#but I still didn’t make anything real for dinner so I’m going to have to buy food for lunch tomorrow

[gigiii1sblog]

I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY 016

Chapter Sixteen: Almost A Farytale

warning: fluff, angst, sexual content, and more that I don't condone.

Y/N:

It’s been a year and a half.

Eighteen months since I walked out of that house and never looked back. Since I watched my reflection change in real time from someone who believed in forever, to someone who learned how easily it shatters.

I still feel the ache. Just… differently now. It’s dulled into something quieter. Less like a stab, more like a shadow that moves with me. I’ve learned how to exist with it. To live around it. But some days like today, it feels heavy in my lungs again, right beneath the surface of my ribs.

I stand in front of the mirror, curling the ends of my hair, watching the girl in the reflection. She’s not the same one who threw a birthday party with her whole chest and heart. She’s older. A little colder. A little smarter. A little lonelier.

I haven’t seen Matt since that day. Haven’t talked to him. Haven’t stalked his socials in months. I made myself stop.

But I did hear things. Through silence, you still hear. A due date. A gender. I didn’t seek it, but somehow, it always finds you.

I also haven’t talked to Nick or Chris. Not since the club.

Nothing happened, really. No fights. No drama. Just… silence. I stopped replying, and they stopped asking. Maybe they didn’t know what to say. Maybe I didn’t want to hear it. Or maybe I needed to disappear for a while, and they respected that in their own quiet way. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame anyone.

Tonight’s different, though.

I’m going on a date.

I almost said no, fingers hovering over the keyboard when I saw his message. But something in me said yes. It’s not love, not even close. But it’s… something. A chance to dress up. To laugh. To be touched by someone who doesn’t come with history like a loaded gun.

He’s taking me to Disneyland. I know, it sounds dramatic. But I think part of me liked the idea of being surrounded by something whimsical. Something innocent. Something so far from who I used to be.

I smooth my jeans down over my thighs and grab my gloss. My fingers are shaking a little.

It’s not nerves for him. It’s nerves for me.

For the version of me I buried.

For the one who used to talk about blue-eyed babies and backyard swings and never questioned if love was safe.

And maybe I’ll come back tonight feeling okay.

Or maybe I’ll come back cracked open again.

But at least I’m trying.

At least I’m walking out the door.

MATT:

It’s almost funny how quiet life gets when everything is loud inside your head.

Our apartment is soft, simple, baby toys scattered across the carpet, sunlight warming the hardwood floors in the morning. There’s a framed sonogram on the kitchen counter. A pink onesie hanging to dry on the balcony. The kind of place you’d call stable. Domestic.

And in a way, it is.

Avery and I- yeah, we’re something now. More than we were before. Moved in after the baby turned five months, tried to make it feel like a home. We sleep in the same bed, share a calendar, have matching mugs. She’ll rest her head on my chest at night and trace her finger along the tattoo on my arm. It’s warm, sometimes even sweet.

But it isn’t love.

Not the kind I once knew.

Not the kind that tore through me with wildfire and made me want to be better just because she existed.

This feels more like… obligation. Familiarity. Two people trying their best not to fall apart while raising something that needs them. It’s not bad. We laugh sometimes. We touch. We even go out to dinner now and then like some version of a real couple.

But I catch myself staring at Avery when she holds the baby, wondering if this version of my life was ever meant to be mine.

Or if it just became mine when I ruined the one I really wanted.

The baby, our daughter, is perfect. Blue-eyed, messy-haired, loud-laughing little thing. She calls me “Dada” and grabs my fingers like I’m her whole world. I’d do anything for her. I do.

She’s saved me, in a way.

But she also reminds me every day of what I lost.

Nick still isn’t really speaking to me. He loves the baby, spoils her every time he visits. But with me? There’s a wall. Every joke feels half-hearted, every hug awkward and short. He doesn’t look at me the same. I think part of him still sees her when he sees me, and hates me for it.

Chris is quieter. He checks in. Comes by with weed sometimes, lets the baby climb all over him while he scrolls through his phone. But even he doesn’t ask questions anymore. He used to. Used to push. Used to say things like, “You really fucked it up, huh?”

Now he just shrugs like the damage is done and there’s nothing left worth saving.

I don’t blame them.

Sometimes I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

It’s like I built a life out of the rubble and tried to decorate it to look like something whole. But even with the baby’s giggles echoing through the apartment and Avery curled up on the couch beside me, there’s still a ghost in the room.

And she doesn’t speak.

She just stares.

And I stare back.

Because I gave someone else a child,

and lost the future I always imagined, with blue eyes, and her smile, and the kind of love that only happens once in a lifetime.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever really left her behind… or if I just carried her into everything I do now.

Avery doesn’t know that the first time we took the baby to the beach in December, wrapped in soft pink blankets, cheeks rosy from the wind, I had to fight off a memory so strong it nearly knocked the air out of my chest.

That winter, years ago, when I took YN to the coast. No tourists, just wind and salt and her eyes squinting into the sun. She kissed me with sand still on her lips. We stayed until it got dark. We didn’t even bring towels.

I told Avery it was just “peaceful” there.

She smiled and agreed. But I was somewhere else entirely.

Another time, we got ice cream at 11 p.m. The baby was fussy, so we took a drive, windows down, and Avery fed her tiny spoonfuls of vanilla from the front seat while I parked along the overlook.

She laughed, told me it felt like a movie scene.

And I didn’t say it, but I had lived that scene before. With YN. Summer after tour ended. When we didn’t have much money but we had each other. She danced barefoot in the parking lot that night, dripping strawberry cone all over her hoodie.

Sometimes, when the baby’s asleep and the world is quiet, I play songs for her. And the other night, I held her in my arms and hummed “And I Love Her” by The Beatles under my breath.

Avery looked over, said how that is a really good song.

I just nodded.

Didn’t tell her it was the song I played after taking YN to In-N-Out for the first time, just the two of us, a couple days after we met at that party.

We sat in the car for almost an hour after eating.

She dipped her fries in ranch. Talked about music and constellations and what it felt like to kiss someone you were afraid to lose.

She made me laugh so hard I forgot to care about anything else. I watched her like she was something I wasn’t sure I deserved.

And on the drive home, that song came on. And I remember thinking, this is her. This is the girl.

It’s not fair to Avery.

She’s been patient. Kind. She’s trying.

She didn’t ask for a man with ghosts in his chest.

But I don’t know how to be someone who doesn’t remember.

I’ve built a new life. One I show up for. One I’m grateful for.

But every so often, in the middle of something ordinary, I’ll catch myself drifting,

to the old apartment smelling like her perfume,

to the way she used to mouth the lyrics of every song,

to the feeling of being so deeply seen I couldn’t look away.

And I wonder if I’ll ever get to live a single day without asking:

What if I hadn’t fucked it all up?

Y/N:

Milo: Outside when you’re ready :) Disneyland awaits.

I smiled. Not because I was ready. But because I wanted to be.

And maybe that was good enough.

The car pulled up five minutes early.

That alone was enough to make me blink twice, most guys I’d met could barely be on time for a phone call, let alone a full-day plan. But Milo was leaning against the passenger door of his silver Audi, holding a little iced coffee tray like it was flowers, and smiling like he wasn’t nervous.

“Good morning, pretty girl,” he said when I stepped out. His voice was soft, a little raspy. He always spoke like the world might be listening, so he kept it gentle.

I tugged at the edge of my cardigan, suddenly unsure if the light makeup I’d done looked like effort or like overthinking.

“You remembered the coffee,” I smiled.

“Of course I did. I’m not a monster,” he teased, handing me the one with extra vanilla cold foam. “And I figured you’d need it if I’m dragging you to Disneyland on a Saturday.”

I laughed as I slid into the seat. “Dragging? I thought this was your idea.”

“It was, but I’m giving you the credit. You look cute when you get excited.”

He got in and started the car like he wasn’t making my heart lurch. He was charming in a kind way, not a loud way. Everything about him was easy. Comfortable.

And that scared me a little.

The radio was playing something quiet and mellow as we drove through the early morning light. Milo didn’t talk the whole time, he let me rest my head back, sip my coffee, and just be. It was the kind of silence that didn’t beg to be filled. I liked that.

Still, my eyes wandered sometimes, to the window, to the sky, to places memory lived.

I thought about the last time I went on a real date. The last time someone held my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist like I was something soft. Like I was his.

I thought about that night Matt and I drove to In-N-Out a few days after we met at a party. How we sat in the parking lot with fries and his hoodie in my lap. He played “I Love Her” by the Beatles on the aux and eventually after a couple month of talking he told me it reminded him of the first time he saw me.

It was raining that night.

My chest ached like a bruise now when I remembered it.

“You okay?” Milo asked gently, eyes still on the road.

“Yeah,” I answered too quickly. “Just tired.”

He didn’t push. Just smiled and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Well, you deserve a good day. That’s the only rule.”

I nodded, trying to believe it.

Outside, the signs started changing, Mickey ears on the highway, the shimmer of distant park rides. My heart fluttered in a strange way. Like something was starting.

I didn’t know that a chapter was about to open and close all in one day. That fate would twist itself in the middle of Main Street and force me to look back.

For now, I just smiled at Milo, grateful. He didn’t know the whole story. He didn’t need to. He was kind. He was safe.

The morning sun was warm on my skin, and for once, the ache in my chest felt like it had faded into the background, just a whisper.

Milo held my hand as we walked past the gates, the buzz of the park filling the air, children’s laughter, the distant chime of the carousel, the scent of popcorn and cinnamon wafting around us.

We stopped first by the castle, where a little girl in a sparkly Elsa dress gasped as she met the real Elsa. Milo knelt beside me to tie his shoe, his eyes bright as he watched the scene. “You know,” he said quietly, “I never thought I’d be a Disneyland person. But this… this is kinda magical.”

I smiled. “Yeah. It’s like stepping into a dream.”

We wandered into Fantasyland, where the princesses and princes greeted kids and adults alike. When I spotted Belle, I couldn’t help but smile, her gentle kindness always felt like the kind of love I hoped for.

Milo nudged me and whispered, “Want me to get you a rose?”

I laughed softly, the sound coming easier than I expected. “Only if you promise not to curse me like the Beast.”

He winked. “Deal.”

Later, we found ourselves in line for the teacup ride, spinning in circles until our laughter was breathless and light-headed.

“You’re a terrible spinner,” Milo teased, pretending to swerve dramatically.

“Oh please,” I shot back, “You’re just mad I’m better.”

The way he laughed, deep, genuine, felt like a balm.

As we slowed down, the teacups settling, I caught his gaze and saw something soft and hopeful in his eyes.

Maybe it was the day, or the way the sun hit his hair, but I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that I could feel light again.

And in that moment, I forgot the past.

Forgot the cracks.

Forgot everything except the warm squeeze of his hand in mine.

He insisted I close my eyes.

We were standing just outside one of the little souvenir shops, and even though I was still a little flushed from Space Mountain, I did as he asked.

I felt the soft fabric of something plush settle over my head, the strap adjusting under my chin.

“Okay,” Milo said. “Open.”

I blinked at him, then at the reflection in the glass. On my head was a pair of baby pink Minnie Mouse ears, sequins sparkling in the sunlight, a tiny bow sitting perfectly between them.

“Milo,” I whispered, half amused, half flustered. “You didn’t have to—”

“You hesitated when we passed them earlier. That was enough.” He smiled, proud of himself. “You’re the Minnie to my Mickey today. Just go with it.”

I tried not to let the weight of those words settle too deeply into my chest. So I laughed instead. “Only if I get to pick our next ride.”

We ended up on the Jungle Cruise, cheesy jokes and all, and I watched Milo laugh harder than he probably should have at the skipper’s puns. He bought us Ice Cream after, and we sat under a shaded bench near Adventureland.

He fed me a spoonful with the tip of the plastic spoon, teasing when some of it landed on my nose.

“Don’t move,” he said, and wiped it gently with his thumb, letting his hand linger for a moment on my cheek. It felt… easy. Safe.

By midday, we were knee-deep in churros and had taken selfies in front of the sleeping beauty castle, I caught myself smiling, real, not forced, in more pictures than I had in months.

When we passed a couple slow dancing to a jazz band playing near New Orleans Square, he held out his hand and wiggled his brows. “Dance with me?”

“In the middle of Disneyland?” I laughed.

He didn’t flinch. “Exactly.”

So we danced, barely swaying, his hand at my waist, my chin tilted up toward the sky as we giggled like idiots. And for a few brief minutes, nothing else existed.

Not the ache.

Not the memory.

Not the future.

Just this: sunlight, music, and the soft warmth of someone who wanted me to be happy. Who didn’t ask for my story but held space for the girl who had one.

Later, we rode It’s a Small World and made sarcastic commentary the whole time. He pointed out which dolls looked like us. “That one’s you,” he joked. “She’s cute but kinda scary when you look too long.”

“Rude,” I gasped.

“And that one’s me,” he added, pointing at a pirate-looking one. “Dumb and waving aggressively.”

We ended the ride laughing so hard our cheeks hurt.

It wasn’t love. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was peace.

It was good.

It was mine.

⸻

The fireworks bloomed above Sleeping Beauty’s Castle like painted explosions. Gold, pink, and lavender light tore through the sky, crackling in slow motion, reflecting in every pair of eyes watching. It felt like a movie. It felt fake. Too perfect to be real.

Milo’s arm was around my shoulder, pulling me into him gently, his hoodie smelling like sugar and cologne and something safe. I was leaning into it. Into him. I even laughed when he whispered something stupid about how Mickey probably has back problems from smiling all the time.

For once, I let myself exist in the moment.

We had matching wristbands, cotton candy-stained fingers, a selfie with Cinderella who said we looked like a “very sweet couple.” My Minnie ears were slightly crooked, and I hadn’t bothered to fix them. He bought them earlier, grinning like he was proud of himself, calling them “a trophy for the prettiest girl here.”

We were supposed to stay for the fireworks. That was the plan.

That was the whole plan.

Until I heard it.

“Y/N! Come here, baby!”

The world didn’t stop immediately. Not at first. But my body did.

My shoulders stiffened. My mouth dried. Something inside me twisted violently, like my stomach knew before my mind did.

It was the way he said my name.

The way it sounded when he used to say it.

I turned my head slowly, like I already knew what I was going to see but didn’t want to.

And there he was.

Matt.

Kneeling on the pavement not far from the edge of the crowd, just outside the line of stroller traffic. His hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His hair a little longer than before. His face, God, his face. So familiar it hurt. And so different it made me want to cry.

He was holding out his arms.

And running toward him, wobbly and full of excitement, was a little girl. Dressed in a lavender dress. Light-up shoes blinking with every tiny step.

She had curls.

And the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen.

She looked just like him.

I barely noticed Avery standing beside them, her head turned toward them with a soft, tired smile.

But I saw everything else.

I saw him catch the little girl in his arms.

I saw the way he lifted her with ease, his whole body curving around her like a home.

I saw the way she melted into his shoulder, the way his lips brushed her temple.

I saw him whisper something in her ear that made her giggle.

And then he turned.

And his eyes met mine.

Right there, beneath the fireworks, under all the light and smoke and Disney magic, our eyes locked like fate had just grabbed both our collars and slammed us into the moment.

It didn’t feel real.

It felt like I’d dreamed this exact scenario before. Or maybe had nightmares about it.

My legs stopped moving.

My heartbeat turned to glass.

And in the exact same second my eyes blurred with tears, one slipped free and rolled silently down my cheek.

He didn’t move.

I didn’t either.

Just two people, two ghosts, staring at the versions of each other they never expected to see again.

He looked stunned. Wrecked. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

And the worst part?

The little girl, his daughter, tugged at his sleeve and pointed to the fireworks like none of it meant anything at all.

Because to her, it didn’t.

To her, I was just a stranger.

To me, she was everything I lost.

Milo’s voice was distant. Like he was underwater.

“YN? Are you okay?”

I blinked and forced air into my lungs.

“I— I wanna leave.”

“What?”

“I need to leave. Now.”

My voice cracked like glass under a boot, and that was when he really looked at me.

“Did something happen?”

I shook my head and turned, wiping my face with the back of my hand like it would erase the sting.

“I just… I need to go.”

I didn’t wait for him.

I didn’t dare look back again.

Because if I did… if I looked into those blue eyes one more time… I was scared I wouldn’t leave at all.

And God, that little girl.

He gave her my name.

And I had nothing but a tear-stained memory, falling apart beneath a sky of fireworks.

MATT:

The fireworks were beautiful.

That kind of over-the-top, choreographed magic that’s supposed to make people believe in things again. Like hope. Or happy endings. Or the idea that anything can be okay if you just wish hard enough beneath the right sky.

I wasn’t looking at the fireworks.

I was looking at my daughter.

Her cheeks lit up with every burst of color. Blue. Then gold. Then pink. She giggled when she pointed to the sky and I nodded like I hadn’t seen it too many times already. Like I wasn’t exhausted. Like I didn’t feel hollow in places I couldn’t even name anymore.

Then I said it.

“Y/N! Come here, baby!”

And that name tasted like a bruise.

I meant her, my daughter. But the moment it left my lips, something shifted.

I felt it.

Like a cold ripple in warm water.

Like my heart tripped over something invisible.

I bent to pick her up, all lavender and laughter, and when I looked up…

I saw her.

Her.

Standing just beyond the stroller crowd. Still. Frozen. Drenched in the glow of the fireworks like the universe lit her up on purpose.

It was like the air left my lungs in one breath.

YN.

She hadn’t changed, and she had. Her hair was longer. Her face a little sharper. But her eyes, God, her eyes were the same. Wide, brown, and bottomless. Like the first time I looked into them across a crowded birthday party. Like that night in the car when I told her I didn’t deserve her. Like every second she ever cried into my hoodie, and I let her.

She was standing beside some guy. He had his arm around her. She wasn’t looking at him.

She was looking at me.

And I swear to God, if she had run, I would’ve chased her. If she had spoken, I would’ve listened. If she had cried, I would’ve begged.

But she just stood there.

And I did the one thing I shouldn’t have.

I stared back.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

Because that was the woman I loved more than I ever thought I could love anyone. And now I was holding the child she never got to experience with me.

The daughter I named after her.

Avery shifted beside me, her voice soft. “Matt?”

But I barely heard her. My ears were ringing.

Then I saw it.

A single tear, streaking down YN’s cheek like a silent goodbye.

And my stomach fucking dropped.

She turned away. I saw her push past people, shoulders tight, hands trembling.

She was leaving.

Again.

And I had no right to stop her.

I looked down at my daughter. She was still laughing. Still pointing at the sky. Oblivious to the hole in my chest.

“Let’s go find a quieter spot,” Avery said, touching my arm. “Too loud here.”

I nodded but didn’t speak.

Not until we were walking away did I find the courage to say anything at all.

“She saw me,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. “She saw us.”

Avery looked up, brows drawing together. “Was that her?”

I didn’t answer. She already knew.

Her hand brushed against mine as we walked. I didn’t take it.

And later, hours later, when we were driving home and my daughter was asleep in her car seat, I looked out at the highway and thought about every version of life we could’ve had.

All the ones that never happened.

All the ones I destroyed.

And even with Avery beside me, even with my baby girl breathing softly in the back seat…

I’d never felt more alone in my life.

Y/N:

The air in the car was different now.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comforted you after a long day, it was thick, pressing down on my chest like it wanted me to speak, but I didn’t have the words. My stomach still felt hollow. My ears rang, not from the fireworks, but from that voice echoing in my head:

“Y/N, come here baby.”

And it wasn’t mine he meant.

Milo kept glancing at me from the driver’s seat, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting over the gear shift like he didn’t know whether to reach for me or give me space. The road lights flickered across his face, softening the crease in his brows.

“Are you okay?,” he finally asked, voice cautious but kind. “Did I… do something wrong back there?”

I shook my head. My voice caught before it even reached my mouth. “No, it’s not you.”

He nodded slowly, like he wanted to believe me but didn’t. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just, I hope you had fun. I was really looking forward to today.”

“I know,” I said quietly, eyes on the window, watching the night blur past. “You were great, Milo. Really I had so much fun with you.”

“But something changed,” he said softly. “After the fireworks.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn’t want to hurt him. He was sweet. He bought me ears, made me laugh, danced with me in line for churros. But the moment I saw Matt… everything tilted.

“I saw someone,” I finally admitted.

He looked over, his eyes flickering with something like understanding. “An ex?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

“Oh,” he breathed.

A beat passed. Then two. He slowed the car a little as we got closer to my place. “Was it… serious?”

I stared at my hands. My nails were still painted the color he once said reminded him of me. My ring finger twitched.

“I thought it was forever,” I said honestly. “I thought he was it for me.”

Milo stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have come today. I thought I was ready, but I’m not. That wasn’t fair to you.”

He pulled up to the curb outside my apartment and shifted the car into park. His voice was gentle, but there was a quiet sadness in it. “It’s okay. I’d rather you be honest than pretend.”

I finally looked at him, the guilt burning hot in my chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He gave me a small, tired smile. “But I’m not the one you were thinking about when the fireworks went off, was I?”

I didn’t answer. He didn’t expect me to.

I stepped out of the car, gave him a soft thank you, and shut the door. He waited until I was inside the gate before driving off. I stood there a moment, in the stillness of the night, the wind cool against my skin, my heart still pounding from something that didn’t even happen.

I should’ve gone inside.

But instead, I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers and opened my messages. The contact was still pinned, though I hadn’t touched it in over a year.

Chris 🕺

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

Then I typed:

hey are you busy?

And hit send.

My heart ached. My hands trembled.

And all I could do was wait.

lmkkk what yall think about this.. sorry for the cliffhanger BTW I LOVE YOURE GUYS COMMENTS & MESSAGES IN MY INBOX PLEASE KEEP THEM COMING 🙏 ( ignore the mistakes pls and thank you🥲)

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁ੈ❀

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3

@kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

@teheabrams @prettypriscilla

@my-world-is-poetry @sturniszn

@slutforchrissturniolo2

@alinagrace11 @beardedbernard

@matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp

@chrissfavoritecherry

@jaybirdie34

@courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

@norahsturns. @chrattstromboli

@iluvchr1s @japblogs @akalizzygrantxo @sturniolobananas1 @franficc @oopsiedaisydeer @wesj11

@watercolorskyy @sadgirlslush

[sharkieboi]

found the stupidest hack to finally wash my dishes and it’s literally just don’t change out of my work uniform when I get home

[thatonegrimm]

Helluuu, I just read the post/req that reader called saja boys "husband" to get a creep to scram

Sooo, what about marriage proposal 😍 like, will saja boy ask the big question??? 🥰

(No need to do if ur too busy, thank you!)

Thank you for the request! This is such a sweet idea ❤️ Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader—marriage proposal

---------------------

🧿 Jinu

Jinu had the ring for weeks.

It lived in a tiny box tucked inside an even tinier compartment in his nightstand, where he checked on it more often than he’d admit. He practiced the words under his breath while brushing his teeth. Rehearsed with Derpy. Even tried to script the moment—quiet music, nice dinner, sunset maybe.

But none of it felt right.

Until one lazy morning, you walked into the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies, hair messy, yawning like a cat. You rubbed your eyes and said, “Hi,” like it was the best part of your day.

And something in him broke open.

"Wait," he said, heart in his throat. "Don't move."

You blinked, confused, as Jinu bolted to the bedroom. When he returned, he was breathless, ring box clutched in hand.

“I was gonna wait,” he said, “but then you walked in like that and I just—no. I wanna wake up to that face for the rest of my life. Please?”

You stared.

“Please marry me,” he added, stumbling through the words with zero coolness and full sincerity. “I’ll re-ask it better later. But for now. Say yes?”

Your mouth fell open—and then you smiled so big it made him tear up.

“Yes,” you whispered, arms around his neck. “Even if you do re-ask it later.”

He absolutely would.

But the first time was already perfect.

---------------------

💪 Abby 

It was the day after a grueling performance—everyone sore, exhausted, barely functioning. But Abby insisted you come with him to the beach, just for an hour. “Fresh air,” he said. “You’ll like it.”

You didn’t expect to find a blanket already laid out. Your favorite snacks. A thermos of cocoa. And Abby, trying not to look proud of himself as he offered you a seat.

“Okay,” you said, narrowing your eyes, “what’s all this?”

He shrugged. “Wanted to spend time with you.”

He did. But also, he was nervous as hell.

You lay side by side for a while, watching the ocean. It was quiet. Golden.

And then Abby shifted. Sat up. Fished something out of his hoodie pocket.

“I’m not great with fancy speeches,” he started, voice low and a little shaky. “But you already know that.”

You turned toward him, breath catching.

“But I’ve been thinking… if I’m gonna build something strong—like really strong—I want it to be with you. And I want to protect it for the rest of my life.”

He opened the box.

Simple. Classic. Completely him.

“So, yeah. Will you marry me?”

You didn’t even let him finish before throwing your arms around his neck.

“Abby,” you whispered, laughing against his shoulder. “You absolute idiot. Of course I will.”

He held you tight like he’d just won the whole damn world.

---------------------

📚 Mystery 

Mystery didn’t make plans like this. Not usually.

But tonight, the rooftop was clear. The moon was covered. The night sky was soft.

And you were beside him, legs tucked under a blanket, sharing the silence.

He reached into his coat and pulled out something small—a folded scrap of paper. At first, you thought it was a note. But when you unfolded it, something heavy slid into your palm.

A ring.

Plain but smooth. Black, with faint silver etching along the inside.

You looked up, heart thudding.

Mystery didn’t smile.

He looked at you. Like really looked, in that way only he could. Quiet. Intense. Real.

“I didn’t think I’d ever want to be known this much,” he murmured. “But you made it feel… right. Like the world got quieter when you said my name.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I’m still a work in progress,” he added. “But if you want me… if you’ll have me…”

He paused.

“I want to be yours. Every strange, sharp part of me.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time. Just slid the ring onto your finger and curled your hand around his.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Always.”

Mystery didn’t smile.

But his hand trembled when he held yours.

---------------------

💋 Romance 

You thought it was just a regular performance night.

Until the lights dimmed early.

And the screen above the stage flickered to life.

Photos of you. Candid, blurry, sweet. Clips of your voice, giggling off-camera. A song you didn’t recognize but that clearly had you in the lyrics.

And then—

Romance.

Walking onto the stage in a fitted black suit, looking nervous for the first time in your life.

“This,” he said into the mic, “is the scariest and easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

You froze.

“I fall in love with you every day. In dressing rooms, in traffic jams, in grocery store lines. You’ve turned every ordinary thing into a love story.”

A hush fell over the room.

“I don’t want it to be a story that ends.”

He knelt. Right there. With a ring that sparkled under the lights and a gaze that didn’t look anywhere but at you.

“So please, my love,” he said. “Let’s make this permanent. Marry me?”

Your hands flew to your mouth.

And through a blur of happy tears, you nodded.

He was on his feet in a flash, lifting you into his arms.

The crowd exploded.

But he only looked at you.

As if none of them mattered. Only you.

---------------------

🔥 Baby 

He didn’t ask your size.

He just made the ring.

Melted scrap metal, crushed stones, laced it with fire and a whisper of demon magic. He worked on it when you weren’t looking, lips pursed, soot on his cheek, hands covered in tiny burns.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was his.

The night he gave it to you, there were no candles. No setup.

Just Baby handing you a small black pouch in the hallway, looking like he might combust from nerves.

“…I made you something.”

You peeked inside.

Your heart skipped.

“You didn’t even ask if I’d say yes,” you said, voice catching.

Baby crossed his arms, defensive. “Yeah, because I know you’ll say yes.”

You stared at him.

He looked ready to fight you for your own hand in marriage.

You stepped forward, eyes shining.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

“…You will?”

“Yes,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “You chaotic, flame-sneezing gremlin. I love you.”

He blinked.

“…Okay cool,” he said, trying and failing not to smile. “Yeah. Cool. Good. Okay.”

Then he kissed you like you’d just promised him eternity.

Because you had.

---------------------

M-List

[almadelsur]

💋 The Secrets One Keeps

summary: You're in love with jj but he's with kie, so in moments of pure desperation you often find yourself turning to the person he hates the most...rafe

warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, one or two uses of y/n, plz let me know if I missed anything

a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering i first wrote this like 3 years ago, and yes for those of you who have been asking, I fully intend to finallly continue this fic....more info on that later ;)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

JJ’s eyes change the moment Kiara steps into any room. Immediately his presence is ripped away from your immediate atmosphere, popping the little bubble you'd spent all afternoon crafting as he sprung up to greet the olive-skinned enigma that captured his affections.

“Kie!” The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.

In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in front of you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart.

You figured that by distancing yourself mentally, you wouldn’t have to raise suspicion and distance yourself physically. In reality, you knew the real reasoning was your inability to stay away from JJ but the facade helped you cope.

“Hey J” she embraced him and his body relaxed around her as if she was the only source of his happiness. The only way he’d find alleviation from what he perceived as a shitty life being through her. “Sorry I’m late my parents had me running like crazy at the wreck today.”

Scattered greetings filled the air from the rest of the pogues, yet you could only focus on the way his eyes fixated on her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here come sit baby” he offered her the seat he had just previously been place holding. What you thought had been quality time with your best friend, presented itself to you now as momentary attention to pass the time until his actual desire arrived.

Settling herself down and offering you a wide smile, her shoulder bumped against yours gently as a sign of acknowledgment.

“Hey dude” she directed at you, but you didn’t reply. You just couldn’t bring yourself to pretend. Not today anyway. Instead, you offered her a small smile, it was minimal but it was the best you could do under the circumstances.

“Yo" A crumpled tissue paper flew at your head, jj attempting to refocus your attention on him, "didn’t you say you were gonna get some water or something?” He spoke up, the scheme evident in his tone.

“um yeah I guess” You lifted yourself up and took a few steps before jj used the opportunity to slump himself down where you had been sat and sprawled his arms across his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“snooze ya loose sucker” he joked as he turned to Kiara to start up some mindless conversation. Leaving you behind in the dust.

Your teeth gritted as you focused on making your way to the kitchen hoping the distance from the scene unfolding would lift the iron grip on your heart.

You made the fatal mistake of glancing back and you were met with the image of jj nuzzling up to kiara in a picturesque display of love. The lump building at the base of your throat indicated that it was your time to get the hell out of there before you broke down in front of everyone. 

“Shit guys, y’know what I just realized I gotta go” You spoke quickly, your tone matching your pace as you rushed to the exit of the chateau. 

“You’re still coming to the party later though right?” John B asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen in front of him. 

“Mhm yeah sure” you opened the door ready to depart. 

“Shit I forgot about that! Me and jj are gonna be late, we got dinner at the wreck tonight.” kiara added as you stepped out, unable to control the escape of a rogue tear.

“Date night babyyyy” You heard JJ cheer before you slammed the door behind you. 

“Is Y/N okay? She seemed a bit off.” Kie nudged JJ as she questioned. 

JJ furrowed his eyebrows momentarily. Glancing out the window, he saw you jog away from the house, and a brief flash of worry flashed through his mind. As quick as it came, it dissipated. He shook his head figuring that if there had been something wrong, he’d have been the first to know. 

“Nah she’s okay don't worry.” he offered to kie.

Boy was he mistaken. 

——————————————————————

“Fuuuck me” you moaned out, sinking into him one last time. You were hot, sweaty, and heaving as you pulled him out of you.

“I thought I just did” Rafe taunted leaning back to lie down, arms crossed behind his head causing his taut abdomen to flex.

You scrambled off the bed, picking up your garments and shoving them back on your body forcefully.

“What, no pillow talk?” He tried again.

“Rafe..” you trailed off. Whenever you’d finish fucking, you’d struggle to even look at him. The self-hatred flooded your body as soon as the orgasm poured out.

“Hey you called me” he eyed you intently but you knew he didn’t actually care. To rafe cameron everything was just a game. At this point it was pretty much common knowledge. “In fact” he moved closer to you so that he could speak directly into your ear “It’s always you that calls me.”

“Don’t be a dick” you stood up and eyed your heels contemplating whether you could face the walk back in them. “You know it makes me feel like shit.” It might have sounded brutal but that’s how things were with rafe.

“Yeah, it’s like you punctuate your orgasms with self-hate.”

“I'm a pogue, rafe.” You argued back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So? Kooks and pogues can fuck you know.” You couldn’t comprehend why you were even having this conversation. Why now, why tonight.

“Yeah maybe, not you though.” You didn’t want to tell him the reason explicitly.

“I fuck pogues.”

“You fuck anyone.” The words came out almost instantly and without thinking, yet rafe took no offense.

“Exactly so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is, rafe.” You paused trying to find the words without actually having to say the words. “The issue is that if my friends found out they’d hate me, probably more than I already hate myself.”

He just chuckled, the look in his eyes changing as he figured you out.

“What's funny?” You challenged.

“You don’t have to bullshit me princess.” He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye. “You just don’t want jj knowing about your little escapades huh?” Bingo.

“He’s with Kiara.” You shrugged him off.

“Uh huh, you like him but you can’t have him.” Every word he spoke striking a nerve deep within you. “So you’re fucking me to fuck him over.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grabbed your heels and shoved them on, wincing as you buckled them up.

“Don’t I?” He threw his joggers on lazily as he stood, the level dynamics changing significantly. The older boy towered over you. “Where are they tonight?”

“Back at John B’s, we had a little get-together.” You crossed your arms. More often than not you usually called rafe after a few drinks left you feeling lonely. “Sorry, your invite must have gotten lost in the mail.” You attempted to jab at him with sarcasm yet he clearly held the upper hand with his line of questioning. 

“So all of them are there now?” He stepped towards you.

“Mhm,” You lied.

“Even jj?” Moving closer until your neck was craned upwards to meet his eyes.

Taking your silence as an answer, he reached up and ran his palms across your upper arms, prompting you to uncross them.

“He was uh- him and kie should be getting there soon” You mumbled.

“So would i be wrong in guessing, that might have prompted your call then?” You let yourself be guided by his movements leaning your neck further back as his hand trailed up to your jawbone.

“rafe…” you called out insignificantly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your neck, right over where he could feel your pulse, and pressed down.

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth. Because as much as your heart belonged to jj, rafe was just so fucking good at raising your temperature.

“Round two?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yeah..” you attempted yet it came out as a whisper. He grabbed you swiftly and lifted you, moving you across the room and throwing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you in a predatory manner as he did so. As your back hit the bed, the ringing of your phone brought you back from the haze he had you under. 

“Wait rafe stop stop” you pushed him off and grabbed the screeching mobile, pressing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Dude, where are you?” The sound of jj’s voice came through over the pumping sound of music and party chatter. “Me and Kie just got back and John B says no one’s seen you for like over an hour.”

“Oh I’m uh, I had to go do something for my mom” The lie pouring out of your mouth caused rafe to chuckle which was of course met by a slap from you signaling for him to be quiet.

“Oh well, when are you getting back? I have to tell you about this date. You’re gonna be so proud of me I actually think I’m ready to tell Kie I love her” you screwed your eyes shut as he spoke.

“Yeah I- you know what I can’t make it back my mom needs me to stay and help out but uh I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” You hung up before he could even reply, throwing your phone down uncaring of its state.

“What’s wrong? They getting hitched?” Rafe spoke up from behind you.

You turned to Rafe, the fire in your veins pushing your arms to grab him, roughly pulling him back onto you.

“Just shut up and fuck me rafe.”

And fuck you he did.

——————————————————————

The next morning you woke up to the sight of rafe’s bare back. Not much of a cuddler, you figured.

Quietly you pushed the covers off and began to dress yourself back up. As you got to your shoes you sighed and shook your head, as if there was any way in hell you were going to walk home in heels. You scooped up your shoes and your now-cracked phone shaking your head, slightly ashamed at your outburst.

Without even a second glance at the sleeping body you were leaving behind, you made your way over to the door. As you turned the knob and stepped out to leave, a husky voice spoke up.

“I’ll keep my ringer on for you babe.”

You rolled your eyes looking back at him, “Fuck you rafe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on.” He didn’t even open his eyes as he answered, instead just rustling around in the bed and turning to the other side, once again facing his back to you.

You scoffed as you exited. Your internal rant clouded your vision, body on autopilot with an excellent self-navigation of the Cameron house from the countless times you’d made this exit.

“Y/N?” The gentle voice wiped your thoughts clean as the shock stilled you dead in your tracks, slowly turning to come face to face with none other than Sarah.

“Sarah” you drawled out. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house?” Her head was cocked to the side, equally shocked to see you.

“No I just mean- I thought you were spending the night at John B’s.” You forced the small talk, avoiding the topic of why you were here, sneaking out at 8 in the morning.

“He had to work today, did you spend the night here?” She glanced up at the door of rafe’s bedroom.

“Umm-“ There had only been two other instances where you had been at a complete loss for words. The day jj told you he and Kiara were dating, the morning after your first sexual encounter with rafe, and now this.

“Are you sleeping with my brother?!” She whisper-shouted, eyes wide as the realization hit her. Busted.

“No?”

“Oh my god!” She grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to her room, slamming the door as soon as you were both inside. “How long has this been going on?!” Her tone was loud and her hands wild as she interrogated you.

“Just a little under a year.” You sat on her bed and looked at your lap as you spoke. Reminiscent of a child being scolded.

“A year?! Oh my god!” She repeated. “Who knows about this?!”

With that, you looked up at her desperately. “No one. No one knows so please don’t tell them.” You didn’t have to name names for her to know who you were referring to.

“Are you two like” she paused “together?” She scrunched her nose up, disgusted at the thought of her bully of an older brother dating anyone.

“No god no. It’s just sex” you were just as uncomfortable as Sarah was, having to tell her about boning her older brother.

“Disgusting.” She turned away from you with her arms crossed, looking out the window.

“Look I’m not proud of it okay? Just-“ You sighed “Just please don’t tell anyone” pleading again.

Sarah let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed, her eyes showing concern mixed with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“I thought you were into jj” she spoke softly, there it was. Pity.

“Yeah well, jj is with kie and instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, I decided to do something about it.” As the words left your mouth, you realized how weak the explanation was.

“So you just use rafe to bang the jj out of you.”

“It’s not like Rafe cares, if anything he’s also using me.” You tried to reason.

“I don’t doubt that. But I mean, that’s- It’s not healthy, you’ll never move on if you don’t actually process your emotio-“

“Look Sarah, I don’t need to do any of that shit okay? What I have here works, when I fu- when I’m with rafe, I don’t think about jj.” Tears began to swell in your eyes “Sleeping with rafe helps me forget about everything, even if it’s only for a little while he uh- he makes me feel good.” To an extent, there was truth behind your words, while you and rafe fucked the rest of the world went away. It was only after, that the crippling self-hatred hit you along with the return of your immense feelings for jj. 

Sarah shuffled over and threw her arm around you. “That’s not good for you, it’s just momentary. It’s easy and it's a cycle, you’re never going to get better going down this path. Especially not with rafe.”

“Rafe he’s- he’s not that bad.”

“Yes he is. But i bet it gives you satisfaction fucking him knowing jj hates him. Feels like revenge right?” She’d always been so perceptive your Sarah, you hated how she could see right through you.

Tears ran down your cheek silently. “You’re not gonna tell anyone right?” You sniffled.

She gave you one of those classic salt-of-the-earth Sarah Cameron smiles, the kinda smile that would light up any room she walked into. “Takin' it to the grave babe.”

A loud beeping caused both your heads to whip towards the window. “Shit, I completely forgot I was supposed to go on the HMS with pope and jj, we were gonna chill there until John B and Kie finished work.” She rose to her feet and extended an arm towards you. “Wanna come? Or we could drop you home if you’re not up for it.”

With a sigh you took her hand and pulled yourself up, walking beside her as you mentally prepped yourself to face the blonde you desperately pined for.

“Well rise and shine campers.” jj yelled out of the window of the drivers seat.

“Y/N! Where you been dude? you totally bailed last night.” Pope was next to speak as you and Sarah filed into the Twinkie. As JJ began to drive you avoided any form of eye contact in his general direction.

“I had to go help my mom out, blackout at mine again.” You didn’t even look at pope either, instead focusing your attention on the blur of trees and houses pacing by the window as JJ sped down the winding roads.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” pope, observant as always, pointed out.

“Uh yeah, I didn’t really get any time to change cause…”

“I called her last night when I got home, I was so drunk I don’t think I was ready to stop the party.” Sarah covered for you.

“Yeah I wrapped up helping my mom out and then this one calls me talkin bout a sleepover or something so I didn’t exactly have much time to change.” 

Thankfully pope had lost interest as soon as he had asked the question, otherwise, your overcompensating ass would have been caught out straight away. You always had to add to the lie until you felt like you had sold it completely.

Keeping your eyes trained on the outside meant that jj’s frown directed at you through the windscreen mirror went completely undetected. He always knew whenever there was something up with you and right there and then he knew something definitely was.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t need to address you explicitly for you to know he was talking to you.

“Yeah just tired.” You shrugged him off in an attempt to distance yourself from him yet again.

He knew you were lying but he didn’t understand why, you never lied to each other. Apart from John B, the pair of you were closer to each other than with anybody else in the group. You’d been best friends since kindergarten, and since then you’d sworn 3 things to each other.

1- You’d always share your snacks.

2-You’d always be best friends even if you argued.

 3- You would never ever lie or keep secrets from each other.

Of course, as the both of you grew older the rules became more and more lax. The snack sharing was limited only to when you felt nice enough and sometimes you’d go for days without making up if you had argued particularly badly. Having kept two friendship-breaking secrets from him, the childhood rules seemed pretty insignificant by now.

“Mhm,” he responded, flickering his eyes between you and the road. “Are we taking you home to change first?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll join you guys afterward though.” You chewed down on your nail anxiously as the tension from being in the same space as jj paired with the guilt from having fucked rafe prior, suffocated you.

JJ made a face as he focused on the road, something was wrong with you and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to put his everything into finding out what that was.

[bloomseishiro]

THAT’S MY GIRL — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — dating a famous soccer star can be scary, especially with all the crazy fans and online gossip. so you and rin decide to keep your relationship a secret. a misunderstanding occurs when you hang out with your friend (another famous soccer player) and now the internet thinks you’re dating karasu?! 

itoshi rin x fem!reader. fluff, established relationship, secret relationships, pro soccer player!rin, possessive!rin everybody cheers, karasu is one of reader’s besties, reader wears a dress ; i had so much fun writing this i will never shut up about it pls enjoy

word count. 2.2k 

You didn’t intend to keep your relationship with Rin a secret. 

At least, not for this long. 

You thought you would quickly warm up to the idea of being a famous soccer player’s girlfriend, but recent events had you thinking otherwise. Not too long ago, one of Rin’s former Blue Lock contestants revealed that he had a girlfriend, and his fans on the internet completely tore her to shreds. They were mainly complaining about how she broke ‘NagiReo’ apart and how she was heartless for stealing Nagi from his real soulmate. Some even went so far as to threaten her!

You shudder as you recall the social media posts and tabloid titles. 

If the public reacted so badly to that, what’s to say they would welcome you?

So you decide to prolong your secret relationship and, thankfully, Rin doesn’t mind. 

He doesn’t care too much about public opinion. As long as he knows you are happy with him, and you give him the reassurance you know he loves (though he doesn’t want to admit it), he’s content with keeping this between the two of you for a little while longer. 

Still, keeping your relationship a secret from the press also meant you couldn’t go out to dinners together, being forced to order takeout or get food delivered inside. Even going to his games was a rare treat, and even then you had to wear a full disguise and sit in an obscure nosebleed seat. 

It frustrates you, really. Why can’t people just be normal? 

You sigh.

“Are you still moping?” asks Karasu as he returns with your drinks. 

For the past thirty minutes, you’ve been telling your friend, who happens to be another one of Rin’s former Blue Lock acquaintances, about all your secret dating woes. 

You nod, taking a spice of your ice cold water. “Yeah, yeah. No more of me crying over not even being able to eat at a fast food place like this with Rin. Instead, let’s hear all about your most recent failed dating stories.”

“They’re not all fails,” he drawls, shoving a bundle of fries into his mouth. “I might be going on a second date with one of them.”

“And she’s not scared of the backlash?” you ask, a hint of resignation in your voice. 

Karasu shrugs. “Most people just ignore the hate. Those delusional fans aren’t real fans, but at least they make us more money, right? It’s part of the industry. Comes with dating a famous athlete. Don’t take it to heart, Y/N. I’m sure your lover boy Rinnie will shield you from whatever backlash occurs anyway.”

Frowning, you dip a fry into some ketchup over and over.

“You look a little menacing stabbing your ketchup like that,” jests Karasu, putting his arms up in surrender. “It was just a suggestion. You don’t have to reveal anything you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to!” you cry exasperatedly. “I want Rin to be able to hold my hand in public, and make eye contact with me! I don’t want to wear a stupid disguise when I go to his games. I want to kiss him right in front of the paparazzi and then throw my middle finger at their face!” 

“Then do it.” He pauses, a grin forming in his face as the scene plays in his head. “No, wait, for real, do it. Do you know how badass that’d be?”

“No!” You place your head into your hands and pout. “I’m nervous.” 

“Who cares what those less than mediocre losers think anyway?” Karasu scoffs, finishing the rest of his burger. “They’re not significant enough for you to worry about. Just do what you want.” He reaches over to steal some fries off your tray. “I bet Rin would like it if you came to support him during his games. As yourself. And not you with a mustache and clown wig or whatever atrocity it is you put on.”

“I do not wear a clown wig as a disguise,” you say, shooting him a glare. 

“Don’t need a disguise to be one.”

“Okay, our catch up session is over,” you deadpan, grabbing your purse and standing up from the table haughtily. 

Karasu laughs, taking no offense to you leaving. “Can I have the rest of your food?”

“Go ahead, you crow.”

He rolls his eyes but happily takes your leftovers. As you leave, he calls out, “Hey, Y/N.”

You glance back at him. 

“Remember what we talked about. Who gives a fuck what others think? Just do what will make you and Rin happy, okay?”

Reluctantly, you nod, knowing full well he’s right. The main focus on your relationship with Rin should be doing what makes you both happy and fulfilled. The main focus shouldn’t be avoiding the press and his fans. 

Karasu said it best. 

Who gives a fuck? 

“Hey, have you seen what’s trending yet?”

Rin blinks, considering hanging up the phone. Isagi rarely calls him, and it’s even more rare for Rin to actually pick up. So why the hell were the first words out of Isagi’s mouth about what’s trending? Since when did Isagi even care? 

“No. Don’t care. Bye.”

“Wait, wait!” Isagi butts in before Rin can press the red button. “It’s about Karasu and Y/N…dating.”

Rin frowns at the reveal. He knew you were going to get lunch with Karasu yesterday, but there was no way it was a date. He puts Isagi on speaker and opens up Twitter. Of course, the top trending topics are, “karasu’s girlfriend” and “WHO IS SHE?” to name a few. 

At Rin’s silence, Isagi continues, “Not that there’s any way it’s true, of course. She would never cheat on you! And Karasu isn’t that kind of guy, either.”

Rin knows all that. But he doesn’t care. He’s too busy being annoyed that your first introduction to the public is as Karasu’s girlfriend and not Rin’s girl. 

He grits his teeth, seconds away from throwing his phone onto the floor. 

You’re his girlfriend. Not anyone else’s. He didn’t care what the public thought…until it came to something so ridiculously incorrect like this. 

“Rin,” says Isagi. “Everything good?”

“No,” he barks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’ll clear this bullshit up. Bye.”

“Huh? Oh, okay, bye—!”

Rin hangs up and pockets his phone, immediately dropping everything to head over to your place. He has to see you. Now. 

You go through your day blissfully unaware of all the drama going on online (and with your own boyfriend).

You take Karasu’s advice from yesterday to heart. Perhaps you are just too chronically online and need to stop being so worried about the opinions random strangers might have about you.

It’s time for a digital detox.

Earlier, you deleted any and all social media apps off your phone, bar text messages if that even counted, and so far, it feels pretty freeing.

You’re so busy coloring and embroidering—both random hobbies you picked up but never had much time for since you would doom scroll instead—you hardly notice the sound of your door opening.

“Y/N?” inquires a frustrated-looking Rin.

“Rin!” you greet in excitement, dropping your activities and rushing over to give him a big hug. “I didn’t know you were coming over right now! Did I miss your call?”

He shakes his head. “No, I just came over. Are you busy right now?” 

“Never too busy for you,” you say with a cheesy wink.

Rin snorts, ruffling the top of your head. “Good. Let me take you on a date, then. I bought you a new dress to wear, if you want.” 

Your ears perk up at the sound of that. You absolutely love when Rin spoils you with surprise gifts! It also helps that he has a shockingly keen eye for the types of dresses that best suit your figure.

“Let me shower and get ready. Then we can go,” you say as you begin to head over to the bathroom. “What do you have planned for us?”

“Kioicho Fukudaya,” Rin states as if he’s saying something as ordinary and common as McDonald’s and not a two Michelin-starred restaurant. 

Your jaw drops. “How did you get a reservation so last minute?!”

He shrugs, lip quirking upward as you bounce in excitement. “Just made a few calls.”

“Just a few calls?” you repeat sarcastically. As nonchalant as Rin pretends to be, you’re fairly certain he had to fight tooth-and-nail for a table at a place like that. 

The two of you haven’t really gone to public places like restaurants, no matter how exclusive and high-end they were. Even with all the secrecy in the world, it would never be truly private. Paparazzi were still bound to be there lurking.

Realization dawns on you and you blink. “Wait…Won’t people see us together?”

“Possibly.” Rin hesitates for a moment. “Is that okay?” 

You weigh the consequences in your mind but remind yourself what’s really important. You want to let everyone know you’re with Rin. And judging from today, it seems he wants the same.

“I don’t mind,” you promise softly. “I think I’m ready to stop keeping this a secret relationship. But…what brought this on?

Rin’s eyes narrow as he grits out, “Karasu.”

Your head tilts in confusion. “You talked to him too?” 

“What? No.” His brows crinkle together. “I just saw you guys trending online.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He returns your look of equal confusion. “Have you not checked Twitter?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I deleted all my socials off my phone. Just so I’m not tempted to check it.” 

Rin raises his brow in question. 

“I’m tired of keeping our relationship a secret… I was hoping if I stopped checking the online gossip and what’s trending, I could ignore all the outside noise and just focus on us,” you explain. 

At your words, a smile forms on his face. Not a smirk, or a half-grin, but a full-fledged smile. Just seeing his expression makes you happy. 

This is definitely the right choice, you tell yourself. 

“Well, fans saw you and Karasu getting food together and now the media is calling you ‘Karasu’s girl’,” mutters Rin in annoyance. “Obviously, it’s false. But it still bothers me to see that.” 

You visibly gag at the news. “Ew! What? Karasu and me? Are they blind?!” 

He snorts at your face filled with disgust. “Blind and stupid. I want to show them just how wrong they are.”

It begins to dawn on you why Rin wants to dress you up all nice and take you to a fancy restaurant. You giggle at his possessiveness, finding it rather cute. You know he trusts you fully, but there’s no harm in him wanting to stake his claim. 

“We’ll definitely show them.”

“Get ready then,” he says after planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “I have to freshen up, too. It will be our grand reveal, after all.”

He makes it sound like some sort of mission. You giggle to yourself. 

“Join me in the shower?” you ask with a grin.

“Do you even have to ask?”

After the two of you get yourselves clean and dressed to the nines, Rin pulls you flush against his body as he examines you in the mirror. 

The dress he chose is soft and silky, hugging your curves perfectly. It’s floor-length, but the high slit rises to your upper thigh, exposing just enough skin to leave people curious. 

Rin stands behind you in his dark brown suit, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he kisses the side of your neck. 

“You look gorgeous,” he compliments.

“You do too,” you say with a smile. “Very handsome.”

Rin meets your gaze through the mirror and smirks. “I wasn’t planning on doing it this way, but you look too good to let this opportunity go to waste.”

“Opportunity? What do you mean?”

He doesn’t reply, instead taking his phone out his pocket and opening up the camera. Rin points it at the mirror and adjusts his arm so it slightly covers your face. Realizing he’s taking a photo of you two, you smile shyly, pressing yourself closer to his chest. 

“Beautiful as always,” says Rin after he captures the picture. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you jest, peeking over at his screen. 

When you see the photo, you almost blush. With the way his hand is gripping your body, and given how close you two are, it seems like you’re intruding on an intimate moment—and you lived it yourself!

You watch as Rin opens a social media app and posts the photo with a simple caption.

@RinItoshi: my girl. get it right.

Once finished, he tosses his phone aside carelessly and looks at you with a smile. “Ready for our date?” 

“Always!”

Placing your hand in his, you excitedly follow him out the door and to his car. The two of you are so happy in your own little bubble, neither one of you notice how the internet is absolutely blowing up over Rin’s reveal of your relationship. 

But that’s okay. You like it better that way. 

@KarasuTabito: DAMN IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH

@isagiofficial: congrats you guys! :)  

@iluvrinxoxo: holy shit she’s hot

@iluvrinxoxo: ahahahah rin who???? 

@iluvrinxoxo: changing my username bye

[calypso-rt]

HONEYMOON

with Rafe Cameron

-> Rafe x F!Reader

📍 Amalfi Coast, Italy 🇮🇹

You knew honeymooning with Rafe Cameron would be an experience.

But as you step onto the sun drenched terrace of your private villa overlooking the endless stretch of the Mediterranean, waves crashing gently against the cliffs below, you realize nothing could have prepared you for this.

It’s breathtaking. The kind of view that belongs in a postcard, all golden light and soft ocean breeze, the scent of lemon trees lingering in the air.

And then there’s Rafe, grinning like he planned this entire thing himself (he didn’t), hands in his pockets, watching you expectantly.

“Well?” he prompts, shifting closer, voice dipping into something softer. “Worth marrying me for?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Jury’s still out.”

Rafe hums, unconvinced. “Mm. Guess I’ll have to spend the next week proving you made the right choice.”

Before you can fire back, his arms loop around your waist, pulling you into him with that effortless ease, the kind that still makes your breath catch, even after everything. His lips find your temple, lingering just long enough to send warmth spreading through your chest.

And suddenly, you don’t care about the luggage still sitting by the door. Or the very long flight it took to get here.

Because Rafe is here. And he’s yours.

And if the next week looks anything like this?

You’re definitely in trouble.

☀️ Lazy Tanning on the Coast

The afternoon sun is warm against your skin, a lazy breeze rolling in from the water as you stretch out on the lounge chair. The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below is almost hypnotic, so much so that you don’t even notice Rafe shifting closer until you feel his fingers graze your wrist. “You’re not even trying to tan,” he murmurs, lips curving into a smirk. You peek at him over your sunglasses. “Maybe because I don’t need to turn into a lobster like you.” Rafe scoffs, dramatically offended. “Lobster? Baby, I’m gonna be golden.” “You’re gonna be burnt." He ignores that, reaching over to steal your drink without asking, sipping lazily before setting it back down, closer to his side of the table. You huff, but before you can snatch it back, he shifts onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he studies you. “What?” you ask, suspicious. His expression softens, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “You just look good. Happy.” The words settle warm in your chest, and for once, you don’t have a teasing remark ready. Instead, you reach out, threading your fingers through his where they rest between you. “I am,” you admit. And with him under the golden Italian sun, you really are.

🏍 Him absolutely renting a Vespa just to “impress you”

“You’re going to kill us.” Rafe scoffs, revving the Vespa like it’s a full blown motorcycle. “Baby, have a little faith.” You tighten your grip around his waist, already regretting this. “Last time you drove something this small, you ran over Topper’s foot.” “Okay, first of all, that was his fault for standing too close. Second, this is different. I’ve got it under control.” Famous last words. The Vespa wobbles as he takes off, and you let out an actual scream, clinging to him for dear life. Rafe just laughs, one hand way too casually gripping the handlebar. “Relax,” he says over the wind, sounding downright smug. “You’re in good hands.” You peek over his shoulder, past the stunning coastline, the rows of pastel-colored buildings, the winding cobblestone streets you’re probably about to crash into, and sigh. “Just try not to get us banned from Italy, okay?” Rafe chuckles, his free hand reaching down to squeeze yours where it rests against his stomach. “No promises, Mrs. Cameron.” And despite yourself, despite the very real possibility of disaster, you can’t help but smile.

🍝 Romantic candelit dinners where you can't keep your eyes off of him

The restaurant is tucked into the cliffs, candlelight flickering against white linen tablecloths, the sound of waves crashing below blending seamlessly with the soft hum of conversation. It’s the kind of place straight out of a dream: warm, intimate, effortlessly romantic. And yet, the only thing you can focus on is Rafe. He sits across from you, sleeves rolled up, tanned skin golden in the glow of the candles. There’s a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you, fingers idly tracing the rim of his wine glass. “You’re staring,” he murmurs. You roll your eyes, spearing a piece of pasta with your fork. “You’re imagining things.” Rafe leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Mmm. Don’t think so.” His voice dips, teasing but quiet, like it’s meant just for you. “Starting to think you like me, sweetheart.” You hum, pretending to consider. “Well, I did marry you. So, I guess you’re not totally awful.” His smirk deepens, but instead of responding, he reaches across the table, fingers grazing your wrist before curling around your hand completely. The warmth of his touch sends a flutter through your chest, one you pretend not to feel as he rubs slow, lazy circles against your skin. For once, there’s no bickering. No teasing. Just him. Just this. And as the night stretches on, wine glasses emptied, dessert shared, his foot nudging yours under the table, you realize something for the millionth time. You don’t just like Rafe Cameron. You love him.

🌊 A boat ride that ends with both of you in the water.

The sun is high, the water impossibly blue as the boat drifts lazily along the coast. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum of the engine and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull. Rafe stands at the bow, arms outstretched like he owns the ocean, wind ruffling his sun-bleached hair. “See? Told you renting a boat was a genius idea.” You lean back against the railing, sipping your drink. “Mmm. I’ll be impressed when you actually do something.” He turns, raising a brow. “Is that a challenge?” You smirk. “More like a fact.” And then, before you can react, Rafe strides toward you, that dangerous glint in his eye as he sets your drink to the side. “Rafe—” Too late. His arms wrap around you, warm and solid, and in one swift motion, he dives off the side, taking you with him. The water is a shock, cool against your sun-kissed skin, bubbles rushing around you as you resurface with a gasp. “Rafe!” you splutter, shoving wet hair from your face. He’s already floating beside you, grinning so smugly you could throttle him. “You said I should do something.” “You’re impossible!” You flick water at him, but he just laughs, swimming closer. Then, his hands find your waist beneath the waves, tugging you against him effortlessly. His voice drops, lower, softer. “But you love me anyway.” You roll your eyes, but your arms loop around his neck, your legs tangling with his in the water. “Unfortunately.” He grins before closing the space between you, his lips warm despite the cool water, the sea carrying you both in lazy circles. And maybe his boat idea was kind of genius.

🛏 Mornings spent tangled in crisp white sheets, sunlight spilling through open windows, his lazy grin the first thing you see.

Morning comes slow, golden light spilling through the open windows, the soft rustle of the ocean breeze slipping through sheer white curtains. The sheets are a tangled mess, warm, wrinkled, wrapped around your legs and twisted somewhere between you and Rafe. You blink sleepily, stretching against the pillows, only to be met with the sight of him. Rafe lies beside you, arm thrown lazily over your waist, his bare chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. His hair is a mess, sun-kissed strands falling over his forehead, and when he stirs, just barely, his lips curve into a lazy, lopsided grin. “Morning, Mrs. Cameron,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. Your heart does that stupid fluttering thing, but you roll your eyes anyway, fingers tracing absentmindedly along his jaw. “You just like saying that.” He hums, eyes still half-closed as he tugs you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. “Obviously.” You sigh, letting yourself melt into him, into the warmth of his skin, the steady press of his heartbeat against yours. Neither of you rush to move. There’s nowhere to be, nothing to do but exist here in this perfect little pocket of time where the world is quiet and love feels as easy as breathing. And as Rafe buries his face in the crook of your neck, mumbling something about five more minutes, you know, without a doubt, you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

A/N: Inspo struck guys I'm on a roll

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader  word count: 2k notes: Part 2 of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack (part 1 here)

It’s a Thursday night, and the hospital is slammed. Jack moves with purpose, flipping through a chart as he tugs off his gloves.

“I shouldn’t have planned this on a work night,” he mutters under his breath.

“Ooooh,” Dana croons behind him. “What are you planning?”

“None of your damn business,” he replies, glancing at the clock. “But I’m running late.”

Robby rounds the corner, already grinning. “Jack, get the hell out of here. I’m not getting blamed for you being late.”

Dana’s eyes narrow. “Wait. Robby knows?”

“He’s got a hot date with his baby mama,” Robby sings.

Dana’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a new development.”

Jack points a finger at her. “That judgy tone is exactly why I don’t tell you anything.”

He makes it home, showers, changes. Somehow gets to your place in record time.

You expected him to be late — habit. But something about how hard he’s clearly tried… reminds you. He wants to get it right this time.

You open the door.

He’s standing there in a dark button-down and jeans, a single tulip in hand. His hair’s still damp. He gives you the full once-over — slow, reverent — before trying to mask it with a crooked smile.

“Wow,” he murmurs. “You look… unfair.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You gonna stand there all night, or let me lock the door?”

He thrusts the tulip forward like he just remembered it. “For you. I, uh, have the rest at home… if you want them later.”

You smile, tuck the tulip into your bag, and follow him out.

The restaurant is all string lights and exposed brick — cozy, familiar. The waiter asks what kind of day you’ve had before recommending wine.

Jack orders after confirming your favorites — quiet, subtle. But he remembers.

“You nervous?” you ask, swirling your glass.

“A little,” he admits. “Feels like a first date. But also not. Feels like something we should’ve done a long time ago.”

“You mean back when we were living on boxed mac and cheese and resenting each other’s dishes in the sink?”

He chuckles. “Definitely not then.”

You watch him. Still Jack — dry, steady — but there’s something new softening him. Less guarded. More here.

Midway through dinner, you’re laughing about Beau’s vacuum obsession (“the Dyson phase,” Jack calls it), when he goes quiet.

“You know what I keep thinking about?” he says, thumb circling his glass.

“What?”

“That night before we split. You were packing for your parents’ place and I kept coming into the room for no reason. You finally said, ‘Jack, just say what you want to say.’”

You nod. You remember.

“I didn’t say it then. But I will now. I wanted you to stay. I just didn’t know how to ask without sounding selfish.”

Your heart tugs. You reach across the table, cover his hand. “You’ve gotten better at asking.”

He squeezes back. “Still learning.”

After dinner, you don’t go home right away. You wander the neighborhood, eventually winding up at the small park you take Beau to. The bench under the tree. The same bench where, once upon a time, everything started.

You pause. “Jack Abbot. We are not where I think we are, are we?”

He shrugs, smirk tugging at his lips. “Thought I’d ease you back in. Familiar territory.”

You lean in first this time. The kiss is slow, deep, and familiar — but not stuck in the past. There's something new now. Steady. Chosen.

He pulls back, breathless. “You still do that thing with your tongue. Drives me insane.”

You grin. “I know.”

Silence settles, warm and buzzing. Like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you.

“So,” Jack says. “How do we feel about another date?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether I get to make out with you after the next one too.”

He leans in, barely an inch from your mouth. “Oh, I think we can arrange that.”

You laugh — real and bubbling. Something you haven’t heard from yourself in a long time.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I missed this.”

You nod. “Me too.”

But after a beat, something shifts. You glance down. “Why now?”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Part of me still wonders why it took this long.”

Jack pauses. Not defensive. Just thoughtful.

“Because I didn’t trust myself. With you. With the whole thing. I didn’t think I could want something this badly and not wreck it. I had to be sure I could be better — for you, for Beau. For me.”

You exhale. “I didn’t need perfect.”

“I know that now,” he says softly. “But I had to unlearn a lot of things I didn’t even know I was carrying.”

You glance back up. “I’m still scared.”

Jack threads his fingers through yours. “Me too.”

“What if we hurt each other again?”

“We will,” he says. “But I’m not walking away this time just because something feels heavy. And I’m not letting you carry it alone.”

He walks you home, hands laced. At your door, he lingers.

“I’m not coming in,” he says, voice rough. “But I want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to do this right. Not fast. Not because I can’t stand being apart — though I can’t — but because I want it to last.”

You kiss him — soft, slow, steady.

When you pull back, you whisper, “Okay. Go home.”

He nods. “Second date?”

“Next week.”

He kisses your knuckles, walks away. Turns back at the end of the block to wave like it’s something he’s allowed to do again.

And for the first time in years, you lock the door feeling full — not with ache, not with hope. Just full.

–

A few days later, the call from school comes mid-meeting.

Beau’s sick. Fever. Glassy-eyed. Curled up in the nurse’s office with his backpack clutched to his chest.

You’re already halfway to your car when you text Jack:

you: just got a call from school. beau’s sick. i’m going to get him now. jack: shit. can i call you in 5? you: kinda swamped but yeah.

He calls in three.

“Hey,” he says, already out of breath. You can hear the hum of the hospital behind him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just scrambling. I’ve got back-to-back meetings and now—”

“I’ll handle it,” he cuts in. “I can be at your place in an hour. I’ll rearrange some stuff.”

“You’re on days now—are you sure?”

“It’s fine,” he says, too quickly. “I got it.”

You pause. Something in his voice makes your stomach twist. But you let him go.

An hour and a half later, Beau’s napping on the couch under two blankets. You’re at the kitchen table, trying to focus on your laptop. He’s flushed, quiet, lightly snoring.

Jack knocks once, then pushes the door open. Still in scrubs. He sets a pharmacy bag on the counter.

“Tylenol, apple juice, saltines.”

“Thanks,” you say softly.

He nods, drops into the chair across from you, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He looks tense. Coiled. Like he hasn’t really stopped moving.

“I didn’t think they’d let you leave,” you say.

“I told them it was an emergency. Robby gets it. I owe him now.”

“Jack—”

“It was an emergency,” he snaps. “He’s my kid.”

“I know. But you didn’t have to blow up your whole day to prove that.”

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m trying to show up. That’s what you said you needed. That’s what I said I’d do.”

You pause. “I don’t need you to self-destruct to prove you care. That’s not showing up — that’s burning out.”

His jaw clenches. Then something in him falters. Just slightly.

“I panicked,” he admits. “I heard ‘sick’ and I thought—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just shakes his head.

You reach across the table and take his hand. “I did too.”

A few hours later and things seem stable. Beau’s fever is stubborn but manageable, hovering near 101. You’re rotating fluids, letting him nap between cartoons. Jack’s perched at the edge of the couch, monitoring him like he’s waiting for a second shoe to drop.

“Mind hanging around?” you ask. “I’ve got one last call and then I can take over.”

“Don’t mind at all,” he murmurs. “We can combine forces. Date night with our sick kid — romance is alive and well.”

It’s just past 8 p.m. when things go sideways.

Beau stirs on the couch, body twitching, limbs stiffening in an unnatural rhythm.

“Shit—make sure he doesn’t fall.”

“Jack,” you say, panic rising, “what’s happening?”

“Febrile seizure,” he says, already shifting to the floor beside Beau, bracing his body as a barrier. “He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”

It lasts less than thirty seconds. It feels like a lifetime.

As soon as it passes, Jack scoops him up.

“We’re driving. Faster than an ambulance.”

You’re in the back seat, one hand on Beau’s knee, the other gripping the car door.

“Jack, I’m scared. Is he going to be okay?”

Beau’s voice is faint. “Mommy, I don’t feel good.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper. “We’re going to see Daddy’s doctor friends.”

Jack’s on the phone with Shen.

“Headed in now. Just had a febrile seizure. He’s alert but out of it. Temp was 101.3 about 20 minutes ago. Not responding to acetaminophen. Gave 7.5 mL six hours ago, again an hour ago. Pulse ox was 97. Resps were 32 last time I checked. ETA four minutes.”

“Mommy, I’m tired.”

“Keep him awake.”

“I’m trying.” You cup his face. “Hey baby, should we sing your song?”

You’re halfway through the third round of You’ve Got a Friend in Me when the hospital comes into view.

Shen and a nurse are waiting at the curb. They get Beau on a gurney, Jack walking alongside, rattling off the last twelve hours like a script he’s memorized.

“Hey buddy,” Shen says gently. “Heard you’re not feeling too great. We’re gonna run some tests, get you patched up. Sound okay?”

“‘kay,” Beau croaks. “Am I gonna miss my baseball game?”

Jack smiles, brushing hair off his forehead. “Probably. But when you’re better, we’ll go to a Pirates game. Deal?”

“Deal.”

You’re standing in the corner of the exam room, arms wrapped tight around yourself, blinking hard against the overhead lights.

Jack joins you. Wraps an arm around your shoulder. Pulls you in. And that’s when you finally break.

“Shhh,” he whispers, stroking your back. “He’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I couldn’t have done this alone. I froze. I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. You leaned on me.” His voice is low, steady. “We’re a team.”

The tests come back clean. No complications. The fever finally breaks.

By the time you’re discharged, Beau’s asleep in your arms.

Jack stops at the central desk to grab papers. Shen pats him on the shoulder.

“Sorry if I overreacted,” Jack says, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t know how different it’d feel when it’s your own kid. He’s just so little.”

“You did the right thing,” Shen says. “Go get your family home. Get some rest.”

–

Jack parks in your driveway. The engine clicks off. You’re still half-listening to Beau’s sleepy breathing in the back seat when Jack says, quiet:

“Can I stay over?” You glance at him. “Just to make sure he’s okay tonight.”

You nod. “Of course.”

Back inside, you toe off your shoes, lay Beau gently in the center of your bed. He curls instinctively toward your pillow.

You’re brushing your teeth when Jack appears in the doorway holding two glasses of water.

“Here,” he says. “Uh… where would I find extra bedding? I’ll set up the couch.”

You look at him. Tired. Beautiful. Still trying.

“Don’t be weird,” you say softly. “Bed’s always been big enough for the three of us.”

He smiles. Follows you into the room without another word and for the second time this week, you fall asleep feeling full. But this time, you feel a little less afraid.

[afatkidclub]

Older Boyfriend Simon Riley

Thanks to the notes on my last post, I will be posting this blurb here. It's just for shits and giggles.

Older Boyfriend!Simon Riley who has been the best boyfriend you have ever had.

Refuses to let you call a handyman. Leaky sink? He had it fixed before you even knew there was a problem. Squeaky desk chair? Suddenly completely silent. 

Gets really competitive with Mario Kart and refuses to play again after losing a couple of rounds. Gets really into Minecraft but doesn’t let you help build things because “You’re doing it wrong” even though you’re the one who taught him how to play

Does not understand girl math. 

-- “The fuck you mean it’s not real money

-- “If I use cash, it’s free because it doesn’t come out of my account. Therefore it’s not real money.” 

-- “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” 

-- Now drops cash in your purse so that you have “fake” money to use. 

Hates girl dinner only because he knows that a bowl of popcorn or a couple crackers and cheese is not a full meal. 

A year of his life drops off every time he hears you saying “I’m doing it for the plot.” 

Refuses to download tiktok but will watch them on your phone with you for hours at a time

Went on a very long lecture about the Roman Empire and how it came to be (talk specifically about the military aspect) once you mentioned something was your Roman empire. Didn’t even notice you had fallen asleep halfway through the lecture. Still doesn’t know what you mean when you say something is your Roman Empire. 

Has absolutely no idea what you mean when you say “same.” 

-- You had to explain that it was just something you said when you found anything relatable

-- “What the bloody hell could be relatable about a plastic bag blowing across the road.” 

Has attempted to use the word slay in a sentence and it only ended with you in the longest laughing fit known to man. 

Listens to you explain celebrity beef and wonders why you talk about them like you know them personally and how you know all this information. 

Vine references, goes right over his head. 

-- One time quoted “Road work ahead, uh yeah I sure hope it does” after you had done it so many times, you nearly choked to death on air that day. 

Emojis are his worst enemy. Never gets the message when you try to hint at something using emojis. 

Learns very early on that anytime you two go out for errands, you require a sweet treat. 

-- Uses going out to get a sweet treat as an excuse to take you out on dates 

-- Also makes sure to buy you a sweet treat anytime you complete a task you didn’t want to do.

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: You didn't think you'd find someone after your husband of 8 years suggested an open marriage. A few weeks after matching on a dating app, you find yourself swept away on a surprise getaway with none other than Seonghwa: your husband’s boss, and the man who’s been quietly turning your world upside down. The chemistry is undeniable, the tension electric, but you made a promise to be honest with your husband before things go too far. Still... what’s the harm in finding a few loop-holes? If it’s not technically sex, does it really count?

Word count: 13.1K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, a little angst, slow burn, smut (they do something so many times in this chapter lmao sorry i got carried away)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), TEASING, dom Seonghwa, fingering, oral (male/fem receiving), grinding hard (omg i don't know how to explain it, they're literally millimeters from just going at it), lmk if I missed anything! Author's note: I'm in a good mood. And you guys are literally so sweet and supporting, I can not NOT post chapter 2 already!? so here it is! I hope you have an amazing day <3

PART 1 PART3

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

You’re not sure how it’s been two weeks.

In some ways, everything feels exactly the same. Same apartment, same unread texts from your husband, same untouched conversation that’s been looming over you like a cloud.

But then there’s Seonghwa.

And somehow, everything feels different.

You talk every day. Constant check-ins, sweet little texts, voice notes when he’s driving, memes he knows will make you laugh. Sometimes he calls at night just to hear your voice before bed. And you don't think you're imagining it, that softness in the way he says your name, the unspoken want in his pauses.

You’ve seen him a few times. Nothing dramatic, no grand dates, just… him. His space. His voice. A mug of tea pressed into your hands. A blanket he tugged tighter around your shoulders without saying a word. Quiet dinners where you talked about the stupidest things, where you teased him until he cracked up, eyes crinkling, hand squeezing your knee under the table like he couldn’t not touch you.

And still, he never pushed. Never asked for more than what you were ready to give.

But that didn’t stop you from kissing him.

You kissed him on his couch after laughing too long at something dumb he said. You kissed him in his hallway when you were saying goodbye and didn’t want to leave. You kissed him once in the middle of a sentence because you couldn’t stop yourself.

Every time, it left you both breathless.

And every time, his hands stayed respectful, cupping your cheek, holding your waist, letting you choose how far. Letting you feel safe.

You don’t think he knows how much that means.

You’re still married. You still wear your ring as a reminder. And even if that feels like a technicality at this point, you haven’t had the conversation. Not the real one. You’ve tried texting your husband more than once, saying you needed to talk. Said you weren’t okay. You meant to say more, but what’s the point when all you get back is a thumbs up or "we’ll talk soon"?

He hasn't been home. He hasn’t asked how you are. You’ve stopped waiting for him to care.

So when your phone buzzes on Friday morning with Seonghwa’s name, you unlock it fast, too fast. Already smiling before you even read it.

Seonghwa: I need you to trust me. Pack a small weekend bag. No heels. Cozy clothes. Something to sleep in. Maybe a swimsuit. Pick you up at 5.

You stare at your phone for a full minute, grinning like an idiot.

You: Is this a kidnapping?

Seonghwa: Yes. But the softest, coziest kind. With snacks.

You: …Fine. I’m in.

Your smile falters, but in the softest way. Your heart melts.

Packing is easy. The hard part is waiting.

You toss in leggings, sweaters, that shirt of his you still haven’t returned. You throw in your swimsuit, mostly because you’re curious. And maybe because you like the idea of his eyes on you. And when you zip the bag closed, you find yourself hoping the quiet weekend isn’t too quiet. That maybe you’ll get to kiss him again, this time in a place where no one else exists but the two of you.

When he picked you up, he had two coffees in a cup holder and your favorite granola bars in the passenger seat. And the second you buckled in, he turned to you, eyes warm and voice soft.

“Hi.”

That it is. Just that one word. And your whole heart melted.

The two hour drive is filled with talking, laughing, and the occasional hand on the thigh from Seonghwa. You don’t know what to expect when he starts driving outside of town and into a wooded area, but when a lovely, aesthetic cabin comes into view, your mouth drops. The inside of the cabin wraps around you like a hug, but Seonghwa’s already moving, dropping both your bags by the coat rack and stretching with a groan that makes his hoodie ride up slightly.

“I should give you the grand tour,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at you with that boyish smile that makes your chest do a weird little skip. “Even though it’s not really grand.”

You follow him through the cabin as he gestures casually, left to a small but cozy guest room, across to the bathroom with a deep old tub and brass fixtures, and then finally his room at the back of the cabin.

“This is mine,” he says, flicking on the light in his bedroom. It’s simple, wooden floors, navy sheets, a stack of books on the nightstand, but it’s very him. Soft and clean, masculine without trying.

You hover by the door. “Feels weirdly like you.”

He chuckles. “That’s either a compliment or you’re calling me boring.”

“Oh, definitely a compliment,” you murmur, eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got good taste.”

“Mm, well, let’s see if that still holds up.”

You raise a brow as he turns and heads toward a door at the end of the hall. “There’s more?”

“It’s technically the basement,” he says, grabbing a light switch and flipping it on, “but it’s my favorite part.”

You follow him down the short staircase, and the moment you step off the last stair, your mouth parts slightly.

The space is warm, not just heated, but glowing. Soft lighting reflects off the water of a wide, in-ground pool, steam rising lazily above it. The air smells faintly of eucalyptus and cedar, and the entire room is surrounded by smooth, stone-textured walls and plush seating tucked into corners. A wall of glass windows looks out into the forest beyond, the trees dark silhouettes in the fading light.

You turn to him, wide-eyed. “You have a pool. In your cabin.”

He shrugs a little, but the corner of his mouth pulls up. “Was kind of a present to my family. First thing I bought when things started going well.”

“Seonghwa.” You step forward and dip your fingers in the water, it’s warm and silky-soft. “We are absolutely coming back down here later,” you say.

He grins. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He watches you a beat longer, something unreadable behind his eyes, then says, “Gonna grab some firewood before it gets too dark. You okay here?”

You nod, but as he heads out, you drift back toward the living room, standing near the wide back windows.

He’s outside now, rolling up his sleeves as he stacks firewood like it weighs nothing. His jaw clenches when he lifts the heavier pieces, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in focus. It’s almost criminal how good he looks like this. The sky’s turning gold behind him, making his skin glow, casting a soft light through his hair. And you just… stare.

Because this is the same man who ran his fingers gently through your hair on the couch, who kissed your forehead like it meant something, who told you to pack your bag for a weekend away without ever asking for anything in return.

But damn, he’s hot.

He glances toward the window and catches you watching. Raises a brow. Smirks. Doesn’t break eye contact as he sets the last log down and brushes his hands off on his jeans, and God, you feel like your skin is warming faster than the fireplace he’s about to light.

By the time he’s back inside, shaking the cold from his clothes, you’re in the kitchen, pretending you weren’t just ogling him like a teenage crush.

“See something you like?” he says as he walks by, voice low and teasing.

You scoff. “Relax, lumberjack. Just making sure you didn’t freeze to death.”

He grins but doesn’t say anything, just slides up behind you as you start pulling ingredients out of the bag he brought. His arms wrap around your waist loosely, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You cook, right?” you ask, leaning into him just a little.

“I survive,” he answers. “But for you, I’ll follow any recipe you give me.”

The kitchen fills with the soft sounds of chopping and the simmering of sauce, your bodies constantly brushing. He’s touchy in the most subtle ways, hand guiding your lower back as you switch places, fingers brushing yours as he hands you a spoon, lingering way too long when you try to rinse a dish and he steps in just to “help.”

At one point, you drop a piece of onion and groan, bending to pick it up, and he makes a soft, playful noise behind you.

“Dangerous territory,” he mutters.

You glance over your shoulder. “You're in my space.”

He tilts his head, impossibly smug. “It's my cabin.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling, heart full in a way you didn’t expect to happen so quickly again.

And maybe he feels it too, because he kisses your temple again before stepping away to stir the pot.

But underneath it all is the quiet awareness of what hasn’t been said yet. The unspoken weight of your still-husband, and the fact that Seonghwa, for all his charm and sweetness, hasn’t pushed you to talk about it.

So the touches stay light. The kisses stay soft. Neither of you cross that line.

But once the dishes are done, and the fire crackles in the hearth, the cabin feels like a world of its own. 

The pool room is already warm when Seonghwa walks in, steam curling through the air in soft waves. The glow from the underwater lights dances on the ceiling, casting shifting shadows over the stone walls. He moves quietly, setting fresh towels on the bench, lighting a couple of the wall sconces to soften the ambiance. His t-shirt comes off first, then his sweats, revealing black swim trunks that hang low on his hips, and he paces a little, half-distracted as he runs a hand through his hair.

He’s calm until he hears footsteps on the stairs.

When you step into view, wrapped in a towel, his breath catches.

Your fingers grip the edge of the towel a little tighter. You hesitate. The bikini you’re wearing is simple, but it’s more skin than you’ve shown in months, more than your husband ever really looked at, anyway. There's a flicker of hesitation, a flare of insecurity rising uninvited. You almost say something to brush it off, to deflect, but then your eyes find Seonghwa.

And he’s staring.

Not in a way that makes you shrink, but in a way that freezes him in place. Your breath hitches. You glance down and away, trying to ignore the flush creeping up your neck, and drop the towel, stepping toward the pool. You slip into the water, letting the heat rise around your body, washing away a bit of that self-consciousness with it. Seonghwa joins you, smooth and slow, his eyes still lingering.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice smaller than usual, almost embarrassed.

“I know,” he says, not even blinking. “I couldn’t stop if I tried.” His gaze doesn’t flicker. It’s steady, reverent. Like you just knocked the air out of him.

You swim around a bit first, exchanging light, almost flirty conversation. It's relaxed, warm, his presence does that to you. Grounding you, calming that nervous swirl in your chest.

Then, eventually, you stop in the deeper end. You tread water in front of him, breathing just a little heavier than before. Your hands rest on his shoulders, tentative, and he lets you come closer.

Your legs slide around his waist. He catches you easily. Neither of you moves for a beat.

The water sloshes softly around you. His hands settle on your hips, anchoring you, but careful, not grabbing, not pulling. Just holding. You look at him and something in your chest flutters.

“You okay?” he asks softly, eyes scanning your face.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… haven’t worn something like this in a while. Feels weird.”

He tilts his head, fingers brushing your side gently under the water. “You look beautiful.”

You don’t answer, but you lean in, resting your head on his shoulder, enjoying how calming and safe you feel. His hands flex slightly against your hips, like it takes everything in him not to pull you closer. The tension between you simmers. Quiet, patient, but unmistakable. He smells like clean skin and chlorine, his wet hair slicked back, droplets sliding down the strong line of his neck. 

You You don’t meet his eyes at first when you speak. “Can I tell you something kinda… embarrassing?”

That gets his attention instantly. His brows lift, and he leans in slightly, voice warm and gentle. “You can tell me anything.”

You pull back to be able to look into his eyes.

“I’ve only ever been with him. My husband.” The word tastes heavy in your mouth. “I’ve never been with anyone else, and I don’t know… that feels weird to admit.”

He doesn’t flinch. He just blinks once, tilts his head a little. “It’s not weird,” he says, quieter now. “It just means you trusted someone. That’s not a bad thing.”

You bite your lip. “I guess. But now I’m here, with you, and-,” your cheeks grow hot “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know how to be good at this. What if I’m awkward? Or don’t know what you like?”

His hands squeeze lightly at your hips. “You think I’ve been touching you like this because I’m not into it?”

That makes you laugh, and he grins, leaning in just enough that his nose brushes yours. But he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

You glance down at the way your chest rises and falls in your bikini top, the water gliding over your skin. “It’s been a long time since I felt wanted like this. And it’s a little scary, to want something but not be sure how to ask for it.”

Seonghwa’s voice drops, eyes tracing the droplets clinging to your collarbone. “You’re asking just fine.”

His gaze lingers on you, openly, hungrily. His hands are still on your hips, but they inch upward just slightly, thumbs brushing the skin just under the hem of your bikini top. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to want it. The rest we’ll figure out.”

Your breath catches. “I do want something.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours again. “Yeah?”

You press your lips to his cheek. Then his jaw. Then lower, teasing a line down his throat. “I’ve been thinking…” Your voice is practically a whisper now. “It doesn’t count as sex if it’s… other stuff, right?”

He groans, head tipping back. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe,” you murmur against his skin, “but I haven’t had anything in months. You expect me to behave?”

His grip tightens at your waist, and you feel it, the slow, undeniable shift in him.

“You keep grinding on me like this,” he warns, breath uneven, “and I’m not gonna be able to play nice.”

You grind a little harder.

“Oops.”

Seonghwa growls low, then turns swiftly, your back pressing against the warm tile wall of the pool. He doesn’t kiss you right away. He just looks at your parted lips, your damp lashes, the water beading on your chest.

“You’re sure?” he breathes. “No sex. Just this?”

You nod. “Loop-hole.”

He huffs a laugh against your lips, and he finally kisses you. Hungry and hot and messy in the best way. You arch into him, his hands roam freely now, one trailing down to your thigh to hold you in place, the other teasing along your side.

And then he drops lower.

He doesn’t hesitate, not even a second.

Seonghwa shifts your weight in his hands, lifting you like it’s nothing. The warm water laps at your thighs as he sets you gently on the smooth tile ledge that curves around the inner rim of the pool, half in, half out of the water. Your calves stay submerged, but the rest of you is gloriously exposed, slick with heat and nerves and want.

Your breath hitches. You’re not used to being seen like this. Vulnerable, bared, soaked in every way possible, but his eyes never leave yours.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, hands still on your thighs, thumbs stroking gently back and forth. “You tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Your fingers curl against the tile. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s all it takes.

The second you nod, breathless, trembling, your thighs already spread for him on the edge of the tile, Seonghwa dives between your legs like he’s been dying to breathe you in. He pushes your bikini bottoms to the side and when his mouth finally meets you?

It’s filthy.

A guttural groan leaves his throat the second his tongue makes contact. Dragging through your folds like he’s savoring a rare delicacy. Deep, slow, deliberate. He doesn’t just taste you; he devours. He laps at your cunt like a man starved, tongue dipping in and out with obscene precision, like he’s memorizing every part of you by feel.

Your hands shoot to the tile behind you, head falling back against the damp stone as your thighs instinctively try to close, but Seonghwa growls and grabs your thighs with a bruising grip, holding you wide open.

“Don’t hide from me,” he rasps, voice wrecked and wet. “You gave this to me. I’m gonna take all of it.”

He buries himself in you, face pressed so deep you can barely breathe from the feeling. His nose nudges your clit, tongue sliding through your soaked heat, and he groans into you like you’re feeding something dark in him. You feel the vibration all the way through your spine.

“Fuck, Seonghwa-” you gasp, your voice wrecked, barely above a whisper. “I- I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, not even pausing. “You’re gonna fucking come for me, and then I’m gonna keep going. I wanna hear how beautiful you sound.”

His hands slip beneath your ass, dragging your body closer, tilting your hips so he can really taste you, and then his mouth locks on your clit.

And he doesn’t stop.

He sucks it between his lips like he’s addicted, swirling his tongue, then flattening it, then flicking fast and filthy until your legs are shaking, your moans are spilling uncontrolled, and your fingers are desperately gripping at his wet hair.

His eyes flick up to watch you come undone, and the look on his face is wild. His mouth is soaked, his jaw flexing with how hard he’s working you, but he doesn’t stop. Not when your thighs begin to tremble. Not when your voice breaks in a moan. Not even when you cum with a sob, practically screaming his name.

He pulls back slowly, lips glistening, eyes locked on you with nothing short of adoration and something far more possessive.

“That,” he pants, voice low and full of heat, “was fucking divine.”

You’re breathless, shaking, completely undone.

And he? He just smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice smug and dark as he stands in the water, towering over you. When he kisses you, it’s slow. Deep. His hand cradles the side of your face like you’re something breakable, even after what he just did to you.

You taste yourself on his tongue, but you don’t pull away.

You kiss him back harder.

Because it’s not just filthy.

It’s intimate.

“I’m lost for words.” You say, panting and trying your best to catch your breath.

He looks deep into your eyes with a smile and says; “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.” 

***

The smell of coffee drifts into the cabin bedroom before anything else.

You stretch beneath the soft duvet, your body still humming with the aftershocks of last night. Every inch of you feels different, warm, electric, awake in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. You roll over, expecting to see him there beside you, but the space is empty. Still warm.

And then you hear him in the kitchen. The low sound of a cupboard closing, a quiet curse when something clatters, the faint hum of music from his phone. It makes your heart flutter for no good reason at all, just the image of him out there, shirtless and half-awake, trying to make breakfast like it’s something you’ve always done together.

You wrap the sheets around yourself and pad out to the kitchen.

Sure enough, he’s standing by the stove in a pair of sweatpants, hair messy and damp from a quick shower, one hand stirring something in a pan while the other scrolls his phone, probably checking a recipe.

He glances up the second he senses you. And when he sees you still wrapped in his sheets, skin kissed with leftover waterline marks and sleep in your eyes, he grins. Slow, soft, too fond for someone who’s only seen you for a few weeks.

“Mmm,” he hums, eyes trailing over you. “That’s a good look on you.”

You smile, tugging the fabric a little tighter around your chest. “So is that,” you say, gesturing at the way the waistband of his pants rides low, revealing the curve of his V-line. He doesn’t even flinch at the comment, just raises an eyebrow, like he knows what he’s doing to you.

You walk over to him, slipping behind the counter and stealing a peek into the pan. “What are we making?”

“Scrambled eggs,” he says, “but I’m winging it.”

“Dangerous,” you tease. “Let me help.”

He moves aside without protest, but not without brushing against you as he does, his bare chest ghosting your shoulder, his hand resting briefly at the small of your back. 

You make the eggs while he butters the toast. At some point, he leans in to steal a kiss at your temple. It’s sweet, until his fingers skim your hip beneath the sheet, slow and deliberate. You look up at him, your breath catching. His eyes are darker now, the atmosphere suddenly thick again.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you say quietly, “and I’ll burn the eggs.”

He only smirks. “Burn them, then.”

It doesn’t matter that you’re just making breakfast. Every second feels like foreplay. Eventually, you sit together at the kitchen island, knees brushing. He makes a show of complimenting your eggs, teasing you about how domestic this all is. The whole thing feels… too good. Too easy. And you’re both very aware of it.

At one point, he leans back in his chair and studies you, like he’s committing you to memory, like he wants to trace every line of your smile and lock it away.

“You’re different today,” he murmurs, voice soft.

You shrug, suddenly shy under his gaze. “So are you.”

He reaches over, thumb brushing your cheek. “In a good way?”

“In a really good way,” you say. And you mean it.

Because even with all the heat between you, even with how badly you want to climb onto his lap and pick up where last night left off, there’s something sweeter here, too.

Like maybe this isn’t just heat. Maybe it’s something more.

The day has been blissfully quiet, a perfect mix of soft sunlight streaming through the windows and the warm, fresh air of spring. After breakfast, you and Seonghwa take a slow walk down to the lake, the tension between you two still palpable, but there's a sense of ease too. 

Later that afternoon, you played cards on the couch. He was terrible at it. Mostly because he couldn’t concentrate.

“I think you’re cheating,” he accused, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I think you’re a sore loser,” you shot back, grinning.

He lunged for your cards, and you yelped, scrambling away, laughing. He tackled you into the cushions and tickled your ribs until you screamed. Then everything shifted. Suddenly he was on top of you, your legs tangled with his. His breath fanned across your lips. His hands, once playful, were now still. Firm. Intentional.

He looked down at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Then his voice dropped. “Kiss me.”

You did.

It wasn’t soft this time.

It was desperate.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, palms flat against your stomach, and you arched into him without thinking.

Your hips rocked.

His jaw clenched.

And just when it got too hot, when you were seconds away from completely unraveling again, you broke the kiss.

“Stop,” you whispered, breathless. “We can’t.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes shut tight. “I know. But god…”

You rolled onto your side, pulling him with you, your bodies still flush. “This is torture.”

“Sweetest kind,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder. “But I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

He always knew what to say.

The cabin is warm, the fire crackling quietly as you and Seonghwa lay tangled together on the couch. His arm is around your waist, your head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, both of you half-asleep, breathing in sync. The quiet, the closeness, it’s almost too good to be real. You feel his heartbeat under your cheek, steady and slow, and let your eyes drift shut.

Until your phone buzzes against the coffee table.

You freeze for a second, not wanting to move, but Seonghwa's arm loosens slightly. His eyes stay closed. Thinking he’s still asleep, you carefully slip away and pad into the kitchen, grabbing your phone.

When you see the caller ID, your stomach twist.

Husband.

You answer anyway, voice low.  "Hey… yeah, I'm gone for the entire weekend..." You lean back against the counter, glancing over your shoulder at the couch. Seonghwa hadn’t moved. "Well, how was I supposed to know that you'd be home? You didn't tell me..." you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. Light.

Seonghwa opens his eyes, sitting up slowly. He rubs his hand over his face once before pushing himself off the couch and walking quietly toward the kitchen where he hear you talking. He stops in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame.

You don’t see him. You’re facing the counter, head bowed slightly, twirling the hem of your hoodie between your fingers as you talk.

"Alright... yeah... mhm..." Your voice is too polite. Too... detached.

He can tell it’s him.

Your husband.

Of course it is.

Seonghwa’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to be reminded. But he can’t tear himself away from the sight of you, standing there, trying to sound okay.

"Wait, really?" you say, surprise flickering in your tone. Seonghwa’s brow furrows. You give a soft laugh, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"No, I'd love to, I just, yeah..." Another pause. Another sigh. "Alright... okay... have fun... love you..." you say softly, out of habit more than anything else. Seonghwa’s hands curl into fists at his sides.

You hang up and stand there for a second, phone still in your hand, like you need to collect yourself. When you finally turn around, you’re startled a little at the sight of him. Your mouth opens, maybe to explain, maybe to apologize, but Seonghwa shakes his head lightly. No need.

You tuck your phone into your hoodie pocket and give him a weak smile. "Husband" you say, voice almost too casual.

He doesn’t move, just tilts his head, waiting.

"He... he called to tell me about the upcoming company dinner," you say. "He wants me to go with him like last year."

For a moment, Seonghwa doesn’t respond. Just blinks at you slowly, processing. You see it, how he didn’t expect that. How it threw him off.

"He does?" he finally says, his voice low, unreadable.

You nod, hugging yourself a little. "Yeah. Guess he forgot to tell me before," you joke, trying to laugh it off. "He said it’ll look good if I’m there."

Seonghwa’s heart twisted.

Look good.

Not because he misses you. Not because he wants to share the evening with you. Because it will look good.

"She’s coming too, I’m imagining" you add, tossing it out like it doesn’t matter that your husband’s girlfriend would be in the same room as you. Like it doesn’t tear something inside you open.

Seonghwa’s jaw ticked.

You hurry to fill the silence. "It’s fine. I mean-, it’s not like I didn’t expect it, right? It's just a dinner. No big deal."

But it is a big deal. And you’re a terrible liar.

You keep rambling. "Honestly, it’s probably good. It might make it easier, or whatever. Seeing them in the same room together, maybe it’ll help me... you know, feel better about everything." Your laugh cracks at the edges. You tuck your hair behind your ear, blinking hard. A moment of silence spread between you, letting you mind do horrible things to you. “Can I ask you a question?” your voice is barely above a whisper.

His voice is soft, warm with understanding. “Always.”

You don’t mean to ask it, but it slips out anyway. “Do they look good together?”

Even Seonghwa seems caught off guard. He doesn’t answer, not with words. But the way his expression falters, the way his eyes search yours… it’s enough.

Regret hits instantly. You let out a dry laugh and shake your head. “Right. Stupid question. You can’t answer that.”

You rub your hand down your face, trying to gather yourself, trying to make it easier by asking again, differently. “Do they… act like a couple at work?”

He hesitates. Thinking. Choosing words that won’t hurt more than they have to.

“Not at first,” he says, his voice measured, careful. “It was… gradual. The kind of closeness people notice but don’t talk about.”

You exhale, eyes closing.

“I didn’t want to assume anything in the beginning,” he continues. “She’s friendly with a lot of people. And I try not to get involved in anything that doesn’t concern work.”

You nod. “But it was obvious.”

He pauses. “Enough that I… thought he might’ve been single.”

Something sinks inside you, cold and heavy.

“No ring. No mention of you. He brought her to a few events at work. I didn’t ask questions.”

You swallow, not sure what hurts more. The confirmation, that he doesn’t wear his ring outside anymore or the fact that it makes sense. Of course he would act single at work. That’s part of his charm.

Seonghwa’s expression is gentle, eyes scanning yours like he’s checking for fractures he can’t see.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t want to upset you. If this is too much-”

“No,” you interrupt, voice thin. “I asked. I want to know. I need to.” You stand in silence for a beat, and then you murmur with a broken smile, “But it’s fine. It’s all fine.”

"You don't have to pretend with me," Seonghwa murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Trying not to let the kindness in his voice shatter you completely.

"I'm fine," you whispered.

Seonghwa watches you from across the kitchen. You’re smiling, but he knows better. He sees the way your shoulders curl inward, the way your eyes won’t quite meet his.

"You’re not," he says, just as soft. "And that’s okay."

You glance up, startled, but before you can form a response, he moves toward you, not fast, not forceful, just steady. His hands find your hips with gentle certainty, and he lifts you with ease, setting you down on the counter as if you’re something precious, not breakable.

"Seonghwa-" you start, breathless.

But he’s already there, grounding you. One hand settles gently on your thigh, the other brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His forehead touches yours, and he just breathes with you for a moment. He stays close but doesn’t move further. His forehead drops lightly to yours, his palms warm against your thighs.

"Look at me," he says, voice low, like he’s scared to spook you. His voice is soft but sure. "I don’t want you pretending you’re fine around me." He leans in. "You feel whatever you need to feel," he murmur, voice thick with emotion, “I’m here. I’ll hold you through it. For as long as it takes.”

Your fingers tremble as they clutch at the fabric of his shirt. Your voice is just a whisper. “I don’t want to fall apart.”

“Then don’t,” he says gently. “Just lean. I’ll catch the rest.”

You make a soft, broken sound before you can stop yourself. He kisses you, slow, deep, devastating. Not just because he wants you. Because he adores you.

He breaks the kiss only to press a featherlight one to your cheek. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth. Each one slower than the last, reverent, like he’s tracing the pieces of you he’s afraid might slip away.

"You want me to take your mind off it?" His mouth brushes just beneath your ear, not suggestive, not rushed, just offering.

You blink at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Only if you want to," he murmurs. "Only if you need it."

You nod before you could second-guess yourself, fingers curling into his shirt.

"I want you," you breathe.

Relief floods his features, softening the tension in his jaw. He kisses you like he had all the time in the world to love every part of you. His hands slide up your sides, mapping you like a man learning his favorite song by heart. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your jawline, the shell of your ear, soft, worshipful kisses that leave your skin burning.

"You’re everything," he whispers, pressing his lips to your throat. "You don't even see it, do you?" He kisses a path lower, murmuring against your skin, his hands skimming down your sides to the waistband of your leggings.

He pauses, looking up at you again.

You nod, heart hammering.

Slowly, carefully, he peels them down, helping you kick them away. His palms roams back up your bare thighs, rough and warm.

His fingers trace along the seam of your underwear, teasing the edges, making you squirm. He drags a single finger up the center. Slow and deliberate, feeling the heat of you through the fabric.

"So fucking soft," he mutters under his breath, almost reverent. When he finally eases your panties to the side and slid two fingers through your folds, he curses under his breath. "Fuck," he groans, forehead falling against your shoulder. "You’re gonna ruin me."

He kisses your throat, your collarbone, the dip of your neck, worshiping every inch of you while his fingers find your clit, stroking it slowly and carefully. Drawing circles, light and teasing at first, just to feel you shake.

You whimper, your hips jerking toward his hand, desperate for more.

He smiles against your skin.

"Patience, my love," he whispers. "I wanna savor you." 

A slow, steady glide of his fingers, spreading your wetness, pressing a little deeper. You whimper, hips twitching, and he kisses you again, swallowing every sound like he can’t get enough of you. One finger slides inside you, stretching you deliciously, the heel of his hand rubbing steady against your clit. He moves carefully, gently, but there is a hunger beneath it.

"You have no idea how good you feel," he whispers against your throat, his voice breaking.

Another finger presses in, a little rougher this time, and your mouth falls open in a gasp, and he kisses it, swallowing every sound. He starts a slow rhythm, steady, deliberate thrusts of his fingers, curling just right, dragging sweet friction along your walls. The wet sounds fill the kitchen, obscene and beautiful.

Your head drops back, a soft moan escaping you, and he kisses your throat, licks at your pulse, holding you steady as your body starts to tremble. His fingers work deeper, faster, rougher but never cruel, like he wanted to drag every ounce of pleasure from you, like he needed to prove to you what you deserved.

You whimper, rolling your hips into his hand. He groans low in his throat, as if the pleasure you’re feeling feeds his own.

"That's it," he whispers, pressing kisses along your cheek, your temple. "Take what you need, baby. I’m right here."

He presses his thumb against your clit again, this time firmer, drawing slow, perfect circles as his fingers thrust deeper inside you. Your hands clutches at his shoulders, digging into his muscles, and he lets out a low moan, loving the way you hold onto him.

"That’s it," he says, kissing your ear. "Let go for me, baby. Give it to me."

You can’t hold it anymore. When he angles his fingers just a little differently, brushing against that devastating spot inside you, it breaks you.

Your orgasm builds like a tidal wave, overwhelming and sharp, and when it finally hits, you sob his name, shaking violently against him. He keeps fucking you with his fingers, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body, kissing you desperately the whole time.

"You’re fucking perfect," he whispers between kisses, voice raw with it.

He slowly eases his fingers out of you, kissing you breathless while his hands smoothed up and down your thighs to soothe the tremors. He doesn’t rush it, doesn’t push for anything more.

He just kisses you, adores you, holds you like you were the only thing in his world. "You’re mine here," he murmurs, voice rough, mouth hot against your skin. "Only mine."

The world outside the cabin didn’t exist anymore. No husband. No company dinner. No expectations. Just Seonghwa, tasting you, touching you, worshiping you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

And you can’t get enough of him.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of soft touches and easy laughter. You don’t talk about anything serious, don’t need to. Instead, you lounge together on the couch, stealing lazy kisses. You walk barefoot through the woods behind the cabin, the air fresh and cool, your hand tucked tightly into his. When night falls, you both end up tangled under a blanket by the fire, the room warm and golden, his heartbeat steady against your ear.

Eventually, sleep starts pulling at you.

"Come on," he murmurs against your hair. "Bedtime."

You let him lead you to the bedroom, too tired and too comfortable to protest. You don’t even bother changing, you just collapse onto the bed, pulling the covers up with a small, content sigh. Seonghwa climbs in beside you, and the moment you feel the mattress dip under his weight, you shift closer instinctively, pressing your body against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin.

He wraps his arms around you tightly (maybe tighter than he should have) but you only sigh again, relaxed and trusting in his hold. And within minutes, you’re asleep.

But Seonghwa isn’t.

He stays awake, eyes tracing the shape of your face in the dim moonlight seeping through the window. You look so soft, so beautiful, your mouth slightly parted, your brow relaxed. You have no idea. No idea what you’re doing to him. How badly he want to freeze this moment, to stay like this forever.

His fingers brush your back slowly, barely there, memorizing the feel of you. He can smell your shampoo, the faint sweetness of your skin.

You aren’t his. You’re married. Tied to a life he can’t touch, no matter how much he wants to. And he wants to. God, he wants to. He wants to steal you away, keep you tucked against him like this, safe and warm, without the weight of your sadness, without the ache of your pretending.

But he can’t.

He isn’t your husband. He isn’t your first choice. Maybe he will never be.

So he just holds you closer, selfishly. Just for tonight.

He whispers your name against your hair, so quietly you can’t hear it. He presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger far longer than he should have.

And when his chest tightens painfully with everything he can’t say, he closes his eyes and buries his face in your hair, breathing you in like he can keep a part of you with him, even when you eventually slip away.

Because deep down, Seonghwa already knows: You aren’t his to keep.

But he would love you. Quietly, carefully, hopelessly, for as long as he’s allowed.

***

Real life came back like a wave crashing onto the sand. By Monday morning, the cabin already felt like a dream. Something you both clung to a little too long before the world tugged it from your fingers. There were alarms again. Meetings. Responsibilities. But still, he stayed. In every little way he could.

The following week became a quiet dance of stolen moments. Texts during the day, sometimes silly, sometimes tender. Late-night calls that stretched until one of you fell asleep mid-sentence. A few visits squeezed between everything else, a lunch together, a surprise appearance at your door when you least expected it. You lived in your separate worlds, but threads kept tying you back together, weaving something stronger, even if neither of you dared name it yet.

It’s Thursday afternoon when Seonghwa shows up at your work, two iced coffees in hand. He didn’t tell you he was coming. He just wants to see you.

Standing in the lobby, he catches a sight of you through the glass doors. You’re at the front desk, clipboard in hand, speaking to a group of junior employees. Except you aren’t just speaking. You’re commanding - calm, polite, but firm enough that everyone was standing straighter under your gaze.

"No, the Peterson file needs to be signed by the end of day, not tomorrow," you say firmly to one employee, then turn to another. "And double-check the Johnson numbers. I’m not sending anything out with mistakes." There’s no edge to your voice, just clear, confident authority. You’re the kind of person who expects things to get done right, and people respect you for it.

The group nodded quickly before scurrying off. You look completely in control, completely at ease, and it hits Seonghwa in a way he isn’t prepared for.

He shifts his weight, adjusting the cups in his hands, feeling the low, slow burn start in his stomach. Watching you like this; confident, a little strict, completely unbothered. It made something hot and possessive stir in his chest.

Fuck, he thought, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.

Finally, you notice him. You turn, blinking in surprise before your face lights up in a smile.

You cross the floor towards him, walk through the glass doors, your expression softening in a way that made it even harder for him to stay composed. "You," you say, stopping in front of him, a breathless little laugh escaping, "are not supposed to be here."

"Couldn't help myself," he says, offering you one of the coffees. His fingers brush yours, and it’s ridiculous how much even that made his chest tighten. "You looked like you needed rescuing."

You laugh again, bumping your shoulder lightly into his. "Thanks," you say, sipping your drink with a low, satisfied sigh that just about broke him. "Seriously. Today’s been hell."

He stares at you for a second longer than necessary. "You’re killing it, though. Watching you just now..." He lets the words trail off, his voice dipping a little lower, his eyes dragging down to your mouth before flicking back up. "You’re very…" His voice trails off, then he gives a quiet chuckle. "Efficient."

But the way he says it, the way his jaw tightens just slightly, makes it very clear that isn’t the word he is thinking.

You cock your head innocently. "You okay there?"

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. "I'm fine. Perfect." Only he doesn’t look perfect at all. 

And you definitely notice.

You sip your coffee, pretending not to see the way his eyes linger on you a beat too long. You smile sweetly. "You sure? You look a little… tense."

His mouth twitches, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. But he only hums low in his throat and says, "Busy morning." His hand tightens around his own cup for a second before he quickly hides it behind a sip.

You turn and walk away, tossing a look over your shoulder like a lure. And sure enough, Seonghwa follows. He catches up to you just as you slip through a doorway into a smaller side room, deserted this time of day.

"You shouldn't," he says, shutting the door behind him.

"Shouldn't what?" you ask, wide-eyed and fake-innocent.

"Shouldn’t look at me like that." His voice is already cracking at the edges, walking slowly towards you with dark eyes. "Shouldn't tempt me when you know exactly what you're doing."

You shrug, looking up at him like he’s speaking nonsense. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." you whisper, all wide eyes and fake innocence. You lean up, slightly tip-toeing to place the softest kiss on his lips, barely even touching him.

You smile against his mouth, slow and deliberate, feeling how tense every muscle in his body is like he’s fighting an invisible war.

“Poor thing,” you whisper teasingly, dragging your fingers lightly up his chest, feeling the way his heart slams against his ribs. “You looked so composed out there. All that self-control…”

Seonghwa lets out a low, broken sound when you roll your hips slowly against him, barely brushing where he’s hardest. His head falls back in agony, but he doesn’t touch you yet. Can’t. If he did, he knows he’d lose it.

“Don’t test me,” he grounds out, voice a low warning, but there’s no real threat behind it. Only desperation.

His breath hitches hard, his hands finally snapping up to catch your wrists and pin them lightly against the wall above your head, firm, not rough. 

His mouth crashes into yours, messy and starving, hands still holding your wrists pinned. Every movement is frantic and tender all at once, like he’s trying to show you what you do to him without crossing the line.

But somehow, he pulls back. Chest heaving. Heart pounding.

"I can't," he whispers, like it physically hurts him. "You deserve better than me losing my mind over you in some office." Seonghwa lets go of your wrists and brushes your hair back, his hands gentle now, lingering, almost reverent.

"You’re gonna be the death of me," he whispers, finally pulling back just enough to look at you properly. "I should…" he starts, voice hoarse, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I should get back soon. I have some meetings to prepare for."

You nod, pretending to sip your coffee again, trying to ignore how hard your heart is hammering against your ribs.

“So... the company dinner is on Saturday,” you say, your voice casual, but he could sense the slight tension behind your words. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

His lips quirkes in a soft smile, but his eyes stay gentle. "Yeah, I’ll see you there." He pauses for a moment, letting the silence linger between you two, before he adds, "But, I know it’s not going to be easy for you. I’ll be here, it’s up to you when you need me, yeah?”

You nod, the simple reassurance settling somewhere deep inside. 

“You’ll handle it like you always do,” he says, his voice almost like a promise. “Just…” He pauses, his words weighing a little heavier now. “If you need to talk or vent or even just distract yourself, I’m not going anywhere.”

You can feel the sincerity in his words, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to lean into them, feeling that small spark of comfort. But you also knew that Saturday will come with its own set of challenges, ones neither of you can ignore.

“Thank you,” you say softly, “I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

Seonghwa hesitates before a small smile plays on his lips. “Can’t wait to see you.” He leaves a soft kiss on your lips before you both leave the room.

Seonghwa steps out of the building, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as the cool spring air hits him. He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head, but all he can see is the way you looked at him in that small room. The way your eyes darkened, how your lips parted ever so slightly like you were daring him to lose control.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through the weekend. Saturday was going to be fucking torture.

Seonghwa steps into the elevator, the cold glass walls reflecting his composed expression as the doors close with a soft chime. As the elevator descends, the doors suddenly open on the floor above, and in walks your husband. 

The man who had promised to love and protect you, who had chosen to disregard you for the company of another woman. Seonghwa’s jaw tightens. 

He could see right through your husband and his intentions. Why he wanted to open up your marriage. Why he convinced you seeing other people was a good idea. He was doing this for no one but himself. He didn’t care about your future together, he just wanted to screw around without feeling guilty.

Your husband’s smile is too wide, a little too confident.

"Mr. Park," your husband says, his smile a little too smug for Seonghwa’s liking. "It’s been a while."

Seonghwa nods curtly, his lips twisting into a polite, controlled smile. "Yes, it has."

The elevator jolts briefly as it continues its descent, and Seonghwa can feel the tension building between them, unspoken but thick in the air. Your husband isn’t aware, of course. He’s too wrapped up in his own world, too comfortable in his position.

"Have you been well lately?" the husband says, his voice slightly offhand but probing. "I haven’t seen you much."

Seonghwa can’t help but smirk. He can’t help but think of the way you call his name so desperately, the way your body responds to his every touch. 

Instead of responding directly to that comment, Seonghwa lets a small, knowing smile flicker across his lips. "I’ve been preoccupied," he says smoothly, his voice low. "Had a lot on my hands."

The elevator jerks slightly, making the conversation shift just a little. 

With a cool smile, Seonghwa turns toward him, his tone dripping with polite curiosity. “So, are you bringing your wife to the company dinner on Saturday?”

Your husband looks at him with a raised brow, clearly not realizing how pointed the question is. “Of course, I think she could use some time out of the house,” He gives a smug little chuckle, clearly feeling proud of himself. “My wife’s always at home,” he repeats like it was some inside joke. “I think I owe her to spend some time with her..”

Seonghwa fights back the grimace forming on his face. The way your husband speaks about you like a joke, a thing to be handled or dealt with. Seonghwa can’t stand it. 

He takes a deep breath, his hands casually resting at his sides as he turns his gaze back toward your husband, locking eyes. “Right,” Seonghwa says, his voice steady, controlled, almost too polite. “I’m sure she’ll be a sight to see.”

As the elevator doors open to Seonghwa’s floor, he takes one last glance at your husband. “I’ll see you at the dinner,” Seonghwa says, his words cold, his expression cool as he steps out.

The husband nods. “See you then, Mr. Park.”

But as the elevator doors closed behind him, Seonghwa’s mind was already back on you. On how you moan his name in the quiet of the cabin, how you came undone beneath his touch. He wonders if your husband has ever been able to make you feel that way.

Seonghwa knew the answer.

***

The ballroom is already alive with chatter and the clink of glasses when you arrive. You hold onto your husband's arm, letting him guide you through the doors, even as your stomach twisted itself into knots.

The room is elegant, bathed in warm lights that bounced off the champagne flutes and silverware. Laughter rises from different corners, easy and polished. You pass on your best smile, falling into the practiced rhythm of it all.

You mingle for a while, polite small talk with your husband's coworkers, nodding along as he introduces you around. It’s almost easy, almost. You let him guide you in, your heels clicking over the marble floors, the soft hum of chatter rising around you like a tide.

You smile easily when necessary, playing your part, his polished, perfect wife. But the second you feel a shift in the air, you know. You don’t have to look to know Seonghwa has arrived.

When you finally let yourself look, there he is. Seonghwa moves through the crowd like he owns it. His black suit is perfectly tailored, the crisp white shirt underneath open just enough at the collar to suggest he isn’t as buttoned-up as he pretends to be. His hair, artfully tousled, is just messy enough to hint at how easily he can come undone.

Your breath stutters. He’s all sharp lines and quiet fire, heartbreakingly beautiful, dangerous in the best way.

You watch him, barely breathing, as he slips through clusters of people, smiling, exchanging greetings. Until his eyes finds yours.

A second, no more. But it’s enough.

Heat licks up your spine.

You look away first, pretending to adjust the strap of your dress on your shoulder, willing the blush crawling up your neck to stay hidden. It doesn’t matter. You can still feel him watching you.

You mingle for a few more minutes, caught in some lazy conversation about vacation homes and quarterly reports, when you feel another ripple, closer now. 

Seonghwa is joining your circle.

"Mr. Park!" one of the men says warmly, reaching to clap him on the back. "Glad you made it."

Seonghwa offers a practiced smile, but when his gaze slides briefly to you again, it softens. Just a fraction, before he tucks it away.

Professional. Perfect. Lethal.

Your husband, oblivious, tugs you a little closer against his side, his hand slips familiarly over your hip.

"Babe," he says, smiling, "you remember my boss, Park Seonghwa?"

You turn, offering a smile so polite it feels like a mask. "Of course," you say lightly, extending your hand. "We met at last year’s dinner."

Seonghwa’s fingers close around yours, warm and steady. But his thumb drifts, just barely, over your knuckles. It’s the softest touch, fleeting enough to pass for nothing.

But you feel it. And he knows you do.

"I remember," he says, voice even, with just the faintest undertone that makes something low in your belly tighten. “Nice to see you again.”

He steps back politely, turning to engage someone else in conversation, and you pretend to listen in as well, nodding where appropriate. It’s almost effortless, this performance you’ve both slipped into, two people with nothing in common but a forgettable introduction at a company event. Except for the way your body is suddenly too aware of his presence. The faint scent of his cologne. The way his shoulder moves when he shifts. The tiniest curve of a smile when he senses you glance his way.

You try to be distant. Be in the moment with your husband. View Seonghwa as a polite acquaintance. But your skin tingles. Your body betrays you.

Because when you're alone with Seonghwa, there's nothing careful about him. When it’s just the two of you, he doesn’t look at you like this, distant, indifferent. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists. His hands aren’t steady and restrained; they’re greedy, reverent. When he touches you, it’s with purpose, with heat, with worship. He traces your collarbone with his mouth like it's a map he’s memorized. He drags his lips down your spine like he’s praying. His voice isn't calm then. It's wrecked. Raw. And it’s only for you.

The memory makes your thighs shift, pressing together subtly. You blink yourself back to the moment as he turns away to greet someone else, perfectly composed. A phantom smile plays at his lips like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Then your husband shifts beside you again, dragging you in closer, thumb making small, familiar circles against your hip. Your spine straightens slightly, not from discomfort, but from how sharply aware you are of Seonghwa’s eyes flickering in your direction. Just for a second. Controlled, unreadable. But you know him now, too well, and you catch the subtle set of his jaw, the way his breath comes slower, steadier, like he’s keeping something under control.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t react. He nods at the right times, smiles when expected. But there’s something charged beneath his calm exterior. A restraint that hums quietly under every breath you both take.

No one else notices. But you do. And he knows you do.

You barely survived the first ten minutes. And the night had only just begun. 

You and your husband move through the crowd, chatting idly with some of his colleagues. It's polite, surface-level stuff, nothing that makes your heart beat faster. Your eyes keep darting to Seonghwa, who is now across the room, talking to a group of people. But it's your husband who finally draws your attention back to the situation at hand.

His voice breaks through your thoughts, an edge of casualness you don’t quite trust.

“Oh, and this is… well, you probably know her already.” He gestures towards the woman beside him, who flashes a smile that you can’t help but feel is too bright, too rehearsed.

Her. His girlfriend.

Your husband’s words hover in the air, unspoken but clear, as though it’s just a natural thing. "My girlfriend". But he doesn’t need to say it for you to understand. He doesn’t need to make it official when the meaning is already obvious in his tone, the way his hand rests a little too possessively on her lower back.

She’s taller, prettier than you would have imagined, and the first thing you notice is the way she’s looking at him. The adoration, the way her eyes soften. You feel a tug in your chest, a quiet pain that you try to ignore. But it’s there. It’s always there.

She extends a hand, and you take it, forcing a smile. "Nice to meet you." you say.

Her grip is firm. She’s confident. She’s everything your husband seems to want right now.

"Of course. I’ve heard so much about you," she says, the words warm, but the slight edge makes your stomach churn. She looks at your husband with a teasing glint in her eye, but you notice how her gaze flickers toward you, assessing.

As they stand there, chatting, you feel the smallest stir of discomfort in your chest. You want to look away, but you can’t. And maybe you’re just imagining it, but it feels like Seonghwa is watching you from across the room, his eyes fixed on you like he can sense the unease in the air.

Just as you're lost in the tension building between you, a voice calls out from behind. It's one of your husband's colleagues, reminding everyone to take their seats for dinner. As you take your seat, you instinctively glance around, seeking any form of solace in the crowd. And then, your phone buzzes in your bag, breaking through the fog of discomfort in an instant.

You glance down at the screen, your heart skipping a beat when you see the familiar name.

Seonghwa: Are you okay?

The simplicity of his message stirs something in you. Just seeing those words, knowing he's thinking of you, makes the tightness in your chest ease, just for a moment. You take a deep breath, heart hammering in your chest, but you can't help but smile at the message.

You: I'm fine. Just a little distracted.

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. There’s a part of you that wishes you could confide more, tell him exactly what’s running through your mind, but you hold back, not wanting to let everything spill out in a text.

Just as you're about to lock your phone and tuck it away, the screen flashes with a new message from him.

Seonghwa: I’m here if you need me. Don’t forget that. ❤️

Seonghwa isn’t placed near you. Of course not. He is several tables over, seated with executives and higher-ups. But you can feel him. God, you can feel him across the room like a second heartbeat.

You catch his eyes once, mid-conversation, and it’s like the air thickens between you. His gaze dips for a split second, dragging over you before lifting again, back to his polished, unreadable facade.

You quickly look away, cheeks burning.

Dinner is served. Conversation at your table buzzing with casual energy: talk about vacations, investment portfolios, harmless gossip about coworkers. Your husband is in his element, laughing too loud, talking to a specific woman close to him and pouring more wine into his glass than he probably should.

Meanwhile, you barely hear a word.

You pick at your food, your appetite gone. Across the room, you feel the weight of his stare.

When you risk another glance, he’s watching you again. His fingers drumming lightly against the side of his glass, a slow, restless rhythm. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip as he listens to the person next to him, eyes still locked on you.

Your husband nudges you, laughing about something you hadn’t caught. You give a small, polite smile, pretending to sip your wine.

The night drags on. Courses are served. Toasts are made. The CEO stands up to make a long speech about company growth, partnership, community, all the usual talking points. You clap when appropriate. You smile when you should. But the only thing you feel is the pull.

The memory of Seonghwa. The way he looks at you across the room like he’s already planning exactly how he’d have you again the moment he can. You toy with the stem of your wineglass, letting yourself imagine, just for a second, what it would be like to slip away from this table, to find him in some quiet corner, to let him catch you.

When dessert was finally cleared and the crowd began to loosen with alcohol and relief, you catch Seonghwa rising from his table, jacket slinging lazily over one shoulder as he excused himself.

He gives you a glance. A very telling glance.

You know. You know he is giving you the chance to follow.

Your heart hammers wildly against your ribs. Your husband is mid-conversation with someone else, not even glancing your way. You set your napkin down on the table, slow and careful, pretending to smooth your dress as you stand.

You move carefully, pretending to head toward the restrooms like you had a dozen other times at events like this. No one pays you any mind. Not even your husband, still busy with a drink in his hand and a story on his lips.

But you aren’t going to the restroom.

You slip through the crowd, heart thudding so hard you can barely hear the noise around you. Your heels click softly against the polished floors as you follow the path Seonghwa has taken. Down a quiet hall. Past the coat closet. Around a corner, where the light dimmed and the buzz of the party fades into the background.

And there he is.

Waiting. Like he knew you would come to him.

He stands with his jacket slung over one shoulder, dress shirt immaculate, tie slightly loosened at the throat like he’s only barely containing himself. But it’s his eyes that stops you.

Dark. Starving. Fixed entirely, absolutely, on you.

God, the way he looks at you.

Like you’re some kind of forbidden miracle.

You can see his throat work as he swallows hard, his hand tightening slightly on the jacket. His gaze trails down your body like he couldn’t help it. From your shining eyes to your lips, to the delicate line of your neck, the curve of your waist in that dress that fit you like a secret made just for him.

“You’re too beautiful,” Seonghwa says under his breath, almost like it hurts him. 

You step closer, heart hammering against your ribs.

"You shouldn't have left," you whisper.

He gives a low, ragged laugh. "And you shouldn't have followed."

Finally talking to him after hours of pretending, after meeting your husband's girlfriend, you finally feet like you can breathe. 

A door clicks somewhere nearby and you’re startled. Seonghwa reacts faster, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the nearest door. The small conference room is empty, dim, quiet except for your heavy breathing. He closes the door behind you both, and you stand frozen in the center of the room, trembling, watching the muscles flex in his jaw.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers, voice rough, almost pained.

Slowly, Seonghwa pushes off the door and approaches you, each step measured but strained, like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.

You lifted your chin slightly, daring him. You can feel it, feel the moment his control cracks. One hand reached up, brushing a lock of hair from your face with agonizing care. His fingers trail down the side of your throat, featherlight, barely touching. You shiver.

"You look like this..." His voice broke. "And you expect me to walk away?"

You smile, sweet and dangerous, tilting your head so his fingers could touch more.

It wrecks him.

With a growl low in his chest, Seonghwa cups your face and kisses you, finally. The kiss hungry and aching and furious all at once. Your hands clutch at his shirt, feeling the hard line of his chest beneath. His hips pins you against the conference table behind you, but he still keeps it controlled. Barely.

He kisses down your jaw, the column of your neck, breathing hard.

"Say the word," he rasp into your skin. "Tell me to stop."

You don’t.

You whimper instead and his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you easily onto the heavy table in the center of the room. The second you’re perched on the edge, he stepped between your spread legs, crowding into your space.

You cling to him, kissing him back with just as much desperation. But then you feel it: the thick, heavy press of him against your thigh, straining against his pants. You pull back just enough to look down.

The outline of him is huge and thick and impossibly hard, the shape of his cock straining at the zipper. So tempting it made your mouth go dry. You stare for a heartbeat too long, your breath catching. 

"Sweetheart," he breathes, almost warningly, but you lift your hand before he can stop you and palms him through his pants. Seonghwa chokes on a moan.

"You're so hard," you whisper, in awe. "You always take care of me," you say softly, your hand stroking him slowly, feeling how big, how impossibly hard he is for you. 

"Fuck," he groans, hips jerking slightly into your hand before he catches himself, caging you against the table with his body. "You're going to kill me."

You smile a little, emboldened by how wrecked he sounds, and kiss the side of his head tenderly.

"Let me make you feel good," you murmur against his hairline.

For a moment, it seems like he might resist, like he might be too strong. But then your fingers give a slightly firmer stroke, and Seonghwa whimpers against your throat, a raw, broken sound he can’t hold back.

You slide the zipper down carefully and push his pants down just enough.

Your breath hitches.

Seonghwa is thick, his cock straining hard against the black fabric of his briefs. A wet patch already darkening the front where he’s leaking for you.

You brush your knuckles up the length of him, feeling how hot and real he is under the thin barrier. Seonghwa’s head tips back, his throat working around a broken moan. Emboldened, aching for him, you slide your fingers under the waistband and free him. His cock springs out into your hand. Flushed deep red at the tip, thick veins running down the heavy shaft, already leaking beads of clear precum that drips onto your fingers.

You barely manage to wrap your hand around him, he’s so thick your fingers don’t even meet. Seonghwa curses under his breath, his hips twitching forward into your hand.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "look what you do to me."

You give a shy, wicked smile and stroke him slowly from base to tip, feeling the way he jerks in your palm. So sensitive, so desperate.

But you want more than just to touch him. You shift on the table, spreading your thighs wider.

The wet heat between your legs was unbearable. Your panties completely soaked, sticking to every contour of your cunt, leaving nothing to the imagination. 

Slowly, deliberately, you use the head of his cock to brush against your clothed folds. He hiss between his teeth as you guide him, dragging the swollen tip up and down your slit, the slick heat of you soaking through the thin barrier of lace. The contrast of the rough, leaking tip against your swollen clit made you gasp, hips bucking up into him.

Seonghwa's fingers dug into the table, muscles straining, trying so hard not to just lose control and shove into you. 

"You’re so fucking wet," he groan, his voice wrecked. "I can feel it through the fabric. God, you’re ready for me, aren’t you, my love?"

You nod, breathless, rocking your hips forward so his cock slid along the seam of your panties, right over your aching clit. Every pass made your head spin.

And then, without warning, he shifts his hips, pressing the swollen head of his cock right against your entrance.

You gasp, clutching at his shoulders.

He pushes forward just a fraction, just enough to feel the desperate clench of your body trying to pull him in, but the soaked fabric of your panties holds him back, stopping him from sinking inside. It’s so hot, so thick, stretching you in ways you’ve never felt before, and he hasn’t even really entered yet.

"Fuck," he whispers harshly, grinding himself against your entrance with slow, dangerous rolls of his hips. "You’re gonna feel so fucking good wrapped around me."

Your panties stretched taut between you, the thin barrier rubbing against your clit, your folds, trapping the thick heat of him perfectly against your neediest parts.

"You want me to tear these off and fuck you right now, don't you?" he rasp, voice wrecked with restraint. "God, I could just push a little harder, you'd open up for me so easily."

As if to prove it, he gave a slow, brutal grind of his hips, pushing the thick, leaking head of his cock right against your entrance. So firm, so hot, you could feel yourself clenching down around nothing as you moan.

"Feel that?" he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing your skin. "One more inch, baby. One fucking inch, and I'd be inside you. Filling you so deep."

You sob his name, grinding helplessly against him, the rough drag of his cock against your panties and your throbbing clit driving you insane.

Seonghwa chuckles darkly, drunk on the sight of you falling apart for him. "You like teasing yourself with it, don't you? Feel how fucking hard I am for you?"

He rocks his hips again, pressing his entire length against you, up and down, letting the thick vein along his shaft rub right over your most sensitive spot. 

"You're gonna cum just like this, aren't you?" he whispered roughly.

Seonghwa groans, thrusting against you with a little more force, letting the fat tip of his cock push the fabric deep between your folds, rubbing, pressing, teasing your clit. He pressed the tip of his cock against your panties again, and this time, he hooked a finger under the soaked fabric, dragging it aside.

You gasped, because now there was nothing between you.

Seonghwa’s cock slid along your bare, dripping folds, dragging over your clit with slow, devastating precision.

But the angle, the filthy rub of him dragging along your clit, your folds, almost pushing inside. It was dangerous. It would take nothing, nothing, for him to slam forward and bury himself balls-deep inside you.

"God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good," he growled, rubbing the swollen, leaking head of his cock directly against your clit in slow, devastating circles. "I could just, fuck-, I could slide inside you so easy right now. Fill you up so deep you'd feel me for days." 

Your thighs tremble on either side of him. He moves his hips, grinding his cockhead against your clit, dragging it up and down, side to side, filthy and raw.

"You want that, don’t you?" he whispers harshly. "You want me to split you open on this fucking table?"

But you knew you couldn’t let it happen like this. You were already dangerously close to crossing every line. You whimper, grabbing the edge of the table to stay upright, hips bucking helplessly.

"That's it," Seonghwa growles, voice dark and hungry, his cock dragging sloppily against you. "Grind on me, baby. Rub that pretty little pussy on my cock. Fuck, you feel so good."

Your thighs are trembling, muscles locking up as the rough head of him keeps hitting your clit perfectly, again and again, the thick veins of his shaft dragging over your folds, your entrance.

The noises between you are filthy, slick, messy, obscene.

You gasp, trying to pull away, scared to come and make a mess, make too much noice from this room, but Seonghwa grabs your hips and pins you against him, forcing you to take every devastating drag of his cock.

"Don't fucking run from it," he hisses against your ear. "Take it. I want you to come all over my cock, baby."

Your body locked up, and with a strangled moan, you came, hard and messy, soaking him, soaking your panties, soaking the fucking table. You cry out, clenching around nothing, hips jerking helplessly as your orgasm rip through you.

"That's it," he murmur, watching you fall apart. "Good girl. Such a good girl for me." Seonghwa hisses through his teeth, his cock twitching against you.

"You look so fucking beautiful when you cum," he buries his face against your neck, trembling with restraint. You can feel how close he is, his cock throbbing, his breathing ragged, his hips jerking forward in little, helpless thrusts against your slick center.

But then, you feel it.

The wet heat gathering against your panties, dangerously close to making a mess neither of you would be able to explain. Panic flares, but so does something brave, bold, utterly wicked inside you. Before Seonghwa can react, you slide off the table and drop to your knees in front of him.

"Fuck-, baby, what are you-"

He chokes on his words as you wrap your hand around him, guiding his slick, throbbing cock to your mouth. Seonghwa slaps a hand against the table, a broken, wrecked groan tearing from his throat as you close your lips around him.

"Jesus-, fuck," he gasp, his whole body trembling violently.

You look up at him through your lashes, hollowing your cheeks around him, and the sight makes him come undone. With a low, guttural groan, Seonghwa spills into your mouth, hot and salty and desperate. You swallow every drop.

When you finally let him go with a soft pop, Seonghwa stares down at you, eyes black with lust, lips parted, chest heaving. 

Seonghwa watches you straighten up, his gaze flicking to your lips as you wipe them, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. There’s a spark of admiration in his eyes, mixed with something darker that he can’t hide.

“Wow, ” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his voice rough with a hint of surprise. He takes a step closer, his tone softer but no less impressed. “That was… hot.”

Seonghwa’s gaze lingers on you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he notices your slightly flushed cheeks, the warmth of the moment still hanging in the air. He could hardly believe how effortlessly you turned everything around, and the look of awe in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Without saying another word, he cups your face gently, his thumb brushing over your lips as if he can’t resist. His touch is tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of what just happened. Slowly, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. The kiss is a promise, an unspoken understanding that this isn’t over, that there’s so much more to explore between the two of you.

As he pulls away just enough to look at you, he whispers, “Thank God for loopholes.” He pulls back, his eyes lingering on you with admiration, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

“I’m gonna tell him tomorrow,” You say, finally being ready to tell your husband about you dating Seonghwa, his boss, knowing he’ll be home then. “I’m going to tell my husband about you,” you say, softer now. “About us.”

You don’t say why. You don’t need to. Because you both know why you’ve been holding back saying it, and you both know how desperate you both are to get the truth out.

He nods once. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit with a strained smile. “But I don’t want to keep hiding this anymore when he flashes his relationship in front of me,” you look at him through your lashes. “And I don’t want to hold back from you anymore.”

He tilts his head, watching you with something that feels like awe.

Still, the fear bubbles up in you. “What if he reacts badly? What if he says something at work? I don’t want to ruin things for you…” Your voice cracks at the end, and you look away. But he doesn’t let you.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Seonghwa says quietly. “Let him talk. Let him try.”  

You huff a tiny laugh, but your eyes sting.

“I’m serious,” he says, voice gentler. “If he wants to make it ugly, I’ll deal with it. But I’d rather deal with that than watch you shrink yourself to protect me.”

You bite your lip.

“If he suggests you have an open relationship, then he has to understand the consequences of it,” he tugs a piece of hair behind your hair in the most caring manner. “So tell him. Let him know you’re mine now, too.”

Your heart jumps, even though neither of you says what this really means. That he’s not just a fling. That you don’t know how to untangle yourself from what’s happening between you and that maybe… You don’t want to.

“Give me five minutes,” he murmurs, voice low and amused as he glances at the way his tie hangs messily. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

You smile despite everything, still breathless from what just happened, still burning with nerves. You nod and smooth your dress, feeling like something irreversible has just shifted.

As you open the door to leave, his voice stops you again.

“And for the record?” he says, just loud enough for only you to hear. “I’m proud to be the one you’re choosing.”

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos @tinyteezer @gold--gucciempress @zhangyi-johee @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @yunhoswrldddd @beljakovina @soso59love-blog @trivia-134340 @skzfangirl143 @spicxbnny @h0rnyp0t @mingimangomu @no-nottoday @roguesthetic @hwas-star @tsuukamori @londonbridges01 @nayutalvr @purplelady85 @lover-ofallthingspretty @awkward-fucking-thing @luvbgy @thuyting @p1ecetinyzen @eumpappasmom @marsofeight @maidens-world @girlblogger-04 @renapersa @lol-imtrash2000 @melitadala

[viviansturns]

𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍

... in which chris treats you like a princess, then gives you a real present

cw: very rough sex, dom chris, a lot of overstimming, fluff

requested by @chrispycremedonut here

You woke up to lips on your forehead.

Not the alarm. Just that and the sun creeping in through the blinds, a gentle kiss, and a voice you loved more than your own peace and quiet.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Chris whispered, low and warm against your skin. His hand was already tracing lazy circles on your waist under the blanket.

You blinked awake, squinting at the soft light of the morning. His face was so close, his curls messy from sleep, eyes a little heavy, a little soft. He looked at you like you were something worth praying to.

“You never wake up before me…Did you wake up early just to wake me up?” you mumbled.

His grin was slow and proud. “Nah. I didn’t sleep.”

“Chris!” You try to exclaim, but your voice is still soft with sleep.

“What? I was too excited,” he murmured, and kissed the tip of your nose. “You only turn 21 once, princess.”

You didn’t even have time to roll your eyes before he was already climbing over you, straddling you without putting his full weight down, just hovering. You could feel how warm he was, shirtless and smug, and definitely too happy for someone who hadn’t slept.

“I made you breakfast,” he added, dropping a kiss on your collarbone. “And I bought you that one candle you like. And there’s a card. But I didn’t write anything mean in it this time.”

“I’m scared.”

“You should be. I’m gonna be insufferably nice all day.”

He got off you just long enough to tug you out of bed—no, to carry you out of bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically as he walked you into the kitchen, setting you down gently on the counter. There was French toast already plated, with whipped cream and strawberries, and a coffee just the way you liked it. He even lit a candle. It was ridiculous.

“You did all this for me?”

“I’d do more,” he said, brushing a crumb from your lip. “You wanna go out later? Fancy dinner? Or stay in n’ watch a movie.

You tilted your head. “Is this all part of the birthday plan?”

Chris smirked.

“This is just the warm-up.”

Your stomach fluttered. Not because of the sugar, not because of the coffee—but because of the look in his eyes. The one that made you feel like the softest thing in the world.

After breakfast, he pulled you back into his lap on the couch. Blankets, his hoodie draped over your shoulders, and his fingers threading through your hair.

The kisses started slow.

So slow you almost didn’t realize when they deepened, when his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, or when he murmured into your neck, voice low and playful, “You ready for your real present?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

He was already lifting you up again, carrying you back to the bedroom with a look that was anything but sweet.

He placed you on the bed. Like you were precious. Like you were delicate.

Then he looked at you like he was about to destroy something sacred.

“You know,” he said, casually pulling his hoodie off your body, “I really did mean it when I said I’d treat you like a princess today.”

His voice was low, dark honey. His hands were already trailing down your thighs.

“But what kind of man would I be,” he said, crawling over you slowly, his mouth grazing your ear, “if I didn’t remind my princess exactly who she belongs to?”

Your breath hitched.

“You,” you whispered.

Chris smirked against your jaw. “Damn right.”

Then he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head in one hand. The other slipped between your legs, his fingers dragging slowly through the heat he already knew was waiting for him.

“All this for me?” he teased, watching your face as he pressed just enough to make you twitch. “Didn’t even have to unwrap you.”

“Chris—”

“You’re gonna take every inch of this birthday present, yeah?”

Your back arched. He didn’t move. He wanted you to beg.

So you did.

He let go of your wrists just to flip you onto your stomach, tugging your hips back, breath warm on your shoulder as he growled, “Say thank you.”

You whimpered. “T-Thank you—”

“Louder.”

“Thank you—fuck—Chris—please—”

He lined himself up and slammed into you in a single, brutal thrust.

Your whole body jolted forward with the force of it. You choked on a gasp, legs already shaking, hands clutching at the sheets like they could save you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, pulling back just to slam in again, harder. “Suckin’ me in so good, fuck.”

You whined something that wasn’t a word, your brain already melting under the pressure. He didn’t care.

He used you.

Ruthless thrusts, his hips snapping into yours over and over, the sound of skin on skin obscene and loud in the room.

He had one hand wrapped in your hair, tugging your head back, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

“You wanted this,” he grunted in your ear, “so take it. Take all of it. Don’t fucking run.”

Your legs gave out. He didn’t stop. He just pulled your hips higher, lifting your ass as he fucked into you harder—deeper—like he was trying to bury himself in you.

You came again without warning—clenching down so hard he hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled. “You gonna give me another one? Can this pretty pussy come again for me?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. You just nodded against the mattress, tears pricking at your eyes from how deep he was hitting, from how raw you felt, from how good it still was.

He didn’t slow down. Not even when your body went limp, overstimulated, trembling beneath him.

He chased his own release ruthlessly, grinding into you as he came with a deep, broken moan, holding you still while he filled you up, hips jerking through every last wave of it.

And then— He didn’t pull out.

You flinched when he started moving again, slow, thick, and still hard.

“Round two, baby,” he said, dragging his cock out just to push it back in with a wet, messy sound. “Told you. It’s your birthday.”

You sobbed his name—desperate, wrecked, begging even as your hips rolled back to meet him.

He fucked you slower this time, meaner—drawing it out, letting you feel every inch stretch you, letting the wet squelch echo between your bodies like a threat.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine as he leaned over you. “Face down, used up, crying on my cock.”

Your next orgasm hit with no mercy, no build-up—just a flash of heat and clenching muscles and your voice shattering as you came around him again.

You lost count of how many times after that.

Because he flipped you over next—lifted your legs, hooked them over his shoulders, and started all over again.

You saw stars. You came until your voice cracked and your thighs trembled with aftershocks.

Only then did he finally slow—finally collapse beside you, chest heaving, his body soaked in sweat.

You lay there ruined—legs spread, soaked and sore, throat hoarse, skin flushed, brain fuzzy.

He rolled to face you, brushing your hair back, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your forehead like he hadn’t just spent the last hour obliterating your soul.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, too fucked out to speak.

Chris smirked.

“Good. Because I haven’t even brought out the vibrator yet.”

“CHRIS!”

“I’m just kiddin’ princess. Let’s go take a shower.”

@sturnbrooke @emely9274 @arianna1342 @gemzyy @namelesssav @chestersturn @ellieluvssturniolos @tits4matt @vanteguccir @luke8989 @matt-sturnioloo @glee2skkii @riggysworld @sturnslux3 @cass-sturn @auttysturnz @oopsiedaisydeer @chrismakesmewet @whore4chris @sturns-mermaid @eeyoresturnz @httpssturns @chrxsprettygirl @bernardsbendystraws @chrisbratt333 @aurorasturnz @iluvchr1s @sturniolosymphony @slvt4subchratt @sturn-ath3na @chrispycremedonut @matts-hersheys-kisses @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @aka-persephone @ajskorner @matts-wife @beardedbernard @matts-babytomatoes

comment 2 be added

#NEEDTHATTTT HOLY SHIT

bow dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[lieslab]

I don't understand, but I love you

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After overworking yourself, you accidentally stand your boyfriend up on a date.

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2K

Trigger warning: Brief mention of alcohol, reader skipping meals, and fainting.

A/N: Well, this was new. Requestee, round of applause to you for requesting a reversed scenario. Thank you for it!! I enjoyed writing something a bit different this time around <3

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

Elbows on the table with his hands collapsed around each other, Chan’s chin sat on the top of them. His gaze stayed on the glass set of doors that led into the restaurant. He willed you to show up, but you never appeared. A glass of water dripping with condensation and an untouched glass of champagne. 

The waitress gripped her notepad down at her waist. Lingering eyes from strangers continued scanning his way from every direction. The elderly couple behind him heard him inform the waitress that another person would appear, but so far they’d been a no-show. Olive eyes full of pity, she scanned the black table cloth. 

He hadn’t touched the complimentary appetizers. The dinner rolls turned cold. Still stacked in a small pyramid and paired with two plastic containers of salted butter, the steam disappeared nearly a half hour ago. Just when he thought you’d appear, you didn’t show. 

Another let down from you. This was the fourth date in a row, you promised you’d arrive on time. Twenty minutes passed, forty, over an hour. Each time, Chan felt like a fool. He chased the phantom of love, the real thing faded away weeks ago. He didn’t have the heart to admit it, so it made itself known in cold dinner rolls and lukewarm butter. 

“Can I just get the check, please?” He shifted, pulling his hands away from the table. His eyes went to the stack of bread before him. “Perhaps, maybe a box for these rolls if you have them.” 

The waitress nodded, her black ponytail bopped with each movement. “Yeah, of course. Give me one moment and I’ll bring them right out.”

“Thank you.” 

“There must be trouble in paradise. The poor guy came all this way, only to be dropped on his head.” 

Chan froze at the words. Behind him, an elderly couple sat. Cutlery clinked along porcelain plates. Unmistakable murmurs of his shortcomings floated into his ears. He shut his eyes and sighed. You weren’t just here, but now people were crushing his ego. It was the perfect end to a shitty day. 

Footsteps passed by. A mother led her young daughter to the back to use the restroom. She skipped and hummed off-beat. Lopsided ponytails, two missing front teeth, and white sandals that she was about to outgrow. 

“Can we go home after this?” 

“We have to wait for your father to finish his meal.” 

She groaned before her mother tugged her into the bathroom. Usually, Chan would have found amusement in the overheard conversation, but now he was on the girl’s side. Isn’t it annoying, being forced to wait upon someone? 

More shuffling. His eyes reopened and the waiter slid the piece of paper beside him. “Here you go, it’s your–” 

“Excuse me, excuse me. Woah, sorry.” You meekly smiled across the way and side stepped around another waitress. “Sorry, don’t mind me.” They shot you a glare, but you didn’t seem to notice as you approached Chan. 

“Hi, sorry. I’m here, I got held up at work. Oh, what’s this?” If you saw the bill, you didn’t pay any attention to it. “Dinner rolls?” You grabbed one off the top. “They’re so cold. Did I really make you wait that long?” 

The waitress looked towards Chan. His nostrils flared, but he forced himself to keep his composure. “I’m sorry, can you give us a minute?” 

“Right. Um…” She took a step back. “If you need anything from me, just wave me over.” She jerked to the side and walked back in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Are you aware of how late you are?” 

“Uh, a few minutes?” You tugged off a piece of the roll and dipped it in the butter, getting some on your finger in the process. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect to get so held up at work. I–” 

“It’s been almost two hours. Two hours I’ve been sitting here,” his voice started to rise, “waiting for you! This has happened multiple times and it’s unacceptable.” 

“Unacceptable?” You raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious, Chan? Do you know how many times it was the other way around? You’re too busy with your id–” He shushed you immediately. You glared and lowered your voice. “Idol work. It’s not like I purposefully meant to do it.” 

“And we talked about it. I thought we made amends and fixed it. We were doing better and then now you’ve become so attached to your job.” 

“But I love my job,” you jumped in, eager to defend yourself. “Yeah, I know I work a lot, but I love it. It’s something I’m passionate about and I–” 

“Or maybe you’re just passionate about a hidden affair.” 

A gasp came from behind him. The same old woman from earlier placed a hand over her mouth. Her husband shook his head, grimaced, and scooped up another spoonful of corn. The two eavesdropped without a care in the world that you could hear their comments. 

“Are you serious?” You scoffed and shook your head. “You’re that upset? You’re so upset that you’re blaming this on an affair? Grow up, Chan!” 

“Grow up? Oh, I need to grow up?” His finger jabbed against his chest. “Last I knew, you were the ones who set dates and couldn’t keep them!” 

“That’s not fair!” 

“Life isn’t fair! This is part of it!” He abruptly stood up, causing the metal framed chair to scrape across the floor. He jerked his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and tossed it on the table. 

With one hand, he shoved his wallet back into his back pocket. The other picked up the glass of champagne. He tipped his head back and let the bubbly mixture slip down his throat. You watched his adam’s apple bop, feeling smaller and smaller. 

“Chan?” You weakly uttered. 

He pulled the glass away, swallowed the last gulp, and shook his head. “Don’t you ‘Chan’ me with that whiny voice. Enjoy the dinner rolls. I’ll see you at home.” He shoved the chair beneath the small rectangular table and started to walk out of the building. 

You were left with a heavy silence. The sound of scraping cutlery ceased. All eyes went to you, waiting to see your response. You frowned, staring down at the wad of money on the table. Blinking rapidly, you pushed yourself up. 

Yes, you had been working your ass off, but it wasn’t because of an affair. To you, that was unfathomable. You’d been working overtime for a variety of reasons. The money was good, the luxury that came with extra money was nice. Yes, you’d missed out on a few dates, but it’d only happened a handful of times. 

Chan, himself, missed out on dates before. What about when you were broken and sad? What about when you accepted his apologies, blinking back the tears and swallowing the bile of your bitterness? What about that? 

You stood up and hurried after him. “Chan!” You called out. Your pace quickened across the tile floor. 

“Whew, young couples these days,” the old woman mumbled. 

The waitress watched Chan fling open the door and step into tonight’s humidity. Darkness greeted him and he walked into it, not bothering to turn around and check on you. As you hurried to catch up, she shook her head and went over to collect the dishes from the table. 

Outside, the difference from the cool air conditioning and unforgiving humidity caused your head to spin. You craned your neck one way and then the next. The outline of his silhouette headed further and further into the parking lot. With his leather jacket, he was barely visible. 

“Chan? Come on, I’m sorry!” You called after him. “Don’t do this! Don’t leave!” 

Too hurt to fathom your acknowledgements, Chan left you hanging out to dry. The parking lot’s cement caught and scraped beneath his sneakers. He stuck his hand into his other back pocket to grab his car keys. 

You took another step and stopped, grabbing your head. Your eyes squeezed shut and froze. So worn out from overworking yourself, exhaustion hit you like a truck. You sucked in a deep breath and mumbled Chan’s name again. 

A greasy layer of faint butter smeared the side of your finger. It brushed against your thumb when you curled your hands into fists, trying to calm down. Earth circled the wrong way and your body swayed. “Chan, please…” You whispered. 

Chan grabbed his car door and jerked it open. When he heard the thud, he paused and looked back. You laid on the ground without moving. Limbs in every direction, head limp to the side, his eyes widened. He yelled your name and rushed over to you. 

“No, no, no. Wake up, wake up, wake up!” He cupped your cheeks and gently tapped them. “Baby, can you hear me? Come on, wake up for me.” 

You didn’t stir. Face softened, brown eye bags from exhaustion, the faint gauntness from hollowed cheekbones. When did that happen? Where did the fullness go? 

Just as he was about to call for an ambulance, your face scrunched. Crinkled eyebrows, a wrinkled nose, and a whimper that sounded like a blessing. Chan’s shoulders slumped in relief and he gently tapped your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Can you hear me, sweetheart?” 

“Chan?” 

“I’m right here. What happened? I heard a thud and you were on the ground.” 

Your eyes drooped and you sucked in a deep breath. “Watch out, there’s some concrete here and it really hurts to land on.” 

He weakly chuckled, “thanks for letting me know. What happened?” 

“I was trying to tell you why I was late. I didn’t mean to be late.” Your eyes slipped shut. “I’ve been working overtime for the money. I didn’t think it’d be a problem. Time slipped away and oh god, I really don’t feel good.” 

“Yeah, it looks like you might have hit your head.” 

“I’ve been so exhausted recently, everything blurs together.” 

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that?” 

“Because you’re Chan and worry is your middle name.” 

“Huh?” 

“Bang Worry Chan.” 

“I don’t…” He trailed off, knowing he couldn’t defend himself. “Okay, I would have been a little worried. When was the last time you ate?” 

“Lunch.” 

“Baby, it’s seven in the evening. What’d you have for breakfast?” 

“Air.” 

“What was for lunch?” 

“I inhaled two granola bars and a cheese stick.” 

He frowned, not impressed by your food choices. Your eyes reopened and you slowly eased upright. His arms reached for your hands and he carefully helped you up. “How about I drive us to the nearest fast food place, we get food, and we talk on the drive?” 

“Aren’t you mad at me?” 

“I can’t be mad when I’m concerned more than anything.” 

You finally nodded, “yeah, okay. We should talk things through. I’m really sorry about ruining the restaurant date.” 

“I shouldn’t have brushed you off.” 

“Can we just be even now?” You rubbed your head, letting Chan lead you to his car. “We both fucked up and it sucks. Can we get chicken nuggets?” 

He chuckled and tugged the passenger’s door open. “Is that really what you want? Chicken nuggets?” 

“The doctor said it’s required for post-concussion.” 

He playfully rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. We can go get chicken nuggets and whatever else you want.” He double checked to make sure you were inside and shut the door. You let your head hit the head rest and waited for him to climb in. 

“I’m glad I’m not having an affair,” you continued when he got in. He froze at your words. “They wouldn’t be good to me. They’d deny me post-concussion nuggets.” 

“One of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” he grumbled, trying to relax.

“Just the perfect thing to pair with my concussion.” 

He tried to press his lips together, but his dimples deepened. “Shut up and enjoy the ride. What am I ever going to do with you?” He started the engine and let it roar to life. 

You slumped over, curling against the side of the door. “You’re going to take me to the nearest fast food place and focus on nuggets, that’s what you’re going to do with me.” 

“You’re a goober.” 

“Sure am,” you whispered as your eyes drooped. “Your goober.” 

“My goober,” he echoed. 

Despite it all, he still slipped his hand into yours after he pulled out of the parking lot.

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv @phinnyphinnegan @zayn-210 @beal-o @geni-627

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[yeagurt2]

the one where a cursed aphrodisiac drives your best friend insane with lust.

gojo x reader — aphrodisiac curse, friends to lovers, public sex, oral (f receiving), slight dubcon vibes (but clear consent), he’s pussy drunk, wall sex, desperate gojo, unprotected, rough

He’s breathing weird.

You notice it about halfway through dinner, somewhere between finishing your bowl and asking if he wants to split dessert. You’d been talking about something dumb—his last mission, probably, or your latest gossip. But Gojo’s replies have gotten shorter. Slower. His usual sharp wit dulled by something you can’t quite place.

His cheeks are flushed.

“Satoru,” you ask, confused, “are you drunk already?”

He jerks in his seat like you startled him. His pupils blow wide when he looks at you. Then he laughs—way too loud, way too fast. “Nope! Just warm in here. You don’t feel it?”

You narrow your eyes. “It’s literally freezing.”

“I run hot,” he says, and turns away like that ends the conversation.

But he’s squirming. Adjusting in his seat. He hasn’t touched his drink. And when your hand brushes his across the table, he jerks back like he’s been burned.

You’d think he was sick if it weren’t for the way his jaw tightens every time you lean forward, the way he keeps sneaking glances at your chest, the way his throat bobs when you bite your lip and try to tease him.

Something’s off.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

He looks like he might be sick for real now. “I gotta go.”

“What?”

“I—just remembered something. Sorcerer thing. Important.”

You frown. “You were just talking about how bored you’ve been.”

He winces. “Well now I’m not.”

“…Want me to walk with you?”

“No!”

You blink.

“I mean—” he swallows, adjusting his sunglasses. “Sure.”

The air outside is sharp and cold. You wrap your coat tighter around yourself as you walk side by side, your heels clicking softly against pavement. Gojo’s silent, unusually so.

Every few seconds, his steps hitch, like he’s fighting something. You’re quiet for a while, and Gojo looks like he’s barely holding it together. His hands are in his pockets, jaw tense, walking fast like he’s chasing something — or maybe running from it. He flinches every time your shoulder brushes his. His ears are pink. There’s sweat at his temples.

You squint at him. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot out.”

“It’s ten o’clock. And cold.”

He doesn’t reply.

He doesn’t answer. Just breathes—shaky, shallow. You glance up at him and realize his ears are red. His hands are in his pockets, fists clenched.

You pass into a dim alley, shortcutting the longer street route. It’s dark. Quiet. No one around.

Then you stumble a bit on a crack in the pavement.

“Shit—!”

He grabs you instantly—too fast, too desperate—and steadies you. But the second his hand touches your waist, he makes a strangled noise, and suddenly you’re slammed against the wall behind you, concrete cold against your spine.

“Satoru—?!” you gasp.

He’s panting. Face flushed. His forehead drops to your shoulder, hiding his eyes.

You freeze.

His hips are pressed to yours. And you feel it—hard, thick, and unmistakably throbbing against your stomach.

“…What the fuck?” you whisper. “Are you—?”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “I—I didn’t want to do this. I was trying to get home. I thought I could make it. But—fuck, you touched me, and—”

He groans like he wants the earth to swallow him. “I didn’t mean to. I swear—fuck—listen, I got hit with something earlier. A curse. I didn’t know what it was at first, but I’ve been like this all day. Couldn’t even jerk off, it just—wouldn’t stop.”

You stare at him. Stunned. Heart pounding.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I was trying to respect you. Trying not to fucking jump you.” He sounds anguished, breathless. “I didn’t wanna ruin things.”

Your hand rises before you even think about it. Curves gently over the bulge in his pants.

He jerks.

“…Do you want me to help?”

Gojo goes still.

Then lifts his head.

Eyes blown wide, mouth parted. Disbelieving.

“You’re serious?”

You nod.

That’s all he needs.

His mouth crashes to yours — hot, messy, desperate, tongue sliding deep, teeth clacking, hands everywhere. He moans into your mouth like it’s the first time he’s ever touched a woman. He tastes like mint and frustration. Like lust that’s been simmering too long. Like need.

“Satoru,” you gasp, when he pulls back to kiss your jaw, your throat, down your collarbone. “What’s gotten into you?”

He groans. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your breath catches.

He sinks to his knees before you can respond. Shoves your skirt up. Pulls your panties down — nearly rips them — and moans when he sees how wet you are.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping. Did this turn you on?”

You nod, breath hitching.

He presses his face to your cunt like he’s starved for it. Sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flat and greedy, hands gripping your thighs so tight it’s almost bruising. He groans, loud, like he’s drunk off it.

Your knees almost buckle.

“Wait, Satoru—” you gasp. “We’re outside—!”

He doesn’t care.

He slips two fingers inside you — thick, fast — curling them just right as his tongue draws frantic circles, and you sob into your hand, trying to stay quiet.

Gojo pulls back just enough to grin. “That’s it, sweetheart. Ride my face. Come on. I can take it.”

You whimper.

And you do.

You plant your knees on either side of his head, hands braced on the wall, and slowly grind down. His tongue slides deep, licking into you, fucking into you, lips sealing around your clit while his nose nudges your folds, and he groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He brings one hand up to squeeze your tits under your shirt, playing with your nipple as his mouth works harder, faster, sloppier.

Your moans are muffled, strained, shaky — and Gojo’s desperate, mumbling into your cunt, “so fuckin’ good… I could stay down here forever… let me make you come, please—”

You’re close.

Your thighs shake.

He growls, mouth suctioning around your clit, and you break, falling forward with a muffled cry, hand over your mouth as you come on his face — trembling, gasping, grinding down until you can’t breathe.

Gojo’s lips glisten when he pulls back.

“Holy fuck,” he pants, dragging your panties halfway up and spinning you around to face the wall. He’s already undoing his pants. “I can’t wait any longer.”

You feel it.

His cock.

Hot, angry, and leaking, grinding against your ass as he rucks your skirt up again.

“You sure?” he pants, rutting against your soaked cunt, voice cracking. “Because once I’m in you, I’m not stopping.”

You nod. Breathless. “Do it. Please.”

He groans — and slides in all at once.

You scream into your hand.

He’s huge. Thick and pulsing and so fucking deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

Gojo grabs your hips and fucks. Hard. Fast. Barely restrained. Just rough, desperate thrusts, panting into your neck, cursing with every stroke.

“F-fuck, you’re tight—so wet—I’ve dreamed about this—fuck—I’m never gonna last—”

You’re still sensitive. Still trembling. But the stretch of him, the sheer filth of it — it sends you climbing again.

He groans into your hair. “Wanted to fuck you for so long. Wanted to make you mine. You feel so fuckin’ good—”

He reaches around to rub your clit, cock pounding into you as you cry out, and you come again, this time with a full-body shake.

That’s all it takes.

Gojo slams deep — once, twice — then buries himself and comes, gasping, hips trembling, cock twitching inside you as he fills you with hot, messy spurts.

You both go still.

Only your breaths remain.

Heavy.

Shaky.

You feel him lean his forehead on your back.

“…Holy fuck,” he mumbles. “Best curse ever.”

You laugh weakly. “You’re such an idiot.”

He grins.

Then slips out, tucks himself away, and tugs your panties back up — pressing a kiss to your thigh.

“Next time,” he murmurs, eyes still hazy with lust, “let’s not wait for a near-sex-death situation.”

You turn to look at him — disheveled, flushed, still catching his breath — and smirk.

“Next time, your place.”

Gojo grins.

“Deal.”

[finelinefae]

safety [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: harry is always there to help bambi, always.

word count: 5.4k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), harry meets the family, crybaby reader lowkey

a/n: apologies for this taking so long. I've moved into university and switched courses within three weeks so I've had to do a lot of adjusting! But I hope you're doing well, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part of bambi and being so patient with this part <333

this is part 2 of bambi, read part 1 here

. . .

Y/N sighed as she stepped into the living room, her heart sinking at the sight of her mother passed out on the couch. It was Friday night, and her mom was still in her work uniform, one shoe barely hanging from her foot while the other lay haphazardly across the room. A wave of frustration and sadness hit her hard. She had begged her mom to take the day off to watch the boys so she could go on her date with Harry tonight—the date she’d been looking forward to all week.

This was supposed to be their third date, just before she started working with him at Pleasing this weekend. Their last date had been simple—strolling hand in hand by the river, talking about everything and nothing. But tonight was different. Harry had told her to dress up; he had something important to ask her and was taking her somewhere special. Y/N had been buzzing with excitement ever since.

Glancing at her phone, she felt the sting of tears. Halfway through her makeup, she now realized it didn’t matter—she’d have to cancel. With her mother out cold and no babysitter available at such short notice, the responsibility fell on her. And it was ruining everything.

She opened Harry’s contact on her phone, staring at the little pink heart next to his name. Her thumb hovered over the call button as doubt crept in. What if he never wanted to see her again after this? Cancelling last minute was embarrassing, and she dreaded how angry or disappointed Harry might be.

Her thumb pressed down, the ringing growing louder with each second. Anxiety gnawed at her as she picked at the skin around her nails.

Suddenly, the call connected, and Harry’s voice, smooth and soothing like a lullaby, poured through the speaker. “Bambi? Was jus’ about to pick y’ up. You missin’ me already?”

Her lip trembled, and a tear slid down her cheek as she sniffled. “Harry…” Her voice cracked.

“Hey, what’s wrong, love?” Concern filled his voice instantly, and the warmth of it made her chest tighten.

“I-I can’t go on our date tonight,” she confessed, her voice shaky.

“What d’you mean? Don’t be silly, is something wrong?” His slight panic was clear, making her feel even worse.

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just… my mom came home late, and she’s, um, not able to watch the boys, so I have to stay and babysit. I’m really sorry, Harry. I wanted to go tonight, I swear. I understand if you’re mad or—if you never want to see me again—”

“Woah, woah, Bambi, baby, stop panickin’. I don’t hate you, not at all. It’s closer to the opposite, so calm down, yeah? ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice still thick with emotion. “Y’promise?”

“Five pinkie swears, baby,” he chuckled softly, making her giggle through the tears. “It’s alright. These things happen. But are you okay? Need me to grab you anything? Have y’eaten today?”

His kindness made her heart swell. “N-No, but we’ve got stuff in the freezer I can heat up. Maybe we can reschedule?”

“Bambi, I’m already on my way to your house.”

Her breath hitched. “What? But, Harry, I can’t—”

“You think I’d let a little change of plans stop me from seein’ you? Been needin’ to see m’Bambi all day. How ‘bout this: you help your mum, and I’ll come by and make dinner for all of you. Sound good?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he real? Was he really this thoughtful, this willing to come over despite everything?

“Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. Now, go get in some comfy pjs, and I’ll stop by the store to grab snacks. Maybe we can watch a movie later. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice lighter now. “That sounds perfect.”

“Alright, I’ll be over in thirty minutes. Take a deep breath for me, Bambi.”

Immediate relief washed over her at the idea of having an extra pair of hands to help her with something that she’d normally be left alone to and better yet it was Harry who was coming to help her. So, she did exactly that - breathe. 

. . . 

Y/N was pushing clothes into the washing machine when she heard the doorbell ring. Her heart skipped a beat or possibly maybe two when she heard it. She forced the door shut on the machine and walked to the front door. She frowned the closer she got when she could already hear Harry’s voice but that was soon followed by the voice of her younger brother. 

“I know jujitsu, you know,” Archie announced, his small five-foot frame blocking the doorway.

“You take classes?” Harry asked, bemused.

“No, I learned it on Roblox,” Archie replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve heard of that one before. You’ll have to show me sometime,” Harry said with a grin.

Archie snorted. “You could just be saying that to get into our house and rob us.”

Y/N’s face heated with embarrassment as she approached the door, ushering Archie out of the way. Harry’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw her. “Y/N, this pizza delivery guy is trying to break into our house,” Archie said. Y/N looked to see Harry holding two pizza boxes and a plastic bag.

“Archie,” Y/N gasped, “this is not a pizza delivery man. This is Harry.”

Harry smiled, clearly trying not to laugh, and offered Archie a small wave. It did nothing to ease the suspicious look on Archie’s face. “Who’s Harry?”

Y/N froze, unsure of how to answer. Harry was both her boss and the man she was dating, but she couldn’t exactly explain that to her little brother. “He’s... my special friend.”

Archie looked between them for a moment, then shrugged and wandered off. Y/N’s shoulders sagged with relief as she turned to face Harry, who was still grinning at her. He looked incredibly handsome in his matching brown suit, his curly hair tousled in that familiar way. Her heart sank a little, knowing he had dressed up for their date.

“H-Harry, I’m really sorry—” she began, but before she could finish, Harry set the pizza boxes down and pulled her into a tight embrace. She breathed in the fruity scent of his cologne as he gently rubbed circles on her back.

“Bambi,” he murmured with a soft sigh, “I missed you.”

She smiled against his chest. “You just saw me the other day, and we FaceTimed last night.”

Harry pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks with his large hands. “Kiss?”

Her cheeks flushed, as they always did when he asked for a kiss. She stood on her toes, meeting his lips, savouring the softness of his touch and the faint taste of peppermint from his lip balm. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he murmured against her lips. “I brought pizza.”

“You didn’t have to,” Y/N sighed softly. “I was just going to throw something in the oven.”

“Hey, Bambi.” She looked up, meeting his gaze already fixed on her. “I wanted to. I’m here to help, okay? Now, why don’t we eat this before it gets cold? You grab some plates, and I’ll set the table.”

“O-Oh, okay.” She nodded, a bit flustered. “Just so you know, my brothers can be… intense.”

Harry smiled, his expression easygoing. “It’s okay, I’ve got a niece. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Y/N led him into the living room where her little brothers were scattered. Archie sat in the corner, hunched over the computer, likely playing the game he had mentioned to Harry earlier.

“Who are you?” a small voice piped up. Harry glanced down to see a boy around six or seven, looking at him curiously.

“That’s Y/N’s special friend,” Archie chimed in without even turning around from his game.

“Weren’t you the guy making out with my sister the other night?” The eldest of the three boys, who looked about fourteen, spoke up from where he was watching TV. Despite his age, there was a maturity in his tone that caught Harry off guard.

Harry chuckled, feeling Y/N stiffen beside him. He gave the teenager a polite smile. “Well, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“Sammy go and get the plates from the kitchen, Harry bought us pizza.” Sammy huffed, pausing the tv and doing exactly as his sister said. 

“Jack, can you grab an extra chair?” Y/N asked the youngest boy, her voice gentle but firm. Harry watched as the boys immediately followed their eldest sister’s instructions without question. A small pang tugged at his chest—part of him felt for her, having to shoulder the responsibility of looking after three growing boys. He didn’t know every detail of her family life, but seeing the way they interacted was enough to tell him they’d had to adapt quickly.

They all gathered around the table, two extra-large pizzas laid out in front of them. Harry chuckled at the sight of the boys eyeing the food like it was a rare treasure.

“Calm down,” he murmured with a grin, leaning close to Y/N. “Y’ so stiff, Bambi.”

Y/N blushed, fidgeting slightly. “Sorry, I just get so—”

“So?” Harry interrupted, smirking as he tried to coax her into a fluster. “So what, baby?”

“So nervous,” Y/N huffed, her cheeks burning as she realized he was toying with her.

A throat cleared from across the table, and Y/N suddenly felt three pairs of eyes locked onto them. Jack and Archie looked disgusted by the couple’s banter, while the eldest boy, Sammy, was glaring at Harry with an intensity that made Harry suppress a laugh.

“How old are you?” Sammy asked bluntly, his gaze sharp and protective.

Y/N choked on her drink. “Sammy! You can’t just ask people that—it’s rude!”

Harry chuckled, raising a hand to calm her. “No, it’s alright,” he said, amused. “I’m thirty.”

“Whoa, you’re old!” Archie blurted out, eyes wide with surprise.

“Archie!” Y/N gasped, mortified, while Jack burst out laughing.

“I guess it is kind of old,” Harry shrugged playfully, glancing at Y/N with a wink.

“Are you rich?” Sammy pressed, undeterred.

Y/N’s face flushed even more, praying the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“I do well,” Harry replied, keeping his tone light. “I own a fashion company.”

“That means he’s rich,” Archie chimed in, eyes lighting up. “Do you have a sports car?”

Harry leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I own three.”

Archie gasped, his face a picture of awe. “No wonder you can afford two extra-large pizzas!”

“If you think that’s cool, wait till you hear what else I brought,” Harry teased.

“Candy?” Archie’s eyes grew even wider, filled with excitement.

“Better.”

“Ice cream?”

Harry nodded. “Ice cream, candy, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles... you name it.”

Archie looked as though he might pass out from pure joy. Sweets after dinner weren’t a common occurrence in their house unless it was a special occasion.

Harry’s smile softened as his eyes flicked to Sammy, who was still watching him with guarded suspicion. “What do you want from my sister?” Sammy finally asked, his tone sharp.

Y/N cringed, wishing she could disappear like Jack, who was contentedly munching on pizza, completely oblivious to the tension. Her cheeks were already burning before she’d even taken a bite.

Harry’s hand found its way to her knee under the table, a silent reassurance that he knew exactly how she was feeling without her having to say a word.

“It’s still early,” Harry said honestly, his gaze meeting Sammy’s without faltering. “But I really, really like your sister.”

Sammy seemed to relax at that, but not without a final warning. “You’re not allowed to like her as much as we do.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at the words. Despite the challenges, the boys were her world, her best friends.

Harry smiled warmly, his voice sincere. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

. . .

"Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!" Archie came barreling into the kitchen, his face smeared with chocolate and whipped cream from the ice cream sundaes they’d made earlier. Y/N was bent over the washing machine, pulling out clothes to hang on the makeshift line by the window.

"Harry says he's gonna take us to the indoor waterpark in the city for my birthday! Isn't that awesome? And he beat Sammy's score on the new game he bought us!"

Y/N glanced up, smiling softly at Archie's excitement. The boys had been glued to the computer for hours after Harry surprised them with a game they’d been begging for. The sound of their wild laughter had echoed through the house all afternoon.

Footsteps approached the kitchen, and she looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Harry, I was just telling Y/N about the waterpark you’re taking us to," Archie said eagerly.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Y/N. "Ah, yes," he said, smiling at her. "I heard there’s a certain someone’s birthday coming up soon."

Archie's birthday was still a month away, and Y/N had only planned a simple celebration—movies, takeout, and cake. As Archie bolted from the kitchen, beaming about the waterpark, Y/N’s smile faded slightly.

Harry noticed the shift immediately. "What’s wrong?" he asked, stepping closer and reaching for her hand. "Did I mess something up?"

"N-no," Y/N replied quickly, shaking her head. "You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just... Archie's birthday isn’t for another month."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So?"

Y/N hesitated, her words stumbling over themselves. "I just don’t want to make promises, you know, in case… I mean, what if…" She trailed off, struggling to find a way to express the growing anxiety in her chest. She adored Harry, more than she could articulate, but a part of her couldn’t help worrying about the future—the uncertainties that came with letting someone new into their lives.

"Bambi," Harry’s voice was soft as he cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Where’d you go?"

She blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

His lips quirked into a gentle smile. "Y’ do this thing where you space out, like your mind drifts off somewhere else ‘cause you're thinkin’ too much."

"I do that?" she asked, surprised.

"Mhm," he murmured, his thumb tracing the little furrow in her brow, the touch sending warmth through her. "I like you an awful lot, Bambi. I plan on stickin' around for a long time."

"You do?" Her voice was small, almost disbelieving.

"Yes, I do. And I really like your brothers—they’re a credit to you."

Y/N opened her mouth to deflect, as usual. "Oh, you mean my mom—"

"No," Harry interrupted gently, shaking his head. "I mean you."

Her lips parted in surprise, her eyes misting over. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. Without thinking, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his, a kiss filled with the gratitude she couldn't quite express in words.

She was about to pull away, but Harry held her close, his hands gripping her hips as he deepened the kiss. His soft, warm lips made her head spin, and for a brief moment, the world around them disappeared.

That is, until Sammy’s voice rang out from the hallway. "I’m coming in, so you better not be swapping saliva in there!"

Harry broke the kiss with a chuckle, glancing over his shoulder. "Alright, alright, we’re behaving," he teased, winking at Y/N before moving to the sink. "Let me help you," he offered, turning on the faucet to start washing the dishes from dinner.

Y/N watched him for a moment, her heart swelling with warmth. The words he’d spoken earlier echoed in her mind—words that had already begun to feel familiar, but only when they came from him.

. . .

Y/N woke up the following morning, not from the alarm she’d set for 6 a.m., but from the rapid thumping of her heart. Anxiety rippled through her, making her stomach twist with nerves. Today was her first day working at Pleasing, her first day officially under Harry’s employment. She was excited, of course, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in her belly from multiplying.

She stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, taking slow breaths to calm herself. Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand, and she reached over, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the message.

Harry: Morning, Bambi 🌞 There’s a car on its way to pick you up. No need to stress, yeah? I’ll be waiting for you at the office. You’re gonna be amazing x

A small smile crept onto her face despite the nerves. Harry’s words were like a warm hug on a cold morning, making her feel just a little bit braver. She couldn’t help but appreciate how he seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear, right when she needed to hear it.

She quickly typed a reply, her fingers still shaky.

Y/N: Thank you. I’m a little nervous but I’ll do my best. See you soon 💕

Y/N got out of bed and went through her morning routine, trying to focus on each task to stop her mind from spiraling into all the things that could go wrong today. She picked out an outfit she hoped said “professional but approachable,” taking extra care to smooth out any creases in her clothes. When she was finally dressed, she checked the time—6:45 a.m.—the car Harry sent should be arriving any minute.

She stepped outside, the cool morning air doing little to ease her racing thoughts. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. The street was quiet at this hour, and she couldn’t help but feel like the only person awake in the world.

Just then, a sleek black car pulled up in front of her, the driver rolling down the window with a friendly nod. "Y/N?" he asked, and she nodded in response.

“That’s me,” she said, her voice a little shaky. She climbed into the backseat, clutching her bag on her lap as the driver started the journey to the office. She stared out the window, watching the familiar streets blur by, and tried to give herself a little pep talk.

You can do this. You’re ready. Harry believes in you, so believe in yourself, too.

Her phone buzzed in her hand again, another message from Harry.

Harry: Also going on a coffee run, do you want anything? x

Bambi: Isn’t that my job today? x

Harry: It’s my job to take care of you everyday

Y/N didn’t realize how wide her smile had grown until she caught her reflection in the glassy screen of her phone. A soft blush crept onto her cheeks as she tried to compose herself, glancing out the window to distract from the giddy feeling bubbling inside her. She watched as the quiet suburbs melted into the bustle of the big city, her heart thudding against her ribcage. 

Slowly, the car pulled up outside Pleasing. The building was elegant, with an arched doorway and a clean awning that had the brand's name in bold letters. Through the large glass doors, Y/N could see a glimpse of the bright, stylish interior. Her heart pounded as the car came to a stop, her mouth opening with a desperate plea to leave, to turn back and retreat home where she could hide away—but then she saw Harry, and her words fell away for an entirely different reason.

She’d seen Harry in a suit before, but seeing him in full CEO mode was something else. He wore a flawless black-and-white suit, cufflinks gleaming at his wrists. His eyes were stern, his entire demeanor unshakeable—until he looked her way, and his whole form softened.

“You’re here,” His voice was warm and inviting. She wanted to leap into him and hide herself within him but she wanted to be professional.

She stood in front of him, not wanting to get any closer to her new boss, “Good morning, Mr Styles.”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Good morning,” he replied, savoring her formality. He took a step closer, his gaze gentle yet focused. “Ready for today?”

“Y-yes,” She said but it wasn’t all that convincing.

Harry grabbed her hand, “You’ll be just fine Bambi.” He murmured the nickname just for her to hear. 

The warmth of his hand around hers steadied her, but it also set her pulse racing. His fingers intertwined with hers, and he kept their joined hands subtly hidden between them as they walked through the grand entrance and into the lobby. Y/N’s nerves started to quiet, replaced by a growing excitement.

As they stepped into the elevator, Harry’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. She looked up at him but his eyes were looking ahead. Her eyes fixated on his sharp jawline and smooth, freshly-shaven face; he looked even more polished, clean-cut and distinctly professional since she’d last seen him.

When they reached his office floor, Harry led her down a sleek corridor and into an airy, open workspace with views of the city skyline. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, and a few team members looked up with welcoming smiles.

Just ahead, a woman in her mid-thirties with shoulder-length auburn hair and an easy smile approached them. Her professional but warm demeanor put Y/N at ease almost instantly. Harry released Y/N’s hand as he greeted her.

“Lindsey, this is Y/N,” he said, glancing between them. “She’s starting with us today. I thought you might help her settle in and get familiar with everything.”

Lindsey extended her hand warmly. “Oh is this-”

Harry’s gaze lingered on her with a slight, unreadable intensity, prompting Lindsey to pause mid-sentence. Then, noticing Y/N, she broke into a bright smile.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to meet you.” She laughed lightly, her eyes flicking to Harry with a teasing glint. “I have to admit, I’m a little curious why anyone would sign up to be his assistant—he can be a real pain most days.” She shot him a playful look. “But don’t worry, just don’t enter his office at midday - he can get real hangry.” 

Y/N giggled and Harry’s eyes brightened at the sound, ““Y/N,” he said, his voice warm, “you’re in very good hands.” He turned to Lindsey. “Make sure she gets a proper introduction to everything, but don’t overwhelm her.”

Lindsey chuckled. “I’ll keep it light for today, boss. We’d be here all day getting into your list of demands everyday.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and with a final look at Y/N, said, “I’ll see you later, then.” His words were simple, but the small smile he gave her was anything but. As he walked away, Y/N felt the anticipation return, wanting him to come back and be the one to show her around. She wasn’t the best with meeting new people. She was shy and nervous and fumbled over her words too often but Harry had great faith in her so she would try her best to do good. 

“Alright, let’s get started,” Lindsey said, gesturing to an open desk area near Harry’s office. “First things first—coffee? I’ll show you the best spot, and then we’ll make our way through the to-do list Harry sent this morning.” 

. . .

Y/N liked Lindsey a lot. 

She was funny and gentle. Whenever Y/N made a mistake—like earlier when she accidentally printed everything in pink instead of black and white—Lindsey would correct her kindly, reminding her that mistakes happen. Y/N wasn’t used to this kind of patience; her old boss would snap or hiss at even the smallest error. Here, it felt nice to breathe a little easier.

Lindsey spoke warmly about her two little boys, whom she cared for while her husband was away with the military. She had once been a stay-at-home mom, but over time, the isolation began to weigh on her; she craved more than just the role of mother and wanted to be out in the world, around people. When she applied to Pleasing, she’d explained her situation to Harry during her interview, and he had offered her flexible hours so she could still make it home to her boys each evening.

Whenever Lindsey mentioned the things Harry had done for her and her family, her voice would grow thick with emotion, and she spoke of him with genuine admiration. Y/N found herself thinking of her own circumstances and the way Harry had taken her under his wing, feeling a warmth for him settle in her chest.

“Okay, Harry’s in a meeting, so we need to bring in tea and coffee,” Lindsey said, heading over to a small rolling cart neatly stocked with cups, a teapot, and coffee supplies.

She guided Y/N through the arrangement, showing her how Harry liked his tea prepared. “He’s particular about the temperature—hot but not scalding,” Lindsey explained with a wink. “Don’t worry you’ll get the hang of things.”

Y/N carefully poured the tea, her hands steadying with each instruction Lindsey offered. They finished preparing the drinks, and Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself as she reached for the cart handle.

“You’ll be fine,” Lindsey reassured her, offering a supportive smile. “Just go in, keep it simple, and make sure everyone has their drinks. You’ll be a natural at this in no time.”

“I’m going in alone?” Y/N’s eyes widened.

“It’s good practice,” Lindsey grins, “Good luck!”

Y/N squared her shoulders and pushed the cart toward the meeting room. The murmurs grew louder as she approached, but her nerves eased slightly upon catching Harry’s eye. His expression softened for a moment before returning to its professional coolness, a small signal just for her.

As she entered, she was met with the sight of a large glass table surrounded by men in sharp suits, all eyes shifting toward her. Taking a breath, she rolled the cart around and placed the cups in front of Harry and the others. Just as she reached for the teapot, a slight tremor ran through her hand, and she felt a sudden rush of panic.

In an instant, she lost her grip. The teapot tipped, sending hot tea spilling across the table and splattering onto a crisp white shirt belonging to one of the men. The room fell silent, and every gaze shifted from her to the angry figure, whose face flushed crimson.

““Watch where you’re going!” he barked, rising from his seat. “Do you even know how to serve properly?”

Y/N’s heart raced, the color draining from her face. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, a surge of anger rippled through the room.

“Do you think it’s okay to talk to a woman like that?” Harry murmured, his voice laced with malice.

“She stained my shirt! She’s lucky I’m not making her pay for it,” the man continued, and Y/N could see the discomfort on the faces of the other attendees, their expressions telling her they knew he’d crossed a line.

Harry’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. He reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out a checkbook and a fountain pen. With swift strokes, he began to scribble before turning to Y/N. “Y/N, would you mind delivering this to Mr. Smith?”

Y/N nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the check, its weight feeling both significant and heavy.

Mr. Smith snatched the check from her hands, glancing down at it with a scowl. Written across the page was Harry’s signature alongside a mere fifty dollars. “Your final check—enough to cover the shirt, I assume? I think I saw the same one in the TK Maxx sale rack.”

“Final?” Mr. Smith asked, incredulous.

“Correct,” Harry replied nonchalantly.

Mr. Smith’s face burned bright red. He huffed, rising from his seat and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The room fell silent. “Meeting adjourned,” Harry announced, and everyone flooded out, eager to escape the awkward tension.

Y/N stood in the corner, barely able to look up. Embarrassment washed over her; she wondered if she could do any job right. Her eyes watered as she bit down on her lip to keep from crying.

Suddenly, two polished shoes came into view, and big hands cupped her cheeks, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, concern etched on his face.

She wanted to say yes, to express pride in her efforts and how well she had handled the day, but instead, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shirt. “I feel like I can’t do anything right,” she admitted, her voice muffled.

Harry sighed, his arms encircling her as he rubbed the back of her head soothingly. “You did nothing wrong.”

“You can’t fire people because of me, Harry.”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ve wanted to get rid of him for ages—just a sexist prick. Turns out you’re a pretty good assistant for giving me an excuse to fire someone on the spot,” he chuckled lightly.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart fluttering as his hand held her cheek, his thumb brushing beneath her eye. “These eyes,” he whispered.

A smile broke through her sadness. “I’m sorry for ruining your meeting.”

“Don’t care, Bambi.” He was so much taller than her, nearly a foot difference, so he had to lean down to brush his nose against hers, their lips ghosting against each other. “You actually made it better.”

“I did?” she whispered, her mind suddenly forgetting the man who had yelled at her.

“Mhm,” he hummed, and then, gently, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and lingering, sending a warm flutter through Y/N that chased away the remnants of her earlier embarrassment. She melted into the moment, her worries fading as Harry’s lips brushed against hers. 

“Okay, what the hell happened?” Lindsey barged into the room, causing Y/N to leap away from Harry, her cheeks flushing.

“Wow, Lindsey,” Harry said, rubbing a hand over his mouth, both of them flustered as Lindsey glanced between them. “Try knocking next time, yeah?”

“Since when have I ever needed to knock?” Lindsey shot back, her eyebrows knitting together as she assessed Y/N, whose face was now bright pink.

“Since now,” Harry replied. Clearing his throat, he added, “If you’ll excuse me…” He brushed past her, leaving the tension lingering in the air.

A laugh escaped Y/N’s lips, even as embarrassment tinged her cheeks; it was the first time she’d witnessed him so flustered. Lindsey arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto her face. “So, are you two like…?”

“No,” Y/N replied, the denial tumbling out a bit too quickly.

Lindsey shot her a knowing look but chose not to press further. “Might want to let him know about that lipstick stain on his upper lip,” she added, rolling the cart out of the room and leaving Y/N feeling distinctly warm and flustered.

. . .

Harry kissed Y/N with the lights off on her front porch after dropping her home. Y/N melted against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened. She felt a rush of warmth spread through her, the sweet taste of his breath mixing with the fresh night air. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies fitting perfectly together. “Bambi,” He slurred against her lips.”

“Hm?” She hummed, unable to stop herself when she pulled him closer. 

“I was thinking,” He murmured, pulling away but his hands still firmly gripping her waist, “Maybe this weekend y’ could come to my place and stay the night.”

“The night?” She’d never had a sleepover before let alone one at a boys house. 

“Yeah… Would you be okay with that?” 

“Y-Yeah, I think so.”

“Y’ think so?” Harry grinned, “Are y’ sure?”

She smiled, “I’d like that.”

“Well, alright then,” he murmured, leaning down to place one last, soft kiss on her lips. “Goodnight, Bambi.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” Y/N barely suppressed a smile as she watched him walk to his car, a flutter in her chest as he turned back for a final wave.

Before she turned to step into her house, her phone buzzed and a text came through from Harry.

Harry: I think we have to get better at this whole sneaking around thing

Y/N: Tell yourself that, you kissed me first!

Harry: Can’t help it Bambi 

Harry: I’m obsessed with you

. . .

taglist ~~

@ravenclawmarvel @noididnotsignupforthis @comicalivy  @boomitsallie1 @hazzarules @squirreljoe @c3lline0 @harry2121 @lizsogolden @its-his-dimples @tchalametishot @youngpastafanmug @awritingtree @reidsblessing @idontcareforausernamesblog @madstyles3204 @cherrys4suckers @lomlolivia @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[ohlawdthevoices]

PLS PLS PLS MAKE A MEETING SHOTOS FAMILY FIC I NEVER SEE ANY OF THEM 🙏

I literally love the way u write Shoto

him ->🧍

Meeting Shoto’s family | prohero!shoto x gn!reader

tags : pro hero shoto x gn!reader, mostly fuyumi and natsuo, fluff, shoto is very aloof but we love that, new years dinner, not proof read

word count : 1.8k

a.n : i had fun with this one lol so thank you so much for your request !!

shoto didn’t want to make his relationship public, so except his closest of friends, no one really knew you or even knew he had a partner.

that was sure annoying at times since shoto doesn’t get a hint when someone is flirting with him and usually doesn’t end the conversation, but you knew he did that for your own safety from all the medias.

so it was only when he took a very awkward selfie of the two of you— an almost constipated expression on his face, holding his phone with both hands like a father taking a picture, and sent it to his sister asking if you could join on their new year’s celebration— that his family finally learned about your existence.

shoto’s phone was blowing up the next 40 minutes or so, mostly his sister asking about you, your favorite food and dessert… you were nervous, sure, but fuyumi’s enthusiasm was definitely helping, you knew the rest of his family wasn’t like that but you still hoped somehow endeavor would be secretly chill.

still, when the day finally came and you were standing in front of the todoroki household—gift bag in hand, dressed in something that screamed “respectable but please still like me”—you couldn’t help the nerves climbing up your spine.

“last chance to pretend you forgot me at home,” you whispered. shoto glanced down at you, completely unfazed. “too late. fuyumi’s watching from the window.”

he wasn’t wrong. the door opened before either of you could even knock.

“YOU MUST BE Y/N!!” fuyumi beamed, launching forward to engulf you in a hug so sudden it nearly knocked the gift bag out of your hands. “i’m so glad you came! oh my god. you’re real. you know for a second a thought shoto photoshopped you in the picture.”

“why would i do that” he furrowed his brows,stepping into his home and taking his shoes off. you followed his actions a bit overwhelmed but still trying to keep up the polite and respectful act.

te house smelled like grilled meat and expensive furniture. it was quiet, warm, and intimidating in a subtle, rich-people way.

you barely had time to take your shoes off before someone else appeared around the corner—tall, broad-shouldered, and immediately recognizable.

endeavor.

your body tensed involuntarily, like your survival instincts kicked in. he nodded stiffly.

“welcome.” shoto didn’t say anything, just stepped a little closer behind you, like his presence would shield you from any lingering tension in the room.

“hi… thank you for having me,” you managed politely, though you weren’t totally sure your voice came out.

endeavor nodded again. the silence that followed was suffocating. you could feel Shoto regretting everything.

“anyway!” fuyumi saved the moment with a clapping gesture. “dinner’s almost ready, you can go sit in the dining room !”

dinner was… surprisingly normal. since his father left due to a work related emergency, the discussion seemed to be much more open.

at one point, fuyumi leaned over with a warm smile and asked how you two met. you blinked and said, “oh, at a coffee shop actually.”

“she yelled at me,” shoto added, like he was just stating the weather. “i did not yell at you,” you said immediately, glaring at him with no real heat.

natsuo raised an eyebrow. “this sounds promising.”

“she cut the line,” shoto continued, between two bites. you turned to him, raising your eyebrows “okay, wow. no that wasn’t it” he looked at you, calm as ever.

“there was a clear order. you broke it.”

“i was literally just going to grab a straw.”

“you had intent in your posture.” natsuo laughed while his sister clapped her hands like this was the best dinner she’d ever seen.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “anyway, he accused me of cutting, i told him to mind his business, and then five minutes later he offered to pay for my drink because he ‘felt bad about the misunderstanding.’”

“i did,” shoto said, already sipping his tea like none of this was unusual. “you were wearing a shirt that said ‘caffeine and violence.’”

“…and?”

“i was scared.” he went back to eating as if he didn’t just admit that.

after dinner, you all insisted everyone help clean up, which turned into shoto getting kicked out of the kitchen for trying to load the dishwasher wrong.

“how do you even mess it up that bad?” natsuo muttered, yanking a plate out. “you put a bowl in the plate rack.”

“It fit,” shoto replied simply, as if that were the only criteria.

you were drying dishes nearby, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing. honestly, it was endearing. shoto could calculate the trajectory of an ice attack down to the centimeter but apparently couldn’t grasp modern appliances.

eventually, you were shooed into the living room with a mug of tea, tucked beside shoto on the couch while fuyumi and natsuo bickered over whether or not anyone wanted dessert.

the tv was on in the background playing some new year’s countdown show, all loud music and glittery stage lights. you leaned into Shoto a little, warm and full and weirdly at peace for being in the house of japan’s most emotionally complex family.

“they like you,” he whispered, you turned to him. “yeah?”he nodded “i can tell. fuyumi didn’t start stress-cleaning, and natsuo only insulted me twice.”

you laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I like them too, they’re nice.”

there was a pause.

“…did you really tell fuyumi my favorite food?”

shoto didn’t answer right away. then: “i made a powerpoint.” you blinked. “you what?”

“for her,” he added casually,his eyes on the tv. “so she’d be prepared. she asked for a list of things you like, so I made one. it had slides.”

you stared at him. “you powerpointed me.” he nodded, entirely calm. “It had transitions.”

youwould’ve teased him, but honestly, your chest just swelled with affection so fast it kind of short-circuited your brain.

the countdown on the tv hit ten. fuyumi ran back into the room, waving sparkling cider and glasses, while natsuo complained about missing the remote.

everyone gathered around for the final countdown, and when it hit midnight, the room filled with cheers, clinks of glass, and confetti from god knows where (you suspected fuyumi).

shoto turned to you, eyes soft, and asked—completely monotone—“would it be appropriate to kiss now?”

“let’s not do that here yeah ?” you smiled at him as he nodded not really trying to understand why but he accepted it.

[no-144444]

all roads lead home- o.piastri

꩜ summary: oscar misses you while you're gone

꩜ pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

꩜ banner creds: bronzewasp

Oscar had been used to not being ‘home’ for a long time. He left Melbourne when he was 14 to follow his dreams all the way to the top, and his parents allowed him. He was more than grateful, and he showed it whenever he was home, despite being unemotional. He really did appreciate the sacrifice they made for him. He appreciated that his sisters never much minded that he missed their lives, and now, their phone calls. He was grateful that, though his mom teased him, neither her, Tim, or his dad took his not-responding too harshly. He realised how lucky he was, and he knew it wasn’t the same for everyone. Sometimes he wished he was a bit better on his phone. Sometimes he wished he could call his sisters more. Sometimes he wished he could catch a cricket game with his mates back home, or maybe just get lunch, but they understood he was busy until December, but maybe he’d see them over summer break or something.  

He’d never felt this before. 

He’d never left this lingering, longing feeling in his chest that made his heart hurt. He’d had girlfriends before, but only in boarding school, so they were never very serious. This was new. This was serious. He was serious about you. He didn't understand the way his heart leaped up to rest in his throat every time your name was mentioned in conversation. He didn’t know why he kept opening the messages app when he knew you hadn’t texted him. He didn’t know why being in his own apartment felt so lonely, even if you didn’t live there. 

He distracted himself with walks, or sim work, or even just training. He even attempted cooking (went pretty well, he could make a stir-fry now!), he went surfing, he walked Charles’s dog with him, he and Lando went for dinner, he even played padel with Alex, Max, and Pierre. It all felt hollow, because he knew he was just waiting on a message from you. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you didn’t text him your flight time, and you’d been busy the whole week, so he wasn’t going to blame you. He sat at home, nervous energy flowing through his body. He just needed to see you, to kiss you, to make sure you were still real and then he’d drive you back to your apartment (if he couldn’t convince you to stay). He’d begged you when you’d last texted to come to his apartment so he could see you, and you’d accepted without a fight. 

The rustling of keys. Yes, he’d given you keys to his apartment. 

“Oscar! I’m home,” your sweet voice was like a light in the dark, and he felt himself well up with emotion. He missed you, more than he could’ve ever thought he would. He jumped up from his couch and rushed to the front door, engulfing you in the tightest hug you’d ever received. You chuckled as he lifted you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he held you tight. “Wow, you must’ve missed me,” you teased as he let you back down, his face still buried in your hair as he hugged you. 

“You have no idea,” his voice cracked and everything stilled. Fuck. He didn’t want to do this now. He shouldn’t have- he didn’t mean to- he didn’t want to-

“Osc?” your voice was so soft, so gentle, so caring. Something in his chest tightened. “What’s wrong?” you asked, pulling back to see tears falling down his cheeks. His perfect, bunny-like cheeks that made you want to kiss him. You placed a hand on his cheek, wiping them away as he chuckled at himself, his eyes focused purely on you. 

You didn’t have to ask, he’d tell you anything. “I just… missed you, I guess,” he shrugged, feeling like a bit of an idiot. “Just don’t like you not being here.”

You nodded, a soft smile returning to your face. “I know how you feel,” you pulled him back in for another hug, and again, it was as tight as before. You could feel how he felt, every waking moment had been leading up to this one, for the both of you. Race weekends were easier, it was a familiar lonely for the both of you. Oscar was busy racing, while you were busy either watching him, going out with friends, or catching up on work. But Oscar knew you were watching. You knew Oscar was racing. This was uncharted territory for him, he’d never been left with nothing to do without you. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m home now.”

Home. Technically, you were in his apartment (though he’d be very happy to make it yours as well), your apartment was 10 minutes away. 

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, trying to calm the tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming. “So much.”

You nodded. “I know. I missed you too,” you pulled back and pressed your lips against his, not caring that his face was wet with tears, or that he would continue crying as you kissed him. You missed him too. 

It was a life-changing kiss, though all with you usually were. His favourites were the small kisses you gave him, out in public, or sometimes just before you got up for the day. Tiny kisses just to remind him that you were there, that you loved him, that you cared. He liked these kisses too. The long, emotional, passionate ones you usually gave him when he got home from a race weekend. He didn’t say it much, but he hoped you knew he loved you. You hadn’t exactly… said it to each other yet, but he wanted to. Every time he’d been close, he chickened out, thinking there would be a better moment. There never was. Now or never. 

“I love you,” he pulled back, his grip on your waist tightening. 

You stared up at him for a moment, still wiping his wet tears as his jaw tightened to stop himself from crying more. You saw Oscar, your Oscar. The boy you loved. You smiled. “I love you too.” 

He hadn’t realised when it happened, but that ache in his chest was gone. It could’ve stopped the second you walked in the door, the moment he heard your voice, maybe it ceased when he felt your hands on his, or maybe he just needed to hear that you were as attached as he was. He needed to know you were as in love with him, as he was with you. He nodded and pulled you in to kiss him one more time before he took your bag and let you sit down on the couch. You didn’t say it, but you both knew you were staying over tonight. 

“You eat yet?” you asked, turning to him. 

“Nope,” he shook his head, hoping he knew what sentence would come next. 

“Want pasta?” you offered, walking into the kitchen behind him. He smiled, his favourite dish made by his favourite person.  “Sounds perfect,” he smiled and started helping you get out the ingredients. You talked the whole night long, exchanging stories from your week apart as the sauce stewed. He missed this, these soft nights indoors when he didn’t have to make much of an effort, or even talk very much because he knew you had him. He had you in the exact same way.

mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[tojisteddy]

“Oh to love and be loved” | cw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluffville, sweetheart!reader x Toji, age gap (20s reader, 30 yr old Toji)

Toji Fushiguro loves you.

And I mean really, can’t get enough of you, would give you the world if you asked, would die for you, would fight or kill any bastard for you, would give you an arm or his heart, his lung- loves you.

A love that he’s absolutely certain, he will not find in another life time.

And it was so subtle too, gentle.

He met you by chance, he lives in the apartment across the street, he found you trying to get all of the grocery bags in your trunk in one go your car to your apartment. Stupid, he thought. But he still jogged over, taking the heavy bags from your hands.

“Thank you so much for helping me out, you’re really so kind.” You give him a sun beaming smile that could make him melt. He feels his heart beat faster but just gives you a nod, letting you guide the way to your apartment.

You get to the third floor, Toji raises a brow, “Where’s your apartment again?”

“Oh- we’re not going to my apartment! These are for Mr. Iwakura!”

Mr. Iwakura, who everyone in the neighborhood knew as a rude and old man. Always grumbling about the racket the kids were making and a stickler when trash day rolled around. He had no problem yelling at people who might have gotten it wrong or for parking on the street wrong. So why the hell would little ole sweet you, be going there?

“That old fuckin bastard? You’re going to give these to him?” Toji scuffs, he thought you were delusional. If Toji knew you a little more, he would’ve bet five dollars the old fuck would curse you out as soon as that door knocked.

“Yeah, he is an old bastard but he still needs a little help. They won’t repair the elevator so he’s having a hard time.” You shrug, setting the bags down just for a second to knock and then scooping them up, you say in a indoor voice that it’s you, give him your name.

There’s silence for a minute or two and then the door opens revealing a disgruntled elderly man. His eyes widen as he looks at you. “[+]? It’s not tea time.”

“I just got a couple things, is that alright?” You jingle the bag in your face and then peek behind it with a warm smile— it makes Tojis heart melt.

Toji thought, maybe, just maybe— you could give him a bit of that benevolence. That selflessness.

Toji would always see you around the neighborhood, helping the kids cross the street, giving a stray cat food or even your umbrella and running inside even when they hissed at you, helping clean up— a total fucking sweetheart.

True to your kindness, which Toji liked. You didn’t change, it was consistent.

He probably fell in love with you the second you had dropped off dinner for him. He didn’t ask, you just popped up one night. Looking heavenly as ever, curls everywhich way, brown eyes beautiful from the dim light shinning from his kitchen light.

You cleared your throat, gently placing the container in his hands— “Thought I’d finally repay you for helping me out last month. I-I didn’t know what you liked so I just made whatever. But if you don’t want to eat it you don’t have to, or you can throw it away- or—“

“—Thank you [+],” and it’s probably the most sincere hes been in a long time. He can feel the warmth of the food through the container, when’s the last time he had a home cooked meal? He’d eat anything at this point, and hes sure what you made was delicious. “You’re a real sweetie, doll, you know that?”

You fiddle with your fingers behind your back, heart skipping a beat from the older man just saying your name alone.

“A-And you’re a real gentleman Toji. Didn’t have to help that one time, but you did. I’m thankful.” You stuttered, so stinking cute.

But Toji, he wasn’t a gentleman per se, maybe that fine grey area who didn’t like seeing people struggle or get disrespected. 

But he’d be the man you wanted him to be, loving, kind— a gentleman all for you.

And you showed him love that he’s never experienced in his entire 30 years of life.

It’s the messages you hand write on the lunches you pack for him, randomly deciding to pick him up after work to take the train home together, the gentle brush of your thumb across his scar that he used to despise, the hugs from behind while he’s getting water, the constant reassurance that you’re there for him. And I mean really there for him, even if he’s not the best with his words— you’ll let him hold you for as long as he needs to or give him the space he needs.

And he’s learning to be soft, take his time with you— match your stride. He’s always outside of your work, a bag of food in hand, holding you close when you’re too in your head, watching you go through your closet and taking in how beautiful you look, helping you wash your hair when the idea of wash day stresses you out, taking his time with expressing his feelings and his concern, helping out the neighborhood a little more, and supporting you through the everything.

Even if it means buying a crochet kit that you only mentioned once, following you with an umbrella as you feed strays in the rain, playing sous chef while you make your way through a Julia Child recipe. 

And does the man love showing you how much he loves you in bed.

Calloused hands touching every curve and ever dip of your body, kissing everywhere he can find. Teasing you when you’re fucked out, and still ramming into your pore sloppy cunt, leaving hickies that will show if you don’t wear a turtleneck to work.

You claw at his tattooed arms and he just loves when you mark him up, when you hold him close and your mewls and moans fill his ears. Babble his name and how good you feel with him brushing against your cervix with every punch of a thrust. And he’ll smirk, brushing your curls out your face, grumbles of ‘I love you’s and ‘doin so good f’me mama, always so good f’me.’ How you give him all your trust to get him there, take you to the highest peak and let your reach your climax.

You, you, you. Fill his brain with every possibility he thought was impossible.

It’s your laugh, your smile, your voice, the kindness, your joy, the pain, that all but certain look shining in your brown eyes— everything.

He’ll put a rock on that ring finger one day, a promise ring sooner than that— let everyone know how much he loves your cute ass.

Love on you each more every day.

a/n: actually very happy with this. I’m weary no one will like this but 🤷🏾‍♀️

most recent masterlist