#it's checking and cross-checking to be sure everything works together

[vingtetunmars]

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

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

You hadn’t had your period.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

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

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

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

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

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

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

Now, all that was left was telling him.

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

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday pancakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He glanced at you, brow raised.

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

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

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

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

He was okay.

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

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria’s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?�� he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗹 | "hot neighbor" (harris maderbach) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | to some, he was hot neighbor, but to you, he was hot coworker-- and you figured he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 7.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only!! minors gtfo), unprotected sex, creampie, oral m receiving, alcohol consumption, lots of dumb workplace flirting, basically porn with very minimal plot

You weren’t used to working in an office like this, even if your position here was incredibly similar to the last one.  All the departments actually talked to each other, had shared events— even went out after work to drink together, from time to time.  And that was how you ended up with something else you weren’t used to: a crush on a coworker.

He was from the realty division, probably the furthest from your own work, and yet he was one of the first people to introduce himself to you.  The whole conversation had seemed just a touch flirty, but you couldn’t tell if that was actually his intention or if he was just charming (or if you just had wishful thinking).

“Always nice to see a new face around,” he’d said to get your attention, making you spin around in your chair and look up at him.  He wore a friendly smile, running his fingers through his hair which you thought might be considered dirty blonde in certain lighting; it’s not that you were checking him out, necessarily, it’s just that you had acquired an eye for color in your years working with fine art.

“Oh— hey, yeah, I’m the newbie,” you awkwardly replied, not sure how to respond to that.  Always nice to see a nice face around seemed too forward.

“Are you new in town?” he asked.  “‘Cause I could show you around if you need—”

“No, actually— I’ve lived in Manhattan for about five years now,” you explained, “Christie’s is in Rockefeller center, just a few miles away…”

He pushed his lips together and nodded, like he took it as a rejection, and you felt a little guilty.  

“But you’re really sweet to offer!” you blurted out.  “I mean, if there’s any good spots for lunch around here, I’m all ears.”

He nodded quickly, but crossed his arms and changed the subject instead.  “So, Christie’s?  What did you do there?”

“Same thing I’m gonna do here— sell art,” you smiled.  “Hopefully.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” he encouraged.

It didn’t really mean anything, coming from a stranger, but somehow it still made you feel better; you thought about it the rest of the day, actually.

From then on, you’d become pretty curious about him.  You asked around, but most people in your department didn’t know much: he was a realtor, after all, so any details past that would require talking to another realtor.  The problem with that plan was that you figured if you asked somebody who worked closely with him for any gossip, it would end up getting back to him— and he’d probably be all cocky about it, from what little you could tell about his personality.

All you’d really put together was that his name was Harris, he was divorced relatively recently, and that he had quite a talent for architecture and interior design.  Everything else you knew about him had been easy to put together: friendly, yet smooth; sexy voice; well-dressed, if more casual than some people in the office.

And everything else you wanted to know, you went to an after-work happy hour to find out.

You were getting worried that he would notice you glancing at him every, I don’t know, ten or so seconds; only once or twice did he meet your gaze, and whenever he did, he would look back at whoever he was talking to with a little knowing smirk.  Bastard— he was taunting you, daring you to come over and talk to him— wasn’t he?

But you refused to give in so easily: you focused on chatting with other members of the art sales department, laughing too hard at their stories and jokes in the hopes that, for once, Harris would look at you first.  If he did, you were too absorbed in conversation most of the time to notice.

Like all work events, though, people trickled out to head home steadily throughout the night.  Probably half of them were gone within an hour; by eight, barely ten people were left.  Rarely, the conversation would merge into one big group, and you would catch Harris’ eyes drifting over you when you added something, but usually people were within their little sub-conversations and you never quite seemed to cross paths with Harris.

Until, finally, he relented— only when you ended up sitting off to the side of one of the tables the secretary had booked; the person you’d been talking to left, and everyone else was wrapped up in what they were discussing, and you found yourself nursing your beer and staring off into space for a little while.  Actually, you didn’t even notice him coming up to you until he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down in it with a sigh.

“How’s Samuel treating you?” he asked, and you gave him a confused look before he motioned to the glass in your hand of, as you’d apparently forgotten, Samuel Adams.

“Oh,” you laughed softly, shaking your head, “he’s alright— inoffensive.  A work thing seems like the wrong place for hard liquor.”

“Is that a diss on my whiskey?” he frowned, swirling the dark liquid in his crystal glass.

“Do they have good whiskey here?” you wondered.

“No,” he snorted.  “I was trying to be sophisticated, but it’s swill.  Serves me right, huh?”

“I guess,” you shrugged, “I can’t blame you for trying.  Everybody here’s pretty uppity.”

“I hope no one’s made you feel out of place or anything,” he offered, putting his hands out slightly in a gesture of concern.  “We wouldn’t want to discriminate against you just for being a poor vagabond from Christie’s.”

You laughed again, harder, and rolled your eyes.  “Oh, really?  I’m some kind of charity case?”

“Yeah, 20 Rock?  That’s basically the inner city,” he joked.  “Hey, did you ever go skating on that big rink?”

“No,” you admitted, “it feels like a waste that I didn’t— I saw people out there every winter.”

“You could still go,” he noticed.

“It would be even weirder now that I don’t work there,” you shrugged, “and besides, it’s just ice skating— expensive ice skating.  I can fall on my ass whenever I want for free.”

He smiled and nodded in agreement.  “I should probably do more ‘New York’ things, you know.  I’ve been here— gosh, over ten years?  I don’t actually do any of the stuff I’m supposed to, except some of the museums.”

“The museums are really excellent,” you agreed.

“Of course, you’re the art nerd,” he remembered.  “Sorry— expert.”

You scoffed.  “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Do you own a lot yourself?” he wondered.  “Do you get a good price on stuff, or do you have to save all the best ones for clients?”

“I don’t have a ton, but I have plenty of pieces I’m proud of, yeah,” you answered, “but I focus on new and upcoming artists, I don’t have any masterworks.  Every once in a while I would buy something from an artist we chose not to sign, out of pity.”

Harris laughed, and you let yourself use the moment that his eyes were closed to take a closer look at him.  He really was attractive in the most specific way, and his flirty attitude didn’t help either— but you had no idea how flirty he could really be until the conversation continued.  

“Do you own anything?” you asked.  “You must, with your eye for design.  Unless you’re one of those people who gets those massive, mostly-blank interpretive paintings just to fill a wall.”

“You mean like in hotels?  God, no,” he grimaced.  “I have a few pieces, yes  Actually, I’ve got this one painting at my place that I’ve been meaning to have someone take a look at,” he said after he finished a thoughtful sip of his whiskey.

“For what purpose?” you wondered, though you could already tell he was asking you for a favor.  What kind of favor, though, was still up to interpretation.

He gave you a look of faux confusion.  “It’s a painting— you can’t do much else with it once it’s hung.”  You laughed, and he looked a little proud of himself before giving a real answer.  “I’m sure it’s worth something, but I don’t know how much.”

“Shouldn’t you have gotten your valuation from Sotheby’s upon purchase?” you asked with a smirk.  “We’re always telling people about how great that is.”

“Well,” he started with a mischievous look, leaning in closer to you with his elbows on the table, “don’t tell— but I didn’t get it at Sotheby’s,” he admitted in a whisper, making you laugh and raise your eyebrows.

“Oh!  Naughty naughty,” you scolded playfully, noticing right away the way his eyes darted down to your lips for a moment.  “Where’d you get it, then?”

“If you can believe it— Christie’s,” he laughed, and your eyes got even wider.  

“Fuck off!” you yelped, probably a little too loud.  “No way— I didn’t see you around or anything!”

He shrugged.  “Maybe you did, and just forgot.”

Your heart already raced before you even said it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.  “I would’ve remembered you,” you replied, lowering your voice; you saw his expression change, if subtly, and you bit your lip for just a moment before you caught yourself.

Just when you wondered if he would come any closer, he straightened himself up with a little groan and sigh.  “Actually,” he began, “it was my ex that bought it.  I ended up keeping it in the divorce, not that I specifically wanted it— I think, for her, it was too many memories… or something like that.”

You nodded, not totally sure what to say.  Thankfully, he spoke again before you.

“Say what you will about her, she has good taste,” he chuckled a bit.  “It’s a nice piece, but all the paperwork is long gone.”

“Well, if you bring it to the office and get it insured with us, I can guarantee the best estimate and a formal appraisal,” you explained, “but if you don’t mind just a ballpark…”

“I don’t need specifics,” he agreed, “I mostly just want to know if I’m sitting on something really special and don’t even know it.”

Mostly I just want an excuse for you to come to my place, is what you heard him say— not that it bothered you.  “Well… I’m free tonight,” you told him, trying not to look up at him expectantly, but you couldn’t help it; you were too anxious for his response.  Thankfully, you got a small smirk and a knowing glance.

“No time like the present, eh?”

~

Both of you pretended this was still something it had stopped being before you even left the bar, even if there was a sort of undertone to everything.  Even the coworkers who realized you were leaving together seemed to pick up on something, and you hoped silently that they wouldn’t make too many assumptions.

Even you had to resist the urge to make assumptions.  You weren’t sure what was going to happen, if anything— nor did you have a clue if he was going to consider anything that might or might not happen a path to dating or just hooking up or… something else?  If there are even other options…

After all, the cab ride was only small talk, nothing too forward; maybe the offer of a glass of wine when you got to his house was a little flirty, or maybe it was just polite, you couldn’t be sure.  You accepted the offer regardless, taking a glance around his house while he shuffled off to the kitchen (after hanging up your coat for you).

“It’s a gorgeous place,” you noticed, “and, of course, you’ve decorated it beautifully.”

“Oh, thanks,” he returned, voice raised slightly so you could hear him in the living room.  “Brownstones are so hard to get, you know— but it’s easier when you’re already in real estate.”

“Is this it?” you wondered, approaching a painting he had hung up on one of the walls— something modern, you couldn’t make out the signature, but it looked trendy and interpretive (if not quite as generic as those hotel paintings you’d mocked back at that bar).

“What?  Oh, that one,” he realized as he emerged with a glass of wine in each hand.  “No, my friend actually painted that, it was a gift.”

“Oh!  It’s fun,” you smiled, “you can tell your friend he’s talented.”

“I do,” he agreed as he handed you your glass, “but he doesn’t believe me.  Every six months he swears he’s quitting painting altogether— I can usually convince him to get back into it, but it can take a while.”

“Artists have to face a lot of negativity and rejection,” you hummed.  “I don’t envy them.  Most of the good ones won’t even be appreciated until they’re dead.”

On that morbid note, you paused to take a sip of the wine, which was overall pleasant but nothing too revolutionary.  There were wine experts at Sotheby’s who could probably say more than that, but you were obviously not one of them.  “Don’t tell Anton that,” Harris joked, “he would take it much too literally.”

“Dramatic artistic type, huh?” you assumed, seeing him tilt his head in reluctant agreement.  “I’m familiar— they can be fun, but exhausting, too.  And self-destructive.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he noticed, “let me guess: dumbass ex-boyfriend?”

“More than one, but yes,” you smiled snarkily.

“The painting I wanted to show you is in the dining room,” he finally informed you, gesturing for you to walk with him down the short hallway.

At first glance, you just noticed how well the color scheme of the painting blended with the decor of the dining room— there was a pale green, teal-ish accent to the whole place, but where the chairs and table were modern and minimalist, the painting was of a classic, Romantic style— Impressionistic, even.  You recognized first that it was beautiful, before even worrying about the potential value.

Approaching it, you let yourself get closer than most casual viewers do— looking for any damage or aging— as Harris waited behind you.

“It’s in great condition,” you noticed, “it’s not very old, is it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he agreed.  “Have you heard of the artist?”

“Ilyayev,” you read the signature.  “Yes, it rings a bell.  He’s not usually so subdued.”

“This is subdued?” he realized.  “I always thought it was a little loud.”

“It fits well in the room, though,” you decided, trailing off slightly as you tilted your head to examine it.  “And this is an original?”

“To my understanding.”

You nodded, using your free hand to hold a fist under your chin, as if that would help you discern anything.

“So?  What’s it worth?” he asked, but when you turned around to face him, he was standing a little closer than you realized— not too close, but… close.

“Well, that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” you noticed.  “Your kid could do a finger painting, and it could be priceless; a half-finished sketch is worthless until someone can prove it’s a Rembrandt.  So— what’s it worth to you?”

He pondered that as he finished his glass and set it down on the table, taking a step towards you.  “A lot less than it used to be,” he decided.

“If you’re desperate, I can probably get you five or ten for it— maybe a touch more if I’m willing to call some old contacts at Christie’s and pull your original valuation.”

“I’m not desperate,” he replied, something a little too suave about his tone.

A moment passed, in which something in you— potentially the red wine— told you to stop pretending this was a normal stop by someone’s house to roughly estimate the value of their painting: if the way he’d looked at you when he said what he just said was anything to go by, he was on the verge of acknowledging what this really was.

And if he was going to, then so would you.  You set your glass down on the table.

“You ever heard the saying, don’t shit where you eat?” you asked, making him laugh a little and tilt his head in a sort of relenting expression.

“Yes, I think I’ve heard that before,” he replied.

“I try to live by that,” you explained— and even though his reaction indicated that he knew what it meant, he played dumb with a raise of one brow.

“What do you think it means?” he pressed, speaking softly and slowly.  “In this context.”

You took a moment to respond, mostly because you realized he was moving closer to you, his glass set down next to yours on his way.  “Well, I think it means that… if you keep things separate…” you began, lowering your voice as he stepped up to you, “then you can avoid—”

“Contracting e. coli?” he finished for you, making you smile and glance to the side— mostly because, if you didn’t, you’d have to either stare straight forward at his chest, or look up to meet his gaze. 

“I was going to say complications,” you finished instead.

“Right,” he nodded slowly in agreement.  “And you like to keep things simple, don’t you?”

“When I can,” you agreed, but your breath caught a little when his hand rested gently on your hip, fingers tracing gentle and lazy shapes through the fabric of your dress.

Then, finally, you dared to look up at him through your lashes; his gaze was low and watching where his hand was touching you, but it darted up to your own eyes— then your lips.  Fuck.  You weren’t strong enough to think clearly, even if you knew you should reach up and gently push him back; tell him that you were flattered, but that this wasn’t a good idea.

“Well, I think this is pretty simple,” he decided.  

“Oh?” you pressed, smirking slightly.

“Yeah,” he breathed.  “I find you… very attractive,” he said simply, making you swallow a bit, “and I’d really like to take you out sometime.”

You raised an eyebrow.  “Is that all?”

He smiled a little, shaking his head.  “I was trying to be polite.”

But his hand pressed flat against you and snaked around to your lower back, keeping you close; what was the point of mincing his words if he was going to be so forward with his movements?

“But no, that’s not all I want from you,” he added— his eyes were a little darker and you felt paralyzed by them, though you also didn’t really mind it.

You’d been wondering if you could get him to say it; but he did you one better, his free hand cradling the back of your head so he could kiss you.  It wasn’t too hasty or rushed, but hardly a peck either; only a moment after he’d pressed his lips to yours, you felt his tongue gently guide your mouth to open for him.

He leaned over you even more, pressed against you even more, forced your head to tilt back even more— and you hummed against him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck.

It was mostly pretty relaxed at first— no rush to go further, just a chance to enjoy this moment— and you felt like it had been far too long since somebody kissed you like this.  (Or at all, but that was another issue.)  But something definitely changed, if subtly, when you reached up to run your fingers through his hair.

You didn’t mean anything by it, specifically, you just kinda thought he had nice hair from the start and you finally had an appropriate time to get away with it; he responded with a low groan and a tighter grip on your waist.  It all got a little more intense after that— your head tilted more and he reached down to get a handful of your ass through the dress which, yes, was a bit unclassy but you were not complaining.  In fact, you just gasped against him and rocked your hips forward against his thigh.

And then, just to be a little shit, he bit your lip: not, you know, too hard or anything, but it startled you.  You tugged on his hair, mostly out of instinct, and then all pretense and patience was out the window.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, and you whimpered as his hand slid up your back, tracing the zipper of your dress— he wasn’t really about to take it off now, right?  Not that you would stop him.

“I want you,” you blurted out, not really even capable of filtering the pathway from your brain to your mouth anymore, and you just felt him nod as he started to guide you backward.

See, the whole push you against the wall idea was great in theory— it really was hot, like something out of a steamy movie scene— but it was just a little too hard.  You were fine with it, actually, but as soon as your back collided with the wall while he pressed himself against you, that damn painting broke off its hook and clattered to the ground.

You both turned to look at it, startled by the loud noise, and watched as it balanced on its side for just a moment before falling face down onto the dining room floor.  Apparently you had some instincts that could override the one that had been running the show just now: you tried to go for it, your inner art preservation expert couldn’t stand to see something flat on the ground like that— you needed to at least check that the frame wasn’t damaged—

But as you reached for it, he smiled and gently guided you back towards him.  “It’s fine,” he promised.

“But—”

“It’s fine,” he said again, a little darker, pinning you back by your shoulders— gently, but the message was clear.  You looked at him shyly, feeling slightly more self-conscious about all this than you had just a moment ago.  It was different without that haziness in your brain; but god, it was almost better when he kissed you again, neither of you quite as drunk on the moment.  You had to admit to yourself, again, how badly you wanted this even knowing it was misguided at best.

And then his lips moved to your neck, making you whine a little and grab onto his shoulders.  “F-fuck,” you gasped, feeling his lips and teeth tease all along your pulse.

“You’re sensitive here,” he noticed with a small laugh.  “Are you trying to rub yourself on my thigh?”

You hadn’t even noticed— but yes, your hips were rocking forward in search of some friction all of their own accord.  And the gentle condescension of his voice only made you more desperate, honestly.

Irritated by how composed he seemed to be while you were totally losing your mind, you impulsively reached forward and rubbed your hand over his pants— and it wasn’t too hard, no pun intended, to find what you were looking for.

You smirked to yourself when his own hips jerked towards you just a bit, a small sigh falling from his lips; not quite so cocky now, hm?

But you weren’t doing much better, not when you felt how thick he was, not when you could see the outline of him in the slacks.  “Fuckin’ big,” you mumbled without really questioning it, hardly even noticing you said it out loud, and he grinned with a breathless laugh.

“You think so?” he encouraged, not exactly pulling off the humble act.

“Yeah, fuck,” you sighed, instantly getting to work on his belt.

“Shit, okay,” he laughed, “I guess we’re really gonna— oh, fuck.”

You’d managed to open his fly enough to reach inside and wrap your fingers around him, feeling him get harder in your grip.  

He purred and kissed you again, hungry but slow.  You couldn’t really stroke him at this angle, but you ran your fingertips along the shape of him and smiled when you felt him shiver.  “C’mon, not here,” he decided as he pulled back slightly.  “Let’s go to the bedroom.” 

Taking your hand out of his trousers, you let him guide you there.  As he stepped into the room with you just behind, he flipped on a lamp in the corner that lit the room with a dim golden glow— the curtains were drawn so only a few slivers of reflected city lights could peek in.  You were thankful for the darkness, actually, as you would’ve found this a bit awkward in harsh, direct lighting.  The room had a sensualness to it that matched him perfectly; you kicked off your flats quickly as you stepped in.

He sat on the corner of the bed, taking your hand and gently pulling you towards him, looking at you with a kind but expectant smile.  “C’mere,” he mumbled under his breath, reaching up to trace your silhouette lightly.  He had a delicateness and carefulness to everything he did, but you weren’t feeling quite so patient.

You quickly went to your knees in front of him, thankful for the plush carpet as you started to tug his pants down.

He laughed a little.  “You really wanna—?”

“Yeah,” you answered quickly, licking your lips as his cock bounced free and curved up to his stomach.  You weren’t sure why but you just needed to do this to him— you already decided it, didn’t feel like being polite and, you know, asking.  Thankfully, the way he ran his hands over his hair was obviously encouraging, it seemed like he was more than happy to let you go ahead.

As soon as you had the chance to get your hands around it again, your mouth was around the head, and he groaned lowly above you.  “Fuck,” he breathed, and you hummed as you swirled your tongue around him.

Maybe it was hasty, but you started to bob your head and move your hand along with it, finding the pace that made his hand tighten to a fist in your hair and doing your best to stay steady there.  The size of him was a bit of a challenge, you couldn’t go that far down yet and your jaw was already a little sore from being open so wide, but that didn’t faze you in the slightest.  If anything it just gave you a challenge to work towards, patiently taking just a little more with each stroke, tasting whatever your tongue could reach in the meantime.

When you gagged as the tip brushed against your throat, he purred a bit; it was obvious his ego got a boost from that, which was a little concerning since he was already plenty cocky enough.

Maybe you were trying to humble him a bit by stopping, pulling your mouth off and moving your hand out of the way so you could give him one long lick: starting all the way at one of his tightened balls and going up to the very tip, tickling the opening there for a second.  He shuddered, his cock flexing up as if trying to get back into your mouth, and then he started to laugh breathlessly.

“Fuck, you’re…” he began, then shook his head.  “I’m really glad you came over tonight.”

You laughed a little, too, because that seemed like a weird thing to say at a time like this— but, you also agreed with him.

The hand on your head moved back and brushed over the back of your neck as he found the zipper of your dress; he leaned over you to lower it slowly, opening it all the way to the bottom.  “Stand up,” he requested softly, and as you did, his hands grabbed the hem and pulled it to the floor, letting the garment circle your feet.  He hummed a bit as he admired you in your bra and underwear— you would’ve picked nicer ones if you’d known this was happening tonight, but if you’d known this was happening tonight, you would’ve missed out on all this sexy spontaneous energy.  At least your panties had a bit of lace around the hips and were free of old period stains… that was a win in your book.

Regardless of if they weren’t your fanciest, Harrison seemed perfectly happy with the sight of you like this.  His hands rubbed your thighs gently, and he leaned forward to plant a few soft kisses to your hip and lower stomach.  He looked up at you, and his expression was inherently pleading and pathetic from this angle, but it was obvious that he was still totally in control.

“Fuck,” he whispered yet again, his breath tickling your skin, “so pretty.”

He carefully pulled the panties down, and never broke his eyes away from you as he did it; you felt slightly nervous from being so exposed like that, but his reverent sigh kept you from feeling insecure.

“God, you’re perfect,” he decided.

“N-no, definitely not,” you chuckled awkwardly, stepping out of the underwear and adding them to the pile with your dress.

“You are,” he insisted, “come here.”

He guided you to straddle his lap, still looking up at you but from much closer now.  For some reason you were expecting him to say something else, so it was a bit of a shock— in a good way— when he guided your hips and lowered you down onto his cock.  You gasped from the suddenness and the stretch, then whimpered as his lips found your neck.

“Oh my god,” he breathed before he’d even finished filling you, “you’re so fucking wet…”

When you were completely seated on his thighs, a shiver ran up your back: it was deep, a little deeper than you bargained for, and you had to take a shaky breath to try to adjust to it.  One hand stayed at your side but another moved down to pet your thigh soothingly— he must’ve been able to tell you were struggling a little.

“Take your time,” he encouraged sweetly, “I’ve got you.”

Both of you exhaled deeply when you lifted yourself up slightly just to drop down again; he pulled you down to bury himself as deep in you as he could go, and a quiet yelp jumped from your throat.

He wasn’t holding you tight enough to keep you from moving, but he kept a strong grip on you as you started to carefully set your pace.  You whimpered when the motion made your clit rub against him.  “Feels good?” he asked, sweet with a hint of smugness.

“Yeah,” you breathed, dropping your head onto his shoulder.  “Fuck, yeah, feels good…”

He started to unbutton his shirt, and you tried to help him, but your shaky fingers weren’t going to do much; you could at least help him get the undershirt off, which you pulled almost too eagerly off his head before kissing him again.

He hummed proudly as you rocked your hips a bit further— not faster, yet.  The stretch was still making your toes curl, he could probably see that when you broke the kiss.  But the slight sting only served to increase the pleasure, and the pleasure helped your body relax to take him more easily.  Soon, you felt that energy building within you, that ache for something more: you rocked your hips faster, chasing after your mounting pleasure.

You moaned louder, tangling some fingers into his hair.  

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your skin, lips brushing against your clavicle and hands running up your back encouragingly.  “Fuck, that’s so good— baby—”

You whimpered and held tighter to his shoulders, gasping into the crook of his neck, increasing the speed of your motions yet again.  Those hands on your back started to work on your bra’s clasp— you had barely noticed you were still wearing it, clearly you’d been sidetracked— and helped you slip it off your shoulders.  Of course you expected him to grab your chest after that, maybe carefully pinch a nipple between his finger and thumb, but the way he instantly latched his lips onto you caught you off guard in the best way.  “Oh!” you gasped, tossing your head back suddenly.  “Oh, fuck, Harris—”

He hummed proudly, his tongue flicking your bud inside the wet warmth of his mouth.  He broke away and kissed a path to the other: once, he bit you lightly, and you tensed up inside.

His grin was just diabolical then, and one of his hands gave your ass a smack to make you moan and flex again.  But then he got back to work, spoiling your other breast with licks and kisses and playful brushes of his teeth.  Your grip on his hair tightened, and you began to bounce more eagerly on his lap than ever.  

The friction of your clit against his skin was good, but it wasn’t quite enough— maybe he read your mind or something, because he looked up at you as he slipped one hand between your bodies and held his hand against your lower stomach.  He just pressed down at first, gently, but enough to feel his cock moving within you.  Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he lowered his thumb down to your clit and gave it some attention too.

“Ah, god,” you groaned deeply, shivering as his thumb drew circles on the bud.  He kept watching you intently, studying your face which surely revealed how wrecked you were already.  It didn’t take much of that to push you right to the edge— he didn’t have to be fast or hard about it, just consistent, to make you fall apart.  “I-I’m close,” you admitted with a gasp.

“Wanna see it,” he purred.  “Wanna see you come.  C’mon, baby, show me.”

You clenched your teeth together hard, summoning the physical strength to move as fast as you needed to, desperate to come for your own sake but happy to appease him as well.  His eyes on you were so overwhelming, his hand on you was too, but you loved it; it all came to him so naturally, like he already knew your body as well as his own.  It made you feel a little predictable, a little… silly, for lack of a better word.  Weirdly enough, you kinda liked that too.

As you finally reached your climax, all the energy in your body seeming to tighten up and center at one point, you worried your moans were loud enough to be heard in the adjoining houses.  But he was happier than ever, smiling widely at you as you were overcome with ecstatic sensations.

You wanted to stay in it forever, and it really felt like that as long as you kept moving it could just keep going and going and going… but sadly, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.  Your legs quivered and your hips faltered, and you were forced to slow to a stop as soreness and exhaustion caught up with you.  Damn, I need to get back in the gym, you thought to yourself for a second, before you blinked and found him still staring proudly at you. Or maybe I can just keep doing this for my workouts…

“You sound so pretty when you come,” he praised.  “Can you do it again?”

“Y-yeah, probably, but not… not like this,” you sighed, “too tired.”

“S’okay, honey,” he assured sweetly, holding you close and turning to quickly drop you on the bed.  You giggled a little as he hovered over you, but when he moved again, it all felt so different: he hit different places inside you, especially when he held your legs and pressed them forward to all but fold you in half.  

Your eyes rolled back when he gave his first thrust into you like that.  “Fuck,” you growled, hardly believing how your own voice sounded at that moment.  He chuckled proudly and did it again, really savoring the feeling and rolling his hips teasingly.

Turns out, your thigh and hip muscles might’ve been done for the night, your inner muscles were as happy as ever to flex and pulse with every drag of his cock against them.  “Fuckin’ tight,” he praised roughly.  “God, you feel so good.”

You whimpered a little, gripping the sheets under you.  He turned his face to kiss along your calf, beside your knee, basically anywhere on your leg he could reach— and you weren’t sure you’d ever felt so worshipped.  You whined properly then, and his fingers gripped tighter onto your thighs; him holding and positioning the body just how he wanted was so erotic and dominating, yet he used his power not to satisfy himself but to give you exactly what he knew you needed.  Clearly he was the generous type…

Truth be told, you weren’t a good judge of how much time passed during all that: the pleasure seemed endless, and you constantly lost yourself in the feeling until he shifted himself above you and sharply brought you back to reality with a punch of his hips.  “Oh, that’s it,” he praised, before even you had realized you were getting closer again.  “That’s it, baby, I can feel it—”

“Oh god,” you whined, fluttering your eyes shut.  “Yes!”

He growled through his teeth, moving your legs out of the way so he could press himself against you; you felt surrounded by him, filled by him…completely helpless to him, and it was wonderful.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding on as tight as you could as he pounded into you.  “I’m coming!” you shouted, and it came out all whiny and wimpy but you couldn’t do anything about that now: pleasure was crashing over you so hard you struggled to even breathe.  You definitely stopped breathing, for at least a few seconds, and your vision had little dots that flashed and twirled around like glitter or something.

Only when you let out the air you were holding did reality seem to catch up with you.  You felt yourself go a bit limp, you suddenly became aware again of the bed under you and the man above you and the pins and needles in your fingers and toes.  “So good,” he praised in your ringing ears, his pace having slowed down a bit to not overwhelm you, “you’re so good for me, huh?”

“Me? You’re good,” you returned with a thin laugh.  “You’re so— fuck, that was incredible.”

“Yeah?  Looked incredible,” he agreed, “felt incredible.  Feelin’ your little pussy squeeze me like that…”

You shivered at the lovely filthiness of his words.  

“Fuck, should I pull out?” he groaned roughly.  You shook your head quickly.  “Inside?”

You nodded, and you felt a small laugh fan against your neck.

“Really?  God, that’s so hot…”

As he trailed off, his thrusts became faster and more aggressive, forcing your back to arch up off the bed even when your body was totally spent.  He chanted curses with every breath, mumbled something about how good you felt— and then he shuddered and let out the loveliest shaky groan you could imagine.  

His grip on your thighs loosened, and you felt a new heat and wetness between your legs compared to before.  Slowly, he started to catch his breath, and you felt like the two of you were in the same half-dream together, soaking in the same afterglow.

When both of you were a bit more conscious, he sat up a bit; as sexy as getting filled with come, or filling with someone with come, can be… the after part can be a little unsexy.  But then again, maybe that’s true of all sex.

“Hold on, I, uh— I have some… tissues…” he mumbled with a rough voice, reaching over you to his nightstand and pulling some Kleenex from a box.

“Convenient,” you noticed, and you hadn’t meant it as an accusation, but he smiled with a hint of nervousness. 

“They’re, uh, not normally for this,” he assured as he brought the handful of tissues back with him, sitting up more instead of leaning over you.  “I really don’t do this kind of thing very often—”

“O-oh, I wasn’t—” you interrupted.  “I mean, it’s fine if you do.  Wait, do you mean you don’t have hook-ups often?  Or you don’t, uh, have to clean up creampies often?”

He laughed, dropping his head above you like he couldn’t believe you, but he seemed endeared by it anyway.  “Uh, neither,” he explained.  “So, this is a hook-up then?”

Now that you were on the other end of the personal questions, you felt a bit more awkward about it.  “Um, well…” you trailed off.

“‘Cause I was kinda hoping I could take you out to dinner sometime.”

“Right, yeah— I mean, you can,” you agreed.

“Maybe I should ask you again after I’ve cleaned you up a bit,” he noticed.  “You’ll be more impartial.”

“Sure,” you agreed with a little chuckle, and he leaned back to get a better look at where your bodies were still joined, as if assessing the damage.  

“Let’s see if I can…” he trailed off, mostly talking to himself as he tried to find the best angle to get the tissues under you before he pulled out and inevitably let the mess flow out of you.

“It’s kinda like Indiana Jones,” you blurted out, and he gave you a quizzical look.  “You know, like, with the golden idol and the sand bag… you gotta get the dick out and then catch everything with the tissues…”

After a short silence, he laughed and shook his head a bit.  “Indiana Jones,” he repeated.  “You’re a trip.  I love it.”

He seemed to get more serious again for a second as he did it— pulling back and quickly using the tissues to gently wipe up the trail of come that leaked from your opening— but then he started to laugh softly again.  

“I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head,” he announced.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he soothed.  “I mean, I guess being compared to Indiana Jones in bed is pretty much always a good thing.”

You laughed a little, too, and his eyes widened as he pressed the tissues up to you again; apparently your laugh had pushed a little more out.

“Okay, I think that’s as good as that’s gonna get for now,” he decided as he laid down beside you on the bed, turned onto his side to look at you with a smile.  He laid his hand on your waist, stroking your flushed skin with his thumb.  “You are… really incredible.”

You wanted to refute the compliment, but you knew he wouldn’t let you; “Thanks,” you mumbled nervously.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Do you even need to ask?” you scoffed.  “I haven’t come that hard in… I don’t even know.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he smirked.  “Can I get you some water?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you agreed with a nod, and he sat up to slip off the bed— not too fast, you noticed, indicating he was feeling some of that tiredness you were.

Finding his boxers discarded near the bed, he slipped them back on and crossed the room, smiling at you one more time before disappearing out of the doorway.

You took the moment alone to process all that had just happened, as best you could at least.  You sort of knew what you were getting yourself into by coming over to Harris’ place, but you couldn’t have predicted this: how forward and aggressive yet sensual he was, how amazing he would make you feel.  And then that it wouldn’t just be one night but, apparently, something he wanted to continue… you were smiling to yourself, without even realizing.  Of course you shouldn’t be hooking up with— or dating— or whatever— somebody from your work… but aren’t all the most fun decisions also the riskiest ones?

When he came back with a bottle of Evian, your eyes widened.  “Woah, woah, I thought you were just gonna use the tap,” you chuckled, “this is too much.”

“Oh, it’s the least you deserve,” he grinned, sitting next to you on the bed and handing it to you as you sat up a bit.

“So is the quality of the water proportionally to the quality of the sex?” you asked before taking your first sip.

“Totally,” he joked.  “Dasani for the truly mediocre encounters.”

You snorted before drinking more from the bottle and setting it aside on the nightstand.  “Sorry about your painting, by the way,” you mumbled.  “It’s… probably worth less now that it fell on its face.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged.  “I think I’ve got something more valuable in front of me now.”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

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Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Caleb

continue ↣

[alexiroflife]

how jjk men would react if they found out you sh…

Warning(s): cw//self harm, graphic depictions, mentions of depression, anxiety, sensitive content, angst/comfort

-> if you or anyone you know is struggling with self-harm, suicidal thoughts, depression, etc., know that you aren’t alone. as someone who used to struggle with these things myself, i understand how difficult it can be, but know that you are strong and you are loved. and thank you for the ask, this is a very important topic and i appreciate the vulnerability of the request. sending all the possible love in the world to all of you.

gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna

satoru gojo: satoru has an incredible sense of sight, thanks to his gift of the six eyes, as well as very keen observation skills. he picks up on little habits you harbor very quickly during the beginning of your relationship. you always choose to wear long-sleeved clothing, even when it’s warm, and you tug at your sleeves as though you are desperately trying to conceal a certain part of yourself from the outside world, from him. he doesn’t understand why at first. the thought crosses his mind that you just aren’t comfortable in sleeveless clothing, but you’ve shown him pictures of yourself from a decade ago when you’d wear variations of different tank tops, short sleeves, and more. he doesn’t understand what changed somewhere along the line. perhaps your sense of style has shifted? maybe you don't like your arms? (he can't understand how because he finds them to be the most gorgeous arms he's ever seen).

but no, something is nagging at him in the back of his head, churning the contents of his gut as though there is something he needs to know, to see that you were hiding, and when the moment unveiled itself, he instantly saw. 

you’re in your kitchen while satoru watches you from the other side of the island, leaning over and gazing at your movements with a soft smile. his blue eyes scattered across your body, admiring you while simultaneously searching for any clue, any answer to his hovering questions.

“where’d i put the containers,” you murmur to yourself in the midst of making lunch for the week, moving about your space rather slowly. 

satoru offers his own help, pointing a slender finger over to the space above your head. “did you check that cabinet?” he asks.

you turn over your shoulder and quirk your brow. “oh, do you live here now? suddenly know where everything is?” you ask playfully, a small smile rising to your lips as satoru chuckles. 

“not yet,” he winks. “but i sure am working on it, though. you know i have to make myself familiar with the space in case we share it someday.”

“is that so?”

“or, of that doesn't work out you could always live with me. i’d love to have you.”

“we’ve been together for three weeks, satoru.”

“yeah, but what does that matter when it comes to loveeee,” he pouts and you giggle, shaking your head as you turn back to reach for the cabinet. you stand on your tiptoes and reach out, sleeve of your sweet draping down to your elbow.

satoru is quick to his feet to help you, though you’re more than capable, when he catches the sight of what looks like a scar streaking over the inside of your wrist. his face falls and his brows angle, marching over to you quickly with a look of urgency on his face.

you don’t register how fast he is moving until you feel him behind you. you turn and look up, caught off guard by the way his eyes had hardened and his pupils shrank. your hand stalls on the cabinet handle, the scars on your arm completely slipping your mind momentarily.

“satoru? you okay?”

he doesn’t answer, grasping your wrist in his hand gently and pulling it down from above you. your eyes flicker up to the movement, and when you realize what is happening, your heart sinks. your eyes go wide and you try to tug your arm away, but satoru’s grip tightens slightly, extending your arm by your wrist to display the inside of your forearm before him. 

he thinks his vision is blurring over, his heart ringing in his ears, his breaths quickening as his eyes detail over the row of rigid scars lining from your inner elbow up to your wrist. his world collapses around him, lips stretching into a disbelieving grimace as his wild eyes survey the damage. some of those scars look newer than others, scabbing over with specs of purple, while the others are far older. 

you panic, trying to tug away again, but satoru’s grip on you is too secure. a lump forms in your throat as you search for things to say, anything to say that could take your boyfriend’s attention away, that could excuse the sight before him as something else. “s-satoru, wait-” you stammer, your voice weaker than you had intended it to be. 

satoru looks like he can’t hear you, nose flaring as he stares, and stares, and stares, and suddenly, your vulnerability is bare naked before him, on display for him to judge, to belittle, to curl his brows at and determine as pathetic and weak. you can feel yourself about to cry already, shaken by this sudden attention.

“satoru,” you whisper, arm trembling within his grasp.

“what is this?” he breathes out so quietly, his voice betraying himself and hardly reaching over a brush through the wind. when you do not answer, those pained eyes are on you, tormented by the sight he has just witnessed. “(y/n), what is this?”

you feel small, avoiding his eyes and looking all over the floor. “i- it’s nothing,” you murmur.

“nothing?” he repeats, as though he has been burned by your response. the white haired man quickly seeks out your other wrist, reaching down to your other side as you try to turn away, but he, of course, manages to seize it and extend it like your other arm and roll up that sleeve. the same row of scars litter your beautiful skin.

satoru’s a mess, frightened, confused, devastated. this is what you had been hiding from him all this time? “this isn’t fucking nothing, (y/n), they’re all over you! what did you do?”

you still can’t respond, you can’t muster up an excuse, you can’t do anything. satoru’s concern is far too overbearing, his gaze too intense, and his hold on you too secure. it feels like he has you laid out on a slab before him, stripped of your clothes as he examines your body with contempt.

he’s disgusted. he’s ashamed, you think. 

amid his grief, he catches the terrified look in your eye, your lips tugged downward as if to prevent yourself from crying. you look so scared.

how could he have not seen this sooner, that you’re hurting? that you’re hurting yourself? 

“baby, what did you do?” he repeats, softer this time as he leans down to look at you, your body trembling in his hold. his thumbs graze your inflamed skin, hesitant to touch you for fear that you may break.

“please don’t,” you breathe out in a huff, voice wobbling as you scrunch your eyes closed. “please, don’t look. just forget you saw it, please.”

“forget i-?” satoru has to stop himself from lashing out poorly, from allowing his emotions to overcome him in what he understands is clearly your moment of need. “how could you ask me to do something like that? (y/n), your arms, baby!”

“satoru, please-” you shake your head. you want to shrink away, to hide, to vanish into thin air. “i don’t wanna talk about it. please.”

“(y/n),” he exhales, closing his eyes to gather himself. “(y/n),” he repeats softly, hands releasing your wrists slowly and sliding up your arms to delicately hold your shoulders. “we can’t not talk about this. you have to tell me what’s been going on. you have to, baby, you have to understand how scared I am right now. help me understand. let me help you, let me take on whatever burden you’re carrying, please, I’ll do anything as long as it means you’re not hurting yourself.”

his hands move to your neck, cupping over the skin as he ducks his head down to look at you more clearly. 

“i can’t stand the thought that you’ve been- and i haven’t-” satoru was stumbling now, throat straining as the urge to cry rose. “why didn’t you come to me? i’m right here for you, (y/n), i always have been. why didn’t you tell me?”

“...it’s embarrassing,” you manage to say, your voice fragile, on the verge of breaking. you can feel your boyfriend’s eyes peering into you even with your own eyes closed. “didn’t want you to see… I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

satoru’s heart is breaking for you, hurt that you could even think of yourself as a burden to him. “have i- have i done or said anything to you to make you feel that way?” he asks genuinely, and you cringe, turning your head to the side to open your eyes.

“no, of course not.”

“then why would you think that, baby?”

you shrug helplessly, tears welling into your eyes. satoru sees you, all of you, his heart thrumming to capture the pain you feel and to lift it from your chest, to help you breathe even just a little bit. he releases a weighted sigh, one of sadness, of love, of heartache for you, and he’s pulling you into him as your arms dangle limply at your sides. 

you scrunch your eyes and immediately break down into him, sobbing into his shirt as his warm hands wash over your frame and cradle your head to him, the muscles in his face tight with anguish. he holds onto you like he’s horrified that you will fade away within his arms. 

“i’m just so tired, toru,” you cry into his chest, dampening the fabric of his shirt. “i’m sorry.”

satoru doesn’t respond, afraid that if he speaks, he’ll end up crying too. you’re his girl, his beautiful, loving girl, and the fact that you have done such harm to yourself is incomprehensible to him. if you love him so, how can you hate yourself enough to have done this?

“how long?” is all he can ask you, breath heaving into your hair and ear. you hesitate, for he already seems so wounded by his discovery. “tell me.”

“...two years…”

he’s crushed. how did he not see sooner? how could he have been so blind after having bragged about being able to see everything so clearly? how could he have left you like this?

he holds you tighter, digging his head into the crook of your neck and hunching over, your eyes now seeing over the curve of his broad shoulder. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes to you in turn, fingers curling into your hair as he holds your scalp. “i'm sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

you’re confused as to why he’s apologizing to you since the entire thing is your fault. satoru has a tendency to take on your emotions, piling them onto his own weight of carrying the title of the strongest. you never understood why he did so naturally and willingly, and why even now as you stood limply in his arms, he’s crying for the things you did to yourself.

he pulls away with shiny red eyes, gazing down into your shiny red eyes and tear stained cheeks. you’re so beautiful, he thinks. he hates that such beauty has been suffering in so much silence.

“(y/n), I love you more than anything in this goddamn world. please don’t- don’t keep doing this to yourself. if you’re hurting, come to me. hurt me if you have to lash out, but don’t hurt yourself beautiful.”

“i would never even think of hurting you, satoru.”

“then don’t think of doing it to yourself,” he says firmly, and you press your lips together. 

“…i-i don’t know how to… to stop,” you mumble, and he’s taking your hands in his and kissing them gently.

“i’ll help you. we can get you help, baby, I promise. just promise me, please,” he begs you, holding your hands close to his heart. “you come to me when you feel like doing that, okay? you come to me. and I’ll do whatever I can. let me help you. let me be there for you. i won’t let you push me out, (y/n).”

you're crying again, tears streaking over your face as satoru’s love captures you within his words, within his warmth as he forces you to understand that you are not alone, and never will be. 

satoru kisses your hands again. his lips reach your cheek, and his hand comes to tuck your head into his shoulder again, holding you and telling you that you have him to go to when your world grows dark.

geto suguru: if suguru could sum you up into one word, he would say that you're his universe.

everything in his life he does for the sake of you and his girls, for the sake of keeping you safe and making you happy. your happiness and your comfortability are the only things that suguru prioritizes above all else, making them his very goal to serve each and every day.

suguru's not the most stable, you know that and he knows that himself. he has his off days, where he falls quiet and the world around him numbs itself and the noise becomes a muffle in his ears until you step into view, giving him a smile and wrapping his big frame up in your small arms, your voice whispering to him and breaking through the fog. you're his sanctuary. you're his safe place, and he loves you so much. he owes his entire life to you, therefore ensuring that you feel just as loved as you make him feel is very important to him.

so when he catches sight of the scars on your stomach one day by accident, when you lift up mimiko to sit on your shoulder as nanako jumps up for you to pick her up to, and her shoe kicks up your shirt from your waist momentarily, suguru freezes.

are you hurt? did someone do this to you? did you do this to yourself?

countless thoughts are racing through suguru's mind as he stares at you in a daze, watching you laugh so joyfully along with the girls as though no trouble plagues you.

but there is. you've just been hiding it. hiding it far too well.

his mind is elsewhere for the rest of the day, unsure of if he had been imagining things or not. he knows you so well, or at least he thinks he does. how have you been hiding those marks littering your lower abdomen? how had he missed them?

he thinks back to the moments you two were intimate and recalls that you never wanted to remove the tanktop you wore or let him kiss further than your ribs. he recalls the days you all went to the beach and you kept a white shirt over your swimsuit or elected to wear a onepiece. he recalls how quickly you change when he's with you, your back turned to him as you rush to throw something on over your upper body.

the signs... they're all there. you've been hiding yourself from him, but why? what have you been doing? have you truly been harming yourself, or is that thought a trick of suguru's worst fears?

he tries to keep himself calm around you and the girls for the remainder of the day until they are put to sleep and the two of you are alone again.

you sit on the edge of your shared bed, rubbing lotion over your arms with your back facing suguru again. he watches you carefully, back resting against the headboards and hazel eyes trained on your figure as though you aren't real.

he waits for the proper moment, waiting for you to crawl up and curl under his side, his arm subconsciously wrapping over your waist as your head lays on his chest. he stares at the ceiling for a moment, thinking as weighty silence overcomes you, then he's cautiously speaking.

"(y/n)?"

the soft call of your name brings your head up to peer at him curiously, blinking innocently. he turns down to look at your face and his heart clenches. while he knows that he knows what he saw, he doesn't want to believe it. he doesn't want to think that you, such a selfless and caring person for him, would hurt yourself.

you hum up at him, wondering what he has called you for. you see the pensive look in his face, the subtle knit in his brow as he stares at you, gears in his head turning. "yeah sugu?" you say gently.

he doesn't want to ask, but he has to. he doesn't want the confirmation, but he needs to know.

"i want to ask you a question..." he says, and you grow slightly befuddled.

"...okay?" you start. "is it serious?"

"yeah, it is," he admits, and you suddenly grow nervous, immediately catching an idea of what this could be about. you don't like the look on his face, the way he appears so serious.

"...alright," you mumble, suddenly meek.

the black haired man stares for a few more moments, just looking at you, taking in your the features he feel so deeply in love with, the features that bring him comfort and peace. "i saw something earlier, when you were holding mimiko," he begins softly, thumb caressing your back to ease you into the conversation.

you feel your heart jolt anxiously, trying to keep a straight face so as to not give your nerves away, but knowing suguru, he could likely already tell that you're getting antsy.

you lift your head to look at him, hand resting over his chest, and his eyes follow you smoothly. his eyes are focused, lips in a firm line.

"your shirt lifted, and i saw your stomach. i saw some marks. a lot of them, actually," he says, and you still completely, like a deer caught in headlights. his hand presses gently into your back, trying to keep you present with him as his concerns grow worse when he sees you stiffen against him. he frowns, denial still taking hold of him. "(y/n), please tell me those aren't what i think they are," he sighs heavily.

you feel caught.

you knew that suguru would find out at some point or another, but that didn't make this moment any less horrifying for you. it's so quiet in your room, so isolating, no background noise of the girls giggling or the distant buzz of the tv to help weaken the intensity of this point in time. you feel like a spotlight is shining overhead, an audience awaiting eagerly for you to reveal your secrets to the crowd.

suguru sits up slightly, his calmness gradually shifting into terrified incredulity. your eyes are on his face but your gaze is elsewhere, far off. you look uncomfortable, stuck, and no explanation hits suguru's ears.

"(y/n)," he says your name again, looking desperately down at you. "tell me i'm wrong."

you wish you could, you really do, but you can't lie to suguru. he knows you too well, he loves you too much, and to lie to him would be like denying his understanding of who you are.

you feel your skin flush with shame and anxiety, heartbeat likely loud enough for your boyfriend to hear.

you worry. you worry about your boyfriend's judgment, for his reaction. is he going to be angry with you?

"hey," he snaps you out of your daze with the drag of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes as he stares at you helplessly. you look at him and frown, ashamed that you are the reason he looks so pained. "what's going on?"

the question comes out so delicately, it makes your heart break. a whisp of understanding blends into his tone with empathy, yet a crushing sense of sadness and guilt that overpowers the aforementioned emotions. you struggle to look him in his kind eyes, dreading his consolation that you feel you don't deserve.

"talk to me, (y/n)."

you chew angrily on the inside of your lip, looking down at your finger as you pick at his shirt. he watches your brows furl, an array of different feelings capturing your features. "i was gonna tell you about it..." you murmur, and suguru is floored.

"what?" he breathes out as though he has no more air. you wince, lowering your head. "you-" he pauses, mind jumping from one place to another. "you did that to yourself?"

"i'm sorry, i-" you can feel your throat growing tight. "i've been trying to-"

"to stop?" he tries to finish for you, grasping for any kind of explanation. he's devastated, not only because you've been harming yourself, but because you've been so busy looking after him and the girls that he hasn't noticed. you're the one who always comforts him, but while you've been doing that, you've been aching on the inside and trying to hide it.

you nod meekly when he concludes for you. "i just- i thought the feelings would go away, so i didn't say anything, but they're just getting worse and i don't know what to do anymore and i only feel better after i..."

"(y/n)," he stops you gently, his heart shattering upon listening to you ramble, spilling out the things you have been holding onto for what he assumes to have been so long. "you've been dealing with this all this time?"

"...it's on and off," you confess. "some days are better than others, but..."

suguru finds your words familiar, for he often finds himself in the exact same mindset; feeling functional and confident some days, and others, not so much, but you're the reason why he's able to handle his bad days, yet he hasn't been the same for you for as long as the two of you have been together.

he feels almost sick. he loves you to death. you're his everything, but you've been in pain, and he hasn't seen it.

the way he's looking at you now makes you feel guilty, remorseful, embarrassed. you know you should have told him, but you could never find the strength to. you had always been too scared. and the longer you self-harm, the less you are willing to admit to yourself and to your boyfriend that you have a problem.

you're shocked, though, when suguru's hands tighten over you and his face grows bitter, not with you but with himself. "how could i have been so stupid?" he grumbles, distraught. "and so selfish? all this time, you-"

"no, suguru, please, it's not your fault," you try to tell him.

"i should have seen, baby, i should have noticed something sooner. and all this time, instead you've been looking after me when i should have been looking after you."

"don't say that, suguru," you shift, looking sadly into his eyes. "it's my fault. i'm the one who did this, i'm the one who's to blame. i'm the stupid and selfish one, not you."

suguru's frown deepens, sad eyes looking over your face. you blame and belittle yourself just as easily as suguru does, and he can't stand it. he can't stand to see you like this, to be so aware of hurt before him. he wants, no, he needs to take all that pain away from you. he needs to exorcize it, rid your body of it, cast it away so that you can be happy from now until the rest of time. he needs you to be okay.

"i swear on my life, (y/n)," he begins firmly, eyes boring straight into yours, holding your cheek. "i will do everything in my power to get you through this. whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes, i will be here for you. you're not alone, you understand? you don't need to pretend for me. the girls love you- god i love you so fucking much, and i can't stomach to think of the times you've suffered in silence for my sake. i'm no good if you're no good, baby. i need to know these things, i need to be able to help you."

your nose twitches and your jaw clenches as you look into him, breathing growing unstable. suguru has always been so generous and so loving. he has a way with his words and how safe they make you feel even during your worst moments.

"but what if i can't do it, sugu?" you whisper, his thumb catching the tear that leaks from the corner of your eye. "what if i'm not strong enough to get better?"

"you are strong enough," he affirms confidently. "more than strong enough. and when you feel weak, lean on me. but you have to promise me something."

you nod slowly, mutely, keeping his gaze as he stares at you lovingly, wistfully.

"promise me you won't do it," his words come out as a quick, hasty breath. his brows curl further upward, his desperation plain on his pretty face. "promise me you'll let me know as soon as you want to, but don't hurt yourself again, (y/n). don't do it. i'm begging you. you don't deserve that pain."

though you are unsure if you can even make that promise to yourself, you force yourself to try. for suguru's sake. "okay," you mumble, and he sighs, kissing you softly and pulling you to his chest to whisper sweet nothings as his hands soothe over your stomach and your back.

nanami kento: you twist your fingers around each other as you sit in the living room while kento cooks in the kitchen. you're nervous, more nervous than you have been about anything in your entire life, but you know that you need to rip off this bandaid to approach your boyfriend about such a serious matter.

recently, you find yourself returning to the old habit that you believed to have been relinquished. you thought that you had gotten better, that the urge to self harm had completely gone away after having spent so much time in therapy trying to heal, but recently, you've been feeling down again, useless, angry with yourself. you didn't want to tell nanami at first because you didn't think that your current mood would go beyond feeling depressed, but now that you've started scratching away at your thighs and your arms again, you know that you need to let him know what's going on. you know that you can't go on like this anymore.

but you have no idea what to say.

nanami has been nothing but doting toward you, bringing you flowers every morning, making your meals, ensuring that you remember to schedule doctor's appointments or to keep yourself warm when it's cold out- the man's life revolves around your comfortability, and while you know he would be far more offended if you keep this to yourself, you're horrified to see his reaction when you tell him that you relapsed.

nanami is well aware of your past difficulties with your mental health, and he always tells you that if you are ever in a dark space again, he needs to know. even so, he hasn't been with you when you're like this. the two of you got together after the multiple therapy visits that helped you to shift mindsets, so now that you feel this way again, and while in a relationship with nanami no less, you feel petrified.

you don't even notice when he rounds the kitchen counter to make his way over to the dining table, setting down two plates of food. he looks over and catches the way you stare ahead blankly, lost in thought. you've been doing a lot of that lately and he wonders if something is wrong.

nevertheless, he knows that if something is bothering you, you'll tell him. "sweetheart, dinner's ready," he calls out, and you snap your head over to him, his voice bringing you out of your daze.

you stand wordlessly, movements somewhat robotic, as you slowly make your way over to the table. "thanks, ken," you say softly, lacking your usual energy, and at this point, your partner knows for certain that something is off.

he watches you carefully as you sit down, pushing in your seat for you and pecking your forehead before sitting down next to you. "tell me how your day was," he starts, brushing off his hands and reaching one out to rest one on your knee as he always did at the table. he's prying, you can tell, trying to learn if something that happened throughout the day affected your mood.

your heart is hammering loudly, your eyes stuck to the plate and unable to look up at him. "it was okay," you respond.

"just okay?" he questions and you nod slowly. "did something happen?"

you flicker your eyes up to his brown ones suddenly, caught off guard by the question. he sees the questioning in your eyes and replies accordingly.

"you seem to be a little off, this evening, that's all."

you hum, unsure of how to respond to his observation. you look away again, contemplating. just say it, you think. just tell him, just get it over with.

as you struggle against yourself, nanami only grows more concerned. you don't confirm or deny his comment, and the way you turn away has him wondering if he's done something to hurt you.

"did i do something wrong, darling?" he asks.

you furrow your brows and quickly shut down the idea. "no, no. not at all, ken. it's nothing you did."

"then... there is something troubling you?"

you stall a bit more now that you're on the spot, cursing the fact that kento is always so quick to pick up on the smallest changes in your demeanor.

"(y/n)?" he calls you when you don't answer.

"i have to tell you something," you say abruptly. you see nanami's brows raise ever so slightly, soft brown eyes looking over your face in an attempt to read the situation before you tell him anything. "it's... a lot. so i need you to just... bear with me. and please don't be mad."

nanami's brow twitches slightly as he looks at you, head tilting. he grabs the bottom of his chair and shuffles it closer to you, leaning over slightly and running his hand over where it resides on your knee.

"i could never be mad at you," he tells you earnestly, as though it's the most honest thing he's said in the world. "what's the matter, my love?"

god, he's so sweet to you it makes you physically ill that you have to break this news to him.

"...do you remember when we talked about... um..." your voice fades off, nanami's concentrated gaze only making you more nervous for what his reaction will be.

"take your time," he encourages you, and you only feel worse.

you return to chewing on the inside of your lip anxiously, picking at your shirt under the table. the blonde man beside you is ever so patient, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you verbalize them.

"...um...it's.... about what we talked about a while ago..."

"...and that would be regarding?"

"my... past."

nanami furrows his brows, still not quite understanding. "i apologize, honey, what about your past?"

just rip the bandaid. just rip the bandaid.

"my past with self-harming," you rush out, and the weighty silence that follows is enough to make you want to sink into the floor and let it swallow you whole.

you can feel his eyes burning into you, processing what you just told him, and all you can hear is the pound of your heart in your ears as his hand stills upon your knee.

nanami, on the other hand, is completely shocked by your revelation. while he understands that your relapsing has always been a very realistic possibility, he never wanted to entertain the idea that it could very much so happen- at least, not while he's around.

a sense of fear grips him. are you going to tell him that you relapsed? have you already hurt yourself? has he failed to be there when it happened??

"did you-" he doesn't know what he wants to ask, or how. he hates that he is already jumping to conclusions, but the way you are structuring this conversation with him only leads him to believe the worst. "what happened?"

your head hangs low and your fingers taut on your shirt, lips tightening as they press together. you can hear the disbelief in his voice already, and it breaks you.

"i relapsed."

the brown-eyed man clenches his jaw, falling completely silent once more to not react in a way that may worsen your state. you feel his hand tighten into a fist over top of your leg as he lowers his head, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and inhaling sharply. you feel like a child who is awaiting punishment as you look at his hunched state, a million questions of what he will do next running through your mind.

you hate to do this to him. nanami already has so much on his plate, you know this is the last thing he needs to be stressing over. you wish you could be okay for him. it's not his fault that your mind takes you to these places, and you don't want him to bear responsibility as though it is his doing. even so, you already know that he will because that's the type of man kento is. that's the type of boyfriend kento is.

you wait a few more moments in unbearable muteness. after what feels like forever, kento lifts his head again and rests his chin on his fist, elbow propped on his knee. he's looking to the side, deep in anguished thought. he no longer looks surprised, but rather guilty and frustrated. "when?" is the first thing he asks.

"yesterday," you answer dejectedly, and he almost jerks, his body twitching in reaction. "...are you mad?"

nanami looks at you and his hardened expression immediately softens into something melancholy. "no- no, of course not, (y/n), no," he shakes his head as if the notion is unfathomable, releasing his fist to cup your knee again more securely. "i will never be angry with you for what you're going through. never. no, i'm not mad."

you nod quickly, a meek sense of relief and sorrow taking over you, a weight heaving from your chest upon letting it out. "okay," you whimper.

"come here, my darling," he coaxes you softly, opening and grabbing your hand from under the table delicately to lead you to stand over him. his hand guides over the small of you're back once you're up, leading you to sit on his lap with your back pressed against the table and your legs dangling over one side of his chair.

he holds your forearms gently, looking up at you with sad, understanding eyes. "are you comfortable showing me?" he murmurs so intimately, easing you into his warm consolation.

you don't nod or answer him verbally. instead, you wordlessly roll up the sleeve of your sweater to reveal angry red scratch lines running up your inner forearm. nanami's lips curl in pain as though he can feel the sting of your scars, holding your arm gently for him to look over it.

the sight kills him, though he tries to keep his cool. this isn't about him, it's about you, but goodness, the image of the scars on your beautiful skin makes him hurt like no other pain he's experienced.

"is this all of it?" he asks you, and you shake your head.

"there's some on my thighs," you mutter, looking down.

he nods. "alright," he sighs. "alright."

"...i know you have so much on your plate already... i just-"

"don't. don't even," he stops you, eyes still roaming over your irritated skin. nanami usually commends himself for remaining collected in times of crisis, but he's desperately fighting a part of him that wants to yell out and cry for the sake of you.

he imagines you struggling with this on your own, long before he came into your life, and the thought makes him cringe to picture just how far this must have gotten. these scratches he is surveying now already look bad enough. were the other ones worse?

"(y/n), you know this isn't okay," he looks up at your face and sees how you are avoiding his eyes. you look so small compared to how you usually carry yourself, and it kills him. "to harm yourself like this... you can't treat yourself this way, darling, you know you can't."

"i know," you mumble. "i just had a moment, and now i'm scared that- that i'll go back to how things were."

"as long as i'm with you, you won't. i promise you that," nanami swears. "it was just this one time since you last?"

you nod. "yeah..."

"okay," he nods once more, convincing himself that this is something he can help stop before it gets any more out of hand. "why'd you do it this time, my love? what were you thinking that led you here? is there something i can do differently? is it work? is it a combination of things?"

"i wish it were that easy to explain, kento," you frown, glancing up at him helplessly. "but it's just... it's just a feeling i can't put into words. i can't pinpoint the source. i just... one minute i felt like i couldn't breathe, and the next i was..."

"okay," he repeats, letting you know that you no longer need to say anything more. you don't have to revisit it. he understands. he will take care of it. he'll help you. "okay, darling. how about this. i call off of work tomorrow and we can sit and talk about seeing a new therapist. then we can go out and do whatever you want. just for fun. does that sound okay with you?"

your nose flares and your lips tug to the side as you nod, truly not comprehending how you managed to find a man so patient with you. "yeah, that's good," you say softly, and nanami is at least relieved that you are willing to take further steps into a better direction.

"good," he whispers, rolling the sleeve of your sweater back down so that you no longer feel exposed or feel like you have to think any more about the things you did to yourself when you felt alone. "it's alright, my love. we'll get through it. you'll get past this just like you did last time," he encourages you, moving to caress your shoulder lovingly as you hold his gaze. "it's okay," he tells you again, and you nod weakly, leaning over to plop your head against his shoulder.

nanami holds you to him and exhales, food completely forgotten. his only priority now is to be there for you in the ways he could not before the two of you met.

"thank you for telling me."

choso kamo: choso worships the ground you walk on because he can not fathom a world without, nor the fact that you happened to stumble into his life on a whim. to imagine you hurt is the very worst thing that the man can think of, and the notion that you would hurt yourself is beyond his comprehension.

you aren't actively trying to hide any of your scars when he finds them. the scars are old, faded reminders of the pain that you used to endure and how you attempted to cope with it. while you are now six months free of self harming, the scars remain very present.

choso happens to catch sight of your scars when you are getting changed. he's sitting at the edge of your bed, face flushed, as he watches you blissfully change out of your pajamas and into clothes that you feel are best suited for a walk to the ice cream shop that choso has proposed. it's a bright sunday afternoon, and the brunette is eager to take advantage of the weather with the woman he holds close to his heart as well as his baby brother, who the two of you intend to meet at the store.

you're now dressed in nothing but a large white shirt and underwear, your legs bare as you strut around the space freely. choso's jade eyes follow you as you walk, completely obsessed with the way you move. he could watch you do the most mundane things for hours, which he truthfully tends to do anyway.

your back is to him before you round the bed, disappearing into the bathroom momentarily before coming back into the living room. choso's eyes still don't leave you, tracing over your face down your figure and finally to the front of your bare legs.

he falters, and his brows draw together when he catches dark marks littering over your inner thighs, only revealing themselves with the movement of your limbs as you walk.

the pale-skinned man grows confused and slightly concerned. he's never seen those marks on you before, and simultaneously, never on anyone else he knows either. he finds them to be a strange form of battle scars, especially due to the placement, the small size, and the sheer number of them. some of them take different shapes too, blurring together or over each other, while some stand out alone. they almost look like burns, but it's hard for choso to really tell.

you proceed about your business, searching through your drawer to pull out a skirt, when choso speaks up.

"love? what are those?" he asks curiously, perplexed.

you turn over your shoulder, shutting your drawer closed with your foot. "hm? what's what, cho?" you ask him, unsure of what he's referring.

choso, still slightly flustered by the vision of your half exposed body, nods his head into the direction of your lower legs. "those," he says again, and you look down, still lost.

you lift your foot momentarily, checking to see if something is stuck under or on top of it. you then survey the rest of your body, searching for something out of the ordinary. "uhhh," you trail off. "i'm not sure what you mean, baby. you're talking about my legs?"

you are far too desensitized to and familiar with the image of your scars to process that choso has never seen them before. the brunette, however, is unsatisfied, wanting an answer that you have yet to provide.

he leans forward, lifting his hand and pointing his finger directly to a patch of dark spots peeking out from your inner thighs. you follow his gaze, eyes landing on the culprits, and your shoulders drop in realization. "oh," you say shortly, choso retracting his hand.

he looks at you innocently, awaiting a response while you try to figure out how to explain this sight to him.

you don't want to worry him, but knowing choso, if you lead with the fact that these scars are there because you inflicted them onto yourself, he would have a heart attack, failing to find reason to your words.

even so, you know choso only wants to understand you as much as you desire to understand him. he wants to see the ugly parts as well as the beautiful parts of you that he is so drawn to, and if you hide it from him, that would only create a rift in your budding relationship that you aren't entirely too keen on creating.

you want him to know you, all of you, and these scars are as much of a part of you as the bones in your body and the blood pumping through your skin.

they're a sign of what you've been through, what you've overcome, and who you are now. they're important, and choso should know why they are there.

"that's a good question," you sigh, putting your skirt on the bed as you move to sit next to him at the edge of it. choso immediately turns to you, glancing over the marks shamelessly now that he has a better view of them.

"did someone do that to you?" is the first thought that crosses his mind, red drifting into his vision at the mere idea that someone has hurt you in such an intimate way.

"...no," you shake your head, lifting one leg up onto the bed, brushing his own, as the other dangles. "i put them there. a while ago," you explain honestly.

choso scrunches his brows tighter, eyes flickering up to your face then back down to try to identify what exactly the marks are. "what are they?" he repeats.

you exhale, puckering your lips as you prepare yourself for this difficult conversation. "they're burns, cho. from a match," you tell him.

now, the half-curse is incredibly confused. burn marks? on your lovely skin? in a place where only you could reach? put there by yourself?

you burned yourself?

"i don't understand," he frowns, shifting to face you better. "why would you..."

"i used to be in a really bad place, baby," you purse your lips, watching as his face contorts with consternation as he comes to understand that you purposefully harmed yourself.

"what do you mean? bad enough to do this to yourself?" he sounds mortified, his voice growing ragged the moment his tone picks up volume.

his pupils, moments ago blown pools of affection, are now shrunken dots of shock.

"don't look at me like that," you beg him, placing your hand over his own. his eyes snap to the sudden contact, then back to you with concern. "sometimes, when certain people are suffering from depression, or anxiety, or just overall bad thoughts and they feel like they have to... break out, or maybe punish themselves in a sense... they resort to hurting themselves."

choso gulps, lump forming in his throat as he listens to you with shaking eyes. "and that's what you did? you felt like you needed to punish yourself?"

"it's hard to explain to someone on the outside. i know it sounds... crazy, but it was the only way i knew how to cope with everything that i was dealing with."

"why didn't you come to me instead?" he immediately asks and you give him a sad, knowing look.

"because, we didn't know each other then, cho?"

"i don't care," he shakes his head, eyes keeping yours. "you should have found me."

the idea brings a hint of a smile to your lips, choso's sweetness warming your heart. "i didn't know who you were, baby, that would have been like begging a stranger for help."

"so?" he scoffs. "i loved you the moment i met you. it wouldn't have made any difference to me.

you sigh again, bringing your other hand to rest over top of your boyfriend's as you smile softly at him in an attempt to get him to calm down.

the panic is still written all over his face as he takes in your smile, the vision somehow only making him sadder. you're so gorgeous, inside and out, and that smile is only scratching the surface of your unending beauty.

to know now that your radiance was once outweighed by the torment in your mind encouraging you to harm yourself... well, it makes choso want to ball his eyes out. it makes him want to confront the physical manifestation of your past traumas and pummel it into the ground, bashing its head in for all the hurt that it has caused you.

"i ended up just fine, cho," you reassure him.

"why didn't you say anything before? were you trying to keep it from me?"

"no, baby, i just didn't think to tell you. i kinda forgot about them," you say, and that comment alone makes choso soften his features slightly.

"you forgot..." he recites your words. "does that mean you're better now?"

you hum in affirmation, smiling warmly. "it's been a while since i've hurt myself or done anything like that. i got through it. i'm okay now, these scars are just a permanent reminder of the past."

his frame sags slightly with relief, brows lifting as he looks over you with a blank expression. "i think i understand," he mumbles, looking back down at the marks. "i'm sorry you ever had to go through any of that."

"it's not your fault. you weren't there."

"i wish i had been. so i could have helped more. i know you said you're better, but maybe if i had been there i could've stopped you from hurting yourself at all."

"i wouldn't put that responsibility onto yourself, cho. it was my responsibility."

"still," his brows arch slightly. "i would have stuck with you every second of every day to make sure that you never had a second alone to do any of it. i wouldn't have let you, and i won't let you now." a thought seems to pop into his head when he finishes his last sentence. "you wouldn't go back to trying to hurt yourself, (y/n), would you?

you exhale. "i mean, i'd like to think i wouldn't, but sometimes these things aren't linear," you admit. "i just know that for now, i'm okay."

"the second you're not, though, you'd tell me?"

"yes. i would."

"you promise?"

"i promise, baby."

"okay," he sighs. "because i don't think i'd be able to function knowing you're upset."

the brown haired man leans over, carefully holding your thigh as he looks over your marks again, no longer flustered by your bare skin but entirely focused on the severity of your burns. you look down at him, hands slipping from his own as he surveys you closely like he's a doctor.

"they don't hurt anymore, do they?"

"nope. just scarred."

choso looks at you for a bit longer in silence before looking back up at you from his hunched state. "can i kiss them?"

you laugh softly, hand falling into his hair at you gaze at him with your heart aglow. "you want to kiss them?"

he nods. "so they can feel loved."

you coo, thumb smoothing over his temple as his eyes swell with adoration right before you. "of course you can."

toji fushiguro: toji is absolutely no stranger to scars. he's a human man with no cursed energy, having had his fair share of close calls on risky jobs that have left him with slashes over his calves, small pierces in his flesh, and cracked callouses. then, of course, there's the scar on his mouth bestowed upon him by his oh-so-loving family, which will be stuck with for the rest of his life.

scars follow toji like moths follow a flame, and he's numb to it. he believes that they are a part of life, both physically and mentally, especially with the kind of life that he leads. whether the wound is a large one or a small one he can barely see, he accepts scars as a part of who he is-

who he is.

while toji likes to parade around with a hardened exterior decorated with faded, scabbing wounds, that is something he deems fit for him and him only. he doesn't care what other people do with their lives as long as they leave him the hell out of it, but for the love of all the money that he has acquired over the years slaughtering sorcerers, he will be damned if he finds a single, tiny little scratch on your body.

scars are for toji, not for you, his darling little girlfriend and the day he finds out someone has hurt you enough to leave behind a mark is the day he's putting several bullets into the culprit's head.

toji's worst fear, though he hardly discusses it, is losing you and watching you get hurt. god, he practically lives to protect you, and to feel as though he has failed to do so would wound him detrimentally. he's a tough guy, but you make him so soft, and admittedly he wouldn't want to be soft for anyone but you. you're his rock, his little hot head, and he loves you more than life itself.

if you're hurt, he will lose it.

therefore, when he finds out that you're self-harming? oh, he's on the verge of losing his fucking mind.

he does a double-take when you step out of his room and into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your body, his eyes widening and his brows arching immediately.

now, toji knows your body inside and out. he's explored every inch, he knows every crook, every crevice, every mark, every texture, and he has never once in the six months you have been together seen the red lines over your inner wrist.

he watches you with twisted lips as you grab an orange from the counter before walking back into his direction. you're almost back into the room when toji calls you.

"uh uh," he stops you, and you pause, turning over your shoulder and purposefully moving your left wrist to press into your towel.

"what?"

"come here," he orders and you give him a strange look.

"why?"

"i wanna see somethin'. come here."

you're quick to snap back easily with your own sarcastic retort, clearly in a foul mood over something. "if you want to fuck, can you wait until i'm fully dried off and after i finish this?' you hold up the orange in your other hand, a perturbed look on your face.

"i don't want to fuck, (y/n), i want you to come here."

toji's voice comes out sternly, and on the verge of anger. you survey his posture, his arms leaning over his legs as he cranes to look at you with a suspicious, firm expression. you can tell that he's serious, and a sudden sense of fear overtakes you that you mask with annoyance.

you don't say a word when you slowly walk up to him, crossing your arms over your chest to conceal your wrist, the hand holding the orange tucked under your elbow.

"what is it?"

toji holds out his palm. "give it."

"...my orange?"

"put it in my hand."

you huff, carefully maneuvering your arm around to keep your inner wrist pointed toward your body as you bring forward the orange and plop it aggressively into his hand. toji watches your other arm the entire time, taking clear note of how you refuse to let your wrist show, and you know you're fucked.

the green-eyed man tosses the orange to the side of the couch and holds out his large palm again, eying you intensely. you look down at him with a frustrated frown, shrugging. "i don't have anymore oranges."

"don't be cute, doll."

"what? do you want my hand?"

"you know i want your hand."

you roll your eyes, raising the hand you had held your orange with when he stops you. "not that one. the other one."

your heart pangs, shaking your entire body as he looks to you expectantly. how the fuck had he managed to notice the scar on your wrist so quickly?

the moment you hesitate, he knows that what he saw earlier is something to be concerned about. you normally never hide yourself from toji, and the way you go about hiding your arm now is defensive enough to raise several brows. he knows you're not dumb, too. he knows that you know exactly what he wants to see.

"(y/n)." he cocks a brow, the severity of his demeanor only making you more uneasy.

he can't see. he can't see what you've just done. he'll hate you. he'll look at you like you're crazy.

"what if i don't want to give you my hand?"

"then i'll just grab it for you, and i don't think either of us wants to go there."

you release a trembling, aggravated breath. you can't get away with anything when toji's around, and while you ponder having chosen to get an orange later, you know deep down somewhere you wanted toji to see. you wanted him to help you, which is why you walked out of that bathroom half an hour after having put those scars on your arm.

"hand, now."

you turn your eyes away with a grunt, slapping your wrist into his hand facing downward. toji is quick to whip it upside once he has a grip on you, and his eyes seem to freeze over the sight of three fresh slices on your upper forearm up close.

his jaw clenches, then unclenches, then clenches and unclenches again as his lips twitch and his eyes adjust to the vision. you're hurt. not only are you hurt, but it looks as though you've recently been hurt. you've hurt yourself.

toji has a hard time figuring out what to do. he's not good with things like this, but he knows that seeing you with scars on your arm is quite literally about to set him off. he always imagined having to defend you from others who seek to hurt you, but never having to defend you from yourself.

he can't fathom it. he's struggling, the muscles in his eyes are twitching, and he can't handle it. he can feel his heart begin to race, unsure if he is angry or scared or mortified or devastated.

there are three lines in your arm. bright red. staring right back up at him.

and you put them there?

no way, you put them there.

but you did. clearly you did, or else you wouldn't be looking so guilty right now.

but when did you? how did you? why did you?

he doesn't know what to think. he doesn't know what to say. he swore he'd always protect you, but how does he even begin to try to protect you from yourself?

"are you out of your mind?"

the question leaves him rather calmly, a low inquiry that you are unsure is meant to be directed as an insult or a genuine ask.

you can't look at him. you don't even know what to think yourself. it had all happened so fast while you were in the bathroom, before you got into the shower.

one minute, you were staring angrily in the mirror, cursing your reflection as your wicked thoughts sprouted grubby arms and guided you toward the pair of brow scissors that you kept in your makeup cabinet on the left side of toji's bathroom.

you wanted to feel in control of the disdain you felt lurking within your soul. you wanted to feel something for fear that you would never be able to feel again, and before you knew it, you were dragging the exposed blade over your skin.

"d'you wanna explain why i'm looking at these cuts on your arm, (y/n)?"

and you know, you know that it's a bad sign when toji uses your name instead of the plethora of pet names he normally elects to call you: doll, princess, mama, girl, pretty baby- anything but your actual government name, and when you hear it roll from his tongue under these circumstances, you can only imagine what's going through his head.

you shift on your bare feet, looking down at your toes. "dunno," is all you say, and toji scoffs in disbelief.

"you don't know?" he emphasizes. "that's all you have to say?"

"if you wanna embarrass me, go ahead, toji. seriously, i'm tired."

"what the fuck makes you think i wanna embarrass you? i wanna know why the fuck my girlfriend walked out of the bathroom with cuts on her arm!"

you rip your arm away immediately when he yells, storming back off into his room and slamming the door behind you.

toji jumps up, suddenly frazzled. he doesn't want you alone in there. he doesn't want you out of his sight.

the navy haired man moves quickly to his door and grabs the handle, only to find it locked. he jiggles it harshly and bangs on the door. beginning to panic. "open the door, (y/n)," he shouts, meeting no reply.

little does he know, your back is pressed against the other side as tears crash over your cheeks. you don't know how you expected toji to react, but the look on his face just now and his tone of voice was enough to send you running off.

you feel ashamed, weak. you shouldn't have gone out there at all. you should have waited until you were dressed, discarding the whole idea of letting toji see what you did so that you could suffer in silence without his help, because what help could he truly provide anyway?

toji's a tough man, but he's soft for you. he would stand in front of a moving train for you. he would sacrifice his life for you, so when you don't answer, he imagines the worst.

"open the door," he says again, weaker, tugging desperately at the handle though he knows it won't budge. he knows he could break the door down, and he's prepared to until he hears you sniff amdist his pounding. he immediately stops, face dropping.

fuck.

this is bad.

he knew it was before, but for some reason, it's only now registering how bad this is.

you're in pain. you hurt yourself because you're in pain and you need him, but he doesn't know how to help you. he's never dealt with anything like this before.

his hand slides from the door and to his side, forehead knocking against the door though his other hand remains tight on the handle. he just needs to see you.

"princess," he mutters defeatedly. "don't make me kick this door in."

silence.

"please," he softens even more. "please, (y/n), let me in."

the house falls quiet once more and you give in. you feel so lost, and the only person who can at least comfort you, in his own way, is toji.

you slowly turn to unlock the door and step back as toji opens it swiftly, staring down at you with wide eyes and at least relieved to see that you haven’t done any further harm to your body.

he does, however, see your tears.

his face tightens as he bends down to scoop you up in an instant, your legs and arms tightening around him as you snivel into his shoulder, his large palms sliding over your body. he feels your small body tremble against him as he walks the two of you over to the edge of his bed, sitting down as you cling to him like a koala.

"i dunno what happened," you whimper into him. "i dunno why i did it. i dunno. i dunno."

you say it over and over, your voice as broken as toji feels listening to you.

he wishes he knew what to do. he wishes he was better equipped to handle this, but never in his worst nightmares did he dream that he would find you here, his fiery girl, the love of his life.

he's been so busy trying to protect you from the outside world that he hasn't even thought about the things that could harm you from within.

he stays silent as you babble to him through tears, holding you just like he knew how. he doesn't want to picture those scars on you. he doesn't want to picture what led you to put them there. he just wants to hold you, to at least let you know that he's here and he's not going anywhere. he may not know how to help, but he knows how to love you and he hopes that's enough.

"i'm not letting you out of my sight, y'hear?" he says gruffly into your ear and you nod meekly. "i'm not letting this happen ever again. not as long as i'm alive."

he mentally swears to rid your house and his of any and every sharp object he can find and to throw it all in a safe as you sink into him.

toji knows how to protect and toji knows how to fight. though he's more acclimated with fighting others, if he has to fight to protect yourself from your innermost demons, then hell, he will find a way to do just that.

sukuna ryomen: lord help you and lord help anyone within a fifty-mile radius when the king of curses discovers that you've been harming yourself.

sukuna is not at all very good with his words or his expressions of affirmations. he is a being of action, and he believes that he has proven his love for you enough by simply allowing you to be in his presence longer than anyone else ever has or ever will.

at first, when he sees a scar or two on your leg, he thinks its just an accident or a result of you being clumsy. then, three more pop up, then five, then far more than he's even willing to count, and he decides that this scar pattern is somehow intentional.

he knows no one else has marked them onto you because he is prepared to kill anyone who comes too close, especially if they have ill intentions. if you were in danger at someone else's hand, he would be the first to know and the person meaning you harm would be dead before they could even think about touching you.

therefore, when he sees that the only person normally within your company is him, uraume, and yourself, the process of elimination leads him to you.

he goes about confronting you rather harshly, as well, for he knows no other way to be.

you're out in the garden of his large residence one day, soaking up the sun, when you hear familiar, loud stomps heading your way from behind.

you turn around and squint to peer up at sukuna, who is standing over you with a menacing glare in his crimson eyes. you don't necessarily find this out of the ordinary, so you greet him as usual.

"hi, kuna," you say sweetly. "you good?"

he is not good. not at all, so he gets straight to the point. "come inside, woman."

you quirk a brow. "why? i just got out here?"

"do not question me."

"can it wait, like, fifteen minutes?"

"do you wish to live in the next fifteen minutes?"

you sigh, entirely too used to sukuna's facade of cruelty around you. you know by now that the king of curses would never dare to hurt you.

"i do intend, to live, yes," you smirk.

"then you will come inside as i have demanded."

"no, sukuna. i want to stay out here for a bit. i've been inside all day."

the pink haired man fumes, teeth grinding together in agitation. he doesn't want to delay this conversation any further than it has already been delayed, but of course, you choose to be difficult.

"very well, we will do this out here," he growls and you smile.

"good."

you don't prepare yourself for when sukuna grabs the back of your chair and whips out around to face him with the unpleasant screech of the legs against the cobblestone. you wince, then retract your face when sukuna lowers his to stare at you from mere centimeters away, one of his arms grasping to push up the lose leg of your shorts up to reveal the set of scars littering your skin.

your eyes go wide, his movements too quick for you to process all at once.

"are these your doing?" he hisses and you gulp.

"s-sukuna-"

"i did not ask for you to say my name. i asked if these scars are your doing."

his eyes are piercing, striking directly into yours. "what are you talking about?" you whisper shakily.

"are we going to pretend like you're an idiot now?" he snarls. he's so mean, but he feels it's for good reason. your body has been tainted, and for some reason, you have been doing the tainting. he needs to know why.

you shake your head weakly. "no..."

"then answer me properly. i will not repeat myself a third time."

you bite down on your lower lip, heart ringing in your ears. you didn't even know sukuna paid attention to you enough to catch wind of something like this.

"yes... i did this," you finally tell him, and sukuna is livid.

"and why would you be doing something so foolish? scars are not something you are meant to give yourself, human."

"please don't be a dick, sukuna, not right now."

"i am asking a perfectly reasonable question and i expect you to answer it," he glowers. "now."

"you wouldn't understand if i told you," you frown and he clicks his tongue.

"stop assuming things of me before i lock you inside of my room where you can not escape or even fathom doing something like this to yourself again under my supervision."

you curl your brows, frowning up at your boyfriend. "if i tell you, you'll call me foolish."

"because this is foolish," he grunts. "but i will not if my doing so will get you to fucking explain yourself."

you shake your head, looking down and contemplating before deciding to just get it over with so that he can stop putting you on the spot. "sometimes i just feel shitty," is all you elect to say.

but sukuna is hardly satisfied with this response. "so you choose to inflict pain upon yourself instead of calling upon me?"

"i told you, you wouldn't understand," you say. "it's not something i can easily explain to you either."

sukuna narrows his eyes. "fine."

he lowers himself to grab you legs and throw you over his shoulder. you squeal, grabbing onto his back as he begins to walk you back into his home and toward his room. "sukuna!" you kick your legs around. "put me down!"

"no. you're coming with me, and you're going to sit and talk me through every single thought that has crossed your little mind to make you think that injuring yourself in such a way is tolerable within the walls of my residence. then after that, you'll come with me everywhere i go from this point on."

"what?!" you exclaim from where you hang upside down. "I don't wanna go everywhere you go," you wine.

"too bad. you should have thought of that before you decided to harm yourself."

sukuna is horrible with words, and far more horrible with expressing his concerns, but despite your temporary discomfort with how he goes about approaching the situation, you can still see in the pinch of his brow and the stiffness of his posture, combined with his refusal to let you go without a proper explanation, that he cares very deeply for your wellbeing.

[gf2bellamy]

worries — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you get hurt while catching an unsub and spencer is worried content warnings: multiple mentions of being held at gunpoint , cut on the cheek bleeding, an ambulance arriving

Your chest heaved as you leaned against the cool brick wall outside the building, trying to catch your breath. The world around you felt muffled, like everything had been wrapped in cotton. The distant hum of sirens, and the occasional crackle of a police radio faded in and out, none of it penetrating the haze in your mind. 

Your hands trembled as you wiped them down your thighs, but the movement did little to stop the shaking.

It had been barely five minutes since the unsub had been standing in front of you, gun raised and finger on the trigger. Five minutes since you’d stared death in the face. 

If it hadn’t been for Emily—her quick thinking, her precise aim—you wouldn’t be standing here now. The thought sent a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through your body, your heart racing all over again. You pressed your back harder against the wall, hoping the solid surface would ground you, give you something tangible to hold onto. 

A few minutes passed, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you stood rooted to the spot. The distant wail of approaching sirens grew louder, signaling the arrival of the ambulance.

The sound of a door creaking open caught your attention, and you turned to see Emily stepping out of the house. The moment her eyes landed on you, her expression softened. 

“You okay?” she asked, her voice low but filled with genuine concern. She placed a steadying hand on your back.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was true. “Yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. 

Emily’s sharp eyes scanned your face, and then she frowned, her brows knitting together. “You’re bleeding,” she said, gesturing to your cheek. 

Your hand instinctively flew up to your face, fingers brushing against a stinging sensation you hadn’t noticed until now. When you pulled your hand back, your fingertips were smeared with blood. 

“I didn’t even realize…” you murmured, your voice trailing off as you tried to recall when or how you’d gotten the cut. The events of the past hour blurred together in a chaotic whirlwind, making it impossible to pinpoint. 

“It looks deep,” Emily said, her tone firm but laced with concern. “You should get that checked out.” 

“I’m okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. 

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your attempt to downplay the injury. “Uh-huh,” she said dryly. “And I’m the queen of England.” 

Before you could protest, she gently but firmly took hold of your arm, guiding you toward the ambulance that had just pulled up. “Come on,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. 

“Emily, it’s just a scratch,” you tried, but she shot you a pointed look that silenced any further objections. 

As you reached the paramedics, Emily waved one of them over. “She’s got a deep cut on her cheek,” she explained, her hand still resting on your arm as if she thought you might bolt at any second. 

The paramedic nodded, motioning for you to sit on the edge of the ambulance. You relented, sighing as you felt the cool touch of antiseptic on your skin. 

Emily stood nearby, her arms crossed as she watched the paramedic work.

“Thanks, Emily,” you said softly, glancing up at her once the bleeding had been stopped and the cut bandaged. 

As you sat on the edge of the ambulance, watching the paramedic clean up their supplies, another car pulled into the scene.

The dark sedan came to a halt, and you immediately recognized Rossi stepping out.

Emily was the first to approach him, gesturing toward the house as she gave a rundown of the situation.

Rossi nodded, his expression serious but calm, while Spencer stood just a step behind them, listening intently. His arms were crossed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed every word. 

Then, out of nowhere, Spencer’s head snapped up, his gaze darting straight to the ambulance. His eyes locked on you, and something in his expression shifted.

Concern etched itself into every line of his face as he suddenly stepped away from the conversation, cutting off whatever Rossi had been saying mid-sentence. 

You watched him approach, his pace quickening with every step, and you instinctively stood up, even though your legs still felt a little shaky. 

“Spence, I’m okay,” you started, raising your hands as if to stop him. But the words barely left your mouth before he was standing in front of you, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to reassure himself you were really there. 

“Emily told me…” he began, his voice low and slightly unsteady. He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides as he visibly tried to collect himself. “Emily told me you were held at gunpoint.” 

The worry in his tone hit you like a wave, and you felt a pang of guilt for being the source of his distress. “Spencer, I’m fine,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “It was scary, yeah, but I’m okay. Emily—Emily saved me.” 

For a moment, he just stood there, his lips pressed into a thin line, like he was wrestling with some invisible force. 

Then, without warning, Spencer leaned down, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a hug. 

The gesture caught you completely off guard. Spencer wasn’t usually one for physical contact, let alone spontaneous hugs.

And yet here he was, holding you tightly, his face buried in your hair as he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

You froze for a second, startled by the unexpected intimacy, before the warmth of his embrace began to sink in. Slowly, you lifted your arms, wrapping them around him as you hugged him back. 

His grip didn’t loosen right away—if anything, it tightened slightly, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go too soon. His breath was warm against your hair, and you could feel the faint tremble in his hands as they pressed against your back. 

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” He trailed off, not finishing the thought, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. 

You hesitated, unsure of what to say that could possibly ease his worry. Instead, you tightened your hold, resting your cheek against his chest as you whispered, “I’m here, Spence. I’m okay.” 

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. His face was flushed, his usual awkwardness beginning to creep back in, but he didn’t let go entirely. “Sorry,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.  

You shook your head, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “Don't be sorry,” you said softly. “That was… nice.” 

Spencer let out a quiet, relieved laugh, finally stepping back but keeping his gaze locked on you. 

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest that had nothing to do with the danger you’d just faced.

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (8) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael finally acts on his feelings for you, risking it all to get closer. But the situation grows complicated, and some hard truths come to light.

Word Count: 3336

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s), romantic and intimate content

Authors Note: (today years old finding out Noah Wyle/Robby has tattoos??? hello??? I never noticed. I took this gif for me to realize lol) So...y’all are gonna love me for 5 seconds then hate me bad. BYE 😬🫣 - ryn

Michael was headed to work when he stepped out of his apartment and caught himself staring at your door.

Last night, he’d wanted to kiss you—God, how he’d wanted to kiss you. Not just then. So many times before. He’d wanted you more than anything.

He needed to tell you how he felt. I should’ve said something last night, he thought.

But he didn’t.

He’d figured it was obvious—the way he looked at you, the way he stayed, the way he showed up. Surely you could feel it too.

And then you’d call him your friend.

The word had hit harder than he expected.

Friend.

It stung—maybe more than it should’ve. It bruised something in him

He sighed, adjusting the backpack dangling from his right shoulder.

Jamming his keys into his hoodie pocket, he stuffed his hands in after them and headed down the hall toward the elevator. He pressed the button and waited, his thoughts spinning.

I just need to go for it. Before it’s too late.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

He stepped inside, settling into the corner and leaning against the wall. The silence wrapped around him.

Next time I see her, he’d told himself, I’m not holding back. I’m going to walk right up to her and—

“Morning.”

Out of nowhere—you.

He froze.

Okay—well, definitely wasn’t expecting to see her now. Not this soon. Not when he was still half in his head, rehearsing how it was all supposed to go.

“H-hey.”

Michael cleared his throat and quickly stood up straighter as you stepped inside.

The elevator doors closed behind you.

You could feel his eyes on you. You glanced sideways, then turned to face him fully, eyebrows knitting together.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said a little too quickly, he still stares at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“How am I looking at you?” 

He was looking at you the same way he had that morning in his bed—hovering over you, lips parted like he wanted to kiss you… and more. He looked at you with yearning. With longing. Like he could snap at any second.

“I don’t know… like—”

But you didn’t finish the sentence. Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard and turned back toward the doors, heart suddenly thudding in your chest.

Your breathing picked up as you tried to stay calm, but his eyes were still on you. Watching. Burning.

And then something snapped—his self-control, usually so carefully kept in check, cracked under the weight of everything he’d been holding back. It was all impulse now. He couldn’t waste another second.

Fuck it, he thought.

He needed you. Right then. Right there. Needed to feel your breath hitch against his lips, to finally cross the line he’d been toeing for far too long. 

He needed to show you how he felt, how you made him feel. 

All he knew was that he had to kiss you like you were his.

Michael dropped his backpack to the floor. 

He stepped closer, gently taking your hand and guiding you toward him.

You gave him a confused look—right up until your bodies pressed together, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Your breath caught as his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along your skin. For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes locked on yours, searching, aching.

“Michael, w-what are you doing?” you whispered.

“What I should’ve done last night on the park bench… that morning after you stayed over when i had the worst shift of my life… God, what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Neither of you moves at first. But then, slowly, like gravity has shifted, you both begin to lean in. Your breaths mingle. Noses nearly brush. His gaze flickers to your lips.

And then… you both stop.

Instead, your foreheads rest together, the moment suspended—tense, quiet. Neither of you pulls away. Neither of you says a word. You just stay there, breathing the same air, hearts beating loud and close.

You shouldn’t kiss him—you really shouldn’t. But your heart didn’t care.

It drowned out your brain, smothered logic, silenced reason with want, with need.

Your mind screamed: This will end badly. He’ll get hurt. You can’t hurt him. But still… you leaned in.

The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, gentle. Your foreheads touch again as you pause for breath… and then kiss again. And again. Each one deeper. Each one is more certain. The passion builds, quiet and slow, until it’s not quiet at all. I'm hungry. Needy. Hard.

Like neither of you can bear to stop.

Your bag dropped to the floor with a thud as you grabbed him—hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie.

He groaned into your mouth, hand sliding to your waist, holding you like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

Your fingers curled tighter in response—latching yourself to him more.

You gasped against his lips, a soft whimper escaping before you could stop it—raw, involuntary, real.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he breathed, voice low and ragged, like the feeling of you was too much and still not enough.

The term of endearment sent a sigh spilling from your lips.

He was panting now, forehead nearly resting against yours, trying to catch his breath—but unwilling, unable, to pull away.

“You don’t know how long…I’ve been wanting to do this…wanting to kiss you…Touch you..” he murmured between kisses, each sentence catching its breath between the next.

“Don’t stop… please” you begged.

Then—without warning—he turned you with urgency, guiding you backward until your back met the cool wall of the elevator.

The chill of the metal against your spine contrasted with the heat of him pressing into you.

You barely registered the buttons behind you, lost in the haze of his mouth, his hands, the weight of his need.

One hand braced above your head, the other slipped beneath your shirt—his calloused palm gliding over your skin like a promise, grounding you.

The elevator gave a shudder and stopped—probably because one of you had hit the emergency button somewhere in the frenzy.

Neither of you noticed.

Neither of you cared.

He kissed you like his life depended on it—like it was the last night he’d ever get to touch you.

Like he was trying to memorize you with his mouth, to savor every second as if he knew he might never get this chance again.

His lips trailed along your neck, each kiss sending a shiver down your spine.

It felt good. God, it all felt so good. You’d never felt anything like this.

It was easy to get lost in the warmth of him—his breath, his body, the way his touch set your skin alight.

The feelings crashed into you like a tide you didn’t want to resist, pulling you under.

Something deep inside you stirred—raw and aching.

Every brush of his fingers sent tremors through you.

In that heat, in that closeness, nothing else existed.

There was only him.

Only this.

But somehow, against all odds, your mind claws its way back to reality. You reason coming back to scream at you. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t right.  Especially what happened last night after you two said goodnight. 

You had to stop this. You had to tell him. 

“M-Michael” you stutter out breathless. 

“Mhm?” He mumbles as he continues to assault your neck with open mouth kisses. 

“Michael”

“What is it? Huh? What is it, baby?…” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and breathless against your neck, each word tumbling out like a plea

“Michael—s-stop, I—I can’t.” 

He froze.

Everything stilled at once—the heat, the urgency, the world. He pulled back immediately, hands lifting off you, then reaching for your face.

His fingers brushed your cheek. “Hey… what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, more grounded.

He saw it in your eyes—a look of regret, look of guilt, the shift from passion to shame.

“Are you okay?”

A beat passed.

Then his expression shifted, guilt crashing into him like a wave.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m sorry… I went too far, didn’t I?”

His hand dropped from your face, and he stepped back—once, then again—putting space between you.

You shook your head quickly. “No, no. It’s not you, Michael—”

His brows pulled together. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Hey…” His voice softened. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

He reached for your hands, gently taking them in his. His thumb brushed over the top—slow, soothing

“I—I’m still with Aiden,” you blurted out, the words crashing out before you could stop them.

His thumbs stopped brushing your hands, as he blankly stared at you. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. You couldn’t stand seeing the look on his face. 

“What?” His voice was quiet, but sharp at the edges. Just looked at you, as if trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

Michael shouldn’t have assumed. But after last night, after everything, he thought it was over between the two of you. It had to be. Who in their right mind would go back to that? How could this not have been the last straw for you? Because if he was you, it would’ve been. Hell, if he was in your position, he would have broken up with Aiden ages ago. 

This just made things even more complicated.

“I—I talked it out with Aiden… last night,” you repeated, softer this time, almost like an apology.

Michael began to laugh. Not a joyful laugh—not even close. It was hollow, sharp, disbelieving.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours, hoping for some sign that you were messing with him. That this was just some badly timed joke. 

But you didn’t laugh.

You didn’t say a word.

The silence between you answered for you.

Michael stepped back completely away from you like you’d physically struck him. His hands dropped yours and hung limply at his sides.

“You’re still with him? Did you not hear anything I said last night?” he asked, staring at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Were you not listening?”

He begins to slightly pace the small space. 

His voice rose, sharp and broken. “How can you go back to him after that? You can’t be serious!”

He let out a bitter breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

“You’re still with him—and I just—God, you just let me—we just—” 

He dragged his hands down his face, like he could scrub the memory out of his skin.

“You patched things up with him last night—you knew this and you still let me kiss you and touch you like that?!” His voice cracks, finger stabbing the ground as if trying to make sense of it all. 

You flinched, breath hitching as tears welled in your eyes.

His voice cracked with disbelief. “Jesus.”

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to care about someone? To feel something real for someone, and watch her waste her time on a man who doesn’t even see her? Who gives her nothing—no love, no attention, not even the bare minimum she deserves?”

His voice cracked, raw now, spilling from the wound you’d just torn open.

“You don’t know what it’s been like for me. Standing on the sidelines these past few months… being your neighbor, your friend—when all I’ve wanted is to be yours.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with the weight of his truth.

“I want to be the one you depend on. The one you lean on. The one you count on—not just when things fall apart, but always.”

“He came back and—I… I just—” your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat. 

“If I had known—”

He cut you off, sharper this time. “No. Don’t say that. We both knew, deep down. We knew there’s something between us.”

His eyes were hard now, voice tight. “You just chose not to do anything about it.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back—until you couldn’t.

“I was scared… I am scared,” you said, your voice cracking.

Pushing off the wall, you moved behind him. Michael turned to face you, eyes searching.

“Everything between us…” You shook your head, the words trembling out. “I’ve never felt anything like this before—and that terrifies me. I don’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to handle you… or the way you make me feel.”

The tears came fast now, hot and relentless.

“With him… I knew what to expect, but you…” You looked at him through the blur of tears. “You make me want more. You make me feel safe, make me feel seen, heard— and that scares the hell out of me, because I don’t know what to do with good things!”

“So you chose what was familiar,” he said quietly, “Instead of choosing what you really want”

He shook his head, frustration flickering behind the hurt. “Instead of being honest with me—about how you felt—having a conversation with me, you self-sabotaged. You denied yourself. You pushed away something real and good that was right in front of you by going back to him.”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” he said—not cruel, just tired. “And the worst part is… I don’t think you even realized you were doing it. You were so scared of something real, you threw it away before it even began”

He exhaled, as if the weight of it all was finally too much. “I can’t keep doing this.”

His voice softened, but the words still hit like a blow. “I showed you how I feel. I told you. I put it all out there right here, right now, but I guess I was too late. You made up your mind before anything could even start.”

“Whatever this is… I’m done.”

Those last words hung in the air—tight, final. But underneath them was something raw. Hurt. Disappointment. And maybe even heartbreak.

He didn’t want to be done. He didn’t want to give up on this—on you—before it had the chance to become something real.

But what choice did he have?

He paused, then added, “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

He paused, jaw tightening. “So… I wish you nothing but the best.”

“Michael,” you breathed, his name catching in your throat.

He looked at you then—eyes distant, walls rising—even though his feet hadn’t moved.

“I care about you,” he said, voice steady but low. “Not just in passing. Not like someone who comes and goes. You matter to me.”

He hesitated, the words aching in his mouth. “And maybe that’s what makes this so damn hard.”

“I think it’s best we stop hanging out,” he said, more carefully now, like he had to choose every word with precision just to keep from unraveling. “If I see you around, I’ll say hello. I’ll be polite. But that’s it. Don’t come to me for help.”

It gutted him to say it. But he knew he couldn’t anymore. At least for night now. He needed space. Boundaries. Because caring this much was costing him more than he could carry.

And just like that, he began to step back—not just physically, but emotionally—shutting doors he never wanted to close.

Michael turned toward the panel and pressed the “door open” button. Nothing. He hit “Lobby.” Then another floor. Still nothing.

He pressed a few more buttons in quick succession, frustration creeping into his movements. Nothing. The elevator was still. 

Of course. Of course you were stuck now—trapped in a metal box with the man whose heart you just shattered.

He let out an annoyed groan, sharp and brittle. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood there, arms folded tightly over your chest like they could hold you together. “Did… did we press something?” you as quietly as you sniffle. 

Michael gave the panel a deadpan glance. “Yeah. The emergency stop. Guess we hit it when—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

You both knew exactly when.

Silence followed, thick and choking.

“I’ll call maintenance,” he muttered, reaching for the phone on the panel. He picked up the receiver, waited for a beat, then spoke into it. “Yeah, hi. We’re stuck in elevator three. No, no one’s hurt. Just… just stuck.”

Another pause.

“Alright. Thanks.” He hung it up and sighed. “They’ve got to reset the elevator. Said it could be ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

You nodded, staring at the floor like it might offer a way out.

Fifteen more minutes in this suffocating space with him.

Fifteen minutes of trying to hold back your cries. Trying not to say the wrong thing again. Trying not to reach for him even though everything inside you wanted to.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed somewhere above your head. Not cold. Just… gone.

You swallowed hard, trying not to look at him. “Michael…”

He cut you off, voice low and sharp. “Don’t,”

“Please don’t.” he said softly

It wasn’t cruel. It was protective. A quiet plea from someone trying to hold himself together.

The silence settled again.

After a while the elevator shuttered and hummed back to life The floor numbers flickered, then steadily climbed downward. Relief washed over you, but it was tangled with the heaviness between you and Michael.

He didn’t say a word as the elevator glided to the lobby. The doors slid open smoothly, flooding the small space with the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby.

Without hesitation, Michael grabbed his bag from the corner, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out briskly. He didn’t look back.

You grab your bag and slowly follow out behind him.

He was moving through the lobby, his steps brisk and determined, focused on putting distance between the two of you. The coldness wasn’t anger. It hurt. And right now, he needed to get away.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You stood there in the middle of the lobby as you watched him leave through the doors. 

The lobby felt suddenly enormous and hollow, like the space between you and Michael had stretched far beyond the few feet that separated you. Your fingers tightened around your bag strap, heart aching with a sharp mix of regret and helplessness.

You wanted to call him back—to explain, to try and fix what you’d broken—but after everything said in the elevator, the damage was done. The words felt useless now. There was no coming back from this.

His words echoing in your mind like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest.

You need to figure yourself out.

The truth of it settled deep inside you, sharper and more painful than you expected. You thought about all the times you've pushed people away—out of fear, confusion, or simply not knowing how to accept love.

His words weren’t just an accusation—they were a warning.

If you didn’t face what was inside, if you didn’t understand what you truly wanted and needed, you’d keep hurting the people you cared about.

But more than that, you’d be hurting yourself.

Holding on to a past that didn’t value you, to a relationship that made you feel small and invisible.

You need to stop settling for less than you deserve and start choosing yourself—learning to listen to your own heart, discovering what happiness really means for you.

Because moving on isn’t just about leaving someone behind—it’s about finding who you truly are, and finally believing you’re worth more than pain and neglect.

It’s about opening the door to a future where you can be whole again.

The End...

(SIKE! LMAO, I’m just playing. I wouldn't do y'all dirty like that… I did do you dirty with this part with Robby and reader 💀 IM SORRY Y’ALL KNOW THE DRILL…SLOW BURNNN)

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy @aj3684

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Camden’s sin”

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

Check Alfie’s Masterlist here to see the next parts

Summary: You were a Shelby working in your family’s business. You tried to convince yourself that it was just that, business. But Alfie Solomons wasn’t just business, not when he had you bent over his desk.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: intense smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, filthy language, oral(f!receiving), rough sex, creampie, reader is Tommy Shelby’s sister.

A/N: Again, english is not my first language, so sorry if any mistakes throw you off. I’m planing to do several more parts of this (please tell me if you have any request, this is my second time writing).

Your brother trusted you. For some reason, you were good with numbers—that was a fact. And you were good with people, probably because they all saw you as the innocent and youngest Shelby sister, but you were smarter than any man in the room. They underestimated you. That’s why you got sent to Camden Town almost every week. That, and because Alfie Solomons was utterly obsessed with you. Tommy found it convenient, really, since it always gave you the upper hand in every deal. Alfie simply couldn’t resist you.

You never thought anything of it. Yes, Alfie flirted with you—crude and blunt, filthy sometimes—but you were sure of his intentions. Just a game to piss your brother off. So you dismissed his banter.

The morning air was thick in Camden. It always was. You walked through the bakery like you owned the place, weaving through the towering barrels and busy working men until you reached his office. You didn’t even get a chance to knock. His voice came through the door, rough and immediate.

“Get in.”

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air reeked of rum and cigars. He was there, of course—seated at his desk, leaning back in the chair. Sleeves rolled up, revealing strong, tattooed forearms. His beard was thick and wild as ever.

“Well, bloody hell. The Shelbys sent me an angel today, eh?”

“You knew it was me coming, Alfie.”

“That I did. Every week, like a sharp clock, you are,” he grinned. “Lookin’ like fuckin’ sin, you do.”

You sighed. You knew all his lines by now. He’d used them a thousand times already.

“Let’s talk business, yeah?”

“What? No hello? No how’ve you been, Alfie? No I’ve missed seeing your face?”

He twitched his jaw when you stayed silent, completely ignoring his advances once again.

You tried your best to talk numbers, to finalize the new distribution routes. But it was almost impossible with the way his eyes were trailing over your body—lazy, deliberate, like he was undressing you with every glance.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” You were pissed now.

“Well, forgive me, yeah? It’s fuckin’ hard to focus when you’re lookin’ like that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, smirking. “You do it on purpose, you do. That dress, that mouth painted red like bloody temptation itself.”

“This isn’t a bloody game, Alfie.” You warned him, trying to stay cool and composed—even while he was practically eye-fucking you across the desk.

“Course it’s not a fuckin’ game,” he said, voice low. “I want you. And yeah, yeah, before you say it again—I know you’re Tommy’s sister. I don’t give a fuck whose sister you are, right?”

“You’re crossing the line. Stop it.” You were trying hard not to flinch, not to blush. Trying to seem unimpressed.

“Oh, am I crossing the line?” His eyes dropped to your legs. “I’ll stop it when you stop sittin’ there with those… those fuckin’ legs crossed tighter than a nun. Pressing your thighs together since the moment you got here. Probably the same way you press them every night thinkin’ of my mouth.”

He smirked, proud of the reaction he managed to pull from you.

He had you now. He bloody well did. And it pissed you off that he was so damn observant, that he noticed everything.

“Fuck you.”

“God, please.”

Your cheeks burned—with anger, yes, but with something deeper than that. Something dangerous. Something like desire.

“You’ve mistaken my tolerance for interest, Alfie. If you want to keep doing business with the Shelbys, then you fucking behave,” you hissed.

“Business?” he scoffed. “Treacle, the only thing I’m gettin’ from business with the Shelbys is fuckin’ blue balls. Havin’ to stare at you every fuckin’ week without being able to touch you the way I want.”

“Are you done? Done saying all the… filth that’s inside your mind? You’re a pig.”

“Done? I’m nowhere near done.” He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Next time you come here, I’ll tell you what I want to do to you—page by page—like a fuckin’ scripture.”

You stood up, turned away without another word, and walked straight out of his office. Just like that. Gone. Leaving Alfie cursing under his breath.

The truth is, you should’ve told Tommy. Should’ve told him that Alfie crossed a line, so he’d send someone else. But you didn’t.

No matter how hard you tried to stay away from that man, there was an invisible string pulling you toward him.

You wore black that day. High-necked. Buttoned all the way up. But when you walked into Alfie’s office, the first thing you saw was him—waiting for you with a little old leather notebook in his hands.

He didn’t say hello. Didn’t greet you like most days. He just opened the notebook and looked at you.

“I made you a promise, right? And I’m a man of my word.” He tapped the cover with a grin. “Fuckin’ poetry I wrote for you.”

“You think I came here to hear your filth?” you said, sitting across from him, arms and legs crossed.

He ignored you completely. Cleared his throat. Adjusted his glasses. And began to read from the first page.

“You come here all proper, all buttoned up, pretendin’ to be holy. But I’d get you against my desk anyway, with my hand under your tight little skirt, as you moan my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

He turned the page.

“You’d tell me to fuck off—’cause you love to pretend you don’t want me. But when I feel your thighs squeeze around my fingers, I know it’s all lies.”

Another page turned.

“I’d put my mouth between your legs, eat you until you can’t remember your fuckin’ name. Make you scream so loud your brother in Small Heath would hear you.”

“And I’d fuck you from behind, right on this desk we’ve signed a hundred papers on. You’d beg me not to stop. In fact, you’d beg me to go harder, ’cause—”

“Stop.” You cut him off. Your voice soft, but sharp.

You felt the heat pooling low in your stomach. Felt your undergarments dampen. But you didn’t show it. You stood up, hands trembling, legs unsteady.

“You think you’re clever? Think I’ll melt because you wrote all your filth in a book like some fucked-up priest?”

He stood too, walking around the desk toward you with slow, measured steps. “Maybe. Tell me—is it workin’?”

“You should be locked up.” You should’ve slapped him. Should’ve run. But you didn’t. You stayed. You listened to every word.

“Maybe,” he whispered, closing in. “But I’d find a way out. Just to find you.”

He was towering over you now. So close you could smell him—cigars and rum and sin.

“I should take what I want right now,” he murmured, voice rough. “Should bend you over my desk and do every fuckin’ thing I wrote in that notebook. Everything you’ve been denyin’ me.”

Your knees buckled. Your breath hitched.

“But I won’t, treacle. And you wanna know why?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Because when I do—yeah?—you won’t be walkin’ straight for a fuckin’ week. And it’s gonna be your choice.”

“My choice?” you whispered, your voice barely there, feeling his eyes devour you.

“Yours. You’ll come back here tomorrow. Not for business. Not like a Shelby. You come back for me.”

Somehow, your legs carried you out of his office. Out of the distillery. Back to the car waiting for you outside.

The moment you stepped inside Alfie’s distillery the next day, you knew it—this would be the last time you ever walked out of here untouched.

You made your way into his office, and like always, he was already expecting you. Leaning back against his desk, arms folded, eyes on you like he’d been waiting all fucking day. He looked as irresistible as ever.

“You’re late,” he said.

You checked your watch. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you’re about twenty fucking meetings late for what I really want.” His voice was low, husky. “Lock the door.”

You obeyed without thinking. As you stepped closer, his thumb grazed your throat—rough, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle.

“You want to hear it again? Page by page? ’Cause I’ve written a thousand more.”

“No,” you breathed, “I want you to show me.”

He groaned—and that was it. Restraint fully vanished. He grabbed you and crushed his mouth against yours, desperate, hungry, all tongue and teeth as he yanked your head back and devoured you like a man starving for something only you could give, with the need to own you.

You moaned when he shoved you against the desk, one hand on your throat—holding, not squeezing—while the other dragged your dress up.

No knickers. He swore.

“Fucking hell… You woman… you’re trying to kill me, are you?”

Before you could reply, his hand was already between your thighs, feeling the heat, the wetness.

“Oh, you’re so ready for me, ain’t you? Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He growled—and then dropped to his knees, right there on his office floor. Because there was only one reason Alfie Solomons got on his knees, and that was to eat cunt.

“Alfie—” you began.

“Shut up. Let me read my scripture,” he rasped. Then his mouth was on you—no patience, no mercy.

His thick beard scratched the inside of your thighs, but all you could feel was the way his tongue worked you open. Lazy circles over your clit turned into relentless strokes as he devoured you like you were his first hot meal after the war.

He pulled back for a second, just to look at you.

“Tastes fucking divine.” He gave one long, filthy lick. “Like fucking salvation.”

“Oh God—God—” you whimpered.

“No, treacle, the Lord’s got nothing to do with it. This is all me. So say my fucking name.”

“Alfie… Oh, Alfie…” you moaned, hands buried in his hair, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. He latched on your cunt harder, tongue ruthless going through your slick folds, sucking your clit in the right way. fingers gripping your thighs to keep you from flying apart.

And then—you broke. You came in seconds. Hard. Loud. Messy. Your whole body shook, and you would’ve collapsed on the floor if it weren’t for his strong arms holding you up.

He stood, his beard glistening, soaked in your fluids. Eyes dark as the night, wild. He didn’t wait a second—his hands were already unbuckling his belt.

“You ready for page two?” he growled. “’Cause I’m still fuckin’ hard. And tired of waiting.”

You nodded, It was all you could do, you were speechless, breathless.

He grabbed your body forcefully, turned you around, and bent you over his desk, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you down like he’d envisioned a thousand times.

He spit into his hand, stroked himself rough and fast, like the world was about to end. And then—

He slammed into you.

You screamed his name, gripping the desk so hard your knuckles went white. He was huge, and if that wasn’t enough, he was brutal with his unforgiving thrusts that had you seeing stars and the whole fucking galaxy.

He pounded into you so hard you didn’t know if he loved you or hated you, hands bruising your hips, balls slamming against your ass over and over.

“Fuck—fucking—” he choked out, and you realized that this was the first time you’ve ever seen Alfie Solomons struggle to find words. “You trying to kill me? Squeezing my cock like that with this tight little cunt.” He smacked your ass, hard.

All you could do was whimper, pathetic little whimpers that came out of your mouth as he continued to dive into you.

The room was full of it—all of it—the wet slap of skin against skin, the creak of the desk under your body, your muffled cries, his snarling breath mixed with all the filthy words that came out of his mouth.

“Custom-fucking-made for my cock, you were.”

“You feel so good… so wet and hot and tight for me.”

“Look at you, listen to you—moaning like a fucking whore for me.”

He was feral for you. He had turned into a beast like never before. Because even if he had his fair share of women in the past, no woman had ever made him feel like this, not a single one of them had ever felt as good as you did right now, It was all he had ever dreamed of, and more.

And you—you—were taking it, it was all you could do, cause you were built for this. No one ever fucked you like a real man should, no, that was something only Alfie could.

That sharp sting built in your belly and then it snapped—and you came again, harder this time, clenching so tight around his cock he cursed in Yiddish. You didn’t know what he said, but the way he said it made your whole body throb.

“I’m gonna fill you up… so bad it’s gonna fucking drip out of that pretty pussy all over your thighs yeah? You want that?”

“Yes… please, Alfie… fill me up.”

He pulled your hair back, arched your back against his chest, and fucked into you harder. Once. Twice. The third thrust—he buried himself deeper and he came with a guttural growl, spilling himself inside you as he moaned your name into your shoulder.

He stayed there inside you, holding you close, his lips at your throat, whispering things that made you melt, and kissing your shoulder softly, as if trying to comfort after he was the one to wreck you

When he finally pulled out, you felt it—his cum, mixed with your juices, dripping down your thighs. He shoved it all back inside with two fingers, stuffing you full of him again.

“Tell me you’ll come back next week, yeah?” His voice was oddly soft now.

You barely managed a whisper. “Try not to go mad until you see me again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Now that, treacle… that’s a promise I can’t make.”

NEXT PART HERE

‪dividers by: @/saradika-graphics‬

[paxtito]

and they were roommates

pairings: tara x reader (g!p)

word count: 2717

warnings: smut 18+, masturbating, oral (r receiving), p in v, swearing

summary: tara is out running errands, she’d be gone for hours- or so you thought

a/n: i’m working on multiple request atm— wenclair x reader one and the radiohead song (i’m just listening and reading the song to get an idea atm) also thank you to the anon for requesting this and their kind words!

The dorm is quiet, unusually so, and it’s kind of nice. Tara had mentioned heading out for the day—something about running errands and meeting up with Sam—and while you’re used to the hum of her presence, the silence isn’t unwelcome.

You glance around the shared space. It’s small but cozy, a mix of her personality and yours crammed into every corner. Her side of the room is meticulously organized—her books stacked neatly, her bed made with precision. In contrast, your side looks… well, lived-in. A pile of clothes rests precariously on your desk chair, and your bed is a haphazard mess of blankets and pillows.

You plop onto your bed, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Without Tara around, you’re left to your own devices—literally. You snort at a meme, sending it to her out of habit.

“That’s stupid,” she’d probably reply, but there’d be a hint of fondness in it.

After a while, you glance at the clock. Noon. The day stretches ahead, and you find yourself feeling restless. You could clean up your side of the room, but… nah. Instead, you wander over to Tara’s desk.

Her books catch your eye first—old classics mixed with crime thrillers and a few surprisingly heartfelt poetry collections. You pick one up, flipping through the pages idly. A note scribbled in the margin catches your attention, her handwriting sharp and deliberate: “This makes no sense. Why didn’t he just leave?”

You chuckle softly. Even in her annotations, Tara’s blunt honesty shines through.

Your gaze drifts to her bulletin board. It’s a mix of pinned photos, ticket stubs, and little reminders. One of the pictures is of the two of you, taken on move-in day. You’re grinning like an idiot, throwing up a peace sign, while she’s glaring at the camera, her arms crossed—but there’s a subtle upturn to her lips that gives her away.

You flop onto your bed, the old springs creaking under your weight. The small TV in the corner flickers to life as you jab at the remote, the sound of canned laughter filling the room. It's some trashy reality show, but it's mindless and distracting—just what you need right now.

As you settle in, your gaze drifts around the room. Tara's side is always so pristine, everything in its place. It's annoying how tidy she is. You, on the other hand... well, your side looks like a bomb went off in a thrift store.

You reach for the bag of chips on your nightstand, tearing it open with a loud rip. The salty scent mingles with the faint smell of Tara's lavender body spray, creating a strange but not unpleasant odor.

You munch away, eyes glued to the screen, as snippets of conversation from the show drift through your thoughts.

"I think I'm going to kill her," one of the contestants is saying, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

You snort. Yeah, right. They're all too busy primping and preening to actually do anything. Unlike the Ghostface killers, they've got no balls.

You check the time again, just to be sure. Tara won't be back for at least a couple of hours. With the coast clear, a mischievous grin spreads across your face. Time to take advantage of the privacy.

You reach over to your bedside table, fishing around in the drawer until your fingers close around the cool, smooth bottle of lotion. You pop the cap open with practiced ease, squirting a generous amount into your palm. The slick, slightly cold sensation sends a shiver down your spine as you rub your hands together, warming the lotion.

With your other hand, you unlock your phone and pull up your favorite porn site. Your fingers fly over the screen as you type in your search, already feeling the familiar stirrings of arousal. A few taps later, and a video starts playing, the sounds of moaning and grunting filling the now-silent room.

You settle back against your pillow, one hand already slipping beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. Your cock is already half-hard, twitching in anticipation. You wrap your fingers around it, giving it a slow stroke as you watch the scene unfold on your screen.

You stroke your cock slowly, teasingly, savoring the building pleasure. Your other hand roams over your chest, pinching and tweaking a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. The dual sensations send sparks of electricity shooting through your body, making your hips buck up into your touch.

On screen, the actress lets out a particularly loud moan, and you match it with a groan of your own. Fuck, that's hot.

Just as you're getting into a rhythm, the door to your dorm swings open without warning. You freeze, your hand still wrapped around your throbbing cock, as Tara steps inside.

"Shit!" she exclaims, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene before her. You're sprawled on your bed, pants pulled down, phone in hand, and a sticky puddle of lube on your stomach.

Mortification floods through you, and you frantically try to cover yourself, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over your lap. Your face burns with embarrassment, and you can't meet Tara's gaze.

"I-I thought you said you'd be gone for hours!" you stammer, trying to come up with some excuse. But there's no hiding what you were doing.

Tara stands in the doorway, frozen in shock. Her eyes dart between your flushed face and the pillow. After a moment, she seems to shake herself out of her stupor.

Tara's eyes flick down to the pillow, then back up to your face. Her expression is unreadable, but there's a glint in her eye that makes your stomach flutter with nerves and excitement.

She steps further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The sound seems to echo in the tense silence.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she says, her voice low and teasing. She saunters over to your bed, the mattress dipping under her weight as she sits on the edge.

Your breath hitches as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against the pillow in your lap. Slowly, she pulls it away, revealing your straining erection. You whimper at the sudden exposure, the cool air hitting your overheated skin.

Tara's gaze rakes over your cock, and you feel yourself grow even harder under her scrutiny. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and your hips twitch involuntarily.

"Looks like you were in the middle of something," she purrs, her hand resting lightly on your thigh. Her touch is electric, sending shivers racing up your spine.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be back so soon," you manage to say, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

Tara leans in closer, her breath ghosting over your ear. "Don't apologize," she whispers, her lips brushing against your skin. "I think I can help with that."

And then, before you can process what's happening, she's sliding down your body, her hands pushing your legs apart. You gasp as her mouth hovers over your cock, her hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Tara," you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair as she takes you into her mouth. The wet heat of her tongue is almost too much to bear, and you buck your hips, desperate for more.

Tara hums around you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body. She bobs her head, taking you deeper each time, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock.

Your head falls back against the pillows as Tara works her magic. Her mouth is a wonder, hot and wet and so damn perfect. You can feel every ridge and valley of her tongue as it glides along your shaft, tracing the veins and swirling around the head.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," you groan, your hips rocking up to meet her movements. Your fingers tighten in her hair, gently guiding her pace.

Tara hums in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. She takes you deeper, her nose brushing against your pubic bone as she swallows around you.

The sight of her, head bobbing in your lap, lips stretched obscenely around your cock, is almost too much to handle. You feel yourself getting close, your balls tightening and your stomach muscles clenching.

"Tara, I'm gonna..." you warn, your voice strained and breathless.

But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she doubles down, her head moving faster, her hand pumping in tandem. She looks up at you through her lashes, her eyes dark with lust and something else, something intense and hungry.

It's too much. With a guttural groan, you explode in her mouth, your cock pulsing as you spill your seed down her throat. She swallows it all, not spilling a single drop, and continues to suck and lick until you're spent.

Finally, she releases you with a lewd pop, sitting back on her heels and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks immensely pleased with herself, a satisfied smirk on her kiss-swollen lips.

You collapse back onto the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Your whole body feels like jelly, boneless and sated.

"Holy shit," you breathe, running a hand through your sweat-dampened hair. "That was... wow."

Tara giggles, the sound low and sultry. She crawls up your body, straddling your hips and leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You roll over, pinning Tara beneath you on the bed. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. You capture her lips in another heated kiss, your tongue delving into her mouth to taste yourself on her tongue.

Your hands roam her body, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the smooth skin of her stomach. She arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Breaking the kiss, you sit up and pull her shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly aside. Your eyes drink in the sight of her, clad only in a lacy bra. You lean down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of her cleavage.

Tara's fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently as she holds you to her. "More," she breathes, her voice husky with need.

You oblige, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. It falls away, freeing her breasts to your hungry gaze. You take a moment to admire them, full and perfect, before lowering your head to take one pebbled nipple into your mouth.

Tara gasps, her back arching off the bed. You lavish attention on her breast, sucking and nibbling until she's writhing beneath you. Your hand slides down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

"These need to go," you murmur against her skin, hooking your fingers in the denim and pulling it down her legs. She lifts her hips to help, kicking the jeans off and leaving her in just a pair of matching lace panties.

You sit back on your heels, taking in the sight of her laid out before you, flushed and wanting. Your cock twitches, already hardening again. You reach down to push your own pants fully off, kicking them away.

Tara's eyes widen as she takes in your naked form, her gaze zeroing in on your erection. "Fuck, you're so hot," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around you.

You grind your cock against her, feeling the heat of her through the thin lace. Tara gasps, her hips lifting to meet yours, seeking more friction. The rough drag of your hard length against her clothed clit sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you both.

"Please," she whimpers, her fingers digging into your shoulders. "I need you inside me."

You don't make her wait any longer. Hooking your fingers in her panties, you yank them down her legs, tossing them aside carelessly. Tara spreads her legs wider, inviting you in.

You position yourself at her entrance, the head of your cock nudging against her slick folds. Tara's breath hitches, her eyes fluttering closed as you press forward.

You sink into her inch by delicious inch, groaning at the tight, wet heat enveloping you. Tara is so fucking perfect, her walls gripping you like a vice. You bottom out, your hips flush against hers, buried to the hilt inside her.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you pant, fighting the urge to just start pounding into her. Instead, you hold still, letting her adjust to the stretch.

Tara rolls her hips, urging you on. "Move," she demands, her nails raking down your back.

You don't need to be told twice. You start to thrust, setting a steady rhythm that has you both gasping and moaning. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and the creaking of the bed.

Tara wraps her legs around your waist, using the leverage to meet your thrusts. Her tits bounce with every snap of your hips, and you lean down to capture a nipple in your mouth, sucking hard.

"Yes, just like that," Tara hisses, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You fuck her hard and fast, chasing your pleasure and hers. The coil of heat in your belly winds tighter and tighter, signaling your impending release.

You can feel your orgasm building, your balls tightening and your thrusts becoming erratic. But you force yourself to slow down, to focus on Tara's pleasure instead of your own.

Tara's nails dig into your shoulders, her teeth sinking into your neck as she holds on for dear life. Her walls flutter around you, tightening and releasing in a rhythm that tells you she's close.

You redouble your efforts, angling your hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Tara keens, her body tensing beneath you.

You reach between your bodies, finding her clit with your fingers. Tara bucks against your hand, her hips moving in frantic circles as you rub tight circles over the sensitive nub. You can feel her getting closer, her inner walls starting to flutter around your cock.

"Come on, baby," you urge, your voice low and rough. "Come for me."

Tara's body goes rigid, her back arching off the bed as her orgasm crashes over her. She cries out, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice as she comes undone.

The feeling of her coming around your cock is too much. With a guttural groan, you pull out, your hand flying over your shaft as you stroke yourself to completion. Your cum spurts out, painting Tara's stomach in thick, white ropes.

You collapse beside her, both of you panting and sweaty. Tara turns her head to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

"That was intense," she murmurs, reaching out to brush a sweat-dampened lock of hair from your forehead.

You grab some tissues from the box on your nightstand, quickly wiping the cum from Tara's stomach. She sighs contentedly as you clean her, her body still tingling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

As you toss the used tissues aside, you can't help but let your gaze wander over her naked form. Tara is a vision, her skin flushed and glowing, her hair splayed out on the pillow like a halo. She looks thoroughly debauched, and the sight sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

But then reality starts to set in. You just had sex with your roommate. Your best friend. What does this mean for your relationship? Will things be awkward now?

Tara seems to sense your thoughts. She sits up, pulling the sheet around her naked body. "Hey," she says softly, reaching out to cup your cheek. "We okay?"

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Tara smiles, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Good," she murmurs against your mouth. "Because I want to do that again. Soon."

With that, she hops off the bed, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. She pads over to her closet, rummaging around for something to wear.

You watch her, your mind still reeling. What have you gotten yourself into?

—

request: where reader and Tara are roommates and reader thinks Tara is out so reader starts to masturbate but Tara comes home early and walks in on reader so she gives a helping hand (a blow job) then they do it yk?

[pisceantarot]

⋆ ｡  𐀔  ° ‧     what does this person want you to know?

KEYWORDS: romance, relationships, (past) situationships, seperation, energy check between you and your person of romantic interest.

ꕤ * ． pile one. → ꕤ * ． pile two. → ꕤ * ． pile three.

relax your body, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. ask yourself: "which pile has a message for me today?" when you open your eyes, what image did your eyes fall on? what image do you feel most drawn to energetically? that's your pile!

this reading is timeless! it will cross your path whenever it's meant to find you 🍀 while my main intention was to channel someone you're already involved with, you can also use this for your sp, a future partner, a soulmate, or whoever you're thinking about!!

PILE # 01

your person is a true yearner, i'll tell you this much. their heart is very fragile, they want you to know they're scared of getting hurt, of being betrayed. this is a person who didn't have many healthy relationships in the past. they're confused, unsure what to do, and just wishes to avoid it all right now.

they're very much fantasising about a future with you, though... they want it all with you, they loooove your laugh. (i'm seeing that maybe they want to travel with you? explore the world together is what i heard.) with you on their side, they feel invincible. they really want you on their team. when this person has been processing their emotions healthily, i see that they're very attentive, unafraid of showing a passionate desire towards you, and generally very caring and loving. they appreciate you so much, you're the brightest star in their existence.

however, if this person isn't standing strong in their emotions, i see them being very hot and cold. when you're together, everything feels right. you feel secure, you feel like there's something there. but when you're apart i see that you're very confused by the energy of your relationship. your mind appears to be your biggest enemy: do they like me? am i good enough for them? is this something that could work out? (i see that this is you picking up on the energy of your person... their confusion and doubts are making you doubtful as well.)

what i'm hearing is that you need to focus on your own healing and stability, so you can help this person heal energetically as well. this is a connection that's mostly guided by the divine. (currently there's a lot happening behind the scenes that you aren't even aware of.) you're meant to heal and complete certain cycles with this person for sure, this is not the end of the connection. so have faith, and trust that everything will align!!

a letter from your person: do you think about me too? i can't get you out of my head, no matter how much i try. you're always there. it frustrates me, how easy it would be for you to secure a spot inside of my heart. how well we could work together if i let my guard down. i'm scared, though. scared of hurting you, scared of hurting myself, scared of failing. what if i have something so beautiful with you and then ruin it by my fears and self sabotaging tendencies? i don't know why you still stick around, but i'm trying to be a better person. please call me out on my bullshit, i need you to be firm and stand your ground. don't take shit from me, i know i need to step up. i care for you, i'm trying to put my ego aside.

PILE # 02

god help my soul, i'm sensing a very intense and determined energy coming from your person 😭 this is definitely giving me the energy of an ex, or a situationship that was meant to take off but somehow didn't (i see this being your person's fault, for sure). this person absolutely regrets losing you. they're the reason things aren't moving forward. they blame themselves, they're angry and devastated. they wish they could've done things differently.

in the most favourable outcome, i see this person working on healing themselves. they're going through an ego death/dark night of the soul and are questioning everything and everyone around them. in this reflection i see them wanting to become a better person (for you), if you're willing to give them a chance. they want to love you right, they want to show you how much you mean to them... i see them wanting to swoop in and steal you away so you can ride into the sunset together!!

if this person refuses to face their demons, however, i see that spirit is going to give them a very difficult time unfortunately</3 they will hit them with the same harsh lessons over and over again until they finally see the light. in this case i see spirit keeping this connection in a separation (or limbo) in order to protect you. you can't heal this person right now... if they open their eyes, if they're able to see... they would understand what you truly mean to them. what a treasure they had in front of them. they will get there, though. it might take some time, i'm hearing.

depending on your situation with this person, only take them back if you can see that they've changed!! you know this is the case when they come back and show humble energy, that they're able to admit that they were wrong. i see, for some of you, they truly fucked up. so please use your discernment! losing you has been their biggest regret, though, and they will be carrying this guilt for a very long time...

a letter from your person: i'm going to win you back. i'll return to you and prove that i can be the person you need me to be. i'm sorry for hurting you in the past, i'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't good enough. apologies won't cut it, i know things need to change. i'm working on facing my demons. you were right, you made me realise i need to heal. i hope you still will be there when i come back... do you have someone new? are you willing to forgive me? i messed up, and losing you will be the biggest regret of my life.

PILE # 03

this is such a sweet and gentle energy, i just want to squish their cheeks<33 i see many different scenarios for you two. you could be dating, this could be a secret admirer, this could be your friend... this person feels very hesitant to me. i feel like they often have a poker face or wear a mask. i sense that you might pick up that they're hiding something from you/aren't being 100% authentic. don't be afraid, they aren't hiding anything malicious! if anything, i see they're hiding the depth of their emotions for you. they fear coming off too strong, they fear scaring you away. if you're in a relationship together, i see them wanting to take the next step... (making things official, living together, an engagement maybe? 🤭) they want to move things forward in a fruitful way, they want to give you all the love in the world. they're sooooo gentle with you, this makes my heart want to burst with love. they have such good intentions with you and they want to make you happy for as long as you'll have them<3

i don't feel any negative energies for this pile</3 literally, the worst case scenario here is that your person is a bit hesitant and reluctant to show the depths of their true feelings for you. they fear rejection, they fear being judged by you. (i see this person really cares and values your opinion of them, so your rejection would hurt tbh.) they're mostly testing the waters right now, trying to figure out what you want and what you're ready for. this is a very considerate person! but again, their insecurities might stop them from taking any action right now.

you have such a special place in their heart, it's no joke. you must have such a beautiful and powerful energy because this person literally loves every. single. thing. about. you. they see you as their sun, their moon, their stars, their whole universe... you mean a lot to them. i think the depth of their emotions scares them as well, to be honest. but i see them being brave and facing this head on. they want you, they know they want you, so i see them making a very significant move in the very near future.

please, my pile 3, be gentle with their heart<3 their energy is so pure and wholesome, they could be such a bright light in your darkness! i'm hearing that, if you aren't sure of this person's intentions, know that it's safe to trust them. you'll be very pleasantly surprised with what's waiting for you if you open your heart!

a letter from your person: do you like me? you shine so bright, sometimes it's blinding me. you radiate so much warmth, you make me so happy. when i'm with you there's no other place i'd rather be. did you know this? i'm placing my heart in your hands, i surrender myself to you...

(i'm not getting much more from them because this person is a bit shy... but when i'm in their energy... their heart just glows thinking about you. i see shy smiles, unable to keep eye contact without blushing, i feel like sometimes they need to take breaks from you because you're so overwhelming. love love love this energy 🩷)

[eufezco]

LOGAN AS A GIRL DAD°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

just pure fluff with pregnant!reader and logan <3

BEFORE PREGNANCY

being a dad at his age was something logan never imagined. starting a family seemed so out of reach, after everything he’d lived, he never thought that dad was a title he deserved. but then laura came into your life, and it was hard for him because you were a natural, effortlessly knowing how to care for her.

bit by bit, he began to follow your lead, picking up your habit of checking on her before bed and tucking her in, keeping an eye on her plate and making sure she finished her veggie, checking on her when she played outside and even sitting through her favorite cartoons.

and as you watched him, you’d catch yourself wondering what it would be like to bring another little life into this family you were building. the idea of getting pregnant crossed your mind more than once, and you could see it flicker in his eyes too, like an unspoken thought that made its way between you.

—you ever thought of having kids? —he asked, quiet but serious.

you took a few seconds to think about his question. not that you needed them, you'd always wanted to have his kids, and having laura had changed things, deepened the bond between you and logan, and brought your maternal instinct back. she wasn’t your biological child, but in every other way, she was yours.

the thought of bringing up the idea of getting pregnant to logan felt selfish, especially when you knew how much he had already given and how tired he was, you knew that, so you kept your hopes to yourself, not wanting to ask for more than the peace you had found with him and laura.

—we have laura —. you answered.

—yeah, we do. but… that’s not what i’m talking about.

there was a few seconds of silence while he waited for your answer.

—yes, i've thought about it but—

—have you thought about it recently?

you nodded to his question, feeling guilty.

he slowly nodded back to you. —i've been thinking about it too.

DURING PREGNANCY

logan started helping caliban in the kitchen, something that surprised you at first because he had never been much of a cook. but the two of them would work together, preparing meals that were good for you and the baby. logan would quietly chop vegetables or stir a pot, taking caliban’s instructions (also surprising because he had not followed anyone's instructions in a long time) as they worked to make sure you had everything you needed to stay healthy.

he’d help you with things like showering when it became difficult for you to balance or reach certain places. his touch was always gentle, his movements careful, making sure you felt safe. it became an intimate routine, his fingers massaged your scalp with care.

every night he'd gently rub lotion on your growing belly, helping to care for the stretch marks that had started to appear. he knew how self-conscious they made you feel. he could see it in the way you’d glance at your reflection, letting out a frustrated huff each time you noticed a new one, how you’d try to hide it from him, or how you’d wrap yourself in a towel quickly after a shower. so he took his time applying the lotion with steady hands, his eyes focused as if making sure he was doing it right.

—another one? —you muttered, feeling the weight of it.

—doesn’t change a thing —. logan just shook his head, kneeling beside you. —it’s just a mark. i'm covered in marks, and you never cared, right?

laura sat close to you, her eyes focused on your belly as logan gently massaged your skin. she was waiting, as she always did, hoping to see her future sister move. each time logan’s hand smoothed over your growing bump, laura’s gaze would sharpen, her small body leaning forward saying come on, little sis, just one kick. sometimes she’d place her hand beside logan’s, her touch gentle but curious.

—is she going to move soon? —she’d ask in a hushed voice.

logan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. —she’s already kickin' when you’re not looking —. he teased lightly as he rubbed the cream over your stretch marks, carefully. laura’s eyes never left your belly, waiting for that one special moment.

and he'd give you foot massages, his calloused hands rubbing away the soreness from carrying extra weight. you’d close your eyes, sighing in relief, and he’d smile.

when your clothes stopped fitting, it was he who offered up his own. he’d hand over his t-shirts and flannels, which hung loose on you and smelled like him, making you feel him close to you even when he was away at work.

logan was a bit reluctant at first but when the doctor told him how important prenatal yoga was to you, he didn't have to think about it twice. he wanted to be there and help you in every way he could even though he felt a bit out of place among the soft music, peaceful atmosphere, and expectant mothers, but he never let it show.

he'd help you find comfort in each of the poses the instructor guided everyone. he was often the only man in the class, which certainly caught the attention of the other moms. perhaps they noticed the age gap between you and logan, but more likely, their attention was drawn to your undeniably handsome partner. some of them whispered to each other, half-jokingly expressing their jealousy at how lucky you were to have such a dedicated partner. you both noticed the glances but you were too focused on each other.

as the weeks went by, the mothers would often smile at him, offering you two the kindest words as they saw how attentive he was to your needs.

at the end of the class, logan leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand resting on your back. —you did great —. he murmured, his voice full of pride. as you started to gather your things, one of the mothers nearby smiled and said, you're a lucky girl.

you couldn’t help but blush a little. he gave a small, almost shy smirk in response but didn’t say anything. instead, he focused on helping you with your bag.

the moment you found out you were pregnant, he quit smoking. it was almost instinctive, he wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, and that included kicking the habit that had stuck with him for years.

and giving up cigarettes was one thing, but quitting drinking was way harder. there were nights he’d sit in the kitchen, staring at the bottle in the cabinet, knowing he could just reach for it. but he remembered you asleep in the other room, a hand resting protectively over your belly, and he’d push the thought away. he didn’t want his daughter growing up with memories of whiskey lingering on her father’s breath.

DURING LABOR

logan was more terrified than he'd ever let you know. he had faced, battles survived unimaginable pain, and lived through horrors but this was different. watching you in pain, knowing that your body was going through something so intense shook him to his core.

he stayed by your side, gripping your hand tightly and leaning in close, his voice encouraging you to push. he'd brush the damp strands of hair that were sticking to your face and press his forehead to yours.

when the baby’s first cry filled the room, logan sighed in relief, his grip on your hand softening as he finally allowed himself to breathe. once the doctors placed her on your chest, logan leaned in by your side, his eyes shining as he looked at you. you did so good, baby, thank you so much he murmured as he kissed your sweaty forehead and one of his fingers brushed across the baby’s little cheek.

AFTER PREGNANCY

at first, he was terrified every time he held her, his usually steady hands suddenly unsure. he was afraid that even his touch might be too much. she was so tiny, so soft and fragile, and her chest rose and fell so peacefully even though her small fingers wrapped around logan's thick ones with such strength. he found himself holding his breath whenever he picked her up.

in those first few days after labor, logan seemed to be everywhere at once. checking on the baby, bringing you food, making sure you were sleeping and laura wasn't trying to sneak into your room to see the baby. she was fascinated by her little sister, how could a human being be so small? laura often asked herself.

logan would catch her on her tiptoes, face with curiosity, and he’d stop her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. laura would pout, glancing past him with wide eyes, eager to get closer, but logan wasn’t having it.

you surprised him when you caught him slipping into a soft, almost comical baby voice whenever he spoke to his daughter. but it was completely unintentional, just something that happened whenever he looked down at her tiny face, her big eyes blinking up at him. oh, what’s that little face all about, huh? you got somethin’ to say, little one? he’d murmur, his voice high and gentle as he rubbed one of her cheeks.

logan never thought he’d find joy in something as simple as dressing up his little girl, but there he was, surrounded by tiny clothes, immersed in a world of pastels and patterns. the laughter that escaped his lips as he put together the outfits was genuine. alright, sweetheart, what do you think of this one? he would ask her, holding the little one in front of the mirror. the baby had no idea what was going on, but logan nodded, approving the outfit. he’d try on multiple outfits, taking photos, and sending them to you for your opinion. how about this for school? he’d text you, proudly. this one’s a bold choice, but i think you can pull it off, he’d tease, pretending to be a fashion critic.

leaving for work each day became one of the hardest things logan had to do. he hated those hours he spent apart from the three of you. and every night when he came home, the baby was already sleeping but he'd tiptoe over to the crib, and he'd place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. then he’d make his way to bed, crawling next to you and pulling you close against his chest. he’d nuzzle his head close, murmuring softly, you okay, darlin’? and though you’d only mumble a half-coherent answer, he’d still give a small, satisfied nod.

and when he gets out of work earlier, he comes home exhausted, and you can see it in his face, the tired lines around his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he rubs the back of his neck, but despite that, he is never too tired to play with his baby girl.

as the baby grew, logan took on new challenges, like driving her to school each morning, packing her tiny backpack with her favorite snacks, and doing her hair. with dark brown locks just like laura's and his own, he gathered them into two little ponytails, a bit clumsy at first, his fingers were used to fighting and rough work, not delicate hairstyles.

laura, after seeing how much fun logan had with the little girl’s hair, wanted no less. she’d approach him, eyes bright with excitement. —can you do my hair too, logan?

—your mom can do it for you. she's much better at it than i am —. he answered, not sure if his hairdressing skills would meet the older girl's expectations.

—but i want you to do it!

logan huffed, ruffling her hair with his free hand. he used the same care gathering laura's long hair as he did for her baby sister and he found it incredibly satisfying to see laura's face light up when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

after all, he was meant to be a girl's dad. every moment with you and your daughters reminded him that all those years of solitude and struggles, had led him here to a life filled with love. he might have thought being a dad was beyond his reach, but now, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[urloveada]

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 || 𝐣𝐨𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠💌™

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: joe goldberg x f!reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 1.9k+

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: smut, p in v, edging, swearing, vibrator, ‘you belong to me’ vibes, dom/sub undertones; dom!joe, sub!reader. MDNI

𝓷/𝓪: not beta read, i apologize for any errors!! || my new bsf (🤫) has been dying for this fic; i really hope you enjoy!!

╰ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ masterlist || navigation

You and Joe finally decided to go out on a date. You’ve both been so busy with work lately you haven’t gotten to spend much time together. Joe’s working full time; you're working part time, but unfortunately your schedules barely line up.

 

It was Joe’s idea to come to this restaurant; this was where you met. So, it’s quite sentimental to the both of you. which is a big reason why your boyfriend is eyeing you angrily as you flirt with the young waiter.

 

Now in your defence, you didn’t mean for the flirting to start; it just happened. He came to take your order but could not keep his eyes off you. Of course Joe noticed; he notices everything, especially when it comes to you. And out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joe clench his jaw in frustration, maybe even jealousy. So that’s when you decided to play along, for as long as Joe would let you, that is.

 

“Okay, your food will be ready in a few minutes. It might take a bit longer since we’re currently low staff.” The young waiter, whose name you learned is Elliot, tells you apologetically.

 

“It’s okay, baby; we aren’t in a rush,” you tell him kindly before he walks away, making sure you emphasize the word 'baby.'

 

Joe stares at you silently, trying to collect his thoughts before he speaks. “What are you doing?” The warning was clear: don’t do it again or you won’t like the consequences.

 

You stay silent, looking innocently at him, until he raises his eyebrows, indicating he’s expecting an answer.

 

“I’m just being polite; is that a problem?” You sass, crossing your arms over your chest.

 

“Oh, you do NOT get to flirt with the waiter than sass me. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Joe asks sternly, keeping eye contact with you as you try looking away.

 

“Oh my, God, Joe. It’s not that big of a deal. Why are you being such a—“

 

“Okay, we have one order of the grilled chicken, with salad on the side,” Elliot cuts you off, bringing your food over, “and one order of steak and baked potatoes.” He slides Joe his dinner.

 

“Can I get you anything else? a refill on your drinks maybe?” Elliot offers the both of you. Joe notices Elliot’s hand slightly brushing against your shoulder but doesn’t comment on it.

 

Joe shakes his head no.

 

“No thanks, darling,” you say, smiling at Elliott as he walks away to take other orders.

 

Joe is now looking at you furiously. “This is your last warning. Do it again, and we’re leaving; do you understand me?” Joe demands, grabbing your chin so you’re making eye contact.

 

You nod your head, but roll your eyes while trying to wriggle out of his grip.

 

“uh, uh. eyes up here. I said, Do you understand me?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” you nod your head. “I understand.”

 

Joe releases his grip and nods his head. “Now eat, please.”

 

_________

 

You and Joe eat your dinner peacefully, finally having the evening together Joe wanted. You are so close to finishing your meal without anymore distractions until Elliott comes over one last time to check on you.

 

“Is everything alright?” Elliot asks, sounding like he genuinely cares how your meal is.

 

“It was delicious, thank you,” you reply, setting the fork down and looking up at Elliot. “Wasn’t it good, Joe?" You turn to look at your boyfriend.

 

“Yes, it was. Thank you,” he says politely, despite how annoyed he is with Elliot.

 

“I’m glad to hear that!” Elliot replies happily, “Would you like me to get the bill now?” He asks, collecting your empty plates and utensils.

 

“Yes, love, that sounds wonderful,” you respond with the same level of enthusiasm.

 

Elliot leaves to get the bill, and you look over at Joe, not expecting to see him so angry.

 

“I have told you several times to knock it off. I am sick of you disrespecting me,” Joe says sternly.

 

He leans forward to whisper this last part so only you can hear.

 

“When we get home, you are being punished. I do not care how much you don’t want it; you will be punished for your actions, and that is final. Do you understand?”

 

You look at Joe bewildered. Sure, you wanted to push his buttons; angry sex is the best, is it not? but a punishment? That was something you didn’t expect.

 

"Yes, sir,” you respond sheepishly, “understood.”

 

_________

 

The drive home is silent, not even the sound of the radio going. You knew you were going to be in trouble, but not this much trouble.

 

I mean, really? a punishment?  

That’s not necessary. Of course you’d never say this to Joe; he would not approve of this mindset.

 

when you finally arrive home and Joe parks the car in the driveway. There’s a moment or two of silence while he tries collecting his thoughts.

 

He turns to you and grabs your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look him in the eyes when he talks to you.

“When you go inside, I want you to strip completely and wait for me on the bed. I will be inside in a few minutes. Go.”

 

Joe releases his grip, and you scramble out of the car and inside the house, shutting the door behind you. You run up the stairs and go to your shared bedroom.

 

You strip off your clothes, put them in the laundry basket, and wait on the bed as Joe instructed.

 

You heard Joe walking up the stairs a few minutes after you sat down. He wasn’t stomping, which was a good sign.

 

Joe opened the door and looked to the bed, making sure you listened. “Finally learned how to listen, hm?” He teased, walking over to the bed to stand above you.

 

“Go get the vibrator,” Joe says sternly, pointing to the nightstand on the opposite side of you.

 

“Joe, please no,” you plead, making zero effort to do as you’re told.

 

“Now.”

 

You sigh and climb across the bed. opening the drawer aggressively and grabbing the vibrator. Sliding across the bed you had it to Joe, and once again start pleading.

 

“please, please! dont. I’ll be good, Joe.” You give him your best puppy eyes. “So good, I promise.”

 

His eyes soften slightly, and he rubs his thumb across your lips before leaning in and softly kissing them.

 

He pulls back and admires you for a moment before saying, “Lay down, on your back, spread your legs.”

 

You whine but obey him wordlessly, trying your best to prepare yourself for what’s about to happen.

 

“Good girl,” Joe turns on the vibrato to its slowest level and holds it between your legs.

 

You gasp and twitch at the sudden sensation between your legs but say nothing; instead, you grip the soft cotton sheets in order to hold still.

 

“Oh baby,” Joe coos, placing down the vibrator so it won’t move when he lets go. and sits down on a chair beside the bed. “This is only the beginning, and your already gasping and moaning?”

 

You glare at your boyfriend and begin to say something when your cut off by the vibration being turned up a level, using a remote Joe keeps with him.

 

“Joe,” you groan, struggling to keep still. You look over at your boyfriend to see him smiling at you, enjoying watching you struggle to keep your composure.

 

“hmm?” He hums, “What is it, baby?” Turning it up to the max speed, he asks, “Is something wrong?”

 

“Mmm, fuck,” you moan breathlessly, gripping at the sheets even harder.

 

“Use your words,” he tuts.

 

“Please, off,” you beg helplessly, “I'm going to come, please.”

 

“Uh, uh. No, your not.” Joe sits up and pushes the vibrator deeper, rubbing it up and down. “Only good girls get to come. Were you a good girl?”

 

You quickly shake your head no, hopeful that if you obey, you will get the reward of coming.

 

“No? No what, baby, use your words.” He says sternly but not coldly.

 

“No,” you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure. “No, I wasn’t a good girl.”

 

“No, you weren’t,” he agrees, stopping the movement of the vibrator and leaving it still once more. “What were you then? hmm?" joe prompts.

 

“Bad girl,” you answer, arching your back, trying to nonchalantly wiggle away from the vibrations.

 

“Yeah, you were a bad girl.” He notices your wiggles and once again moves the vibrator closer to your clit. “And do bad girls get to come?”

 

“No, they don't.” You give him your best ‘I’ll be a good girl’ eyes, but to no avail.

 

“No, they don’t. Does that mean you get to come?” he asks, finding pleasure in your constant gasps and moans.

 

“No.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

You gasp loudly, “Joe, I’m going to come. I can't fight it anymore.” You carefully grind on the vibrator, trying to bring yourself to the orgasm you so badly need.

 

Joe quickly puts an end to that nonsense by taking the vibrator away. “Oh, baby, wrong decision.”

 

Joe waits a few minutes to let you come down from your almost orgasm, then puts the vibrator right back between your thighs.

 

“Oh,” you gasp, gripping at Joe's wrists, your nails digging into his skin. “Please stop. I’ll be good, I promise,” you beg. At this point, you’re willing pretty much anything to get him to stop.

 

“yeah? you have?" He gently removes your nails from digging into him.

 

“Yes! Oh, God, yes.” you all but yell. “I’ll never, ever flirt with someone else again.”

 

“Yeah, I know you won’t,” he agrees, unbuckling his pants and pulling them off.

 

You watch Joe strip, just now noticing how hard he is. Joe pulls down his boxers, and his dick springs out.

 

Joe climbs on the bed with you and removes the vibrator. “Show me how much of a good girl you can be.”

 

You eagerly climb on Joe's lap and position yourself on his cock. Joe slides inside you easily.

 

“Hmm, so wet for me, yeah?” Joe teases, kissing your neck.

 

“Yes,” you reply, turning your neck to the side so he has better access, as you begin to rock back and forth on Joe.

 

He flips you over your laying underneath him while he starts pounding into your dripping wet pussy.

 

You whimper and dig your nails into Joe's back. “Joe,” you pant, “don’t stop, I’m close.”

 

He continues pounding you. “No one will ever make you feel this good,” he whispers in your ear. “Look at you, so needy for me.” He kisses your lips rather aggressively, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

 

You moan in pleasure and run hand through Joe's hair, tugging on it, so his face is closer to yours.

 

You pull back from the kiss to moan out, “Joe, I’m going to come.” He continues, not slowing down his pace.

 

“Come for me, baby, that’s it. good girl,” he praises as you finish.

 

Joe comes shortly after and pulls out. You both flop on your backs, trying to catch your breath. After a minute or so, Joe turns to you. “I meant what I said. No one will make you feel as good as I do.”

 

You nod in agreement, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. “I know,”

 

Joe pulls you close; you rest your head on his chest and close your eyes.

 

“You’re mine; you got that?”

 

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Believe me, I won’t forget.”

𝓷/𝓪: requests are open!! feel free to use whenever you want.

[howslemon]

Perfect Translation

IVE Rei x Male Reader

Words: 3.2k+

*Japanese

.

The forty-story glass building loomed before you, its sleek facade reflecting the morning sun. You smoothed down your suit coat, gripping your company ID like a lifeline. Your supervisor's words echoed in your mind: "Just a casual check-in with our Japanese partners." Easy for him to say, he wasn't the one navigating Tokyo without speaking the language.

The security guard accepted your ID with both hands, his expression courteous but firm. After a brief examination, he returned it with a gesture toward the waiting area. The glossy pamphlet on the side table offered little comfort. Its characters might as well have been abstract art.

"Good afternoon sir,"

The voice pulled your attention from the pamphlet. A woman stood before you, her presence commanding yet graceful. Her dark hair fell just past her shoulders, complementing the sharp lines of her business attire.

"Naoi Rei, I’ll be assisting you for today." she introduced herself, extending a hand. Her handshake was firm, professional. "Please follow me."

.

The elevator ride was quiet for the soft jazz playing overhead. You noticed how she stood, straight-backed, hands clasped before her, the very picture of corporate professionalism.

"First time in Japan sir?" she asked warmly, softening the elevator's fluorescent lighting.

"That obvious huh?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "You have that look about you. Wide-eyed, just taking everything in." She turned slightly toward you. "Tokyo can be overwhelming at first."

"Any suggestions for a newcomer?"

"I know quite a few hidden gems in the city." Her eyes met yours briefly. "Places tourists never find."

The elevator chimed, interrupting whatever was building in that moment. Rei gestured for you to follow, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. The office buzzed with quiet energy, the soft murmur of voices, the gentle hum of computers, the distant ring of phones.

Rei led you to a meeting room along the corner, where an executive in his fifties greeted you with a slight bow. His silver-streaked hair and wire-rimmed glasses gave him an air of distinguished authority.

"Welcome," he said warmly. "I trust you found us without too much trouble?"

Rei translated, voice replicating the same warmth. Was it your imagination, or did her eyes linger on yours a moment longer than necessary?

"The building was hard to miss," you replied, settling into the chair she indicated. The seating arrangement placed Rei between you and the executive, close enough that you caught the subtle scent of her perfume.

"Well, shall we discuss how the partnership has been progressing?"

Rei translated, but this time, she carried a hint of playfulness. "He wants to know how well we work together." Her emphasis on 'we' was subtle but unmistakable.

.

The conversation flowed, a dance of languages and meanings. With each translation, Rei seemed to grow bolder, a lingering glance here, a subtle shift in her chair there. Her translations remained professional, but her body language told a different story.

"How do you manage your team?" the executive asked, innocently enough.

Rei's eyes sparkled as she translated. "He's curious about how you... handle things." Her foot brushed against yours under the table, too deliberate to be accidental.

"I believe in being... hands-on when necessary," you replied, maintaining eye contact.

She turned to the executive, translating your words with perfect professionalism, but her crossed legs angled slightly more toward you. The rest of the meeting became a delicate balance, maintaining corporate decorum while an undercurrent of tension built with each exchanged glance, each "accidental" touch.

The executive seemed pleased with the discussion, checking his watch. "I believe we've covered everything now, unless you have any other questions?"

Rei's translation came with a subtle bite of her lip. "He's wrapping up. But I'm sure there's more we could... discuss."

The professional facade was cracking, replaced by something electric, dangerous, and entirely unprofessional. But as you caught her eye, you knew neither of you cared anymore. "That could be arranged,"

Rei’s eyes lingered onto yours a bit longer than necessary as she turned to the executive. "I have no other questions,"

As the executive gathered his papers, Rei translated his closing remarks with perfect professionalism, but her eyes told a different story entirely. The tension that had been building throughout the meeting was reaching its breaking point.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet today," the executive said, standing and extending his hand.

"He said thank you for the stimulating... conversation," Rei translated, her voice low enough that only you could hear the suggestion in her tone.

You shook the executive's hand, maintaining your composure despite the heat crawling up your neck. After exchanging pleasantries, Rei led you back into the hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor with newfound purpose.

"I should show you around before you leave," she said, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, not that anyone understood it anyway. Then, leaning closer, she whispered, "There's a utility room at the end of this hallway. Nobody uses it this time of day."

Your pulse quickened as you followed Rei down the corridor, past busy offices and meeting rooms. To anyone watching, it was just the translator guiding a visitor, nothing more.

She slowed her pace as you approached a door near the end of the hall. Glancing quickly in both directions, Rei reached for the handle.

The door opened to reveal a small storage room, shelves of office supplies, a utility sink, and not much else. But neither of you were looking at the surroundings as she pulled you inside, closing the door behind you.

She locked the door. The moment it clicked, she turned to you, professionalism cracking at the edges. "So," she murmured, voice dipping lower, "let's talk about that hands-on management style."

You didn’t bother with words.

Your mouth was on hers in an instant, capturing her gasp as you pressed her against the nearest shelf. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t patient. The tension that had been building throughout the meeting snapped in an instant.

She matched your urgency, her hands already at your tie, loosening it with quick, practiced movements. Your fingers traced the buttons of her blouse, slipping one free, then another, revealing smooth skin beneath.

"I've been thinking about this since I saw you through the lobby," Rei whispered against your mouth, her fingers already working at your tie.

The confined space of the storage room amplified every breath, every rustle of clothing, every muffled sound, everything. Your hands found her waist, the smooth fabric of her blouse a stark contrast to the heat emanating from beneath.

"Someone could hear us," you murmured, even as your actions contradicted your words.

"Then we'll have to be quiet," she replied, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Her fingers moved with surprising dexterity, undoing your coat with practiced ease. "Unless you want me to translate that too? Let them know what we’re doing."

The joke broke the tension for just a moment before it rebuilt, stronger than before. Your hands found the edge of her skirt, bunching the fabric as she pressed harder against you.

"No more talking," she commanded, professional composure completely forgotten. She reached for your belt, working it open with precision.

The small room felt electric, charged with the hours of pent-up energy released in this stolen moment. Office supplies rattled on nearby shelves as you both moved against them, neither caring about maintaining order anymore.

You turned her around swiftly, hands rested on the curve of her hips, guiding her against the stacked shelf. Her breath hitched as your fingers slid up the smooth skin of her thighs, bunching her skirt higher until it barely covered her. Her palms pressed against the shelf, nails barely scratching the metal frame as she arched back, offering herself without a word. You could feel the heat radiating from between her legs, her body betraying how long she’d been waiting for this.

"You're already soaked," you murmured, running a finger along the thin strip of fabric that barely covered her. A soft, muffled gasp escaped her lips as you traced slow circles over her panties, teasing, taunting.

"Do you want me to translate how much I need you right now?" she whispered, voice thick with desire.

Instead of answering, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and tugged her panties down, letting them slide past her thighs before they dropped to her ankles. She kicked them aside without hesitation, spreading her legs wider in silent invitation.

Your fingers dipped between her folds, spreading her open, feeling how wet she was. "Fuck," you breathed, dragging your fingertips through the slickness before pressing one inside her. She clenched around you instantly, her breath catching as she bit back a moan.

"You need to be quiet," you reminded her, sliding another finger in, stretching her, curling just enough to make her shudder. "Unless you want everyone out there to know what a filthy little professional you really are."

Her head dropped forward, forehead resting against the shelf as she fought to control herself. You freed yourself, lining up at her entrance, teasing her with the head of your cock.

You gripped her hips, holding her still as you teased her entrance, rubbing against her, coating yourself in her wetness. "Tell me how badly you want it."

She turned her head slightly, eyes blazing as she met your gaze over her shoulder. "I’ve wanted it the second I saw you in that lobby," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Now stop teasing and fuck me."

A growl rumbled low in your throat as you thrust into her, burying yourself in one smooth, deep stroke. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, fingers tightening around the edge of the shelf. You gave her a moment to adjust before pulling back and slamming into her again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the small space.

"God—" she gasped, cutting herself off, trying to suppress her moans.

You grinned, gripping a handful of her hair and pulling her head back. "Careful," you warned, your lips brushing her ear. "Wouldn't want anyone to walk in and see you like this, bent over, dripping, taking every inch like you were made for it."

Her only response was a desperate whimper, her walls tightening around you, her body pushing back against yours, seeking more. You gave it to her fast, deep, relentless. The shelf rocked against the wall with every thrust, papers slipping loose, pens scattering onto the floor, but neither of you cared.

"You're so fucking tight," you groaned, your grip on her hips bruising as you drove into her harder, faster. She was trembling now, her legs shaking, her breath uneven as she neared the edge.

"Please," she panted, barely able to get the word out. "Don’t stop."

You reached around, finding her clit, rubbing harsh, quick circles in time with your thrusts. Her whole body tensed, back arching, muscles tightening as she came hard around you, her orgasm crashing over her in silent, shaking waves, pushing your cock out of her.

You felt her soft thighs press around your length. The slick wetness from her previous orgasm made it easy for your cock to slide in and out smoothly between the soft flesh of meat, lightly brushing her still dripping folds. Each slow thrusts teasing, matched with your hand creeping up to her perfectly sized breast.

Rei let out cute little whimpers, her fingers tightening around the shelf, trying to steady herself as you plant gentle kisses along her nape. You ran your hands up her sides, tracing her ribs through the thin fabric of her blouse before gripping her waist again, controlling her movements, making sure she felt every inch of you sliding between her thighs.

Her thighs squeezed tighter, the sensation delicious as you picked up the pace, fucking into that soft, slick heat. You could feel how wet she still was, how close she was again. "Sensitive?" You murmured against her ear, dragging your lips along the curve of her neck, sucking lightly, just enough to make her jerk, but not enough pressure to leave a mark, at least not for now.

Rei shivered, nodding weakly as she bit her lip before turning her face to you. Your fingers trailed down, dipping between her legs, teasing her folds just as your cock slid past. She jerked against you, a sharp inhale escaping her lips as you circled her clit again, rubbing in time with your thrusts. Her pleading eyes stared at yours, full of hunger, desires. Warm breaths hitting you before you closed the tiny gap in between your faces, claiming her plump lips, tounges slithering together, savoring each other’s taste.

There she was again with her cute whimpers, this time, against your mouth, her body trembling against yours, breathing uneven. Lewd wet sounds of your exchanged heat echoing the small space, the universal language of sex that didn’t need any translation for anyone to understand.

You felt yourself getting close, the friction of her plush thighs, the heat of her soaked pussy just barely out of reach, driving you to the edge. You pulled back at the last second, gripping her hips with both hands as you turned her around. Rei blinked up at you, dazed, her pupils blown wide with lust. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing still ragged.

Her back hitting the shelf as you lifted one of her legs, hitching it over your arm. The new angle exposed everything, her swollen, dripping entrance, still twitching from her last orgasm, waiting, begging for you to fill her again with your cock.

You lined yourself up, teasing her entrance with the head of your cock, reveling in the way she shuddered, her fingers gripping at your shoulders for support.

"Please…" Her voice was barely a whisper, but the desperation in it made something snap inside you. You thrust into her in one hard stroke, burying yourself to the hilt. The shelves behind her hit against the wall, the remaining office supply containers dropping down the floor. You somehow felt bad for someone who’s gonna clean all this mess, the wasted sheet of papers already unusable, soaked with Rei’s cum.

You didn’t give her time to adjust this time. You set a punishing rhythm, deep, unrelenting, each thrust forcing her against the shelf, her body completely at your mercy. Her nails dug into your shoulders as she held on, breaking her with every thrust. "Too much—!"

"You can take it," you growled, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at you. Her lips trembled, breath hot and uneven as she stared up at you, pupils wide, drowning in lust. "Yes, I can—ahh!"

You slammed into her harder, watching her back arch, her body forced against the shelf. The unrelenting force of your thrusts shaking both her and the unstable storage behind her.

"Don’t stop…" she gasped, nails raking down your back through the fabric of your shirt, her legs tightening around you as you drove into her relentlessly.

You grabbed her other thigh, lifting her completely off the ground, pressing her against the cold metal shelf as you held her in place, using your strength to fuck into her at a brutal pace. She had no choice but to take it, her body fully surrendered to you, trembling, shaking, as pleasure wracked through her.

"I-I’m gonna—!"

You felt it, her walls spasming around you, body shaking, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she—

Somebody knocked, forcing you to stay absolutely still, cock still burried deep into her, painfully halting Rei’s climax. You covered her mouth, preventing any unwanted cries of pleasure to be heard by someone out there. She’s still gasping, trying to catch her breath as you slowly continue your pace.

"What did he say?" You whispered before letting go of her mouth.

"Just asking if someone’s here,"

Coast is clear, you heard footsteps walking away from the room. You stared at each other, letting out breathy laughs.

"You were so close," you murmured against her ear, feeling the way her walls still fluttered around you, desperate for the release that had been stolen from her.

"F-fuck... I hate you," Rei whispered breathlessly, forehead pressing against yours, her nails digging into your shoulders. But her body betrayed her, still shifting against you, still silently pleading for more.

You smirked, pulling back just enough to watch her face as you rolled your hips, slow and deep, pressing her further into the cold shelf. "Hate me?" Another slow, deliberate thrust. "Or hate that I stopped?"

"A bit of both," she gasped, tilting her head back as pleasure took over her again.

"You wanna cum?"

Rei nodded frantically, staring at you with lips slightly parted, already lost in it again. "Please, make me cum,"

You gripped her thighs tighter, pressing it higher against your waist as you snapped your hips forward, resuming the brutal rhythm she needed, slamming into her deep and hard. She cried out, her voice muffled against your shoulder, her nails scratching down your back.

"You wanna scream?" you taunted, breath hot against her neck. "But you can’t, can you? Not unless you want them to hear how filthy you are, getting fucked like this in a storage room."

She nodded weakly, biting her lip to keep the moans inside.

"Then cum," you growled, thrusting harder, fingers digging into her skin as you drove her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, her pussy clenching down on you, squeezing tight as she came violently, her muffled moan vibrating against your skin.

You groaned, feeling the way she milked your cock, every pulse pushing you closer, her tight, dripping heat dragging you into oblivion.

"Fuck Rei,"

You buried yourself as deep as you could, white-hot pleasure crashing over you as you came inside her, filling her completely. She whimpered, shivering as she felt it, her body still shaking, still coming down from her high as you spilled every last drop into her.

Silence settled between you, both panting, pressed against each other, sweaty, spent.

You finally dropped her legs down as you pulled back, watching your cum slowly dripping on her thighs. "Messy…" you murmured, smirking.

Rei let out a breathy laugh, legs still weak, arms wrapped lazily around your shoulders. "That was the best fuck I’ve had here."

You kissed her—slow, deep, savoring the taste of her.

"Should we clean up?" You pressed your forehead to hers, glancing around the wreckage of the storage room, office supplies scattered, papers ruined, and the unmistakable scent of sex heavy in the air.

"Should we?"

You both chuckled, fixing yourselves back into the professionals that you were before you went in that room. "You free tonight?" You ask her.

She leaned against the shelf to steady herself, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tonight?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"My hotel." you replied, straightening your tie.

Rei glanced at her watch, then took out a business card. She flipped it over, writing something on the back before pressing it into your palm. Her fingers lingered against yours.

With that, she unlocked the door, checked the hallway, and slipped out, once again the perfect professional. But the card in your hand, warm from her touch, promised this was only the beginning.

••••••••••

Extended version of @mintwithchoco's prompt.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒

WARNING: 18+ content

Your hands gestured with small, uncertain movements as you spoke, trying to explain every detail the gynecologist had given you. Your fingers twisted around each other, and your voice—though calm—had that slight tremble that only he, so attuned to you, could notice.

"The doctor checked everything," you said, raising your voice a bit to emphasize. "My hormone levels, the uterus, the ovaries… everything. She said I’m fine, there’s nothing stopping us from trying to have a baby."

He kept watching you, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, but his eyes were softer than usual. Interested. Focused. Nervous, maybe?

You took a deep breath before concluding, with a laugh you barely held back:

"The doctor said we’re ready to start the… baby dance."

Bakugo blinked. Then tilted his head and leaned back on the couch like he was trying to process what he’d just heard. Then, rolling his eyes with a smirk that was more amused than annoyed, he let out a dry laugh.

"Baby dance? What the hell is that?" he scoffed, flashing his teeth like the phrase physically irritated him. "Why don’t you just call it sex like a normal person?"

"That’s what the doctor calls it!" you defended, unable to keep from smiling. "It sounds… less clinical. More fun. Cuter. It’s not the same saying 'today’s my ovulation day' as it is saying 'today’s baby dance day,' you know?"

He clicked his tongue and muttered something under his breath, clearly not sold on the terminology.

"So, we can try right now?"

His words came out fast, unfiltered, with that blunt, shameless tone that made you blink, surprised. So damn impatient.

You cleared your throat, crossing your legs a bit more nervously than before, feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

"It wouldn’t work, Katsuki," you said softly, looking at him tenderly. "I’m not ovulating right now."

Bakugo pressed his lips together and leaned back again, like he was seriously plotting a strategy.

"But we can still practice."

"Did the doctor recommend that too?" he asked in a teasing tone, but his eyes were locked on your lips.

You laughed, though your voice trembled just slightly. You were used to how direct he could be when he teased, but he still managed to throw you off when he got like this—confident, playful, and a little dangerous.

"Not exactly," you replied, meeting his gaze. "But she did say there’s no reason not to... stay active."

Your hips fit perfectly over his, like they were made to be there. Bakugo’s hands, already beneath your shirt, explored slowly, like every inch of your exposed skin was a new territory to claim. His fingers were rough, firm, but they knew exactly how to touch. With precision. With pent-up hunger.

"We’ll practice so damn much…" he murmured against your collarbone, his tongue brushing your skin right where he knew it made you shiver, "that by the time your dumb 'fertile window' hits, you’ll barely be able to walk."

Your breath grew heavier, mixed with a short, nervous laugh that died the second his teeth gently bit your skin, claiming you.

"So dramatic…" you whispered, arching your back as his hand slid up far enough to firmly grope one of your breasts—no hesitation, no filter.

He pulled you tighter against him, making sure you felt exactly how much he wanted you. His erection pressed up hard against you through the fabric, undeniable and insistent.

You clung to his shoulders, straddling his hips, moving just enough to tease him—deliberately—earning a deep, low growl from his chest. His reaction was immediate: his hands squeezed you tighter, and his mouth found yours again, this time hungrily.

"I'm gonna rip this shirt off you if you don’t take it off now," he said between kisses, his voice rough, breath hot against your ear.

"God, calm down…" you teased, taking it off yourself with a deliberately slow motion just to watch him squirm. His eyes roamed your body like he was seeing you for the first time.

"Shit…" he muttered, his fingers now skimming over your bare skin. "You look fucking perfect like this."

His mouth trailed kisses down your chest, stopping at your bra. It didn’t take him long to get rid of it, and the moment his lips closed around one of your nipples, your back arched instinctively.

"This is your idea of practice?" you managed to say between gasps, though your tone had lost its teasing edge.

"This is the warm-up," he said against your skin, with that cocky smirk of his. "The real practice starts when I’m inside you."

• Masterlist

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent. 

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin' 

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy. 

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you. 

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit. 

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit. 

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable. 

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes. 

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice. 

They don’t. 

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest. 

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him. 

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever. 

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now. 

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?” 

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now. 

“Sure.” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop. 

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.” 

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens. 

“Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—” 

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin��� you can’t afford it?” 

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort. 

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word. 

“You wanna do something for me?” 

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking. 

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.” 

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift. 

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---” 

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe. 

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you. 

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant. 

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new. 

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.” 

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place. 

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you. 

“I think you know what I mean.” 

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed. 

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.” 

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind. 

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.” 

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head. 

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.” 

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room. 

“Uh, are you talking about sex?” 

“Yep.” 

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date. 

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little. 

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug. 

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze. 

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation. 

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.” 

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation. 

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it. 

You hope he meant it. 

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless. 

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass. 

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming. 

The next day, you’re still tense. 

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts. 

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting. 

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality. 

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings. 

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight. 

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill. 

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard. 

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs. 

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting. 

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy. 

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air. 

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait. 

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something. 

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care. 

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better. 

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now. 

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss. 

“I know.” 

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body. 

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans. 

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine. 

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe. 

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time. 

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.” 

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding. 

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low. 

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush. 

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet. 

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine. 

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond. 

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?” 

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.” 

“Yes.” 

“Great.” 

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise. 

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears. 

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity. 

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?” 

“Mmm,” is all you can manage. 

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.” 

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink. 

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you. 

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison. 

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up. 

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.” 

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

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[2knightt]

Do you think u could write abt the gang being (separately) absolutely obsessed with the reader. Like they adore everything she does, they can’t get enough of her. To the point where the rest of the gang starts releasing them abt it, meanwhile reader is like completely oblivious lol

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ heaven and hell were words to me.⋄ 𓍯

…IN WHICH! the greasers are totally obsessed!

tags/warnings: no confessions—just the gang having a crush, gang being literally whipped, them being a little odd, kinda toxic!johnny LFMAO, nothing else to my knowledge

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ i’m just working…working hard so i can please you.(shout out to ema/corvyes/loml for that ref.) but if i get a req asking me for like the gng confessing to you—i will do it. trust.

Dallas Winston

WHEN HE’S DRUNK, YOU’RE ALLLL HE TALKS ABOUT LMFAOOOO

“i’m tellin’ you—there ain’t a girl like her.”

dallas would repeat after what felt like this 5th drink of the night. buck is sick of him, two-bit regrets dragging him along, and dallas just wants to tell them how good you looked today.

when he sees you walking home, to school, or to work he WILL tag along. HE DOESN’T GAF IF YOU TELL HIM TO TAKE A HIKE!

actually, he kinda does. you’re like the only person he listens to.

LMFAOOO THE GANG THREATENS TO CALL YOU OVER WHENEVER DALLAS IS DOING SMTH STUPID

like whenever you threaten a kid ur gna tell santa.

“dallas, i’m gonna tell y/n what you did last week.”

“??if you do, i’ll beat your head in, soda.”

“YIKES..i’m gonna have to tell her that too…”

“…don’t, she’d be so mad at me😔😒.”

THE GANG TEASES DALLAS THE WORST(besides ponyboy) ABOUT YOU LFNAOAOAOAO

like they’re shoving him toward you, nudging him at even the slightest mention of you, giggling as they tell him they seen you today.

“look, it’s your girlfriend.”

“steve, shut up! she ain’t deaf!”

—

“GO SEE HER!”

“OW—i mean—hi, y/n.”

“did you…trip? or did you mean to bump into me?”

“yeah, sorry or whatever. some IDIOT back there pushed me.”

—

“guess who i saw..🥰🥰”

“who?”

“your wife…”

“can you NOT.”

despite all that, you somehow, still don’t know how he feels about you. how? we’ll never know. it’s beyond the human mind.

his friends try and hint at you that the big, bad greaser has a school girl crush on you. do you get what they’re trying to say? no. but that’s okay, you’re just a girl.

lowkey pisses dallas off but that’s okay cuz he prefers admiring from afar. DOES HOWEVER ASK YOU TO HANG OUT AND CONSIDERS THEM A DATE IN HIS HEAD TO KEEP HIM SANE LFMAO

“you wanna go see this drag race tomorrow?”

“sure! i don’t have work then. uhm, pick me up at my place!”

“alright, cool.”

‘yeah..,it’s date🥱😍’ — dallas’ brain.

Johnny Cade

‘johnny, if you even fucking stutter when you talk to her today—you’re gonna have to drink pickle juice.’

“oh, hi. i didn’t see you there, johnny. ‘m sorry.”

“o-oh—it’s alright.”

‘well, shit.”

he thinks he looks like such a fucking loser when he talks to you omfg😭😭

the gang tries to tell him he might have a shot but he thinks they’re just telling him that because he’s their friend. :(

HEAVILY admires from afar. like seriously he’s a fucking stalker

WAIT LMFOAOO HE’D BE THE TYPE OF GUY TO ACCIDENTALLY STALK YOU LIKE HE’D FOLLOW YOU PLACES FROM AFAR LMFAOAOAOOAOA

what a little freak

anyways

he accidentally lets things slip to let you know he’s better than any other guy trying to go after you. like if you had a shitty ex—he’s preaching that he’d ‘never treat you like that, he can’t imagine that a guy with a brain ever would.’

johnny does everything to keep your attention on HIM and nobody else when your friends try and talk to you when you two are out together. like you could be having a conversation with him and he’d be just pouting in the background with his arms crossed.

“y/n, look. they got that shirt you was talkin’ ‘bout. let’s go check it out. c’mon.” “oh—alright! bye, viv!😊” “yeah, bye viv.😒”

side eyes the gang whenever they bring you up in conversation

“johnny and y/n sittin’ in a tree—“

“😒🤨”

“alright.”

he tries to subtly hint that he really likes you and that you’re his type but it’s not subtle at ALL.

“y’know, if i were to have a girlfriend, i’d wish she was like you.”

—

“my type? uhm, it’d probably be someone-“ and he goes on to describe you.

Ponyboy Curtis

‘holy fuck that’s literally y/n walking towards me??!! does she know i’m here—does she even know me-wow she looks good in red. i mean—SHE’S WAVING OH MY GOD.’

HE IS SUCH A WRECK I CANTTT

ponyboy is the type to stare off into space in your direction and dream about how well he’d treat you if he was your man!!

yk how bitches be like ‘my man, my man!’ whenever they talk about their crush?? he’s all ‘my girl, my girl!’ WUAGRMRNEE

the gang was so confused on why he was so eager to go to school all of a sudden?? and why he cares about his appearance just slightly more than usual?? …is that soda’s shirt he’s wearing?-

two-bit was the first one to realize what was happening when he seen ponyboy and you talk in the halls. that wasn’t the giveaway, though.

it was the way he stared at you like you were the only girl alive and everyone else was just gone. two-bit was almost moved to tears to see ponyboy all grown😞😞!!!

“is tha’ your girlfriend? that why you couldn’t wait ‘til monday?”

“shut up!”

“ouuu, wait until the gang hears ‘bout this!”

“YOU AIN’T TELLIN’ ‘EM NOTHIN’!”

ever since — it has been hell on earth for ponyboy. dallas brings you up every time ponyboy gets smart, johnny giggles at every kissing scene at a movie nudges him, soda and darry had to give him ‘the talk,’ (soda just made it worse by making snide remarks.) and steve never stopped poking fun at him.

two-bit tried to get you to spill the beans on how you felt about him, but all you’d do was huff and ignore him. FINE THEN😒!—is what he always thought.

soda, johnny and two-bit all let ponyboy rant about you.

“LIKE, BRO. my girl, my girl! she’s so cute and smart. LIKE SHE’S TOTALLY MY DREAM.”

—

“that’s so cute ☹️” - soda

“SHE WANTS YOU SOO BAD” - two-bit

“just go tell her, man.” - johnny

does everything to impress you stoppp 😭😭!! pony is trying harder in school, using less hair grease, wearing darry’s cheap cologne when he’s not looking, etc.

HE’S SO SILLY I LOVE HIM!!!

Sodapop Curtis

delusional king!!! yes soda, let the voices in your head tell you that she wants you so bad!!🫶🫶

swear to goddd he thinks y’all are meant to be. you tipped him when he was working at the cash register and he was sooo in love

sorry in my head he’s a hopeless romantic

cause a) you were gorgeous, b) kind enough to tip him, and c) most likely rich💯💯

when he seen you at random places with your friends—soda would get so excited LMFAOOO

STOP HE’D HOUND PONY FOR YOUR NAME

“bro they probably go to your school—just lemme look at your yearbook!”

“no??? you weirdo???”

“please??!! i’ll do the dishes or something!”

“….get me a pack of cigarettes and i’ll tell you.”

“OKAY🥰🥰”

stole them but pony never said how to get them so who gaf!!!

SODA WOULD TOTALLY WRITE YOUR FIRST INITAL + HIS LMFAOOAOAOAOAA

or he’d see who’s last name went best with curtis or your last name!!!1!1!1

he’s crazy insane over you did i say that already

whenever you come by the dx—he’d give you shit for free while you insist to pay.

“jus’ take it.”

“i can’t—i’d feel terrible.”

“it’s alright, no one has to know. right?”

he’d flash his million dollar smile, pushing your coke and chips close to you, inciting you to just take the food.

WAJENEDKD he wants u so bad it’s. so terrible.

steve hates his rambles

“YOU SHOULDA SEEN THE WAY ME AND HER WAS TALKING—SHE’S SO INTO MEEEE”

“yeah, she wants you!!! shut up now!!”

Darry Curtis

nobody knows. it’s like a top secret only darry knows. the gang has their suspicions but they can never really know why darry is suddenly so adamant on going to go get him, soda, and pony’s hair done at the salon.

they alllll can see that he only really talks to you—but at the same time he does that weird ass dad stance where they stand with their arms crossed and legs far apart LMFAOOOOO

darry thinks you’re like…model fine btw.!!!!!

BROOO WHEN YOU LIKE UNCONSCIOUSLY MASSAGE HIS HEAD WHEN YOURE CUTTING IT—HE’S SOO READY TO JUST ASK YOU OUT

darry doesn’t know what it is but goddamn!! you have him in a spell!!

“c’mon—we gotta go to the salon again.”

“….we just went?”

“TWO WEEKS AGO. it’s about time we go AGAIN.”

does in fact work a little extra just so he can see you. he’s that much of a loverboy i fear.

HE DOES ACTUALLY NOT WAIT TO ASK YOU OUT

like, among all the gang, he’s the only one mature enough to actually flirt with you properly & to ask if you’re single.

darry’s fucking down like that.

AWWHHH HE TOTALLY BUYS YOU FLOWERS AS A ‘THANK YOU’ GIFT LOL

flexs his strength around you to prove he’s worthy !!! DARRY LOVEEESSS SHOWING OFF WHEN YOU’RE LOOKING

megara + hercules methink…..

you two probably started hanging out as ‘friends.’ …yeah right!!!!

he’s driving you around as you be his pretty little passenger princess, he’s offering to buy you things when you two are out, etc, etc.

darry might not know how to show that he likes you, but trust me, the second that you look a little too far into his actions—it gets obvious.

like maybe too obvious idk.

Steve Randle

HELLLOOOO??? HE IS TOTALLY SHOWING OFF HIS GYMNASTICS MOVES AROUND YOU

“bro, bro! (yes he’d call you bro. idgaf.) watch what i can do!!😊😊” “wowwww, steve that’s so cool.”

geeks out near you. when you aren’t around the average person would see him and go ‘jesus christ, he literally might beat my ass.’ but when you’re around, they might think, ‘why is that scary looking guy talking about cars and comic books rn??’

you bring out the nerd in him in the best way possible🫶😊 BECAUSE THAT MEANS HE LIKE LIKES YOUUUUUUU

and it’s so obvious to the gang bc wdym steve told you all about DC comics while all they got was a ‘yeah, it’s alright.’ …hm…..

soda NEVER shuts the fuck up and him and his little girlfriend. NEVERRREE

“why’re you so pouty today? y/n ain’t say hi?”

“bro, shut up!”

steals for you and gives them to you all proud like he paid for it LMFAO

tries to be sooo cool around you but the second you bring up the latest batman comic he’s all “OMGOMGOMGOMG IT WAS SOO GOOD!! DID YOU SEE THE-“ he’s a loser what can i say.

dallas totally flirts with you in front of steve just to piss him off LOLLL like when he sees dallas twirling your hair around his finger steve is just all “???🤨🤨😡😡”

and then becomes your knight in shining armour and swoops you away as he glares daggers at dally!!!!<3

Two-bit Mathews

he becomes the funniest man on the planet i’m not joking

he says jokes that anybody and everybody will laugh at. just because he wants to see you laugh at what he says for his delusions

two-bit thinks like ‘she laugh=she likes me’

he’s not the brightest but it’s okay

HE MAKES IT SOOO KNOWN THAT HE LIKES YOU LFMAOOOOOO

“you’re lookin’ pretty? who’s the fella?” / “gee, i didn’t believe when they said they seen an angel walkin’ around until now.” / “well, now you owe me dinner.”

shit like that

two thinks he’s soooo smooth…smh.

DALLAS AND PONYBOY SO BADLY WANTS HIM SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY ABOUT YOU LMFAOOO

they keep on telling him just to confess already but then two gets all giggly and shy and goes “omg guys noooo🤭🤭🤭🫣🫣”

just coincidentally runs into you everywhere you go!!! (literally has eyes everywhere. he’s weird. he’s odd.)

follows you around like a lost puppy and lowkey kinda gossips. idk.

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 3 || csc

banner by @itaeewon 

You Think You Might

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers? Fake exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: drinking recreationally and drinking to cope with feelings but no one is Drunk, angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, Seungcheol is able to lift/hold up reader a few times, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, kissing, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, dry humping, shower sex, oral (f and m receiving at different points), breast play, fingering, multiple orgasms (f receiving), dirty talk, two scenes from seungcheol’s pov

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me and teaching me about the Levels of Noona. Additional thank you to @/eoieopda again because seungcheol doing the ‘whats after like’ choreo at the wedding came from their brain not mine :’)

You wake up before your alarm again, anxiety prompting you to check the clock over and over, sure you missed your alarm, missed your hair appointment, missed the wedding as a whole.

You reach across the bed for your phone, opening one eye to check the time. You still have an hour to sleep. You set it back down and realize that you had to stretch to reach it because you’re sleeping in the middle of the bed, not over on your side. Seungcheol’s body is warm behind you, one arm heavy over your middle, his hand limp against the mattress, fingers just barely brushing your belly.

You don’t think about it at all; you’re mostly asleep, driven by your id. You turn in place, grabbing onto the hoodie he slept in, pulling yourself closer and burying yourself in the warmth he’s giving off like a furnace. He grunts in his sleep, once, then you feel his arm - still over your middle - tighten against your back, pulling you in closer. He shifts, snuggling deeper against the mattress, then presses his face against the top of your head, breathing deeply. He goes still again, back into deeper sleep.

Your hands are still clutching the fabric of his hoodie when your alarm wakes you again, an hour later.

Oh jeez, you think.

You let go slowly, flexing your fingers, then scoot away as gingerly as you can, trying not to disturb his sleep.

It doesn’t work.

“You leaving?” he asks sleepily, not opening his eyes. You’re not entirely sure he knows it’s you, or that he’s here.

“Have to go,” you whisper. “Nayoung’s got us scheduled for hair and make-up starting at eight.”

He struggles to open one eye. “Are you gonna be gone all day?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, sitting cross-legged on your side of the bed. “I’ll have to stay with Nayoung and the moms and the other bridesmaid for the day. They take getting-ready pictures and stuff. You can probably spend the day with my brother and Chan? And head to the venue when they do?”

You think he might pout, but it’s possible you imagine it. Probably, he’s just giving in to feeling sleepy.

You start to shift from the bed, but he grabs for your wrist, catching your fingers instead. You still, one foot on the ground, waiting to see what he wants.

He lifts his face, which is marred with sleep lines from the pillow. He squints at you. “Try and have fun today,” he says, and it punches you in the gut how he’s barely awake but he knows you need to hear this, knows you’re already in a spiral of anxiety about the day to come. “Don’t think about everything so much - just be in it, enjoy it for what it is.”

“Okay,” you say, so that he’ll let go. It’s an empty promise, probably. “Okay, I will.”

You’re first for hair and make-up, so you get to spend the rest of the day sitting in the bridal suite trying not to mess it up. You don’t hear from any of the guys until almost noon, when Seungcheol sends you a photo - himself, Chan, and Soonyoung clearly on the beach, all making goofy faces.

hope you’re having as much fun as we are, he says.

You tap back some exclamation points and then send, “i assure you, i am not.”

Seungcheol: how come? You: just sitting in silence around the bridal suite You: having the time of my life :) You: at least we start pictures in an hour… Seungcheol: wanna play 20 questions?

The smile that creeps across your face surprises you as much as his answer.

You: god im dating a dork You: yes. you go first.

Seungcheol keeps you entertained for the next hour, until the photographer shows up, at which point you have to stash your phone and smile nice until it’s time to load into a rented van to head to the venue.

It’s grey out, but no rain falls as you follow the other ladies into the venue and upstairs to a small bridal suite. You help Nayoung get changed into her gown - which, fine, is really, really pretty - and then lose another hour to pictures, but at least the room has trays of food and glasses of champagne.

Finally, the pre-wedding events seem to die down. Outside, you can see cars of people arriving, can hear the chosen pre-ceremony music begin to play as guests make their way in to find their seats. Venue staff go over the order of events, who you should stand behind, all the little details. Before you know it, you’re following Nayoung down the steps to the venue’s main entrance, your purple bridesmaid’s bouquet in hand.

The rows are full, leading up the aisle to where Jeongwoo is standing, waiting for his bride. But as you hear the processional start playing and you take your first steps into the crowded room, it isn’t Jeongwoo your eyes seek out. You eyes scan the rows until they spot him - hair styled to leave his forehead exposed, heavy brows lifted - in what? anticipation? happiness? - and mouth quirked to climb one side of his face, dimples asymmetrical and so damn endearing.

You look straight ahead again, stomach fluttering. You focus on Jeongwoo, on your brother standing beside him, grinning at you.

You reach the front and take your place to the side, watching the doors eagerly. You may have complicated feelings about Nayoung, you may feel like there’s gravel in your mouth at the thought of verbalizing any well-wishes or lifetime of happiness crap, but the moment still gets to you. With the swell of string music, the crisp white flowers hanging from the alcoves, the anticipation simmering through the room like mist above pavement after a summer day’s rainstorm - it’s impossible not to get caught up in it.

When Nayoung turns the corner, on your father’s arm, the room holds its breath for her - and you do, too.

But as Nayoung makes her way up the aisle and you let your eyes scan the crowd again, you notice there’s one face not watching her. Seungcheol, standing next to Chan, is facing front - not cheating sideways to view the bride. Instead, his gaze is steady on you, his brown eyes dancing.

The moment speaks to you. The music raises, your stomach swoops, and the grin on your face is unfettered. It takes a second, but then he smiles back, cheeks rising and dimples deepening.

It feels like you and him alone here, taking part in a moment that lets no one else in. It feels like the music, the moment, the breaths being held in tight anticipation are all for you - you and him. Just for a second.

You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so you could lean close and ask what he’s smiling about. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so that you could make yourself small, let him be the buffer. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him because it’s just what you want.

Don’t think about everything so much, he’d told you.

When Nayoung reaches the front and moves to stand opposite Jeongwoo, you have to work to school your face into something somber, to fight the smile off your face. You don’t want to stand here, listening to the officiant talk about your sister’s life. You want to leave the line-up and go live your own.

Be in it, enjoy it for what it is.

Fine, you think, as to your left Nayoung is slipping a silver band onto Jeongwoo’s finger. That’s exactly what I’ll do.

You’ll stop thinking about everything, stop trying to fix everyone and just do what you fucking want - for maybe the first time in your whole life.

When the ceremony ends and you follow the newlyweds back down the aisle, you catch Seungcheol’s eye and wink once on your way past.

You make your way straight to him when you’re freed from bridesmaid duties. You’re surrounded by people - mostly your extended family - and you know he’s overheard when he wraps an arm around you, presses his lips to your temple and says, “You look beautiful.”

You feel your face warm from the compliment, but you force yourself to giggle. “Thank you,” you preen, leaning into the joke. “I spent a lot of money this morning to look like this.”

“Worth every penny,” he says, releasing you from the hug.

You take a step back, getting a good look at him for the first time. “You look pretty sharp yourself,” you admit, meaning it. “The tux is working for you.”

He deflects with a joke, just like you did. “It’s all in the shoes,” he deadpans. “They bring the whole thing together.”

“Did you rent them, too?” you tease.

“Too?” he echoes, offended. “I own all of this, thank you very much. I am a grown ass man.”

“Soonyoung and Chan both rented theirs.”

“Children.”

You laugh, and for show - or maybe just because it feels nice - you rest your fingers on his arm, like you’re trying to keep him from shifting too far away.

He responds to the touch by stepping back, asking, “You want a drink?”

“You know what? I do,” you tell him. Because you’re doing what you want, now. He gives your waist a quick squeeze in goodbye and heads for the bar; it occurs to you that he didn’t ask what you want.

You hear your name being called, and you fight to smile as you turn and greet two of your aunts, one of your younger cousins with them.

“Wasn’t Nayoung just perfection?” one of them says in greeting, and you smile and agree that, yes, your sister looked beautiful.

“Jeongwoo seems wonderful,” you add, just to show how unjealous you are of your sister’s happiness.

“Isn’t he handsome?” your cousin simpers. You keep your smile even - your refusal to let your politeness flag is the absolute best you can offer.

“What about you?” the second aunt asks, leaning close like it’s a secret. “Are you here alone? Such a shame, you’re a pretty girl -”

“Isn’t she?”

You swear to god you get goosebumps. Seungcheol presses a fizzy beverage into your hand. It’s adorned by a lime.

“They didn’t have your brand, but it’s still a decent gin,” he says, and you bring it to your lips. He knows your drink, you marvel, but you’ve been to bars together enough times that you guess this isn’t magical.

Still. Nice that he pays attention.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you breathe, trying to smile and not look surprised.

Aware of the three sets of eyes on you, you lean into Seungcheol’s solid form and smile bigger as he slips an arm around your waist.

“Aunties, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Seungcheol,” you say, as sweet as you can. Your cousin’s eyes are a little wide, and it makes you want to dance. Take that, you think, not even caring that it’s all a ruse.

“Pleased to meet you,” one of your aunts says, reaching for his hand.

“These are my aunts,” you say, introducing them to Seungcheol by name, “and my little cousin.”

“Have you been together long?”

“Almost a year,” Seungcheol answers for you, sending you his own little wink when you look up at him.

“Wow,” your cousin says, sounding a little stunned. “We thought she’d be alone for-”

“How did you two meet?” her mother interrupts quickly.

“We met in college, but we didn’t date or anything then,” you say, still looking at him. You don’t want to look at them, don’t want to examine if they look doubtful or mean or anything. “He’s friends with Soonyoung, actually - we spent a lot of time in the same social circle but never took the leap.”

You hope the mention of your brother will distract them, but no dice.

“Oh?” your aunt asks. “Why not?”

It truly doesn’t occur to her that this is invasive, you think, lips pursing in annoyance.

“Ah,” Seungcheol ducks his head guiltily. “That’s my fault, probably. I thought it would upset Soonyoung if I dated his sister, so I never went for it.”

You grin at him, playing along. “Luckily, I don’t care if I make Soonyoung mad,” you joke. “So here we are!”

When you extract yourselves from the conversation, you drain the top quarter of your drink.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Seungcheol teases.

“Nope,” you agree easily. “And when we repeat it in three minutes, that won’t be painful either. Nor will the next time. Probably it won’t be painful until the sixth or seventh time.”

“Alright, alright,” he scolds, laughing. “I get the idea.”

“Just keep looking handsome and charming, and we’ll be fine,” you tell him, and you swear he flushes again.

“Don’t flatter me,” he mutters.

You send him an open grin and then turn to greet an uncle, the introduction poised on your tongue.

You end up being right. Your little routine stays cute and kind of funny through the next five run-ins with relatives - no stutters or slips, no mistakes or near-misses. You and Seungcheol riff off each other easily, in perfect step. And to be honest, after your first encounter, everyone else is pleasant and normal. Maybe, you consider, you had projected some insecurity onto your family. Maybe they aren’t as bad as you made them out to be - maybe they did, all along, just want to see you happy.

During a few moments of reprieve, Seungcheol turns to face you. He’s not crowding you, exactly, but the way he hovers over and around you makes you feel sort of sheltered. 

“About last night,” he says, teeth worrying the inside of his bottom lip. He lets the sentence rest there.

You hadn’t been sure you were going to talk about it. You find yourself relieved that he brought it up.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I really hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable. We forgot to make the Blanket Wall, and I fell asleep during the movie -”

“It didn’t,” he interrupts, quiet, aware of the people milling around you. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t -”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. It had been your doing, after all. “I’m not.”

You both lapse into silence at this, both teetering on continuing to apologize, you bet.

“If you’re sure,” he says, a little uncertainly, like maybe he doesn’t believe you.

“No,” you say again. Your voice comes out soft, like it knows you shouldn’t admit this. But still, you murmur, “It was kind of nice, actually.”

Because you’re doing what you want, now.

There’s a little bit of warning in the look he gives you, so you laugh and make it a joke. “You’re very warm, you know.”

This makes him smile, the tension broken. “Believe it or not,” he says lightly, “I’ve heard that before. I can’t help it if I run like a personal space heater.”

“Useful in the winter,” you say, mock-seriously. Then, you’re both distracted by a passing plate of hors d’oeuvres.

You make it through cocktail hour and weave your way to the tables to find your seats. You have to admit that the rooms are beautiful - white flowers almost everywhere, even hanging from the rafters, candles’ flames dancing above mirrored centerpieces, the live string music soft and unobtrusive.

“I hope the speeches are quick,” you mutter, only for Seungcheol to hear. “I’m starving.”

He pats your shoulder sympathetically.

You find your seat easily by following the sound of your brother’s laughter.

“Noona!” he cries happily when you drop into the chair across from his. “I haven’t seen you since the ceremony! How’s it going?”

He makes it sound like it’s been years. Though, you consider, it has been at least an hour - and you hadn’t seen him once.

You eye him warily. Then you turn to Chan. “How drunk is he?”

“Worse than New Years, not as bad as his birthday,” Chan reports.

“Super,” you say sarcastically, as Seungcheol takes his seat next to you.

Down the table from you Nayoung and Jeongwoo lean in close, whispering to each other, as things get set up for the speeches and the rest of the guests find their dinner seats.

It feels a little strange, you admit to yourself, to watch Sheyla accept the microphone, flashing the staff member a thankful and nervous smile, her hand-written speech clutched in her hand. She greets everyone, thanks them for traveling, and makes a comment about how beautiful Nayoung looks that elicits happy claps, cheers, and whistles from the agreeing crowd.

There might be an alternate timeline, you think, in which your sister might have wanted you to speak. A timeline in which you might have anything to say that wasn’t about early childhood. A timeline in which at your own wedding (if it ever happens), you might want her, too.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispers, leaning over, his mouth close enough to your ear that it tickles. “What do you think Soonyoung’s wedding will be like?”

You don’t know if he did it on purpose - you don’t know if he could tell you were in your head again, losing yourself to the thoughts - but just like that, you’re back, stifling a giggle behind your hand, turning towards him so you can whisper your answer.

“They’d have a tiger instead of a ring bearer,” you whisper, trying to keep your giggles silent, just shoulder shakes and hitches of breath.

“I can see the headlines now: Eight Mauled by Ring-Bearer at City Wedding Reception,” Seungcheol whispers out of the side of his mouth.

You nearly snort, ready to reply, but then Sheyla’s speech gets really underway and you lapse into silence, listening. About halfway through, maybe for show and maybe because you want to and maybe because you are trying to enjoy this for what it is, you reach out and lay your hand on top of Seungcheol’s where it rests on his leg. He immediately flips his over, taking your fingers in his, giving yours a squeeze.

Sheyla’s speech is good. It’s sweet, and to the point, and not too long. The best man - Jeongwoo’s brother, he says as he starts speaking - does a decent job as well, and you’re staring down at a plate of food before you know it.

“Happy now?” Seungcheol asks.

“Very,” you tell him, taking your first bite and moaning before even beginning to chew. “Oh my god, that’s good.”

“I want what she’s having,” Chan jokes.

“Chan, you are literally having what she’s having,” your brother points out, stabbing his utensils towards Chan’s plate.

After the plates are cleared away, the music increases in volume, changing from quiet background noise to upbeat dance tracks.

Soonyoung is gone in a flash, Chan heaving a sigh and pushing himself to stand like an old man. “Guess we’re dancing,” he says to you, long-suffering.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” you decide out loud. “Do you want to grab us fresh drinks? I’ll meet you at the bar in a minute?”

Seungcheol nods, and you slip through the room, smiling absently at familiar faces as you pass, until you exit the banquet room and enter the open foyer at the building’s front. Everything is instantly quieter as the glass doors close behind you, and you breathe the silence in, relaxing a little as you cast a glance around for the ladies’ room.

It’s tough to get in and out of your shapewear, but you make it happen. Then you wash your hands and check the mirror, leaning in to touch up your lipstick. Then you head back through the foyer, bracing yourself before entering the banquet room again.

When you enter, most people are up from the dinner tables, and the dance floor is packed. You see Nayoung and Jeongwoo at the center of it, and you stand and watch them for a second. Nayoung is glowing, her smile wide and genuine, her hands in the air as she dances next to her new husband.

Something in your stomach aches. You want this, want to love someone who feels like a best friend, want to smile beside them and have fun together, tackle every hard thing as a we. The wanting consumes you, twisting and painful, and you’re sure it’s all over your face - which makes you suddenly aware that you can feel eyes on you.

Seungcheol is at the bar to your left, and yes, he’s looking at you, his face unreadable, two glasses on the bar in front of him. Your mother is standing from her seat at a table to your right, and she makes her way towards you.

You brace yourself. She embraces you, which you weren’t expecting, going a little stiff.

“My dear,” she says, stepping back and looking at you searchingly. “I just want you to have this. This happiness.”

It was the same thing you’d been thinking, and you’re sure she saw it on you. But the words sting, make you prickle. Not everyone’s happiness looks the same, you want to retort, but then you remember the ruse. You twist in her embrace, looking over your shoulder. Seungcheol still waits for you, one elbow on the bar, still watching you. It drives you crazy that you can’t read his expression - there’s nothing there for you to grasp, not pity, not frustration, nothing.

“He’s waiting for me,” you answer. It’s your own twisty joke - answering we want you to have somebody with a bit of a he’s right over there. The fact that it isn’t true leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You pull free from your mother’s hands and hurry to chase the taste away with the burn of alcohol.

“Want to do some shots?” you ask, as soon as Seungcheol’s in earshot.

He seems to do some mental calculations, first looking at the untouched gin and tonic he has waiting for you, then up at your mother’s retreating form, then finally at your face.

“If you think you can handle it,” he says evenly.

You feel your eyes narrow. “Don’t worry about what I can handle. I can take care of myself.”

He doesn’t answer this, so you turn to get the bartender’s attention and order something you know you’ll both be okay with.

When they come, you take one little glass and hold it up, a challenge. Seungcheol’s face is still unreadable, and it’s still infuriating.

“To happily ever after,” you say flatly, a challenge.

“To happily ever after, and all the other things I don’t really believe in,” he counters, and clicks his glass against yours before knocking the clear liquid back.

You don’t salute anything with the second shot, just throw it back and reach for the cocktail that’s been sweating onto the bar, waiting for you.

“Come on,” you say.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. He watches your face carefully. “You good?” he asks.

A million retorts jump to your tongue, defensive and acidic, because you’re kind of not and you hate that he can read it.

It isn’t your job to care, is the first one and you barely swallow it down.

“I will be,” you tell him, determined to make it true. “Can we go dance?”

You leave your drink at your seat and head to the dance floor, following the sounds of whoops and laughter that you know will lead to your brother. You lose a lot on the dancefloor - an hour, your sour mood, even Seungcheol for a few minutes, but he turns back up a few songs later, swaying his hips and lip-syncing a circle around you, giggles bubbling out of you unbidden.

You’re about to take a break, starting to make your way towards the table for a breather, when you hear opening notes that tickle your brain, familiar and loved - “what’s after like” by IVE. Somewhere nearby, you hear Soonyoung’s absolutely maniacal laugh.

“Ohhhh, I love this song,” you announce to no one, starting the choreo on-beat. It surprises you absolutely not at all to see your brother a few feet away, grinning madly as he steps in time with you. Nor does it surprise you to see Chan pick it up a few steps later, mouthing the words as he tries to remember the steps. But you are absolutely floored when you turn to your right and see Seungcheol swishing his hips and lifting his hand, perfectly in step with you.

Shock causes you to react without thinking, without the chance to be careful. Surprised laughter bursts from you, loud and happy, and Seungcheol beams back at you proudly, laughing in return.

“What?” he asks playfully, still hitting the choreography with precision. “You didn’t think I knew this one?”

“What goes on at that apartment when I’m not there?” you demand, still laughing so hard it hurts your belly. “I thought I knew you!”

“I contain multitudes!” he shoots back, dimples deepening, hips still swishing without even a hint of shame.

You’re still giggling on every exhale as the song winds to an end, one hand over your aching diaphragm.

“Let’s slow things down,” the DJ says as you try to reign in your remaining mirth. “This one’s for the couples.” A love-song starts, one of those oldies, crooner types.

You’re about to step out, as you’d been planning before the IVE song came on, but Seungcheol reaches for your hand, brows raised in a question.

“Aren’t we a couple?” he teases.

You give a quick head-tilt, as if to say, can’t argue with that, and then you take the offered hand.

He tugs you close, front to front, and holds you steady by your waist. You’re surprised - again - when he leads well, and after a few seconds you relax into it, swaying and turning as the music intends. His hand on your waist feels good, warm and comforting and maybe a little exciting. Your front brushing his seems somehow tantalizing, which you realize is logically ridiculous, but you can’t deny the thrill of it each time. You wonder if he’s affected, too, and you look up at him, determined to read him for once instead of the other way around.

He’s looking back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, and you swear his hands tighten on you when your eyes meet. He looks like he’s on the precipice of saying something - but what?

“What is it?” You mean to ask it quietly but normally, and instead you hear yourself murmur the question, loaded and suggestive.

His smile ticks up, just slightly, as if he’s amused that you caught him. “Just… you really do look great tonight,” he says. His face doesn’t give anything away, but the tips of his ears darken just slightly. “I mean, this dress.”

Careful, you almost say, warning bells sounding in your head. But then you remember him telling you, don’t think so much, so you push the admonishment away and give into the moment instead.

“Oh?” you say lightly, a gloating smile crawling across your face. “Tell me more.”

He laughs, giving you a petulant little shake as if to scold you for your teasing. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” he says, his voice suddenly lower. His gaze skates up your form, and you feel something hot simmer behind your belly button, your face heat under the compliment.

“Well, thank you,” you say to your shoes.

“Hey,” he says, and you manage to look back up at him, burning up under his scrutiny. “I’m glad you asked me to come with you. I hope it’s… I hope it’s better, with me here. I mean, I hope what you wanted -”

The song ends, and you step away automatically. His hands fall from you along with the end of his sentence.

“It is,” you assure him. “You’re - I mean - this is exactly what I needed.”

The you’re exactly what I needed that you almost said stretches between you.

“I think I could use some air,” you say, and you don’t wait to see if he’s following before you head for the glass doors that lead outside.

This turns out to be true; the night air soothes you immediately, the noise and bustle of the banquet room falling away as Seungcheol - who, it seems, did follow you - closes the door behind himself. There are a few other people out here - some smokers, way down at the other end, and a few other couples standing and watching the night sky - but it’s not crowded by any means.

You lean against the stone wall and watch the party through the glass, muted and distant. Seungcheol settles beside you, and you’re both quiet for a moment.

Then, without looking at you, he says, “Have you ever tried being honest with them?”

You whip around to look at him, indignant. “What?”

He shrugs, unbothered by your potential impending fury. “Your mom, at least,” he tries to explain. “What would happen if you just… were your real self?”

“And what’s that?” you demand. “What’s my real self, Seungcheol?”

“Angry, I think,” he says, something careful in the way he says it, like he’s holding something delicate. And he is: the truth. “What if you didn’t hide from her how angry you are?”

“Let’s not do this,” you say flatly - a defense tactic. A sidestep, a way to never acknowledge that he’s right.

“What would happen?” he presses.

The words come, new and frightening. She could leave, too. She might not want me, either. You don’t say them.

“Let’s not,” you repeat. Then, petulantly, you mutter, “I’m not angry.”

You both know it’s a lie.

“That’s a shame,” he says, and you can tell by his voice that he’s turned to face you, is hovering just slightly closer. “I kind of liked thinking that you were. It made me feel like… we matched.”

You swallow, then turn to look at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his bottom lip again, something you’re starting to notice as a nervous habit.

“Are you angry?” you ask. It comes out as a whisper. What a silly question, you think. Of course he is. Now that he’s said it, it seems clear as day.

“Not right now,” he admits, and there’s a sudden familiarity to the way his body crowds yours, not unpleasantly, a familiarity to the intensity of his gaze and the thrum of excitement shooting from your sternum to your core like a live wire.

He’s going to kiss you, you realize. Should you step away? Swerve it? Do you want to kiss him?

It’s probably a mistake, a stupid decision, but… you think you might.

Enjoy today for what it is, he’d told you.

So when he leans in, you stretch onto your toes to meet him midway.

You kiss him back eagerly, slamming mental doors shut on every voice in your head telling you this is a bad idea. His hand comes to the back of your neck, his thumb resting along your jaw, caressing it lightly as he tips your head further back to adjust the angle.

You tug him even closer by his lapels, and he snakes his free arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You lick into his mouth first, unashamed, wanting. He responds with a happy rumble, almost too quiet to hear. You release his suit jacket and loop your arms around his neck, holding on as you lose yourself to the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him solid and steady against you.

You kiss languidly, deeply - not hurried or frantic, not rushed the way so many kisses you’ve encountered have been. He holds you right where he wants you and takes his time; what this says about how he’d likely be in bed makes the blood rush from your head to your pussy. Your core throbs as you try to pull him tighter against you, press your hips against his. He leaves your mouth to nibble and soothe a line down your throat, goosebumps rising on your arms, and the hand on your waist travels lower and grabs a generous handful of your ass, pulling you more firmly against him.

You can feel him now, against your lower belly, and you let out a noise that’s embarrassingly close to a whine. You feel his lips stretch into a smirk against your neck, and then he’s kissing you again, drowning out any other noises you might let slip.

You’ve forgotten everything - the smattering of other people nearby, Nayoung’s wedding raging on inside, the anger Seungcheol had pointed out only minutes ago, how very aware you are that this is playing with fire - it all melts away to nothing as you press your mouth to his, strokes his tongue with yours, press your body against his as firmly as you can.

“Hey! Lovebirds!”

You leap apart, your hand flying to cover your mouth as if that will help.

Your brother hangs out the open glass door, eyes narrowed at you. “They’re cutting the cake,” he calls, and then disappears inside.

“Shit,” you manage. You know you’ll hear about this later.

Beside you, Seungcheol shifts, adjusting himself, and runs a sobering hand down his face.

“Guess we better go in,” you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“I guess we should,” he says, sounding a little winded himself.

You wonder, as you make your way back inside, if you should talk about it. Then, Seungcheol’s long strides catch him up to you and he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you firmly through the room, and the rest of your logical thoughts melt away.

You watch Nayoung and her new husband cut their wedding cake, sweetly feed each other a bite. You hit the bathroom again, fix your lipstick, come back and do a shot with Chan just because he asks (shouts). You go back to the dance floor, take a break to drink some water at your table, find yourself having a conversation with one of your cousins about a drama you’d both hated.

But even as you go through these perfectly normal events, your body remains singed; the heat rises from you so strongly you can’t believe no one is pointing and staring. Something has shifted, cracked open, and the possibility of it hangs over you and Seungcheol so thickly you think you might choke. Every movement you make, you feel the weight of his gaze or the heat of his hands - always reaching to guide you, to ground you, even just the press of his fingers to your elbow igniting you all over again.

Time drags and you burn slowly. The first shuttle leaves. Your mother makes a snide remark about your father too loudly as he and his date depart. You can’t even care, not when Seungcheol is standing so close behind you, his smell pervading your senses, his warmth radiating around you.

You want to keep kissing him. You are praying he won’t back down in the quiet of your hotel room, won’t try to walk it back once you’re alone. From behind you, his fingers slip into yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. It’s nothing, but you tingle clear down to your toes from the touch.

You tell your mother goodbye, that you’ll see her in the morning. You say goodbye to the family members who came from out of town, that you probably won’t see again soon. You get your purse from the table. Seungcheol hovers behind you like smoke hovers above a flame.

You’re both going to burn.

You take the second shuttle back to the hotel. You don’t speak or look at each other. There’s a moment where you wonder if he will snuff this out, deprive it of oxygen. You wouldn’t blame him. You know it’s the logical thing.

But then he places his hand on your thigh in the dark. You hold your breath, don’t even dare to peek sideways. It’s an innocent placement, firmly in the middle, not too high. Then his sneaky fingers trace lower, find the place where the fabric splits just above your knee, the pads of his fingers rubbing patterns on the bare skin they find.

A whole-body shudder engulfs you. His fingers tighten around your leg for just a second, rough, then go back to drawing circles.

Ridiculous, you think, closing your eyes and trying to even your breathing, that such a simple touch could turn you on this much. It must be from all the build-up, all the drinking, all the potential of a thing not yet had. There’s no way that it’s just Seungcheol touching your leg - not even a sexy part - that has you wet to the point of discomfort, panties slick.

When the shuttle pulls up in front of your hotel, you lead him by the hand up the aisle and into the lobby. The second the elevator doors slide shut behind you, he has you pinned to the wall, his hot mouth attached to your throat, large hands cupping your ass and pulling you tight against him.

“Have you been hard since the venue?” you tease, but the way you’re panting takes away any sting.

“Been hard since you showed up in this dress,” he growls back, pushing his hips into yours for emphasis. You’d expected him to lob a joke back at you, and the admission makes your stomach drop, your mouth open to gasp a breath.

The elevator dings and he steps back, one hand on your waist to help steady you back on your feet. Somehow, you make it to your room. Somehow, the door gets open, and then closed again behind you.

You’re against a wall again, eyes closed, head back, that hot mouth finding the spot it had left in the elevator. Seungcheol’s hands bunch the fabric of the dress and push it up to your hips, giving you room to wrap your legs around his waist, push his clothed cock directly against your sopping, useless panties. You both break at the contact, you letting out a pitiful whimper and Seungcheol huffing out a shuddering breath.

You wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself up; his hands are both on your ass again, fingers slipping beneath the elastic to grip at the bare skin there. His teeth and tongue make their way up your neck and return to your mouth and you open for him with an eager moan, happy to welcome him back. Your fingers lazily find the hair at the base of his neck and curl between the strands, tugging lightly. He moans against your mouth, surprising you both.

His hips push against yours in a steady rhythm, but it’s not enough. You whine against his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulders to come between your bodies, seeking his jacket.

He has to set you down to tug at the sleeves, and you wobble on your heels, suddenly very aware of how badly you want to take them off. You lift one foot to tug at the straps and he reaches for your elbows to steady you. It’s soft; a stark contrast to the carefully-stoked flame you’ve both been tending for the last hour or so.

You take off both heels and stand, barefoot, the wall behind you still holding you up. Seungcheol looks at you, chest working hard as he tries visibly to calm his breathing, his suit jacket now limp in his hand.

“Should we stop?” he asks, and it’s the most uncertain you’ve ever heard him sound.

You don’t want to stop. You know he doesn’t either. But you both know what this was - a favor between friends. Sort of friends. There wasn’t supposed to be attraction; there wasn’t supposed to be anything that wasn’t for show.

You weren’t supposed to like him.

“Probably,” you make yourself whisper. The word feels like ash on your tongue.

“Okay,” he says, the syllables hollow, and he takes another step backwards, gives you more room.

Eyes averted, you take off your jewelry with shaking hands, place it in the small bag with your makeup kit. When you turn back, he hasn’t moved. He stands there, still holding his suit jacket, watching you with smoldering eyes.

“I think I’ll shower,” you say quietly. What you really want to do is push him backwards, let his knees hit the edge of the bed, crawl over top of him and keep him there for several hours. Instead, you reach around and feel for the hook-and-eye at the top of your back, fingers sloppy with adrenaline.

“Need help?” he asks, his voice like the snap of a candle flame that suddenly alights.

“I might,” you admit with a little laugh. But if you touch me, you think, it’s over.

You turn to present your back to him, and he handles the clasp deftly, even going so far as to drag the zipper down two inches so you can reach it better.

“There,” he says.

His fingers graze your bare back as he pulls away.

You step into the bathroom, turn the water on, and unzip the rest of the way, letting the expensive material flutter to the ground around you - the door still wide open. Seungcheol’s gaze on your body burns as it travels down, then up again. His expression is almost enough to make you laugh - wonder, a touch of confusion. You hold his gaze as you slip your panties down your legs, then you step into the water, letting the glass door swing shut behind you, effectively hiding him from view.

It’s impressive how quickly he gets the tux off, and you’re almost a little sad you don’t get to see it happen. But it feels like seconds later that the shower door swings open again and he steps inside, pressing against the tile, the hot water cascading over his wide shoulders.

“You sure?” he asks, hands already on you, one on your waist, the other on one of your shoulders. He asks like it’s pulled from him, like he’ll crumble if you say no but he has to make sure.

“That wasn’t enough of an invitation for you?” you breathe, reaching to run your fingertips down his chest, over the slight ripples that just barely hide abs, stopping just shy of the flat plane above his cock, which hangs heavy and dark between you.

You don’t get the opportunity to touch; he kisses you fiercely, both hands coming up to cover your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in tandem. When you sigh against him, he switches to pinching, first lightly, and then harder when he finds it makes you moan like liquid against his lips.

He moves his mouth slowly up your jaw, fingers still working the sensitive nubs until you’re fighting the urge to writhe under his touch, needing somehow both less and more at the same time.

“Yeah, babe?” he coos into your ear, barely a whisper. He gives one nipple a particularly cruel twist and your knees give. He holds you up without issue. “You like when it hurts a little?”

“Cheol,” you whine, embarrassed but aflame, pussy absolutely pulsing.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, releasing the bud and bending to soothe it with gentle laps of his tongue. The water hits his head and you run your hands through the now-wet black locks, pushing them away from his face and back from his eyes.

When he stands again, you reach for him immediately, fingers sliding along the silky skin you find. He’s warm here, too. He breathes out a sigh when your fingers encircle him, your touch featherlight and easing. Then he presses close to you again, sliding his palm down your stomach, lower and lower, until two of his rough fingers part your folds, slip over your clit, and sink into the mess they find.

“God,” you groan, pushing down on his digits, trying to will them deeper. He presses his temple against yours, mouth still close to your ear, his breaths ragged and sharp, as he scissors his fingers lightly before pumping in and out.

“So wet,” he grumbles, thumb swiping at your clit and making your hips jolt. “You fuckin’ want it?”

You try to answer, letting out a shuddery y-yes, but it dissolves into a moan deep in the back of your throat as he finds the spot on your front wall that makes everything inside you tighten.

“Oh, you do,” he goads, doubling his pace to piston into the spot. You clutch at his biceps, trying to hold yourself up, trying to keep yourself on this planet. You’re astounded at how quickly he works you up; you didn’t know you could cum this quickly, but you teeter on the precipice already, eyes rolling back and breaths coming in tight little gasps.

“Seungcheol,” you moan, trying to warn him, “I’m - it’s too -”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, still close to your ear. The hand that’s not buried inside you returns to your chest, tweaking a nipple and then brushing over it before tweaking again. “Let go, babe. Let me have it.”

One of your hands slaps against the tile walls, desperate for purchase. Your hips cant into his hand, driving him harder inside you. He slips a third finger inside you without warning and the sudden stretch is what does you in. Your eyes screw shut as you whole body tenses tenses tenses and then releases, a cry flying from your mouth as his fingers fuck you through the high. Your legs tremble as your pussy tries to pull his digits further inside, and then his mouth is on yours again, tongue coaxing out the last few syllables as you begin to come down.

For a minute you hear nothing but the roar in your ears and your own harsh pants. This gives way to the sound of water hitting tile.

“Shit,” you mutter, and Seungcheol kisses you again, close-lipped and firm, like he’s marking his place.

“You’re so hot,” he murmurs against your lips, and then they’re gone because you’re kneeling.

He swears above you, one hand reaching up to brace against the wall, as you try to settle. It’s not comfortable, of course, but you didn’t expect it to be, and you want to absolutely scramble his brain right now.

“You don’t have to -” he starts, but you ignore him and take his tip into your mouth, tonguing the underside before starting to work a rhythm up and down his length. His body mostly shelters you from the spray of water, and you use one hand to pump at the base of him as your mouth works the top.

He swears again, fiercely, the hand on the tile curling into a fist. “God,” he groans, eyes slipping shut for a second. His hips buck lightly once and then he gets it together, holding it back. “Fuck.”

You hum, delighted at being able to pull him apart, suctioning hard and laving the underside of him with your tongue. He’s a little thicker than you’re used to, heavy in your mouth in a way you find weirdly comforting. You work your way to the tip again, letting your tongue tease his slit before slipping your lips over his head in a way that makes his hips jump again.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, minutes later, reaching a desperate hand to keep you back. “I can’t - get up here.”

Smug, you let him pull you to standing; he wraps his arms around you and you can feel his heart hammering against yours. You brace one foot against the opposing wall and he slips his fingers between your legs again. You moan, still sensitive, as he lines himself up. The stretch is going to be a lot, you can already tell, and your whole body buzzes with the want of it.

He pushes into you slowly, a strangled sound working up your throat as you breathe through the initial stretch.

“That’s right,” he whispers, hands on your hips. “You can take it.”

He stills when he bottoms out and you both just breathe, holding each other, the water raining down around you.

“So fucking good,” he whispers, pressing his forehead into the top of your shoulder, trying to keep still until you give him the okay.

“God,” you groan, so full you could die from it, your walls already fluttering around him even as he holds still. “I can’t - it’s so much -”

He lifts his head and kisses you sweetly, one hand cupping your jaw. “You can,” he tells you when you break apart. “Just relax. I said I’ve got you, didn’t I?”

“Mhm,” you breathe, letting your eyes slip closed. He moves minutely at first, and when you let out a breath that borders on a moan he slides nearly all the way out. You nearly wail when he sheathes himself again, your body working to accommodate him, your walls clinging to every centimeter of his hot flesh as it works through you. “Cheol,” you gasp, keening loudly when he does it again.

He continues this unhurried pace, pumping out and in until you’re melting under his hands, creaming over him, the mess washed away by the shower water every time he pulls out.

“How is it, baby?” he murmurs, when he feels you relax.

“So good,” you mutter, half-delirious. Your hands come to grip at him, needy. “But -”

“What is it?” he asks, stopping immediately in place, leaning back to look at your face.

You flush, hating to ruin the moment. “The water’s cold,” you whisper, a sheepish smile coming to your face.

He laughs, then pulls out. You feel empty, you want him back before he’s even gone. He reaches over you and turns the water off; the silence is suddenly very loud.

“Guess I better warm you up, then,” he says, voice low, and you shiver - probably not from the chill of the air. He fishes around outside the shower door and then wraps you in a white hotel towel, then grabs one for himself. He towels his arms off roughly and then wraps it securely around his waist before turning his attention back to you. He dries you carefully, top to bottom, then wraps it around your frame again.

“Come on,” he says, and leads you back out to the main room, where he nods at the bed. “Lay down. At the end.”

You stare at him. “What?”

He smiles at you devilishly, dimples flashing. “Gotta warm you up,” he says simply.

“But - I already - you don’t need to -”

He gives you a light, playful push that sends you stumbling towards the bed. You lay your towel down and feel his hands on your bare ass before you can even situate yourself.

“Maybe I’ll just bend you over here,” he murmurs, and you feel yourself gush, embarrassingly.

You lay back on your towel and he kneels at the end of the bed. You feel so exposed, suddenly, spread open for him, that it makes you want to close up, wrap the towel back over yourself.

“Don’t get shy now,” he admonishes lightly, pressing his fingers to your inner thighs to push you open. “Let me see you, pretty girl.”

He presses a single kiss right over your entrance, then slips his tongue inside, working the muscle as far into you as it will go. You gasp, open-mouthed, the ceiling swimming above you.

“Please,” you beg, but you don’t know what for. He licks a stripe up your slit, stopping over your clit and flattening his tongue. You feel your hips react on their own, pushing against his mouth desperately. “Seungcheol, please!”

He laps at you and then slides a digit into your greedy hole, humming happily when you cry out. Your thighs start shaking wildly when he suctions his lips there, sucking lightly as he pushes a second finger into the slick heat beneath his mouth.

“Goddamn it,” he groans when he pulls away, watching his fingers disappear into your body and reappear shiny and sticky. Then he reattaches his mouth to your pussy, tongue flicking firmly against your hardened bud until you’re letting out an endless, wordless whine and trembling in his hold.

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Cheol,” you chant, desperate, wild, but he pulls away, slips his fingers out of you. You whine furiously, eyes springing open to look at him in betrayal, and he grins, standing and pumping himself roughly. The head of his cock is angry and dark, a long string of precum connecting to his thigh where it must have been resting.

“Not yet,” he says, coming to stand at the edge of the bed, reaching above to reach for a pillow to slide under your hips. He teases your hole with his tip and you whine again. “Want you to come around my cock this time,” he says, pushing in, and you nearly fucking do just at that.

When he starts moving - harder and quicker than he had in the shower - you shatter into pieces almost instantly, everything going black as you grip the sheets beneath you so hard you think you could rip them, your legs locking around his back so he can’t get too far from you, your core pulsing and pulsing in waves around him as you grit your teeth and groan through the rush of sensation.

He braces himself over you with both arms, and as soon as you unclench he lets loose - hips snapping into yours lewdly, his balls slapping your ass with every thrust, sweat sliding down his temples, and his exhales coming out as determined growls as he chases his high.

“Fuck,” he utters suddenly, scrambling backwards, his hand flying to pump himself frantically. His brows furrow and his chest heaves. “Fuck, fuck, babe, God,” he moans, eyes shut, and you watch in proud fascination as he shoots rope after rope of milky cum onto your stomach.

He collapses next to you, breathing heavily, then reaches up and caresses your shoulder as he comes down. There’s something sweet in the gesture, you think absently, like he wants to feel that you’re still here. You reach up a hand and clumsily find his, intertwining your fingers and holding on tightly as your heartbeat slows and your skin begins to cool.

After a few minutes, silent but for the sound of both of your breathing gradually returning to normal, you let go, rolling to face him.

“Should I apologize for baiting you?” you ask, a little sheepishly.

Seungcheol’s eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles a tiny, tired smile. “No,” he promises. 

You lay like that for a minute, quiet - Seungcheol on his back, watching the ceiling, and you on your side, watching him.

Finally he grunts and uses his arms to push himself to sitting, then standing. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. You waddle to the bathroom in tandem. You each clean up in silence. 

You aren’t sure what to say. You’re surprised (but not upset) at yourself, honestly, for making the choice you did. You’re surprised at how fucking good it was, at how Seungcheol’s tenderness bled through in disjointed pieces. 

There’s no use pretending otherwise. You like him. Not enough to wax poetic about it, not enough to make a fool of yourself, but enough. Enough that you feel that wild, hopeful possibility. Like maybe - maybe something is starting. Maybe when you go home, you’ll start talking more. Maybe it will lead to something. Maybe he’ll ask you out. Maybe… maybe.

When you drop back into the bed, lights off, you aren’t sure what the move is. You lay on your side of the bed, stiff and trying not to breathe loudly, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

Seungcheol makes the decision for you,  reaching for you in the dark, his strong arms guiding you closer, wrapping around you and keeping you close. For the second time, you fall asleep between his arms, face buried against his t-shirt, feeling warm, and loose, and safe.

When you open your eyes again, it’s still mostly dark, the room around you that deep blue that comes along with pre-dawn.

Your back is to Seungcheol now, but he’s still draped around you, an arm resting over your stomach and one of his legs tangled between yours. You stretch a little, your toes reaching for the end of the bed, and he shifts behind you, his hand moving up and gripping your waist.

You breathe quietly for a minute, waiting to see if sleep will drag you back under. It doesn’t. Instead, you become aware of his breathing behind you (not deep and even anymore), his heartbeat (faster now, like yours), the way his hand twitches and relaxes against your side.

He’s awake, too.

He shifts, then retracts his hand and rolls away. You’re cold immediately, instincts telling you to follow the source of warmth, to roll over and follow him.

You give in halfway, rolling to face him but not scooting to close the new gap between you in the bed.

“You good?” you ask quietly, your voice a little hoarse.

You hear rather than see him shift to look over at you. “Yeah,” he says, and there’s something tense in his tone. “Just - sorry - it’s just a morning thing, I wasn’t trying to bother you…”

You realize, belatedly, the reason he’d put space between you. Heat floods you again, as if you hadn’t just had every need fulfilled about three and a half hours ago.

“I’m not bothered,” you say, and your tone must speak for you, because the words have barely fallen into the space between you and he’s filling it, rolling to reach for your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss, body scooting forward to press against yours again.

It’s different this time, as the blue shifts from something shadowed and bruised closer to light. It’s different when he kisses you slowly, gently, your mouths working together as you wake up bit by bit. It’s different when he cups your breast firmly but doesn’t pinch, tugs your hips tight against his but only holds you there, different when he rolls you onto your back and holds himself over you, kissing every bit of skin he can get his mouth on above the collar of your pajama top.

It’s different because you take your time as you remove your sleep-clothes, his eyes drinking you in through the barest whisper of morning light. He takes his time pressing into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his fingers into your skin and holding tight like you could get ripped away.

Different from last time, because neither of you says a word, expressing pleasure only in sighs, breaths caught in throats, in fingers tightening, in low groans that the air-con nearly manages to drown out.

This time, when you tip over the edge, he does too - pulling out quickly and replacing his cock with three fingers to work you through it, even as he wraps his other hand around himself, his own high only heartbeats away.

This time, you don’t trip back into sleep. After cleaning up, you lay with an arm over his middle, his heart thumping reliably under your ear.

Instead of closing your eyes, you whisper, “Are you close with your family?”

He’s still for a minute - surprised, maybe - and then he whispers back, “Pretty close with my mom, yeah.”

You take a second, process this gift he’s given you - a nugget of truth, a piece of himself. Not something secret, but still something willingly given.

“Not your dad?” you ask, eventually. “Did he leave after the split?”

“We went back and forth,” Seungcheol says quietly. “My brother and I. But things with my dad… it was never the same, after. Mom’s place still felt like home. Dad’s felt like… visiting a relative you don’t know that well.”

“Us, too,” you say, then realize you should expand. “In the early days, Soonyoung and I saw my dad a bit more. It always felt… weird. And then, I don’t know, we stopped wanting to go - or he stopped wanting us to come. Something.”

You’re still talking, voices hushed, when your alarm goes off behind you, warning you that brunch with your family is imminent. You’d talked all night, somehow. You realize that the light streaming in from under the curtains is bright - no longer the deep-ocean blue of late night and early morning.

“Shit,” you say, startled, rolling away to silence the offending noise. “We’re going to be so tired later.”

Seungcheol groans lightly in agreement. “Do you think your brother is pissed?” he asks. “He saw us kissing at the venue. I’m sure he saw you drag me into the hotel from the shuttle.”

You whack lightly at his legs with a pillow. “I did not drag you!”

His giggles light your spirit from the inside. “You did,” he asserts. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You decide to humor him and answer the original question, as you climb out of bed and head for your suitcase to dig out your clothes for the day. “I don’t think he’ll be mad unless we’re weird, like suddenly we can’t hang out anymore. So, we’re fine, right?”

You shouldn’t phrase it like a question. You shouldn’t give him the option.

But of course he doesn’t let you down.

“We’re more than fine,” he assures, running a hand through his hair so that it flops back down messily over his brow.

You wonder if he feels it, too - the maybe of it all. The possibility. Is he, too, wondering what this could look like on the other side, if you decided to give it a try?

You shower his smell off you, scrub away sweat and cum. When you’re both ready, you head down to the dining hall to meet Nayoung and everyone else for brunch.

You’re waylaid in the lobby by Dumb and Dumber.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung says, and it is fully an accusation that lands at your feet as heavily as an anvil might.

“Good morning!” you chirp back, just to fuck with him a little.

“Anything you two want to tell me?” he demands, as subtle as a freight train. Behind him, Chan looks uncharacteristically serious.

You look at him appraisingly. “Your shirt is nice,” you offer innocently.

His eyes narrow, and he turns his gaze to Seungcheol, who simply shrugs, offering him nothing. Your brother turns back to you, exasperated. “Noona!”

You laugh. “Nothing you need to worry about!” you say, reaching to ruffle his hair - which you didn’t have to stand on tiptoes to do, years ago. He bats you away, scowling, but you sense some tension leave him, like he might have been actually worried about the ramifications of your decisions last night.

He’s a good kid.

When you enter the dining hall, it’s clear that the four of you are the last to arrive. Inside, the newlyweds chat animatedly with both your mom and your dad (who is here sans date, you notice), as well as Jeongwoo's family.

“Sorry!” you say brightly, taking one of the empty seats. “Are we late?”

It's Nayoung who answers you, equally bright. You wonder if it's equally fake.

“Right on time!” she says, all smiles.

You've barely settled into your seat when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance quickly, suppressing an eye roll when you see Soonyoung's name.

Brother of mine: well???

Across the table, you shoot him an annoyed look.

He does not seem admonished in the slightest. Tilting your phone so that (hopefully) Seungcheol can't see it, you type back “what??”

He sends, “Did you?!” followed immediately by, “nvm i know you did. so... now what?”.

“Nosy fuck,” you reply, and turn off your screen.

Conversation flows around you, led mostly by the two sets of parents, allowing you and Seungcheol to eat in peace. Your mom seems better today, more herself, and you wonder if she's less stressed just because the wedding is over now, or if it's the absence of your dad's date.

When the meal comes to a close, you tell everyone goodbye, giving your parents quick hugs. Nayoung surprises you, coming around the table to hug you tightly.

“I'm so glad you could be here,” she tells you, and you think it's just niceties until she pulls away to look at you, her hands still firmly on your shoulders as if to keep you in place. “Don't feel like you have to handle everything yourself,” she continues. “Lean on people when you need to. If not me, then your friends. Soonyoung. Seungcheol.”

You’re not sure if you’re more shocked at her advice or the fact that she remembered your “boyfriend’s” name.

“Okay,” you say hollowly, unsure how to respond, how to act, how to feel. You land somewhere near indignant, maybe, that she showed up out of nowhere and immediately saw right through you. She'd never spent time with you past the age of nine, and she still had your number right away.

You trail along with the group back to the hotel's lobby, towards the elevator bank. Seungcheol doesn't do any of the normal boyfriend stuff - touch your arm, hold your hand, any of it - but you're so caught up in the strange interaction with Nayoung that you barely notice.

You have less time than you expected to pack and get back to the airport, so once you’re in the room you don’t talk much as you move around each other like a choreographed waltz, squeezing by to grab at items and shove them in suitcases. When the shuttle pulls up to the airport, you’re bouncing with nerves, hating how close you’re cutting it.

You don’t relax again until you’re through security and speed-walking towards your gate, with about fifteen minutes to spare.

“No time for a beer,” you lament. “But I guess I better go to the bathroom.”

Seungcheol nods. “I’ll wait for you by the gate?”

When you return, wiping your hands on your jeans because of course the shitty hand-dryers barely work, he’s waiting as promised, and you join him in line.

In your seats, he closes his eyes and rubs at his face. “I think I’ll be asleep before we even take off,” he admits quietly.

You smile coyly, looking at him sideways. “I’d say sorry, but…”

He shoots you back an indulgent smile, letting you know he gets the joke.

He turns out to be right - he’s asleep before you take off, head lolling sideways and hands slack on his lap. He doesn’t even stay awake long enough to hear the safety speech - but he does stay awake long enough to pass you an earbud first.

As the squares of brown and green give way to only cloud cover as the plane ascends, you cave, cracking beneath sleep deprivation and travel exhaustion, soothing over insecurities about different interactions you had with your family, distracting you from obsessing over your now even more complicated relationship with your sister. You let yourself daydream, give in to the urge to wonder what it might look like - the something you’d felt bubbling between you. If you go home and let that magic little maybe turn into something real.

You picture it - sitting together in the big chair at your brother’s place that Seungcheol usually claims, his arm casually around you as you view the familiar scene from a new vantage point. Getting through the workday by texting cute shit and little questions, sneaking to the bathroom to send flirty selfies after never-ending meetings. Sitting across from him at candlelit restaurant tables, dressed up but eager to go home and dress down again. You can picture all of it. Everything, right now, is possible.

You brace yourself, summon some courage, and slip your hand into his.

Somewhere between asleep and awake, your ex-fake-boyfriend curls his fingers back around yours.

He wakes up holding your hand and catapults from alarm to affection to alarm again. Luckily, while he’s mentally scrambling, you’re busy retracting your hand and holding his borrowed earbud out to him to take back.

He pops it back into the case and rubs at his eyes. “We down yet?”

You glance over your shoulder at the little window, as if you’re not totally certain if you’re on land or in the sky, and you need to check, which Seungcheol secretly thinks is adorable.

“Not quite,” you answer, looking back at him. “Getting there, though.”

Seungcheol stretches his legs under the seat ahead of him, then pushes himself to sit more upright, starting to get his bearings. You’re quiet next to him, fiddling with your phone on your lap though the screen is off.

“You good?” he asks, voice a bit clogged from sleep.

“Oh.” You stop fiddling, like you’re suddenly aware that he can see you. “Yeah. Just, y’know, tired. From the trip, and my family and everything…”

“Got it,” he says, and he does - he gets it. He’s been with you the last few days - did the same amount of travel, got the same amount of sleep, witnessed firsthand the way you make yourself smaller under the eyes of your family members (aside from Soonyoung, of course). And even though his duties are officially over, he can’t help but continue to feel what he had all weekend long: the desire to ease you through it, to make it a little better, to make sure you aren’t alone in the face of your ghosts.

When it’s your turn to rise and make your way to the aisle, he scoots out to let you go first, one hand hovering near your back but not touching as you shuffle up the narrow aisle towards the exit.

At baggage claim, as you both wait for the flashing red light to indicate that your bags are moving, he watches you sway a little on your feet. Biting back a tiny smile, he steps closer, reaching around your shoulders to nudge you closer, to encourage you to - literally - lean on him. You look up gratefully, and he gives you a small smile back.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks, as the red light begins to blink, slowly on and off. The belts begin to move. He wasn’t supposed to like you, wasn’t supposed to be wading through the viscous need to make things easier for you - to shift obstacles out of your way before you got to them, to help lift every heavy thing before you can feel their weight in your hands. It’s a feeling he’s only ever had for one person before, and it makes him feel shifty and sort of guilty that he’s feeling it for you, too.

Which is bullshit, because he’s single, and Jieun only cares about him when she feels like she’s missing out on something, and you don’t treat him like that - don’t insult him when you’re frustrated, don’t sulk until he caves and asks what’s wrong, don’t vanish for days and then demand his attention on a whim.

So, when your bags come, he reaches for yours, too. He wants to help you with the heavy lift - even when it’s physical.

He settles back into home when he gets there - throws in a load of his most-important clothes, takes a hot shower during which he allows himself zero thoughts - static only. He orders delivery for dinner because he’s sure as hell not cooking for himself tonight, but makes a grocery list on his phone for tomorrow. When his food comes, he settles on his couch, putting on a show he’s seen before just for the noise, and then he spends the next hour fighting the urge to text you.

Did you get home okay? How’s unpacking going? Are you back to work tomorrow? The questions flow through him, none more pressing than the last, but he turns them all away for now.

Instead he opens social media, looking over his last post - the beach at the resort, followed by a selfie. Of course Jieun had commented, but he’d left it unanswered. Frowning to himself, he looks through his camera roll. He chooses one of the ceremony spot that he’d taken before the room had gotten crowded, the focus being the hanging white flowers filling the room. He pairs it with a picture he took with you and Soonyoung and Chan, your faces all squished together, happy and flushed from drinking and dancing. Chan isn’t even looking at the camera, his mouth open in a laugh as he looks at something off-screen. Soonyoung’s eyes are closed but his smile is huge. Seungcheol himself is grinning, one arm over your shoulders as you press in close to squeeze into the shot. You’re looking at him, not the camera, your genuine smile showing your teeth - different from what he saw in all the posed photos the family had to take.

He posts without a caption, as he usually does, but tags the three of you. He wonders - hopes, maybe - that you’ll text him first when you see the picture, even if it’s just to make fun of your brother’s inability to keep his eyes open for a picture.

But it’s not your name on his screen when his phone buzzes fifteen minutes later, as he’s starting to eat his delivery. He presses his lips together; he should have known this was coming.

Ji 💖: back from your trip? it looked amazing

Seungcheol stares at the message for a long time, as if reading it over and over will reveal her intent, determine if this is just one of her little games. He considers sending back what do you want, Jieun? but it’s never worked out for him to jump directly to the offensive before, so he resists.

Instead, he finds himself on her social media page, drawn there as if by a trance. It’s not the first time he’s likened her effect on him to magic - and not the nice kind.

He scrolls down until he finds what he’s looking for - the last time she posted them together, the last time she posted him. People could say what they wanted about Jieun, and Seungcheol had plenty to say depending on the day, but he liked this about her: when they broke up, she kept his pictures up. He didn’t disappear from her story, her history, the way he’d seen other couples do.

He’d asked her about it, once, maybe a year ago. They’d been in his bed, limbs tangled, watching the moonlight slowly creep up Seungcheol’s wall, marking the time with their slow, sleepy breaths - neither of them able to sleep, too excited by and wrapped up in the high of getting back together again, of agreeing to work it out, of the optimism that maybe this time would be different.

“Ji?” he’d murmured, looking down at where her head rested on his bare chest.

“Mmm?” she’s asked, and he’d wondered if he’d woken her up.

“You never deleted my pictures,” he’d said, but it was a question and they both knew it.

She’s stirred, rolling so she could look at him better through the dark. “Mmm,” she’d said again, an agreeing noise. “Didn’t want to.”

He’d looked at her, heart full but scared, too. “Right,” he’d said quietly. “I guess my question is why not.”

She was quiet a long time, and her fingertips gliding back and forth across his upper arm as she thought were the only indications that she hadn’t gone back to sleep.

“I think I felt like you’d be back,” she’d said finally. “Deleting them would mean I thought it was really over. And I never did.”

He’d always loved that, though he’d never said as much to his friends. As much as he sometimes wished she would let him go, there’s part of him that loves that she always keeps space for him. As if them working it out, working for once, was just a matter of timing.

Looking at their last picture together, he considers the you of the situation. If he pursues something with you, there’s no guarantee - no promise that it will work, no insurance that it won’t fuck things up with his friend group, no magic mirror to show him a future where you stay together and it doesn’t fall apart or go up in flames. And without that promise, without that peek, the uncertainty seems insurmountable; he’s never done this successfully. It’s always ended in flames, for him - for him and Jieun.

If he opens this door with her - for the hundredth time - there’s no promise of a happy ending there, either. But at least he knows the steps, knows the routine, has some expectations in place. There’s no learning curve, no uncertainty. It’s just stepping back into a dance he can do in his sleep, as easy as what’s after like? choreo.

He’d told you what happened on the trip had to stay there, hadn’t he? If he stepped away from you now, wouldn’t that just be doing what he’d promised? It wouldn’t be letting you down that badly, would it?

But Jieun - if her showing up means she’s ready to try again - he does owe her more. He owes her to try, to fix what he’d broken a dozen times before, to do it right after all the times he’d done it wrong, to follow through on promises he’d meant when he said them.

He sits for a long time, weighing this in his mind. Then, finally, he makes his decision.

Seungcheol: yeah, got back today. it was great Seungcheol: hbu… u good?

When he sees the dots appear that indicate Jieun typing, he can’t help the helium lift on his heart, rising like an inflating hot air balloon into uncertain skies.

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thank you for reading!!!