and beyond if the shop owner is okay with it. The effort she’s put in already to cut the papers and ribbons to accentuate the flowers is already plenty, but it’s your grandma, and you make sure to come back to support her generously again.

“Please,” you exhale, desperation and anger mixing in your tone. “I’ll pay extra.” With that, the shop owner sighs, taking your forty dollars and looking up as she opens the cash register. “Just keep it.” You say, in apology for earlier. She doesn’t decline the offer, and slides the crumpled bill into the slot with the rest of them, and ties a purple ribbon around the bouquet.

You almost forget that he watches the whole ordeal, until the owner of the flower shop mutters a “couples these days” under her breath, and your eyes widen.

With profuse thanks, you grab the neatly wrapped flowers and leave, but the moment you turn the corner, you gawk. “Did you hear what she said?”

“That we’re a couple?” Heeseung brushes it off like it’s nothing. “Yeah. But- what kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t the one paying for them?”

Heeseung paying for flowers to give to you- it’s a thought that leaves you quiet as your feet follow the same steps you took to get there. Of course he would- and you wonder if you’d ever want to be on the receiving end of it from him- or, actually, anyone for that matter. You’re not sure your mind automatically wants such a sweet gesture from Lee Heeseung himself.

“Thank you for coming, again.”

“Quit worrying about bothering me,” and it’s like he can read your mind. “Believe it or not, I don’t mind being around you.” His sarcastic comment still holds that undercurrent of honesty, and it’s like he knows just what you need to hear.

The walk back is much less stressful than the walk to. It falls back to that simple dynamic between two people who have begun to tolerate each other, full of little insults, hits to the side, and laughing. You finally make it back, and the sun paints the sky with swirling blue and pink. The sunset illuminates Heeseung’s side profile as he unlocks the door again, and when you finally pay attention to his jawline, or the gentle purse of his lips in concentration, you come to the conclusion that Heeseung is more than easy on the eyes.

And as you two clean up, the flowers sit in the passenger seat; a symbol of care for your grandmother, and Lee Heeseung’s time well spent with you.

The trips with leftovers become more frequent, and his parents always remember who you are every time you come bearing gifts. “____!” They exclaim, returning the old tupperware with more dishes on top. It feels like at this point, your grandma cooks for them, and they cook for her just as much.

“Go bother Heeseung, won’t you? We have dinner in a moment, but he’s been so busy with his work.” You smile at her, curious as to what he even has to do now that school’s over. “It’s the room to your left when you go up.”

You knock on his door and he yells in response, telling you to come in. Under the assumption that it’s his family, Heeseung goes wide-eyed when he notices it’s you in his messy room with his pajamas and old t-shirts strewn here and there.

“I did not expect it to be you,” he mumbles, quickly getting out of his chair to fix his covers and pick up a sock. A laugh bubbles from your throat with the way he’s scrambling to make things presentable right before you.

“Don’t worry. I don’t think I’ll be staying long anyways. Your mom told me to drag you downstairs because you were too invested in your work.” He looks sheepish as he mumbles a quick apology, and after the quick tidying, he shuts his laptop and organizes his desk. “What do you even have to do anyways?”

“I’m just making music- I started this internship with an entertainment company where they let me shadow a producer and offer input on some unreleased songs for their artists- so I’m just looking at the tracks and making demos.”

“They let you do that? I figured shadowing wasn’t possible for a company so big.” He nods, a smile dusting his features, and you can tell he takes pride in what he’s accomplished.

You’re about to ask more, but a call of your names from downstairs leaves you two quickly walking down.

“Have dinner with us!” His dad tells you, and you want to tell him you already ate a bit, but the noodles look delicious, and you agree to only eat a little bit. You glance over at Heeseung, but he offers a small smile as he pulls out a chair for you.

And so it begins again, but just without your grandmother.

“____, what are you planning to do in the future?” Heeseung’s dad starts.

“I’m planning to study Biology in the fall at uni.” You start. “I had an internship last summer before senior year, and I really learned a lot from it, so I knew what I wanted to do by the time I applied for schools.” His mother praises you, as all Asian mothers do, and you can see why Heeseung is so kind-hearted by the way his parents speak to you.

The conversation naturally switches from your plans to Heeseung’s, as they talk about his pursuit in music production.

“I’m sure he’s doing a good job, I’m always in classes with him, and there’s nothing you need to worry about.”

His mother continues, however. “I mean, there’s always ways kids can get ahead. I always tell him to apply for things early, and he could’ve gotten more scholarships and finished his internship last summer if he wasn’t so behind. But he’s doing it now, so there's nothing we can say about it.” Her words rub you the wrong way immensely. While your own parents were never the most involved in your high school academics and were supportive of any career path you chose, they never placed an expectation on you to do the best and overachieve. But you get the sense that for Heeseung, no matter how supportive they were, it was never really good enough. It’s torturous.

But, you don’t really know how to respond, humming to ease the growing silence instead. “That’s always true, but I know a lot of people look up to him, including me. He’s doing great regardless of when he does it.” No matter how gently you put it, you know it’s in total opposition to how they think and feel when it comes to their own son, but you can only hope that it helps ease the tension.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, with the discussion of your summer and how things have been with friends, parties, and planned trips. You finish their food quickly, complimenting Heeseung’s mother’s cooking once again and watching her face light up.

“You should head home, we don’t want your grandma to be too worried.” His dad starts, and you agree, quick to grab your bag. Heeseung takes the containers from your hand and starts putting on his sandals. “I’ll walk you home.” Despite your refusal to let him carry your things, he insists, and you miss the way his mom stares fondly at you two from the kitchen island.

The warm summer air gives you the illusion that it’s not so late, and with the way light still peaks from the horizon, you feel less tired the later the summer nights get.

The boy next to you speaks up first. “Did you mean it?” You sneak a glance at his relaxed posture, a hand in his sweatpants and bangs on his forehead.

“What part?”

“Any part.”

You nod, feeling almost incredulous that he thought you’d make up something like that after you two agreed to be on good terms.

“Of course, Hee- I wouldn’t lie about that stuff, especially not to your parents.”

“I’m sorry about them, by the way.” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “They have high expectations sometimes, I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable to hear them talk about me like that so openly.” The first instinct you have is to reach for his shoulder, making eye contact with him and offering a semblance of comfort before you walk across the street.

“No, you don’t need to apologize for stuff like that. I’m sorry your parents hold you to those kinds of expectations.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“But the problem is, you shouldn’t have to be used to it. You’ve genuinely done so much and you deserve some recognition rather than someone always telling you to do better.”

It goes quiet, but you don’t choose to bring anything else up, enjoying the crickets chirping and the gentle breeze that carries you home.

You stop outside your door and unlock it, inviting him in to say hi to your grandmother.

“Thank you,” you tell him as he’s leaving. “For walking me home.”

Heeseung simply shakes his head. “It was nothing, really. Thank you for seeing my parents again and whatnot.” He smiles, waving at you before walking back, and a grin makes its way onto your face before you even notice it.

Your phone dings at an hour earlier than you expected to get up, and it leaves you in an annoyed mood while you turn off your alarms.

hee: dude you HAVE to come in we just got a huge order for triple chocolate cake they said they’d pay extra if we finished by today

y/n: help wtf r u doing at the bakery

hee: i was making brownies i asked ur grandma this morning if i could

y/n: what for…

hee: because i had a craving ??? what else..

y/n: oh LOL ok ill be there in 30

Originally, you and Heeseung were going to have the day off, and your aunt and grandma were going to work instead- but the tempting offer from Heeseung leaves you explaining why you have to come in for work, and that they should stay at home. You say anything that comes to mind, but they know you wouldn’t let them come with the way you were dressed and already grabbing your shoes and keys.

When you finally rush to the doors, you see Heeseung cutting into the chocolate treats, and when you two make eye contact, he shoves the piece in his mouth and nods.

“Gross.” You comment, laughing.

He says something intangible, and you shake your head, putting on your apron.

The amount of work you two have put in is simply criminal to be fake, and the day off you have is getting darker the longer you two stay.

You voice your concerns. “Do you think they’re lying about the tip?What they told you seems like much.”

Heeseung shrugs, and sprinkles sea salt over the piece he picks up. “I’d hope it’s true. They seemed pretty desperate. I called them back today telling them their order would be done soon, so if they show up and pay more, that’d be great.”

“I’m glad you’re so optimistic.” You laugh.

“I have to be, because you’re definitely not.” Heeseung laughs when he sees the scowl on your face.

“Oh yeah? I think I’m at least a little better than the time you spilled the tapioca pearls and then talked about how everyone had it out for you that day.” He rolls his eyes.

“Between the two of us, I’ll always hear you saying ‘fuck, i dropped the spoon’ more.” His teasing has you smiling.

“Focus on your lettering. Or do you need someone to hold your hand and help you?” You lean over to look at him spelling CONGRATS with brown icing. “You messed up.” Nitpicking, you point out a random loop and make fun of him for it despite it not looking bad at all.

“I did not!” He huffs defensively. “I want to see you try.” He passes you the bag, and you get a piece of plastic wrap on the counter before starting.

“Lee Heeseung sucks.” He reads. “Did you seriously write that?” You laugh at how offended he is, and the boy next to you is quick to pull the bag from your hand to start piping. halfway through the word ‘hate,’ you elbow his side, and it causes his letter ‘t’ to be dragged too far.

“Hey!” He runs over, smearing a bit of icing on your forehead before you duck and try to avoid all his other attacks. The laughs bubble from your stomach, the adrenaline causing you two to chase each other around the kitchen. You’re not even sure what Heeseung would do if he catches you, but you don’t want to find out.

“I think we should package those cakes!” You remind him, albeit as a distraction. He sighs, crossing his arms in defeat before agreeing and heading back over. You narrowly avoid his glare, a wide smile on your face as you hum in victory. It’s a bit past closing, and he makes sure to flip the sign, still keeping the light on.

The customer rings the phone, telling Heeseung that she’ll be there in a few minutes. By the time you’ve boxed all three cakes and cleaned up any edges, she walks in. You ring her up at the counter, and she pulls out her largest bills, telling you to take the change as a gift. You two both thank her immensely, making sure she can carry the cakes out to her car before closing for the night.

When Heeseung enters through the front door, immediately you start cheering. “We just got paid tonight, Hee!”

The boy grins, subtracting the total from the amount she gave, and it’s clear that she was being serious when she said she would pay extra. “I think this calls for celebration.”

You don’t really have an excuse to see him outside of work, and the idea of being alone in a non-bakery setting feels scarily new.

And you’re about to make up an excuse about how you have to be home (you don’t), but your stomach makes a low sound, and it serves as an answer in place of your faltering words.

“I’m thinking Korean.”

You don’t expect to learn something new about Lee Heeseung, until you see him order two bowls of stir fried ramen despite the restaurant serving much more elegant dishes.

“Ramen?” A glance at the menu has you reading one of the more expensive meals offered. “You could’ve had- I don’t know, their Honey Garlic Short Ribs.”

He scrunches his nose in disapproval as a testament to how much he adores his instant noodles. “It’s just not the same. We barely have noodles at home, since my mom always insists on making it from scratch or boiling them in those big packages. Never just ramen.” You take a sip of your water, surprised.

“You don’t have ramen? God, come over more often, I’ll make you some.” You suggest lightheartedly.

He glances over, taking you up on the offer. “Woah- me, in your space?” You send him a glare, looking away and ignoring his laughs.

The food comes relatively quickly, and he looks over what you’ve gotten to judge it. “It looks good. Let me have some.” He says, reaching over with his wooden chopsticks.

You gasp at his suddenness, quick to refuse and to drag your plate away from him as you pick up a short rib and eat it before he can. The meat tastes wonderfully marinated and tender, and you don’t realize that the haphazard way you tried to eat it left some sauce on your mouth. Heeseung glances over with a frown, about to comment on how incredibly stingy you are until he notices there’s red sauce on your chin, and grabs his tissue.

“Here.” He says, tapping you on the shoulder. And silently, he wipes it off, to make sure you won’t have to walk around with people seeing and saying anything.

“Oh- thanks.” It’s pathetic the way your throat dries up, and how you force yourself to drink your water and move on. You hear about this only in movies- about male leads you turn to burns and wax poetic about how much they love you. You don’t expect it to happen so suddenly.

“Is yours any good?” You ask, averting your gaze. His fried eggs and boiled shrimp sit neatly on his stir fried noodles, the presentation better than you could ever make it at home.

With a shrug, he replies, “We’ll see.” He tries some, and you see a satisfied grin on his features.

“Is ramen really that good, Hee?” His enthusiastic nods tell you all you need to know as you continue eating, your pile of bones growing ever so slowly. You two make small talk, about his recent beach trip, or about you rafting with your friends. He talks of college- about going away and his fears of growing up. You tell him you’re scared to dorm, since you’ve been around your family for so long, and you share each other’s sentiments about the rapidly approaching adulthood you’ll both have to face. It’s nice like this, not to bicker and to argue and to despise him. It’s nice to just exist around Lee Heeseung, and you wonder why you haven’t done something like this before- sitting next to him and being able to talk freely about the interests and questions you share.

You guess that it was just the timing- you were both always so stressed from school, unable to properly sit down to sort out your emotions. And yeah- summer is a new slate, and this year feels just a bit more life-changing than the rest of them.

“You eat so slow.” And you shoot him yet another scowl, picking up some rice.

“You ordered ramen and you eat like you’ve been starved for three years.”

“Whatever. I’ll cover the bill?”

Narrowing your eyes, you try to remember if you two had discussed anything about payments before. “No- I thought we were just going to split the bill.”

He doesn’t seem to care too much. “I’ll pay for you, since I couldn’t have done it without you,” refering to all the baking you did today.

Exasperated, you refute his horrible reasoning. “I wouldn’t have even found out about her order if you weren’t there. Just let me split it.” You reach out expectantly, and he retracts the receipt, clutching it close.

“Just pay me back sometime for something else,” and it’s the last thing he says before turning on his heel and leaving you with your agape.

When you clean up and join him in the car, the first thing you tell him is that he’s ‘annoying,’ and ‘so stubborn it hurts.’

Heeseung just laughs at you, telling you it’s nothing special- like he’s used to paying for others. And thinking about how many people come in to ask him for his number or hope for a date, your assumption makes sense- that he does these things for everyone, and you’re not an outlier in any way.

When the bakery is one chestnut haired boy short, things are much less interesting.

“Don’t have too much fun without me.” You joke when Heeseung begins to undo his apron.

“You can come,” He offers with a small yet sincere smile on his face. “I asked, you all know each other anyways.” You feel your heart stir with the way Heeseung keeps you in his thoughts.

All you do is refuse his offer. “I have to rewatch my rom-coms.” You wave him off, and within minutes, you’re left alone. The quiet music plays and the bell jingles every so often as patrons come for pick-up orders or drinks. Thankfully it was slow for a Friday, and you weren’t rushing around the shop.

There’s a girl who’s around your age who walks in, curious as to who’s taking her order before making eye contact with you emerging from behind the curtain.

“Where’s the boy you usually work with?” She says, getting a list of what her and her friends wanted. “I’ve been meaning to ask for his number.”

You can’t lie and say you’re indifferent to her question, but nonetheless, you take her order and give her his phone number saved in his contact. “He’s not dating anyone, so don’t worry.” You tell her, handing over the receipt. She smiles, and your heart tightens a little at the thought of Heeseung. One of you two is well-liked, one out of the two of you is perfect in every way, and it wasn’t you.

Without any of your usual weekly plans with your friends, the drive home was quiet as you figured out what to do for the weekend. You would feel bad every time your grandma had to take a shift despite her recovering quickly, and despite her being excited to work again. When home, you decide to make dinner, change, clean up around the house, and retreat to your old room. The show you were catching up on until the wee hours of night was interrupted, and a familiar contact flashes on the screen.

“Heeseung?” You ask, confused. It’s 12:00 AM.

“____-ie.” The line giggles a bit before you hear some shuffling. “My head hurts.”

You’re a bit shocked to hear him like this, but you’re not going to hang up on him and leave him confused. “Did you drink too much?” You ask, trying to choose your words carefully.

“Yeah,” Heeseung responds, sighing. “I lost a bet, _____. And I lost cup pong, too.” He sounds dejected, like a hurt puppy as he elongates his syllables and pauses between thoughts. “I was going to tell you something.”

“That you can’t come in for work tomorrow? You sound out of it, Heeseung.”

He groans, and more shuffling comes from his side. “Yeah, but I can’t drive, ____-ie.” You cringe at the nickname, but refuse to say anything about it with the way he’s acting now. “No one else can take me home, and my parents can’t know.” He sounds stressed, and you’re quick to reassure him before he starts crying.

“Where are you?”

“You’ll pick me up?” Heeseung asks, his tone filled with elation.

“Maybe. Depends on how I feel in the next 10 minutes.”

“I’ll cover your shifts anytime, I’ll drive you home, I’ll buy food for you, I’ll sneak you out…” He continues to ramble about all the favors he could do for you, and you laugh before getting out of bed.

“You better mean it.”

“I want to see you.” You know he just wants to go home, you know he doesn’t mean anything else with his words. You know he just wants to sober up and go to sleep.

You know it’s nothing more between you two, yet your heart still beats wildly with every minute you drive, the words echoing in your head.

“I got you water, and some food- I have no idea if you ate or not.” Is the first thing you tell him when he stumbles out of the house and into your car.

Heeseung’s one drowsy blink away from falling asleep, and you have to shake him away to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep with a hangover. “Hee!” You rush to park on a random sidewalk before unbuckling your seatbelt.

You brush back his red hair, pushing his curly bangs away and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He slowly blinks, adjusting to the proximity between you two. You shove a water bottle in his hand before getting a tissue to wipe the light sheen off of his skin.

“What are you doing, hm?” And his voice, rough with exhaustion, has you quiet for a moment as your skin gets hot.

Despite your heart thrumming faster, you force yourself to answer simply. “You’re going to have a hangover.”

He opens his water, drinking almost a third before he leans back. “My head still hurts.” He whines, and you have to laugh.

“Here,” you suggest, opening the tupperware of fried rice. “Eat.”

He refuses, continuing to drink from his water, and you don’t have it in you to be annoyed at him. Instead, you grab a spoon. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” You mumble, starting to break up the fried egg and mix it all together.

After the first bite, “It’s good,” He says simply. “I’m glad I got to see you.”

You feel the incessant pounding in your eardrums and your whole face feels hot. “Eat, before you throw up.”

“I missed you.” Despite the harmless intention, you can’t stand to let Heeseung sweet-talk you, and it almost frustrates you to know there’s no weight to his words.

You roll your eyes at him and force him to finish his water. “Sober up before you get home.”

In the quiet of the night, in the small neighborhood with everyone asleep, no one would know about the loudness of your chest, about how his eyes still hold his twinkle as he gazes tiredly at you, letting him dote on him.

You continue to make sure he drinks and eats, and you’re so engrossed in taking care of him that you don’t realize how little the distance is between you. Making eye contact with him leaves you stunned into silence, but Heeseung says nothing to dispel what’s between you two. He reaches up, his palm cupping your jaw, and you swear, past the alcohol, there’s the faint fresh scent of the ocean, one that you recognize from being around him so often.

You hold your breath, keeping the box in your steady as you wait for what he’s about to do next. He stares in silent question, glancing only to your lips and back up. It’s like time doesn’t even pass anymore, like a moment written in eternity when you brush away some of his hair.

You swear you’re about to kiss Lee Heeseung for the first time in your life.

Instead, you cough and duck from his intimate stare, and he pulls away. The heat of his thumb still lingers on your cheek, and the way he looks at you doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re feeling better, right? I’ll drive you home.”

The wind whips against your window and the streets lay bare as you turn into his neighborhood. It’s all you can do. You can’t be in love, not with Heeseung.

Heeseung texts you profusely the next day, apologizing before he leaves the house to see you in person. ‘i’m sorry if anything happened last night, please let me know if I overstepped a boundary,’ and despite his words being through text, your mouth feels like it’s dried up, and that you have no idea what to tell him. You send him something vague about driving yourself, nothing that alludes to how your heart raced and skipped a few beats, and how you still think about the gentle way he caresses your jaw.

How are you supposed to pretend things were the same? Like you weren’t watching him, like his gaze wasn’t with care, and his touches were not electric. How could you pretend that you weren’t slowly falling for Lee Heeseung?

“Did I,” He starts as he rushes through the door. “Did I do something wrong?”

Shaking your head, you continue to crush up the cookies in their topping container. “I just don’t want to bother you with driving me around anymore.”

“But you’re not a bother.” Heeseung can barely recall what happened yesterday, and he doesn’t know what caused your sudden lack of interest with your texts from the morning. “Look, ____-”

In a desperate attempt to push down your unreturned feelings and return things to how they were, you cut him off. “Heeseung, drop it.”

The day stretches for an eternity, and Heeseung knows something’s wrong. As one last chance to fix things before he goes, he speaks up. “Please, what did I do?”

And you want to oh-so desperately tell him that last night, you were about to kiss, that the distance between you two was so finite and the way he looked at you had your stomach churning with butterflies. That somewhere, you realized just how similar you two were- that Lee Heeseung understood hard work, he paid attention to the little things, he related to and comforted you in the times that you felt like you were never enough. And those are just the handful of reasons why. You never knew just how well you truly knew him until you evaluated the years you’ve spent together. Some things you pick up subconsciously; like the way he fidgets or nervously smiles when a girl asks for his number, or the way he always looks back at you when he rejects her advances. It’s weird how quickly the knots that made your relationship so complicated suddenly untangle. It’s really just this long windy string that connects you and him, and within the miscommunication, it’s gone awry.

You and him are in the same vein, and with how much time you spend with each other, it’d be criminal if you didn’t slowly fall for the way he sings along the radio or how he started to open your door. He cares, in all of the minuscule tiny ways that make your heart ache so terribly. “Nothing, it’s…” It’s almost sick how your mind immediately wanders to some stupid scenario where you and Heeseung ended whatever was going on between you two, and you admitted feelings to each other. Heeseung drives you around in his car, Heeseung comes to your house with baked goods he made himself, Heeseung’s eyes glitter when you two get good scores on a test, telling you how happy he is. “It’s just nothing.” You tell him, not really sure what to make of your feelings at all. And while your emotions towards the boy are new and fresh, they're so real- it snowballs fast.

“It’s not nothing if something’s changed between us.” He reasons, a look in his eye begging you to explain.

“It should be nothing, Heeseung. We’ve never gotten along, so what’s the difference now?” The words leave a burn on your tongue, and you hate the way Heeseung looks away for a moment before he agrees.

“Right.” He says, monotone and lifeless. “Why bother?”

And you’re angry with yourself for the way you nod, taking your things. You want to scream in his face that you’ve begun to tolerate Lee Heeseung, in more ways than one. You don’t just tolerate him- you appreciate him, you care for him, you want him to be yours.

“Okay- Hee, wait.” You falter in your decisions, your heartstrings pulling you in an enchanting way towards him- against all rational. “I’m sorry.” You can’t let a good thing go, you can’t risk never talking to him again, simply because you don’t know what it’s like to live life without him. You see him in every memory, in every class photo, and you can’t bear to be the reason you two stop talking- all because you were too scared to speak your mind.

He turns around, waiting for you to continue, crossing his arms as he proceeds to lean against the counter. If you were honest with yourself, you’d admit that Lee Heeseung is one of the most attractive people you’ve met.

“Do you mean it?” You ask, feeling foolish. He should be asking you that- after what you’ve just told him.

Heeseung takes a step closer, his gaze on the ground as he nears the cash register, slowly closing the distance between you two.

“Do you mean it?” He asks, his voice small. There’s still space between you two, and it feels like oceans apart. And you soak up his words for consideration, truly questioning if you did.

“No, Heeseung-“ You stare at the blinds, looking around the space only to realize just how secluded you two were- that no one outside of the bakery would know just what loops and hurdles you two had been through to get here. “I could never. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Is it true, then? That we get along, now?” His slow steps finally leave the crunching of his shoes in front of you, and you nod your head. And after he sees your confirmation, he continues. “How do you feel about me, ____?”

Your surprised gaze meets his, and you see the small smile on his lips, and the almost playful look in his eye indicating that he’s not really hurt anymore.

“I hate you, Lee Heeseung.” You say, emboldened by his teasing. “I hated you for spilling all of that applesauce on me when we were eight, I hate how you get along with everyone, I hate how you act like you’re better than me.” You pause, to think of more, but his hand reaches up to cup your chin, pointing up to make sure you’re looking at him.

“I hate all that humming you do at work,” you start, your voice small, feeling shy now that he’s forced to make eye contact (which is extremely attractive and turns your legs into jelly). “Or your piping skills, or how good your macarons taste compared to mine.”

Heeseung is so dangerously close, like how you were just last night. “What else?” He goads you on, wanting to hear just how much more you have left.

“I hate everything about you,” You barely murmur above a whisper with him being so close to you. “But I’d hate it if you didn’t return my feelings, either.”

He smiles, finally hearing you admit the very things that’s been plaguing your relationship with the idea of more.

“Anything more to add?”

You scoff, reaching up and tangling your hands in his hair. The last thing that reaches Lee Heeseung’s ears are the words, “You’re so annoying,” before you crash your lips into his.

Your kiss with Heeseung satisfies a longing that’s lasted for a while- to know what it felt like to be so close to him, to kiss his rosy lips just once. It’s tantalizing- the way you can’t pull away, and the way he doesn’t let you with how his hand rests on your lower back to pull you closer. When your hold on his hair loosens slightly, he gingerly lets you lean back. Your forehead comes to rest with his as you open your eyes, letting out a slow breath as you think about the ghost of his kiss on your lips. He’s hesitant to separate from you completely, and rests his hand on your waist instead.

You smile, biting your lip so you don’t giggle like an excited girl who’s just told her friends about a measly interaction with her crush. Your heart feels like a floating balloon, and your lips stretch into a grin, prompting Heeseung to smile at you, too.

An idiot. That’s what you both look like. But when Lee Heeseung presses a small kiss on your forehead and intertwines your fingers, you couldn’t care less.

“Heeseung, stop piping heart macarons, it’s embarrassing.” He rolls his eyes at you and adjusts the piping bag with red macaron batter inside.

He mimics you childishly, and you want to scoop the lemon curd to plop on his head. “Stop piping heart macarons, yeah, okay, so why do I see you eating them?”

“I don’t. I’d never.” You’re lying, and you both know that, but Heeseung entertains your false narrative a bit more.

“I’ll have you know, the lady at the law firm a few blocks down came here earlier and ordered some of them.” He retorts. You stick your tongue out at him and continue to mix the drink you’ve been preparing.

“What does she want them for, hm? I can imagine she’s in the season of love in July.” He laughs at your childish comment, continuing to pipe out almost identical hearts onto the baking sheet.

“Maybe she loves her partner so much and wants to shower them in affection.” He grins, alluding to your relationship. You want to flick him across the forehead, rolling your eyes and walking over after finishing your drink for a to-go order.

With an elbow on the counter, you watch him from the side as he diligently fills in the heart outlines. “You’ve always liked my macarons, though.” He reminds you. “Remember? You said it when we k-“

“Can you shut up about that?” You cut him off, feeling embarrassed. “It was like- a month ago.”

It’s your exasperation that fuels him to tease you further. “It was a good kiss, was it n-“

You bump his shoulder, and he messes up one of the macarons, pausing before looking up at you. “Hey!” He whines, frowning. “These are supposed to be for that lawyer, remember?”

You roll your eyes, and you know when Heeseung lies through his teeth. “Yeah, yeah,” You mutter, using a clean finger to wipe at the edge to make it look nice once more. You play along with his lie. “And we definitely fell in love because of cupid.”

my baby is done!! as always pleaseeeeee let me know what you think!! even if it is just 'hdefhjfhds' that means the world to me!!!

reblogs are appreciated!! reblogs w comments are da best and asks !! let me know what you think NO JUDGEMENT!

tagging @sumzysworld !

send ask or dm if you'd like to be added to my perm taglist

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jinmindeulle · 4 months ago

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svt as your baby daddies | maknae line (pt. 2)

you are back from your work trip!

°⨳°·..·°⨳°⊹٭ seokmin ٭⊹°⨳°·..·°⨳° (part 1 here)

When your boss told you that you had efficiently finished your work earlier, and that she was even going to pay the fee so you could get on your flight a day in advance, you almost hugged her.

You had decided not to tell your husband so you could surprise your family.

As it was pretty early in the morning when you got back to Seoul, you resolved to get breakfast as well. A few blocks from your home, there was this bakery your daughter absolutely loved, so you got some sweet treats for your favorite people in the whole world.

An instant after opening the door, your mouth fell open. The mess of toys around the living room was a sight you have never had the pleasure of seeing. You knew your daughter to be pretty active when it came to her playing activities, but this was something different — it seemed like Seokmin had decided to put all of her toys in one place so she could easily grab them without whining for one of them. Honestly… you couldn’t blame him.

Trying to dodge as many objects as possible, especially those evil looking legos, you made your way towards the kitchen and prepared the table so breakfast looked homey and delicious. Needing a quick shower before anything else, you walked upstairs to your room, which was suspiciously empty, bed done and all. You shrugged, knowing your husband better than anyone else, he would be in one place and one place only.

Fresh out of the shower, you headed to Kimmy’s bedroom. And what you saw almost made you tear up.

Seokmin was a big man for that tiny crib, but yet he still had managed to pull the barrier down and sleep the night with his toddler clung to his arm, half of his body pretty much touching the floor.

Kimmy was the first one to move, and when you got closer and was able to see you, she sleepily sat up and made grabby hands at you, her pacifier still attached to her mouth.

“Hello my baby girl” you cooed at her, taking her from the crib and smelling her baby scent. “Oh, I missed you” you hugged her softly, and she placed her head on your shoulder.

The movement had finally woken your husband up, and the moment he saw you standing by his side, he almost fell to the floor. “What?!” he yelled, too loud for your liking.

“Surprise!” you giggled, feeling small as he engulfed you in a tight family hug.

“I was going mad without you” Seok kissed your forehead and you returned it, on his lips. “Please keep surprising me like this”

“I’ll work hard” you smiled, finally feeling complete.

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ mingyu ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸ (part 1 here)

You parked your car on your driveway not expecting your family to be back home. You knew that Mingyu was busy shooting for Calvin Klein, and he had dropped Minha off with his sister. He usually took quite some time with those schedules, so when you saw him standing on the porch with your daughter in his arms, your eyes lit up.

“My babies!” you jumped out of the car seat, running to your family and hugging them with all the love you had been saving for them.

“Momma's back baby!” your husband kissed her cheek and after looking at you like you were the most precious woman in the world, he leaned in to kiss your lips.

“Yuck daddy!” Minha took both of your chins with her small hands and pushed you away from each other.

“But I missed mommy!” Mingyu pouted “I can kiss her because she is my wife”

“But she is my mommy!”

“Okay you two, there’s mommy for everyone” you giggled, taking your daughter from Mingyu’s arms and peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses “Did you have fun with auntie?”

“Yeah! She bought me a new Barbie doll!” and with that, she wiggled herself out of your hold to run inside and get her new acquisition.

“Finally” Mingyu sighed, and with the biggest dorky smile, took you by the waist and kissed you properly. “Just like when we were dating” he murmured against your lips.

“We kiss like that all the time, dummy” you chuckled, embracing him back and caressing his lower back with your fingernails.

“Not when missy is around” he pouted, taking a strand of hair out of your face. “She’s a jealous fellow”

You knew your daughter to be very protective of the relationship she had with your husband on the one hand, and with you on the other. She liked you being together, but when the attention was not on her, things got complicated.

“When should we tell Minnnie?” you looked up at him, and he instinctively placed a hand on your tummy. “It’s about to start showing”

Before answering anything else, Mingyu made sure your daughter was still out of sight and kneeled down to say hi to his unborn baby “Hi my angel, it’s daddy. Hope you treated mommy well these days” after kissing your belly over the fabric of your dress, he stood back up and brought you back to his hold. “Maybe next week? We could get her something and tell her that her new brother or sister sent it”

“You’re a smartass”

“Apart from handsome, may I add”

Minhee crossed the door frame with a bunch of Barbie dolls and started playing with them in the front yard, totally ignoring her lovebird parents — another sign of how annoyed she was at not being the center of attention.

“Missy’s haircut looks better now”

“See?” Gyu leaned back down and kissed your nose. “You were being too picky!”

“You took her to another hair salon, didn’t you?” When he let you go and headed towards your car to get your suitcase out, you had to laugh. “Don’t run away from me Kim Mingyu! I know you better than myself!”

¸„٭⊹✡•~⍣°”ˆ˜¨ minghao ¨˜ˆ”°⍣~•✡⊹٭„¸ (part 1 here)

You tried your best to look as airportfashionable as possible because you knew that Minghao always checked you out — and this time you wanted to earn the compliment. He could be too good to you sometimes.

It was nothing out of your style though, but you made a little effort to choose the best one that could still be comfortable for an eight hour long flight.

As tired as you were, seeing your family waiting for you hand in hand gave you back the energy to run to them and hug them tightly.

“Mommy!” Lian jumped up and down, embracing your legs and looking up to you. You failed to see the heart eyes she was giving you as you kissed your husband’s cheek. “I made you a drawing!”

As soon as you kneeled down to her height, she proudly showed it to you. It was a crayon drawing of your little family — she was in between you and Hao, hand in hand, and on the sky there was a big rainbow with “My family” written in three languages — Mandarin, Korean and English.

“That’s an incredible drawing, baby” you squished her cheeks and after kissing her forehead, you hugged her with all your might.

“Oh? Babe please stand up” you heard Hao tapping your shoulder.

“Yessir” rapidly understanding why he had asked you to do that, you stood back up and twirled. “You like it?”

“And you tell me you don’t know how to dress yourself up?” he took you from the waist and shook his head, giving you a soft smile “You are too mean to you sometimes, love”

“I’m sorry but you outdo my efforts every time! I have to try a little harder to impress you” you shrugged, taking his cheeks with your hands and pecking his lips.

“Let’s go home, huh?” Minghao giggled, taking your hand and grabbing your bag with the other. “Liannie, take mommy’s hand, it’s too crowded”

Your obedient daughter followed her father’s instructions, and you watched with delight as she skipped and sang with happiness. “Did you choose your outfit today?” you asked her, admiring her summer flowery dress matched with the flower laces on her hair.

“I did, but daddy helped me with the hair!”

“The hair too?” you opened your eyes to show your surprise, and when your husband’s cheeks tinted a soft shade of pink, you had to give a fake disappointed sigh “I leave for two days and my husband replaces me so easily”

“Don’t you dare!” he let go of the hold on your hand and tickled you on the side “No one replaces my wifey.”

٭⊹¤.•⨳•.☆✬ seungkwan ✬☆.•⨳•.¤⊹٭ (part 1 here)

Your home was unbelievably quiet for a Friday night. You knew Taehun liked to sleep early, so you assumed Seungkwan had joined him — by how hard single parenting had been for him, you couldn’t blame him for falling asleep as soon as his child did.

You left your bags before tiptoeing your way into Taehun’s room, but you didn’t even have to reach the door when you heard father and son discussing very important business.

“... to shower everyday?” your son’s voice was heard, a curious cutesy tone.

“Because,” your husband started “you don’t want to be smelly when you play with your friends”

“Or when mama arrives”

Kwan let out a sigh and you had to hold your laugh. Taehun was really talking about you every second of the waking day.

“Mhm. She would be very upset if you hugged her all dirty”

“Would you be upset if I hugged you all dirty?”

“Of course I would. We are a clean family, Taehun-ah”

“Will I ever have a brother?” The randomness of the questions were adorable and concerning at the same time, but coming from a Boo, it was nothing that could surprise you.

He had asked a couple of times before, especially after your sister had her second child, but you had tried to brush it off. Your and Seungkwan’s schedules were hard to deal with already on their own, and after Tae arrived to the world you had been juggling with work, family, and husband-wife time. However, you had never discussed it with Kwan, so before you interrupted their little moment, you had to hear his answer.

“You know how hard it is for mama and I to be with you all the time, mhm?” he explained with that father tone you loved “Another baby is a biiiig responsibility. We have to find more time to care for him or her”

“But papa, I can help!” you had to put your hand on your mouth to silence your enamoured gasp. That kid was all you had ever wished for.

“I know, baby” Kwan laughed, “If it were up to me, I would have ten kids with mommy”

“That’s a lot,” Taehun whined, not really liking the answer. “But mama is the best mommy.”

“I’m sorry, who’s the best?” you couldn’t handle it anymore, so as soon as you came in, two pairs of arms engulfed you in the most awaited hug.

“Mommy!”

“Hi honey” Seungkwan had a shine in his eyes that you had so much missed. Before taking Tae from the floor, he gave you a kiss and whispered his ultimate favorite words to tell you. “The love of my life”

The way he always had heart eyes for you melted your heart. “I love you” you answered, and turned to your son “Did you shower, little bean?”

“I smell fresh and clean just for you, mama!”

·.★·.·´¯·.·★ hansol ★·.·´¯·.·★.· (part 1 here)

Hansol had texted you the day before that he would be busy recording some content with the guys, and your father, the only other person who could have picked you up, was on holiday — so you had to go back home on your own. You quickly decided to head to the taxi area, too tired to wait for the bus.

When you stepped out, a cold breeze hit you, and you hugged yourself to wait in the line of people. You were too concentrated on watching the taxis come and go, timing them so you could calculate how much you’d have to wait, that you didn’t notice when a man stood up from a nearby bench and positioned himself next to you, hiding his face behind a flower bouquet.

You glared at him when you finally saw him, and not only after having lowered the flower arrangement down to his nose, did you realise who that was.

“What the hell” you chuckled, taking the bouquet from his hands and eagerly accepting the hug he engulfed you in.

“Welcome back honey” he giggled, picking you up from the floor in the process.

“Why did you lie?” you asked, and as soon as he released you from his tight grip you faced him. Oh, how much you had missed your husband’s face.

“Because,” he started, taking a strand of hair out of your face. “It’s been a while since I last gave you a surprise. Or bought you flowers”

“Is this because I finally gave in and bought you that keychain?” you raised an eyebrow.

“It might” he teased, and after pressing a shy kiss to your lips, he sighed “Nah. It’s because I love you”

“Oh wow, I may have to leave you guys more often. You were calling me boring two days ago and now I get all this praise” your mouth curved into a smile.

“I want to make sure you get the complete Hansol package” he nodded, taking your hand and your suitcase with the other, leading you back to the parking lot. “And Myeon is on a school trip to the museum, so I still have a few hours to provide you with the real full package” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“I like the sound of that” you giggled, “You do deserve that keychain”

“Getting you as my gift is enough”

“Oh my God, my husband, the Last Romantic”

“Don’t forget that when I call you boring and send you even more boring selfies”

`✵•.¸,✵°✵.｡.✰ chan ✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵´ (part 1 here)

Chan was a fast man, but that night he was three times faster than usual. You weren’t even able to pass the last security check when you noticed a man waving both of his hands to your direction, then picking up your son and having him wave at you as well.

“You have a beautiful family, dear” the old woman that was waiting in line in front of you gave you a polite smile, and you gave her a small bow.

“Thank you ma’am, I really do” you smiled, feeling the anticipation of having both of your boys back in your arms after three days.

“Look! That’s eomma right there!” After getting all your stuff screened, you picked it from the moving platform and headed their way.

“Hello my beautiful boys!” you took Seojoon from your husband's arms and kissed his cheeks, your favorite activity as his mama. “How’s my little baby?”

“Eomma” and just like that, he started crying, clinging to you like a baby koala.

“I would cry too if I wasn’t a grown man” your husband shrugged, joining the hug and kissing your forehead multiple times. “How’s my baby?”

“Tired” you admitted, “but extremely happy to see you both”

“Let’s get you home then, we can order dinner and cuddle the rest of the night” Chan nodded, reassuring you. You smiled and tiptoed just a little to peck his lips.

“Thank you, appa”

Before finally getting started with your trip back home, your little personal koala had a hard time letting you go. “Baby, you need to sit in your chair.” you caressed the back of his head, looking at Chan with a desperate expression.

“Joonie, will you be okay if mommy sits next to you?”

“No!” he whined, hiding his face on your neck, avoiding his father’s gaze.

“Lovie” you sighed “It’s just a short ride. As soon as we get home, you will cuddle eomma and appa as much as you want”

“No! I want eomma now!”

“Okay” Chan moved to open the passenger seat’s door and took the one and only item that could make your son hesitate a little from the glove compartment. “Do you want your banana milk?”

The magic words worked with ease — he lifted his head and looked at his father like he held the universe in his hands. When he nodded, you quickly followed the plan. “If you let go of mommy and you sit in your chair, then you can have it” his slight nod was answer enough for you to hurry and proceed with solving the issue.

“He really is the banana milk guy”

And as much as you hated that nickname, that night you couldn’t help but agree with your husband. You were raising a banana milk enthusiast.

hyung line here!

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ seventeen masterlist ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸

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hyunsvngs · 9 months ago

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halloscream

was it chan in the hotel with the gun?

warnings 🔪: they’re both as fucked up as eachother, unprotected sex (i normally dont say anything but PLEASE don’t do this with someone you just met), desperation, d/s dynamics, chan is MEAN, degradation, a few lines of daddy kink, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, GUNPLAY

you’ve always been a light sleeper. ever since you were young, the faintest rattling of the wind through your window would arise you from your slumber, and tonight is no different. you doubt your intruder had expected you to wake - in fact, the figure stalls next to your bed as your limbs slide over the expensive hotel sheets.

you’re not scared. when your eyes focus, the man is dressed head to toe in black stealth gear, harness gripping those toned muscles that he’s strutting around with. it’s ridiculous, really. only you could have a hot potential murderer in your room in the early hours of the morning.

“hello,” you speak, finally. he tilts his head. he’s got a mask covering the bottom half of his face. it means that you can only see his eyes, but regardless, they narrow. he’s assessing you, and by the way they relax, you’re convinced of one thing - it’s not you he’s looking for. “who are you?”

he doesn’t say anything. you watch him turn to the window, then back to you. when you sit up, the oversized shirt you’re wearing rucks up your thighs. his gaze immediately lands on them. oh.

you’re not new to sex with strangers. this is a little unusual for you though. it’s a feeling that only worsens when you see his fingers wrap around the gun attached to his harness.

okay, you’re a little fucked up. but you can’t ignore the dampening of your pussy in your panties, and you’ve always made a point of always going for what you want.

“you’re still gonna kill me?” you question, and if you let the blanket slide down your legs a little more to distract him then that’s only for you to know. “even when i’m not who you’re meant to kill. you’re still going to kill me?”

he falters. the hand slides from the object, and when you squint, the streetlights coming through the curtains highlight it just enough for you to know. it’s a pistol. you know that it’s loaded - why wouldn’t it be?

“you’re good at reading people,” his voice is muffled, but you can hear it. he has a thick australian accent, but the pitch is low, almost threatening. it doesn’t matter. you know he’s intrigued, and you let your head rest against the headboard, thighs shifting apart just a tiny bit. one arched eyebrow raises, dark eyes fixating on the space between your legs. “by the looks of it, you’re good at seducing people too. is that right?”

“so it’s working?” you let yourself smile, soft but enough to make him shuffle towards you. his boots are heavy, but he’s somehow quiet. experienced, you guess, in whatever you want to call it - being a hitman, assassin, mercy killer? “tell me your name.”

“no,” he’s quicker, knees shuffling against the sheets. his face gets closer to yours, still partially obscured, and you quiver under his gaze. he’s sexy. you’re going to fuck a man that intended on killing you only minutes ago. “i don’t need to know yours either.”

“no, you don’t,” you agree. he’s situated between your legs now, and you can feel it, the familiar press of a hard, throbbing erection against your cotton clad folds. it makes you grin wider, hands moving down to his belt. he lets you wrangle the black cargos off of toned thighs, pushing them down past his knees, and your hand dips into his boxers to feel him.

the first touch of your fingers against the silky skin of his cock makes him tremble, just barely losing his composure, and the grip you form around his thick shaft is enough to make his hands finally move to you. he’s big, heavy in your hand. two wide palms impatiently shove your shirt up, exposing heaving tits and a trembling tummy, and he’s quick to move them back down to yank your underwear off.

“i don’t have long. i have places to be,” he explains, fingertips darting between your folds. you’re wet, of course you are. your folds clack together around his digits, clit peeking out, swollen and throbbing. this entire thing is like something out of your deepest, darkest fantasies. clenching and unclenching, your hole attempts to suck his fingertips in during his inspection, and he grunts in approval. it’s almost funny how quickly he loses his control. “filthy fucking bitch. how wet can you be for someone like me? a murderer? someone who could- who could kill you at any point?”

“p-put it in,” you’re stammering. he ignores you, two fingers moving up to brush against your clit. you keep messily pumping his cock, feeling it leak into your palm as he only gets harder, shaky breaths exhaling from behind the mask. you moan so loud in response that his eyes crinkle with a smile. “god, won’t you- won’t you put it in? please, you s-said you don’t have long!”

“it’s gonna hurt,” he warns, but his hands leave you to push his black boxers down. your own palms fall to the sheets, thighs spreading far, far apart to allow the man to get where he needs to be. his hand moves to pump his shaft himself, eyes situated on your exposed core. you’re going to let a stranger fuck you unprotected. you’ve never felt so dirty, but it makes your pussy clench. “you want it to hurt, don’t you?”

“yes,” you whine, pussy aching. you want nothing more than to reach down and rub circles on your clit until you’re shaking apart around nothing, but the man slaps his cockhead against the bundle of nerves to focus you. you twitch, thigh jolting against his hip. “put it inside, please, please-“

a strong bicep braces next to your head, and his figure crowds into your space once more. he slides his cock down to your hole, wet and soppy and aching, and the tip just barely slides in.

“oh- oh fuck? god, it’s big, so fucking big-“

“d-don’t you know anything about being quiet?” he’s affected too, sliding the next few inches in. it makes you jolt again, and he moves to press his hands against your hips. the position change keeps you in place, sure, but it means he pushes inside of you fully, and the pressing of him against your cervix makes you wail. the stretch is almost too much, and you almost wish you’d listened and asked him to prep you beforehand.

you can’t help it. your brain is spiraling, and the more you try to squirm and whine and beg, he’s only holding you down firmer. his cock rests inside of you, unmoving. you want it. you want it, and you want so much more, and-

the barrel of his pistol presses against your temple. your eyes widen, and you’re immediately stilled. the metal is cool, and you don’t even know when he got it out of his harness, but you’re thankful he did. his finger rests on the trigger.

“will you stay still now?” his voice is calm, measured. you don’t nod, or move, or anything really - this is enough for the man. he starts to rut into you steadily, a slow, deep pace that makes your eyes roll back into your head. “yeah, that’s it. such a good girl.”

“does it f-feel good for you?” you moan, pussy clamping down on his cock. it makes him speed up just enough to let the squelching sounds of your core reverberate around the room, and your cheeks blaze crimson with embarrassment. you’re this wet over a murderer that you just met.

he nods in response to you, making the mask shift lower on his face, exposing his nose. it gives you a clearer vision of what he looks like - dark chocolate eyes, a large nose that juts out proudly, and what you can assume are a plump, soft set of lips. he’s beautiful.

“i-i’m not scared,” you manage to tell him, because honestly, you’re not. he huffs, gun pressing firmer into your head. your pussy gushes around his cock. his pace speeds up, quicker and harder. you want to cum so bad that it’s making tears bite at your eyes.

“really? you’re not?” he pushes your legs up, lets them fall over the pits of his elbows. it spreads you out, bent almost completely in half, and his cock in your pussy starts to make a wet clacking noise. it only turns you on more, clit throbbing for attention. you’re certain he’d actually shoot you if you moved to touch it.

there’s a clicking next to your head. he’s cocked the gun, turned the safety off. you moan, hands finally moving to his waist to pull him into you. his pubic bone starts to grind against your clit, the trimmed hairs just the stimulation you need, and you whine and buck upwards into him.

“i could s-shoot you,” he groans, eyebrows furrowed, almost in disbelief. “i could kill you right now. i bet if i pulled the trigger, you’d cum before you died.”

“oh my god!” you squeal, hands still pulling at him. he lets you, crowding further into your space, eyes staring down at the way your pussy lets his cock drill you over and over. it’s too much. his finger braces on the trigger once again, and your nipples brush against the thick material of his all black long sleeve. they’re so hard it hurts, and you just want to cum - you’re not above throwing a tantrum whether he has a gun or not. you just need a little more. “please. please, i wanna cum, i wanna cum-“

“can you cum from this?” it’s a genuine question, and he shifts his hips, moving to pummel that spot deep inside of you. it makes you squeal, pussy gushing steadily around him. it’s almost enough. his hand moves on the gun again. is he going to? “answer me, fuckin’ whore. can you cum from this? yes or no. it’s not hard.”

he sounds wholly unaffected, and you want to cry. “yes! yes, i can, i can- please, keep going, i’m close, i’m close-“

“awh, baby. you’re close, i know, i can feel it,” his thighs bounce him into you. it’s just quick enough and just hard enough that you feel it building, and you’re almost there. “i can feel that fuckin’ pussy clenching on me, shit. fuck, you- you ready?”

you don’t know what you’re agreeing to, but you nod nonetheless, fingers scrabbling at his skin, and then you hear it. he pulls the trigger, and your orgasm ripples through you like an electrocution - your back arches into him, core spraying your release all over the base of his tummy. you think you’ve soaked his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. as soon as your orgasm is beginning to end, he grips your hips and yanks you towards him, pistoning in and out of your pussy to chase his own release.

once you’re in your right mind, you can understand that he in fact did not kill you. the chamber was empty, and the gun gets discarded to the side of the bed, no longer useful. by the time you come to, the blush has spread higher and higher until it’s visible on the apples of his cheeks, and you know he’s nearly there.

“cum inside of me, please,” you breathe, thighs still trembling. “give me something to remember you by.”

he huffs, grunts under his breath, and his hips press into you. you can feel the pressure of his balls, and then he spills inside of you, so deep that your toes curl.

you want him to see it. when he pulls out, cock softening, you drag one hand down your body to form a vee around sticky folds. his cum leaks out, albeit slowly, and the man can only stare, cock twitching in interest.

he sniffs, nose twitching. “alright baby, cut the act. channie’s back now.”

you stretch out your limbs. the hotel sheets were just as soft as they were before you and your boyfriend started this little act, and they feel even better on your overheated skin. chan rips the mask off of his face, and immediately surges over you to kiss your face.

“chan-nie-“ you giggle, foot kicking. he catches it and wraps your leg around his waist, still trying to catch your lips with his. he’s still got that damn tight shirt on, clinging to his muscles, and well - your pussy creams up a little, and you meet his kiss halfway.

“mm,” he moans, tongue clacking against yours. his breath spills against your lips when he pulls away to speak. “wanted to kiss you all the way through, honey. was it good? everything you imagined?”

“amazing. you’re amazing, daddy,” you murmur, and he smiles, satisfied. “the gun felt realistic.”

“oh, yeah?” his smile turns almost sinister, and his hands move to your thighs. “were you scared?”

“mm, a little,” you’re already letting your thighs fall apart. chan’s half hard again. you’re praying that you don’t get an extra charge from the hotel after this - the sheets are destroyed. “it is fake, right?”

chan giggles. two knobby fingers breach your glistening hole, down to the knuckle, and you squirm. “obviously, baby. who d’ya think i am?”

“i mean, i dunno? it was kinda convincing and- oh, daddy, right there.”

“that’s it, baby,” his voice is calm, level. “you don’t need to think about it.”

#juno’s fics ♡#bang chan x you #bang chan fic #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan x reader #chan fanfic #chan smut #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #chan fic

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Note

Helping rafe to use a fleshlight🫦

Helping Hand

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: SMUT and Sex Toys

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K

A/N: I did research for this and an info video for a fleshlight had me giggling. Like, tell me why it has erectile dysfunction aid.

Masterlist

Rafe wasn’t a prude. He liked to fuck just as much as the next guy; however, before Y/N, he had never used sex toys. His arrogance made him think that only guys who couldn’t get it up would use them.

She, on the other hand, loves the tools that can help heighten the pleasure for both of them. So she has been working toward getting him to bring the toys into their sex lives. It began with having him watch her use a vibrator. She used it to stimulate her clit, but when it came to penetration, Rafe stopped her and brought her to her release himself. The next step was being able to use a dildo to penetrate herself. It took everything in him not to take it out of her and throw it out the window. As she used the imitation dick, he got turned on by the sight. Maybe, letting her use the toys wasn’t so bad.

Rafe’s upcoming business trip has her scanning an adult toy website she can use while she is away. Her eyes land on a particular object and it catches her interest. This could be the perfect next step in her plan.

———

The night before his trip, he is folding clothes to pack. She tip-toes into the room in her purple silk nightgown that he leaves and her hands are behind her back. Déjà vu comes over him. He is familiar with this view. He rests the pants in the suitcase with a sigh, “What am I going to watch you fuck now? Is it one of those full dummy things? Please tell me it’s not that, they freak me out.” She giggles with a shake of her head. Her hair falls over her shoulders as she does. “Nope. Actually… it’s something for you,” she confesses, raising her hands to reveal the toy. His eyes narrow at the object.

It’s a black cone-shaped object. One end is rounded and the other is flatter with a bump as well as a red scoop-shaped thing attached to it. “What is that?” he questions. She steps forward with a bashful smile, spinning it around so he can clearly see the end with the scoop. “This is a fleshlight. One of the best on the market, Baby.” She hands it over to him so he can inspect it. He identifies the bump as an imposter labia and clit. In between, folds is a hole and looking inside of it shows tiny bumps. He moves on to the red scoop, which also has the same bumpy surface as the inside. “It’s a fleshlight,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck to place a kiss on his lips to butter him up. His eyes widen and he throws it onto the bed. “No, no way. I’m not using that.” She pouts and plays at the hair at the base of his neck. “Aww, come on. I bought it just for you, with my own money. Are you telling me you aren’t going to use my gift to you, Baby?” she whines. She looks up at him through her eyelashes and bats them in the way she knows gets him to do anything for her.

His bottom lip nestles between his teeth and he surrenders. “Fine. I’ll try it out.” She jumps up with small claps of her hand, “Yay! I promise you’ll love it. It will make phone sex so much better.” He doesn’t say anything and just strips down. He settles onto the bed with his back against the headboard. His head tilts to the corner of the bed across from him and she hops on. She rests her feet under her bum, spreading her legs so he can see her pantie-less pussy. “I wanna watch you use it.”

He obeys. His hand grabs the toy and he spits into his hand to help with the friction. After he rubs the saliva over his shaft, he replaces his hand with the toy. The silicone feels strange against him, unlike the warmth and wetness he is used to. It doesn’t feel pleasant, yet it doesn’t feel amazing either. He pumps himself a few times while staring right at her. He quickly gives up and throws the toy to the side. “There I tried it and I don’t like it. So, can you come here to take care of this,” he whines. She plays along, crawling over to him and throwing her legs over his hips. When he reaches down to line himself up, she leans over to his bedside table and pulls something out. She straightens up and shows him the bottle of lube and a remote control. “That’s because I was hiding one final piece of the puzzle.” She pours the liquid on his length, cupping it to spread it all over. Then, she guides the fleshlight onto him. He moans at the re-entry. She reaches between them and places his balls onto the red silicone.

She shifts so she is straddling one of his thighs and presses a button on the remote. It begins to vibrate. The intensity near his balls and tip has him thrusting slowly upward. She smirks at the motion. This is working. His eyes flick to her vagina and she begins to ride his thigh. Her moans add to his enjoyment and he doesn’t bother to hide his anymore. His hips speed up, causing her to giggle. “If you think this is good, wait until you feel what happens when I press this button,” she teases. Her finger hovers over it before applying pressure. The trinket works on its own to suck him into its grasp and the bristles brush against him. “Oh,” he lets out, grabbing onto her waist to give him something to do. She lets him help her move, “See, you like this.”

The muscles in the Adonis belt spasm and she knows what that means. She presses the button three more times, speeding up the pace of the toy. His thumb falls to her bud and he circles it at the same speed. She collapses onto him with her forehead against his shoulder as they are both brought over the edge. They both pant in silence while they come down from their highs. She leans back to look at him with a grin, “So, what do you think?”

“I think that maybe it doesn’t hurt to have a helping hand.”

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron smut

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xxxskipsgooner420xxx · 15 days ago

Text

I had this idea randomly that while the dateviators are recharging Skips would text you on Thiscord because you can’t see him face to face so here’s like a tiny fanfic:

Skips always showed his interest in roleplaying. The first time you met him, he was in his shadow form, which appeared to be some kind of persona. Or more so, fursona… when you brought him all those armaments that would help him show his true form, he turned out to be… some nerd? Later he then revealed to you that the armament thing wasn’t actually real and that he was just excited to talk to someone again. How adorable!

The only reason why you can even see him is because of the dateviators, but you can only talk to 1-5 objects a day without going back to that one object after you’ve already approached them. Skips has grown attached to you because of how frequently you come back to talk to him, so he decided to give you his Thiscord username.

It was around midnight when you started texting him. He sat behind his screen with a yellow blush spread across his cheeks as he sheepishly asked you…

“ummm… do u wanna match pfps/bios?? or rp afterwards? -but only if u wanna >.<“

Skips bit his bottom lip as he waited for your response, his heart racing. He felt so silly for getting so flustered over asking for something so simple like asking to match and roleplay with you. He’s done this many times before with his friends, why is it so different with you?

*just imagine your response is some kind of form of saying yes bc I get embarrassed to write the reader’s parts😭 it feels like I’m mischaracterizing you guys*

Skips let out a soft gasp and felt his heart pounding against his chest even harder than before. He didn’t know it was possible for it to beat any faster.

“okay! do u hsve anythung in mind thst u wanna do?”

Skips texted you with shaky, sweaty hands that he couldn’t even type properly.

*again, imagine that you decide you wanna match whatever pfps*

Skips complied and changed his profile for you. He decided that the bios would be “My penumbra, @(reader’s username)🖤” while your bio was “My umbra, @xxXShadowl0rd420Xxx!❤️” (any color heart)

I know this is probably the worst fanfic you have ever read because of how I didn’t write anything for the roleplay or the reader’s actions, but I feel like it gives the reader more freedom to imagine what happens next instead of abiding by the text. Anyway… you can imagine how the roleplay goes ;)

And also if this seems very familiar it’s because I also made a bot exactly like this on c.ai so I swear I didn’t plagiarize😭 (and yes ik the devs are against ai I’m very sorry💔)

#date everything #date everything xxxshadowl0rd420xxx #skips shadley #xxxshadowlord420xxx #date everything skips #skips date everything #date everything shadowlord #fanfic #x reader

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blitzyn · 2 years ago

Text

pervert

miguel o'hara x spiderman!reader

request : none

Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse goes to shit, and you find yourself bound in Miguel's webs.

a/n -> literally nobody asked for this but he's been stuck in my mind for decades and i wanted to get something out for my bbg <3 also super sorry i disappeared again, writers block straight up bitch slapped me and left me in a ditch, plus ive been losing interest in writing for genshin or just the game in general, unfortunately.

wc -> 3.3k

cw -> very dubcon, mean dom miguel, degradation, bondage?, face fucking, google translated spanish, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, slight and brief choking, (semi) public sex??, not beta read

Exhilaration filled your veins as breathy laughs escaped your throat, weaving through buildings and rubble with the precision of someone who has experienced this type of chase countless times before.

And that's because you have. You've been in a near never-ending game of cat and mouse with the esteemed Miguel O'Hara, always close enough to feel the swipe of his talons in the air but too far to catch. No matter how many times he's cornered you, you always find a way to get past him; it was predictable at this point.

That pissed Miguel off like no other, hellbent on capturing you to put an end to your snide remarks, to put you in your place. While that usually would've enticed you in any other circumstance, you weren't too keen on letting him dig his claws into you now that you were chest-deep in this predicament — and his wrath.

"Stop running, already!" he shouted, the sharp edges of fury evident in his voice.

"I'm not running!" you respond, peering back at him with a smug grin. True to your words, you, quite literally, were not running. You were swinging with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, twisting and flipping through debris while looking like you were having fun. You offered him occasional glances and nearly laughed each time. Seeing him, a grown-ass man, almost constantly on all fours was amusing, but hearing him curse and grunt and growl made electricity shoot down your spine in a way that nearly got you caught several times.

Adrenaline filled your body and threatened to burst through your chest each time you evaded him. "Missed me!" you laughed, juking away from his swipe.

"So close!" you flip over him with a taunt. "Try again next time!"

"¡Voy a matarte!¹" He growls, and it was hard to ignore the shudder that rushed through your body. You slightly winced at the feeling. If you don't get your shit together when he spoke Spanish, then you were asking to get caught.

But it's not like you'd mind — Actually, yes, you fucking would!

You click your teeth in annoyance. Despite how hard you tried, you couldn't remove Miguel from your thoughts even though he was right behind you, hunting you down like a wild animal. Your mind strayed toward his broad shoulders, beautifully tiny waist, fat ass (that you'd give a lot to slap), and the massive piece of rubble being hurled at your body.

You blink out of your stupor, feeling your senses going off rather violently. Oh shit.

Everything seemed to move painfully slow as you stared at the debris with wide eyes, noticing Miguel's red web attached to it as he brought it down. You flung your arm out in an attempt to attach your webs to something and swing away, but was unable to pull yourself fast enough as the debris pinned you down to the roof of a building.

"Fuck!" you thought as you grunted and squeezed your eyes shut, agony tearing through your entire body. Swiftly, you pushed against the ground to shove the heavy object off of you, groaning with effort. Just as you managed to stand back up, you heard the familiar thwip! of his web wrapping around your waist and arms to yank you to him.

"Caught you," he said, voice rough and breathless as he panted hard. He loomed over you menacingly, hands curled into a fist.

You struggled, kicking and straining against your binds. "Come on, Miguel." You offer a tense grin. "We both know this won't last very long."

"Ay dios míos,²" he growled, dropping to a knee to roughly press a hand on your face, his fingers digging into your cheekbones. "¡Cállate!³"

...

Woah.

You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling your cock stir in your pants. Oh fuck.

It was hard to ignore your ever growing attraction (and hard-on) for him that seemed to intensify when he deactivated the hologram of his mask. Sweat beaded at his temple while his eyes narrowed at your bound figure, fangs peeking out from behind his lips as he caught his breath.

Even when you were the target of his anger, he was still breathtakingly hot.

You opened your mouth again to shout at him — probably to let you go or something along those lines — but Miguel wasn't having it.

"Why is it so much to ask for you to keep your fucking mouth shut for once?" he hissed, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to ache, but it only went straight to your dick. "Is that all you can do? Run your mouth until someone gets sick of your shit and shuts it for you? Huh?"

You whimpered, meekly shaking your head in denial. Tightly closing your eyes, you swallowed hard and squirmed, secretly trying to will away your hard cock straining against your clothes.

"You're so annoying! Stop moving," he demanded, reflexively looking down to adjust his position over you. His eyes raked over your body for a moment before zeroing in on your erection, pausing in surprise.

...

"Oh, you pervert."

Your eyelids snapped open at his words, mortification seeping deep in your chest as you shifted your head away from him in shame. Despite everything, you could only feel yourself getting harder under his intense gaze.

"Is that why you made me chase after you?" He forced you to look at him again, your face aching at his manhandling. "Because you wanted to fulfill some dirty fantasy of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You couldn't find anyone willing to satisfy that depraved urge, so you turned to me. Just how desperate are you?"

You shook your head again, letting out muffled words. He mercifully removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to speak, sliding lower to rest on your throat. "I was just playing..."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head mockingly, momentarily adjusting himself to grope your painfully stiff dick. "And this was your master plan? To get off at the face of danger? You're more of a degenerate than I thought."

"N-No, I didn't—" you moaned, reflexively bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Stop lying." He squeezed the hand around your throat just enough to force labored gasps from you. "It's stupid how you don't think I've seen the way you look at me — how you think I haven't noticed you eyefucking me."

A furious blush rises on your cheeks as your cock twitches in his hold. It doesn't go unnoticed.

He laughed again, staring at you in mock disbelief. "You're enjoying this."

And this time, you don't deny it.

"Can't say I expected anything higher from you." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and removed his hands from your throat and dick to place them on your thighs. Effortlessly, he pried them apart to slot himself in between your legs, pressing his crotch flush against your ass.

Groaning, you lifted your hips a bit in an attempt to grind on him. With a growl, he swiftly slapped a hand on your abdomen to push you back on the ground.

"Don't move," he said, glaring at you with a mix of arousal and irritation in his eyes. "I've had enough of you getting your way." He leaned forward, a wince crossing your face when he pressed some of his weight onto your stomach. "It's my turn."

"My way—?" You cut yourself off with a huff when he gave you a stern look.

A thought seemed to pique his interest when he suddenly decided to kneel beside your head. It was nigh impossible to tear your eyes away from his crotch, the area beginning to glitch with a dim, pale blue glow at the strain from his hardening cock.

"Let's put your mouth to better use." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and deactivated the hologram covering his dick. It landed on your face with a quiet slap before his hand guided it to your lips.

You hesitantly parted them, only for them to be forced open wider to make room for his cock. You let out a surprised sound at the entry, but he was entirely focused on making you take him completely.

He was gracious enough to take it slow, relishing in the sounds of your gags and sputters and every deep inhale.

"Thaaat's it," he drawled out, sighing heavily when he felt your tongue rub against the underside of the shaft. "Fuck..."

Your eyelashes fluttered as he buried your nose into his pubic hair, uncontrollably drooling over him while you sucked and licked what you could. You felt him harden in your mouth, forcing himself deeper into your throat while it tightened and spasmed.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, absentmindedly shuffling closer to your face. A shiver ran down your spine when he slithered a hand on the junction between the back of your head and neck to hold you firmly.

A garbled whine left your throat as you subconsciously jerked your hips upwards, searching for some form of relief for your aching cock. You strained against the webs around your torso and arms, utterly intoxicated with his taste, his scent, his sounds—with him.

With a groan, he shoved himself as far as he could inside your throat and held you in place, ignoring how you instinctively struggled against him. A high-pitched ring sounded through your ears as your head spun, chest tightening with the need for oxygen.

Shuddering, he finally pulled out of you, watching with satisfaction as you coughed and gasped for air. A mix of saliva and precum connected your lips and the tip of his cock, to which you quickly licked away. You let him inspect you with a hand still buried in your hair, gaze locked in on your drool slicked chin and swollen lips.

A quiet hmph left him before he turned to place himself back in-between your thighs again, this time extending his talons to tear a path in your clothes from your ass to your crotch.

"H-Hey! Hold on—" you protested and kicked his arm away from you.

"Shut up," he cut you off, swatting your foot away while grasping your painfully hard cock again. "Don't act like you don't want this."

"G-God..." you moaned, furrowing your brows as you stared at him. A squeak left your throat when he suddenly pressed your legs to your chest, a quiet ptuh! escaping his lips alongside a glob of saliva that landed on your asshole.

Retracting his talons, he let go of one of your legs to press two fingers against your hole, shoving them inside you abruptly. You winced at the sting his thick fingers made as it mixed in with the arousal that burned in your gut. He separated them in a scissoring motion, moving in and out at a pace that had you yearning for more. His fingertips brushed against spots so frustratingly close to your prostate, you were sure he was purposefully avoiding it to mess with you.

"H-Hurry up," you demanded, the ache in your balls beginning to prove to be something you could hardly handle.

He gave you a sharp look. "Tell me to hurry up again and I'm leaving you like this."

You stared at each other for a moment longer before you looked away in defeat, muttering under your breath. He ignored you and added another finger, the wet squelching blending in with your soft moans. His hard cock pressed on your thigh, and you briefly wondered how he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life already.

Quickly enough, you were able to realize that he wanted to make you wait. He wanted to give you a hard time — just like you did to him.

"C-C'mon, Miguel." You breathlessly chuckled, straining against the webs around your torso.

"What?" He raised a brow, satisfaction seeping into his expression at your growing desperation.

You opened your mouth again when he unexpectedly jabbed his fingertips onto your prostate, sending a violent surge of electricity through your body. "Fuck!" You cried out as a spurt of precum leaked out of your dick and enlarged the wet spot on your clothes. He continued targeting the gland, refusing to let you get a word in your sentence. The coil in your abdomen tightened into an almost unbearable degree before he abruptly removed his hand from you entirely.

"God, just fuck me already!" You jerked your hips upwards in a futile search for stimulation.

"You sound just like a whore," he commented, tone full of condescension. A heat washed over your body at his words as you stared at him with wide eyes. You tensed when he leaned down, lust and mirth swirling within his red irises. "Is that all you are?"

"What?" You found yourself unable to look away from him. "N-No, I—"

He shoved his cock inside you mid-sentence, tearing a loud moan from your throat. He held your thighs to fold you in half, using his body weight to pin you down. You panted hard as you tilted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. It was hard to focus on anything else but his dick filling you up so perfectly.

Miguel released a gutteral groan, grinding his hips against you. He dug his fingertips into your legs hard enough to bruise, but that was the least of his worries — not when he had you below him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned back (mercifully removing some of the pressure on your chest) and watched himself move in and out of you, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed himself back inside.

"Ohh, fuck!"

"This is what gets you — mierda⁴ — all compliant, huh?" He taunted, abdomen flexing with every thrust. "The moment you get some dick inside you, you're like a trained mutt."

You opened your eyes to weakly glare at him, to deny what he said, but the moans spilling from your lips did nothing but prove him right.

"Te gusta cuando te trato como si no fueras nada, ¿no?⁵" He leaned back down, hooking his arms around the back of your knees as he pressed his chest against yours, curling his wrists around your thighs to grip the flesh. His breath was hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, lips so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice in your ear drum. "Aren't I right, you dirty little pervert?"

"N-No! S'not right!" You cried out, the burn of his cock stretching you out mixing in with the pleasure so deliciously it was almost addicting.

"Deja de mentirte y admítelo, puta,⁶" he hissed, widening his mouth to graze a fang along your neck threateningly, which sent a shiver down your spine. "Admit it — that you're a depraved whore."

"Admit it." He emphasized each syllable with a thrust, ramming into you hard enough to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

"Shit—fuck! Oh, god!" You sobbed, arching your back into him. You nearly came at the feeling of his abdomen rubbing your aching dick. "I'm a whore! M'your whore!"

His cock throbbed fervently at your words, rewarding you with groans and grunts directly into your ear. Your ass slightly stung at the force of his thrusts as he fucked his anger into you, but neither of you cared.

"Fuuuck!" You drawled out. "Miguel, m'so close! Let — ngh, ah — Let me cum!"

"Yeah?" He cooed in your ear, gently licking the shell. "You gonna cum f'me?"

"Yes, yes—!"

"Then beg."

He stopped moving so unexpectedly that it left you disoriented for a few moments as you stupidly stared at him with wide, watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"Beg to cum," he leaned away from you to get a clearer look at your face. "I'm not repeating myself."

You took a moment to catch your breath (and secretly savor the feeling of his dick twitching inside you). "God, please, Miguel! I need it so bad. I need to cum — please let me cum! I'll be good, I promise! Fuck, Miguel, please let me cum! Please, please, please!"

The sight of the tears along your lash lines sent electricity down his spine as his breath hitched. "You'll be good?" He dryly laughed. "I don't think I believe you."

You opened your mouth in defense when he suddenly slammed himself back inside you, tearing a moan instead of words from your throat. He fucked you hard and fast and deep, grunting in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

But you loved it. You loved how he controlled your body so effortlessly, how he treated you like a cheap fuck toy. You mentally deemed all those chases worth it in the end.

The heat from less than a minute or two prior returned full force as you tilted your head back in ecstasy. You babbled out incoherent words of (what Miguel suspected to be) praise, straining against your binds once again.

You screamed out when the coil in your abdomen finally snapped, electricity shooting down your spine as your cock spurt cum underneath your clothes. You weren't able to process the stain in the fabric when you realized that he hadn't slowed down, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm to chase his own.

You stared up at him, admiring the slight flush on his cheeks, how his brows furrowed in concentration, and even his eyes that shone with disdain towards you.

You could feel his dick throbbing inside you, and you quickly realized that he was about to cum as well. The ecstasy you were granted slowly began to merge with the pain of overstimulation, but it only made the hazy bliss you were in so much better.

"Yes, yes, Miguel!" You gasped out as your legs trembled in his hold. "Cum inside me, please, I want it!"

He grunted at your words, fucking you with a few more harsh thrusts before he suddenly pulled out. It took you a moment longer than normal for you to process the uncomfortable emptiness as he let go of one of your legs to quickly jerk himself off.

"What—No! Please, Miguel!" You pleaded uselessly, wincing when he tightened his grip on your thigh and unintentionally extended his talons. They penetrated through your clothes and pierced your skin, drawing a bit of blood, but that was neither of your concern at the moment.

"Ay, solo cállate ya,⁷" he growled, releasing your thigh to press his palm against your mouth to silence you. You let out pathetic whines and whimpers, but Miguel was focused on achieving his orgasm.

With a final few strokes, he finally came with a loud groan as his cum spurt onto the floor. He angled his hips to make sure none of it landed on you, much to your obvious dismay. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and stared at your bound body, trembling and helpless. It was satisfying to see you in such a state.

He reactivated the hologram over his softening cock before binding your legs together in a way that hid the large hole in your pants to prevent anyone from figuring out what the two of you did.

He sighed heavily and slung you over his shoulder, standing up to look around and figure out where the fuck he was.

"You have a really nice ass," you commented after a moment, unable to keep your compliments to yourself.

He groaned. It was gonna be a long trip back to HQ.

Translations:

1: "I'm going to kill you!"

2: "Oh my god."

3: "Shut up!"

4: "Shit..."

5: "You like it when I treat you like you're nothing, don't you?"

6: "Stop lying to yourself and admit it."

7: "Oh, just shut up already."

cross-posted on ao3

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fashionsfromhistory · 2 months ago

Text

Nightwear

Paul Poiret (Paris, France)

c.1920

A nightshirt and shorts from the wardrobe of Denise Poiret reintroduce one of Poiret's earliest interests, the simple forms of classical dress. The first manifestations of a Neoclassical sensibility appeared in his designs of 1906 and reflected the proportions and cylindrical silhouette of the Directoire. It was classicism through the lens of the eighteenth century. When he held his "Les Festes de Bacchus" party in 1912, however, a more historical approach informed his designs. Although Poiret’s classicism was allusive rather than academic, it still functioned as an implicit advocacy of the free, unfettered body. While this nightdress ensemble is similar to his design of the chiton for his "Les Festes de Bacchus," Poiret constructed it like a poncho, from a rectangle folded at the shoulder line. Poiret then stitched it at either side seam. The matching shorts are made of two pieces of pleated crepe seamed together at center front and center back with a supporting hip yoke. The yoke is attached to the legs of the shorts by thread brides that create the effect of pulled work, a feature suggestive of deluxe lingerie. The vivid red orange of the ensemble might evoke the red terracotta ground associated with Greek vase painting, but a tiny detail, the bead-weighted, tassel-trimmed waist cord, suggests Chinese lacquer and cinnabar as likely sources. The modernity of the ensemble is conveyed by Poiret's blending of orientalism and classicism.

The MET (Object Number: 2005.194a–c)

#pajamas #fashion history #historical fashion #1920s #vintage fashion #20th century #nightwear #1920 #paul poiret #orange #silk #france #the met

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hummingbird24220 · 3 months ago

Note

Can I request reader making friendship bracelets for the strawhats but the bracelets are attached to their devil fruit power, I'm thinking it's a variation of 'red string of fate' except that when reader froms a strong bond with someone they become tied together allowing them to gain power through these ties (basically the power of friendship lol) the bracelets themselves aren't a part of the devil fruit just a cute thing reader does to help others visualize what they mean to them (as only reader can actually see the strings of fate)

Anyways the plot would be the strawhats reactions to the friendship bracelets (whether or not they know about the significance of them is up to you) this is mostly platonic strawhats but if you wanted to add romance that's cool too!

You don't have to write for all the strawhats if you don't want to but I definitely wanna see Robin's reaction to a friendship bracelet! (I think she'd really enjoy having a physical object to embody friendship)

(Sorry the ask was so long, love your writing! <3)

Glad you love my writing! Lovely to hear <3

I really liked this prompt - i love the string of fate stuff, makes me feel a bit gooey inside hehe

I could have kept going on this forevvverrrrrrrr i love the concept... spin off mini series anyone?!?!

Hope you enjoy reading!

Ties That Bind (Part 1)

One Piece x Fem!Reader

The kitchen was warm with the scent of Sanji’s post-lunch tea blend, a hint of citrus and mint lingering in the air. Everyone had gathered around the table like they usually did after a big meal, laughter still dying down from Luffy’s latest story about nearly punching a sky island seagull by accident.

You sat near the end of the table, a small box of thread, beads, and charm trinkets sitting beside your teacup. Nami had noticed it earlier and complimented the little braided bracelet you wore on your wrist—blue with a tiny compass bead. You smiled and muttered something vague, but now, with everyone calm and relatively in one place, you figured it was time to explain it properly.

You shifted in your seat, fiddling with a half-finished bracelet in your hands.

"Hey... can I tell you guys something?" you asked, your voice a little hesitant but clear.

Zoro tilted his head lazily, arms crossed. "If it's a confession about secretly being a government spy, say it now."

"I knew something was weird!" Usopp pointed dramatically.

"Shut up, Usopp," said Nami, elbowing him gently. "Go on, [Y/N]."

Luffy leaned forward like a kid about to hear a ghost story, chin propped up on his hands. "Yeah, yeah! Is it about your powers?"

You blinked, surprised. "...You knew?"

"Of course!" he beamed. "You smell like magic. Or maybe cinnamon. I dunno."

You laughed nervously but nodded. "Okay, yeah. So, my Devil Fruit is called the Saiken saiken no Mi—it means something like the Bond-Bond Fruit. It's… hard to explain, but basically, when I form a strong bond with someone, I can see it. Like... a thread tying us together."

Robin perked up with interest, lacing her fingers together. "A thread of fate, perhaps?"

You nodded. "Exactly. Only I can see them. Some are faint, some are bright, but the stronger the connection, the more... real they feel. And through them, I get stronger. I borrow strength from the people I'm tied to."

"So like the power of friendship?" Franky grinned. "That's super classic."

"Basically, yeah." You smiled sheepishly. "But I didn't want to freak anyone out by suddenly saying I see invisible strings attached to you all, so I started making these—" you held up the bracelet in your hand, bright orange with a tiny seashell charm, “—to kinda... represent the bonds I feel. For me, and maybe for you too. Something physical. Something nice."

Chopper gasped, eyes sparkling. "That's so cool! Wait—do I have one?"

You reached into the box and pulled out a little bracelet with white and pink beads, shaped like sakura petals. "Here."

Chopper practically exploded into a blushing mess as he took it, clutching it like it was the most sacred treasure in the Grand Line.

"You've been tying us together this whole time..." Brook said wistfully, his empty eye sockets looking soft. "Even without us knowing."

"You don’t have to wear them," you quickly added. "I just… wanted you all to know what you mean to me."

Nami’s bracelet was gold and teal with a tiny bell. Sanji’s was red and black, with a flame-shaped charm. Usopp’s had earthy tones and a little slingshot bead. Robin’s was elegant, deep violet and lace-like. Franky's had tiny gear charms. Brook’s was ivory and had musical notes.

You hesitated before pulling out the one meant for Zoro—green with a single white bead shaped like a sword—and Luffy’s: red, simple, but with a tiny anchor charm that seemed to glow with joy.

Zoro took his with a grunt of approval and a quiet, "Thanks." You swore his ears turned pink.

Sanji nearly cried over his. "You handmade this for me? Angel."

Robin turned the bracelet in her fingers thoughtfully. "You truly see something special in everyone, don’t you?"

You just smiled. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

"Wait, wait!" Luffy waved his hands. "So if you get stronger from bonds, what happens if you get, like, super close with someone?"

You blinked, surprised by the question—and the slight glimmer of teasing in his grin.

"Well," you said, "the bond gets stronger, and so does the power. I guess, in theory… the closest bond of all would make me unstoppable."

"Like a best friend?" Usopp grinned.

"...Sure," you said, smiling softly.

The mood on the Sunny shifted, but in the best way. A kind of quiet awe had settled over the table as each member of the crew examined their bracelet like it was a rare treasure.

Robin wore hers immediately, slipping it onto her wrist with a graceful flick. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “I’ve spent a long time surrounded by people who only wanted to use me. And now, someone wants to... tie themselves to me.” She looked up and smiled warmly. “It’s rather beautiful.”

Brook held his up to the sunlight. “Yohohoho! If only I had skin to feel this against. Still, I will treasure it forever, just as I treasure our friendship. Though if you ever want to make me a matching anklet—”

“No,” Zoro muttered flatly.

Nami had looped hers around her wrist, then her ankle, then back to her wrist. “It’s fashionable. Very versatile. And handmade, which gives it value.” She glanced at you with an amused smirk. “Also, you’re incredibly sentimental, aren’t you?”

Sanji sighed like he’d just been proposed to. “You tied a thread to my heart, mon ange…”

Usopp had immediately put his on and now kept glancing down at it like it was going to disappear. “So wait, if I make my bond with you stronger, do you get stronger, or do I get stronger too? ‘Cause I’m just saying, team synergy is really underrated in combat situations—”

“HEY!” Luffy suddenly slammed his hands on the table, bracelet proudly on display. “If getting strong means making super strong bonds, then we gotta do that right now. Everyone! Bonding time!”

Chopper gasped. “Really?!”

Franky slammed his drink down. “Super bonding?! Count me in!”

You blinked. “Wait, what—”

“We should do a group activity,” Luffy declared with the confidence of a king. “Something that makes [Y/N] feel extra connected to us. Like… a trust fall. Or a big team nap.”

“That’s not how it works,” you laughed. “You can’t force connection, it just happens over time.”

“Time? We don’t have time! What if we fight someone really strong next week? You gotta be ready!”

Zoro leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “You’re gonna give her emotional whiplash.”

But Luffy was already on his feet. “Let’s all tell [Y/N] a secret! That’ll make us close, right?”

“Captain,” Robin said lightly, “you’re rather enthusiastic about this.”

He beamed at you. “You’re part of my crew now. That means we’re all family. And if your powers run on family juice, then we need to juice it up!”

“…I’m gonna pretend that made sense,” you muttered, but your heart felt like it might burst.

Chopper jumped onto the table. “Okay, okay! I’ll go first! I pretend to be tough sometimes, but sometimes I cry when people call me a monster. But you never did, [Y/N]. That’s why I love you.”

Your eyes welled up immediately. “Chopper…”

“MY TURN,” Sanji shouted. “Sometimes I make extra portions ‘by accident’ just to see if you’ll pick mine over the others.”

“Obviously she does,” Zoro muttered. “Your curry’s hotter than a volcano’s butt.”

“I ENJOY COMPLIMENTS.”

Nami tapped her bracelet thoughtfully. “I hoard money because I’m still afraid. I trust you, though. You never once looked at me like I was a thief. Just… a navigator.”

Usopp cleared his throat. “I, uh… I used to make up stories about people like you. People who cared without needing a reason. Now one of them’s real.”

Your hand trembled as you clutched the box of threads to your chest. “You guys…”

Robin gave you a serene look. “You’re weaving more than bracelets, [Y/N]. You’re weaving a place for yourself. And we’re honored to be caught in your thread.”

Then all heads turned to Luffy.

He was sitting quietly now, looking down at his bracelet. And for once, his usual grin was softer. Quieter.

“My secret is…” he looked up, “...I already feel strongest when I know you guys are with me. That’s why I don’t need a power like yours. I already believe in it.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until Chopper started panicking and tossing tissues at your face.

Luffy stood up, walked over, and plopped his hat on your head.

“So, bonding time worked?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

You sniffled, clutching the rim of his hat. “Yeah. Yeah, it really worked.”

The sky had begun to blush with streaks of orange and lavender, soft waves lapping gently at the Sunny's hull. The energy from Luffy’s “crew bonding time” had finally died down, with Franky tinkering below deck, Sanji prepping dinner, and Zoro pretending not to nap on the lawn. A peaceful calm had settled over the ship.

You sat on a lounge chair on the deck, a warm cup of tea cradled in your hands. Steam curled upward, swirling through the threads—those glowing, invisible strings that stretched between you and every corner of the Sunny.

Some shimmered like fresh starlight, others pulsed like gentle heartbeats. Each one was different—some chaotic, some serene—but they all led back to you. A net of connection. Of love, loyalty, and laughter. And though no one else could see them, they were as real to you as the sea itself.

You smiled softly.

“May I join you?” came a gentle voice.

You looked up to find Robin approaching, a book tucked under one arm, her bracelet glinting softly in the fading light. Deep violet thread, tiny rose-gold accents, and a small book charm nestled at its center.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room.

She sat beside you, graceful as ever, folding one leg over the other and setting her book in her lap. For a moment, she said nothing—just sipped her own tea, gazing out at the horizon.

Then her voice broke the silence, low and thoughtful. “I’ve received many gifts in my life. Few as... sincere as this.”

You glanced at her wrist, where the bracelet sat snugly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t just like it,” she said. “I feel it. It’s strange. Even without seeing the threads, it feels like something is tied between us. Like it’s always been there, waiting.”

You stared into your cup for a long second, then spoke. “Sometimes… I wonder if people will misunderstand. That they’ll think I’m only getting close to others because it makes me stronger. That I’m just… using them.”

Robin turned toward you, eyes calm but sharp.

“That kind of power can’t be forced. And it certainly can’t be faked.”

You looked up.

“Your ability,” she said gently, “only works because you truly care. That’s what makes it powerful. And dangerous. Because if someone hurt one of us…” Her expression darkened for the briefest second. “I imagine you’d become unstoppable.”

You laughed softly, the sound half-embarrassed, half-relieved. “I guess I’d better stay on your good side.”

Robin smiled, but her gaze lingered on her bracelet. She ran her fingers over the little book charm, and for a brief moment, her lips trembled.

“I’ve spent most of my life being hunted,” she said. “Wanted. Feared. I never imagined someone would look at me and think, She matters enough to tie a thread to. But you did. And it means more than I know how to say.”

You nudged her shoulder gently, trying to keep things light. “Aw, Robin, don’t get all weepy on me now. You’re gonna make me cry, and then Chopper’s gonna panic again.”

She chuckled, brushing beneath one eye. “Too late.”

The sun dipped lower, gold spilling over the deck like spilled treasure. The threads shimmered in your mind’s eye—especially hers, now glowing warmer than ever.

“Thanks for sitting with me,” you murmured.

“Any time,” she said. “After all… we’re tied together now.”

Time aboard the Sunny had passed quick, and with each moment, your bonds grew stronger. You grew stronger.

Smoke curled through the dense trees of the island, the once-quiet jungle now a torn battlefield. Explosions echoed through the valley, and the Straw Hats were spread out, locked in skirmishes with a group of mercenaries hired to capture Devil Fruit users.

You stood at the center of it all—heart pounding, blood buzzing, a quiet hum in your ears like a rising crescendo.

This fight was different.

Not just because it was brutal—but because something inside you had clicked.

You could see the threads now. Not just shimmering faintly, but glowing. Pulsing. They surrounded you like a constellation, each one tied to someone you loved—and every single one sang with emotion.

Fear. Loyalty. Determination. Trust. Power.

A whip lashed toward you, charged with Haki. You dodged on instinct—not your own, but one you'd learned from watching Sanji every time he danced through the air.

You spun and dropped into a low sweep-kick, following through with an upward strike so fast your knuckles cracked the air—Luffy’s wild, rubbery rhythm channeled through your limbs, even without the stretch.

Your opponent staggered.

Then another merc came at you from behind, swinging a jagged blade—and you turned, blade in hand. Not your usual style. But the grip? The stance?

Zoro.

You moved with clean precision, a flash of green and steel in your mind, parrying the attack with force that sent vibrations up your arm. You didn’t hesitate—you let the bonds guide you.

Zoro’s quiet grit. Sanji’s graceful fire. Luffy’s reckless, joyful strength.

You weren’t mimicking them—you were fighting like someone who knew them inside and out. Someone shaped by them.

Across the battlefield, the others started to notice.

“Whoa—IS THAT [Y/N]?!” Usopp shouted from behind a crumbling stone wall.

“No way…” Chopper gasped, peeking over a boulder. “That move looked just like Sanji’s!”

Sanji froze mid-spin-kick, locking eyes with you across the field. “What the hell—did you just copy my move, sweetheart?!”

You grinned, lips bloody but eyes blazing. “Call it inspiration!”

“Oi!” Zoro barked, slicing through a trio of enemies. “I taught you that stance in a spar ONCE. ONCE!”

You shrugged, twirling the enemy’s weapon and chucking it back at another target with expert aim. “Guess it stuck.”

Robin, from above on a summoned flower-wing platform, watched with quiet awe. “She’s drawing strength from us… not like a parasite, but like a mirror.”

“She’s shining,” Nami whispered.

Luffy was the last to notice, mid-fight and laughing as he socked someone square in the jaw. Then his eyes landed on you—your form alive with golden threads dancing at your back like celestial ribbons.

His grin stretched wide.

“[Y/N]!!!” he called, ducking a punch and flinging an arm toward you. “YOU LOOK SO COOL RIGHT NOW!!!”

You burst out laughing, mid-spin, driving your heel into the ground and launching a mercenary several feet through the air.

One by one, the mercenaries began to retreat. You stood there panting, the threads still glowing—stronger than ever. And through them, you could feel it:

The bond. The trust. The undeniable connection.

Not just power borrowed—but power forged. Through shared meals. Inside jokes. Long nights and sea storms.

This strength wasn’t just yours. It was theirs, too.

As the battlefield quieted and the others regrouped, Luffy jogged up to you, hands on his hips.

“That was awesome,” he said, breathless with excitement. “You fought like all of us at once!”

You wiped blood from your lip and smiled. “Guess you guys are rubbing off on me.”

“Or maybe,” Robin said as she landed beside you, her bracelet faintly glowing, “you’ve finally started to see just how deeply we’re all tied together.”

You looked around at your crew—your family. The threads between you pulsed in soft, steady rhythm.

Yeah. You saw it. And now, they could, too.

The stars were beginning to peek through the darkened sky, the moon a silver coin casting gentle light across the deck. The crew was scattered around the Sunny in various states of exhaustion and satisfaction—wounds bandaged, bellies full, spirits high.

You sat at the bow, legs swinging over the edge, a mug of something warm cradled in your hands. The threads in your mind’s eye were quiet now, humming softly. Still glowing. Still strong.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about the battle—how instinctively the power had come, how natural it had felt to move with pieces of your friends inside you. It hadn’t been overwhelming. It had been comforting. Empowering.

You smiled faintly.

“Hey.”

You turned. Luffy stood behind you, hands in his pockets, his bracelet catching the moonlight. There was something different about his expression—still playful, still curious, but... softer. Quieter.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure.”

He stepped closer, then sat beside you, stretching his legs out. “Can I… see them?”

You blinked. “See what?”

He turned to you, eyes wide with that impossible brightness. “The threads. The ones that tie us all together.”

Your heart stilled.

No one had ever asked before. Not seriously. Not like this. You’d always assumed it was just your burden—your gift. Your curse. A secret window only you could peer through.

You stared down at your hand, at the glowing lines stretching outward like an unseen web. “I… I don’t know if I can make them visible to others.”

Luffy didn’t push. He just tilted his head. “Wanna try?”

You looked at him for a moment.

Then nodded.

You set your mug down, sat up straight, and closed your eyes.

It started as a pull in your chest—like tugging thread through a needle. Carefully, slowly, you began to unravel that perception, pushing it outward. Extending it beyond yourself. You reached into the core of your fruit’s power, channeling not just energy, but emotion. Every laugh, every fight, every quiet cup of tea and silly card game and comforting shoulder.

You felt your fingers tremble.

Then—

“…Whoa,” Luffy whispered.

You opened your eyes.

The deck glowed.

Not brightly, not like fire or lightning—but soft, gentle light. Golden threads stretched between you and every single one of your crewmates, weaving through the ship like constellations. Some threads pulsed bright and strong—like the one leading from you to Luffy, or to Chopper, or to Robin. Others had more subtle glows, warm and steady.

Each thread was unique—colors, textures, patterns. You could feel their personalities through them.

Zoro’s thread was taut and grounded, like woven steel. Sanji’s danced with warmth, flickering like firelight. Nami’s sparkled with bursts of gold, laced with stormy energy. Robin’s was velvet-smooth, deep violet with intricate knots. Luffy’s—brightest of all—was wild and fluid, chaotic and beautiful. A living firework.

The crew slowly gathered, one by one, drawn by the shift in the air.

“What is this…” Nami whispered, stepping closer to one of the floating threads.

“Are these… ours?” Chopper asked, reaching out with trembling hooves.

“They’re real,” Zoro muttered, watching one pulse with his breath.

You were sweating now, concentrating hard. It took everything to maintain this projection—but you wanted them to see it. You wanted them to know.

“This is what I see,” you said quietly. “Every day. Every bond. Every thread that ties me to you.”

Robin stood beside you, eyes shimmering. “It’s beautiful.”

Usopp sniffled. “Why does mine look like it’s got beads on it?”

“Because I know how much you love flair,” you teased, voice trembling.

Luffy’s eyes hadn’t left the threads. His face was a mix of awe and joy, the kind of pure reaction only he could pull off.

“They’re alive,” he said. “These bonds… they’re really alive.”

You nodded. “They are. You make them real. You all do.”

And then—Luffy grinned.

He stood, arms stretched out wide as if trying to catch the sky.

“I LOVE IT!!!”

The others laughed, their voices light with wonder. Even Zoro cracked a smirk. Sanji tried to light a cigarette with shaking hands and gave up entirely, just staring at the glowing thread between you.

You held the image a few seconds longer—long enough to burn it into their memories—before gently letting it fade, like smoke in the wind.

The deck returned to normal.

But something lingered.

A feeling. A warmth. A knowing.

You leaned back with a breathless smile.

Luffy looked down at you, still grinning. “You’re awesome.”

You met his eyes, soft and shining. “So are you.”

The morning sun spilled golden light across the deck, warming the wood and shimmering off the sea. The crew gathered around the table for breakfast—freshly made by Sanji, as always—still glowing in the afterglow of yesterday’s battle and the reveal.

The memory of golden threads dancing in the air hadn’t left them.

Neither had the awe.

“So,” Sanji said casually, setting down a plate of sunny-side-up eggs in front of you with a flourish, “I believe it’s only right to point out that [Y/N] used my fighting style in that battle.”

“Light on your feet. Beautiful form. Graceful kicks that could kill a sea king.” He spun with a wink. “Clearly, the power of our bond is unmatched.”

Zoro made a sound. A sound. Low, dismissive, impatient.

“Your fancy footwork was one thing,” he said through a mouthful of rice. “But the real strength came when she ended that merc with a full-on counterstrike. That was my technique.”

You raised a brow at your plate. Here we go.

Sanji bristled. “Counterstrike? She deflected a two-ton punch with a spinning heel kick. That’s my move.”

“Please,” Zoro scoffed. “She stood her ground and overpowered him. No spinning. Just raw strength. That was me.”

“She even moved like me,” Sanji snapped. “You couldn’t twirl to save your life.”

“Because I don’t need to twirl to win, curly-brow.”

“Want me to twirl you overboard—?!”

Nami sighed. “It’s too early for testosterone.”

Usopp munched toast, watching them with wide eyes. “This is weirdly flattering. They’re fighting over who has a better connection with [Y/N].”

“They’re fighting over whose bond is stronger,” Robin said lightly, sipping tea. “It’s oddly romantic.”

You sat back, sipping your own tea, amused beyond words.

But Sanji wasn’t done.

He turned from Zoro mid-argue, marched over to you, and—

Knelt. On one knee. Took your hand.

You blinked.

You flushed.

Your brain, traitorous and immediate: MARRIAGE?!

“[Y/N],” Sanji said with utmost sincerity, gazing up at you like you’d hung the stars yourself. “Out of all the bonds you hold… which one is the most powerful?”

The entire table went silent.

Zoro choked on his rice.

You stared, your face slowly going crimson. “I—um. That’s… I mean…”

He lifted your hand to his lips.

Your heart actually stopped.

You gave a slow, thoughtful hum, eyes narrowing mischievously. “Hmm… Sanji, Zoro… it’s honestly so close.”

Sanji’s smile widened like he was about to win.

But then—

You grinned.

Eyes gleaming.

You gripped his hand tighter, leaned in just slightly, and said with a soft, velvety voice:

“Of course… I could always strengthen the bond in… other ways.”

Sanji made a sound like someone had just pulled the pin on a very flustered grenade.

Then—

He died.

He dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut, flat on the deck with swirly eyes and a blissed-out smile.

Usopp dropped his toast. Chopper shrieked. Robin covered her mouth, amused. Luffy burst out laughing so hard he fell backward off the bench.

You threw your head back, laughing with your whole chest. “Oh my god, I didn’t think he’d actually pass out—”

Zoro rolled his eyes but was smirking. “Serves him right.”

As Sanji twitched on the floor, hearts floating from his head like steam, you picked up your tea again and sipped calmly.

“Guess that answers his question.”

The waves rocked the Sunny gently, a lullaby of the sea, as the last rays of the sun kissed the horizon in shades of peach and gold. Most of the crew had turned in early, worn out from the chaos of the past few days.

But you stayed on deck, sitting near the figurehead with your knees tucked up to your chest and a blanket around your shoulders. The breeze was cool, but the warmth in your chest kept you from feeling it.

You could see them again—the threads.

Still glowing.

Still alive.

They shimmered faintly in the dusk light, stretched like constellations across the deck and walls and sails. So many beautiful bonds. So many pieces of yourself that had once been broken, now tied to others.

You felt whole.

But one thread… One thread blazed like sunlight.

It wasn’t just bright. It wasn’t just strong. It radiated.

Wild and untamed. Joyful and fierce. The thread tied to Luffy.

You didn’t even have to look to feel him behind you.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You turned. He was barefoot, messy-haired as always, arms behind his head like he had all the time in the world. He plopped down beside you, crisscross applesauce, and stared out at the sea with a relaxed smile.

“I knew you’d be up here,” he added, glancing at you. “You always look at the sky when you’re thinking.”

You smiled back. “I could say the same to you.”

He grinned wider, and for a long moment, you both just sat in comfortable silence.

The wind tugged at your hair. The sea whispered. And the thread between you glowed like firelight in your chest.

“Hey, Luffy,” you said finally. “Do you… remember when you first found me?”

He blinked, then nodded once, slow. “Yeah. You were in that weird old port town. Working for that rich jerk.”

You nodded, eyes distant. “More like owned. I didn’t even realize I was fading until you walked in, like a storm. You didn’t even hesitate. Just looked at me and said, ‘Wanna come with us?’”

Luffy’s smile softened. “Well, yeah. You looked like someone who needed the sky.”

Your throat tightened.

“You saved me, you know,” you whispered. “Not just from that place, but from… me. I used to think my powers only worked if I earned people’s love. Like I had to be useful. Like I had to deserve it.”

Luffy was quiet, watching your face.

“But you…” Your voice wavered. “You just… took me. Like I was already something precious. Like I didn’t have to earn anything.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Then he reached out—softly, gently—and tugged the edge of your blanket until you scooted closer. Your shoulder touched his.

“You are something precious,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s why you shine so much.”

You felt your chest tighten in the best way. That thread between you burned golden. Stronger than any other. Stronger than steel, stronger than fate.

“I used to think I needed someone to be my light,” you murmured. “But I think… maybe I just needed someone to let me shine.”

You looked at him.

And smiled.

“You’re the sun, Luffy. You just don’t know it.”

He laughed, a little awkward, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah. You’re the one glowing all the time.”

You reached over and took his hand—warm and calloused and steady. The thread between you flared in your mind like a second heartbeat.

“Yeah,” you said. “But only because I’m standing in your light.”

For once, Luffy didn’t answer with words. He just grinned—really grinned—and leaned his forehead against yours, laughing under his breath like you’d told him a secret that made him happy.

And you laughed too. Because you’d never felt more seen. Or more safe.

Wrapped in his sunlight. Tied to something bigger than fate.

#x reader #one piece #luffy #reader insert #sanji #nami #nico robin #tony tony chopper #usopp

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devdozes · 4 months ago

Note

Heyyy, how are you? Hope ur doing great.

I had an idea. Imagine spidey Phainon being alone in class bored ( he got there too early), sitting in his place, then he saw something interesting on his teachers desk and used his web trick to get the thing, but the moment he did that the reader walked in on him . Imagine ger getting a lil freaked out as she slammed the door shut and started running away from him in the halls pushing past people but ofc he can’t let the secret to spill out so he panics and starts chasing.

Take care and

Ty💍

Phainon sighed, slumping over his desk, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the surface. He was way too early to class—again.

It wasn’t like he was trying to be an overachiever; being Spider-Man just meant he had an absolutely bonkers sleep schedule. One second he was web-slinging across the city, the next, he was forcing himself to attend an 8 AM class while running on nothing but sheer willpower and caffeine.

With a long sigh, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty classroom. It was eerily quiet. His professor wasn’t even here yet, which meant he was free to sit in boredom for who knows how long.

…Until something on the teacher’s desk caught his attention.

A tiny, shiny, cube-shaped thing, reflecting the light in a way that practically whispered, “Hey, take me.”

Curious, Phainon squinted at it. Was it candy? A fancy stapler? A weird piece of modern art? His curiosity got the best of him. His fingers twitched as instinct took over, and with a flick of his wrist—

Thwip!

His web shot forward, sticking perfectly onto the object. He gave a light tug, watching as the cube soared through the air toward him—

—and that was the exact moment you walked in.

The door swung open, and you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes locked onto the web still attached to Phainon’s fingers, the object mid-air.

There was a long, painfully awkward silence.

“…Oh.”

Your eye twitched. The door slammed shut as you turned on your heel and BOLTED down the hallway, pushing past students without hesitation.

“OH, COME ON!” Phainon yelped, his heart stopping for a solid second.

Crap. Crapcrapcrap. That was not how anyone was supposed to find out his secret! Panic set in as he shoved the cube into his pocket and dashed after you.

Students barely had time to react as you weaved through the hallways, knocking over someone’s textbooks, sidestepping a janitor, and nearly tripping over your own feet in your desperate attempt to escape.

Phainon wasn’t about to let you spill his secret, though. He dodged between students with ease, using his speed to catch up. “Hey, hey—WAIT!”

“NOPE! I SAW NOTHING! I’M LEAVING THE COUNTRY!!” you yelled over your shoulder.

Phainon groaned. You were fast, but he was faster. With one final push, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you into an empty supply closet.

“WHA—”

Click.

The door shut behind you both, and you found yourself face-to-face with a very nervous, very out-of-breath Phainon.

He put a finger to his lips, eyes pleading. “Listen. We can talk about this, but first, deep breaths. You’re acting like I just committed a crime.”

“You LITERALLY shot a web like a dollar-store Spider-Man!” you whisper-yelled, eyes wide. “What even WAS that?!”

Phainon winced. “…Okay, first of all, rude. And second—uhhh, surprise?”

Your gaze flicked between him and his hand, which was still slightly coated in web residue.

“…So are you gonna eat me or something?”

“Oh my god—” Phainon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, let’s just—just let me explain, alright? Just don’t scream or run again.”

You stared at him for a long moment, still catching your breath, before crossing your arms. “Fine. But you better tell me everything, Web Boy.”

Phainon sighed in relief, though his lips twitched into a smirk. “Oh, trust me. You just signed up for a wild ride.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So what, you’re some kind of supervillain who steals office supplies?”

He rolled his eyes. “What—No! I’m Spider-Man!”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

You stared at him, blinking.

Phainon, realizing how stupid that sounded out loud, winced.

“YOU’RE SPIDER-MAN?!”

“Shhhh!” Phainon frantically clapped a hand over your mouth, looking around in a panic. “Do you WANT the entire school to hear?!”

You shoved his hand away. “YOU JUST CASUALLY DROP THAT ON ME AFTER CHASING ME THROUGH THE HALLS?!”

“Well, I panicked!” he shot back, looking incredibly stressed.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, okay. So. You’re Spider-Man.”

“Yes.”

“Like…the actual Spider-Man.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve just been chilling here, in high school, stealing staplers with your webs?”

“I WASN’T STEALING IT! I WAS JUST—I WAS BORED, OKAY?!”

You stared at him for a long moment before slowly reaching into your bag, pulling out a granola bar, unwrapping it, and taking a long, slow bite.

Phainon watched, confused. “What… are you doing?”

“Processing.” You chewed thoughtfully.

Another beat of silence passed.

“So,” you said, swallowing. “If you’re Spider-Man, does that mean you’ve, like…saved the city and stuff?”

“Uh…yeah. A few times.”

“Huh.” You took another bite. “That’s kinda hot.”

Phainon nearly choked on air. “WHAT?!”

You shrugged, looking completely unfazed. “I mean, mysterious guy, double life, swinging through the city, saving people—kinda cool. Kinda attractive.”

Phainon, the literal Spider-Man, was red-faced and malfunctioning. “You—THAT—” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That is NOT the takeaway from this conversation!”

“Well, what did you expect? You just told me you’re a superhero. That’s, like, objectively cool.” You grinned. “Also, do you get free food for saving people? Like, do pizza places just hand you free slices?”

“I am genuinely questioning why I even told you this,” Phainon muttered, rubbing his temples.

You patted his shoulder. “Because you chased me down and I wasn’t gonna let you leave without an explanation.”

He groaned. “Just… promise me you won’t tell anyone?”

You gave him a mock salute. “Your secret’s safe with me, Spidey.”

Phainon sighed, muttering something under his breath as he turned away.

You, meanwhile, casually took out your phone and snapped a picture of his retreating figure.

Phainon turned back. “Wait, what did you just—”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, grinning. “Just making sure I have proof in case you ever deny this conversation.”

Phainon groaned again. “I’m gonna regret this.”

“Nah,” you said, pocketing your phone. “You’re gonna love it when I start demanding free web-slinging rides to school.”

Phainon paused. “...Wait.”

Your grin widened. “Oh yeah, you’re my personal Uber now.” He grins back at you. "Maybe I won't mind that :3"

191 notes · View notes

roxabellas · 4 months ago

Text

Pretty From The Back

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

part one two three four five

word count : 15,213

warnings : sex work, cheating (he's married), blowjob, backshots, piv, age gap mentioned and referenced throughout (19 & 38), bit of a daddy kink (towards the end), the slightest bit of thigh fucking, 1 spank, he gets attached easily

You were too young for this line of work, or at least that's what most people said when they found out how old you were. Nineteen, navigating a world reserved for people much older, particularly the men who frequented your services. Men double, sometimes triple your age, with failing marriages or no marriage at all, seeking something that had long since faded in their own lives. Your clients saw you as merely a service, a product, a body that could satisfy the desires that they couldn't voice to anyone else. They rarely saw you for anything more than the fantasy they craved.

While being seen as simply a sex object with no one making an attempt to scratch beneath the surface wasn't the greatest feeling in the world, you didn't treat the men asking for your services much better. To you, they were just a wallet. Walking, talking sources of money, worth no more than the cash they offered. Some of them tried to act like they cared, like they wanted to get to know you beyond the persona you put on, to try and make it seem like this wasn't what it was, but you knew better. You'd seen it before; how they'd ask your name, pretend to be interested in the smallest details about your life, only to turn around and reduce you to nothing but a means to an end.

So you learned not to care. It wasn't like you did this to build long-lasting relationships with these people, or even form some loose acquaintances. You didn't even expect respect. It was just for money. You were realistic about what it entailed, about what men were like, about what they wanted from you. And you were good at it, too. At least, you used to be.

You weren't sure what had happened, what had changed. It wasn't like you were old or used up or had downgraded in skills. But recently, things had been slow. Too slow. The kind of slow that made you worry about rent, about groceries, about whether you’d be able to pay off the debt you owed to people you really didn’t want to owe anything to. You had another job, sure, a “proper” job at a nearby petrol station, but they barely paid you minimum wage. You relied on your clients, or lack thereof these days, to get by, but why had they slowed down?

Maybe you were losing your appeal. Or you already had, and those last few clients had taken pity on you. You were young, of course you were, but that was the cruelest part of it all. A few years from now, would men even want you anymore?

You'd obviously known men were strange with what they wanted and desired beforehand, especially the age demographic that often came to you, but in the time you'd spent being a sex worker, you'd seen it first hand.

These men only want something when it feels fresh, for it to be untouched enough for it to feel exciting, but experienced enough to know how to give them exactly what they want. And once they got bored, they moved on, finding something new to chase after. Something more naive, at least on the outside. Maybe there was some eighteen-year-old girl on the other block, dressing in tube tops, fishnets, tiny skirts and pigtails, fit to fulfill those disgusting desires these men crave, telling themselves it's fine, she's legal. Nevermind the morals.

Maybe that's who all your clients had ran to. You'd previously thought about going to a different town in the city where you could lie, tell them all you'd just turned eighteen, that you were a virgin, change the way you dress and tie your hair in braids and ponytails, but with what money? What car?

The lack of work made you feel uneasy. You could handle a slow week, maybe even two, but this dry spell had been going on for too long, longer than you'd ever be comfortable with. It was starting to make you desperate, and desperation was dangerous in your line of work. It made you lower your standards significantly, far more likely to say yes when you should be saying no. You had started spending time in places you thought potential clients might be. Bars, hotel lobbies, certain street corners where men with too much money and too little self-control often found themselves after a night of drinking.

You exhaled sharply, your breath visible in the cold air, adjusting the hem of your short dress as you leaned back against the cold brick wall of dimly lit bar you'd started frequenting in hopes of finding new business. It wasn't the most glamorous place in town, but it was reliable. Or at least, it used to be. The men here often had money, and they were always looking for someone to spend it on. It used to be you they went to, now they barely even looked at you.

Maybe they were starting to recognise you, not as some thrilling, mysterious experience, but rather just like the rest of the girls around there, just trying to make ends meet. Or maybe someone you hadn't given the greatest service to, or someone you'd declined, had started a rumour you had some STD. You'd tried to not let your mind feed into it too much, to be reasonable, but what was reasonable?

You sighed, long and slow, leaning your head back against the wall as you fished the last cigarette from your pack. The thin paper crinkled between your fingers, slightly bent out of shape from being shoved into your pocket earlier. You straightened it out the best you could before bringing it to your mouth, holding the filter between your lips while you rummaged for your lighter. When you finally pulled it out, the cheap plastic felt light, too light. You already knew before you flicked the wheel that it was nearly empty.

The first couple of futile attempts gave you nothing but a weak spark, the metal grinding under your thumb without catching, undoubtedly leaving an imprint on your skin for the next half an hour or so. You gritted your teeth, flicking it again and again, shaking it between tries as if it would magically refill it, until, finally, a tiny, flickering flame emerged. You cupped your hand around it, shielding it from the cool breeze as you touched it to the end of the cigarette, inhaling deeply to coax the ember to life.

The first drag filled your lungs with the stale, bitter smoke, the familiar and comforting burn settling in your chest, warming you from the inside out. You held it in for a moment before exhaling through your mouth, watching the thin tendrils of smoke curl and intertwine as they floated upwards, dissipating into the dark. The earthy taste of tobacco lingered on your tongue and the walls of your mouth, sticking to the backs of your teeth and clinging your throat, but it gave you something to focus on. Something to do with your hands, something to think about other than the bills you had to pay, a landlord who didn't care about how slow work had been, and a stomach that still growled when you hadn't eaten.

This part of the city was usually quieter at night, the daytime chaos dwindling to nothing more than faint footsteps, the occasional hum of passing cars, and the distant murmurs of late-night conversations coming from inside the bar behind you. It wasn't the best spot you'd hung around by, not the safest either, but far from the worst. You'd been coming here for a few weeks now, hoping to pick up work, for something to change, but it never did.

Another slow inhale, another drag, another puff of smoke curling past your lips, and that was when you saw him again.

You saw him often, enough times that his face was vaguely familiar, but you never paid him too much mind. He was attractive, you'd noticed that, though often dressed in clothes that looked like they'd seen better days, but you weren't one to talk. You'd been wearing the same old, thin, ripped up tights you'd had since high school for about a week straight. The way he moved: calm, self-assured, not quite looking like he was in a hurry but with purpose. He always seemed to stand out just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to seem out of place.

He wasn't usually alone, often accompanied by a woman who you had always assumed was his wife, or at least his girlfriend, from the times you'd seen them together, usually in the afternoon or early evening. You'd never given him, or them, much thought beyond that. He wasn't a regular here, especially not at this hour. He wasn't like the men you usually watched, the ones whose patterns you could predict down to the hour.

Men like him weren't your clientele. You were used to men who were lonelier, needier. The ones who looked at you with hunger barely concealed beneath thin veils of politeness. The ones who couldn't help themselves.

But this man had never looked at you like that. You weren't sure if he'd ever even looked at you at all. You assumed he hadn't, most men like him didn't. They didn't have a reason to.

So why was he here now?

Alone, at night.

You took another slow drag from your cigaratte, inhaling the smoke deep into your lungs, then blowing it out through your nose as you watched him.

His posture was relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn, deep, navy blue blazer, his eyes drifting over the street as if it were his first time seeing it.

But then, for the briefest moment, his eyes flicked in your direction. It was brief, no more than a second, but it was enough, because you knew that look. You had seen it before, in other men, in different settings, but their intention was always the same each time.

He was looking at you. Not through you, not past you. At you.

You looked down at the cigarette between your fingers for a moment, nearly burned all the way down to the filter, but you didn't put it out. Not yet, anyway. You let it rest between your middle and index finger, an idle comfort as you tried to keep your breathing steady and your expression neutral.

Then he moved, deliberate and slow.

The steady rhythm of his footsteps grew nearer, sending a strange pulse through your chest. Not quite nerves, not quite anticipation, but something else. Something you couldn't quite register. Maybe it was because you'd gone without a client for so long you'd forgotten how to react to being approached. You switch your cigarette from between your middle and index finger to your thumb and index finger, before pressing it into the bricks on the outside wall of the bar behind you, grinding the ember into the rough surface.

By the time you straightened, he was there.

He was closer, close enough that you could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the faint noticeable creases near his mouth, the way the dim glow of the bar's purposefully enticing lights flickered against the deep brown of his eyes.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at you, but different from the way most men leered at you. Not like you were a product they were trying to assess, a service they were weighing up in their minds, deciding whether or not you were worth the price. He looked at you like he already knew, as if his mind had already been made up.

You shifted slightly, the silence stretching, thick, awkward and expectant. It wasn't often that men like him approached you. Not men who carried or presented themselves the way he did.

You had dealt with plenty of men who thought they were above this. The ones who couldn’t look you in the eye and the ones who spoke in stammering hesitations and awkward euphemisms, as if it would somehow distract themselves from what they were actually there for, not wanting to admit to themselves that they'd stooped this low.

He wasn't like that.

“I was, uh…” he began, his voice low and smooth. “I was wondering if you were still working.”

You glanced up at him properly then, lifting your gaze just enough to meet his. He was a bit taller than you had realised, but not overwhelmingly so, just a few centimetres higher than you.

That was it. That was the moment.

The hesitation, the carefully chosen words, the way he said it like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was saying it right, while still maintaining a level of confidence.

You had seen this before. You had heard it before.

Some men were blunt, shameless in their asking. They treated it like any other purchase, like ordering a drink at a bar. “How much?” “How long?” “Can we go somewhere else?”

Others tried to be more discreet, more careful, afraid of being overheard or judged or caught in something they weren't supposed to be doing.

“What were you looking for?” you asked in response, your eyes wandering down his body, particularly down his left arm, before he answers.

“Well, do you charge for time or… activity?” his voice maintained that limbo between confident, calculated and measured, and unsure, discreet and almost afraid, making him difficult to read.

“Time.”

“How much for an hour?”

“£200 for an hour,” you told him. Before your work had gotten slower, you'd sometimes charged upwards of £500 for an hour, but with the lack of clients, you'd began charging less in hopes of more work.

He nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder for a moment, then down at the ground, then back at you. He didn't argue, didn't try to haggle, just nodded. His hand fished into the pocket of his blazer, pulling out a tattered black leather wallet, the material peeling away in places, and that was when you noticed it. The ring.

It was a simple wedding band, gold, nestled tightly on the ring finger on his left hand, catching the dim glow of the streetlights as he flipped open his wallet.

Married.

You should've guessed.

Most of them were.

But somehow, you hadn't expected it from him. He didn't have that same guilty air that most men had carried when they sought you out; no hesitation, no second-guessing, none of the quiet shame that usually accompanied their requests.

You kept your gaze steady, pretending you hadn't noticed. It wasn't your business. It never was. You needed the money more than anything, even if the money came from a married man.

He held his wallet open for a moment, counting the notes inside before pulling out the £200, flipping it shut again and shoving it back into his pocket before handing you the notes.

You tucked them into your jacket pocket, and he looked at you, waiting.

“There's that hotel down the road,” he said, his voice smooth and unwavering. “I'll get us a room.”

You nodded once, and just like that, it was settled.

He turned, slipping his hands back into his blazer pockets as he began walking, his pace unhurried, like this was just any other night, any other walk. You walked beside him, your worn-out boots clicking softly against the pavement, the only real sound between you, but aside from that, it was silent. Uncomfortably so.

You'd walked with clients before, obviously back when you had more. Usually, they would filled the space with words. Nervous small talk, strained attempts at casual conversation. Some of them treated it like a date, asking about your night, your plans, pretending that this was anything but a transaction. Others made crude comments, testing boundaries, seeing how far they could push before you pushed back.

But he didn't say anything, and neither did you.

You kept your gaze forward, watching the city stretch out around you. The glow of the bar signs, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from some drunken group staggering down the street. The city kept moving, oblivious to the two of you walking side by side: the married man who had just paid to cheat on his wife, and the girl he had chosen to do it with.

You weren't sure what you'd expected from him. Hesitation? Guilt? Regret, maybe? But there was none of that. He didn't fidget. Didn't glance around like he was worried about being seen. If anything, he looked calm, like this wasn't his first time, and that thought twisted something in your stomach. You didn't ask, though. It wasn't your place to care.

You focused on the hotel coming into view, its sign glowing dull yellow against the dark sky. It wasn't the worst place; mid-range, decent enough to not feel cheap but not extravagant enough to feel too detached.

He reached the door first, pulling it open and stepping aside to let you enter first. You hesitated for half a second. It was the smallest thing, just a flicker of surprise. Not many men bothered with things like that. The whole situation was already an unbalanced exchange, so most of them didn't waste time on little courtesies.

The lobby was quiet when you stepped inside, the drone of a TV playing on the wall the only real noise aside from the soft buzz of the overhead lights. A few armchairs and a coffee table with magazines stacked on top were tucked into a corner, likely placed there just for the visuals rather than actual use.

He stepped ahead of you, moving towards the front desk without hesitation while you lingered back slightly, letting him handle the transaction.

“Just one night, please.”

The receptionist, a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties with dark, slightly greying brunette hair pulled back into a low ponytail and thick-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, barely acknowledged him beyond a nod, her fingers already moving hastily across the keyboard in front of her with practiced efficiency.

He reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out his worn leather wallet once more, the edges softened from years of use, while the quiet click of keys filled the space between them.

“What name will it be under?” she asked, still focused on the screen in front of her.

“Alex Turner.”

She gave a small nod, her gaze never lifting. “Any form of ID?”

Without a word, he slid his driver's licence across the counter. She barely glanced at it, just registered the name and the photo before pushing it back towards him with an indifferent motion.

“Queen or a double?”

“Queen,” he answered without hesitation.

“And how many guests?”

“Two.”

More tapping, more quiet clicks of the keyboard. A few moments passed before she finally spoke again.

“That'll be £71 for the night.”

He didn't hesitate, just pulled his debit card out from his wallet and slid it across the counter, and she slid it back along with a key card a few moments later.

“Room 314. Checkout is at 11. Lifts are just down the hall to your right.”

“Thanks,” he said simply before turning his head to meet your gaze properly for the first time since you'd stepped inside. “Come on.”

Without waiting for a response, he started trailing towards the lifts. The card to the room rested between his fingers as he walked, his footsteps steady as he led the way.

You walked beside him, though your steps were instinctively slower than his, just enough to keep a small distance between the two of you. Not slow enough to seem reluctant or uninterested, but just enough to maintain a space that made you feel the slightest bit safer. It was a very small thing, but one thing you'd learned while being a sex worker is that there's no such thing as being “too safe.”

The thick carpet on the floor of the hallway muffled your footsteps, making the silence between the two of you in the quiet hotel feel even more daunting.

He pressed the button for the lift, using his left hand, and you wondered if he was doing it on purpose. To make sure you saw the ring, make sure you were aware of what you were about to do with a married man.

The light above the lift blinked, signalling its descent, and you stayed stood beside him. The wait was short, just a few seconds, but the silence that stretched between you seemed to elongate it.

When the doors finally slid open, he stepped in first, and you followed, once again keeping a little bit of distance between you two. The mechanical doors glided shut with a soft hum, sealing you both in.

He reached for the panel, once again with his left hand, and he pressed the button for the third floor, and you leaned against the mirrored wall, shifting your weight slightly. You didn't look at him, and he didn't look at you.

Aside from the soft whirring of the lift ascending, it was silent. The kind of silence that flooded a space quickly, swelling, thickening.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror on the wall that you were leaning on, and you watched him for a moment. His posture was relaxed but upright, with his hands in his blazer pockets and his gaze fixed forwards. He wasn't fidgeting or shifting his weight like most men you'd been in this scenario with.

When the doors slid open with a soft chime, the cool air of the corridor filtered in for a moment before he stepped out into the hallway, and you followed. The lighting here was dimmer, not as fluorescent as the ones that had illuminated the lobby. These were softer, warmer, rows of sconces mounted on the walls, casting a soft golden glow onto the otherwise beige hallway.

Each door was identical to the next; dark wood with a golden plated number. His eyes scanned the doors as he walked, until he stopped in front of one. Room 314.

He slid the key card into the reader, once again with his left hand, then there was a small pause before a soft beep accompanied by a green light and a quiet click of the lock releasing, indicating the door had unlocked, and he pushed it open, stepping inside without a word, and you followed.

You shut the door behind you, the sound muffled by the thick carpet, and you flicked on the light switch by the doorframe, though you weren't sure how long it would stay on for.

He shrugged off his blazer, hanging it on the coat rack by the door, barely paying you any mind at all, before slipping off his shoes and setting them neatly on the floor next to the rack. You look at him for a moment before sliding off your jacket as well, hanging it on the opposite side of the coat rack, and pulling off your boots and setting them beside his dress shoes.

It was a standard hotel room. Not overly luxurious, but not too basic either. A queen-sized bed, a TV on top of a chest of drawers on the far side of the room, accompanied by a small coffee table and a single armchair.

The silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him as he took a few steps inside, pausing near the foot of the bed, then exhaled through your nose before breaking the silence.

“So,” you said, your voice even. “What do you want?”

It was a simple question, obviously. One you'd asked a hundred different times to a hundred different men.

He looked at you then, properly, his dark eyes studying you with quiet intent, and you could tell he knew exactly what he wanted.

It was in the way his lips parted slightly, in the way his breath slowed just a fraction, but instead of answering immediately, he let a moment pass, like he was considering it, like he was deciding how to say it. Maybe even pretending to hesitate, as if he didn’t want to seem too eager.

“A blowjob.”

You nodded, unsurprised. Most of your clients started with that, when you used to get them.

“You've got an hour,” you reminded him, and he nodded once.

“Just a blowjob,” he repeated, his voice firm but not demanding. He didn't seem to care about the hour, how much he could get in that time, no attempt to push for more or less.

He had no interest in stretching this out, no expectation of anything more.

Fine by you.

He moved without hesitation; no awkward fumbling, no nervous second-guessing. Just quiet, assured movements as his hands went to his belt, the soft clink of metal as he unfastened the buckle, pulling the leather to one side until it came loose from his belt loops, dropping it onto the floor, before his hands moved to the waistband of his jeans. His fingers pressed lightly against the denim before they found the button, pushing it through the hole effortlessly, before tugging the zip down, the quick whir as the metal teeth seperated.

The waistband of his jeans hung open for a moment before he pulled them down just enough to let them fall down his legs, pooling around his ankles. You stayed still as you watched him slide his thumbs underneath the soft, dark grey waistband of his boxers before tugging them down much swifter, letting them join his jeans around his ankles before stepping out of them both, leaving them crumpled on the floor, but he left his shirt on.

He was already hard. Very hard. You wouldn't of been able to tell how aroused he was from the outside. He'd seemed calm, steady, just generally at ease, completely contrasting the impatience and restlessness your previous clients exhibited in the moments leading up to the sex.

He wasn't in a rush, wasn't trying to shove you onto his dick as fast as possible. He didn't seem eager to push you into anything faster than you were willing to go.

He just climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, settling back against the pillows and spreading his legs slightly as he got comfortable.

It'd obviously been a while since your last client, that long dry spell you'd endured for the past couple of months or so, but none of that mattered now, because even after all that time, you still knew exactly what to do.

You climbed onto the mattress yourself, settling between his legs on your knees at first, putting one hand on his thigh for a moment for balance, to position yourself just right.

You reached for the neckline of your dress, your fingers sliding beneath the fabric, and you slowly pulled it down, letting the straps slip loose down your shoulders. It falls down your arms until your chest is exposed, the cool air of the hotel room making your nipples stiffen.

His eyes followed your movements, lingering on your tits, and he reaches up to grab one, massaging and squeezing it gently before moving his hand to give the same attention to the other one.

You let the fabric of your dress bunch around your waist, not bothering to pull the rest of it off. While he pinches your nipple, you wrap your right hand around his cock. He was thick, your middle finger unable to meet your thumb around his girth as you pumped your fist up and down one, two, three times before murmuring, “You're fucking big…”

He didn't respond with words, but instead with a twitch of his cock and a squeeze of your boobs. From his response, or lack thereof, you could tell he knew one of two things. One, that he knew how huge his dick was, or two, that he knew you said that to all of your clients, regardless of whether they were two inches or twelve inches.

You glanced up at him for a moment, his prominent nose scrunched up ever so slightly as your thumb glides over his wide tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had formed over the sensitive skin.

You adjusted your position, lying on your stomach between his legs, your bare shoulders brushing against the insides of his thighs, and you licked a stripe along the underside of his thick cock. Your tongue travelled the long distance from the base, all up his shaft to the tip, tracing every ridge and vein with the tip of your tongue.

His left hand rested on your shoulder blade, the cool metal of his wedding band contrasting the heat of the moment, while you flicked your tongue against his frenulum. You pulled his foreskin back and pressed a kiss to that sensitive spot before wrapping your lips around the scorching hot tip, sucking gently for a moment before you took him in your mouth properly.

The weight of him on your tongue was familiar, yet distinct, his size stretching the soft heat of your mouth almost immediately. You kept your pace measured and slow as you bobbed your head up and down, adjusting to him, your lips sealing tightly around him as you took him deeper.

You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, the thick patch of coarse pubes coiled over his groin lightly scratching your soft skin, and you kept up the gentle suction, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked.

You gave the base of his dick a gentle squeeze before starting to stroke him in time with the movements of your mouth, your tongue teasing the velvety underside of him, hoping to pull a noise from him.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes with your mouth still full of him, and that's when you heard the first sound. It was barely audible, a slow, steady exhale with the undertones of a soft, breathy moan, accompanied by his head falling back against the white pillows.

It spurred you on, wanting to coax him deeper into the pleasure, for him to let go, to draw more of those soft, barely-there sounds from him.

Your moved your other hand to rest on his lower belly as you took him deeper, feeling the soft fabric of his t-shirt he still hadn't taken off beneath your palm, your lips stretching around his thick length.

The slick, wet, obscene sound of your mouth gliding up and down his cock filled the quiet space, along with a soft grunt tumbling from his lips. You pulled back all the way to the head, just suckling on the tip for a moment before taking him in again, deeper this time, the tip of your nose brushing against the thatch of dark, wirey hair around the base of his cock.

You glanced up at him again, meeting his eyes as you continued to pleasure him. His cheeks were flushed ever so slightly, his lips parted, and his eyes hooded, watching you as you worked your mouth over him. His breathing had gotten heavier, his chest rising and falling deeply, but still, he didn't moan too much.

You held his gaze as you took him deeper again, his tip kissing the back of your throat before you pulled your mouth off of him for a moment, stroking his cock with your hand while you caught your breath. His hand moved from your shoulder to your hair, gathering it behind your head in a messy makeshift ponytail before you wrapped your lips around him again, pulling his foreskin back again to access that sweet spot right where his shaft meets the head, gently sucking and flicking the tip of your tongue against it, pulling yet another noise from him.

“God…” he sighed, tugging on your hair lightly before releasing his grip from your hair all together, using that hand to prop himself up slightly while his right hand slips underneath you, gently tracing your collarbone before finding your tits once more.

His head fell back, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed hard, letting out another noise somewhere between a whine and a breathless moan as you sucked hard on the head, before pulling off again.

“That feel good, baby?” you murmured, your lips brushing against the head of his cock, your hot breath ghosting over the ridge. He lifted his head back up at that, making the simple movement look laboured, and his right hand once again moved from your boobs to your face, brushing the stray strands from your forehead, his fingers tracing your jawline.

You smiled up at him, lowering your head to lick and kiss along his shaft before taking him in your mouth properly again, slowly, letting the heat of your mouth wrap around him completely. You hummed softly and contentedly around his girth as you felt him pulse against your tongue, the gentle sensation comforting and familiar despite him being a complete stranger. You swallowed around him, hollowing your cheeks to create that perfect pressure that usually had your clients moaning within seconds.

You took him all the way down again, relaxing your throat to let him fill your mouth completely, letting out a few soft, muffled moans yourself. His body shuddered beneath you before his hips lifted off the mattress slightly, pressing his cock deeper into your mouth. He moaned again, louder this time, breathless and whiney as his cock twitched in your throat, his thighs lightly trembling.

In a moment of desperation, he cupped the back of your head with an unexpected force, contrasting how he'd gently caressed your face just before, pressing your face right up into his groin as he moaned.

You kept sucking hard, your face buried in his pubes and your lips flush against the base of his cock as his he ground his hips against your mouth. He was unshaved. Not just a little, but very. Dark, coarse curls covering his groin and lower stomach and running thick down between his legs. You weren't surprised though. He was married, after all. A man with a wife probably didn't see much of a need to stay trimmed. Not with someone who presumably loved him unconditionally, pubic hair and all.

The noise that tore from his throat was deep, raw, the groan vibrating through his chest and rolling past his lips, his thighs taut on either side of you as he came. It was the kind of noise men made when their last bit of resistance had shattered, and all that was left was pure, unadulterated sensation.

You felt the hot pulse of him against your tongue, the way his cock twitched with each spurt, the way his grip tightened on the back of your head just enough to keep you in place, making you take it all. His stomach was tense beneath your hand, and you instinctively swallowed everything he gave you. Your throat tightened and relaxed around him, taking in every last drop without hesitation.

When his grip finally loosened, it was with a long, deep exhale, his chest rising and falling slowly as you gently pulled back. Your lips dragged along his sensitive skin before letting him slip from your mouth, his cock dropping onto his stomach, a little wet patch forming on the bottom of his t-shirt from the saliva.

You pressed a final kiss to the underside of his softening shaft before sitting up properly on your knees, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were half-lidded, dark, but his expression unreadable.

He leaned himself back against the pillows, draping one of his arms over his stomach while he tucked the other behind his head. The room fell quiet. Not just quiet in the way that followed something like this, where heavy breaths evened out, and the raw edge of pleasure dulled into something slower, lazier, but quiet in a way that almost felt unnatural. Stretched out, hanging in the air between you, heavy and lingering. The only sounds were the faint hum of the hotel air conditioning and the distant, muffled noises of the city outside, the occasional horn blaring or the low murmur of voices from people walking past on the street below, but between the four walls of this rented space, there was nothing.

You remained kneeled between his legs for a few moments, the top, folded over half of your dress still bunched around your waist, but you didn't bother to fix it yet. Your eyes drifted over him for a moment, studying the lines of his face, the way his tousled, slightly sweaty hair fell over his forehead, the way his chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm beneath the fabric of his soft, worn top.

He hadn't said a word since he came, and you weren't sure if he was lost in thought or just waiting for you to speak first.

After another long moment, you shifted from between his legs, sitting beside him and leaning back against the headboard. You looked down at him again before breaking the silence.

“You've still got about forty minutes left,” you said softly, your fingers idly smoothing out the crumpled white bedsheets beneath you. It was just a reminder, just a nudge, just an acknowledgment that the time was his to do with as he pleased. “If you wanted anything else.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours for a brief moment before looking away again. “No,” he said simply but certain, as if he knew what you were going to say before you said it and had premeditated his response. “Just the blowjob.”

You raised your eyebrows ever so slightly, your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer with, not surprise, but mild curiosity.

You'd seen both ends of the spectrum before in your clients. Men booking an hour and only using a fraction of it, while most others tried to get the absolute most out of an hour, squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of the time they'd paid for.

But he was unwavering, adamant in his decision, and you couldn't help but find it a bit odd.

You let the silence settle between you again, feeling the cool air against your exposed skin, and stark contrast to the lingering warmth of his touch, the ghost of his fingertips imprinted on your tits, his wedding ring leaving behind the faintest memory of its presence.

Your eyes trailed down to his left arm draped over his torse, his hand sprawled across his stomach, and you caught sight of it yet again. The golden band wrapped around his ring finger. You never said anything about it when you'd noticed them on clients' fingers before. It wasn't your business, but it was always impossible to ignore.

To think that there was someone else out there, an unsuspecting, trusting woman who thought she knew who his heart belonged to, someone who had made vows with him, shared a life with him, likely even slept beside him in their own bed just last night.

To think you knew who that woman was. Well, you'd seen her with him before.

But yet, here he was. Lying in a cheap hotel room, half-naked, spent, having just paid for the kind of intimacy he should've been getting from his wife, but still, it wasn't your business. It never was.

You tried not to think about it much more. Instead, you asked him, running a hand through your hair, “Do you have any cigarettes?”

You weren't desperate for one, but the craving was there, creeping up the back of your throat slowly. You also just wanted something to do with your hands. You hadn't had the chance to buy yourself a new pack after smoking your last one earlier, before he had appeared.

He glanced up at you before looking away again. He didn't seem to be able to hold your gaze for more than a few seconds. He said, his voice low and steady, “In my blazer,” he paused for a moment. “Pocket.”

Your eyes flickered over to the coat rack by the door where he'd hung up his blazer when he entered, and you pushed yourself up off of the bed. You crossed the room to the rack, your fingers slipping into the pocket and feeling the familiar shape of a cigarette pack. Thin cardboard, scuffed at the edges, and the foil inside crinkled. You pulled it out and flipped open the loose top, seeing that there were a couple left inside. Not exactly fresh, but not stale either.

You plucked one from the box, bringing the filter to your mouth and holding it between your lips as you turned your head back towards him. He was watching you now, his dark eyes following your movements, but there was no lust in his gaze now.

“You mind?” you asked, though it felt rhetorical. He shook is head, a small, barely noticeable movement, and you nodded, more to yourself than him.

You fished your own almost empty lighter out of your jacket pocket, also hung on the coat rack, and you shook it before flicking the wheel a few times until a small flame sparked. You inhaled, the familiar, comforting burn of the smoke floating in your lungs before exhaling.

You made your way across the room once more, the cigarette dangling from between your fingers, leaving a trail of delicate wisps of smoke behind you. You perched on the windowsill, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out slightly, nudging the window open ajar so the smoke can flow out.

The air outside was cool, enough to raise goosebumps across your skin, seeping into the room in lazy drafts. You didn't bother fixing your dress, pulling the straps back over your shoulders and attempting to make yourself decent. The cool breeze drifting in from the window made your nipples perk up once again. You left it down, the fabric still bunched uselessly around your waist, your tits exposed to the open air, to the room, to anyone who might have been looking up from the street below.

You took a slow drag, inhaling deep, letting the smoke settle before exhaling through your nostrils. The view wasn't much; mainly just rooftops, blinking streetlights, and the occasional set of fluorescent headlights as cars passed below. But it was more interesting than staring at blank hotel walls, whatever he was doing.

He hadn't moved much, still on the bed, his legs stretched and sprawled out, one arm resting on his stomach, still naked from the waist down. He was watching you. You could feel his gaze on you, a quiet presence between the two of you. You let the silence stretch out, letting him sit with whatever thoughts were running through his head.

Maybe he was thinking about his wife. About the woman who's finger their golden wedding band still sat snug around. Maybe he was thinking about everything you two had just done. Maybe he wasn't thinking at all.

Your cigarette burned slowly between your fingers, the orange of the ember glowing each time you took a drag. The cool night air kissed your bare skin, but still, you didn't pull your dress up.

His voice broke through the silence, low and steady, just like it had been all night. “Are you staying here tonight?”

You turned your head slightly, not fully looking at him, but just enough to acknowledge that you had heard him.

It wasn't the kind of question you'd heard clients usually ask. Some might assume you'd just leave once the hour was up, others didn’t care enough to ask, and some would pathetically offer to pay for extra time just to have company a little longer. But he didn't sound like he was offering, didn’t sound hopeful or pleading. It was just a question, simple and even, like he genuinely wanted to know.

You took another drag, letting his question hang in the air for a while as the smoke filled your lungs, exhaling towards the open window before you replied, “Do you want me to?”

You heard him shift slightly, the bedsheets creasing and the mattress creaking with his movement. He didn't answer right away, but when he did, his voice wasn't in the unreadable, measured tone it had been all night. There was a hint of something else; maybe a tinge of vulnerability, or hesitation.

“I don't know,” he admitted after a moment, his voice softer. “Maybe.”

That made you turn your head a little more. You met his gaze, and he was still sat where you'd left him.

Maybe. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either.

You tapped the ash from your cigarette, watching as it fluttered down out of the window in all different directions, dissipating into the night. You reply, “I normally charge for that.”

When you glanced back at him, his expression made you pause.

It wasn't irritation or frustration at your response, nothing like that. It was something quieter, something more knowing. A look that told you he already had you figured out, at least in one way.

Because he knew.

He'd been observing you long before he approached you earlier that night. He had noticed you before, maybe not in a way you had caught onto at the time, but he had been looking. Studying. And he knew something most men wouldn’t have figured out so easily; that it had been weeks since your last client. That the dry spell had dragged on longer than you had ever anticipated. That you needed the money. That you didn’t have the luxury of saying no.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, the cigarette burning low between your fingers. Then, without a word, you turned back toward the window, taking another slow drag, letting the embers glow bright before fading again.

You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no, either.

“I'll pay you, if that's what you want. Or need.”

That hint of vulnerability you'd heard in his voice just moments before was more prominent now, the unbothered confidence he'd exuded during your time together filtering out.

“Just stay.”

It wasn't a demand, not a command from a man used to getting his way. It wasn't even a transaction, not really. It was something else. Something closer to a request, maybe even a plea.

You leaned your head back against the wall of the windowsill, closing your eyes for a second. If you said no, you knew he wouldn't argue. He wouldn't push. He'd probably just watch you get dressed, maybe offer you a lift somewhere, then let you go, but he'd noticed things about you that others hadn't. He knew you hadn't been working, and he knew you needed to be working.

And maybe he needed something too.

You sighed slowly before you spoke.

“Okay,” you said, looking over at him again. “I'll stay.”

You ground the cigarette against the windowsill, putting it out completely before tossing it out the window, leaving it ajar. You stepped out of the windowsill before slipping your hands under the waistband of your tights, pulling them down and off your legs. They were ripped and thin from years of wearing, clinging to your skin like cobwebs whenever you wore them. You pulled them off of your feet before tossing them to the side, not bothering to look or care where they landed.

You then finally pulled the straps of your dress back up over your shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. It wasn't the most comfortable dress in the world, but you didn't really have another option to sleep in.

You got into the bed beside him, slipping underneath the thick duvet while he stayed lay on top of it. As you made yourself comfortable, you expected him to say something, anything. Small talk, a question, some comment about the night, or even just a joke to break the silence.

But, nothing.

The air conditioner hummed softly in the corner, filling the room with a low, mechanical drone. You could hear the faint sound of cars outside, the distant murmur of life still moving beyond the walls of this hotel room, but between you and him, there was nothing.

You lay on your side, your cheek pressed against the pillow as you watched him in the dim light, your gaze falling down to his ring again.

You couldn't help but wonder where his wife thought he was. You knew all the basic, typical excuses. On a work trip, out with friends, visiting family. But you wondered what he had told her.

But once again, it's not your business. You just let the silence sit between you, until he moves, snapping you out of it and stopping your mind from getting too deep in that rabbit hole. He pulled the duvet up over him, joining you under it. He exhaled deeply, settling on his back once again, staring up at the ceiling.

You stayed on your side, facing him, but you closed your eyes. You heard him shift again, just slightly, only his head turning in your direction. He must've seen your eyes closed, as he murmured, “…Goodnight.”

You hesitated, just for a moment, before you replied, your eyes still closed, “Goodnight.”

You weren't sure how long it took for you to drift off, but when you woke up, it was early. Far too early, judging by the pale light filtering through the curtains and the cold dawn air seeping in through the window you'd left ajar. It was morning, but just barely. The cool air had been slowly invading the room while you two slept, a contrast to the warmth beneath the duvet, and for a moment, you just lay there, still and quiet.

You rubbed the sleep from the corners of your eyes before looking over at him, still asleep. His breathing was deep and steady, his lips slightly parted. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, a few strands falling over his forehead. The t-shirt he'd slept in had ridden up slightly as well as his side of the duvet being pushed down, exposing just a sliver of skin above his hip.

As for leaving, you weren't sure what the right move was. Leaving now would spare you both the awkwardness of waking up next to each other, of the inevitable moment when he'd have to remember what he'd done and how he got here. You could slip out quietly now, gather your things, and disappear before he even stirred.

But then what?

You'd have to walk out of the hotel alone, past the receptionist who had already seen you last night, past the other guests making their way to breakfast or checkout, all while in ripped tights and a mini dress. And even though you'd walked away from plenty of clients without a second thought before, something about this one made you hesitate.

So you stayed.

The minutes felt like hours, slow and heavy, the room still dim with early morning light. You lay there, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing, the occasional shuffle of footsteps down the corridor outside the door to your room.

You shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him, staring up at the ceiling. You didn't know what him waking up would bring; whether he’d be distant, polite, or regretful. Maybe he'd pretend last night never happened. Maybe he'd slip back into the confidence he'd had when he first approached you.

Either way, you decided you'd ride it out.

Eventually, he'd wake up, and you'd leave together. No lingering, no drawn-out goodbyes. Just two people going their separate ways, back to their separate lives.

And then, like always, you'd move on.

You noticed his breathing change before anything else, the deep, slow rhythm of sleep turning into something lighter and more conscious. When he stirred, it was with a slow stretch, a small grunt and a rustle of the sheets as he rolled onto his side. His hand came up to drag over his face, but you didn't turn to look at him yet.

When he did finally move again, it wasn't with hesitation. He sat up, exhaling quietly, running a hand through his messy hair. You turned your head slightly, watching as he blinked against the morning light, but the awkwardness you'd been expecting never quite settled in. At least, not entirely.

He seemed preoccupied, maybe even in a bit of a hurry. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his trousers and boxer shorts on the floor. His movements were purposeful. Not rushed exactly, but definitely not slow. Like he had somewhere to be. Work, maybe. Probably.

You sat up, letting the duvet fall from your shoulders as you leaned back against the headboard. He didn't say anything to you at first, but neither did you.

When he buttoned and zipped his jeans, he turned to glance at you, giving you a half-hearted nod of acknowledgement. You pushed yourself up out of bed a few moments after, not bothering to even make an attempt to put your tights back on. You pick them up from where you'd discarded them on the floor the night before, then walking over to the door of the room to slide on your boots and jacket, stuffing your tights into your pocket.

He grabbed his blazer off of the rack before sliding his shoes on, and with that, you followed him out of the door.

The silence between you wasn't overly heavy, but it just existed. You two made your way down the corridors, past doors identical to the one you'd just left.

The lift ride down to the lobby was quiet, the soft, mechanical hum of descending floors the only sound that filled the space between you. The same uncomfortable lighting, the same mirrored walls reflecting the both of you back at yourselves. You didn't glance at him, and he didn’t look at you either, both of you caught in the unspoken understanding of the morning after.

When the doors slid open, the lobby was as sterile and impersonal as it had been the night before. The receptionist barely looked up as he stepped forward to check out, giving his key card back with a nod and a murmured, “Checking out of 314.”

The process was quick, efficient. No questions asked, no lingering looks, just a receipt printed and handed over and a polite, almost automatic, “Have a good day.”

The air was cool and crisp as you stepped outside. The city was already awake, cars moving sluggishly through the streets, people heading to work, to school, to whatever lives they led. You both stopped just outside the entrance, a brief moment before going your separate ways.

He turned to you, hands in his pockets, and he asked, his voice smooth but with remnants of sleep, “How much do you want for staying the night?”

You glanced up at him before replying “£100.”

He nodded, no argument, no negotiation. He pulled out his wallet once more, just as he'd done the night before, and he pulled out five £20 notes for you.

“Thanks,” you gave a half-hearted smile as you took the notes, slipping them in your pocket along with your hand.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking a slow deep breath in, glancing around before looking back at you and saying, “See you later.”

You didn't watch him walk away, or try to figure out which direction he was going, whether he was heading towards a cab, a parked car, or just blending in with the sluggish morning foot traffic. Maybe he was going to work, or home, or to a coffee shop or a bar, somewhere that served as a liminal space before he had to return to whatever life existed beyond the anonymity of last night. It didn't matter to you.

You turned in the opposite direction, your worn boots scuffing against the pavement, hands stuffed in the pockets of your jacket. Your eyes scanned over the city as you walked, watching as cars idled at red lights, cyclists weaved between them, people shuffled along with tired eyes and takeaway cups warming their hands.

Your flat was as unremarkable as ever, a small, cheap place that barely fit the definition of home. It was the kind of place that didn't ask for much, and didn't expect much. A sink that dripped no matter how hard you turned the handle, a radiator that barely worked and rattled ominously whenever you tried to switch it on, and a window that didn't close all the way.

You'd told your landlord about these problems many months ago, but just like everything else in this building, it was just a problem left unresolved.

You kicked off your boots by the front door as you entered and shrugged off your jacket, draping it over the back of your tattered couch. You fished the money out of the pocket of your jacket, making sure you had it all. It was mostly twenty-pound-notes, a few tens, but you checked that it added up to £300 before tucking them into an old jar in the kitchen where you kept most of the money made by clients. When you used to get them more often, that was.

It was enough to pay for groceries, maybe even enough to pay off a few of your overdue bills.

Hopefully enough to get you through the next few weeks until your next client came along, if they ever did.

The next two weeks crawled by, thick and slow, dragging their weight behind them like something half-dead. Nothing. Again. Just like before that man. Alex, you thought his name was, or at least that was what you remembered from when he had checked into the hotel.

Names never mattered much to you, not with what you did. It made it too personal. Unless they'd asked you to moan their name, you never bothered.

But now, even he was gone, fading into the same absence that had filled your nights before him.

You tried. You went out, made the rounds, hung around by the places that used to get you flooded with work, but now, nothing. You dressed the part; skimpy dresses, short skirts, low necklines that left little to the imagination, heels that clicked against the pavement like an invitation.

But still, nothing.

You were invisible in the way that only people like you could be, standing in plain sight yet unseen. The men who used to look at you, who used to slow their steps and cast glances from the corners of their eyes, no longer lingered.

Maybe it was just bad luck, or maybe it was just the economy. The way indulgences like this had become harder to justify. Maybe it was just a slow season. Excluding that last man you had, it'd been over two months since your last client now.

The last of the money he had gave you was nearly gone. You'd stretched it out as much as you could, buying the cheapest groceries, skipping meals when you could, rationing what little warmth your radiator could provide, but £300 didn't last long.

Nights became longer. You walked more, stayed out later, hoping that maybe someone would stop. You tried different spots, changed up your routine, even considered lowering your rates again just to get something, but nothing worked. The men who did glance your way never stopped, never approached, never reached for their wallets with that familiar mix of guilt and desire.

The silence of your empty flat became unbearable. The dripping tap, the cold air seeping in through the cracked window, the faint smell of dust and cigarette smoke that clung to the fabric of your furniture; it all felt heavier now. Every night, you came home with the same empty pockets, the same unshakable weight settling in your chest. You would sit on the couch, scrolling through your laptop mindlessly, looking at nothing in particular, just trying to distract yourself from the growing anxiety curling inside you.

And sometimes your mind slipped back to him, Alex. It wasn't like he was anything too special, anyway. Older and married with a big dick, you'd had plenty of those. He was just the first in a long time, the only in a long time, and that made you wonder what he saw in you that nobody else seemed to anymore.

You hadn't thought much about him in the days right after, too caught up in the relief of finally having made some money, but now, with nothing else filling the void, his face lingered in the back of your mind. The way he had been so sure of himself when he had approached you, the quiet confidence in his voice as he made his request. The way he had watched you, not just in the hotel room but before, before he had even come to you. He had known you hadn't had clients in weeks. He had seen it.

You wondered if he was thinking about you now. Probably not, but you'd seen him around few times after your night together, with her, his wife. Walking hand in hand or with his arm around her shoulder, sharing a small kiss or a few whispered words. You should've felt guilty, should've felt sorry for her, completely oblivious to the fact her husband had cheated on her just days before, but you didn't.

Men like him didn't think about women like you, not after the fact. You had been a moment, an indulgence, something he had sought out and paid for and left behind without a second thought. He had a wife, a life, maybe even a child, a world beyond what happened with you. If he was thinking about anything now, it was probably work, or his morning coffee, or whatever mundane responsibilities filled the lives of men who had the luxury of stability.

But still, your mind circled back to him more often than you wanted to admit, because at least with him, for one night, the dry spell had ended. Now, it stretched on again, endless and unforgiving.

The night had started just like the others. You had been lingering near one of your usual spots, the cool night air pressing against your bare skin, the city moving around you in its usual detached way. The pavement was damp from an earlier rain, the lights from nearby bars reflecting in puddles, casting a distorted, artificial glow over everything.

You weren't expecting much. You weren't expecting anything, really. Just another night of waiting, another night of trying.

And then, you saw him.

At first, you thought it was just some other man, some stranger who just happened to look familiar in the dim light, but then he moved closer, and recognition settled in.

It was Alex.

The man from the hotel two weeks ago. The man who had given you your last job, or rather you'd given your last 'job to, before the dry spell stretched on unbearably. The man who had watched you, observed you, knew you hadn’t had any clients for a while before him. And now, here he was again, standing in front of you, looking at you in the same way he had that previous night; like he had already made up his mind before he had even approached.

“Hi,” he said, his voice quieter than you remembered, like he was hesitant, or maybe just unsure of what to say. “I want to see you again.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing around for a moment as if to check if anyone saw him talking to you. Maybe the guilt was heavier this time, maybe two weeks had given him time to think about what he had done that night, but if he had regrets, they weren't strong enough to keep him from coming back.

You met his eyes, and before you could respond, he continued. “There's a bar down the road, it's got a few rooms. We could go there.”

You didn't say anything yet, watching him shift slightly.

“I'll buy you a drink first,” he added, as if he felt the need to justify it, like that somehow would differ it from last time, but it made you smile. Just a small quirk of your lips, but enough for him to notice. It wasn't something clients usually did. They wanted to get to the point, get what they paid for and be on their way, but he wasn't rushing, wasn't pushing for anything. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was something else, but either way, you weren't about to turn down a free drink.

“Alright,” you finally said, your voice soft and smooth. “For how long tonight?”

His gaze trails off from yours, down to the puddles of rain on the pavement from the earlier showers, and he said, a little quieter, “The whole night. Please.”

You nodded and told him, “£400.”

He didn't argue, again, didn't try to haggle or get you to lower the price, just another confirmation that he'd already made up his mind before soughting you out again. He just agreed and fished out his wallet, pulling the notes out carefully.

After he handed you the notes and you put them in your pocket, you two walked to the bar together, side by side, but not quite touching. The sound of drunken laughter spilling out of pubs, the faint, distant sound of music, and cars with blaring headlights driving past, the light reflecting off of every puddle.

Inside, the bar was small, warm, dimly lit, the kind of place where people came to drink quietly as opposed to getting completely drunk. A few tables were occupied, some older men nursing their pints alone, a couple in the corner speaking in hushed voices. The bartender gave you both a smile as you walked in before going back to wiping down the surfaces.

He ordered a whiskey for himself and a vodka cranberry for you before quietly asking the bartender about the room availability upstairs. The worker asked him a few questions before handing over a key, a much more laid-back than the check-in process at the last hotel you'd been to.

You watched as he handed over the cash, your eyes lingering on his hands. They were nice. Large, veiny, strong-looking. When the bartender handed over your drinks, he took a slow sip of his whiskey, his wedding ring clinking gently against the side of the glass, before leading you over to a small table in the corner.

“You been doing alright?” he asked after sitting down, his voice a bit rougher than before. The question caught you off guard. It wasn't something clients usually asked. In fact, they rarely saw you as a person, no more than a set of holes to be rented for a few hours, to be very honest, but there was something in his voice, something just slightly softer, like maybe he actually cared to hear the response.

You swirled your drink in your glass, the ice tinking against each other as they shifted. “Been quiet,” you admitted, setting your glass down on the sticky, dark brown wooden table.

He nodded as if he had already known the answer. There was another pause, another sip of whiskey, before he spoke again.

“When we go upstairs…” he started, his voice quieter and his gaze low, trying not to meet your eyes. “Can you- um… would you call me daddy?”

It wasn't an unusual request. You'd been asked for worse. Much worse. But what caught your attention wasn't the request itself, but rather the way he said it. Not smug, not demanding, not trying to put on some kind of dominant act like so many others did. No, there was something else there. The slightest hint of embarrassment, a flicker of vulnerability that he couldn’t quite hide.

You didn't say yes immediately, didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you just tilted your head slightly, watching him, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make him wonder.

"You like that?" you asked, voice slow, smooth. His eyes flicked back to you for just a second before answering, almost shyly.

“…Yeah.”

You smiled, letting his words hang in the air between you for a few more moments before replying softly, “I can do that for you.”

You noticed a flicker of relief flash across his features as he nodded, exhaling a small, quiet breath through his nose.

The conversation, if you could even call it that, was slow. Hesitant.

He sat with his drink, fingers wrapped loosely around the glass, rolling it slightly in his palm, watching the liquid shift. His wedding ring caught the low light every now and then, a fleeting glint of gold before it was swallowed back into the shadows of the dim bar. He didn't fidget much, but you could tell he was thinking, maybe too much, maybe about things he shouldn't be thinking about right now.

“You been busy?” you asked after a moment, your voice casual.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, just for a second, before he looked back down at his drink. "Same as always.”

Same as always. You wondered what that meant for a man like him. You wondered if he went back to his wife after the first night you'd spent together. If he kissed her when he came in through the door, if she made him coffee, if she noticed anything different about him.

But that wasn't something you were going to ask. That wasn't something you wanted to ask, and you were sure that wasn't something he wanted to answer.

"Thought about coming back sooner?" you asked instead, tilting your head slightly, watching him, studying the way his expression remained carefully neutral.

For the first time, he actually smirked, just a little, just the faintest curve of his lips as he exhaled through his nose. "Maybe."

You hummed, dragging your finger around the rim of your glass, a faint red lipstick mark pressed onto the glass from where you'd been sipping it. "What stopped you?”

He took a sip of his drink, his throat shifting slightly as he swallowed, before he finally said, "Didn't know if I should."

"And what changed your mind?" you pressed, curiosity getting the better of you now.

His fingers tapped absently against his glass, a small, repetitive sound. He didn't answer right away, but when he did, his voice was quieter than before.

"Didn't want to stay away any longer."

The way he said it, the weight behind it, made your stomach dip just slightly. It wasn't love, it wasn't devotion, it wasn't even attachment, not entirely, but it was something. Some little thing that had tugged at him enough to bring him back to you.

“Should we do something about it?” you murmured, your lips curling at the corners into the faintest smile.

His eyes met yours again, and without a word, he downed the rest of his drink and set his empty glass beside yours on the table before standing up, and gestured towards the stairs leading up to the rooms above.

You followed him up the steep, narrow, rickety wooden stairs, creaking loudly with each step you took. He unlocked the door with the key he'd been given and pushed the door open, and you followed after him.

It wasn't at all like the last hotel you'd been in. It was smaller, only a three or four rooms available in total. It seemed older, the few decorations looking like they'd been plucked from an old vintage second-hand shop. The same dark wood from the bar downstairs climbed up the walls and framed the old furniture, polished but worn in places where time and use had left their marks. The wallpaper was dark, patterned in a way that might've been stylish once, decades ago, but now just felt old. Even the lighting was dimmer, warmer, the sconces on the walls casting a low, flickering glow

It was the kind that sat above places like this; a bar with cheap drinks and patrons who didn’t ask too many questions.

The room itself smelled like old wood and something faintly floral, like an air freshener that had been plugged in as a half-assed attempt to cover up the underlying musty scent.

The room was simple. A double bed with faded burgundy sheets, a small dresser, a mirror hanging slightly crooked on the wall, a tatty sofa with mismatched cushions, and a TV that probably didn't work. The kind of place built for one-night stays like this.

You slipped off your heels and draped your jacket over the back of the couch before turning back to him, letting your gaze drop slightly.

“What do you want this time?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

He exhaled through his nose, a soft, amused sound before shrugging off that same blazer he'd worn last time, draping it over the couch next to your jacket. “Want you from behind,” he said simply.

There was no hesitation this time, no feigned uncertainty. He knew exactly what he wanted.

His fingers worked at his belt, the soft clink of the metal buckle tainting the quiet of the room as he undid it, pulling it to one side to free it from his belt loops before starting on his button and zip.

“On all fours,” he clarified while pushing the button of his jeans through the hole, followed by the soft, metallic whir of his zip being pulled down.

You smiled a little at his instruction, hooking your thumbs under waistband of your short skirt, sliding it down your hips and letting it pool at your feet before stepping out of it, draping it over the back of the couch on top of your jacket.

The room's dim, golden lighting from the lamp cast delicate shadows across your bare thighs as you turned to move towards the bed. You had no intention of taking your shirt off. Not that you were shy, far from it, but you liked the contrast of keeping something on.

You were stopped by his hands, firmly gripping your waist before finding the hem of your shirt, tugging it upwards. You let out a small breath of surprise, but you didn't stop him, letting him pull it up over your head and off your arms, bunching it up in his hand before tossing it in the general direction of the couch, but he didn't care too much where it landed.

The cool air of the room made your nipples tighten in response and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pressing his chest against your back, and you felt that he'd taken his shirt off this time. His arms snaked around your waist, one of his hands trailing up to squeeze your boobs as he kissed the side of your neck.

He pulled you closer to him, his arm tightening around your waist and his hand squeezing your tits harder, feeling your hard nipples against his palm.

He pressed a final kiss just below your ear before slipping his hands underneath the waistband of your panties, sliding them down as he kneeled down behind you, pressing a few kisses to the backs of your thighs, his eyes closing as he pressed a paticularly long kiss just below your ass cheek.

When he stood back up, he pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades before tugging down his own underwear down his legs while you stepped out of yours. Once they were down, he grabbed them off the floor by the waistband and tossing them in whatever direction his wrist flicked in first, not wanting to waste a single second.

His lips landed on your neck again, the opposite side this time, and you could feel his cock, long, hard, hot and pulsing, against your thigh as his arms wrapped around you from behind again, holding you close to him. Almost unintentionally, from shifting his hips in an attempt to get some friction, his searing hot cock slid between your thighs, and he moaned, his lips still latched to you neck.

He started to rock his hips gently, tentatively, adjusting the position of his feet to get more leverage as he thrusted his cock in and out of between your thighs.

After a few more thrusts, his hips stilled, his hips pressed right up against your ass before he murmured, an underlying hint of humour in his tone, “Should we get on the bed?”

Your lips curled into a small smile, turning your head just enough to look up at him. You half-expected him to kiss you, after all that neck kissing, but he didn't. You weren't sure if he was ready for anything mouth-on-mouth yet, and you weren't going to force him into anything.

His hands drifted down to your hips, his grip firm but not forceful, guiding you onto the bed and positioning you just how he wanted you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as your crawled forward just enough to give him some space to kneel behind you, and you settled on all fours, arching your back just enough to give him a good view as well as easy access while he quickly padded across the room back to where he'd left his jeans, pulling a condom out of the back pocket.

The bed creaked as he got on the bed behind you, then you felt his hand on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze before it slid up your back, steadying himself as you heard him tear open the wrapped before he rolled it on himself.

His fingertips traced down your spine, just barely ghosting over the fair skin before he leaned down, pressing soft and warm, slow and deliberate kisses along your back, his lips moving along your shoulder blades, all the way down to the dip of your lower back.

His lips pressed against every vertebrae, his teeth grazing your skin, the contrast between his soft lips and the the sharp drag of his teeth sending a shiver through you. When he pressed the final kiss to your skin, the lowest point of your back, he straightened up again. He wrapped one hand around his latex-wrapped cock, rubbing the tip along your soaked pussy lips before lining himself up.

The head of his cock nudged at your entrance before he gently pushed his hips forward. He slid in slowly, his thick shaft stretching you just enough for that subtle burn you adored, but not enough for it to hurt.

You gasped softly, your breath melting into a gentle moan as you murmured, “Daddy…”

He liked that. A lot. You felt him twitch inside you as he continued to push forward, letting out a deep groan himself once he reached the hilt.

You felt his pubes gently scratch against your thighs as he held himself there for a moment, giving you a few seconds to adjust to the fullness before placing one of his hands on your lower back, his fingers sprawling out, and he pulled back before pushing back in again.

You let out another moan, slightly higher-pitched this time, whinier, your pussy fluttering and tightening around him as you adjusted to the sheer size of him. He was big, you knew that from the first time, but having him like this, feeling how deep he could get, how much he could stretch you, it was indescribable.

He exhaled deeply, his hands settling on your ass cheeks as he began to thrust properly, building a steady rhythm. You felt it again, the cool metal of his wedding ring pressing against the hot skin on your left cheek as his thumb rubbed over your skin absentmindedly, but the grip he had on you made it clear that he wasn't going to be gentle for long.

You could feel the tension in his body, like he had to physically restrain himself from pulling all the way out and slamming right back in again.

As he kept up those steady thrusts, you continued moaning softly for him each time he pushed in, but you could tell he wanted to get rougher, so to urge him on, you whimpered, breathy and laced with submission, “Fuck, harder, daddy…”

The effect was immediate. His grip on your ass tightened as he groaned, a low rumble from deep in his chest as he moved faster, thrusting into you with a newfound hunger, getting harder, deeper, and rougher with each snap of his hips.

The bed creaked beneath you, the rickety wooden frame protesting under the force of his movements. His hands roamed over your body. Up your back, underneath to your stomach, up to your tits and giving each of them a squeeze before settling between your legs, his rough fingers finding your clit and circling it in time with his thrusts, and then it happened.

A sudden pop, a sharp crack from his knee as he drove forward, and he instantly faltered. He slowed down, just for a moment, a quiet, barely audible huff of irritation leaving his lips. His rhythm stuttered, and you felt his hands momentarily tense before he eased his movements, shifting his weight slightly as if to lessen the strain.

You could tell he was embarrassed. He didn't say anything, but you felt the way his fingers twitched against your waist, the slight hesitation in his next thrust. Maybe he thought you'd say something, acknowledge it, but you didn't. Instead, you just pushed back against him, rolling your hips, coaxing him to keep going, and he did.

With a low grunt, he picked up his pace again, slower at first, regaining his bearings before he found his rhythm once more, but this time, it was different. Still rough, still deep, still relentless, but there was something else too. A slight urgency, like he needed to reclaim control, to push past that brief, unwanted reminder of his own age.

His breathing was rough, laboured, and every time you moaned for him, letting that daddy slip from your lips, you felt him twitch inside your warmth, heard the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. It was the only confirmation you needed; he fucking loved it.

The headboard knocked against the wall in rhythm with his movements, a steady, ceaseless rhythm, punctuated only by the occasional grunt from low his throat. His grip tightened on your ass, raising his hand up just enough before bringing it back down in a harsh slap, watching the flesh bounce slightly.

The feeling of his long, thick cock filling you up over and over again, combined with the pads of his fingers continuously rubbing your clit in tight circles almost too much. You lowered your head to rest on your elbows, your back arching as you moaned and whined for him, and you could tell he was getting close too.

His pace was getting less controlled, both in his thrusts and his fingers on your clit, his breathing getting shallower, and when he leaned forward, his chest pressing to your back, you could feel the thin sheen of sweat coating him, his small patch of twiddly chest hair slightly dampened.

“Fuck, you feel good…” he groaned into your ear, and you clenched around him at that, rocking your hips back against him, meeting his thrusts half way. His grip on your ass tightened almost painfully and his rhythm faltered again, this time not from embarrassment, but because he was right there, teetering on the edge.

You squeezed your eyes shut and whimpered, “Daddy, I'm gonna cum…”

A strangled moan rose from his lips as he buried himself in you one last time. His body went rigid, his face scrunching up and his cock twitching uncontrollably as he spilled into the condom, letting out a long, low moan of pure satisfaction.

The sensation of him filling up the condom inside you was enough to send you over the edge as well, your pussy muscles spasming around him as you came, murmuring a soft, “Daddy…”

For a moment, he just stayed still, his sweat-drenched forehead pressed against your shoulder as he caught his breath. The only sound in the room was the distant murmur of the bar downstairs, and the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing as he finally started to come back down from his high.

As he finally withdrew, you felt the slow drag of him against your sensitive walls as he slipped out, leaving behind a dull, empty ache in his absence. He took his time pulling the condom off, his fingers deft and practiced as he tied it off and set it aside on the bedside table for now.

The dim, warm glow from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his skin, accentuating the sweat still shiny on his skin, while you took a deep, steady breath before straightening yourself up, your thighs aching from the way he'd gripped you.

You sat up, rolling your shoulders for a brief moment before shuffling to lay beside him on the bed, mirroring his position. You stretched your legs out next to his, the sheets slightly cool against your warm skin. You didn't bother slipping underneath the duvet. Not yet, anyway. Instead, you let your body sink into the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, still feeling the remnants of his touch.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly peaceful either. It was something in between, something neither of you seemed willing to break just yet.

Your gaze drifted to him, studying the side of his face. The soft line of his jaw, the faint creases at the corners of his eyes, the texture of his skin. His dark hair was a little messier now, strands sticking up slightly from where his fingers had run through it earlier.

You turned your head slightly, watching him as he lay there, his eyes half-lidded, his fingers idly tracing patterns against his stomach like he was lost in thought.

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, one arm propped under his head, making eye contact with you.

He took a deep breath before saying simply, “My wife doesn't know.”

You turned as he spoke, lying on your side, facing him properly now. “I'd hope not.”

He let out a dry, humourless chuckle. “Yeah,” he sighed. “She's… she's a good woman, but… I don't know what happened.”

You didn't respond, wanting to see if he had anything else to say. You didn't want to admit it to yourself, but you had been curious about her. But when he spoke again, it wasn't about her. It was about you.

“How old are you?” he asked suddenly.

You hesitated for a moment, just long enough for him to notice, but you told him anyway. “I'm nineteen.”

Something changed in his expression. Just slightly, but enough for you to catch it. A brief flicker of something that looked like hesitation or disbelief before it smoothed out again.

“…Christ,” he finally muttered under his breath. “I'm thirty-eight.”

You watched him for a moment, reading the shift in his expression, the way his mouth pressed into a thin line. He wasn't stupid, he'd known you were young, but knowing you were young and knowing you were nineteen were two different things.

“Regretting it now?” you asked, voice laced with dry amusement and a hint of teasing.

His eyes flicked back to you. “No,” he paused before adding, a little quieter, “Should I be?”

You didn't say anything in response, just looking at him, watching, your eyes staying locked on each other's, until he started to speak again.

“My wife's younger than me too. Not as young as you, just about 6 years. I met her when I was thirty. She was twenty-four.”

You watched him closely as he spoke, listening carefully, and he added, “That felt wrong, back then. Six years felt like too big of a gap,” his eyes trailed off from yours, down to small gap between you on the bed. “God knows what the fuck I'm doing with a nineteen-year-old now.”

His morals, if he even had any left, had clearly stopped mattering to him a long time ago. Because he was here, wasn't he? Paying for a nineteen-year-old to keep him company, and to let him fuck her in dingy hotel rooms.

The conversation drifted back to his wife, as if now that he'd finally mentioned her, he couldn’t stop.

“It's not working, obviously,” he admitted, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. His voice was quieter now, less guarded. “Hasn't been for a long time.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. “I don't think she knows. Or she does, and she just doesn't care enough to ask.”

He looked different now. Less composed, less put together. Your eyes scanned over him, still naked, now both physically and emotionally.

“I do love her,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Or... I did. I don’t know.” His fingers flexed slightly against the sheets, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I think I still love who she is, but I don't think I love us anymore.”

You didn't say anything, just listened.

“She's a good woman,” he continued, exhaling slowly. “Always has been. Stuck with me through a lot of shit. We did everything we were supposed to.”

He shifted slightly, his eyes flickering over to you for a moment before he turned his gaze back up to the ceiling. “I don't think she's too happy either. She'd never say it though. She doesn't say when things bother her.”

He stopped. His lips parted slightly, like he was going to finish the thought, but he didn't. He just breathed out, shook his head slightly. “We still do all the normal things. I take her out for dates and buy her flowers and whatever, we have sex when she wants, but that's about all we do nowadays.”

Silence settled between you again, heavier this time. He turned over onto his side again, facing you properly once more, and his hand reached for you, gently resting on your waist.

“I don't know if I can say I love her anymore,” he murmured. “Not after what I've done with you.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, searching for something in his eyes. You weren't sure if you found it, but you nodded anyway.

You weren't here to try and fix his marriage or tell him where to go from here. It wasn't your place. You were just here because he paid you to be.

But as he pulled you against him, as his fingers traced patterns along the skin of your waist as he held you close to him, as he settled into the quiet beside you, it felt like just for tonight, the money wasn't the only reason you stayed.

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

i don't know why the age in these sorts of fics are always nineteen. but im not writing about an eighteen year old 😭 for some reason eighteen feels weird but nineteen feels fine. that probably doesn't make sense but whatever. also the part where his knee cracks was inspired by this junedenim one where his knee also cracks. it's been plaguing me ever since i read it

#does this lag for anyone else or is it just because my phone is 1000 years old #alex turner x reader #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner smut #fake it so real #alex turner #roxabellas

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