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ducktoo · 5 months ago

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Getaway

Jo Yuri x M!Reader

Note: here’s to the hamster girl that got the big bag from the squid 🫶

It started with excitement. A group chat buzzing with memes about sunsets over the ocean, lists of must-try cruise activities, and an unhealthy number of debates over how many swimsuits one person actually needs. This was supposed to be the trip—five days of relaxation, laughter, and memories with your closest friends.

Then the excuses started rolling in.

First, it was Jihun. “Sorry, man, work’s piling up. I can’t take the time off.” His message was punctuated with a sad face emoji, as if that would soften the blow.

Next, Minji dropped out, claiming some vague “family emergency.” You tried to sympathize until you saw her Instagram story of her at a café with her dog, captioned Much-needed chill day.

By the time Seungmin admitted he “forgot” about his cousin’s wedding, you were already resigned to your fate. One by one, your friends bailed, leaving you holding the metaphorical bag—and the very literal cruise ticket.

Cancelling wasn’t an option. Non-refundable, non-exchangeable, non-everything, because you’d been too cheap to spring for the insurance. You’d planned for the luxury cabin, imagining yourself waking up to ocean views and feeling like royalty with your close friends. But with everyone else backing out, your budget evaporated faster than the group chat notifications.

Which led to this: you, booking a shared cabin with a stranger. It was either that or throw away the money you didn’t have to lose.

“You’ll be fine,” you told yourself as you stared at the confirmation email. “It’s just five days. How bad could it be?”

Yuri tugged the strap of her duffel bag higher on her shoulder, sighing as she handed over her cruise ticket at the check-in counter. She was supposed to be here with her family—her parents, her older sister—but life had a way of throwing curveballs.

Her sister had come down with the flu two days before the trip. Nothing too serious, but enough that her parents decided to stay home to take care of her. “You should still go,” her mother had insisted. “We already paid for your ticket. Think of it as a break.”

Yuri didn’t argue. A break sounded… necessary.

After Squid Game Season 2 aired, her world had been flipped upside down. Fame was exhilarating, sure, but it was also overwhelming. Endless interviews, promotional events, fans recognizing her on the street. It felt like she was constantly on, with no time to just breathe.

She’d thought about cancelling. Spending five days alone on a cruise ship wasn’t exactly her idea of fun. But her mother’s words lingered: You need a break, Yuri. Go.

So here she was, trying to convince herself that five days of ocean views and buffet dinners could somehow make her feel like herself again.

The only catch? She’d been bumped to a shared cabin because of a last-minute shuffle in bookings. “It’ll be fine,” the cruise rep had told her over the phone. “It’s just a roommate. You’ll hardly notice them.”

Yuri rolled her eyes at the memory. Hardly notice them?

Yeah, right.

If this was anything like her recent luck, her roommate would either be a chatterbox who didn’t know the meaning of personal space or some fan who wouldn’t stop asking about the show.

She stepped into the tiny cabin, already dreading the next five days.

The cruise ship looms large in the harbor, its pristine white exterior gleaming under the midday sun. You pause for a moment, clutching your duffel bag, letting the salty breeze wash over you. The idea of going on this cruise solo still feels surreal, but with all your friends bailing at the last minute, you weren’t about to let the ticket—and your deposit—go to waste.

The fact that you’d been downgraded to a shared cabin? Well, that was a bitter pill you were still swallowing.

Cabin 512A. The number taunts you as you make your way down the narrow, carpeted hallways.

The luggage wheels behind you squeak, the only sound in the otherwise quiet corridor. You grip the keycard tightly, your heart thumping faster than it should. Sharing a cabin with a stranger was bound to be awkward, but you’d convinced yourself it couldn’t be that bad.

The door beeps as you slide the keycard, and you step inside. It’s… snug. Two single beds crammed into a space that feels more like a walk-in closet with delusions of grandeur. One bed is already claimed, judging by the neatly folded hoodie and headphones resting on it.

You hear a faint sound—a soft hum—from the bathroom. Your brows knit together. It’s familiar. Too familiar.

The door creaks open before you can dwell on it further, and your new cabinmate steps out. She’s small, dressed in an oversized sweater and denim shorts, her hair casually tied up. For a moment, her gaze locks with yours, her eyes wide and questioning.

“UH…hi,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “You must be my roommate.”

You nod, but you’re not really listening. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to process what you’re seeing.

Jo Yuri.

Not just your cabinmate—Jo Yuri, the breakout star from Squid Game Season 2. You’d binge-watched the entire season when it came out a few months ago, captivated by her performance. She played one of the more appealing characters: the underdog who managed to power through the entirety of the season. People online had been calling her the “puppy of the season.”

And now, she’s standing in front of you, looking more ordinary than you ever thought possible. No makeup, no stylists, just a girl with messy hair and an easy smile.

“Uh… yeah,” you finally manage, trying to play it cool. “That’s me. Roommate. Hi.”

She chuckles, her smile widening. “You okay there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shake your head quickly, attempting to compose yourself. “No, no. It’s just… you look really familiar.”

Her expression shifts slightly, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Ah,” she says, her tone light but guarded. “You’ve seen it?”

You don’t need her to elaborate. “Squid Game?” you ask, careful to keep your voice neutral.

“Yeah.” She shrugs, leaning casually against the wall. “That’d do it.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you scramble to fill it. “You were great in it,” you blurt out, cringing internally at how fanboy-ish you sound. “Like, really great. One of the best parts of the season.”

Her lips quirk into a smile, but there’s a hint of weariness in it. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

You sense there’s more she’s not saying, but you don’t push. Instead, you gesture to your bed. “Uh, mind if I unpack?”

“Go for it,” she says, stepping aside.

The awkwardness lingers as you start unpacking, but you catch her glancing at you a couple of times, like she’s sizing you up. It’s weird—sharing a room with someone who’s been on your screen, who people have written essays and theories about online.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “So… what made you come on this cruise?”

You hesitate, debating how much to share. “Friends bailed,” you admit with a shrug. “Didn’t want to waste the ticket. What about you?”

She snorts, perching on the edge of her bed. “Needed a break. Too many people. Too much noise.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” you tease, surprising yourself with your boldness. “Considering, you know… you.”

Her laugh is light, genuine. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The conversation eases after that, flowing like a gentle current. You don’t mention Squid Game again, and she doesn’t bring it up either. Instead, you talk about the ship, the itinerary, and the overly enthusiastic cruise director you’d both spotted during boarding.

But in the back of your mind, you’re still reeling. Jo Yuri, in the flesh. And somehow, you’re supposed to survive five days of sharing a cabin with her without making a complete fool of yourself.

You’re still reeling from the whole “roommate with a stranger” situation when Yuri suggests exploring the ship. It feels like the right thing to do—anything to avoid sitting in the cabin together, surrounded by the thick air of awkward silence.

“Uh… sure,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “Lead the way?”

Yuri raises an eyebrow at you, her expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed. “You’re really going to make me decide everything, huh?”

“No, no, I just—uh—thought maybe you… had a plan,” you mumble, stumbling over your words.

Her lips twitch into a small smirk. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite.”

You try, you really do, but relaxing is easier said than done when you’re walking shoulder to shoulder with someone like Jo Yuri. She’s effortlessly cool, with her confident stride and casual yet chic outfit that screams “I’m too cool for this, but I’m here anyway.” Meanwhile, you feel like a bundle of frayed nerves, overthinking every step and every word.

The first stop is the promenade deck. It’s lined with shops selling overpriced souvenirs, jewellery, and random knick-knacks you definitely don’t need.

“Look at this,” Yuri says, holding up a sparkly snow globe with a tiny replica of the ship inside. “A whole fifteen dollars for something that’s going to collect dust on a shelf.”

You laugh nervously, unsure if you’re supposed to agree or argue. “Yeah, it’s, uh… it’s definitely not worth it.”

She narrows her eyes at you, clearly catching on to your awkward vibe. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You blink, feeling your ears heat up. “I talk! I just… don’t want to say anything dumb.”

Yuri tilts her head, studying you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, she bursts out laughing. It’s not mocking—more like she finds your honesty refreshing. “You’re not as scary as you look.”

“I don’t look scary,” you protest, though your voice comes out weaker than you’d like.

“Mm, debatable,” she teases, nudging your arm.

You’re about to respond when the two of you pass by a small café on the deck. The smell of fresh pastries wafts out, and Yuri stops abruptly, sniffing the air like a cartoon character.

“Okay, we’re going in,” she declares.

Before you can protest, she grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. The café is cozy, with warm lighting and a display case full of pastries that look almost too good to eat. Yuri walks up to the counter, her eyes scanning the options with laser focus.

“Two croissants,” she says, turning to you. “And you’re paying.”

“What? Why?” you stammer, fumbling for your wallet.

“Because I’m cute and you’re trying to make a good first impression,” she says, deadpan, though her eyes twinkle with mischief.

You have no comeback for that, so you hand over the money and follow her to a small table by the window.

Yuri takes a bite of her croissant and lets out a satisfied hum. “Okay, I’ll admit it. This is worth the overpriced cruise food.”

You nibble on yours, trying to act casual. “Yeah, it’s, uh… not bad.”

After finishing your snacks, the two of you wander out onto the open deck. The sea stretches endlessly in every direction, the horizon blending seamlessly with the sky. The sound of waves and the salty breeze are oddly calming.

“So,” Yuri says, breaking the silence. “What’s the first thing you wanna do tomorrow?”

You glance at her, surprised she’s asking. “Uh… I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

She groans, throwing her head back dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be polite!”

“Polite is boring,” she says with a smirk. “But fine. How about karaoke? I saw a lounge near the theatre earlier.”

You immediately feel a pit in your stomach. “Karaoke? Like… singing?”

“No, like interpretive dance,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Yes, singing. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie, though the thought of embarrassing yourself in front of her is already giving you secondhanded anxiety.

“Good,” she says, her grin widening. “Because I’m definitely dragging you tomorrow.”

You wake up to the sound of waves gently lapping against the ship and faint footsteps outside the cabin. It takes a moment for you to remember where you are—and who you’re sharing the space with.

Rolling over, you see Yuri still fast asleep, her face buried in the pillow and her hair a chaotic mess. It’s oddly endearing, watching her like this, but you quickly snap out of it before she wakes up and catches you staring.

Not wanting to linger in the tiny cabin, you freshen up quietly and head to the deck to catch the sunrise. You don’t expect Yuri to join you, but just as the horizon starts to blush with orange and pink, you hear her voice.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks, leaning on the railing beside you, still in her oversized hoodie. Her hair is slightly more presentable now, but you notice a faint crease on her cheek from the pillow.

“Something like that,” you reply, offering her a small smile.

For a while, the two of you stand there in silence, the morning air crisp and salty. The awkwardness from yesterday lingers faintly, but it feels more like background noise now, drowned out by the tranquillity of the moment.

“I’m starving,” she finally says, breaking the quiet.

You laugh. “I think they’re serving breakfast already. Want to head down?”

She nods, and the two of you make your way to the dining hall. It’s bustling but not chaotic, and you manage to snag a table near the window. Yuri piles her plate with fruit, eggs, and enough toast to feed a small village.

“Do you always eat this much in the morning?” you tease, gesturing to her plate.

She narrows her eyes at you, mock offense dripping from her tone. “I’m stocking up for the day. Don’t judge me.”

You chuckle and take a bite of your food, the atmosphere between you two finally starting to loosen.

After breakfast, the day unfolds naturally. You both decide to explore the ship, starting with the pool deck. The sun is warm, the water glistening, and you’re surprised to find how easy it is to talk to Yuri now.

“I can’t believe how big this place is,” she says, spinning in place to take it all in.

“Yeah, it’s like a floating city,” you agree.

She grins at you. “Still down for the karaoke? I’m kind of amazing at karaoke.”

“Oh really? Amazing, huh?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t believe me?” she challenges, her tone playful.

“Surely someone here among us is not a singer, huh.”

The two of you continue wandering, checking out the shops, the gym, and even a small art gallery tucked away on one of the lower decks. Yuri lingers in front of a painting of a ship caught in a storm, her expression thoughtful.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, curious.

She shrugs but doesn’t look away from the painting. “I was just thinking… it’s crazy how people used to travel like this all the time, not knowing if they’d make it.”

“That’s kind of a downer,” you joke lightly, trying to break the mood.

She laughs softly and nudges your arm. “Sorry, I get weird sometimes. Let’s go find that karaoke bar.”

By the time evening rolls around, you’re both sitting in the lounge, sipping on mocktails with tiny umbrellas in them. Yuri sips hers thoughtfully, the sunset casting a golden glow over her face.

“I’m glad I didn’t cancel this trip,” she admits, almost to herself.

You glance at her, surprised. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

She shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s not so bad having a decent person to share it with.”

For a moment, you’re caught off guard, unsure how to respond. But then you see the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, and you realize she’s being genuine.

“Yeah,” you say softly, feeling the awkward tension between you two finally dissolve. “It’s not so bad.”

As the night stretches on, the ship seems to come alive with laughter and music, and you and Yuri find yourselves in the karaoke bar after all. She picks an upbeat song you don’t know but belts it out like a pro, her confidence infectious.

When she finishes, breathless and laughing, you can’t help but clap louder than anyone else in the room. She bows dramatically, blowing you a playful kiss before hopping off the stage.

“Your turn,” she says, sliding into the seat next to you.

“Oh hell no…” you protest, shaking your head.

“Too bad,” she replies, grabbing your arm and dragging you up to the stage. “We’re doing a duet. Here's a private lesson with a professional.”

And just like that, day two ends with the two of you laughing so hard you can barely breathe, the awkwardness from yesterday now nothing more than a distant memory.

Day three begins with a comfortable silence between you and Yuri as you both sip your morning coffee on the balcony. By now, you’ve grown accustomed to her quirks: the way she furrows her brows when she’s deep in thought, how she adds a ridiculous amount of sugar to her coffee, and how she taps her nails rhythmically on the table when she’s bored.

“You’re staring,” Yuri says without looking up from her phone, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

“Am not,” you reply quickly, turning your gaze to the horizon. The sun is already high, and the shimmering ocean stretches endlessly.

After breakfast, the ship announces its arrival at a nearby island, and Yuri excitedly suggests signing up for the snorkelling excursion. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” she says, practically bouncing in place.

You agree, not entirely for the snorkelling but because her enthusiasm is contagious.

The excursion is a dream. The guides take you to a secluded reef with crystal-clear waters teeming with marine life. As you put on your gear and dive in, the world beneath the waves feels magical. Schools of vibrant fish dart around coral formations, and the water is so clear you can see every detail.

At one point, Yuri taps your shoulder underwater and gestures wildly to a sea turtle gliding gracefully past. You laugh—or at least try to, but it comes out as a muffled gurgle. Yuri seems to find this hilarious, and even with her snorkel on, you can tell she’s grinning.

When you resurface, she flicks water at you playfully. “Did you see how close it was?!”

“I did,” you reply, trying to shake the water out of your hair. “But you nearly scared it off with your flailing.”

“I was pointing, not flailing,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out.

The day ends with a quiet dinner back on the ship. You both opt for a small, cozy restaurant instead of the bustling buffet. Over plates of grilled seafood and pasta, Yuri shares more about her life—her dreams, her fears, and the little things that make her who she is.

“You know,” she says, twirling her fork absentmindedly, “I didn’t expect to actually enjoy this trip. I thought it’d be awkward sharing a room with a stranger, but… it’s been nice.”

Her words catch you off guard, but you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, it has.”

By day four, you and Yuri have become a dynamic duo. It’s no longer just about sharing a cabin—it’s about sharing the entire experience.

The morning starts with a group yoga class on the deck. Yuri insists on trying it, claiming it’ll be “relaxing.” You’re skeptical, especially when you realize how uncoordinated you are compared to her.

“Downward dog,” the instructor calls out.

You glance at Yuri, who’s already in perfect form, her movements graceful and fluid. Meanwhile, you’re struggling not to topple over.

“Need help?” she whispers, barely holding back her laughter.

“I’m f-fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth, your arms trembling. Don't even mention the fact that your back cracks with every slight movement.

Suffice to say, Yuri had a lot of fun holding her laugh when glancing at you.

After yoga, the two of you grab smoothies from the ship’s café and spend the rest of the morning lounging by the pool. Yuri pulls out a book she brought along, while you scroll through your phone. Every so often, she nudges you with her foot, pointing out something funny in her book or making a sarcastic comment about the poolside drama happening around you.

In the afternoon, the ship hosts a trivia competition. Yuri’s eyes light up when she hears about it, and she drags you to the event.

“You’re good at trivia, right?” she asks.

“Uhh…Define ‘good,’” you reply, already regretting your life choices.

The game is chaotic, with questions ranging from history to pop culture. Yuri surprises you with her knowledge of obscure facts—she nails the question about 18th-century composers but completely blanks when asked about the capital of Switzerland.

“It’s Zurich, right?” she whispers to you.

“No, it’s Bern,” you reply, smirking.

She glares at you, whispering back, “If you’re wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Despite a few missteps, you manage to place second. Yuri proudly dons the sailor hat prize and refuses to take it off for the rest of the day.

That evening, you attend the ship’s formal dinner. Yuri, dressed in a sleek black dress, turns heads as she walks into the dining hall. You’re about to compliment her, but she beats you to it.

“You clean up nicely,” she says, eyeing your outfit.

“So do you,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant, but the warmth in your cheeks betrays you.

The night ends with the two of you sitting on the deck, watching the stars. The silence between you is comfortable, filled with the sound of waves and the occasional laughter of other passengers.

“This trip’s going to feel too short,” Yuri says softly, her gaze fixed on the sky.

You don’t respond immediately, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. Instead, you simply sit there, hoping the moment will stretch just a little longer.

The final day arrives with a bittersweet air. Breakfast feels quieter, and even Yuri’s usual sarcastic remarks are softer, almost hesitant.

“We should make the most of today,” she says, her voice determined but tinged with sadness.

And so, you do.

The two of you spend the morning doing all the things you hadn’t tried yet—arcade games, mini-golf, and even a cheesy photo booth where you both don silly props for the camera.

“Smile!” Yuri says, throwing her arm around your shoulder and holding up a fake moustache.

The resulting photo is ridiculous, but it’s one you know you’ll treasure.

In the afternoon, the ship docks at another island, and you both decide to go for a casual hike along the coast. The trail is quiet, with stunning views of the ocean. At one point, Yuri stops to take a photo, the wind catching her hair just right.

“Send me that one,” you say, pretending to be casual.

“Why? Planning to frame it?” she teases, but her cheeks turn pink.

The final evening arrives too soon. The ship hosts a farewell party, and the two of you join the crowd on the deck, dancing to live music. Yuri’s laughter is infectious as she spins you around, her energy lighting up the night.

And with the ship nears the port, reality sets in. The two of you return to your cabin to pack, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, as you stand by the railing one last time, Yuri hands you a folded piece of paper.

“In case we don’t run into each other again,” she says, her voice quiet.

You unfold it to find her phone number.

“Yuri—”

“Don’t say anything cheesy,” she interrupts, though her smile is soft.

When the ship finally docks and you part ways, you can’t help but feel like this is only the beginning of something bigger. But for now, you're contented with the short getaway with your lucky cabinmate, already reminiscing about it as you look at her back slowly disappearing to the crowd.

And hopefully, she enjoyed your company as much as she enjoyed yours.

#jo yuri #yuri izone #yuri fluff #izone fluff #squid game #squid game jun hee #junhee #x reader #kpop x reader

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chlmtsdoll · 3 months ago

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I NEED YOUR LOVE

born to be seen part two | part one

☆ word count: 8.4k ;)

☆ warnings: 18+++, smut !, p in v (unprotected) sex, teasing, oral (f) receiving, creampie, heavy edging, pet names, hair pulling, like everything under the sun of filth, mild choking, obsession/worship, angst, (tooth achingly sweet) fluff !, lots of plot and porn, reader is a brat, dom-ish Timothee, for my horny and touch starved girls <3

☆ A/N: I’m sooo sorry I literally took a million years to upload guys !!!!! My life is insane (positive) lol.

You were tangled up in the lush comforter of your suites bed by the time morning came around, or more like afternoon.

The daylight through the drapes was creeping in, bedsheets all over the place from your crazy night of.. cuddling till the two of you passed out. When you got back to your room in a rush to make love till the sun came up — there was nothing more than making out till Timothee drifted off into his dreams on your shoulder. And you couldn’t blame him at all.

So much intensity of all the hard work he’s been putting into his press run, promotion, making the world fall in love with him — you could respect that he was beat.

So now even as you’d been already arisen, Timmy was on his side fast asleep in the vast option of plush pillows he was buried in. You were hungry, but not hungry enough to call room service, and kind of sleepy as well, but not sleepy enough to go back asleep, so you were lounging, resting your head on your boyfriends back as you lie there cuddled up and scrolling online until he decided to wake up.

Your social media was pretty much filled mostly of clothes, makeup, and if not that, than occasionally your boyfriend’s pretty face on your screen chatting away about his movie — probably posted by ET, or Vanity Fair, Vogue. With a caption clearly hinting to how much they adore his masterful way of show casing his personality. Or his ever changing fashion sense, Till suddenly, you see your face too.

An edit of you both at Paris fashion week that happened the other weekend, your public affection fully on display. Your eyes widen and your lips start to curl upwards.

You watched yourself with your man front row as you were seen adjusting his chain when you thought no one noticed. Or rubbing his back nonchalantly with care — all the way till clips of him pulling you into his lap after a show and stealing a kiss were cut into montages to audios that made the best of your skin rise in temperature.

You still weren’t fully used to the attention you both got when it came to your relationship being viewed publicly, but damn, you’re hot.

Even in the dimly lit moment, you could see the soft grin on Timothee’s face when he eyes you. Leaning in a way that says he’s paying attention to the models walking right ahead, but his mind focused on what you had on. Something with a dipped neckline and striking rings on your fingers along with his. And right after, they’d almost always catch the kisses he would give you. Not being able to help himself.

You were blushing right now. Naturally toying with the lace around your bra as you half smile behind your bitten lip at the way your man is seen adoring you, when so little had been on you two in that crowd — the smile you show cased when he pushed a few locks of hair to one side, just to rub a thumb against your neck had you kicking at your own life. You truthfully always think that in the heat of the moment, no one cares or is paying attention to the two of you. Your just in your own world. You and Timothée. Nothing else as important — and neither were you, because you both were just like that. But of course a fan caught it.

“Timmy,” you say quietly, but with a soft giggle as you nudge him out of his slumber, “Timothée, look at this.” He was only groaning and trying to ignore you, but he was certainly waking up due to your knee in an awkward position to his back.

“Mmm- - no. Baby.. it’s way too early,”

“It’s a eleven pm.” You topple over him to shove your phone in his face, he has to see how cute you guys look. And this would be to his surprise since he didn’t want to see too much of what’s on the internet featuring him anyways.

“We’re adorable,” your smile was cheeky, and Timothee opened a eye to view with you. Watching a time when he’d had his hands on your waist, pulling you in tighter to whisper in your ear and your already blushing again. “What did you say to me there ?”

“Don’t remember,” his voice deep and rasping with sleep as he turns over to his back. “But damn… I do look good though.”

You roll your eyes playfully, and lean up so you could straddle his torso, “you’re gross.” You chuckle, words direct and with annoyance, but you hold a dazed little smile as you peer down at him. Pretty with his bed head this morning, and looking up at you with a soft smile and a mixture of blue with his green in the low light. His white tank thin enough just so you can feel the pecks of his chest nicely.

“Gross, but you’re on top of me. Makes perfect sense, doll.”He slides his hands just under his head and you laugh, taking a light slap to his cheek but your hand staying there to reap the benefits of his gentle dimples. Feeling the light stubble dusting his jaw. You’re so focused on the way he looks right now. Heavenly and all amenable just for you.

You missed this.

Leaning down a bit, you stay just a couple inches from his lips with a sly smile. “I kinda like watching us like that…”

Timmy chuckles, and his eyes flicker to your lips, “Yeah ? You wanna add it to our routine?” Your grin held as you nod till desperately melting into his lips with a soft sound of relief leaving you. He pressed kisses to your lips, your jaw, and back to your lips with a hum — you were smiling into it. So sweet yet carefully seductive as you hover and arch against his abs, making him reach a hand above and grip at your waist, as the other palms your ass at the same time — it made you giggle into the kisses, moving your hips a little more on top of him, and he felt good enough to give you another squeeze.

“This- - looked amazing in those videos, y’know..” Your boyfriend sighed against your mouth with a cocky grin, you titter before leaning up, leaving a echoing smooch as you do so. “I know how to make it look even better for you..” even with such bold words, your girlish smile held an innocent flair as you felt Timothee get hard underneath you. His sweats not hiding a thing. And all you had on were your panties that were more of a thong, so you could feel the tent immediately. He licked over his lips and observed as your grin goes from ethereal and dreamy to minx.

His fingers bore into the skin of your thighs, your waist. Feeling, rubbing. Sliding upwards, his touch smooth like butter to your skin. With one little glint in your eye and growing smirk, you reach behind yourself to undo your bra, letting your hair fall out of the way as it slips down your arms, your tits nearly begging for his touch too. Timmy was watching you, hooded eyes on your every move because you make it too easy to forget all other thoughts in his head when you looks this edible. A total treat he woke up to.

You were switching positions on him now. You turned around, keeping your knees apart right over his pelvis to sit, but not exactly, just hovering, so your ass was on full display over his bulge. And you removed your hair just grazing your tail bone so he can press his thumbs into the arch of your lower back just as he always does when you ride him. “Hell yeah..” your boyfriend uttered a soft grumble from behind and you smile to yourself. You know it drives him crazy when you take your time.

Your glorious hips do all the work as you lean forward, just enough so you can watch his reaction to the way you grind against him with rhythm — but stiflingly slow, letting a tiny but mellowing moan escape you as you can feel the twitch of his cock against your cunt. Making the outline stand out more through his boxers, and you grew slick.

“Hmm, so needy fresh out the bed, huh ?” His tone ponders even as he slides his index finger up and down your thong in a teasing manner, to squeezing your ass again, trying to maneuver you sitting completely on top of him, and not just teasing. Your boyfriend not hesitant to feel the warmth of the dampness you held, and you giggle, because you know he loves this. Getting to play with you, having you to himself, the dip in the arch of your back. How the panties he most likely got for you sits against your shape, how the lips of your heat hug his cock as you rock against him. Just getting a pre-show before he can fuck you silly.

And you loved this. Getting him. Feeling him on you, the look in his eyes when you move exactly how he wants, doing what he likes and how he likes it. Teasing him until he breaks.

“You’re so hard, Timmy.. and it’s not even noon,” You eye him over your shoulder with a hungry kind of smirk, but one that shows you know what your doing — slowly sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you reach a hand down to lift the hem on his boxers beneath you. Pulling out his cock, so delicious looking you could salivate. You bite your lip a little harder and give him a light stroke before looking over your shoulder to keep his reaction in mind, a low groan that pushed him to lick over his lip.

“Slide me in like a good girl..” Timothee breathes out, motioning to your acts between the two of you meeting where you need most — finally. You came here to not only support, but be entirely intertwined to him. And you haven’t even gotten to fuck your own boyfriend yet.

As his hands were gripping your hips, he pushes you up a little. The lips of your pussy slide against the tip of his dick and your sounds are heavenly just from that. Making it worth the wait, the effort, you adjust yourself so your sitting just right so he can watch as you take him, and oh, was he.

Till the bothersome ring of Timothee’s phone buzzing on the nightstand stole your attention.

His eyes flutter shut in pure annoyance, “I swear to fucking god- - if that’s Brian..”

You look over at his cell with the name reading clear, “It is.”

Timmy groans along with a curse as you fall back to sitting next to him. Rolling out of the bed, frustrated mentally and sexually, he picks up his phone and you watch as he answers while running a hand through his tussled hair.

And even being annoyed as you also were — you only sat patiently waiting from him to give you a look of reassurance. One telling your morning together didn’t have to come to a halt yet, but instead you watch as your man goes from pinching he bridging of his nose to blunt urgency.

“Shh- it. Shit !” Timothee spits before eying the nearest bunch of his clothes and grabbing them quickly before running to the bathroom. “Yeah- - yeah, no I didn’t forget, I remembered and I’m on the way there. Literally in the car now.” He comes back out of that bathroom with his toothbrush hanging from the side of his mouth, stumbling to get his pants on.

“What happened ?” You question, watching him rush to get his shit together as you get out of bed.

“There’s a meeting I totally forgot about, and everyone’s gonna be waiting for me in like- - twenty minutes. Fuck… I’m sorry, baby.” Your boyfriends tone and expression differs apologetically, as he continues to scramble for his hoodie and you only follow him around the room.

“That’s okay. Can I come with ?” Your attaching yourself to him again. Hugging his side and completely ignoring his actions the second he mentions being out the door.

“You’re not gonna wanna come baby, it’ll be boring. And there’s no way I’ll be able to pay attention with you there..”

He stops for a second to eye you down. You’re in nothing but your underwear and looking this pretty. Clinging to him when he literally has to leave is his personal hell.

You smile and bat your eyelashes a bit anyways.

“Do I distract you ?” Your biting your lip in that way again. Inching upwards to steal a kiss. Timothee’s management is lucky he’s a hard working man, because after leaning in for more he has to force himself to get the rest of his things. Keep his touch off of you.

He sighs in reply, “You have no idea.”

You have a sly but proud smile on your face even as he pulls away with a hand lingering on your hip, and of course, you follow after him. Wrapping your arms over his back that’s now hunched as he’s tying his shoes.

“I don’t want you to go, I already miss you, Timmy.”

“Princess, it’s just a couple hours.”

You whine, emotions are heightening as you take in the longing for his absence already— I mean, you just got here.

“But I came here to see you, and I feel like I’ve hardly seen you. Unless it’s on my phone really, which I don’t mind- -but.. I wanna be here.. and kiss you, and stare at you in person, freely, without a time frame and-”

“Hey, guess what?” Timothee looks up at you.

“What?” Your smile has returned immediately.

“I booked a nail appointment for you at two. So you’ll be there, full spa and everything getting all that treatment you deserve, pampered- - hopefully the long set that you know I adore,” timothee runs a thumb against your chin with a soft smile and you blush, giggling, “that you won’t even remember I’m gone,”

Your expression lifts to a pure glow, him doing something so thoughtful for you made your heart thump. You were attacking him with kisses instantly.

“Really ? You did that for me ? You’re so sweet ! Oh, my god I was just adding inspo to my Pinterest.. were you watching me ? You stalker.” Your cheerful mumbling was like music to his ears, Timmy chuckled as he stood up, with you still holding on to him. He leans in to kiss your lips for a sweet little confirmation that you always have his attention. Then he was leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you. I’ll be back soon,” your man escapes your grasps like that. He gives you a soft smile, slipping through the door, “Behave.” He mentions lastly with a grin before leaving you rolling your eyes but stuck there smiling like an idiot.

You were just like most girls, obsessed with being pampered down and taken care of aesthetically, especially when your man had not only been paying but making all your special appointments for you. It was any girls dream to be sitting in a high end salon chair, getting her palms rubbed down in essential oils while having her movie star boyfriend as her literal emergency contact.

And that was it, even as you got to pick out your favorite color, your nails clean and pretty — all you could think about was getting to see Timmy again.

When your phone did light up with a attentive text from him reading, ‘Tomorrow I’m all yours.’ As you wait for your manicure to dry, you were blushing down. Eager to text him back once your hands were free from the filing and drilling. And on your way out to meet your driver you did,

I’m allll done <3

What color did you get

Guess

Pink

Fuck off

I know my girl

Your smiling at your phone like crazy.

☆

That next afternoon, the one Timothee gave you his vow that you’d have his undivided attention, was his one and only relax day for the rest of the week before more scheduled premieres and press conferences.

So you were ready to spend the day left alone with your boyfriend. To never have to leave his eye line if you didn’t want to. His phone on silent. Definitely no mention of Brian. And his hand likely on your thigh at some majestic restaurant by the shore along with a bottle of wine for christ sake.

But, to your misfortune, fate had other plans.

The sun was just rising when you were mid make out with Timmy. In the comfort of your suite, tucked under the covers of the sheets once again. And although he’d already been dressed and ready for the day, he let you sleep in. He didn’t want a single worry in your head waking up that morning, and you just sat pretty while you got to watch him get ready with a loving smile.

It was all perfectly set, before you two had been abruptly interrupted when a surprise visit from Timothee’s closest friends were knocking at your door.

Your boyfriend was ecstatic to see them, and of course you didn’t mind them hanging for a bit because you knew it’d make him happy to see his buddies before a whirlwind of an awards season. It was good for his mental grounding and you assumed it would probably be a small fraction of time you had today, it surely wouldn’t dismiss any plans your man had for you both.

Or so you thought.

His friends hadn’t been done dapping the actor up and making him feel extremely proud of his hard work over these last couple of months pushing promo like crazy, but also just at home with some light teasing of course before unfortunately, you observe as they brought along with them the only other thing besides you, to have Timothee in a complete chokehold.

Your sword enemy. A nightmare. His PlayStation.

It wasn’t soon at all until it was you sitting on that bed, only moments away from becoming worlds most patient girlfriend. Almost.

Even the elegance of that hotel room got real male dominant in the short but close cut time as Timothee and his friends made the area some battlefield or whatever the hell they’d been playing.

The sounds of laughter and chatter along with yelling of way too many swears and code for things you had no idea what meant, could be heard from the living area of the suite that hosted a flat screen tv. You made yourself a cup of tea, and as you glance towards the space. Timothee was sitting between two of his friends, a hoodie left on him as he disregarded the leather jacket he had over it from earlier. His cargo pants bunched at the bottom of his ankles as he slouched back, man spread, with a controller in his hands that were moving at a calm pace while they rested in his lap, but his fingers shift with determination to probably shut down his friends from getting ahead of him in the game like he always had to do. A show off of his skills. His hair was slightly disheveled but supporting his soft curls, just slightly curving into his focused furrowed brow. He was as locked in as ever to the violent scenes and unnecessarily loud explosive noises coming from that screen.

As totally downplayed and out of the normal glamour from the usual appearance of the actor, your teeth sunk into your bottom lip in a needy manner. A wave of prurience takes over your body at the sight.

It was so normal, but of course he looks amazing. He always looks fucking amazing.

Your sitting just behind the boys on the duvet as you scroll on your phone yet occasionally view what had been all their talk — sports, sports, video games, strategy, more video games, sports. It was all jumbled into chatter of nonsense to your ears. You could give less a damn. You’re bored. And you want your man.

Your phone gets tossed to the edge of the bed as you let out a huff of air and fold your arms impatiently. Legs tucked under you comfortably but your ease at it’s most uncomfortable — there was a small bowl of strawberries topped with cream sitting besides you that Timmy ordered you for breakfast. You’ve hardly touched it because as sweet as it was that he made sure to bring up your favorite before noon dish, one round of the game turned to three, than four. And now it’s been two hours since he’s as much as glimpsed your way.

It was totally unfair. You looking this pretty, left aside to stare at your fresh set of nails in boredom. You had to do something.

“Timothee?”

“Yes, mon amour?” He answers still laser focused.

“I’m hungry. What happened to the rest of the food you ordered?”

“Oh.. shit, yeah. Hold up,” he had mentioned to the guys before leaving his controller where he sat to stride over to where you sat, he crawled over the covers to get to where the phone was just beside you.

As he’s leaning over your lap to buzz the front desk, you breathe in his sent, his smooth cologne. His chain was dangling over your lap and you suck in your lip again. The position had your mind conjuring up a couple of ideas right now. His perfect lashes hover his green as he waits for them to pick up. You smile and let your body absorb the heat of just him being near you again. Close. Like you’d get a hit off of just that when his palm pressed into the pillow beside you, deepening your mold to it. You start to grin, you don’t know how to act when he looked this sexy.

You lean into the crook of his neck and leave a playful kiss there, then watch his reaction as a small smirk grows on his lips. Making his mustache do that thing you love. Your smile was devious. He glances at your soft rose gold slip against your thigh that was noticeably peaking out from under your robe underneath him. He speaks to whoever picked up, “okay… alright, thanks.” He puts the phone back down in it’s holder. “Like ten minutes-ish. Okay ?” Timmy gives your cheek a quick smooch before he’s off of you again and your eyebrows drop with a pout.

You were getting impatient and the blood rushing towards your heat was undeniable from the feeling of Timothee near. You weren’t gonna just sit this through. You stand, entering the area where he and all his friends are hunched around the tv, sat without a ounce of attention to your appearance — you just stepped over the crowd of long legs to glide next to where your man sat against the couch.

He was already so wound back into the game, that when you took it upon yourself to sit in his lap, he only cradled you in out of habit, then returned to the controller in this hands. Without taking his eyes off the screen for a second,“Came to watch me win?” He utters before kissing your forehead and you smile before leaning it against his shoulder. And you did watch. The tv screen, playing out events that made your brow dip with uncertainty.

The boys were shouting threats at one another as they play, Timmy would just laugh or join in hear and there. You held up with just the sound of hearing him chuckle with his chest, making a adjustment underneath you so you were snuggled close while you watch him play — that made your stomach fill up with butterflies and do little flips. He was in it but still with you at least. You peered at the multiple silver rings around his fingers as they take a go on buttons and swivels. He holds the controller on your thighs, your lips curve with a grin as you sit up a bit to peck his cheek.

“Why are you obsessed with this stupid game?”

“Why are you obsessed with me?” Timmy replies to you with a snarky grin and you gasps a little before taking a slap against his arm. He has no reaction whatsoever. You then tuck your hand under his chin gently, harmless smile on your lips as you go in to place a kiss on him now. Your boyfriend only tries to keep eyeing the screen as you lay more smooches on him.

You won’t quit now when your this close.

You steal another kiss. Then another. Trying your best to lore his attention away, but he’s too busy tightening his grip on his controller, locking his jaw and lifting his chin to see around you, he most likely got some kind of set back in the game. You couldn’t give less a damn what was happening on that screen but you figured by the small “fuck” he grunted after you blocked his view.

Your eyebrows dip, a uproar of an attitude was apparent on your lips now as you look from the screen, Timothee’s friends, back to him. He just wasn’t budging at all.

It’s been weeks since you two have really been alone together, and he couldn’t of forgotten how much of a brat you could be. Especially when you hadn’t gotten your way not once these last few days. So the only thing left to do was to take it up a notch.

You switch gears from sitting in Timmy’s lap, to getting on top of it. Your thigh going over to the other side of his hip and your legs part nicely just for him to fit. Your position mirroring earlier and you knew his weakness was always you on top of him, there’s no way he wouldn’t lose it now. Not when you’d been peppering kisses along his jaw, slow yet playful. “Baby, baby, baby…” he stuttered, still shifting underneath you like your affection was irrelevant, trying to slightly maneuver you aside from blocking his view. But your new found position also had him fumbling to keep his grip on that controller, they naturally went to hold your waist. He could no longer keep his eyes completely glued to that tv even as much as he wanted with how you’d ignored his gentle readjusting you, and kept gliding your lips over his neck. His was jaw clenched tight.

“You can’t ignore me forever..” you purr softly so only he could hear, locking your hips in his lap and you could nearly feel his chest heaving increase. You get his attention now, he glances at you, eyes darkened and full of something dangerous. He lays a hand around your back side, just squeezing slowly at first , but then enough to make you still your movement quick, “you’re being a brat.. don’t test me.” He mirrors your tone ; but with more bite.

That got your panties wetter by the second.

Though it was no surprise now. Not with the way you’d been arching your spine, thighs trapping him in and sucking on your man’s skin with a possessive kind of urge. He tried to play it cool, like he wasn’t squeezing your upper thigh in definite warning — which didn’t phase you. The sting only made your thoughts of him pounding you into that bed increase. You hear a friend or two from beside him chuckle a small ‘damn.. man,’ to him as you’d been at work. You looked too delectable. If Timmy knew anything it was that you had the subtle but huge temptation to get a man weak in the knees, and even more so showing out like this in basically your underwear and in your boyfriend’s lap. He started to pick up on the way they were less likely to be only into that video game now. And Timothee only grew pissed.

‘You need to handle that, bro..’ another friend mentions. He was surely struggling to handle you. Which put pride to your actions, the perfect contrast to your already frustrated boyfriend who’s now losing in his game, and also his control. You can’t help but stroke your thumb across his pretty, yet annoyed, expression at your actions that were far from okay. Along with his hidden but precise blush, he knows your playing with him even more strategically than he was playing that game.

He shakes his head and your grinning against his ear, in a soft murmur, “I’m not wearing any.” Was all you had to say and that was a wrap on his hang out. He finally breaks.

Timothee was jumping up to tell his friends how much fun it was to have their company, but they needed to get the fuck out.

That made you run a finger across your smirk, not minding at all the way he practically tossed you off of his lap to get the boys up and out, because attending to you could no longer wait. And you knew you were probably not even prepared for what’s to come now that you’ve made him nearly get a hard on in front of his friends. That’s if you didn’t succeed. You just keep pushing because, fuck, you were so sexually enraged and getting your boyfriend riled up was almost too easy.. sexy…

And fun.

You could see it in the way he gave his friends a warm but rushed goodbye, with hard back pats but half hugs and it made you titter to yourself slyly while you observe — but your glee only lasted but so long when Timothee shut the door. The sound of him locking it echos hard before he’s turning to place his eyes on you. You’re sitting up a little straighter with an unfazed kind of tint to your eyes, daring to even move an inch not knowing what he could pull. But your boyfriend was far more serious, he briefly looks at the time on his watch before gliding over to where you sit and going in for your wrists to pin them straight to that couch.

You’d been a mess with a mixture of giggles and soft gasps and Timothee tugs and fights with the belt of your robe to get it undone from your hips at lightning speed, not even bothering to get your knees out of the way when he does get it off of you, and his hand strikes up your silk slip, he lets out a deep sigh of relief when he’s not met by the sight of you pantie-less.

You burst into laughter beyond him.

“You- - sneaky, sneaky little minx. I mean fuck.. Honestly,” your boyfriend spits at the sheer humiliation of what you’d done to have him fed up and on top of you all for your own entertainment. Thinking about how much the thought of you bare and while his friends were around made his blood boil. You’re giggling and he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You think this is funny?” Timothee peers down at you, not amused at all. But your laughter dials down as you softly bite the tip of your finger to ponder for a second, followed with a little know-it-all nod.

“Yeah. I do.” your grin was starting to come back and Timmy had looked off to scoff at your antics, only cheesing out of imagination for what could happen in the next thirty seconds.

“I shouldn’t even touch you, y’know… you’re a greedy girl,”

Your eyes do the smiling for you as you take in the way his curls fall against his face while he talks with a frowsy husk in his voice right now.

“Yeah ? Am I too much for you, baby?” You pronounced so sweet on the end, smile innocent — but the look in your eye’s gleamed with filth. And Timothee only put either of his palms by where your head rests. He lowers himself,

“You are…. Irresistible,” he mutters as he goes in to leave a kiss on the top of your chest, soft but one that was devoted. And your stomach flips instantly, you watch him with wide eyes, “and- - a bad girl,” he moves to peck the right of your neck, “a tempting, irresistible, pain in my ass,”he moves to the left and your eyes shut as you let out a giggle, “naughty.. naughty girl.” Timothee finishes with a grin and smooch on your jaw just as his green orbs meet yours.

You always made it very clear in your relationship thus far, that the sound of just his voice alone got your toes curling with need. So the best build up to any climax was just listening, hearing and leaning into his word. He knows it, and he edges it like an oath,

“I mean.. you’ve got it all. Flying out here to see me, looking beautiful as ever in that dress the other night.. driving me insane in the mornings when your looking hot as fuck and I have to leave in ten minutes,” he was kissing you, rubbing you down, and you nod with a soft dazed smile as his hands find yours, “this pretty.. and sexy set you got done yesterday,” he kisses your knuckles and his thumb brushes against your pink nails while you can’t help but let out a string of giggles when he finds that balance of sultry and playfulness with you.

“Yet… you’re acting out like this ? Making a scene in front of my homeboy’s.. and all I get is attitude ?” he comments with a tsk kind of tone, eyebrows furrowed suddenly like you stabbed him. Which is why you only whine and you pull him in closer by the neck. Your lips collided. Your kissing him with want, not letting go without ache, making him stay. Stay right where you want him.

He groans a little into your breath, genuinely taken by the shift in your behavior, “what is it, mon cherie ?.. what do you want ? Tell me what you want..” he murmurs even against your swollen lips and you look up at him like he’s the stars, the moon, the entire galaxy around you. All you want all the time, and your life line at the end of every day.

But then you roll your eyes. Because he’s also an idiot.

“You.” Your tone direct and your eyes lost in his now, “ I want you.”

“But you have me, baby..”

“No. All of you,” your eyes are stuck on his, even as you sit up and push on his chest so he’s lounged against the arm rest of the couch, you climbing to get all close again.

“Mhm… and how do you want that ?” Timothee rasps as he notices the trickle of your fingers running up and down his hoodie. You wasted no time to subtlety get your hand underneath it, feeling up his abs, the smooth texture of his skin as you rest over him with a soft lip bite,

“Like.. where we were earlier. Slow, but not for too long.. just right, because I wanna feel you. Inside of me. And deep. So deep, Timmy.”

Your sweet but sultry voice was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand as your touch is dangerously close to his waistband, and he sucks in his breath as he eyes your lips edging his.

“…And what else ?”

You slowly reveal a smirk, “I wanna be screaming your name. Having it pouring from my lips as you’re going back to back on me… want it to be loud, like.. lobby concerning.”

That tent in his cargo’s is back again.

“Mhmm… and screaming who’s name, baby?”

“Yours Timmy, the only one. Your my man.” You giggle a bit as you kiss his lips and your free hand finds his cheek.

“That’s right.” He kisses you back with a very satisfied grin,“And- - what else, princess?”

You sighed a little as your hand hiked up his hoodie completely to yourself and you lick over your lips at the pain sight of his glorious pecks,

“I need you, to make me cum.. endlessly, on your cock till I’m sore. Till I’m feeling you even in the morning, and- and I feel you for the rest of the day. Your cock. Your cum. You.” Your tone is getting more desperate by the second as your thighs shift a little and your bottom lip quivers at the way Timmy’s tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and gently place his hands on your waist once again. You almost moan.

“That sounds real good, baby.” He smiles,

“Yeah ?”

“Yeah.. why don’t we start by settling your little scandal in front of my friends. You, uh- - wanna make it up to me, princess?”

Your nodding immediately. But it must not have been quick enough, because without another confirmation from you, Timothee grabs you by the ass to bend over the couch and your hands brace arm rest of where he’d been as you let out a quickly hushed little gasps. Your boyfriend tugged down your panties, sliding them down just enough to have your parts on display. Your lips were slightly agape as you watch him use his large hand to slide between your thighs, spreading them as delicately as butter in his hands.

“Spread yourself nice and wide for me, mon amour,” his breathing husked as the pads of his fingers meet the folds of your pussy.

He wasn’t surprised to find you dripping.

“Mmm- - oh,” your head falls to the arm rest as your getting split open by your boyfriend’s digits carefully, the silver of his carrier ringers cold as they dip into your heat like it was home. And how it was a perfect fit. He’s cursing softly, lips parted as he watches the way you pulse around him, taking the curve of his fingers pushing and pulling at a pace that had your knees going weak, a small “fuck” purring from you now. Timmy bends so he’s kissing where he plays with where your soaking his hand. His lips part and a his tongue swipes a bold stripe up your cunt. He’s using both of his hands to spread you as wide as he can all while his face is in your cunt, licking and placing kisses there, taking a nibble of your ass with a groan like he just can’t help himself.

Your already practically high off getting to watch him devour you from above, grinning, “you're obsessed,” you say in a giggly tone and instead of replying he squeezes your ass more followed up with a smack that has you gripping the couch and sending your eyes shut with a whimper.

Timothee sucks on your clit, to where your throbbing eloquently as much as you let him, which is as much as he takes. Because that’s how he likes you. Soft, and pretty, and your cunt dripping for him at the drop of a dime. His fingers, wet from your slick are now trailing up your spine as you moan and shake on the bridge of his nose while he continues to flicks his tongue from your folds to over your opening, dipping inside you with a prideful groan and you managing to not bite your wrist as your bottom lip trembles.

You never know his next move, and you were unaware when Timothee leans up kneel into the couch and peer down at you. The sudden trace of his thumb against your lips had you letting out a desperate little sigh and leaning into the way it circled your mouth so gently you could die. You’re letting out a sweet little chuckle as his fingers edge the bottom of your chin and your tongue darts out to brush against his digit. He’s watching you taste a bit of yourself and you playfully press your ass into his crotch that was packing on his very observant hard on.

Timmy presses between your lips. Sliding against your tongue till his thumbs resting in your mouth. You moan a bit as you begin to suck on it, absorbing the muted salty taste, running your lips up then back down again with hunger.

“This what you wanted?” His tone tame, but deeper with the fighting urge to replace his thumb later on. Your moaning, your head bobs till his thumb is again wet with you, and he doesn’t take his eyes off the way your melting into any and every touch he gives just like that. “That’s it pretty girl..” your man murmurs as he’s then pulling his finger out to pull your panties completely off.

He’s tossing them somewhere else in the suite — and you shed of your slip without hesitation. Timmy gets rid of his pants in a hurry to align himself with you again.

You stay exactly how he had you. Kneeling into the cushion of that couch, bent over and watching his hands softly glide over your body like you’d been glass, but suddenly the firm pressure he puts on your waist as he holds you tight to the tip of his cock comes in. He’s sliding against your wetness, “oh my god..” your voice purrs out quietly and you’re already damn near shaking in his hands. Timothee was trying not to cum just at the sight of you like this. He breathed out, focused on sliding through your slick, but crazily inviting pussy with a deep groan. You collapsing forward into your own hands with a low moan leaving your throat. His girth filling where the former emptiness was.

With a fine exhale, and a heavier sigh that had you clenching around him tighter than he’d ever had you before — Timothee’s brows knit together and his lips form a perfect ‘o’ shape as he views in awe of the way the lips of your cunt take him beautifully. He palmed your ass cheek and runs a hand slovenly through his short curls before he’s fucking into you like you earned every thrust.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you become a puddle of moans and cries pretty quickly. His cock driving into you made your head lighter and lighter untill Timmy was putting his fingers through your locks to make a ponytail and your arching your back even more, taking him even deeper.

“Good girl.. good girl,” he praises with a pant while he’s grinning down at the way you look up at him — and a those doe like eyes, even while making the sluttiest mess on his dick at the moment. You were just heavenly to the man. He kisses your forehead tenderly through the lewd sounds being made between the two of you that echo off the walls, your minx-like smile matches his while you’d been moaning after every snap of Timothee’s hips against your thighs.

“I know you love fucking on me, pretty boy.” Your tittering before your mewls only escalate when you feel Timothee yank your hair tighter into his grip. He suddenly starts rutting into you harder now with a visceral groan. His change of pace made your jaw drop and your face is hitting the cushions like that as you moan louder.

“You already drive me fucking crazy.. but when you say things like that- - oh.. fuck- - when you say things like that..”

You let out a true whine as he makes sure to have your legs spread wide and your ass up so there’s that pure euphoria he’s getting from every stroke of your soaked and pulsing heat sucking him in. Your a puddle of cries, mixed with sputtering whines as you grip the side of the couch and his name is pouring from your lips as your toes begin to curl.

“Oh.. fuck ! That feels s-so good,”

“Yeah ? You like that ? This is what you were being all bratty about, hm ? You just wanted to get your tight- - perfect pussy fucked..”

“Yes, yes, yes- don’t stop, Timmy..”

How he goes harder. His hands showcasing those veins as they run against your hips, gliding his glorious clutch over your tummy to feel himself pounding into you. Your muffled groans getting his cock twitching as he spits out a pattern of curses. Your too cock drunk to even form full thoughts — you only get even dizzier when Timmy reaches to pull you up again so he can hold you close, lips meshing into yours sloppily and you moan into his heated kisses. Lazily darting your tongue out to run against his, and he does it back with the corner of his lips curling into a filthy grin.

Timothee pauses his movements to unconsciously make out with you. The feeling of your swollen lips on his, your hands reaching for his wild curls, you letting him lick over your mouth and moaning into it all was almost too much.

“I love it when you’re this good for me,”

You’re smiling into his kisses, “mmm.. do I make you wanna cum, baby?” your caressing his jaw and he’s stealing more smooches. He can’t stop. Muttering a little “god, you’re too much..” against you before he’s pulling out, scooping you up in his arms, and walking you over to the bed with him. Sly smile on your lips as your holding onto him and he places you against the pillows, delicate hand in his that he kisses profoundly before lying back himself.

“Come ride me, sweet girl,” Timothee eyes flicker over your figure that’s already crawling over him. Straddling his lap with a pampered smirk, your boyfriend makes himself comfortable against the plush comforter. Your hips are aligned with his, gently shaking your hair out of your face as you lean forward to kiss him. He sighs into it with a hand gliding over your spine. Your kiss soft and tender, but with a deep pressure that says a thousand words.

Then your taking your index finger, running it down his chest before you rest it on his abdomen to use as leverage when you slide him inside again. Timmy’s taking a deep and slowly paced breath as he pushes back through your entrance again and your throwing your head back in bliss. “oh.. fuck yes,” you couldn’t get tired of the feeling of when your taking his cock, even if you tried. Every vain, every pulse, stretching you fine. Your movements start out greedy and drawn out as you slide him in and out of you with classic climax chasing whimpers exiting deep from your throat. Timothee watches you gradually pick up in the way you bounce with hooded green eyes sparkling, and his tongue darting out to wet over his lips even while he’s squeezing your sides with all his strength,

“Shit, baby- -you’re making me feel so- so good.. shit,” he huffs, and lets his hands roam over your chest. Groping and rubbing your breast, nipples, till his grip wraps firmly around your neck. You stutter a string of curses. It felt almost too good. Getting what you wanted after all that time. Having his warmest pre-cum dripping from your cunt now. Paradise. Your holding on to his shoulders as you fuck yourself on him with pornographic squeals leaving you after every grind, Timmy groans at the way you make the bed shake and his dick is twitching like crazy inside of you.

He takes your hips and lifts you some so he can thrust up into you, you felt of the best kind of sweetness to him when you got all loose and trembling in desperation to cum on him — and that unleashed all the screams you had pent up for days, weeks.

“Fuck ! Fuck ! Fuck, Timothee ! You’re gonna make me cum..” you’re out of breath, hair going wild as he ruts into you. His jaw clenched, finger nails probably leaving clear marks on your skin, “I’m- - coming, I’m..”

As you were choking on your own gasps and letting go throughout his thrusts, your cunt clenched around your boyfriend’s erection hard as you melt into his chest with a cry and Timothee’s groaning into your ear as he continues to plunge through the creaminess of your core,

“Make a mess on my cock, pretty girl.. that’s it—” his voice vibrates through you and your automatically shaking through the sight of stars you see.

And just when you thought your body would erupt a second time, Timmy was flipping you on your back and palming the bedsheets as his hips slam into yours like he really meant that every last drop he’d let go was gonna be for you. He was getting himself to paint your walls with ropes of his cum at just the right moment to have you scream his name in all types of melodies. “Holy shit.. oh- - fuck!” he’s panting and clutching the wood of the headboard, he shuts his eyes briefly to empty himself into your womb. The last thing you wanted was for him to pull out, and he just couldn’t, not yet.

Instead he’s closing the slightest space between your bodies to hold your lower to his pelvis as he keeps rocking into you slow. Your fingers drag along his cheek as your meshing your lips together in a delicious kiss, moans leaving you. You wanted nothing more than this.

Timothee’s muscles finally rest from their tense state and he’s molding into you, cradling your shivers, and peppering kisses from your jaw to your shoulders. “My god, look at you.. filled with cum. Filled with me. Your so pretty, mon belle,” he’s muttering lazily against your lips with a grin, voice breathy and completely in love. You giggle there softly, knowing your absolutely probably dripping with his seed by now but all you could do was wrap your arms over his shoulders and whine a quiet “stay,” while your pecking his lips again and Timmy chuckles. Kissing on you. Fucking you. Whatever you needed he’s giving it to you. Rolling over on his back, and keeping you, his limp, but gorgeous mess against him.

“Better now?”

“Better.”

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w1w2 · 2 months ago

Text

The Slowest Heartbeat

Part 2 - Warming You Up

Kim Taeyeon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 12k

Synopsis: When a scandal threatens to shake SM’s foundations, they call in the one person who’s never failed to make problems disappear. This young, impossibly composed woman holds more power than anyone else in the room.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Rain tapped against the windows like a warning.

On the thirty fifth floor of SM Entertainment’s headquarters, the sky pressed heavy against the glass. Seoul was a blur of wet streets and honking traffic below, but in the boardroom, the real storm was happening in silence. An almost reverent kind of dread had settled over the table.

The executives barely spoke above a whisper now. Phones buzzed constantly, lighting up with notifications they didn’t want to read. Someone’s coffee sat untouched, going cold beside a trembling hand. The room, with all its sleek chrome fixtures and clean white light, suddenly felt like a box with no air.

On the wall sized screen, the livestream played without sound, but no one needed audio to understand.

Jieun.

Her face filled the frame, bare, no makeup, eyes swollen from crying but steady. This wasn’t some spur of the moment outburst, it was premeditated, precise. She had waited years to speak like this. And now, nothing could stop her.

“They silenced me,” the captions read. “They buried it all, but not anymore.”

She spoke of trainees blacklisted for speaking out, of favorites who were shielded while others were discarded, of contracts rewritten behind closed doors, of managers who shouted in soundproof rooms. Of one particular incident, years ago, that no one in this room dared to name. A minor, a cover up. The story they had all promised would stay dead.

But it was back, and this time? It had receipts.

She showed emails, recordings, and screenshots. The evidence ticked onscreen like a countdown.

A vice president in a pinstriped suit stood with his arms crossed too tightly. “She’s been collecting this for years, she waited for the exact moment we couldn’t contain it.”

Another man, the legal advisor, muttered under his breath, “She’s got enough to light the place on fire. No way she’s bluffing.”

The PR director hadn’t moved in ten minutes. Her fingers clenched around her tablet, knuckles white. The headlines rotated in grim succession.

Former SM Idol Exposes Years of Abuse.

Corporate Giant Faces Reckoning.

Kpop’s Star Pulls Back the Curtain.

“It’s global,” she whispered. “It hit CNN five minutes ago. Japan, the US, Brazil, everyone’s picking it up.”

The silence afterward was worse than yelling because there was no plan, no crisis memo could fix this. They were standing at the edge of a cliff and the ground had already crumbled beneath them.

And then, Mr. Jung moved.

He rose from his seat slowly, adjusting the cuff of his shirt with the kind of calm that made the others uneasy. His face was unreadable, composed in that way powerful people mastered, detached, efficient, inhumanly still.

Without a word, he stepped out of the boardroom.

He walked past the assistants, the managers, the panic. Down a short hall to his office, where the lights were dim and the air felt thicker, quieter.

He locked the door behind him.

At his desk, he picked up the phone. Not his personal one, but the second device he kept in the locked drawer. No contacts, no ID, just a black screen, a secure line, and the kind of number you only call when there’s no other option.

He pressed it.

One ring. Two.

Then a voice answered, soft and low.

“We need help,” Mr. Jung said. “The kind only she can provide.”

A pause. Nothing but the faint sound of breathing.

Then the voice replied, barely above a whisper. “Miss Lee will take care of it.”

The line went dead.

Jung set the phone down, slowly, carefully, and for the first time that morning, his hands were shaking.

By afternoon, the chaos had hollowed into something quieter, heavier. The boardroom no longer buzzed with frantic energy but sat in a dense, waiting stillness, the kind that preceded a reckoning. The lights had been dimmed, screens were muted, the livestream was gone, replaced by a digital map of headlines spiraling across the globe like a virus too fast to contain.

Most of the building had been cleared by now.

Orders from above. Staff escorted out with vague apologies and stiff smiles, interns told to work from home, security stationed like statues at the elevators. Only the idols and the highest ranking executives remained, and even the latter had lost the armor of confidence that came with title and tenure. They sat in silence, shifting uncomfortably in their leather chairs, glancing once in a while toward the door as if that alone might speed up time.

Even Mr. Jung, who rarely betrayed emotion, now looked older somehow. His shoulders had dropped, his jaw had set.

At exactly 2:03 p.m., the elevator chimed. The sound echoed far too loud in the quiet, a sharp, sterile note that made several heads turn at once.

And then she stepped in.

She entered the boardroom with a presence that felt less like arrival and more like an eclipse.

Quiet, total, inevitable.

She was tall, not dramatically so, but with a posture so exact it seemed carved, as if no part of her body had ever slouched. Her suit was black and tailored to perfection, the fabric matte and sleek, accentuating the sharp lines of her figure like a shadow given form. No jewelry adorned her hands or ears. No badge, no title, nothing to announce who she was or why she belonged.

And yet, not a single person asked.

Behind her walked a single assistant, a young man dressed in similar monochrome. Silent, alert, eyes scanning the room as if memorizing it for someone far more important. He carried nothing, he spoke even less.

The woman did not greet anyone, she didn’t offer handshakes or pleasantries, and she didn’t sit, though a chair had clearly been pulled out at the head of the table, waiting for her. She remained standing, her heels silent on the stone tile, hands gloved in black leather as she leaned slightly forward to scan the documents that had been carefully laid out for review.

Her eyes moved quickly, too quickly.

One of the board members, a woman with a twenty-year career and the resume to command entire departments, opened her mouth to offer a summary, but was immediately silenced by a glance from Mr. Jung.

They watched as the stranger read the reports. Her gaze was swift, precise, moving from one page to the next as if she had already known their contents and was simply confirming what she’d suspected all along. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and clear, with no strain, no emotion, and no desire to perform.

“You’ve let the fire burn too long.”

The room froze. The assistant behind her didn’t even blink.

She straightened, not a single wrinkle in her suit, and allowed her gaze to travel over the men and women in the room. The kind of look that weighed rather than measured, that judged.

“Containment is still possible,” she continued. “But only if you follow every instruction, there is no room for error now. Do you understand?”

Nobody nodded, nobody spoke.

The silence was answer enough.

She turned then, just slightly, directing a low comment toward the man behind her. Her assistant, who stepped forward with silent efficiency to begin distributing sealed envelopes to the table.

The only words he spoke came gently, like a reflex.

“Yes, Miss Lee.”

And that name, just two syllables, hit the air like a stone dropped in still water. A single ripple, and then a flood.

The room inhaled.

They all knew the name, of course. Everyone at this level did. “Miss Lee” was more myth than person, a figure whispered about in investor circles and high level acquisitions. There were no photos, no records, just rumors. That she represented a family with too much power to trace, that she advised more than one global empire, that she never appeared unless something was truly at risk.

No one knew exactly who Miss Lee was.

But now, standing before them, it didn’t matter. She was here and no one, dared question her authority.

The meeting lounge on the thirty third floor wasn’t meant to be cozy, but it was quiet, and that was enough for Taeyeon. Especially after yesterday’s spectacle.

She sat curled into the corner of a leather armchair, legs crossed, a paper cup of coffee cooling in her hand. Outside the panoramic windows, Seoul stretched beneath a bruised sky, thunder cracked somewhere distant, rolling along the skyline like a slow breath.

She checked her phone again. Still nothing.

Her meeting with the A&R director had been pushed back without explanation, and now she’d been told the CEO himself would be joining. Something about “restructuring priorities.” Vague corporate language that usually meant trouble was blooming higher up the chain.

Taeyeon didn’t care for boardroom politics, but she could feel the tension in the walls.

People moved differently today. Quieter, faster, the kind of shift that wasn’t broadcasted, but leaked through closed doors and lowered voices.

Down the corridor, the main boardroom doors were sealed shut. A pair of men in black suits stood just outside, security, though they didn’t wear badges or earpieces like the usual guards. No one lingered near them, no one even looked directly at them.

Taeyeon sipped her coffee and tried to focus on her notes for the meeting. But the stillness outside that room kept pulling her attention. It was like waiting at the edge of a storm you weren’t sure you were invited to.

And then, without warning, the elevator at the far end of the corridor chimed.

Taeyeon didn’t mean to look up, but something shifted, and her eyes followed it on instinct.

The figure moved past the glass wall like a shadow. Tall, sharp in black, each step exact. Her posture was impossibly straight, as if balance itself bent around her. She didn’t slow, didn’t glance sideways.

It wasn’t theatrics, it was worse.

Quiet control, presence without announcement.

The kind of woman who didn’t need to be introduced because the air had already made the introductions for her.

Taeyeon’s fingers tightened on her cup. She didn’t catch the woman’s face, just the briefest edge of it, pale against the corridor’s light.

Behind her came the same assistant. Black suit, unsmiling, alert.

The boardroom doors opened without anyone knocking. A man inside, one of the top executives, stepped back quickly. And for a moment, just a second, Taeyeon saw something rare flicker across his face.

Fear.

The woman walked in without a word, and the doors closed behind her with a soft thud.

Taeyeon blinked. The air around her felt heavier, she couldn’t explain it, not exactly, but something had shifted on a level deeper than logistics or scheduling. Even down the hall, she could feel it, like the floor itself had stiffened beneath her shoes.

A manager passed by then, holding the laptop too tightly, muttering to the man beside him in a voice not meant for eavesdropping.

“She’s the advisor. From above.”

Taeyeon straightened. “Who is she?” she asked, not sharply, just curious. Her tone casual enough to pass.

The man paused mid step, eyebrows lifting in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected her to speak at all.

“They say she works with the Lee family,” he said, lowering his voice. “Some kind of strategic asset. No title, no socials. She doesn’t do calls, she appears when she wants to or when things are burning.”

Taeyeon tilted her head. “Miss Lee?”

“That’s what they call her, but no one really knows her name. Hell, we’re not even supposed to know she exists.”

Taeyeon smiled politely, but something cold tugged at her spine.

She turned her gaze back toward the boardroom. Closed door, silence pressing against them like a held breath.

“Never heard of her,” she said.

The man gave a short laugh, already walking away. “That’s the point.”

Minutes later the boardroom doors opened with a sound too soft to match the weight they carried, and for a moment, the hallway itself seemed to hold its breath.

Taeyeon glanced up, not because she expected anything in particular, but because the air had shifted, almost imperceptibly, the way it does when a storm skirts the edge of a quiet sky.

She saw a woman step out.

Her assistant followed at a respectful distance, silent and watchful.They moved without pause, without any acknowledgment of the small group of assistants and managers now scattering ahead of them like leaves blown out of formation. There was no rush in her steps, but every inch of her projected purpose, as though she already knew the shape of every hallway, the ending of every sentence, the problem long before it had ever been named.

And then, just as she passed the lounge, her eyes lifted, and her gaze met Taeyeon’s.

Only for a second. A single, unbroken moment.

But something passed between them in that glance, something quiet and invisible, like the subtle shift of weight before a dancer’s first step, or the exact second a match sparks before it catches fire.

Taeyeon wasn’t sure what she’d expected, perhaps someone older, someone lined by years of strategy and corporate maneuvering. But the woman looked younger than her, mid to late twenties, maybe. Youthful, yes, but not in a way that invited approach. Her stillness had nothing to do with shyness, nor did her silence suggest distance. It was control, absolute and unshakable, the kind that either comes from extraordinary discipline or something far older than discipline itself.

There was no smile, no nod of recognition, no attempt at casual politeness. Just eyes that saw everything and gave back nothing.

Taeyeon found herself holding her breath without realizing it.

And then, just as suddenly, the woman turned her head, gaze cutting away like the closing of a book. She resumed walking, her heels barely making a sound on the polished floor, vanishing around the corner without a word, leaving nothing behind except a strange hollowness in the space she’d just occupied.

Taeyeon blinked.

The hum of voices resumed down the corridor, but something in her chest hadn’t settled.

The meeting started late, nearly half an hour, as if the building itself needed time to exhale after whatever had just happened.

Taeyeon sat at the long walnut conference table with two A&R leads and a senior producer, the usual energy oddly dulled. Paperwork was passed around, polite apologies mumbled. Someone offered her coffee she didn’t need.

She nodded, smiled and pretended to listen. But her mind hadn’t followed her into the room, it remained in the hallway, suspended in that strange quiet after the boardroom doors had opened, replaying the image again and again. Black suit, unreadable face, that stillness like a blade laid flat on velvet.

She couldn’t focus, couldn’t bring herself to care about the single release calendar or the budget breakdown they were reviewing. The numbers blurred, the voices flattened.

Who was she?

Not just some advisor, no one looked at an ordinary strategist like that. Executives had stood straighter in her presence, like schoolboys hoping not to be called on. Even the CEO, calm, calculating Jung, hadn’t spoken a word in her direction, he’d just followed.

And then there were her eyes.

Not cold exactly, but old. A kind of depth Taeyeon couldn’t define, like staring into something that had watched kingdoms fall and hadn’t flinched once.

But she’d looked at her.

Not past her, not through her.

At her.

Like she was already part of some equation Taeyeon didn’t know existed yet.

She glanced down at her open notebook, the page still mostly blank despite twenty minutes of talking. No song ideas, no project notes, no questions. Only one thing, written in the center in small, slanted handwriting she didn’t remember making.

Miss Lee.

The name felt heavier than it looked on paper.

She closed the notebook quietly and nodded at something she hadn’t actually heard, giving the illusion of participation, but inside, she was already somewhere else.

By the end of the first week, the firestorm had dulled. Not extinguished, just controlled. Statements had been issued, platforms scrubbed, deals rebalanced. But the tension hadn’t left, it had only gone quiet, and quiet meant planning.

The meeting room on one of the top floors of SM Entertainment had turned into a war room. The large rectangular table was lined with department heads, creative directors, logistics coordinators, and now, for the first time, both Taeyeon and Y/N.

The Girls' Generation comeback had been greenlit less than forty-eight hours ago, and already the company’s corridors buzzed with nervous energy. The deal to reunite all eight members had required days of legal acrobatics, especially with Tiffany, Sunny, Sooyoung, and Seohyun now attached to different agencies. But the opportunity was too valuable to pass up.

Nostalgia had power, iconic legacy had weight.

And right now? SM needed both.

Taeyeon sat near the center, back straight, eyes alert. She wasn’t there as just an artist. Today, she was part strategist, part guardian. Girls’ Generation wasn’t just a name to her, it was history, friendship, blood and sweat pressed into a decade of stages and stadiums.

She had heard whispers that Miss Lee would be attending, but it still caught her off guard when the woman walked in without preamble, without announcement. Just the soft press of black leather shoes on tile, her assistant trailing behind with a tablet and a file so thick it looked military.

Y/N didn’t sit immediately. She moved around the table once, scanning faces and documents like she already knew the answers and was merely checking for sloppiness. Her eyes didn’t linger on Taeyeon, but they didn’t avoid her either. There was no flicker of recognition, just that cool, steady calm she carried like armor.

When Y/N finally spoke, it was with the precision of someone used to being obeyed.

"The tour needs to be global, not regional. Stadium ready, if we're staging a resurrection, we stage it in full daylight. Tokyo Dome, Singapore Indoor, O2 Arena, SoFi Stadium. We believe you can sell them out."

A murmur moved through the room, one of the coordinators started to object, citing costs, schedules, logistics.

Y/N cut through it.

"SM will handle it, logistics are irrelevant if demand is engineered correctly. Nostalgia is predictable. We create scarcity, we drive hysteria and then we manage it."

It was all delivered without passion, without even raising her voice. And yet, no one interrupted her.

Taeyeon watched carefully, trying to fit the presence in front of her with the fragments she’d picked up, the silent advisor, the unnamed strategist. She looked young, but her posture, her words, her tempo, they all spoke of something older, colder.

When the team shifted focus to creative concepting, Taeyeon finally spoke. "We don’t want to feel manufactured, we’re not a novelty act. If this is going to work, the comeback has to reflect who we are now, not just who we were."

Y/N didn’t smile, she didn’t agree. But she didn’t dismiss the comment either. She turned slightly, considering Taeyeon not as an idol but as an equation.

"Then we build around evolution, not repetition. Eight identities, one mythology, the brand isn’t the past, it’s the transformation." Her reply was soft.

It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold. It was just precise.

Taeyeon nodded once, even though part of her still bristled at the idea of someone who didn’t know their story being given the power to shape it. But something about Y/N made it hard to push back fully, there was a gravity there, a sharpness she couldn’t look away from.

By the end of the meeting, schedules had been drawn, launch phases laid out, and roles assigned. Y/N remained a constant, never loud, never rushed, but always watching, always absorbing. And Taeyeon felt something she hadn’t expected to feel.

Intrigue.

Not attraction, not yet, but interest.

Like standing too close to something dangerous, and realizing, against all logic, you want to know what happens if you don’t step away.

A few days passed, but the pace didn’t slow. If anything, it accelerated.

The rumors had gone out, cryptic enough to ignite speculation, clean enough to avoid backlash. Headlines shifted, the scandal faded into page two and Girls’ Generation was trending.

Another meeting was called, this time a smaller room, tighter circle. Just the core team now, creative, marketing, production.

And her.

The private meeting room sat tucked at the far end of SM Entertainment’s executive wing, small and windowed, its walls padded in sleek, soundproofed suede. Outside, the sun had begun to sink behind the skyline, casting long shadows across the marble floor of the corridor. Inside, the lights were dimmed to a soft, amber hue, making the room feel more like a discreet negotiation chamber than a space for creative planning.

A pot of untouched tea rested in the center of the polished table, its steam long gone. The room was too quiet, too sterile, for casual conversation, and that seemed to suit one of its occupants just fine.

Taeyeon sat near the end of the table, legs crossed, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Across from her, Y/N stood beside the screen, navigating slides with the same precision she brought to everything else. She moved like she had all the time in the world, and none of it to waste.

“Revenue projections are aggressive, but achievable with staggered rollout,” Y/N said, barely glancing at her notes. “If we time the digital drop with the Tokyo teaser campaign, engagement could double within the first forty-eight hours.”

Her voice was low and even, clipped yet elegant. Every word was measured, weighted, no flourish. Just fact.

Y/N turned toward Taeyeon with the faintest tilt of her head. “Feedback?”

Taeyeon raised a brow. “Are you asking what we think or just checking off a box that says you did?”

Y/N’s face didn’t flicker. “I don’t ask questions I don’t want answers to.”

Taeyeon paused, watching her. “You don’t smile much.”

There, barely perceptible, but there. A pause, a subtle, almost mechanical shift in Y/N’s stillness.

“This isn’t a social call,” she replied, voice cool. “We’re not here to be friends.”

Taeyeon leaned back, arms folded. Her tone, when she spoke, was calm but pointed. “If you’re steering our comeback, you might want to understand what the music means to us, what it means to the people waiting. This isn’t just strategy, it’s personal.”

Y/N held her gaze for a long moment. Something sharpened in her eyes, but it wasn’t disapproval, it was attention. She blinked once, slow and deliberate.

“I’ve listened to the back catalog,” she said. “The sound evolved, the brand didn’t. That’s rare.”

Taeyeon blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected that, not insight, not admiration.

“Most groups lose their identity trying to chase relevance,” Y/N added. “You didn’t, you carried it forward. That matters, even if it complicates things.”

Taeyeon’s lips quirked slightly, not quite a smile, but enough. “That’s the first human thing you’ve said since we walked in.”

Y/N turned off the display. She didn’t reply, but the air in the room shifted, less tense, more watchful. Not warmer, no, just aware.

“You care about the legacy,” she said finally. “So do I. Just from a different angle.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. The quiet between them was no longer stiff, but measured, like they were both listening now.

A soft knock came at the door. Y/N’s assistant stepped in just far enough to announce the next meeting, she nodded and gathered the folder in front of her.

But before she left, she passed by Taeyeon’s chair, paused just briefly enough to leave an impression, and said without turning, “Next time, bring a better argument, not a smile.”

Then she was gone.

Taeyeon sat alone, staring at the closed door. Her fingers tapped lightly on the table, the rhythm unthinking.

She didn’t know whether she’d just been dismissed or invited.

The hour was late enough that the building had exhaled most of its daily tension. Elevators sat idle, desks were abandoned, lights on the executive floors had gone dark, save for a few emergency strips glowing along the baseboards. But one wing still hummed softly, far from the corporate hush of the upper levels, deep in the artistic heart of SM.

It was quiet in the recording corridor, not silent. The kind of quiet that held intention, not absence. Behind a thick pane of glass, the main studio pulsed with low, steady rhythm, just the instrumental line looping over and over while Taeyeon stood at the mic, hoodie sleeves rolled halfway up her arms, one foot lightly tapping to keep time.

Y/N stood behind the observation glass. She hadn’t intended to, her visit to this wing was meant to be brief, an anonymous check, a glance at progress logs and engineer notes. But then she heard a voice, familiar but stripped bare, and instead of turning away, she stopped.

And watched.

Taeyeon’s voice wasn’t flawless in this moment. That’s not what caught her, there were moments of strain, clipped endings, a faltering breath she clearly didn’t like. But she wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she wasn’t “performing” in the glittering, polished sense of the word. She was working, crafting, breaking something open just to rebuild it cleaner, sharper and truer.

Y/N didn’t move. Her hands stayed buried in the pockets of her jacket, her posture relaxed but alert. Her eyes followed every subtle shift, how Taeyeon leaned slightly into the mic during certain lines, how her fingers gestured unconsciously as she searched for a note’s shape.

Inside the booth, Taeyeon paused.

She pulled one side of her headphones loose, exhaled sharply, and rubbed the back of her neck, and then, maybe because she felt it or maybe just on instinct, she turned her head.

Their eyes met through the glass.

It wasn’t dramatic, no gasp, no startled flinch, just a long, level look, two women seeing each other across the silent divide. Taeyeon didn’t offer a nod, or even a smirk. She held the gaze for a second that stretched too long to be casual, then she turned back to the mic and adjusted her stance like nothing had happened.

Y/N didn’t smile either, but something in her face, tight, composed, softened by a degree so small only someone watching closely would notice. She stayed another minute, maybe two. Enough to hear Taeyeon sing again, enough to realize that the choices this woman made inside a song said more than any of her polished interviews or press smiles ever could.

There was instinct here, and discipline. But also loneliness, not the kind born of isolation, but of being understood only in fragments, by fans who saw her light, by colleagues who saw her value, but rarely by someone who actually listened.

Y/N understood that feeling.

More than she cared to admit.

She left without a word, footsteps soundless, disappearing into the cool, clean silence of the hallway like a shadow receding from a flame. She didn’t comment to her assistant, she didn’t file a report.

But for the first time, she thought of Taeyeon not as a piece of strategy or a variable in crisis management, but as a presence, a force that didn’t need to raise its voice to be heard.

And something inside her, something long buried under centuries of precision and distance, stirred.

Just slightly.

The parking garage was nearly silent at this hour, emptied of its usual bustle, stripped down to cool concrete, white lights, and the distant hum of generators buried in the bones of the building. The air was colder here, still tinged with the faint scent of oil and rain brought in on tires from the outside world.

Taeyeon walked slowly, her steps echoing. She wasn’t in a rush to go home, not tonight. Something about the day had stayed with her, something unshakable.

She reached her car but didn’t get in. Just stood for a moment, fingers resting lightly on the handle, her eyes drifting toward the elevator across the lot. The hum of its machinery broke the silence, a soft mechanical groan as it descended from the executive floors above. Her eyes lingered on the closed doors, though she couldn’t have explained why.

Then it opened.

Y/N stepped out.

There was a stillness about her, not the stiff kind, but something deep and rooted. She didn’t move like someone who was observed, she moved like someone who chose when and how she would be seen. Tonight, she wore long black wool over a slate grey turtleneck, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face unreadable.

She was mid sentence with her assistant, voice low and precise, until she looked up and saw Taeyeon.

She didn’t stop, but she paused. A subtle shift in posture, a near imperceptible change in the tempo of her steps. Her gaze touched Taeyeon, just briefly, before flicking away like it didn’t matter, except it did. The assistant caught the cue instantly, falling behind and disappearing with practiced silence, as if this was how it always went.

Taeyeon stood her ground. Her hand fell away from the car door, her body angling slightly toward the woman now walking parallel to her. Not toward her, not away. Just adjacent, as though orbiting the same center without knowing who pulled who.

They didn’t speak at first.

Just footsteps echoing between them, a narrowing space filled with something too quiet to be tension and too alive to be indifference.

It was Y/N who finally stopped one car over. A modest, black luxury sedan, not flashy, not ostentatious, just clean and precise like everything else about her.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone else this late,” she said, not exactly breaking the silence, but easing it open.

“I never leave early,” Taeyeon replied, her voice softer than in the meeting rooms, stripped of performance.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to hers again, just a moment, and lingered.

“What keeps you here?” she asked.

Taeyeon hesitated, but only slightly. “Same thing that brings me in early. Music. It doesn’t exactly punch out at five.”

Y/N’s mouth lifted, just the barest curve, not a full smile, but the trace of one. It made something inside Taeyeon stop and recalibrate. For weeks now, she’d been trying to decipher this woman through glances and rumors, and now here she was, real, close, and ever so slightly cracked open.

“You care about the work,” Y/N said. Not a question, a statement.

Taeyeon gave a small, quiet laugh, her breath fogging slightly in the cold air. “That’s the nice way to put it. Obsessive would be more accurate.”

Y/N’s eyes stayed on her. “Obsession can be a strength, it builds things most people are too lazy to imagine.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Taeyeon asked, not bothering to dress the question up. “Building something?”

Another pause.

“Sometimes,” Y/N said, her voice low. “Sometimes I just keep the ruins from collapsing.”

There was something in her tone, too measured to be bitterness, too flat to be pride. It was the voice of someone who had lived through the collapse enough times to recognize the shape of it before it started.

Taeyeon tilted her head slightly, watching her. “That’s a lot to carry.”

Y/N didn’t respond. But she didn’t deflect either. Instead, for the first time, she looked at Taeyeon not as an artist or an asset, but as someone who might understand.

“You're not what I expected,” she said, after a beat.

Taeyeon blinked. “And what did you expect?”

Y/N gave a faint shrug. “More polish, less substance.”

It wasn’t a compliment, not exactly, but it landed like one.

“I surprise people all the time,” Taeyeon murmured. “They forget I’m not here just to smile and sing.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her gaze intense but not unkind. “I didn’t forget.”

And there it was again. The moment where nothing was said, but something shifted, as if some thread between them pulled tight, not enough to break, but enough to notice. The kind of awareness you don’t talk about yet, because naming it would make it real too fast.

Taeyeon stepped back toward her car. “Goodnight,” she said, tone casual, but her eyes didn’t lie.

Y/N didn’t answer right away. But just before turning away, she offered something unexpected, something simple and unguarded.

A smile.

Small, real, almost shy, except Y/N didn’t do shy. Which made it all the more arresting.

“Goodnight Taeyeon.”

And that was the second time she said her name.

It could’ve ended there, a simple goodbye, a name spoken like a promise. But some moments don’t fade, the echo.

And four days later, it echoed still, beneath the beat of a track looping in high volume, under the breathless push of choreography that wouldn’t quite click.

The floor of Studio 3 was slick with effort, scuffed soles, condensation on mirrors, and the residue of an afternoon stretching too long into early evening. The overhead lights hummed with that sterile brightness only found in rehearsal rooms, casting sharp reflections across eight bodies trying, again and again, to land in sync.

Girls’ Generation, reunited after a few years for a full comeback, weren’t rookies not by a long shot. But tonight, it didn’t feel like muscle memory was doing its job. The moves were all there, technically correct, sharp where needed, fluid in places, but the feeling? Off, like a heartbeat out of rhythm.

They were dancing as ghosts of themselves, not as the force they had once been.

Taeyeon wiped sweat from her brow with the hem of her shirt and took a step back. She could feel it, not just the ache in her legs, but the dissonance in the room, the way smiles had become thin, the way laughter had been replaced with silence. Everyone was trying to hold it together, and everyone knew it wasn’t quite working.

Hyoyeon was frowning at the monitor, arms crossed. “We’re off by just a hair,” she said, her voice sharp with frustration. “But it makes the whole thing feel stiff, mechanical.”

Yuri was kneeling by the speaker, hitting replay with short, clipped motions. “It’s the bridge. That pivot after the half count, it’s not breathing right.”

Seohyun sat on the floor tying her laces tighter than necessary, as if control over her shoes could somehow translate into control over the rhythm. Yoona was massaging her neck, brows pulled in a tight knot of exhaustion. Everyone else stretched, paced, or stared at their own reflections like they might find the answer hidden in the glass.

It wasn’t that the choreography was bad, it was ambitious, layered with intention, meant to signal that this wasn’t a nostalgia tour, but a rebirth. But the execution hadn’t caught up to the concept, not yet.

And then the door opened.

It didn’t slam or creak, it wasn’t loud, but the shift in the room was instant, like air pressure changing before a storm.

Taeyeon glanced toward the entry without meaning to.

Y/N stepped inside with the quiet of someone used to commanding attention without raising their voice, she didn’t carry anything, she wore no credentials. Just a black blazer, loosely tailored, over gray trousers and a pale silk blouse with a neckline that didn’t quite distract, but didn’t try to disappear either.

Behind her, two junior staff members entered and immediately faded into the background, a third, a choreographer’s assistant, hovered awkwardly with a tablet in hand.

Taeyeon felt the energy of the room tighten around her like invisible thread being pulled.

Y/N stood still for a moment, just watching. Her gaze didn’t dart, it glided, like she was collecting data in real time, dissecting the mood, the footwork, the beat, the microexpressions of eight women who had been icons before some of the current staff had graduated high school.

The music played again. Y/N didn’t interrupt.

When it ended, she moved closer to the screen, lifted the tablet from the assistant without a word, and scrubbed backward through the video.

“This section,” she said, voice calm, almost detached, as she pointed to a moment in the second chorus, “Is where the momentum breaks, it’s too angular for what the sound is doing. The instrumental curves upward, but you’re slicing through it, you’re forcing clarity when it needs ambiguity.”

Hyoyeon blinked. “That’s exactly what I said.”

Y/N didn’t smile, but her tone softened. “Then you were ahead of the room.”

She turned the tablet toward the group, tapped the screen once to highlight Taeyeon’s placement during the bridge.

“This pivot,” she said, tilting the device slightly, “if you shift your weight half a beat sooner and round the shoulder, the visual will echo the vocal phrasing. It won’t feel choreographed, it’ll feel inevitable.”

It was surgical, not unkind, just direct.

Taeyeon stepped closer. Not because she wanted to challenge her, but because something in her body moved before her mind decided to.

“Are you a choreographer now?” she asked, not hostile, just curious.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to hers. “No. But I understand shape, sound, and how memory forms when the two align.”

There was something in the way she said it, not defensive, not arrogant. Just matter of fact, like she wasn’t trying to prove she belonged here. She knew she did.

The choreographer nodded, quietly. So did Yuri.

Y/N handed back the tablet without ceremony and stepped away, as if she’d never planned to stay long.

But just before she turned to leave, her gaze caught Taeyeon’s again. A flicker, a pause, an unspoken pull that neither of them named.

In that one, still moment, Taeyeon felt something stretch and then tighten inside her chest. She didn't know what it was. Recognition? No, not quite. But something adjacent to it, as if a door had cracked open, not loudly, not wide, just enough for light to slip through.

Then Y/N turned and walked out, her silhouette swallowed again by the hallway.

The girls ran the routine again ten minutes later.

And this time, the bridge, Taeyeon’s bridge, didn’t just land.

It breathed.

They wrapped rehearsal an hour later, sweaty and spent, but lighter somehow. The choreography had found its rhythm, or maybe Taeyeon had. She didn’t linger that night, just a quiet goodbye, a hot shower, and silence.

The next day moved like static, meetings, fittings, noise, but the moment stayed with her, tucked under the noise like a secret.

And when the main corridors of SM Entertainment were long empty, hollow with the kind of silence that only came after too much noise. Most of the lights had dimmed to energy saving mode, casting faint reflections against the glass and steel. But deep within the recording wing, buried behind soundproof doors and layers of technical equipment, one room remained awake.

Inside, Taeyeon sat with her legs tucked up in the chair, face dimly lit by the LED panels of the mixing board. A half empty cup of tea had long gone cold on the armrest, forgotten. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was alive, tracking every beat, every chord progression, every breath in the track playing on loop. It wasn’t the group song this time. This was hers, just hers, a solo track still in development, still raw.

She had listened to it so many times that the edges had started to blur. It wasn’t that anything was wrong—not in a technical sense. But it was missing something she couldn’t name. It didn’t breathe right. It didn’t move the way her heart did when she thought about her fans, about the stage, about the kind of truth she wanted to put into every note.

It should’ve been enough, it wasn’t.

The track played again.

And again.

Still not it.

She leaned forward, elbows on the soundboard, forehead resting on the back of one hand. She wasn’t tired, not really, just tangled. The kind of creative knot that didn’t untie easily, the kind that could drown a person if they stayed in the silence too long.

The studio door opened, quietly, without flourish, but her senses caught it before her ears did.

She turned slightly, expecting a staff member, maybe a tech with another round of takes or someone telling her to go home. But it wasn’t that.

It was Y/N.

No blazer this time, no assistant at her back. Just a soft, almost soundless presence, dark blouse, slacks, hair pulled back, eyes alert but unreadable. She closed the door behind her, but didn’t say anything.

Taeyeon blinked. “Didn’t think you’d be the drop by type.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied. Her voice was calm, lower than usual. “But I heard something looping from the hallway. Figured it wasn’t just background noise.”

Taeyeon hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s just a song, one of mine.”

Y/N nodded once, stepped closer, not invasive, not cautious either. Just measured. She glanced toward the screen, letting the track play through one full loop again before speaking.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, which surprised Taeyeon. “But it’s holding back.”

Taeyeon sat up straighter, eyes narrowing a little, not offended, just intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“The second pre-chorus,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “You lift the vocal, build to a release. But the instrumentation doesn’t rise with you, it stays grounded. There’s a tension in the contrast, but instead of resolving it, you let it slip away. It should be one more beat of silence, just a moment, to create ache before the chorus lands.”

Taeyeon stared at her. “That’s what I’ve been feeling, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

Y/N didn’t gloat, didn’t even acknowledge the agreement. She just stepped forward and pointed at the waveform on screen.

“This space right here, let it breathe. Don’t race the feeling, let the ache land before you soothe it.”

It was an exact analysis, not just right in theory, but felt right. Taeyeon wasn’t easily impressed. But this? This was something else.

“Where did you learn to hear music like that?” she asked, genuinely curious now.

“I’ve been around long enough,” Y/N replied, her gaze drifting back to the monitor. “Longer than most.”

Something about the way she said it made Taeyeon pause.

She studied Y/N in the glow of the soft light. Her face looked young, too young for the weight in her voice. And yet there was something in her posture, in the way she listened, that felt ancient, like she didn’t just understand music, she remembered it.

“Are you always like this?” Taeyeon asked quietly.

“Like what?”

“This sharp, observing. Always on.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, barely. A soft crease at the corner of her mouth, not a smile. But maybe the idea of one.

“It’s how I stay useful.”

Taeyeon looked down at her hands, absently spinning her ring. “Music’s not useful to me. It’s survival, I’ve been doing this most of my life, but it never gets easier to explain.”

“You don’t have to,” Y/N said. “Not here.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, not awkward, not even quiet, not with the soft thrum of the track looping again.

It was Y/N who stood first, pulling back from the soundboard. “You’ll get it, the song, you always do.”

Taeyeon turned her head, watching her move toward the door. “You sure?”

“I don’t say things unless I’m sure,” Y/N replied over her shoulder.

Then, just as she reached the threshold, she hesitated.

Glanced back.

“Try adding the cello,” she said. “One line, low register. It’ll carry the breath you’re missing.”

And then she was gone.

Taeyeon sat there for a long time after, the song still playing. Her hand moved to the mixing dial. She opened a new track layer, searched the library, found a cello sample, slow and warm and she placed it just beneath the pre-chorus.

Hit play.

And there it was.

The ache.

She didn’t leave the studio until well past midnight, but when she finally stepped into the cold air outside, something in her had settled. Not solved, not soothed, just aligned.

In the days that followed, the work moved faster. Concepts locked, edits approved, the team had found its rhythm again and so had she.

Two weeks later, the spotlight shifted.

Not to the stage, but to the past.

The gallery was quiet in the way only powerful spaces could be, designed silence, with warm lights washing the white walls in gold. Rows of framed memories stretched through the room, curated with ruthless precision. The evolution of an empire in photographs, costume pieces, vinyl pressings, candid rehearsal stills, and carefully preserved debut stage sets.

It wasn’t for the public yet. That would come tomorrow.

Tonight was different.

This night belonged to SM’s innermost circle, the artists who shaped it and the people who ran it. Staff entered through a separate entrance. No influencers, no press inside, just idols and executives and the kind of power that didn’t post selfies.

Taeyeon had walked the press line outside, smiling briefly for the cameras, dressed in understated black, her hair pinned in a soft wave. Inside, it felt like walking through time. Her own face stared back at her from the walls, grainy footage of early rehearsals, snapshots of their first dazed wins, the group crowded into vans, bright eyed and exhausted.

A cocktail was offered, but she barely sipped it.

She was studying a vintage stage outfit, one she hadn’t seen in years, when a quiet presence shifted beside her. She didn’t have to turn to know.

Y/N.

No greetings, just there, beside her, looking at the same piece of history. The silence stretched long enough to feel deliberate.

“You wore this, didn’t you,” Y/N said, not asked.

Taeyeon looked over. “Yeah. Inkigayo, summer. We could barely breathe in those.”

Y/N didn’t smile, not exactly, but something in her expression eased. “They stitched them overnight. The seamstress was going through a divorce, she added a hand-beaded detail to distract herself. Only a few people noticed.”

Taeyeon blinked. “How do you even know that?”

Y/N’s gaze remained steady on the costume. “I remember the moment.”

“But you weren’t,” Taeyeon stopped. “You weren’t working here back then.”

“I wasn’t,” Y/N agreed. “But I’ve been around.”

They wandered further, Y/N didn’t lead, but she moved with strange assurance, like the gallery was familiar, like she’d walked it before.

They paused at a black and white photo from the company’s earliest days, three men at a cluttered desk, stacks of demo tapes around them, the logo barely recognizable.

Taeyeon folded her arms. “They built all this from a basement.”

Y/N tilted her head. “It wasn’t the basement, it was the third floor. The wallpaper was peeling, and they kept losing power during playback. The first artist signed that week couldn’t hit her high notes because the A/C kept cutting out.”

Taeyeon turned to her, frowning. “You say that like you were there.”

“I read a lot,” Y/N replied easily.

“Did you read what color the wallpaper was?”

Y/N didn’t answer, but her mouth lifted at the corner.

There was something surreal about walking through decades of history with someone who hadn’t lived it but seemed to carry the shape of it inside her. Not in fragments, not in fan facts or archived interviews, but with a kind of lived in quiet that suggested memory.

It should’ve been unnerving. Instead, it pulled Taeyeon in.

They paused before a final installation. A slow rolling projection of every SM debut, playing on a loop across the gallery wall.

Lights dimmed slightly, music fading under the hush of conversation elsewhere.

“Does it ever feel strange,” Y/N said softly, “To be part of something that started before you and will likely outlast you?”

Taeyeon considered. “Sometimes, but I don’t think about that when I’m singing or dancing. It’s just the moment. The now.”

Y/N turned her head then, studied her face in profile. “That’s the part I envy.”

There it was again, that flicker, the faint crack in the armor.

Taeyeon didn’t press, just let the silence settle again between them. They stood there, the legacy of a company wrapped around them like a second skin. Not speaking, not smiling. But something, slow and unmistakable, was shifting between them.

Not just curiosity.

Recognition.

Eventually, they parted, no words, no promises. Just a glance that held a little longer than it should have.

The night went on, and the days that followed moved with that same quiet tension, like something unspoken threading itself tighter between them.

The main floors of SM Entertainment had emptied out hours ago, and what remained now was a skeleton crew of night shift staff and a few scattered lights that stayed on out of habit more than necessity.

Taeyeon’s sneakers echoed softly against the polished floor as she exited the rehearsal wing, a towel slung over her shoulder, the hum of adrenaline from practice still in her bloodstream. Her muscles were tired in that satisfying way, the way that meant she’d worked through something. Not just steps, but something that had been sitting under her skin.

As she made her way down to the underground parking garage, a breeze of cooler air greeted her. She dug for her keys without looking, her thoughts already drifting ahead to the shower waiting at home, until her gaze flicked up, half automatic, and landed on a car parked a few spots away.

Y/N’s.

The matte black luxury coupe sat in reserved space, sleek and untouched, its presence as deliberate and composed as the woman who drove it.

Taeyeon slowed.

She stood still for a moment, keys clutched in her hand, brow furrowing just slightly. It wasn’t odd for Y/N to work late, people whispered about how she never seemed to stop, but something tugged at Taeyeon now, an impulse more instinct than plan.

She turned back toward the building.

Up the elevator, past the darkened meeting rooms and locked executive offices. The lights on the CEO floor were dimmed, casting long shadows across glass walls and stone floors. Every step felt strangely loud, this place always felt too clean after hours, like it was holding its breath.

When she reached the corner office, not marked with a nameplate, Taeyeon paused. The door was ajar.

She knocked lightly on the glass and peeked in. “Working late?”

Y/N didn’t startle, she never did, but there was a flicker of genuine surprise in her eyes as she looked up. She sat behind her desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a few open folders spread neatly in front of her.

“Just tying up some loose ends,” she said, voice low but not unfriendly.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

Taeyeon stepped inside, letting the door ease shut behind her. “Care for a tea break?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “At this hour?”

“Why not? There’s that little café two blocks over. They’re still open.”

There was a beat, a pause stretched too long for something as simple as tea. Y/N’s gaze held hers, steady, assessing. She glanced briefly toward the window, where the city lights blinked cold and bright against the dark.

“It’s not a good idea,” she said, quietly. “Dispatch never sleeps.”

Taeyeon let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “Fair. I keep forgetting I can’t be a person after nine p.m.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched, just slightly, not quite a smile, but almost.

“Then let’s have tea here,” Taeyeon added. “You’ve probably got some stashed away, right? Knowing you, it’s probably aged and imported from a mountain somewhere.”

That earned the smallest huff of amusement. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

She disappeared briefly into the adjoining side room, part pantry, part private retreat and returned with a cast iron teapot, two porcelain cups, and a tin that looked too old to have a brand label. The scent hit first, something herbal and deep, almost smoky.

“I was joking about the mountain,” Taeyeon said, grinning as Y/N poured.

“I wasn’t.”

They settled on the couch near the windows, not too close, not too far. The kind of careful distance where something could happen, or not.

Taeyeon sipped. The tea was hot, smooth, and unexpectedly grounding.

“I thought you didn’t drink caffeine late,” Y/N said.

“I don’t,” Taeyeon replied. “But I figured if I’m going to stay up thinking, I might as well enjoy it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying her. “Are you always this direct?”

“Only when I’m tired or when I want something.”

“And what do you want?”

Taeyeon didn’t flinch. “To get to know you.”

Y/N looked down at her tea.

There was silence for a moment. Not awkward, just full.

“I’m not very good at that,” Y/N said finally, softly.

Taeyeon’s voice lowered too. “I’m not asking for everything. Just a little, let me in.”

Y/N’s hand lingered on her cup, fingers unmoving. “You really want to know the kind of person who chooses an office over sleep?”

Taeyeon gave her a look, gentle, dry, but pointed. “You think I’m normal?”

That made Y/N laugh, just under her breath.

Taeyeon leaned back, watching her, the city lights catching in her hair. “You don’t have to keep performing all the time. Not with me.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “And what makes you think I’m performing?”

Taeyeon didn’t smile. “Because you haven’t once called me ‘unnie’ even though I’m older.”

Silence again. Then, very slightly, Y/N smirked.

“I think we can stay on a name basis,” she said, voice wry.

“You have no respect for your elders,” Taeyeon teased, then took another sip of tea.

But the atmosphere had shifted, softened, like something had clicked between them, quiet and unseen, but definite.

Outside the windows, Seoul kept shining, indifferent. Inside, the tea cooled slowly, forgotten on the table.

It started as something unspoken.

After that first night, tea shared between desk and window, half truths and lingering glances, a quiet rhythm settled between them.

Taeyeon started stopping by more often. Never planned, never announced, just small, quiet visits after rehearsals, when most of the building had emptied and the only sound on the executive floor was the hum of vending machines and distant elevators.

Sometimes she brought snacks.Tangerines, a bottle of barley tea, once even a paper cup of sweet potato latte she insisted Y/N needed to try. Other times, she came empty handed, just herself and that persistent calm curiosity that always lingered in her eyes.

Y/N never told her to stop.

She didn’t speak much at first, always looking like she was mid-thought when Taeyeon arrived, a pen resting between her fingers, half turned in her chair like she’d forgotten how long she'd been working.

But she always made tea.

And after the fifth visit, she started setting out a second cup before Taeyeon even said hello.

Their conversations weren’t loud or fast, they weren’t the kind that filled silences, they let the silences stay. Instead, they talked about music, about the strain of always needing to be seen, about how Y/N preferred the quiet because noise made it harder to think.

Taeyeon listened.

And Y/N watched, cautiously at first, then with something warmer. She noticed the way Taeyeon fidgeted with the sleeve of her hoodie when she was thinking, or how her voice softened every time she mentioned Zero, like the little dog was the only creature in the world she didn’t have to perform for.

Taeyeon, in turn, noticed how Y/N sometimes lost her place mid sentence, like she was too used to keeping her thoughts inside. How she always hesitated just a second before opening up, as if every answer came with an invisible cost.

But slowly, the walls started thinning.

One evening, after a long rehearsal and a brutal meeting, Taeyeon sank into the familiar couch with a sigh and leaned her head back.

“I’m starting to think you might be the only person in this building who actually listens.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow over her teacup. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone with this much power.”

Taeyeon grinned. “And yet I keep coming back.”

Y/N didn't reply, but her lips curved, faint, reluctant, the kind of smile that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

It was two nights after that when Taeyeon finally said it.

The tea had already been poured, they were sitting closer than usual, something about the chill in the room pulling them toward the couch cushions like gravity.

The conversation had meandered, from the latest recording session to why people lie when they say they don’t care what others think. And then, casually, as if she’d just thought of it.

“You should come over sometime,” Taeyeon said, swirling her tea, her voice light. “I make a decent kimchi stew.”

Y/N looked at her.

It was that unreadable expression Taeyeon was starting to learn, the one where Y/N was taking in every word, every meaning beneath it, and running them through whatever inner algorithm she used to measure risk.

“It's just dinner,” Taeyeon added, softer now, a hint of a smile ghosting across her lips. “I don’t bite.”

Silence stretched.

“Are you always like this?” Y/N asked.

“Like what?”

“Persistent.”

Taeyeon shrugged, casual. “Only when something matters.”

That made Y/N look away, she took another sip of her tea, let the warmth sit on her tongue longer than usual.

Then, without looking back at Taeyeon, she said quietly.

“Text me the date and the address.”

And just like that, the air shifted again, not dramatically, not like a door flinging open. Just a quiet hinge, turning.

A few days passed, just enough to let the idea settle, to let intent become action.

Then came the text, short, precise. Just a date and address.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, spilling warm hallway light over the polished floor outside Taeyeon’s apartment. Y/N hesitated for a moment before stepping out. She wasn’t used to places like this, places that felt lived in, not curated. Real.

When Taeyeon opened the door, barefoot in a loose sweatshirt and hair pulled back messily, it struck Y/N that she looked not like an idol, but like a person. The kind of person who knew where her soy sauce was without looking and didn’t mind if her dog tracked a bit of fur across the rug.

“Come in,” Taeyeon said, stepping aside.

Y/N entered cautiously, as if unsure whether she was allowed to exhale inside. The apartment was warm in more ways than one. Soft lighting glowed from lamps instead of overhead fixtures, and the walls were scattered with framed photos, some candid, some stylized, none of them for display, a scarf hung haphazardly over the back of a chair, and there was a dent in the couch cushion from where someone actually sat.

She hadn’t even taken off her coat before Zero trotted toward her, tail wagging like a small motor.

The dog stopped a few feet away, sniffed once, then closed the distance with enthusiasm. Y/N froze. Animals rarely approached her so openly, they usually hesitated, caught in some instinctive awareness that she didn’t quite belong.

But Zero practically demanded affection, nudging his fluffy head against her knee.

“He likes you,” Taeyeon said from the kitchen, the faintest thread of surprise in her voice.

Y/N slowly crouched, brushing her fingers through the dog’s coat, his fur was warm, soft, his breathing relaxed.

“He’s friendly,” she murmured, as if still trying to process it. Her tone was gentle, almost reverent.

“Usually takes him a few meetings,” Taeyeon added, stirring something on the stove. “I guess he’s a good judge of character.”

Y/N glanced up, the corner of her mouth twitching into what might have been the beginning of a smile, but it was gone as fast as it appeared.

She stood, hands folding back into her coat pockets, eyes scanning the room again like she was reading something in it that only she could see.

Taeyeon motioned toward the couch. “You can sit, you know. I promise it won’t bite.”

Y/N gave a short nod and walked over, sitting carefully on the edge of the cushion, posture upright like she was waiting for an interview to begin.

“You’re really not used to this, are you?” Taeyeon asked, half amused.

Y/N turned her head slightly. “Used to what?”

Taeyeon’s gaze softened. “Being invited in.”

There was a pause, Y/N didn’t answer, she didn’t argue either.

The dining table was small, round, nestled by a window that looked out onto the quiet Seoul skyline. It was a view worth lingering over, dusky blues bleeding into warm yellows from the surrounding apartments, but Y/N barely glanced at it. Her attention was divided between the bowl of stew in front of her and the woman who had made it.

Taeyeon sat across from her, hair tucked behind one ear, sleeves rolled up, chopsticks in hand. She was relaxed in a way that was almost disarming, comfortable in her space, in her body, in the silence between them. Her presence filled the room with something gentle, something domestic, something Y/N didn’t know how to process.

Steam rose from the bowls, curling like invisible fingers. The scent was rich, fermented spice, slow simmered garlic, a hint of sesame oil. Y/N could tell from the balance of aroma alone that Taeyeon had done this often.

Y/N picked up her spoon, stirred, slowly. Then set it back down again. She reached for the chopsticks instead, turning over a piece of tofu with practiced politeness, as if considering it. Eventually, she brought a small bite to her mouth, chewed once, twice, then reached for her water.

The taste was fine, or should be. But she barely swallowed. Her body resisted it, not out of revulsion, but because it simply didn’t need it.

Taeyeon watched her with a sideways glance, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“You eat like someone who’s suspicious of kindness,” she said lightly.

Y/N paused, then set her chopsticks down, folding her hands in her lap.

“I’m not used to being cooked for,” she said, voice even. Not cold, just true.

Taeyeon smiled, leaning back a little in her chair.

“Have you ever even watched Netflix on a couch that didn’t cost more than a car?”

Y/N blinked at the sudden turn, startled for a second, then let out a quiet, almost reluctant chuckle. The sound was real, warm, but tentative. Like a note played too softly on purpose.

“Not recently,” she murmured.

Taeyeon’s grin widened slightly. “You say that like you used to.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Maybe I did.”

Silence again. Not awkward, just thick with something unspoken. Y/N glanced down at her untouched stew and nudged the bowl a fraction to the side, a habitual gesture of someone creating space without appearing to.

Taeyeon didn’t comment, but she noticed. Her expression shifted slightly, less teasing, more curious.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said, voice low.

“You didn’t,” Y/N replied immediately, too quickly. “I just… this isn’t my usual setting.”

“What is your usual setting?”

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it. A heartbeat passed, then another.

She looked up, eyes sharper now, more guarded.

“Structured, predictable.”

Taeyeon’s smile faded into something smaller, more sincere.

“Well,” she said softly, “this is neither of those.”

“No,” Y/N agreed. Her gaze held Taeyeon’s for a moment longer than necessary. “It’s not.”

And yet she didn’t leave.

Dinner ended quietly, neither of them mentioned the mostly untouched stew, and Taeyeon didn’t ask questions Y/N wasn’t ready to answer. Instead, she stood, collected their bowls, and returned with two mugs of tea, jasmine for Y/N, ginseng for herself.

“No sugar, right?” she asked as she passed the warm ceramic into Y/N’s hands.

Y/N nodded. “Right.”

They drifted into the living room, the couch was wide and welcoming, a soft neutral tone with mismatched throw pillows that didn’t try too hard to match the aesthetic, comfort over perfection. Y/N hesitated for a breath, then sat on the far side, her mug balanced delicately in her hands like a prop she wasn’t quite sure how to use.

Zero padded in moments later and, to Taeyeon’s clear surprise, leapt up beside Y/N without hesitation. The little dog gave a single snuffle, circled once, and settled in the space between them with his head resting neatly on Y/N’s lap.

She froze.

Taeyeon grinned, sinking into her side of the couch. “He usually needs a few dates before that level of commitment.”

Y/N glanced down at Zero. Slowly, almost shyly, she rested one hand on his soft fur. Her fingers curled gently. He didn’t stir, just gave a small huff and burrowed closer.

“I guess he’s not as guarded,” she said, lips twitching with something that might’ve been a smile.

Taeyeon watched her for a long beat. Something had shifted, subtly, but unmistakably. The stiff line of Y/N’s shoulders had lowered, her jaw wasn’t clenched. Even the way she held the mug had changed, no longer with calculated grace, but simply for warmth.

Taeyeon turned on the TV, not bothering to ask what Y/N wanted to watch. It didn’t matter, she picked something light, something that wouldn’t demand too much of them.

But within minutes, neither of them was following the plot.

The movie flickered on, all color and noise, but the silence between them was louder, fuller. Their mugs sat cooling on the coffee table. Zero had completely claimed Y/N’s lap now, his body rising and falling with slow, contented breaths. Y/N remained mostly still, one hand resting absentmindedly on the dog’s back, her eyes trained on the screen, but unfocused.

Taeyeon shifted slightly. Her thigh brushed against Y/N’s.

Then, without meaning to, their hands met.

It wasn’t deliberate. Just a slight shift, a readjustment of posture, a stretch of fingers that met resistance and warmth.

Y/N’s reaction was instant.

She flinched, sharp and involuntary, like the touch had burned her. Her hand recoiled just slightly, not far, not rude, but enough for the space between them to feel colder.

Taeyeon didn’t look at her, didn’t apologize. She just stayed still, her expression neutral but her eyes distant, blinking at the screen like she’d suddenly remembered she was supposed to be watching it.

And then, minutes later, so soft it almost didn’t register, Taeyeon leaned sideways, head tilting gently until it rested against Y/N’s shoulder.

It wasn’t a calculated move, not a tease, it was exhaustion and trust wrapped in one simple gesture. The weight of her head was warm, familiar, heavier than it should’ve been.

Y/N froze again.

Her breath caught somewhere high in her throat. Her body was still as stone, but inside? Chaos. She didn’t know how to process softness, didn’t know how to carry someone else’s trust without breaking it.

Taeyeon breathed out, slow and even, clearly slipping toward sleep.

Y/N closed her eyes.

For a moment, just a moment, she allowed it.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the television and Zero’s tiny snores. And in that stillness, Y/N let herself feel it. Closeness, warmth, longing, the ache of possibility.

But the moment didn’t last.

Taeyeon shifted slightly against her, murmured something half formed, and stirred. Her head lifted groggily from Y/N’s shoulder.

And that was all it took.

Y/N stood suddenly, careful not to wake the dog.

“I should go,” she said quickly, reaching for her coat before Taeyeon could fully register what was happening.

Taeyeon blinked, disoriented, watching her move as if a thread had been cut. She looked up, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

Y/N shook her head, avoiding eye contact. "No, it's not you. I just need to go."

And then she was gone.

Taeyeon sat in the silence she left behind, one hand reaching to where warmth still lingered beside her.

The door had closed, but the echo of her absence didn’t fade easily. Taeyeon didn’t text or call, she waited.

Days passed. Not many, but enough for the air between them to shift.

Now, the city had moved on. And so had the work, but some silences didn’t feel like endings, just pauses, waiting to be broken.

Evening had settled over Seoul, and with it came a hush that blanketed the upper floors of the SM building in quiet. Most of the lights were off now, casting long shadows through the glass walls and polished floors. But one office, one particular corner suite, still glowed warmly from within.

Y/N’s office had become a strange kind of haven, not by design, not officially but over time, it simply became.

There was no formality left when Taeyeon walked in. No knocking, no preamble, just a soft greeting and the sound of the door clicking shut behind her. On the low marble table sat two teacups, always matching, always prepared in quiet anticipation.

Taeyeon sat cross legged on the velvet loveseat beneath the tall windows, a knit sweater draped around her shoulders, her fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic mug. She took a sip, exhaled.

“It’s like your tea always tastes the same,” she mused.

Y/N, seated on the armchair across from her, arched her brow. “That’s not a complaint, is it?”

Taeyeon smiled. “No. It’s comforting.”

A beat passed. No rush, no need to fill the quiet.

Then Taeyeon pulled out her phone and tilted it toward Y/N. A piano interface filled the screen.

“I downloaded this stupid app,” she said, chuckling under her breath. “I miss real pianos. You know? Not the rehearsal room kind, the ones in studios that are so perfect they feel dead. I want the ones that creak a little when you press the keys too hard, the ones that fight back.”

Y/N watched her for a moment, then gently placed her teacup down on its saucer with a soft clink.

“I have one.”

Taeyeon blinked. “You have a piano?”

“A Bösendorfer. 1884, if I remember right. Restored just enough to keep it alive, still has its character, still breathes like it remembers who’s played it.”

There was something in the way she said it, soft, almost reverent. Like the piano wasn’t an instrument but an old friend. Her voice dipped slightly, the warmth of the tea and the music casting a hush over her tone.

Taeyeon gave a quiet laugh, tilting her head. “Of course yours would remember its past lives.”

Y/N allowed a small, knowing smile to cross her face. “Memory isn’t just for people.”

Something flickered behind her eyes, too quick to catch. Taeyeon didn’t push, she just held the moment with a gentle curiosity, the weight between them shifting.

Then, like she wasn’t offering anything unusual, Y/N added, “If you’d like, you can come play it one day.”

Taeyeon’s eyes met hers.

There it was again, that quiet hum underneath their conversations, a thread they kept brushing against without naming. This wasn’t just tea anymore, these weren’t just words.

The invitation wasn’t grand, it wasn’t even deliberate.

But it was a door opening.

Taeyeon leaned back, thumb brushing idly around the rim of her cup.

“I’d like that,” she said, softly. “I’d really like that.”

The silence that followed was still not awkward, not expectant but charged. And neither of them did anything to break it.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #girls generation x reader #kim taeyeon x reader #taeyeon x fem!reader #snsd taeyeon #snsd x reader #taeyeon x reader

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darthannie · 2 years ago

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thesis statement

(part ii) (part iii)

Pairing: professor!Jim x f!reader Summary: You accidentally bump into your Professor, Jim, at a sex shop. Word count: 3.3k Warnings: 18+ please for the love of god, age gap (reader is ~25, Jim is ~45), alcohol consumption (a few sips of wine), kissing, praise, soft dom! Jim kinda, fingering, p in v, Jim takes his time, a smidge of cockwarming, idk what else to put here! a/n: There will probably be a part two where they explore their little arrangement a bit more. Maybe it'll turn into something longer. I love Jim sm. I also want him to FUCK you know. We’ll get there, but I was feeling a lil soft. Also hmmm i wonder why Jim was at the sex shop in the first place.

It was around 5 pm on a Sunday and you were really in need of something new. Very in need. Your old toy just wasn’t cutting it anymore. To remedy this it was time for a trip to Deluxxx, your neighborhood sex shop. Your friend, Nadia, knew someone who worked there and you’d go there for all your wants and needs. You strolled in and gave a wave to the person behind the counter.

“Hey, David! How’s the shop been treating ya?”

They looked around at the empty shop, “Hey! It’s slow but I can’t complain. What are you in for?”

You sighed, “You remember that last toy I bought?“

”No way, does it suck?! It was so expensive.”

“No, no it’s great! Gets the job done, waterproof, 10 settings-“

“So what’s the problem”, they asked.

You gestured in front of yourself with both hands, “It’s just… a little too small?"

They laughed and threw their head back. “Of course. Well lucky for you we got something new in recently that you might like. It’s in the back aisle, bottom shelf.”

You thanked them and made your way to the back. You crouched down to find the one David was telling you about. It was definitely bigger than the one you had. And thicker. It didn’t have any extra frills but that wasn’t what you were looking for. You snapped a picture and sent it to Nadia with “new bf” as the caption. You let out a little laugh that was more like an exhale as you got up. Nadia has been nagging you about needing a boyfriend and you said you were just going to buy a new one. You were still looking at your phone as you turned to exit the aisle and bumped into someone. The apology on your lips died as you recognized the person in front of you as Jim, your professor and thesis advisor.

His jaw went slack for a moment and his eyes widened as he recognized you. You were the last person he’d expect to see there but it wasn’t an unwelcome sight. He enjoyed teaching you, not knowing whether it was your interest in the subject or the fact he thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He broke eye contact for a moment, scanned your body, took note of the item in your hand, and then met your eyes again. You were suddenly very aware of your surroundings and before anyone could say anything he cleared his throat, said “Excuse me” and walked past you.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive and it was becoming clear why you did not have a boyfriend. You wanted him. This wasn’t a new revelation by any means. Nadia was in the same class as you, and she bugged you about it almost daily. You hadn’t expected him to find you in such a vulnerable position. You collected yourself and walked swiftly to the counter and paid. Jim was long gone. You said your goodbyes to David and you texted Nadia to let her know what happened.

She called you almost immediately and opened by saying, “So you know you gotta fuck him now. Like you have to. You don’t have an option. You MUST”. You laughed. There was absolutely no way Jim wanted you. You let her know as much and she disagreed.

“There’s no way he doesn’t want you. Come on. All the silent stares in class. Asking you to stay after. Constant emailing about things that have nothing to do with class. I mean who just emails their student a TED talk because they thought of them? All signs point to him wanting you. AND what about that one day where you teased him about not having a ring on his finger, and he just said I’m working on it? You know there was this smile he gave you afterward that I don’t think you caught. You were too busy hiding the blush on your face”

“I know I know.” You relented, “I don’t know, it just seems so far-fetched!”

You knew that was the logical response but something was telling you Nadia was right. He had to have known that his voice sent a shiver down your spine. That you wanted him to take you right there on the table after class. You had caught him staring during class. Maybe she had a point. You couldn’t help but wonder if he really did want you too.

Later on in the day, you got into the shower. Scalding hot water hit your back. You couldn’t help but recount the events from earlier. He had lingered, looked at the item in your hand, and raised an eyebrow. You would’ve been embarrassed if he didn’t already feel so familiar.

Soft music played as you lathered a silky body wash along your body. Your mind started to wander, thinking about what it would be like if it were his hands instead of yours. You rinsed off the soap, running your hands over your arms and breasts all while imagining they were his. You turned off the water, dried off, and headed towards the bag you placed on your small table.

You unpackaged your new toy and went back to the bathroom to clean it. Getting back to bed, you lied down and opened up an incognito tab on your phone. You looked for some porn to watch. Once you found an adequate video, you relaxed and continued to watch. The man in the video touched the woman’s body in all the right places. He laid her down and kissed up her thighs before starting to eat her out. This was enough for you to start teasing yourself with the toy, feeling the weight of it on your clit. Suddenly the video was unnecessary. All you could think about was Jim.

You positioned it just right and started to insert it. You gasped as you felt how it stretched you out. This was what you needed. You paused the video, throwing your phone on the side to focus on the task at hand. You put the rest of it inside you and let yourself adjust to the size. You began to move the toy as you thought of him. You wondered if he felt this good. He had to feel better than this. You got off that night thinking about him and only him. When you finally came down from your high you grabbed some water, cleaned your toy, and got straight to bed.

You didn’t want what happened to impact your experience in class so you decided to just go on like nothing happened.

You headed to the bathroom and began going through the movements of the morning. Before you knew it you were by the building where class was held. A bit further down the sidewalk was Jim walking from the opposite direction. The both of you got to the door at the same time. He didn’t say a thing. He just gave you a polite, awkward smile as he opened the door for you. You returned the smile and walked in. Side by side you walked to the classroom. This time you opened the door for him. You watched as he entered and mentally prepared yourself to take a class. It was just the two of you in the room. You sat at the round table with your laptop in front of you trying your best to seem busy.

He broke the silence, “Did you have a nice weekend?”

You summoned a response, “Yes, actually, I was able to spend some time with myself.”

He quipped back, “Oh, I’m sure you were.”

Your eyes widened trying to process what he said. He let out a light chuckle as another student arrived. The class was full within the next five minutes. Nadia walked in and looked between you and him. She smirked at you. The air was buzzing for the next two hours. You could cut the tension between you two if you tried hard enough. You asked and answered questions like usual. Each time you spoke he paid extra attention to you. When class ended you began gathering your things slowly, hoping you were the last in the class. Nadia leaned over and whispered in your ear, “Just don’t do it by my seat.” You gave her a light slap on the arm and she laughed. Then, it was just you and him. He approached you and spoke softly.

“Listen, I apologize if I overstepped a boundary with the joke I made earlier. I thought it would help ease the tension if, I don’t know-“

“It’s alright, Professor. We’re both mature adults who can bump into each other at a sex shop and move on with our lives.” You got up ready to leave but he spoke.

“Since when am I Professor?”, he asked.

You looked at him confused. He clarified, “Since when do you call me Professor? You never call me Professor.”

You cleared your throat, “Well I just thought we should reestablish a professional boundary since the- you know. Keep the personal and the professional separate.”

He looked at you, pensive for a moment. He moved a bit closer to you. “Well, what if we don’t keep it separate?”

Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening. “Are you serious?”

“Very.” He lowered his voice a bit and moved closer. He ran his hand down your arm. His mouth was now near your ear. There was no chance someone else was going to hear him, but he whispered anyway. “I think you should come over tonight. If you want to.”

“Yeah, I want to.” You mentally cursed yourself for caving in so quickly.

“How’s seven?, he asked.

“Seven’s good.” Your head was spinning. This was happening.

“I’ll also need your number so I can send you the address.” He handed you his phone with a new contact page open. You entered it in, gave him a shy smile, and turned to leave.

He grabbed your wrist before you were able to move away from him. “By the way, leave your new purchase at home. You’re not going to need it.”

Summoning some courage, you leaned in to kiss him. He didn’t close the gap all the way. “Let’s save it for tonight.”, he said as he pulled away. He gathered his things without looking at you and left.

When you returned home you threw your stuff down and immediately called Nadia. “I KNEW IT!" she yelled. “I KNEW that’s why you hung back. God, it was so tense between you two.”

“You could tell?” You didn’t think it was that obvious until she chuckled and said that everyone could tell. The rest of the conversation consisted of Nadia giving you a pep talk and making her promise you’d tell her everything.

As time passed you got more nervous. Around six you received a text from him telling you to wear something comfortable, along with his address. You sent a very quick response and, per his request, put on something comfortable. It would end up on the floor anyway. He didn’t live very far from you, which was lucky. You wondered if this would be a one-time thing. What would class be like now? I graduate soon anyway, you thought. If this all went south you could just forget it happened. You got to his apartment a couple of minutes before 7 and he let you up. When you got to the door you knocked twice and waited.

You’d never seen him so casual and… nervous. “Please, come in! You can put your things wherever you’d like,” he said.

You looked around at his apartment. You could tell a professor lived there. Bookshelves lined the walls. On the dining table, there was a bottle of wine with two glasses. You put down your bag near the door. You didn’t know what to do with your hands. He noticed your apprehension.

“Do you like wine? I got a nice Malbec after class today. Thought we could crack open a bottle.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

“Nerves?”

“Yeah.”, you confirmed.

“Me too. But, uh, there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just me.”

He smiled and the tension in your body slipped away. It was replaced by a sense of calm. Jim was letting you into his home, and into his life. You sat down at the table and he removed the cord from the bottle. You watched his hands work, feeling eager to get them on you. But that had to wait, he was about to take his time. He poured you and himself a glass. You sat across from him and took a sip, hoping its effects would be immediate.

“I’m glad you came. You know, I thought you’d think I was too old for you.” And he might’ve been. Twenty years was a healthy gap but it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t indulge in. Hell, if you could, you’d date him.

“Not at all.” You replied. “I can’t lie, I’ve been thinking about it all year.”

“About what?”, he pushed.

“About… seeing you.”

“You can say it.” He noticed your blush.

“I want to hear you say it.”, he egged you on.

You sighed, trying to muster up the words. “I’ve been thinking about… being with you all year.”

“And doing what?”, he took another sip of his wine and raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to say it?”

“Yes.”, There was no way you would be able to admit it to him fully.

“You want your professor to fuck you. You want me to take you to my room, undress you, and take care of you better than anyone ever has.”

Your face was red. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.” You drank from your glass.

“Come here.”, he spoke softly and you got up. “Straddle me, love.”

You sat on his lap and he looked up at you, grinning ear to ear. He brought his hand up to your neck and pulled you down to kiss him. It was brief. He pulled away and looked into your eyes. Then he kissed you again. And, again. Then, he started kissing your neck. You couldn’t help but let out a small moan as you felt him getting hard underneath you. He kissed and nipped at your skin. His hands reached the hem of your shirt and he pulled it off before you could register it happening. Once it did, you helped him out of his.

He tapped your ass a couple times, silently saying get up. He walked you backward and pushed you up against a nearby wall. He started removing a bra strap, but you stopped him.

“Well don’t get shy on me now.”, he chuckled. “Come.” He reached out his hand and you grabbed it. He led you down the hall to his bedroom and you sat down on the bed. You took your cues from him. As he started to lean over, you began to lay down. His hand was unhooking your bra with one hand. He was finicking with it and after a few moments, it was off. The cool air hitting your nipples caused them to rise. Jim kissed you again, then kissed down your neck, and finally put his hands on you. He licked, sucked, and grabbed your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful. Even more gorgeous than I could have imagined. Baby, I need to taste you.”

You wanted to protest but your pants were already coming off. Your panties followed. He groaned, “Fuck, baby, all this for me?

Before you could respond he kissed the inside of your thigh, then down, down, down until he reached your pussy. You were so wet for him already. He used his fingers first, wanting to feel you first.

“You always get this wet for your Professor?”

“Yes.”, you responded breathlessly. His fingers were moving in and out of you. Slowly at first and then faster. He hit that perfect spot each time. Then he added his mouth. This time he didn’t go slow. He was licking and sucking on your clit. You moaned out his name and he smiled. He ate you out like his life depended on it. No one had ever done this to you. No one had ever paid this much attention to your body. You were a whimpering mess. His hand found its way back to your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. He then squeezed, hard, which made you moan loudly.

“Please Jim, I’m gonna cum.”, you plead.

He got you close to the edge and then pulled away. You whimpered at the loss of him. “Please, keep going.”

“No, if you’re gonna cum, I’m gonna be inside of you.” He took off the rest of his clothing. You moaned at the sight of him. He was right. You would never need the toy again. You couldn’t wait for him to be inside of you. He knew this and instead decided to tease you with his cock. He dragged it along you and tapped your clit the same way you did with your toy at home. Only this was a hundred times better.

He nipped at your ear and whispered. “You really want it, huh?”

“Yes,” you begged “It’s all I want.”

He grinned and entered you slowly and without warning. Your jaw dropped slightly. You couldn’t even make a sound, you were too busy with the feeling of him filling you up entirely. He let out a sigh and grabbed your chin.

“Look at me. Open your eyes. Look at me while I fuck you.” You did as he said. He started to pick up the pace. He was making this intimate. He caressed your face and made almost as much noise as you did. “Good girl. You’re such a good girl, following directions. Ready for another one?” You nodded.

“Get on top. Sit down on my cock.” You started moving before he even finished his sentence. There was no room for shyness anymore. He sat up against the headboard as you sunk down on him; the new angle was doing wonders for the both of you. He thrusted up, wanting to feel more of you. He held you close to him as you began to ride him.

“You sure know how to treat a girl, Professor.”, you said breathlessly.

He chuckled and kissed you. “You sure know how to treat your Professor. You’re being so good for me. Such a good girl.”

His hand found its way back to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles. He wanted to make sure you came first.

And you did.

It came in waves. You felt it build up and told him you were close. Then, you fell apart. You pulled him close and kissed him passionately. He wrapped his arms around you and whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you came.

“That’s it, baby. So, so good for me. God, such a pretty little thing.“ He took control, holding you up and thrusting into you. The sensation was almost too much to bear.

“Where do you want it.”, he asked.

“Inside. Please. I’m on the-“

“Are you sure, love?” You could tell he couldn’t wait any longer.

You begged, “Yes. Yes, I am, just please cum inside me.”

And he did.

He filled you to the brim. You felt him twitch inside of you as his hips stuttered. He held onto you so tightly you were sure it would leave marks. You were both breathing hard. He stayed inside of you and held you against him. He put his forehead against yours as you regained your breath.

He kissed you again, this time not wanting to pull away. But, you did. You pulled yourself off of him and laid down as the realization of what you did started sinking in. He lied down next to you and stared at the ceiling.

Silence. And after a few moments, you turned your head and spoke.

“So, is this it?” It came out more timid than you would have liked it to.

He gave you a look you couldn’t quite place and after a moment he said, “Oh, love, you’re mine now.”

#jim the delinquent season x reader #jim delinquent season #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #jim delinquent season x reader #jim delinquent season x f!reader #professor!jim x reader #i proofread this but no one is perfect #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #annie writes

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brutalisttarot · 1 year ago

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Pick An Image: How can you improve your social media?

Pile 1

Post your work more, flex your wealth, your hardships, show that you’re doing better. I’m seeing that you may have left off a relationship in which you failed to acquire a beautiful person, so I believe that spending money into cultivating a sense of style or being more curated with what you post has a larger impact on your social media audience, gaining a more positive image.

Pile 2

You may be introverted but talented, I’m getting the vibe that you can use your positivity to good use be it artistic expression, personal hobbies can be placed into social media involvement. Modelling may be an option for you too, I’m seeing exciting things such as hiking trips, funny moments with friends such as clumsy happenings. Your social media would be attractive currently if you shared your humour and your passions.

Pile 3

Wow pile 3, flex your relationship and stability! Nows the time to hard launch either romantically or creatively. I picture a feed with beauty, treasure, wise words of wisdom in caption or posting, don’t be afraid to speak your words, post your family or what makes you happy!

#pick a card #tarot #tarot reading #astrology #zodiac #spirituality #pac #aesthetic #love reading #personal reading

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littlebumblebeesstuff · 1 year ago

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Picture Board - Cg!Bucky x GN!reader

Summary: Bucky looks after his nonverbal little.

Warning: Neurodivergent little reader. Mentions of sensory issues, nonverbal communication. Mention of pull-ups

It had been a looong morning.

You had been up and down through the night which left you tired and fussy.

And then you hated all your clothes- screaming and crying as Bucky offered you different options. It hurt him to see you struggling with emotions that were just too big for your little body.

He was no stranger to your sensory issues, having spoken in detail about them with you when you were big.

But you just couldn't get the words to come out, which made you more upset, which led to a mini-meltdown.

It took a while, but Bucky finally managed to get you into a pull-up, and a light green fluffy oodie that had frogs on it. Matching fluffy socks were on your feet.

You had slept through most of the morning and into early afternoon, so now you were in your playroom, curled up on a pile of soft blankets and pillows, watching bluey with captions on, and the sound at low volume.

You had a fidget toy in your hands as you watched your cartoon, finally settled after a hard morning.

"Hi, pumpkin, do you need something?"

Bucky smiles widely as he crouched down to your level, watching as you played with your fidget toy.

You hum softly around your paci in response, not looking up at your Baba. He didn't mind this, knowing that eye contact could make you uncomfortable.

"Can you use your words?" When you shake your head Bucky follows up with, "Are words too much right now? That’s okay, little one, sometimes words are just too big."

He shifts and watches you fondly, thinking about how to make sure you are able to communicate with him

"Can you write it down?"

Another head shake, "No? Okay let me go get your picture board."

He gets up and moves across the colourful room to the chest of drawers and opens the top drawer to take out the picture board and extra cards.

He swiftly moves back to your side and kneels down again, holding the board out to you.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Can you point to what you’d like"

Your eyes move away from your fidget toy and to the board. Looking over the icons you point to the picture of a juice box.

"Juice? Of course, honey! We have blackcurrant, orange, or apple, which would you like? You can just hold up 1, 2, or 3 fingers."

You hum softly again, this time as you think about what juice you want. Then you hold up 3 fingers.

"Three? Apple juice it is. I’ll go fill up your sippy. Anything else?"

Bucky smiles as you nod.

"Yup, just point to the picture for me."

Bucky waits patiently as you point to the picture board.

"A hug? Oh pumpkin, of course you can get a hug, come here. You’re my sweet little one, and I love you so much!"

#agere little #little!reader #littlereader #sfw little community #sfw little post #bucky barnes #bucky x little!reader #little reader #sfw little blog #cg!bucky x little!reader #sfw little stuff

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daisyblog · 11 months ago

Text

Big Brother, Little Sister

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN, Harry and Grace find out Baby Burton is going to be a girl.

Based on this request.

“I think boy”. Harry spoke as he continue to prepare his and YN’s breakfast. Moving around the kitchen like routine.

“You’re wrong, they’re having a girl!”. YN politely argued back as Grace was asleep next to her in her bouncer.

“Boy!”.

“Girl!”.

“Boy!”

“Girl!”.

The pair went back and forth for a while, determined that they were correct. A smirk appeared on YN’s face, one that made Harry panic inside because that particular smirk meant she was up to something.

“Wanna make a bet?”. YN was confident in her feeling that Lottie was having a baby girl, but the look on Harry’s face suggested that when he didn’t answer straight away that he wasn’t. “Not so confident now are ya bubs?”.

Knowing he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he said not to the bet, he gave in. “Fine…let’s make a bet, Mrs Sassy!”.

YN’s smirk only got bigger as she looked at her husband with mischief. “Okay…if I’m right and they’re having a girl”. YN thought carefully at what Harry would have to do if he was wrong. “You have to post on instagram!”.

To some the bet would seem easy, they would say that Harry had the better option. But Harry hardly used social media, especially for personal use. His instagram was very professional these days and was only used for work purposes, and before posting anything he would think about it carefully.

Harry stared back at his wife with a ‘really?’ look. When YN nodded to show she was serious about the bet, he knew he had to take the chance. “Fine…but I get to chose what I post!”.

“Sounds like you think I’m right…shall we just end the bet here?”. YN couldn’t help but laugh as she continued to wind her husband up.

“Oh no…I have a bet for you too my love!”. YN wasn’t overly concerned about it, she was for the challenge but the minute Harry mentioned two words, one and direction, she began to pray that she was right. “If they’re having a boy…you have to stop asking when One Direction are getting back together!”.

YN was going to find that difficult to do, she asked multiple times a week. But not wanting to show her weak side now, she gave Harry a big grin. “Bets on Styles!”.

---

YN paced for what felt like hours as she waited for her phone to ping with a message from Lottie. Today was the day they found out if their were having another niece or nephew.

Although Lottie and Lewis wanted to share their gender reveal with both their families at the same time, with everyone living in different areas or having other commitments, they decided they would share the moment with a small video.

The sound of YN’s phone pinging, caught both their attention. She quickly swiped and tapped the screen before clicking play on the video.

The cream cake with ‘baby’ written across it could be seen as a slice was being cut out, and the minute pink icing came into view, YN jumped from her seat.

“IT’S A GIRL!”. She bounced around the room, a large grin on her face, showing off her pearly white teeth. “We’re having a niece…it’s a girl…Grace you’re gonna have a little girl cousin”.

YN jumped into Harry’s arms as he held her tight, sharing the excitement of another little one joining their growing family. Agreeing they needed to FaceTime Lottie immediately to share their excitement, YN had one question for Harry.

“Do you need help using Instagram?”.

harrystyles

liked by annetwist, ynstyles and 5,723.091 others

harrystyles Wife. Daughter. My World. View all 9,621 comments

annetwist What a beautiful wife and daughter you have💕

lottietomlinson ❤️

louist91 Did YN post this?🤔 ⌞louisfan9 😂😂 ⌞ynstyles No you cheeky shit! My husband loves me💁🏼‍♀️ ⌞ynrryfan3 I miss tour days when we would get constant yn and louis updates 😢

niallhoran Oh Styles you big sap

gemmastyles Sister-in-Law. Niece. My Favourites. ⌞harryfan6 Not Gemma taking the piss out of Harry’s caption😂😂😂

harryfan7 Harry’s first of the year and it’s of yn and grace🥹🥹🥹

jonnyharvey93 Cute photo mate! Can’t wait to see you all soon!!

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats@harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour@bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl@buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream@treehouse-mouse @mrs-anna-styles211994 @macy-tpwk

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he4dlin3 · 4 months ago

Note

hey! can you please do a louis x reader where they’ve just gone public with their relationship and social media are being super mean to her etc so she isn’t sure they can stay together and there’s some angst followed by fluff

thanks!

“Love in the Limelight — L.T “

Pairing ; Louis Tomlinson x Fem!reader

Synopsis ; Louis finally goes public with his relationship, and his girlfriend faces relentless online hate that slowly wears her down convincing herself that leaving is the only option.

Navigation | Material List

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

You had known dating Louis Tomlinson would come with challenges. It wasn’t just that he was famous—he was Louis Tomlinson, a member of One Direction, adored by millions, worshipped by fans who had supported him for years. You had prepared yourself for the scrutiny, the invasive questions, the inevitable comparisons to his exes. What you hadn’t prepared for was the sheer ferocity of the backlash when you and Louis finally went public.

It had been his idea.

“I don’t want to hide you,” he had said, fingers brushing against your cheek, voice gentle but firm. “I want to be able to hold your hand in public. Post pictures of us. I want to love you openly.”

You had smiled then, warmth spreading through your chest. How could you have said no to that? You loved him—deeply, fiercely, in a way that sometimes scared you with its intensity. So when he posted the first picture of you on his Instagram, you had thought it was the beginning of something beautiful.

Instead, it felt like the beginning of your own personal nightmare.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

You had expected some backlash.

You had braced yourself for it the moment Louis pressed ‘post’ on that first Instagram picture of the two of you.

It was nothing extravagant—just a candid of you laughing at something he’d said, your head thrown back, smile bright, eyes alight with joy. The caption was simple: Happiness looks like this.

You should’ve known better.

The hate started small—passive-aggressive comments, backhanded compliments.

“Why does he always go for girls like this?”

“She’s so plain. Like, I don’t get it.”

“She’s cute, I guess, but why her?”

“Hope she enjoys her fifteen minutes.”

You had tried to brush it off. You weren’t naïve. Louis had millions of fans. Of course, not everyone would be happy.

But then it escalated.

Twitter exploded with your name trending—for all the wrong reasons. A thread analyzing everything from your appearance to your past relationships to your fucking personality went viral. They picked apart your outfits, your social media posts, your job, your worth. Strangers who had never met you dissected your life as if they had the right.

And the comments—God, the comments.

“She’s ugly.”

“Why does he always date nobodies?”

“She’s just another fame-hungry whore.”

“Can’t wait for them to break up.”

“Dare i say Elenor was better?”

The worst part? They weren’t just words on a screen. They felt like knives, digging under your skin, carving away at your self-esteem with every passing hour.

You deactivated your Twitter first, but it didn’t help. The hate just followed you to Instagram. Your DMs filled with threats, with cruel jokes, with strangers telling you to kill yourself because you had the audacity to love someone they worshipped.

Louis, of course, noticed. He noticed everything when it came to you.

He wasn’t stupid. He saw the way you started leaving your phone face-down. The way you forced a smile when he asked if you were okay. The way your laughter, once effortless, now felt like something you had to work for.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured one night, his fingers tracing patterns on your thigh as you sat curled up beside him on the couch.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

He studied you, unconvinced. “You sure?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

He didn’t press, but the worry in his eyes never faded.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

A week later, you broke.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. You had spent days pretending, swallowing your emotions like poison, convincing yourself you could handle it.

But then you saw it.

A photo, an edited photo.

A split screen—one side, a stunning, airbrushed image of one of Louis’ exes, someone the fans adored. The other side, you. Unflattering, caught mid-blink, looking worse than you’d ever seen yourself.

The caption: He fumbled so bad.

Something inside you snapped.

You locked yourself in the bathroom, hands trembling as you stared at your reflection. And for the first time in your life, you hated what you saw.

The harsh bathroom light illuminated every imperfection, every flaw you had spent years trying to accept. Your eyes, red and swollen from holding back tears, looked lifeless, as if the exhaustion from the past few weeks had drained every last bit of light from them.

Your skin, usually warm and alive, looked dull and tired. The dark circles beneath your eyes stood as proof of the sleepless nights spent scrolling through comment sections, through hate-filled messages, through thread after thread of strangers tearing you apart like it was their personal mission.

You lifted a shaky hand to your face, fingers brushing over your cheek, as if touching yourself would somehow confirm that the person staring back at you was still you. But all you could hear were their words—cruel, merciless, repeated like a mantra in your mind.

You weren’t good enough.

Not for Louis.

Not for this life.

Not for any of it.

You gritted your teeth as the lump in your throat thickened. The weight of their words pressed down on your chest like a vice, squeezing until you could barely breathe.

You had tried to ignore it. You had tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, that these were just people hiding behind screens, people who didn’t know you, people whose opinions shouldn’t hold any power over you.

But they did.

Because you had spent your entire life trying to be enough. Trying to be someone worth loving. And now, here you were, face to face with your own worst fears, reflected back at you in unforgiving clarity.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe Louis deserved better.

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought, at the reality that no matter how much he reassured you, no matter how many times he told you that you were beautiful, that you were everything he wanted—none of it could drown out the deafening roar of the world telling you otherwise.

Your breath hitched as you pressed your palms against the cool porcelain sink, gripping the edges so tightly your knuckles turned white. A tear slipped down your cheek, slow and silent, followed by another. And another. Until suddenly, you couldn’t stop them.

You bit down hard on your lip, willing yourself to pull it together, to shove it all down the way you had been for days, for weeks, for ever since this started. But the walls you had built so carefully were crumbling, collapsing under the weight of it all.

The grief. The doubt. The unbearable loneliness of knowing that millions of people had already decided they hated you without ever even knowing you.

You sucked in a breath, but it came out broken, uneven, shattered by the sob that ripped from your throat.

You had never felt so small.

So unworthy.

So lost.

You felt like you were drowning in an ocean of people telling you you’d never be enough, and the worst part?

You believed them.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Louis found you an hour later.

You hadn’t meant for him to.

You had tried to pull yourself together, wiping at your tear-streaked face, willing yourself to just breathe. But when you stepped out of the bathroom, he was there—waiting.

His brows furrowed the second he saw you. “What’s wrong?”

Your throat closed up. “Nothing.”

“Love,” he said, voice impossibly soft. “Please don’t lie to me.”

And that was it.

The dam broke.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, voice shaking.

Louis’ expression darkened. “Do what?”

“This,” you gestured vaguely, your vision blurring with fresh tears. “Us.”

His entire body tensed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You let out a choked, humorless laugh. “I’m ruining you.”

Louis’ jaw clenched. “What?”

“The fans hate me. They think I’m some pathetic, ugly, gold-digging rebound. They think you deserve better. And maybe—maybe they’re right.”

Louis looked like you had physically struck him.

“That’s bullshit,” he snapped.

“Is it?” Your voice cracked. “Because I don’t think I can keep pretending like it doesn’t hurt, like it’s not breaking me every. single. day.”

Louis ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Who gives a fuck what they think?”

“I do,” you admitted, and your voice sounded so small, so defeated. “Because I love you, Louis. But I don’t know if I can survive this.”

His face crumpled, and before you could pull away, he grabbed you—hands framing your face, thumbs brushing away your tears as his own eyes shone with something raw, something devastating.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You can’t.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks. “I don’t want to. But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You don’t have to fix anything,” he insisted. “You just have to stay.”

“Louis—”

“No,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “You don’t get to say you’re not good enough. Not when you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You sucked in a breath, your chest aching.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you. And I don’t care what they say. I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life fighting for you—I will.”

Your hands clenched into the fabric of his hoodie, grounding yourself in him.

“I can’t do this without you,” he whispered. “Please don’t let them take you from me.”

And that—that was what shattered you.

Because you weren’t the only one hurting.

Louis was, too.

And if he could fight for you, maybe—just maybe—you could fight for him, too.

You inhaled shakily, nodding. “Okay.”

Louis pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you thought you might break. But instead of falling apart, you found something else—something stronger.

Because love wasn’t easy.

And neither was this.

But Louis was worth it.

And maybe—just maybe—you were, too.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

a/n : hi, thanks for requesting and i hope you enjoyed this! i tried my best, my angst is a little rusty and hasn’t seen the light of day since my wattpad writing days 💔 😭

#louis tomlinson #my angst is a little rusty sorry #harry styles #liam payne #niall horan #one direction #angst #one direction fanfiction #zayn malik #louis tomlinson x reader #x reader #angst with a happy ending #fluff ending

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thestarswillguide · 1 month ago

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While I was once again drooling over Aaravos ig edits, there was one edit I saw that was sad ofc cause it was him and Leola, but the OP's caption drew my attention. They said that if Aaravos truly loved Leola, then he would've died with her.

I will admit, the comment did bother me (even tho it's just their opinion haha what is wrong with me-). And even though he's the world destroyer and all... y'all know I gotta defend my man lol

Just to be clear first, I have a habit of always imagining myself in the body of another person, seeing and feeling everything they do so that I can try to understand as much as possible (which probably means I'm an empath? Plus I love psychology ❤️).

I do this with everyone. Family. Animals. Characters. So I'm basically not the kind of person you'd see throwing around words to describe ppl like "weird" or anything. Anyway, what I'm trying to get at is... I disagree with the idea that Aaravos didn't truly love his daughter. I can understand why he chose to live.

Honestly, I think he loved her *too* much. Too much to the point that he let his love overpower what he knew she would have wanted. It probably broke him to not be able to die with her. He could've wanted to so badly.

He even offered up his own life so that she could live (which is the greatest act of love imo), and when that wasn't an option, he was willing to have himself go through an *eternity* of torment, because he couldn't stand the idea of dying and not getting back at the council for doing this to his precious baby.

And to think that he was once so kind and compassionate, but then twisted into something monstrous shows that she's the *only* thing he cares about (besides Claudia ofc).

I do think if he put her *feelings* above his own, then he would've held back on taking revenge...but really, I can't blame him for choosing to not die with her since love can literally make someone insane, and in his case, absolutely consumed by rage and heartbreak. 😞💔

I could be completely wrong lol, but I really just wanted to hear any more opinions on this one.

@stardustamaryllis78, @salty-and-spiraling, and @bat-snake? Your opinions?

Also ONE more month to go until we get news on the future of tdp!! I'm SO anxious omg, crossing my fingers. Love y'all! 😣💗

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adripakoffee · 8 months ago

Text

Hold on and let me yap about my goat Swansea rq (not rq, this is almost 2k words lol)

CW: SUBSTANCE ABUSE, MOUTHWASHING SPOILERS

I'm gonna use "probably" and "most likely" a lot in this because so much of this game is from Jimmy's perspective and he dgaf about Swansea until close to the end.

Okay, so Swansea is first and foremost, a very tired, very ragged mechanic who's probably pushing 60. He doesn't want to be on that ship. He doesn't want anything. He wants, at least at first, to just be done with this job and get paid. He respects Curly but he's annoyed by and dismissive of everyone else on the ship, especially Daisuke.

So much of Swansea's character is reliant on and paralleled to his relationship with Daisuke. When he meets Daisuke, Daisuke is happy and optimistic. He looks forward to things and tries to impress Swansea when Swansea doesn't want help.

The main reason Swansea doesn't like Daisuke ties into his alcohol abuse. Daisuke is always, at almost every point we see him pre Anya locking herself in medical, happy and energetic. Swansea hates this about him because that's a state of being he hasn't achieved, in his own words, in 15 years. He can't imagine being that happy while sober and it pisses him off. He's half jealous because of that and half jealous because Daisuke is young and has a long life ahead of him. Swansea does not like the life he built for himself while sober, but that's for later. Especially after they get laid off, the only one who has anything ahead of them was Daisuke. Swansea would have trouble getting another job both because of his age and because a lot of things on Earth were being automated.

Of course, after the crash, that jealousy becomes something else. Because Daisuke is the only one who has anything ahead of them, he's the only one whose life matters. Swansea loves his family, but he doesn't really like them. He's most likely worked with Pony Express the longest, so he knows they most likely won't be saved. They have one chance left, one cryopod for one person. He's saving it for Daisuke because Daisuke is only one with a chance.

Now bringing up Anya. I think it was 2 months in when Anya told him about Jimmy. Here I'd like to correct some things I said in other posts. In my Anya rant I said "He has the one last working cryo pod set aside for her specifically and refuses to let anyone into the room where it is." He felt bad for her, no doubt, but he probably doesn't actually do that. He, more likely, tells her "Hey, there's actually a crypod left. I'm saving it for Daisuke. It's not like either of us have things waiting on the other side of this." Swansea isn't responsible for Anya in the way Curly was. He respects her well enough as coworkers but they're not at all close. He doesn't feel any real need to put her in priority, especially with the dire situation at hand. I don't think he doesn't care, it's just not something he sees in his jurisdiction. And I'm not saying there's nothing he could've done. Had literally anyone at any point in the game killed Jimmy, a lot of problems would be fixed. But, unlike Curly, Swansea doesn't have as many options.

When they open the cargo hold and he starts drinking again, he rediscovers happiness. I'd actually like to apologize for something quickly. I made a short comic in which Swansea comforts Anya after she tells him about Jimmy (which he doesn't actually do, smh bro) and in the caption I had said "I love you sm Swansea I wish you weren't an alcoholic 😔" (It's also my most popular fanart on here and I'm very thankful for that ^^)

I don't blame Swansea for his alcoholism. It's an addiction just as much as anything else and no one should have to go through that. I personally though have had bad experiences with alcoholics and I'm generally uncomfortable around them. I definitely worded that caption poorly and I apologize for that, but I had meant it in an "I wish you were sober" way. I know that the caption had rubbed people the wrong way, so I wanted to apologize.

So Swansea is drunk and happy for the first time in fifteen years. Despite his intoxicated state, he still has his one goal and that's to save the last cryopod for Daisuke. He knows that's what he wants and he sticks to it. It's just him and the ax against the world. Eventually, Jimmy takes the ax to get the extra painkillers and the ax kinda just disappears for a while. Like I have no idea where it went but Swansea has it again by the time he offs Daisuke.

Speaking of which, Swansea kills Daisuke. Framing-wise it's probably my favorite scene in the game, like the breathing and Swansea's speech. Chat, I love this scene. Anyways, Jimmy offers Swansea a drink as a "peace offering." Swansea is never sober at this point in the game but even he can appreciate a good cocktail, especially when he's been slogging mouthwash for months. Honestly, he doesn't trust Jimmy like AT ALL at this point, but Daisuke helped him with the cocktail.

Swansea is kinda putting his hopes in Daisuke. Like obviously, he's placing hope in Daisuke's survival, but I think he's also seeing this optimistic, bright-eyed kid who's struggling as himself at the start of his sobrity. Daisuke said that the reason he got this job was because he was directionless in life. He had nothing to look forward to and no goals. The difference between him and Swansea is Daisuke's parents got the job for him and Swansea had to do it himself. So in that way he started to appreciate how happy Daisuke was, which is more reason to hate that he's there.

Swansea passes out from the cocktail and when he wakes up Anya is dead and Daisuke is in critical condition. Anya's gone which means they're out of a medic so that makes Daisuke's situation a lot worse. But because Jimmy used the Isopropyl to knock out Swansea, they're out of disinfectant. They have to use mouthwash which is established early on to have too much sugar to be disinfectant. So they kinda made it worse because Swansea and Jimmy are idiots who didn't listen to Anya. After a few hours of Daisuke slowly bleeding out, Swansea mercy kills him. it. looks. so. cool. During this speech, Swansea says something along the lines of "Stick a kid with a bunch of sad-sack adults and see what he learns. Bootstraps and all that." He really hates that Daisuke is here, it's just that the reason has changed. Before the crash, Curly and Daisuke were the only two who weren't like clinically depressed. After the crash, only Daisuke can find it in himself to stay optimistic, but even his faith is dwindling (Jimmy is optimistic too, but that's because he's crazy).

Right after that, he chases Jimmy around with the ax until Jimmy ties him up and shoots him. This is when Swansea lore drops about himself. He explains that he literally has not been happy or enjoyed his life in 15 years. He's done everything he's supposed to when it comes to leading a good, healthy life, but it's not at all fulfilling. He hates his job, he doesn't look forward to seeing his family, he just killed the last speck of joy on this metal space coffin, and he has nothing to live for. He's already fallen back into addiction so even if he got back to Earth, he'd ruin his life all over again. He'd be happy, but his life would be ruined. And then Jimmy shoots him.

Now here's a little health fact! Swansea was dying the whole game. People suffering from alcohol abuse often end up drinking Listerine when other alcoholic drinks aren't available. Now I'm just speculating and projecting, but Swansea is definitely a beer guy, that's his go-to. His tolerance suggests he was a craft kinda guy (which has an ABV between 5 and 10% (idk this is from memory)) or someone who drank a lot really quickly, but the mouthwash was 14% ethanol. That, in and of itself isn't the main problem, though it is noteworthy that he was already drinking more than usual. The main problem is that drinking mouthwash will absolutely destroy your stomach and intestinal linings. Mouthwash isn't just alcohol and flavoring, there's other chemicals in it too. On a good day, you'll get a nasty stomach ache, but you'll live. One to many though, and you are dead or in a coma. Like no joke that will kill you, especially if you drink a lot of it in such a short amount of time. That's why they keep saying "that stuff will kill you before anything else will," because it's actively killing them. Swansea probably knew this but he's prone to self-destruction so he probably didn't care. Anyway, hope you enjoyed that little health fact, I love reading medical journals ask me anything.

While writing this, I paused and started scrolling on tiktok and I saw a video where someone was complaining about the sudden villainization of Swansea in the fandom. I've literally seen nothing like this, but in the video they said one of the critiques people had of Swansea was that he was just as bad as Curly for not doing anything about Jimmy. That's insane, that is a batshit crazy take and I rebuke it. For one, Swansea was never Jim's friend. He never set people up to be victimized by Jimmy, he never enabled Jimmy's behavior or tried to comfort him when he was the problem. This was just a crazy thing to say, please learn to comprehend thing beyond the main text.

Um.. uh... conclusion paragraph, I love Swansea and I love to pretend he was more proactive against Jimmy for Anya's sake, but he wasn't so it's whatever he's not real anyway. I feel like this ended up being really long, like longer than the other two but idk.

Here's the link to the Anya rant and the Curly rants I also did, that I should probably edit upon further reflection

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing swansea #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing spoilers #mouthwashing daisuke #i miss you king #rant post #content warning #alcohlism #swansea mouthwashing #my goat #game rants #indie games #horror #this is so long #does this count as #fanfic #long ramble

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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 2 years ago

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Angel

Summary: Coming home from college without a degree has you scrambling to find your place in the world. Charlie just might be your savior.

A/N: I was thinking this would be set around eclipse. This was in the drafts for a while.

Warnings: Besides an age gap (reader in her 20s Charlie in his 40s) there is none.

Word Count: 3.1K

You didn’t expect your life to turn out the way it did, and neither did the people of Forks. If the confused looks you would get on the way into town were anything to go by. You had been a stellar student, assignments were early if not on time, and teachers never had a bad thing to say about you. You graduated and moved on to college like everyone would expect, but college was harder. It wasn’t even the work, it was you.

For once you had no set path, everyone else just seemed to know what they wanted to do. After 2 years you realized how far behind you felt you decided to take a break. If you didn’t know what you wanted to do you were just wasting time and money. The loneliness set in soon after too. Although you have friends they’re all off doing their things, making their place in the world.

Your dad helped if only by sending cringe Facebook posts captioned “It’s never too late.” His efforts were much appreciated but it’s not a good feeling when you feel like you are in last place for a race you didn’t even know you were running. Staying holed up in your room won’t help but at least you won’t have to run into anyone you know. You hate feeling like such a disappointment even though your parents assured you that would never be the case.

After a few weeks of licking your wounds, you started looking for jobs. You reach downtown and begin combing through your options. All of which would require you to run into people who would ask too many questions that you do not want to answer. Forks was already limited in what they had and if you wanted to avoid working for the Newton family your choices were much more slim. But you do take note of it just in case. Syphering through your selections you almost want to give up.

Turning the corner you bump smack into another person, you brace yourself for a fall that doesn’t come. Peeking through one eye you make out a badge and ‘C. Swan’. You immediately straighten yourself up after realizing you just bumped into Chief Swan.

“You alright-”

“I’m so sorry-”

The both of you speak at the same time, a loud silence fills the air as you both stare at each other. Your wide eyes and his furrowed brow. You snap out of it first and bend down to pick up your fallen pamphlets, The Chief crouches down to help you.

“You don’t have to do that Chief Swan.” He ignores you in favor of picking up the rest, stealing a glance at them before handing them back to you.

“Charlie’s fine.” He scratches his head before telling you, “Since you’re looking we could use another receptionist down at the station.” Charlie took pity on you, Although he isn’t one for gossip everyone’s been talking about how you came back from university without finishing. He knows what it feels like to be lost especially in a town like Forks.

“Really?” The prospect of working at the station was much better than any option sitting in your hands. “Is there anything for me to fill out?”

“No just stop by on Monday and I’ll have Helen walk you through everything.” His mouth forms into what you think is a half-smile, and you return it tenfold.

The conversation with Charlie was so refreshing you’re unsure why out of all the people in Forks he was the one to make you feel normal. You realize it’s because he’s the first person to not question or probe why you’re back here. Working at the station doing administration would be perfect. On your way home you mentally comb through your closet for appropriate clothes you can wear to the station for work. The combination list isn’t huge but you could make it work.

……..

Monday morning you awake at 6:00 am to begin getting ready, he never mentioned a time but you imagine how bad you would look strolling in there at 1:00 pm. You decide on black stretchy office pants, a chocolate sweater, and white sneakers that are comfortable enough to do sustainable walking. Grabbing your backpack you pack your essentials and bid your father goodbye before heading off.

On the way in you have enough time to stop for some coffee so you order for yourself and Charlie as a thank you. You make sure to get his black with no sugar, though you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover you can’t imagine he enjoys cremer. The last stretch of your walk toward the station has your heart pounding. You're not even sure what you are nervous about it shouldn’t be that hard since it’s Forks.

The station smells like stale coffee and mothballs, the atmosphere is mostly static but that’s given. Upon walking up to the front desk you see an older redhead who you assume is Helen. You smile as you approach her and she returns one.

“Excuse me, Chief Swan said to come up here for you to train me on administration stuff.” You hope Charlie actually talked to her.

“Of course, he told me about you yesterday dear follow me.” You set down your coffee before being given the grand tour. After a minute you’re back at the front being directed on your daily duties. Most of which is pretending to look busy, Helen prefers solitaire on her computer to get her through the day. On the other hand, you brought a book that remains hidden behind the ancient monitor in front of you.

You thought about bringing Charlie his coffee but his office lights are off and his doors are locked so he must be out patrolling already. Within 45 minutes you’re given your first task of making more coffee, while the water pours out you see Charlie step into the break room. His eyes look surprised to see you but his face doesn't change, he peers around you toward the coffee maker before he can ask you to tell him.

“I bought you coffee on the way in, it is at the front desk.” You quickly leave the break room to get it before he can react. On your way back you inform him, “Black, no sugar, no cream.”

“Thank you.” As he takes the cup your hands brush his, and he can feel the increased beating of his heart. It’s the most contact he’s had with a woman. He likes it. Your bright smile gives him that butterfly feeling he hears Bella talk about with her friend.

“No thank you, Sher- Charlie I appreciate the opportunity.” He waves off your thanks as if he does stuff like this all the time.

“You adjusting OK?” He finds he wants to keep conversation with you despite his nature. You may be surprised but you don’t show it, enjoying this interaction.

“Yes, Helen is nice and I get to just pretend to work all day.” You bump your hip against him before you can think better of it.

Charlie surprises you with a deep chuckle, It’s not a full-blown laugh but it’s more than enough. It’s no secret that Charlie is one of the more attractive men in Forks, but you didn’t think of him like that until now. Not many men could pull off the 70s pornstache, or his grumpy attitude without being a complete ass. Your thoughts are interrupted by Charlie leaning down to speak quietly to you.

“Well let me know if you need more books to keep you busy Bella’s got tons of those romance ones.” He rolls his eyes playfully and nods his head before heading to his office.

In the wake of his leave, you revel in the way his deep voice felt so close to your ear. However, you don’t dwell on his actions too much because there is no way he was flirting with you. Making your way back to the front desk you see Helen packing up to leave, she informs you she’s taking lunch.

Charlie lets out an exasperated sigh at the stack of paperwork waiting for him when he unlocks his office. The coffee you brought him goes straight down like a shot, he appreciates the fact that you knew he wouldn’t like the extra bullshit. Throughout his shift, he sneaks peeks at you. He pauses when he sees you talking on the phone, telling himself he’s only checking to make sure you don’t need help. But the way your lips move has him in a trance, he snaps out of it before you can catch him.

Even though he spent a fair amount of time staring at you he managed to complete over half of his paperwork. He’s overdue for a break and he knows you could use one since you never took a lunch.

You have been manning the phones even after Helen came back, you know you should’ve taken your 1-hour lunch but you were in a groove. At least until Charlie strolled up beside you to see what you were doing. You could smell Irish Spring wafting off of him with a hint of laundry detergent.

“You busy?” It was a loaded question on his part but he didn't want to just command you to come with him.

“Not for the Chief.” You turn your body towards him to prove your words, and in return the corner of his mouth lifts almost like a smile.

“Lunch on me then?” He asks you with his hands balled in his pockets.

“I’ll never turn down a free lunch.” You turn to Helen to check that she’ll be okay, and she gives you a wink nodding her head toward the chief telling you to ‘have fun’. You raise our eyebrows at the implication.

On the way out Charlie gets the door, and his veiny forearm peeks out from his uniform. You wouldn’t say you have a thing for hairy guys but yet again Charlie somehow makes it work. Luckily you could blame the frigid breeze for your flustered expression. You follow his lead to the cruiser and he opens your door for you again. Your bashful expression after thanking him goes straight to his lower stomach, it’s been a while since a woman looked at him so fervently.

Once he’s in the cruiser a comfortable silence fills the air, and you think of all the things you could bring up with him later in the diner. So far all you’ve come up with are sports and books but honestly, that should be more than enough for Charlie. Orange leaves take up most of the ground, a warning for the upcoming months. The diner is the same as always when you pull up, you open the door before Charlie can hustle his way to where you are. The stern look he gives you only makes your sudden attraction to him worse.

The bell above the door alerts Cora to your presence. Charlie saddles up right behind you urging you forward with his hand on your middle back. Walking past the patrons, you can feel the questioning stares. But you’re sure Charlie won’t pay them any mind so neither do you. At the booth, Charlie gestures for you to slide in first.

Cora turns to you for your order since she already knows Charlie’s by heart.

“I’ll do a burger and fries with a sprite please.” You smile at Cora as she takes down your order.

“So,” You turn to Charlie, “What’s been going on in the sports world?”

Charlie’s side glance is enough to make you laugh. “Steelers are cleaning up, they have a path to the Super Bowl.” He didn’t mean to look at you crazy but it was the first time in a while someone was genuinely interested in his interests. The flutters in his stomach make another appearance.

“My dad’s a cowboy fan so it’s the same thing every year.” Charlie snorts at that.

The sound of plates landing in front of you ends your and Charlie’s moment. Looking up your eyes meet Cora’s and you thank her before she leaves again. You and Charlie waste no time digging into your food. With all of your fries and most of your burger gone you throw in the towel, leaning back against the booth.

“You gonna eat that?” Charlie eyes the rest of your burger.

“No, you can have it.” After your acceptance, he finishes it in one quick bite. You wish you didn't find that attractive.

……….

After your first lunch together many were shared, Charlie would always schedule his break around yours to make sure you ate. He also wanted to spend time with you when the opportunity would lend itself. The feeling was mutual, you put in more effort with your work outfits and make-up. Every morning you would stop to get Charlie coffee on the way in, and Helen would always give you sly smiles. You figured she picked up on the undertones of your and Charlie’s interactions, but unlike most people, she kept it to herself.

That didn’t stop others from probing you about your “Diner Dates” with the Chief. When you were collecting produce a few older women came up to you under the guise of concern. They told you getting with a man that age wouldn’t be good for any girl your age, while it was good advice you know it wasn’t given with good intentions. Instead, you pretend to not know what they are talking about effectively outing their ill-informed gossip. Charlie also hadn’t shown any initiative to ask you out on an actual date so you’re unsure where the fuel is coming from.

The next day at work you decide to pull back seeing as the entire town somehow thinks you both are dating. You took your lunch before Helen, the words of the older ladies on replay in your head. Sure it was the wrong messenger but it was the right message you don’t know what you were thinking.

It didn’t last a day, Charlie came by the desk deliberately when Helen took her lunch.

“Hey there’s some discrepancies with the evidence log of Riley’s stuff, can you help me sort through it.” Though he posed it as a question he began to walk toward his office immediately.

Once you’re in the office he shuts the door behind you before he moves to stand in front of his desk.

“I just uh wanted to check that everything was alright,” He clears his throat before continuing, “That you feel comfortable or if there’s something I’ve done.” After he finishes your face morphs to shock.

“No of course not, I just know there’s been some gossip around town about us dating and figured I’d have lunch by myself.” Charlie’s eyebrows furrow at your admission.

“I haven’t heard anything did someone say something to you?” His voice drops at the thought of anyone badgering you about this.

“It’s not a big deal, and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfo-” He cuts you off with a deadpan stare.

“Why would I be uncomfortable with people thinking a woman out of my league is dating me?” His definitive words leave you stunned. “It is a big deal, do you remember who it was?”

“No it’s fine Charlie really,” You try to convince him.

“It’s not if means you don’t go to lunch with me.” He gripes.

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed my company that much.” You stare at him until he returns your gaze.

“Well I do.” He assures you.

The both of you stand in front of each other in silence, the smile grows bigger on your face at Charlie’s confession.

“Does this mean you want to go on a date with me?” You inch your way closer to him, gently tugging his tie.

“Of course I do, I was working my way up to it.” He swallows hard when he feels you get even closer to him.

“Yeah?” Your eyes never stray from his as your smile widens. Charlie’s eyes fall to your lips just as quickly as he looks away. You grab his hands placing them on your waist before bringing your lips to his ear. “How about now?”

Charlie’s hands firmly grip your waist when he feels your warm breath tickle his ear. His pants grow tighter when your perfume invades his nostrils. When you reer back to look at him he wastes no time planting his lips on yours. His mustache tickles underneath your nose but you respond back with the same fervor. You tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, Charlie groans at your eagerness.

Your hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck to play with the hair on the back of his neck. When his tongue licks your bottom lip you eagerly open your mouth to him, pressing your chest against his. Charlie lets his hands dip to cup your ass through the jeans you’re wearing, earning himself a pretty moan from you. The way his tongue licks into your mouth gives you ideas of what else he would be good at.

But all good things come to an end, and a knock at the door sends you two flying apart. You immediately focus on fixing yourself so it doesn’t look like you were in a make-out session with your boss. A folder catches your eye and you pick it up hoping to look busy. Helen peeks her head in to let Charlie know Bella is getting dropped off by Edward. Charlie’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the mention of his daughter’s boyfriend, you can’t stop the giggle that pours out of you.

Helen slips back out and Charlie walks over to the far corner you’ve placed yourself in. “It’s a little backward now but would you let me take you out on a proper date?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule.” You smile up at him knowing he knows you’re joking.

“How does Saturday at 7 sound?” He bends down to your ear before continuing, “I know a nice Italian place in Port Angeles.” When he pulls back he is glad to see the bashful expression on your face. He’s still got it.

“It sounds great Charlie.” You get on your tip toes to peck him on the cheek before exiting his office.

On the way to your desk, you see Edward and Bella sitting in the waiting chairs talking. As you sit down you see Bella’s head snap in your direction, her and Edward's conversation halting. You pretend to do work as usual until Charlie comes out to greet Bella and grunt in Ed’s direction.

#charlie swan #charlie swan x reader #twilight fic #charlie swan x female reader #twilight

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