#or it's just because I barely get asks...

[tobeholyistobeempty]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

part two. find part one here.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.

——————-

the headache you wake with is devastating.

biblically so.

and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.

and fuck, suffering you are.

you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.

practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.

wait - practically? no. you did.

you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.

“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

fuck sakes.

you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.

and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.

“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.

his dog tags.

you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.

a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.

you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.

spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.

it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?

fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.

and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.

finally, you knock.

it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.

you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.

you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”

he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.

you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.

you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”

his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.

“did i?” he doesn’t move.

you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.

“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”

he still doesn’t take them.

“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”

your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”

he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”

you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.

“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.

“i-“

you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.

simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.

you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”

“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”

and there it is. here it comes.

“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”

“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.

you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.

when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”

your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.

“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”

“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”

oh god.

“shame?”

“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”

“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“

he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”

“walk me-“

earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”

“you don’t-you don’t have to-“

he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.

“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”

you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.

part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.

“look, simon-“

he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”

you blink, holding your breath.

“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”

fucking hell.

“yes.” you exhale.

“what was it.”

your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.

“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”

“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”

your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.

“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.

and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

he doesn’t buy it.

“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”

christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.

this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.

“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”

“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”

you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”

“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”

“simon-“

he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”

it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.

clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.

“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”

it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.

“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”

his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.

his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—

“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”

your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“

“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”

you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.

“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”

“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”

something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.

“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”

his mouth is barely a breath from yours.

“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”

he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.

“fuckin hell.”

and then he’s kissing you.

no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.

“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.

you blink, dazed. “i-what?”

his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.

“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”

“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“

that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.

“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”

you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.

“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”

you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”

he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.

you fucking moan at the sight.

and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.

he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.

“oh, fuck-“

he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”

his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.

“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”

you’re panting now. shaking.

“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“

“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”

you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.

“tell me.”

“no-n-never like this—”

he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”

your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.

“simon-“ you whinge.

he cuts you off. “look at me.”

you do. barely.

“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”

you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.

it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.

“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”

you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”

you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.

when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.

“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”

you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.

the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“

he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”

you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.

you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.

“y’remember what else y’said last night?”

you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.

“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”

you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.

“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”

and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.

“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.

“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”

he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.

“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“

“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”

he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.

“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”

“fuck simon-“

“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”

it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.

it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.

he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.

“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”

he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.

you shriek, squirming with no where to go.

“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”

your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.

“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”

“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“

you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.

“mhm. messy little thing.”

he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.

“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”

you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.

“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”

“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“

“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”

you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.

“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”

another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“

“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”

a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—

“fuck—fuck.”

he lets go.

he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.

and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.

he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.

“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”

———————————-

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[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (9) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F ! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael now live parallel lives—close in distance but distant as strangers. After a school field trip to the zoo, you get injured and are rushed to the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, straight to Michaels ER.

Word: 4971

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50s), Head Injury (Factured Skull), Bleeding from the ear, and Vomiting

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you for all the love on the last part. Lol I love seeing your guys comments and reactions. They crack me upppp. Couple more parts and this fic with come to a end🥲. Depending on season 2 maybe I'll write a spin off/Continuation of some sort 🤨??? or maybe I'll leave a good thing be. Idk this is all up in the air and just ideas. If I did continue it won't be until next year YIKES. Long way from now. But if you guys want it i'll prob do it lol very much a people pleaser 😭 also determined to finsihed eyes on me lol okay anyway. enjoy!!! - ryn

3 Months Later

Since that day—that morning where it ended—you and Michael had kept your distance. It wasn’t easy. Living across the hall meant you still saw each other constantly. You crossed paths in the elevator, passed in the lobby, caught glimpses through cracked doors. But it was different now. Cautious. Careful. The warmth was gone.

It was like reverting back to how things were in the beginning—only worse. Not acquaintances. Less than that. Strangers.

There were no more lingering glances, no more easy conversations or shared errands. No more moments where he helped you without being asked, like he just knew. Now it was all stiff nods and the occasional muttered “hey” or “hi,” as if everything between never happened or existed.

Your lives—once a single, tangled line—had split. Still running close, still crossing the same thresholds, but no longer connected. Now they moved in parallel. Close enough to feel, never close enough to touch.

You missed him. Not just being around him—but him. The version only you knew. The one who stayed late, who looked out for you, who let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

Now, it was like he barely looked your way. Just quick hellos, if that. And even those felt heavy.

Still, every time you saw him, you wondered if he missed you too.

And maybe—just maybe—you knew he missed you too.

But neither of you said a word.

Michael had been the first person to remind you what it felt like to be truly cared for. Losing that connection hurt deeply. But even without him, you were learning how to stand on your own. You are in a better place

After years stuck in a toxic, neglectful relationship with Aiden, you finally chose yourself. No more waiting to be seen or heard. You were rebuilding, piece by piece—stronger, quieter, more certain.

It was something Michael said the last time you saw him that stayed with you. His voice was calm but firm: “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

Those words gave you the push you needed to walk away.

After breaking up with Aiden, the silence was deafening at first. No shouting, no blame, no empty promises—just quiet. And for once, that quiet felt like space you could breathe in, not suffocate.

You weren’t completely free yet. There were days when memories clawed at you, when loneliness crept in like a shadow. But with each morning you woke up without him, you felt a little stronger. A little more whole.

And Michael? Seeing him after everything—it wasn’t easy. There was a tension, a distance between you that hadn’t been there before. You still felt guilty for how things ended with him. But beneath it all, you knew one thing: his words had helped you find yourself again. Even if your connection had changed, that truth remained.

—

This morning, you had left your apartments at the same time, walking side by side in silence. No words. No eye contact. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway—too close, too quiet.

He let you step into the elevator first, then slipped into his usual corner—like always. The space between you felt heavier than it should’ve in such a small box.

And every time you rode the elevator with him now, your mind drifted back to that morning. The one where everything shifted. The one where he had looked at you like he couldn’t wait another second. Where his hands trembled on your skin and nothing else existed. That morning where—for a moment—you both stopped pretending.

Now, you only pretended. Pretended not to miss it. Pretended not to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Pretended he wasn’t right there, close enough to touch, but choosing not to.

Then, suddenly—you don’t know why—you turned your head and glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a small, uncertain smile on your lips.

Michael stood there, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, AirPods in. He didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Normally, he’d say hello—or at least acknowledge you—but today wasn’t one of those days.

Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

But he had.

Because the truth was, he missed you. Every time he saw you, felt your presence so close yet unreachable, it tore at something inside him.

But talking—to break the silence—meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close. It meant risking everything he’d been trying to hold together.

The silence in that elevator was suffocating.

The doors slid open.

You stepped out first, heart pounding, words caught in your throat. By the time the two of you made it through the lobby and out to the street, you found yourself saying, “Have a good day.”

Still, he ignored you.

Without a word, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

—--

It had been a good day.

There was a field trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, and the fifth graders had been buzzing with excitement since they got off the bus. They darted from exhibit to exhibit in loose clusters, calling out animal facts they half-remembered from class, pointing at the gorillas, giggling at the flamingos, and dramatically gagging when they passed smelly enclosures. 

You smiled through the chaos, constantly scanning the crowd, reminding them to walk—not run—while answering a steady stream of “Can we go there next?” and “Do we have to stay with our buddy?”

By the time the group began gathering near the exit to prepare for departure, the kids were hot, tired, and still somehow full of energy—trading animal facts, snacks, and complaints about the long walk back to the bus.

You turned to check on one of your students—and your foot caught on a backpack left sprawled across the pavement.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself.

You went down hard.

Your head hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything went black for a moment.

You passed out for a few minutes before slowly waking up. When your eyes opened, your other 5th grade teachers and your students gathered around you, worried. 

A sharp pain pulsed through your head. When you touched the side of your face, your fingers came away wet—your ear was bleeding.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt heavy and unsteady. Panic flickered in your chest.

“Are you okay, Miss?” a student asked, voice trembling.

You forced a small, shaky smile. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure.

One of the teachers noticed the blood coming from your ear when you touched it. They knew something was wrong—you needed to get to the hospital.

You tried to protest, insisting you were fine, but the other teachers wouldn’t hear it. Their concern was firm—they knew you needed medical attention. They called an ambulance, and took care of your kids as you headed to the hospital.

“Okay, we’re headed to PTMC,” the driver said to his partner in the back with you.

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. No. You didn’t want to go there. Michael worked there.

“What? N-no, can’t you take me to Allegheny?” you asked, your voice shaking as you glanced up at the paramedic trying to stem the bleeding from your ear.

“Miss, PTMC is closer. Allegheny is too far,” the paramedic replied, his tone calm but unyielding.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you hard. Before you could stop it, you threw up—your body reacting to the pain and shock.

The paramedics quickly handed you a bag, their expressions gentle but focused. Your head throbbed fiercely, and the thought of seeing Michael at PTMC made the room feel even more overwhelming.

You swallowed hard, gripping the stretcher tightly as the ambulance doors shut and the vehicle started moving. Outside, the world blurred past the windows, but inside, your mind spun with pain, fear, and an ache far deeper than the injury itself.

—-

It was busy in the ER today—loud, chaotic, the usual blur of motion and noise. Monitors beeped steadily in the background, gurneys rolled down hallways, voices called out orders and vitals in clipped tones. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the sharper tang of adrenaline and urgency.

Michael worked hard and efficiently, his hands steady and his voice calm as he checked charts, issued instructions, and answered questions. Every task was precise and practiced. But despite his focused exterior, his heart wasn’t fully in it today. Beneath the surface, his mind drifted elsewhere.

For some reason, you were heavy on his mind—ever since he saw you that morning in the elevator. Though he went about his work with his usual efficiency, every time he glanced up or caught a quiet moment, his thoughts slipped back to you. That brief encounter stirred something beneath his calm exterior, making it harder than usual to focus.

Even as he moved through the chaos of the ER, you lingered in the corners of his mind—a quiet weight he couldn’t shake. Each task felt automatic, mechanical, like he was running on autopilot 

At the nurses’ station, Dana glanced toward Michael as he passed by, pausing briefly. His eyes scanned the triage monitor for a moment before he continued on his rounds.

“What’s his vibe today?” Dana asked, peering over the top of her glasses as she flipped through a stack of charts.

Jack didn’t look up from the computer. “Full-on rain cloud.”

Dana let out a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

Jack finally glanced up. “Yeah. Barely talking. Just doing his rounds like a ghost.”

Dana frowned slightly. She hadn’t had a real catch-up with Robby in a while.

“I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything beyond patient loads and charts in weeks,” she murmured.

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. He’s been keeping things tight. You can tell he’s holding something in… and it’s not just stress.”

Dana sighed, looking up from the computer. “It’s been—what? Three months since they stopped talking?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, watching Michael enter an exam room. “He’s doing okay. Better than a few months ago, for sure. But I think today’s one of those days where he’s really missing her.”

Jack added quietly, “It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He’s always been good at hiding what’s really going on.”

Dana didn’t respond right away, distracted by the faint sound of sirens growing louder in the distance.

“Looks like a bus just pulled up,” she said, glancing toward the ambulance bay.

Jack turned, following her line of sight. Through the glass doors, he spotted the rig backing in, its lights still flashing. The paramedics moved quickly, unloading a gurney from the back, getting ready to wheel someone inside.

“I got it,” he said, already moving toward the doors.

“Alright, what do we got?” 

Jack reached the stretcher as the paramedic began briefing him. 

“Mid-20s female, teacher on a zoo field trip. She tripped over a backpack and hit her head on the pavement. She lost consciousness briefly after the fall. There’s blood coming from her ear. She vomited on the way here and reported dizziness and nausea and is currently somewhat disoriented.”

“Exam Room 13’s open!” Dana called out as she overheard part of the paramedics’ briefing.

The gurney rolled past the nurses’ station in a blur of motion—wheels rattling, footsteps fast. Dana glanced up from her charts and files to get a quick look at the incoming patient… and froze.

Her eyes widened, recognition flickering across her face as she stood up straighter, instinctively stepping out onto the floor. Her heart skipped. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

It was you.

You looked pale, out of it—a plastic bag clutched in your hand, vomit on your shirt, and a smear of dried blood trailing from your ear. But it was unmistakably you.

The same woman she’d seen, playing around with Michael in aisle 9 of the grocery store fighting over cookies. 

Jack was already directing the paramedics to Exam Room 13, calling for trauma supplies as he moved alongside the gurney.

Dana stood abruptly, eyes darting around the ER. Looking for Michael.

Shit. Where’s Robby? Which wing did he go? She thought.

“Jack!” she called, rushing after him. She fell into step beside him as they wheeled you. 

“What?” he asked, not slowing.

“It’s her!” she hissed, voice low but urgent.

“Who?”

“The friend-neighbor-almost-something-—her,” Dana said, eyes wide. “Robby’s girl.”

Dana watched as Jack’s head whipped to face her. His expression shifts—from confusion to clarity, then to something dangerously close to dread.

Jack stopped short, turning just in time to see the gurney disappear into Exam Room 13. His expression changed instantly.

He looks at Dana again “That was her? Are you sure?” 

“Yes!”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “We need to tell him.”

Dana’s brows knit. “Are you sure? After everything… you know how torn up he was…well still is” she trailed off, uncertain. “I mean, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “He still cares about her, still feels things for her. You know he does.”

Dana hesitated, lips pressed into a line.

“He’s not over her, Dana. Not even close. No matter how messy the fallout was, he’d want to know. And if he finds out she was here and we kept it from him…”

“He’d never forgive us,” Dana finished, already nodding.

Jack’s jaw was tight. “Exactly.”

“Look I’ll take care of her, find him as soon as you can and tell him. Okay?” 

“Alright” they quickly went off in different directions. 

—

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead felt like too much—too bright, too sharp—cutting through the fog in your skull. Your stomach churned again, sour and unsettled. You’d already thrown up in the ambulance, the evidence smeared across your shirt, and the nausea still clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. It was like your body couldn’t decide if it was in pain or panic.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—helped you onto the exam table from the gurney, guiding you gently as you sat down.

“Let’s get you settled,” she said calmly.

You nodded, though the movement made your head throb and your stomach turn.

Princess moved with calm precision, wrapping a cuff around your arm to check your blood pressure and attaching monitors to track your vitals. She was already prepping the IV, her hands steady, practiced.

“Pressure’s a little low,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You closed your eyes as the needle slid into your arm, trying to focus on her calm voice instead of the pounding in your head.

She grabbed a damp cloth and gently began wiping the vomit from your shirt, doing the best she could to clean you up while keeping you comfortable.

“You’re doing okay,” she said softly. “Just stay with me.”

Princess noticed the shift in your expression—the way your face paled. Without a word, she grabbed a plastic basin and placed it gently in your lap.

“Just in case,” she said softly.

A moment later, the door opened and a man stepped in, wearing navy scrubs and a calm, focused expression.

“I’m Dr. Jack Abbot,” he said as he approached. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Jack

The name stood out. Michael’s friend—he’d mentioned him a couple of times. Quick stories, casual references. You never met him, but the name stuck.

Now here he was, standing in front of you. And suddenly, it all felt just a little more real.

To Jack, you were more than just another patient. You were her—the neighbor, the teacher, the one Michael couldn’t stop thinking about. The one who shattered him.

He was torn. Part of him wanted to resent you. Another part couldn’t help but feel sorry—for both you and Michael. It hurt watching Michael suffer in silence, burying his feelings under layers of composure. But there was sadness for you too—because Jack knew you were still clinging to something broken. A relationship that should’ve ended long ago.

But none of that mattered now. He needed to take care of you—not only because it was his job, but for Michael. 

You and Jack locked eyes. Neither of you spoke, but something passed between you—an unspoken recognition. You both knew each other through Michael, even if you’d never met before. And in that silence, there was a quiet acknowledgment of everything that wasn’t being said.

“Let’s get you checked out,” he said gently.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He pulled on a pair of gloves and waited patiently as you gathered your thoughts.

“I tripped over a student’s backpack. I fell… hit my head on the side,” you said, your voice a little shaky.

Princess, at the computer nearby, typed quickly, capturing every detail.

“You passed out? For how long?”

“I don’t know. No more than 5 minutes?”

“And you feel nauseous?” Jack takes notice of the dried blood from your ear. 

“Yes” He brought his hands up, feeling your head, and then he felt it. A squishy part on the side of your head. 

Shit. 

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he gently pressed around the swollen area, careful not to cause more pain. His mind raced—without a CT scan, he knew the injury was serious. How severe, though, remained uncertain.

“Okay, stay still for me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to get a CT scan to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.” He says to the Princess, but also to you.

You nodded, swallowing hard, the dizziness and nausea pressing harder with every breath.

Princess looked up from her computer. “I’m alerting neurology and radiology now.”

Jack forced a steady breath, trying to stay composed though inside, worry tightened its grip.

Your stomach lurched, and you vomited into the plastic basin Princess had handed you earlier. Jack stepped back slightly, giving you room but keeping his eyes locked on you, watching for any sign of worsening condition.

Princess moved quickly to help, she handed you a clean towel and quietly assured you as you wiped your face.

Princess stepped over, grabbing a pair of gloves and a warm saline wipe.

You flinched as she dabbed gently at the dried blood near your ear, trying not to let it sting. 

“Sorry,” Princess murmured, careful and quiet.

Jack watched closely but because the signs were impossible to ignore. The dried blood near your ear, the squishy spot on the scalp, the nausea and dizziness—they all pointed to something serious. Possibly a skull fracture.

Until the scan came back, there wasn’t much he could confirm. But in his gut, he already knew this wasn’t minor.

He reached for a chart from the counter, flipping it open and beginning to write. His pen scratched quickly across the paper, but he kept looking up every few seconds—checking your breathing, your pallor, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Princess adjusted the bed slightly, propping it up so you could sit comfortably. She hands you a new plastic basin. She takes the used wipes and throws it in the trash along with her gloves and goes to wash her hands. 

You glanced at him, searching. “Did… did Michael send you?”

Princess moved to gather the extra materials they hadn’t used, placing them neatly on the supply rack. Her movements were quiet, efficient, but her attention never strayed far. She listens closely. 

Jack shook his head. “No. Robby doesn’t know you’re here… at least not yet.”

At that, Princess froze for just a moment. She didn’t know the full story, but it was clear you and Michael were connected. Her eyes flicked to Jack, widening slightly. A silent exchange passed between them—brief, but unmistakable.

Jack sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what she was thinking—the bet she and several other staff had made a few weeks ago at the bar about Michael having a girlfriend. Now was not the time.

His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, silently warning: Don’t even think about it. He shook his head slightly.

You hadn’t noticed the exchange. Your eyes closed, feeling dizzy, your head throbbing. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Princess gave an innocent, almost playful raise of her eyebrows, but beneath it was something calculating. She grabbed a chart out of Jack's hands and scurried out of the room, leaving a faint echo of footsteps behind her.

Jack remained still, watching her retreat. His jaw tightened, mouth pressed into a hard line. In the ER, whispers traveled faster than code blue alarms—money and rumors would be swirling in less than a few minutes. 

Jack exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second. He’ll deal with it later he tells himslef.

Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you—pale, clearly worn down.

You swallowed hard, the dizziness still buzzing faintly at the edges of your mind.

“I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

“He’ll know,” Jack said quietly, his voice flat with certainty. “He’ll come rushing in here once he finds out—I guarantee it.”

“He likes you—a lot, cares for you deeply” he said, matter-of-fact, like it was the plainest truth in the world. “I’ve seen him talk about people before—patients, colleagues, even exes. But never like this.”

Your eyes flicked open. Jack wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You didn’t interrupt. His words caught you off guard—soft but heavy.

“With you… it’s different,” Jack said. “He’s not the guy who makes big declarations. But his actions? Loud as hell.”

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours—not confrontational, just honest.

“That day—after everything fell apart—he barely said a word.”

Jack’s voice dropped. “He didn’t say much. But I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines. Michael’s the silent type. Shove it down, suffer alone. That’s always been his way. He doesn’t fall easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t bounce back quickly.”

And didn’t you know it—you ruined what you two had. You looked down at your hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you said.

Jack finally met your eyes. There wasn’t anger—just a tired kind of clarity. “Maybe not. But it still happened.”

There was no heat in his voice. No judgment. Just the truth.

“He’ll handle it. He always does.”

He backed toward the door.

“My instinct is to tell you to continue stay away from him... keep the distance. To protect him.”

A beat.

“But even with all that… there’s a part of me that still hopes it works out between you two.”

He held your gaze.

“If there’s even a small chance you feel the same—don’t waste it.”

Then, firm again, “But don’t show up in his orbit unless you’re sure.”

“I’ll be back to get you for the CT scan. If you need anything, press the call button.”

And with that, he was gone.

—

Dana had spent the last several minutes searching—looking for Michael. The constant rush of the ER had kept her moving nonstop, priorities shifting by the second as new cases rolled in. Between the noise, the pages, and the demands of back-to-back emergencies, she hadn’t had a spare moment—until now. Finally able to look, she peeked into each exam room as she passed, also scanning for Michael.

Finally, she spotted him. 

Standing in the doorway, she called out, “Dr. Robby?”

Michael was looking up from the chart he was filling out while Victoria Javadi, the med student currently shadowing him, checked the patient under his supervision.

“Can… I talk to you outside?”

Michael glanced at her, then back at Javadi.

“Hold it down here. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving her a nod before stepping out into the ER floor with Dana.

“What’s up?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Dana swallowed. “Robby, she’s here. Exam Room 13.”

“Who’s here?” His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding.

“She’s here,” Dana said again, slower this time, her eyes locking onto him.

Then it hit him.

His stomach dropped.

You’re here.

“W–what?” he said, hard and sharp, disbelief cutting through his voice.

“The bus pulled in a while ago-"

“How long ago?!” His voice rose, sharp.

“Half an hour—she hit her head. Took a fall during the field trip—”

Michael’s heart skipped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wait for the rest.

He turned on his heel and bolted, weaving through the ER, past gurneys, staff, and startled patients.

He barely registered people calling his name.

Didn’t care about the chart he’d left behind, the patient waiting for him at 7 with Victoria, or the conversation he’d been having seconds ago.

All he could hear was Dana’s voice echoing in his head.

She hit her head.

His hands were already trembling. Thoughts circled like vultures—loud, fast, frantic. He didn’t know how bad it was. Was it minor? Maybe. But probably not—Not if the ambulance brought her in.

And then another thought struck—hard and bitter.

He’d ignored you this morning.

You’d smiled at him. Said, “Good morning.” Told him to have a good day.

And he hadn’t said anything back.

He’d brushed past you like you didn’t matter. And now—now this.

His chest felt tight. His feet moved faster.

Room 13. Room 13. Room 13.

Nothing else mattered. Not now.

Because you were here.

And you were hurt.

 He rounded the corner too fast, nearly slipped—caught himself—nearly crashing into Jack as he stepped out of Exam Room 13.

“WOAH!” Jack exclaimed, throwing an arm out to steady them both.

“Robby—”

“I gotta get to her—I” Michael said breathlessly, trying to push past him.

Jack grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. “Stop, she’s gone.”

Robby froze. His heart plummeted, eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He couldn’t breathe—he just stood there, stunned, like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he realized. “Oh—shit—no! Gone as in, not in the room! I took her to her CT scan!”

Michael’s breath shuddered out of him. He stumbled back a step, dragging a hand down his face.

“FUCK, Abbot!” he snapped, voice hoarse. “Next time, maybe lead with that!!!”

Jack winced, “Yeah. Okay. Fair. Sorry!” He says quickly.

Michael looked like he was about to break. Without hesitation, Jack grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside your exam room, closing the door behind them.

Jack softened. “You want to sit for a second?”

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “No. Just… give me a minute.”

His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He turned away from Jack and leaned heavily against the wall, one hand braced flat against it while the other gripped his thigh. For a long moment, he stayed like that—bent slightly at the waist, eyes squeezed shut—trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Then, with a trembling hand, he reached under his scrub top and T-shirt and pulled out the gold Star of David necklace he always wore—small, worn, and mostly hidden. He rubbed it between his fingers, clutching it tight in his calloused palm like a lifeline.

With his eyes still closed, he drew in a shaky breath, as if trying to summon strength from somewhere deep inside—something steady, unyielding.

Jack said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched, quiet and still, letting Michael have the space to come back to himself.

Michael straightened slowly, collecting himself.

“She’s okay?” Michael finally forced out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s conscious. Talking. But I’m pretty sure she has a skull fracture—I just don’t know how severe yet. We’re gonna have ro wait on the CT to tell us more.”

Michael’s face went pale. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Jack softened his tone. “Listen, Robby… I know this sucks. It’s scary, but you’re not alone here. We’re doing everything we can, as fast as we can. She’s tough, and she’s got the best care possible.”

He paused, then added, “It’s us. This team, this hospital—we make it work. You know that. You’ve been part of holding it together more times than I can count.”

Michael’s jaw twitched, but his eyes flicked up—just for a second—as Jack continued.

“She’s in good hands. Our hands.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” But there was no real conviction in his voice. 

Jack glanced at Michael, his expression firm but not unkind.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Robby,” he said quietly. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Michael’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw still tight, hands flexing at his sides.

Jack’s voice softened. “And as much as I hate to say it… you’ve got to pull it together and do your job. For now. Until she comes back from CT. We’ll know more soon.”

Michael closed his eyes for a beat, breathing through the heaviness in his chest. Then he nodded—barely.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

Jack glanced around. “It’s busy today. You know how it is—we’ve got to stay on top of everything, keep things moving.”

Michael knew Jack was right. As much as it tore at him, there was nothing more he could do right now.

So he did the only thing he could—he took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and began to shift the panic into focus. Into control.

He would see you when you came back from CT. Until then, he’d do his job. Just like he always had.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy @aj3684 @sorryimstupidrn @escapingjune

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

[yan-randomfandom]

Heyyy! I was wondering if you could do yandere saja boys x reader where the reader hangs out with a guy and they get very jealous

Yandere!Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; the day im satisfied with writing a yan!saja boys and/or yan!huntrix one shot is the day i'll retire because this is still lacking 💔

warnings; uncomfortable, stalking, possessive behavior, more spotlight on Abby! no Jinu here, sry!

— 🌇

That's weird.

You're not anywhere in your house. You haven't responded to their messages yet.

"Think they finally had enough of us?" Baby mutters, looking through your snack drawer—nothing of interest—before closing it harsher than intended. The loud bang echoes in the empty kitchen.

Abby narrows his eyes as he looks through the window. The sun is going to set soon. "That can't be right. Maybe they went to buy something."

"Without telling us?" Mystery growls, his fingers fidgeting together. Well, it's not like you need to tell them every action you'll do. He's not even sure himself why he's so irritated.

After all, they were already planning to take your soul after the whole thing is over. But now that he's thinking of it again, the idea doesn't feel so good anymore...

The front door suddenly squeals open. All of them turn, expecting you, but instead meet Romance's face.

"Don't look so disappointed," Romance scoffs with an eyebrow raise. "I found the human. Come on."

— 🫧

First, they felt relief, then anger, then sadness, then nothing.

They found you alone, as Romance said you were, but then you started laughing. Your gentle laughter stopped them from getting any closer. A smile curls on your lips as your eyes consistently follow something.

"What?" Romance mutters, confusion scrunching his face. They can't see well from this angle—but they can't move either without being seen.

"I told you it's slippery," you snicker, walking over and extending your hand. Ah. So you weren't alone. "Come on. I'll help you up, I guess."

"Thanks," a voice replies, matching your energy, causing all of the boys to glance at each other. They watch as a hand takes yours. "I guess."

The person gets up—a man. Not a demon, but a human. Standing too close to you and still holding your hand. Or maybe it was just a normal distance, and time felt like forever watching you touch that thing—but, oh, Gwi-Ma. They feel like boiling their human forms.

You finally let go of him, using your hand to fish your phone out of your pocket. A frown snakes across your lips after a while. "Oh, no."

"Oh no?" your friend asks, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

You begin chewing your bottom lip, looking around. "No, uh, not really. But I have to go now. Nice catching up with you, man!"

"Aw, really?" he says, glancing at his phone. "Oh. It is pretty late. Isn't your apartment like right over there? I can—"

"There you are!"

You and your friend turn your heads, both of your eyes widening for entirely different reasons.

Abby approaches you with a charming smile, settling an arm over your shoulders. He hums as he takes a good, innocent look at your companion. "Who's this?"

"Saja— Abs—Abby? From Saja Boys?! Uh, I mean— Hi! So nice to meet you!" An unexpected blush blooms over your friend's face. He glances at you with nervousness and fascination before bowing his head.

Your friend shows off a crooked grin. He's a big fan already; he told you moments ago how he had Soda Pop on loop. You huff and remove Abby's arm from your shoulder, barely able to hold your flinch at the way he looked offended.

You gaze at Abby in anticipation.

Abby immediately gets the hint and masks himself. "Oh, a fan! Thank you for your support!"

They took a picture, Abby did his autograph, all the while giving him fanservice with his abs. Your friend giggles cheerfully as they shake their hands goodbye. You didn't miss the way Abby wiped his hand on his shirt when your friend wasn't looking.

"Take care!" you call to him, waving a hand before turning to a blank-faced Abby.

He stares at you humorlessly.

You blink, avoiding his eyes. "Uh, hey. Sorry about... not replying. I ran out of—"

Abby chuckles, smiles like he wasn't just judging your entire being, and shakes his head. He returns to draping his arm around your shoulder protectively. "No need to explain. We're glad you're safe. Let's go home."

Your brows furrow as Abby guides your walk. We're? We?

It's an obvious thing that once a member is involved, all of them are. Just... where are the others? Abby is the only one here.

You stray your eyes, landing on a window.

In the dim reflection, three pairs of glowing, golden eyes point at you in the distance. Ah. There they are. Watching, waiting.

Ugh. You look away. Jinu's never this level of creepy. He's not present again, as always.

You don't notice Abby nodding his head curtly next to you.

— need .. need to include more horrors..... ngl I'm stuck between funny or horrific yan!saja boys ,,

— also if you're wondering why Jinu isn't here, I just prefer not to include him in general! yeah my bad, in my other fics he's just kinda hanging around

— why's it so hard for me to write yandere (says the yandere blog)

[gojoest]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t through it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[yourislandgirl]

* ༘𐙚 THE RULE OF FLOWERS ✿˖˚ || 박성훈 x fem!reader || fic

summary: sunghoon thinks he’s about to get an early grave, or finally achieve his inner rebel’s dream of having a brush with the law, all thanks to your darling daughter and ... her “husband”??

genres: tired girl dad!sunghoon x mum!reader, fluff, crack, slice of life, parents!au,

warnings: attempts at humour, pet names, a little skinship (kissing), not much swearing for a change but sunghoon does say the word ass like once (the child is not present dw), silly dad!sunghoon, protective dad!sunghoon, kids taking everything literally, ref. to classic kids media (finding nemo, curious george), the kid doesn't have a name bcs ... deciding names is hard

w.c: 5.5k

[archive]

Sunghoon’s plan for the night was simple. After making your daughter’s lunch for preschool tomorrow, he’d wash the dishes, brew up two nice, warm mugs of tea for himself and his lovely wife, and then kiss his daughter goodnight before binging some ridiculous drama, until you pulled him into the bedroom to go to sleep.

It was the perfect plan to wind down. It was relaxing enough. And he was looking forward to it as he dried his hands of dishwater after placing your daughter’s colourful dinner plate in the drying rack.

But nothing could have prepared him for the scene that would enter the kitchen and adjoined living room.

“Stop running, you little monkey!”

Shrieks of laughter echoed off your quaint apartment walls. Sunghoon had barely sat down before jolting at the sight of his four year old girl, bright eyed with a mischievous grin on her face, running towards him at full speed. You were hot on her heels.

Her fluffy panda bathrobe was wrapped tightly around her, the hood falling back to reveal dark, slightly damp hair.

Sunghoon opened his arms wide and braced, ready to catch the cannonball he had for a kid. “Woah! Hold it,” reaching forward, Sunghoon scooped her up, laughing at the way she shuffled to escape his grasp but ultimately gave up, curling into him. “Now, where do you think you’re going?”

You slowed down, your own hair and hands a little damp from playing the family favourite Finding Nemo game in the bath with your little girl.

The same little girl who was grinning widely at you, safe in the arms of her father. “Mama’s chasing me.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “I can see that.”

“Because it’s bed time,” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling. “And your Little Miss Monkey book isn’t gonna read itself.”

Your daughter frowned. “Why not?” She asked with genuine seriousness.

“Because it’s not that kind of book, sweets.”

You watched the way you daughter gave her father a glance. “Why not?” She asked again.

Shrugging, Sunghoon tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “I guess there aren’t any self reading books at the store.”

You took a few steps froward, a hand out for your child to hold onto. “We can look for one in another book shop sometime, okay? But right now, it’s time for bed.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Appa needs to come too.” She then proceeded to bury her face into Sunghoon’s chest.

All Sunghoon could do was smile at you. His uncontrollable grin had your heart leaping at the sight. Fatherhood had him melting at your daughter’s every request.

He would go to the convenience store during the middle of work just because he thought about his little girl and wanted to buy her favourite pocky. He would mute work calls just to take a few minutes to watch her twirl in the new fairy dress that your mother had bought her. He’d have an almost Superman-adjacent sense of hearing when it came to her small whimpers in the middle of the night, calling out for the two of you amidst a nightmare.

He was playing Superman again, holding your daughter as if she was flying, her bathrobe’s hood as her hero’s cape, doing a full loop of the world (your living room) before heading to her bedroom. As the three of you walked past the kitchen, Sunghoon felt a small hand tug on the material of his shirt’s collar.

Twisting around in her father’s hands, your little girl had her eyes glued on the kitchen island. More specifically the bouquet arrangement that Sunghoon had brought home yesterday. They were placed at the centre, in a lovely glass vase, reflecting little sparkles onto the countertop from the lights.

“Wait, wait.” Your daughter pointed at the flowers. “I want to do flower face time.”

You breathed out a little laugh, the endearing nickname for the act of smelling flowers had stuck with your daughter through the years. She’d watched you bury your nose into the fragrant petals every time Sunghoon handed them to you.

Sunghoon was just as aware of the nickname. Didn’t stop him from pouting in a comically confused manner, though. “You want to video call the flowers?”

Giggles started to bubble out of the kid that was beaming in his arms. “No!”

“Hello? Flowers?” Sunghoon waved a hand at the bouquet, fighting back a grin. “Can you see me?”

You leaned against the kitchen island, laughing behind your hand at the sight before you.

“Appa!”

“What?” Sunghoon’s dimple peeked through as his smile widened. “I thought we were face timing the flowers.”

“I want to smell the flowers.” The sheer power of your daughters eyeroll had you shaking your head in amusement. An all too familiar reaction to Sunghoon’s teasing.

You’d been on the receiving end of his teasing many times. Fighting back smiles as you tried to remain annoyed, and yet were incapable of staying in a dull mood when it came to the man before you.

The same man who was stroking his chin in a dramatic act of realisation. “Ah, right. Of course.” He manoeuvred your daughter so she could lean closer to the bouquet. “Here.”

Smiling, she took a deep inhale and nodded very officially. “Mm, they’re lovely.”

“Just like you?” You asked, poking her cheek lightly.

“Yep.” Her smile widened and just like that, a tiny dimple blossomed, right where your finger was, just moments ago. A perfect mirror to Sunghoon. As he held her closer, their faces smushed together, side by side, all you could see was a mini version of him.

Unbeknownst to you, all Sunghoon saw when he looked at your daughter, was you. Your warmth, your laugh, the way you see brightness in mundanity and appreciate any gesture of kindness or love, no matter how small.

Like the flowers. For as long as you could remember, Sunghoon had been gifting you flowers.

There was never a standard type or a pattern that he followed, he always said that he just entered whatever flower shop was nearby and picked up the prettiest bouquet he saw.

Sometimes it was for a special occasion, sometimes it was just because, and you quickly came to realise that your kitchen island was never bare — there was always a lovely arrangement in the vase. And the minute the old, wilted stems had to be tossed, Sunghoon arrived home that afternoon with a new bouquet in hand.

Every time, he would hand them to you with a smile, one hand behind his back. Like a prince.

You’d hold them closer and breathe in the scent before sighing, and you’d say, “Thank you. They’re lovely.”

And every time, Sunghoon would lean forward, kiss your cheek and whisper in your ear, “Just like you.”

“Appa likes flowers.” Your daughter mused to herself as Sunghoon carried her towards her bedroom. You were following behind them, smiling up at your girl.

“Mama likes flowers.” Sunghoon made a point to turn and look at you as he spoke. “Appa likes making Mama happy.”

Humming as a response, your daughter giggled to herself quietly. “My husband likes making me happy too.”

It wasn’t normal to see person freeze mid-step like in a cartoon. But that was exactly what Sunghoon did. In an instant you felt your eyebrows crease together, utter confusion flooding your face. But for Sunghoon? His shoulders tensed, he turned and looked at you with an expression of pure panic and what could only be described as befuddlement.

You cleared your throat. “I- What?”

“Excuse me?” Sunghoon moved his hold on your child, propping her up between the two of you so that you both could see her face.

Ironically, her own face held confusion. She patted Sunghoon’s arm. “You didn’t burp, Appa,” she said, reassuringly.

It was anything but reassuring to Sunghoon. “No, no, what husband?”

“Baby, what are you talking about?” You reached forward, your thumb gently stroking her soft cheek.

“My husband.” She said it so matter-of-factly. Like the very sentence didn’t just drop a bombshell into the middle of your conversation. Instead, she simply blinked at the two of you, “He gives me flowers. Just like you and Appa.”

Sunghoon leaned a little closer to you. “I think I just forgot how to breathe,” he whispered.

“You did not forget how to breathe”

“How do you know, Y/n? I’m imploding.”

Your daughter leaned closer too. “Who’s mimloading?”

“Who‘s your husband?” Sunghoon countered.

“Taesan!” You watched the way Sunghoon mouthed the name, as if committing it to memory. On the other hand, your little girl was still all smiles and excitement. “His flowers are in my backpack. I’ll show you!”

She started to wriggle out of Sunghoon’s hands, excitedly skipping towards her room once he placed her down. All you could do was watch her as she walked past the doorframe before you turned to each other.

“She has a husband?” Sunghoon tried his best to keep his voice low, a hushed yell that could only be heard by you.

Sighing, you rubbed your temples with your hands. “She does not have a husband.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “She said it with way too much confidence.”

“She says everything with way too much confidence. She’s four.”

“What are we gonna do?”

As he started to pace up and down the hallway, you slid in front of him to get his attention. “First step is to take a deep breath and calm down.”

He frowned. “I’m perfectly calm.”

“Two seconds ago you said you forgot how to breathe.”

“Well, five seconds ago our daughter was just our daughter, but now apparently she’s someone’s wife!” He gestured wildly in the direction of her room. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, he had a point.

“Things are escalating here, Y/n,” he went on. “We need to keep up.”

“Okay, I get what you’re saying, but—”

Straightening up a little, Sunghoon gave a nod of pure determination. “I need to see the evidence.”

You shut your eyes tiredly. “Evidence? Really- Sunghoon!” You hadn’t even finished the thought before you opened your eyes to see him already walking towards your daughter’s room. So you hurried after him.

“What took so long?” She was sitting near her preschool backpack, one hand grasping a few green stems, some with small purple flowers.

Sunghoon crouched beside her “Sorry honey.”

“What did you wanna show us?” You asked.

She pushed her hand forward, showing off the small garden flowers. “Look!”

“Wow!” You gave her hair a small ruffle while waiting for Sunghoon to react.

“They’re…” He glanced at you hesitantly, but it took only one warning look from you for him to get his act together. “Pretty. They’re really pretty.”

Standing up, your daughter pointed at an empty green stem. “This one was a dandylier.”

“Dandelion.” You corrected her gently.

“Yeah, dandelion. And this one’s a- …I don’t know. But it smells lovely.”

Sunghoon nodded. “And, um, Taesan gave these to you?”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you watched Sunghoon fight every urge to switch from the usual soft expressions he gives his little girl, for a more stoic one. One that would actually fit his mood at that moment.

Your daughter nodded. “Yep. So he’s my husband, right?”

Sunghoon lost his balance and ended up sitting down, turning a little to meet your eyes. “I’m imploding again,” he muttered.

His wide eyed stare, basically begging you to figure out what to do, it was a little adorable. You sat down next to him, cross legged, and reached to pull your daughter closer. “Not everybody who gives you flowers is your husband, kiddo.” You placed her on your lap.

“Oh. Why not?” The genuine confusion in her voice was palpable as she leaned against your collarbone. “I thought that was the rule. “

For the first time since the corridor outside the bedroom, Sunghoon finally cracked a small smile. It was a look of amusement and endearment, wrapped together, as he gently took her small fingers into his larger ones. “I don’t get Mama flowers because there’s a rule,” he explained. “I get her flowers because I want to see her smile.”

Your daughter sat up a little. “If that’s it, then why are you her husband?”

“Oh my god.” You hid your smile behind your hand, stifling back laughter and failing to do it successfully.

“Mama smiles at a lot of people.”

Your eyes creased shut as you looked away, still finding the complete seriousness of your daughter’s tone to be hilarious.

Sunghoon just blinked a few times. The learning curve of parenthood had struck again and in the last few years, as your child picked up words and sentences and opinions properly, you each had been subjected to a lot of harsh truths told in a devastatingly cute voice.

“How do I answer that?” Sunghoon asked you.

You tapped your daughter’s nose, causing her to turn to you. “He’s my husband because we love each other and want to keep loving each other forever.”

“Oh.”

“Appa getting me flowers is like, an added bonus, you get me?”

She started nodding slowly. “I guess. But Appa said he likes making you smile, and Taesan likes making me smile too, I think.”

Sunghoon muttered something incomprehensible under his breath before standing up. “Who is this kid?”

“Sunghoon.” Once again, your eyes shut, a little tired of Sunghoon being so typically Sunghoon.

When you turned to look at him he was at the other end of the room, near a small bookcase. It had numerous bedtime stories, picture books, interactive music books, photo albums. Sunghoon was crouched in front of it, his fingers running across each spine as he tried to look for something.

“You kept her preschool class photos in this room, right?” He asked over his shoulder.

You scoffed in disbelief. Amused and yet equally concerned. “You are not seriously scoping him out right now.”

“I’m just getting an idea of what I’m up against.”

You wanted to laugh. “There is no up against, Sunghoon!”

“I’m just curious, babe.”

“Just like George!” Your daughter smiled over your shoulder.

Sunghoon smirked. “Exactly. I’m just like George.” He gestured to your child with his eyebrows. “She gets me,” he said to you.

“Yeah, I get you, Appa.”

Shaking your head, you held your kid closer and shuffled to her dresser. “Okay, why don’t you and I focus on bedtime.”

She hummed. “Okay.”

Sunghoon seemingly gave up his search and came to join you as you both worked in tandem to get your daughter ready for bed. Sunghoon helped her tiny hands through the sleeve holes of her pyjamas, while you gently brushed her hair. The whole routine feeling like a ritual as she relaxed against you.

You figured it was a perfect moment to talk to your daughter. “I’m sure Taesan likes seeing you smile, love. You have an incredible smile.”

Sunghoon stilled ever so slightly but let you continue, focused on hanging her small panda bathrobe on one of the tiny chairs in the room.

You carefully applied a little night time moisturiser to her cheeks as you spoke. “But you need to understand something; just because someone is nice to you, and gives you flowers, and likes your smile, doesn’t make them your husband. There’s a lot more to it than that. That’s the reason why all the husbands you’ve met are adults. Remember?“

“Oh. Yeah,” she drawled out in realisation. “So Taesan can only be my husband when he’s an adult?”

“Exactly.”

Sunghoon frowned, pouting a little. “Don’t encourage that!” He whisper-yelled at you.

“Oh, what? You think we’re gonna revisit this exact situation in twenty years?”

“We might?”

“And if that happens, I’ll owe you one. How about that?”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I have no doubt.” You rolled your eyes.

You felt a small tug at your shirt. “Mama?”

“Yeah?”

Your little girl looked deep in thought. “Taesan can still be my friend, right?”

“Of course he can. If you want him to be.”

“Yeah!” She said, excitedly. “He let me win at hopscotch yesterday and his mama makes really yummy cheesecake.”

“She’s in it for the cheesecake?” Sunghoon muttered dryly as he came to sit back down next to the two of you.

Smirking at him, you shrugged. “I can’t even blame her. It’s cheesecake.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t need Taesan for that.” He pouted again. “I’ll make her cheesecake.”

That immediately caught your daughter’s attention. She clambered over your legs to get into Sunghoon’s lap. “Right now?” Her eyes and smile were the hook, line and sinker.

“Sure—”

“No!” Your hand shot out and clasped over Sunghoon’s mouth. “Not right now.” You looked between both of them, pursing your lips to prevent a smile at the sight of their pleading eyes. “Later, okay? Soon,” you said, softly.

Sunghoon chuckled as your daughter practically deflated against him. “Fine. I wish it was now.”

You giggled. “I’m sure you do, baby.”

Carefully getting off her dad’s lap, she made her way back to her backpack.

“Where’re you going?”

At Sunghoon’s question, she held up the empty stem of the dandelion. “Is my dandyliar finished?”

“Well, it looks you already blew out your wish so, yeah.” You took the empty stem in your hands and placed it on her small drawing table. “But it’s ok. We can look for another one tomorrow morning.”

“Aw.” She deflated all over again. “I wanted to wish for Appa to make a cheesecake.”

“I’ll make you one.” Sunghoon groaned a little as he stood up before he took a few steps to cross the distance between them. It always made you smile at how your daughters many little steps to get from one point to another would take you and Sunghoon only one or two to bridge the gap.

Even just the sight of him standing beside her had your cheeks stinging with that good kind of pain where you feel yourself smiling longer and longer with each second, unable to suppress the warmth erupting from inside of you.

Sunghoon ruffled his fingers through your daughter’s hair. “I promise, I’ll make you one.”

“Pinkie!” She held up the single finger expectantly.

And Sunghoon responded readily. “Pinkie.” Sealing the promise with her thumb meeting his. “Perfect. Now,” he snapped his finger, pointing across the room. “Get in bed.”

“Carry me.”

You scoffed at the utter dramatics. Her hands thrown up, eyes closed as if defeated by a tiring day of colouring and hopscotch.

But Sunghoon didn’t complain. He never complained. If anything, he was hoping she would ask. “Of course,” his voice was soft, you could barely hear it.

“You know, you can climb into bed on your own, little miss.” You tried to chastise her. Your heart wasn’t really in it, but, it felt like something you were supposed to do.

She wasn’t having it though. “I don’t want to,” she said over Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“She doesn’t want to,” Sunghoon repeated, giving you a smug smile.

“Fair enough.” Joining Sunghoon at her bed, you sighed while crouching down to level with her. “Seems like you’ve had a nice long day.”

Nodding, your daughter laid back and shuffled into her pillows. “Did you have a nice long day, Mama?”

You thought for a moment. “Hm, sorta.”

Pouting, she looked at her dad. “Appa.”

“Yes, princess,” Sunghoon mused while he brought the soft covers up to her chin.

“Carry Mama to bed.”

Sunghoon grinned at the authoritative tone of a four year old, but couldn’t pass up on such an easy task. “It would be my pleasure.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him. At the way his eyes still held the same love and affection and desire that he had years ago. That it hadn’t changed with time but rather aged with care.

Sunghoon’s hand snuck across the carpeted floor to rest on top of yours.

You could see the way he was ever so slowly leaning closer, out of pure habit if nothing else, but you needed to put your little girl to sleep.

“Before that, it’s time for Little Miss Monkey.” You gestured with your eyebrows to the bookshelf behind Sunghoon and giggled at the way he snapped back to the present before turning to get your daughter's favourite bedtime story

“Yes! Wait, I need Puddles.” She searched among her many stuffed animals to pick out the soft yellow duck. Her best friend, according to her. She held it close, getting back under the covers.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, opening the storybook. “Is Puddles ready?”

“Yep!”

And so began the nightly routine of Little Miss Monkey and her quest for the the perfect jungle party present. An odd story that seemed to stick with your daughter, whether it was the various different animals or the various different voices that Sunghoon insisted on using when reading for each animal, you knew the day was never really complete without Little Miss Monkey successfully reaching her jungle party.

As Sunghoon closed the book and placed it back on the shelf you leaned forward and gave your daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Get some sleep,” you whispered.

“But Puddles said she wants to stay awake.” Her stubbornness was still fighting with her exhaustion.

You had to admit, it was pretty cute. “Puddles said that, did she?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Uh huh.”

Sunghoon placed a hand on the small of your back, you could hear the quiet huff of amusement he let out.

But you weren’t one to give up that easily. “Well I’m sorry, sweets, but you and Puddles are gonna feel tired in the morning if you don’t sleep now.”

“Puddles won’t feel tired. She only feels tired if I tell her to.” Apparently your daughter got her stubbornness from you.

Sunghoon gave you a smirk, a sort of challenging grin as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“Oh, that’s right.” You nodded. “So she wants to stay awake right now because you told her to?”

“…No?”

Sunghoon bent down to whisper to her. “Mama’s gonna win this, princess.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

“Besides, you‘ll want enough energy to win at hopscotch tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Exactly.”

“So,” You leaned down next to him, your fingers trailing down your little girl’s forehead, following the bridge of her nose. “Close your eyes.”

“That tickles,” she giggled.

Sunghoon gave her hand a gentle kiss. “Keep them closed.”

“No peeking?”

“Nope.” Taking your hand into his, Sunghoon started to slowly pull you towards the door.

As you tip toed towards the door, you heard her gentle sigh. “Okay. Goodnight.”

You smiled, looking back to see her eyes still shut. Puddles held tightly as she curled on her side.

“Goodnight, baby,” you called out.

Sunghoon carefully opened the door to not be too loud. “We love you.”

You both waited for her reply. She always replied back.

“Mm, love you.” Soft and wispy, sleep was slowly catching up to her and you could hear it from her voice. So you did your best to shut the door extra slowly, waiting for the subtle click before quietly walking off.

You leaned your head on Sunghoon’s shoulder as you entered the kitchen. “Are you still imploding?”

“I’m fine. Cool as a cucumber.” He was doing his best to ignore the look of amused disbelief that you were giving him.

“Ya know, someone who’s actually cool as a cucumber wouldn’t use that kind of phrase.”

“Look, I just…” You chuckled at the arbitrary hand flails he was doing, incapable of articulating his feelings exactly.

“You freaked out?”

Sunghoon squinted at you a little. “I think my freak out was perfectly sound, given the circumstances.”

“Perfectly sound, huh?”

His hands went up to plead innocence. “Objectively speaking.”

“You wanted the kid’s mug, Sunghoon.” You scoffed as you walked towards the cabinets, getting yourself a glass of water.

“Again, a perfectly sound request.”

You paused after taking a sip, giving Sunghoon a blank stare while you wondered whether your daughter’s stubbornness really came from you or her father. “You should rethink your definitions.”

Reaching across the kitchen island, Sunghoon took a few sips of water from your glass. “Taesan should rethink his decisions.”

“My god.” You muttered under your breath as Sunghoon straightened up, already preparing to explain his point.

“No, no, babe, it starts with flowers and cheesecake and then the next thing you know, it’s February 14th and he’s gotten her a be-my-valentine chocolate box.”

“You’ve got be kidding me.”

“She loves chocolate, Y/n, she won’t be able to resist. That kid is scheming.” He pointed his thumb at the direction of your front door, as if poor little Taesan was waiting out there.

You laughed quietly to yourself. “My love, he’s a four year old child. He does not have that kind of speed.”

“Did you just black out and forget the way our own daughter was bolting around this house? Kids have speed, Y/n”

“That’s not- You know what I meant.”

Sunghoon slouched down on one of the counter chairs. “I’m coping with humour right now, okay? It’s either this or I eat a tub of ice cream.”

“You’re kinda cute when you’re like this,” you smirked.

“I’m glad my spiralling is entertaining to you.”

“Oh, very. But I hope this isn’t gonna be your attitude if she actually does get married in the future.”

“By that point in time, I’ll be alright with it.” He spoke with a lot of unearned confidence which had you raising an eyebrow. “I’ll try to be.” Your expression was unmoving. “It’s the thought that counts, okay?”

You shook your head, unable to hold off the smile as you got started on putting the dry dishes away. Sunghoon instinctively came to help, still trying to find a way to explain exactly what he was feeling.

“Look,” he started. “I just don’t think that she should be calling every flower-gifting-guy her husband.”

“Well, no. But we did our part in telling her as much.” You handed him the ceramic dishes that had to go on the higher shelves. “I think you can relax a little bit now, right?”

“I’ll relax after she deems my cheesecake better than Taesan’s mum’s.”

You smirked. “So we’re beefing with his mum now too?”

“It’s her kid.”

“Right,” You put the dish in your hands back on the rack. turning Sunghoon by his elbow to get him to face you. “Her sweet kid, who gave our daughter flowers because his mum probably taught him to treat girls nicely. And let them win every now and then. And share yummy food with them.”

He frowned. “Ok, so, I see your point. But—”

“Didn’t your mum teach you the same?” You crossed your arms, walking back to lean against the counter, a little smile on your face. “I specifically remember a scrawny teenager holding a lovely bouquet of lilies.”

“I- Scrawny?”

“You’re gonna look me in my face and tell me you weren’t scrawny at nineteen?”

“I was,” Sunghoon smirked, walking closer to you. “But I was hoping you remembered more about our first date than just lilies and my scrawny ass.”

You tried to bite your lower lip to keep from smiling wider. “I remember every moment of it, Sunghoon.”

“Good.” He leaned down slowly, his breath was warm against your lips right before he kissed you. Firm hands held your waist, lifting you on top of the counter as he pulled you against him. But then he froze and leaned back. “Mm mm,” he shook his head, “Back to point.”

You groaned, dropping your forehead against his chest, tired of the topic already.

Sunghoon was determined though. “That was a date, Y/n. Getting your date flowers isn’t life changing, okay? It’s law- Oh my god.”

“What?” You raised your head.

“I think she might be right about the rule of flowers…”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his low murmurs of realisation. “Aw, Sunghoon.” You reached up and cupped his face, brushing his hair back as he returned your smile.

“I just got scared there for a minute,” he whispered. “That’s all.”

“I got scared too. It’s normal.”

“Yeah, but you handled it like a pro, unlike me.”

You stroked his cheek. “Again, very normal for us.”

He frowned, trying to remain serious despite your playful smile, the teasing glint in your eyes. His resolve only lasted about three seconds before he sighed.

“Yeah.” Nodding, Sunghoon admitted defeat, pulling you closer once more as he wrapped his arms around you, his head slotting itself into the crook of your neck.

He felt the way you seemed to decompress in his arms, your own hands stroking his hair, lighting scratching his back. It was unreal how relaxing it was to hold and be held by you.

“You tired?” He murmured against your neck.

You hummed. “A little.”

“Alright then.” Stepping back, Sunghoon slid one arm under your knees and other around holding your waist as he lifted you.

“Woah, what—” Your hands clasped around his neck, confused, as he gave you a light kiss on the cheek.

“I believe I promised our daughter that I would carry you to bed.”

Your gentle laughter became a little muffled as you curled your face into his chest, listening to the steady beat of your husband’s heart while he carried you to the bedroom.

“Alright.” Carefully laying you onto the mattress, he propped up the pillows for you to lean against. “You get comfy. I need to head out for a moment, but I’ll be quick.”

You frowned. “Where to?”

“Convenience store.” He headed into the closet, as he spoke. “She wants a cheesecake so I need to get a few more ingredients. And I’d ask you to come with, but, someone’s gotta be here.”

“Sunghoon,” you sighed. “She doesn’t need it first thing in the morning.”

“Speak for yourself.” Sunghoon gave you a deadpanned expression as he walked back out, pulling on a coat and some gloves. “If I was her, I’d want it first thing in the morning.”

There was no point trying to convince him otherwise, so you simply did as he asked and got comfy. “You should get blueberries.”

“Already on the list.” He gave you a wink as you leaned across to your bedside table for the novel you were currently reading. “Can never have enough blueberries in this house,” he muttered.

“She gets it from you.”

Sunghoon just shrugged, walking closer. “They’re the perfect snack. Well, besides you.” He bent down to give you one last kiss, letting it linger a little longer than you’d have expected. The book had almost slipped out of your hands before he stepped back, smirking, like he knew exactly what he just did.

“Be quick.” You looked down at the page, not really reading anything but just not wanting to give him any satisfaction.

“Or you’ll miss me?”

“More like you‘ll miss me.”

“Right, cause that’s exactly what’s gonna happen.” He waved before walking out the room and soon, you heard the faint sound of the front door shutting.

You settled into the bed, bringing the covers up to your waist, and you’d just started to get into the novel when you heard the gentle buzz of your phone beside you. You breathed a little sigh, already expecting it.

You didn’t even bother checking who it was when you picked up. “Did you forget something?” You asked.

“Nope,” Sunghoon responded and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I just missed you.”

a.n: this feels diff to my other fics bcs it’s so dialogue heavy but . i didn’t know how else to write the idea that i had. i feel like a family’s dynamic is seen really well through both verbal and non verbal communication but for a fic where the kid is so young, verbal communication just sorta made the most sense? hopefully people like this as much as descriptive/prose-y fics 🤞🏽

perm taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey — @kissmete — @jaylaxies — @tobiosbbyghorl — @hoondrop — @chaeneu

2025 © yourislandgirl

[madamechrissy]

Mr. Nanami's Secretary

Pairings - Boss Nanami x Secretary reader

Contents/warnings- based off the movie 'The Secretary' quite clearly aha, BDSM heavy, dom/sub elements, Nanami is NOT nice lol, power dynamics, some sexual teasing, quite an ass beating bc Nanami is mad at your typos!!!

This is for my baby @indiewritesxoxo she wanted this fic to win so badly lol! If ya'll want a tag for part two lmk in the comments <3

How did you end up here?

Crawling on all fours, with Mr. Nanami's paper dangling between your lips, wearing your black gartered stockings and your little blouse and pencil skirt, utterly professional looking - but here you are, crawling like a little puppy over his hardwood floors. As you get closer and enter his office, he leans back, lowering his green glasses, stern face assessing you when you crawl up to him.

You tilt your chin up and he reaches a hand down, tugging it out of your teeth's grip, inspecting it while tugging at his cheetah tie. It's the one quirky thing about his otherwise serious attire, this suit that fits him just a bit tightly, his muscles so big under his dress shirt it's like the material has to stretch.

You know there are two outcomes to this paper.

One, praise.

Two, punishment.

You're perfectly happy with either, you love his punishment as much as you love his praise - only one thing would be better, and that's having all of Mr. Nanami, which you're dying for. Your cunt is wet again just thinking about it, about another three days of not sitting right because he's beat you with his belt, and maybe he'd actually do more with you.

Nanami's lips purse as he's carefully studying your typing, if he finds just one flaw, you'll be bent over his desk, if you do it perfectly, he'll pat your head so sweet and let you rest your cheek on his lap. The thoughts make your heart race, as you patiently wait, your palms flat on your thighs as he likes you.

"Hmm," his husky sound just makes you desire him more, fuck you're tired of touching yourself to the thoughts of him, eyeing his side profile in the soft lights ahead. "What a shame, you almost got it all completely perfect."

"I did-"

"Did I tell you to speak?" His voice is calm, raising a thin brow, turning to you now, you're flushed when he tilts your chin up with two fingers, hazel eyes glinting.

"No, Sir."

"No, I didn't, yet you're still talking, huh?" You open your mouth again, just to close it. "I was going to let this slide, because it's just one letter wrong, but..."

He stands now, pushing back his giant office chair, standing so tall over you as his hand enwraps in your hair, tugging just a bit, you see the tenting in his slacks, making your cunt throb around nothing. You barely hold in a whine as he speaks slowly.

"Go lock the door."

You know better than to argue or ask, it's been your new routine, serving him, and he in turn tells you what to do. What to eat, what to wear, what to say, fuck you love it, love feeling like finally your life has some sort of order, wanting it to belong to him utterly.

With a gentle click of his door, you look back over your shoulder at him, so tall and broad, he's loosened his tie just a bit, showcasing the veins running across his neck. You swallow nervously as you head back to him, until your heels are right against his perfectly polished dress shoes.

"Bend over the desk," he murmurs, stepping around it, as you walk up nervously, doing just that. "Lift your skirt."

You're palms flat on the desk, arched for him, you've tugged your skirt up over the curve of your ass, while he just stands there. "Mr. Nanami..."

"I haven't given you permission to speak darling, have I?" The way it rolls off his tongue, when you feel his fingers ghosting your ass, the way you wish he'd do more, touch more, for once he does barely brush your slit for just a moment, your eyes shut, a gasp escaping. "Your slutty cunt is soaking wet from crawling on the floor?"

You look back at him, he nods. "No sir."

"What are you dripping for? Going to make a mess of my floors, tsk," he aches to sink two fingers inside your cunt - but not just yet, you have to need him more, beg for it more. So instead he lands a sharp smack against your ass cheek, cock throbbing when he sees his hand print, hearing your muffled cry as you bite your lip. "Ah ah."

He leans over, cupping your chin now, you're arching further against him, dying for more contact, he lands another smack. "Mr. Nanami..."

"Don't muffle your cries, I want to hear them, hmm? Nod if you understand." You nod quickly, nearly tasting his breath before he pulls back and lands another smack. The sharp sting just makes your cunt ache even more.

He doesn't stop there, no his sharp smacks echo in his office, mixed with muffled cries as your tears well up in your eyes, sniffling as you try to not fall to the ground. It's one after the other, so many your thighs nearly collapse, smacks until you'll be bruised from him for weeks, marked from him.

The sight of you was so fucking sexy like this, Nanami can't stand it, your arousal glistening and dripping down your inner thigh. He swipes a bit of it up, your thighs are twitching, cunt pushing more and more clear strings of arousal out. He can't help but captures some of it on his thumb, slipping it in his mouth and biting back a moan and how good you fucking taste, before smacking the fuck out of your ass again.

He loves how it jiggles for him, he loves how his hand prints are littered across it in patterns. "Don't move, you know the rules, don't you?"

"S-Sorry..." You can't help it, not when he touched the cunt you've been playing with since you started working here. "Could you... do more?"

"Now you're demanding things of me? That's not how this works, darling." He smacks you right across your cunt, your head falls back, hoarse moan escaping from your throat. "Do you deserve that after that glaringly apparent typo?"

"N-no..."

"I was going to lick this pretty cunt," he trails a finger from your clit up your dripping slit, up past your hole, teasing but never entering, yet this is more from Mr. Nanami than you've gotten so far. "But you aren't acting appropriately, are you Miss?"

"No, I'm sorry Mr. Nanami - ah!" He smacks your cunt again, fuck you almost cum, the sting and burn and ache so perfect, but then he pulls back, brushing back your hair almost gently.

"Go type the paper up again, make it perfect, not one mistake, hmm?" He tugs at your hair, yanking your head back, you nod, and he smiles just a bit. "Good girl."

He leaves you to sit back in his chair, you carefully tug your skirt down, biting your lip at the sweet pain, you go to open the door when he stops you. "Yes Mr. Nanami?"

"Hands and knees," he says softly, you sink right down, and he smiles just a bit, serious attorney Nanami having just one little moment where you see the real him come through. "Crawl on back to your desk now."

He props his feet up, crossing his legs at the heels, as you do just that. You should feel degraded, or feel some shame, right? But all you can think of as you crawl to your desk is how badly you want your boss Mr. Nanami inside you, even as you can barely sit on your stinging and bruised ass, you feel it, your mind drifting to it.

Just how did you get here?

♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎

I love when Nanami is mean lol

[dykebehaviour]

more loser!ellie please 🙏🙏

taking loser!gf!ellie with you for lingerie shopping

cw: fluff, suggestive, loser lesbian!ellie, fem!reader.

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it starts with one sentence. one sentence and a perfectly timed glance over your shoulder while you’re straddling her on the couch.

“i need new lingerie.”

ellie doesn’t respond at first. she just sort of… short-circuits.

you’re wearing her hoodie - the green one with the stretched sleeves and little bleach spots on the cuff - and nothing underneath it. your thighs are bare against the scratchy fabric of her secondhand couch. your lip’s caught between your teeth. and you say it so casually, like you’re telling her you need shampoo. like you’re not already half in her lap, driving her fucking insane.

she’s holding a half-lit joint and stares at you like you’ve just told her the world’s ending.

“i’m sorry,” she says finally. “you what?”

“i need lingerie,” you say again, slowly this time, like she’s old or confused. you stretch, arms up over your head, hoodie riding even higher on your thighs. you blink down at her. “i’m low on pretty stuff.”

she blinks. once. twice. her fingers flex against your hips like she’s trying to ground herself. “isn’t all your stuff already… pretty?”

you grin. “that’s sweet. but no. i want the really pretty kind. the ridiculous kind. bows and lace and way too many straps.”

ellie’s jaw flexes. “oh.”

you let the silence stretch.

then: “you wanna come with me?”

ellie’s eyes shoot up. her whole body goes rigid, like you just asked her to go to war.

“to… to the lingerie store?”

you nod, very nonchalant. “yeah. i need a second opinion.”

“right. because i’m so… fashion-forward.”

“you are when it comes to me.”

ellie says nothing. her fingers twitch where they rest on your thighs. she’s pretending to look cool, but her mouth is slightly open and she hasn’t blinked in way too long.

you raise an eyebrow. “that a yes?”

she clears her throat. “uh. yeah. sure. i mean, yeah. i can do that. just, like… be normal. in the lingerie store. like a normal person.”

you lean in, grin widening. “you’ve never been normal, ellie.”

“yeah,” she breathes. “and it’s about to get so much worse.”

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the next day, she dresses like she’s attending your funeral.

dark jeans. beat-up converse. that ratty smashing pumpkins tee she only wears when she’s feeling brave, and a zip-up hoodie over the top. she doesn’t style her hair, just pulls it into a low bun and lets the baby curls frizz around her ears. you kiss her temple as she slouches into the passenger seat of your car, and she groans into her hands like you’ve just kissed her in front of a firing squad.

you, on the other hand, look unfairly hot.

hair pretty. lip gloss on. you even sprayed perfume - the one that makes her dizzy and stupid. you keep twirling your hair around your finger at red lights. keep crossing and uncrossing your legs like you don’t know exactly what it’s doing to her.

“please be gentle with me,” ellie mumbles as you pull into the parking garage.

“no promises.”

she groans again.

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the store is a lot.

it’s pink. everything is soft, glowing, wrapped in silk and tulle. the music is sultry - some slow, breathy remix of something you danced to at a party last summer. the mannequins are tall, leggy, headless, and intimidating. there’s a neon sign above the back wall in soft cursive that says treat yourself, baby.

ellie stares up at it like she’s witnessing a religious experience.

she mutters under her breath, “this place is terrifying.”

you loop your arm through hers and tug her deeper into the racks of lace and mesh.

“i thought you liked terrifying things,” you say.

“i do. usually. but this is… this is uncharted territory.”

you pause in front of a rack of blush-colored balconette bras and grin. “you mean you’ve never been in here before?”

ellie frowns. “i’m gay, not suicidal.”

you laugh, loud and bright, and the sound makes her smile, even if her ears are beet red.

she keeps her hands shoved in the front pocket of her hoodie. doesn’t touch anything. doesn’t even look too long at any single item, in case it kills her.

you, on the other hand, are in your element.

you move through the store like a dream, trailing your fingers over lace, pausing to hold up sheer teddies and corsets, tossing matching panties over your arm like it’s a fashion show and you’re the star. you pick up a strappy red bra and turn toward her, holding it against your chest.

“this one?” you ask.

ellie swallows. loudly. “jesus christ.”

you smirk. “so… yes?”

“yeah. definitely. that’s gonna haunt me in the best way.”

you pick up a few more pieces - pale blue, black silk, something sheer and embroidered with little moons and stars - and disappear into the dressing room with a wink.

ellie stands awkwardly outside, pretending to browse a rack of crotchless boyshorts. she checks her phone. bounces on the balls of her feet. almost asks the assistant if they have snacks, then realises that’s a completely insane thing to do in a lingerie store and shuts up.

then, your voice calls out from behind the curtain:

“babe?”

her heart stutters. “yeah?”

“can you come help me zip this?”

she drops her phone. literally drops it.

fumbles to pick it up. wipes her palms on her jeans. tries to act like her pulse isn’t pounding in her ears as she stumbles toward the back room like she’s walking toward her execution.

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the curtain slides shut behind her.

and ellie’s knees immediately go weak.

you’re standing in front of a full-length mirror in the softest, sexiest thing she’s ever seen. lavender lace. bare back. garter belt. stockings hugging your thighs. your skin glowing under the warm lights, the soft sheen of the fabric clinging to every curve like it was custom made for you.

you glance at her over your shoulder, all doe-eyed and dangerous. “can you zip it?”

ellie doesn’t answer. she just stares.

she looks like she’s in pain. mouth open. eyes wide. her gaze drags from your heels to your thighs to your hips to your back to your shoulders to your lips. she shifts on her feet like she’s trying to adjust herself without making it obvious, but you notice. of course you do.

you always do.

you smile slowly. “you okay, el?”

she clears her throat and steps forward. her hands are shaking as she reaches for the zipper. she’s so careful. touches you like you’re breakable. her fingers brush your spine and she jolts like she touched a live wire.

“i’m fine,” she lies, softly. “so fine. doing amazing. really holding it together.”

you turn to face her, and her mouth parts helplessly.

“do you like it?” you murmur.

“‘like’ is the understatement of the century,” she says. “i’m actually blacking out a little. Is that normal?”

you step closer. she doesn’t move away. she never does.

“i’ve got a few more to try,” you say. “want to help me with the rest?”

she exhales shakily. “this is a trap.”

you hum. “maybe.”

“you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“i hope so.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you model four more outfits.

with each one, ellie unravels a little more.

the second is all black mesh with star embroidery. the third is a deep red strappy set that leaves very, very little to the imagination. the fourth has tiny silk bows and pearl accents. the fifth, the final one, is so sheer you have to cover your nipples when you step out just to give her a chance.

she stares. frozen. absolutely wrecked.

you cross the room, slide your arms around her neck, and lean in until your lips brush her ear.

“i’m getting this one.”

she makes a noise, something breathless and desperate, and rests her forehead on your shoulder.

“you’re evil,” she whispers. “this is psychological warfare.”

you kiss her jaw. “you love it.”

“i do,” she groans. “that’s the worst part.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

at checkout, ellie carries the bags like they’re sacred objects.

she hasn’t made eye contact with anyone in ten minutes. her ears are bright red. her face is still flushed. you hand the cashier your card and glance back at her, amused.

“you’re very quiet.”

“i’m recovering,” she mutters.

“from what?”

she glares at you, eyes glassy. “you flashed your ass at me in four different colours and then smiled like it was nothing. i saw your nipples through lace. that wasn’t just ‘nothing.’ that was a religious experience.”

you giggle and slide your arm through hers as you leave the store.

she’s still dazed when you reach the car.

you lean against the passenger door and grin. “wanna come back to mine?”

she nods immediately. “yes. oh my god. please.”

“for what?”

“closure. a cold shower. therapy. a full spiritual reset.”

you lean in, kiss her cheek, lips sticky with gloss. “i’ll wear the red one.”

she nearly walks into a parked car.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

perm taglist: @yasmilks , @natsheretic , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @pearlsiie , @aj0elap0l0gist , @sincerelyherz , @imsiriuslycool , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie <3

[keirareidss]

tight skirts and nerdy glasses - s.r

♡ summary: spencer gets flustered when you wear a short skirt to work pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut wc: 1.3k inspo

Spencer glanced at his phone again. Read 20 minutes ago. You'd been texting earlier, him telling you about the toast he made this morning, and you letting him know you were going to be a bit late to work because of your doctor's appointment. His last message to you read, 'how's everything at the doctors office?'

You read the message but never responded. Maybe your name was called. Maybe you got some really bad news and couldn't handle talking to anyone right now. Maybe-

The door to the BAU office opened, heels thumping quietly on the carpet floor, Spencer's head lifting to follow the sound. His eyes caught on your figure, watching as you strutted towards your desk, sending a dazzling smile at Derek.

"Hey, gorgeous." Morgan's chair spun slowly as he turned to follow you with his full body. Spencer understood the feeling. The magnetic pull of you, his body being tugged in your direction.

"Morgan." You drawled in greeting, reaching your desk where you set down your purse, turning your attention to the dorky man across from you. "Hi, Spencer."

"Hi." He said, his throat dry. "You didn't answer my text." He was deliberately keeping his eyes on yours, forcing them not to drag down to the short skirt clinging to your legs. The hem barely kissed mid thigh, surely not appropriate for work but you were on good terms with Hotch so he'd let it slide.

Spencer had noticed the skirt right when you walked in. The sway of your hips distracted him from the cute pink and black pattern, his eyes widening. He barely pulled his eyes away from your ass when you reached your desk, not confident that you hadn't seen him ogling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you know what happened? I responded in my head and I forgot to actually text you back." You explained, chuckling as you tuck your purse under your desk. His eyebrows furrowed, confused.

"Oh." He said dumbly.

"Do you want a coffee? I'm gonna run to the kitchen." You asked, hesitating by your desk.

"No, I'm good." He responds, unable to help the way his eyes follow your ass. He tries not to stare, he really does, but he can't help but be bewitched by the way your skirt rides up the back of your thighs as you walk.

He forces his eyes back to the file on his desk but, out of the corner of his eye, he notices your figure bending down at the waist, picking up one of the stir sticks you dropped on the floor. He turns his head, his breath hitching as he caught a glimpse of your underwear under the skirt.

He quickly averts his eyes, a blush rising on his cheeks. He kept his eyes down as you sat back down with your coffee, sighing softly as you turned on your computer, heading to your email folder. Spencer didn't have to worry about accidentally mindlessly gazing at you, burying himself in his work.

The next incident is when you bump into Penelope as she hurries her way up to Hotch's office. She drops her pen which you bend down to pick up. Spencer's eyes find their way to you once again, burning into you. You hand Garcia her sparkly pen with the fuzzy top back to her, your head turning to find Spencer's stare.

You grin at him and he looks away, blushing as he adjusted his glasses. If there was one thing Spencer wore that you were absolutely obsessed with, it was his nerdy, black and gold glasses. They made him look so cute and innocent. They made you want to get on your knees and suck his cock until the glass fogged up.

You round his desk, leaning back against his and looking down at him. His eyes flicker to your thighs before he glanced up at you.

"Hi, Spence." You smiled, bracing your hands on the edge of his desk.

"Hi."

"Can I show you something?" You asked,

"What is it?" He tilted his head, the gold of his frames glinting in the light.

"Just come with me." You pulled him to his feet, starting to walk away. He doesn't follow right away frozen in his spot by the sight of your skirt, high on your thighs. He blinks quickly, rushing after you, following you out of the bullpen.

You lead him to a dark storage closet down the hall, following him inside. He turns to face you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What did you want to show me?" You stepped forward, chest to chest with him in the small space, standing up on your tip toes, your lips inches from his.

"I've seen you staring, Spencer." You purred and his eyes widened, cheeks flushing a pretty pink to match your skirt. "Is there something about my skirt that's enticing to you?"

"No! No, I mean, well- yes but, it's just-" You chuckled, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the soft of his sweater vest under your palms.

"Or is it something other than my skirt?" His face got redder as his back met the wall. Your fingers untucked his shirt from his slacks, finding his belt buckle. His breath hitches as he watches your movements. "Do you want this?" You asked looking up at him. He nodded frantically.

"Yes- please, please." Grinning, you sank down onto your knees in front of him, pulling his zipper down. His head falls back against the wall with a thump when your hand palms him through his boxers.

You free his hardening cock from his pants, stroking slowly and watching a bead of precum dribble from the tip. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, taking him into your mouth, feeling him heavy on your tongue. You take as much of him into your mouth as you can, breathing deeply through your nose.

"God- you, you're so..." Spencer whimpers his hand gripping your hair as you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the tip and he twitches in your mouth.

A trail of spit follows, clinging to your bottom lip as you pull back, looking at him. You were a sight for sore eyes, skirt bunched up your thighs as you sat on your knees, your hair tousled from Spencer's grip. You were his wet dream come to life. Well, it's more the other way around. His wet dreams were inspired by you, made of you.

His wide eyes stared down at you from behind his glasses as your hand continued to lazily stroke his length, his small whimpers music to your ears.

"I'm close." He warned you, moaning quietly.

"Do you want to cum in my mouth, Spencer?" He swore he stopped breathing when that sentence came out of your pretty pink lips. He could barely make his brain work enough to form a response.

"Y-yeah." You grinned, taking him past your lips again, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. With a few more bobs of your head, drags of your tongue, and twists of your wrist on the base of his dick, he's coming down your throat, his hot release coating the inside of your mouth, dribbling down your lip.

He moans, cursing under his breath as his hips jerk, his eyes squeezing shut. Once you've pulled every last drop from him you sit back, climbing to your feet. You brush off your skirt as Spencer does up his pants.

"You, uh- you look really pretty in that skirt."

"Oh, honey, I know." You pat his chest, walking out of the storage closet, leaving him leaning against the wall, chest heaving deeply as he stared at the sway of your hips in that skirt. That damn skirt.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[jkwrites-m]

Daddy Kookie (2)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, idol au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 6.4k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, angst, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, unintentional parental neglect, resentment, fighting, boundaries, guilt, burnout, anxiety, confessions, reunions, slapping, anger, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, explicit: PRAISING, kissing, missionary, tension, pillow talk, unprotected sex

A/N: here’s what was originally the ending of part one but for some reason i can’t post that many blocks 😒 so here’s the “part 2”.

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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I found Namjoon in the hotel gym that night.

He was alone, earbuds in, pacing the far side of the room with a water bottle tucked under one arm, muttering rehearsal notes to himself like he always did before a show. I stood in the doorway for a solid minute before I said anything.

He saw me in the mirror first.

Pulled out one earbud.

“You alright?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded once and didn’t press me.

Just set down his bottle and motioned toward the bench press like, sit.

I sat.

And for a while, neither of us said a word.

“I met with her this morning,” I said finally, my voice rough from not speaking since the show.

Namjoon didn’t ask who.

He just waited.

“I asked for an hour. She gave me exactly that.”

I rubbed my hands together. My legs were bouncing, and I couldn’t stop.

“I thought I was ready to see her. But I wasn’t.”

Still, Namjoon said nothing.

“She has a daughter.”

His brows lifted just slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“She’s mine,” I added. “Her name is Eun Ae.”

That got him.

Namjoon blinked slowly and sat down on the bench across from me. “You’re a dad?”

I nodded. “I didn’t know. I- God, hyung, I blocked her. She tried to tell me and I just… I disappeared.”

He sighed but didn’t scold me.

I think that made it worse.

“She raised her alone,” I said. “Worked. Went to school. Everything. No help. And I was here, living my dream while she was raising my kid and barely surviving.”

“You didn’t know,” Namjoon said carefully.

“I should’ve.”

“That’s true.”

I buried my face in my hands. “She’s giving me one chance. Tomorrow. At the zoo. I get to meet her - meet my daughter - for the first time and I don’t even know how to breathe around the thought of it.”

He let me sit in the silence for a beat.

Then: “What are you most scared of?”

“That she’ll hate me.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened.

“That she’ll ask me where I’ve been,” I whispered, “and I won’t know how to answer.”

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” he said. “You just have to show up. That’s what matters now.”

“I want to be in her life,” I said. “I want to earn it. I want to be someone she can count on. Not someone she has to recover from.”

Namjoon nodded slowly. “That’s a good place to start.”

“And Y/N…” My voice cracked. “I still love her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t expect her to forgive me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I want her to see that I’m not the same kid who left.”

“You’re not,” he said.

I looked up at him. “What if I ruin it again?”

“Then you don’t,” Namjoon said. “You show up. You listen. You apologize. You be present. And if they don’t let you in, you keep showing up until they do- or until they tell you to stop. Either way, you stay honest.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.

“Thanks, hyung.”

He gave a tired smile. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

I didn’t sleep much.

But I dreamed of a little girl with my eyes.

And Y/N beside her.

═══════

It was her idea to wear her tiger hoodie.

“Because we’re going to the zoo,” she said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

I tied her shoelaces twice- her feet wouldn’t stop bouncing- then stood up and stared at her for a moment too long.

“Mama?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

A pause.

“No,” I said. “I’m just thinking.”

It wasn’t a lie. I was thinking. About everything.

About how I swore he’d never meet her. About how easily I’d broken that rule yesterday. About how I’d watched his hands tremble when I said the word daughter.

He didn’t cry, not fully.

But he looked like someone who had finally understood what it meant to break something that couldn’t be fixed.

I kept that image close as I buckled her into her booster seat and drove to the zoo.

He was already waiting by the entrance.

Sunglasses. Mask. Hoodie. Head tucked down.

It should’ve made him look anonymous.

It didn’t.

Even behind all that, he looked unmistakably like him.

And when Eun Ae saw him, she didn’t pause.

She ran.

Full-speed. Straight up to him like she’d known him her whole life.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Eun Ae. Are you the friend Mama said we’re meeting?”

He knelt down slowly.

I watched his fingers shake as he pulled the mask down from his face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m… I’m Jungkook.”

“That’s a funny name,” she giggled. “Can I call you Mr. Kookie?”

He let out a short, stunned laugh.

“Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “You can call me that.”

She grabbed his hand like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

Like this hadn’t been six years coming.

I followed a few steps behind them, unsure what to do with my arms, my heart, my breath.

They moved together easily.

Too easily.

He matched her pace. Let her pick which exhibits to visit. Lifted her onto his shoulders to see the giraffes. Bought her a pretzel and wiped the cheese off her face without hesitation. They laughed at the same things. Tilted their heads the same way when they were curious. Chewed the straw of their drinks when they were thinking.

They were mirrors.

And I was the frame- holding it all together, barely.

At the tiger enclosure, Eun Ae pressed her palms to the glass and gasped.

“They’re so cool!” she shouted. “I want one!”

“They’re a little big for a pet,” Jungkook said, crouching next to her.

“I’d teach it tricks.”

“I bet you would.”

There was a pause. Then she asked the question I’d been dreading.

“Did you know my mom when she was my age?”

Jungkook blinked.

I tensed.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”

“Was she weird like me?”

“She was perfect,” he said. “Exactly like you.”

She grinned. “So… super weird?”

He laughed, and I heard something in it that sounded like mourning.

Later, while she climbed a small jungle gym near the café, I sat beside him on the bench.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched her, eyes full of things I didn’t want to name.

“She’s incredible,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“You already said that.”

“I’ll say it again,” he said. “As many times as you need.”

We sat in silence for a long time.

Then I heard my voice say something I hadn’t planned.

“You’re good with her.”

He turned to me, surprised.

“She doesn’t know who you are,” I added. “But she likes you.”

“I’m glad.”

“She’s never had… that. A male figure. Anyone to play like that with.”

He looked away. “That’s my fault.”

I didn’t correct him.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out.

A little stuffed tiger.

“I bought this on the way here,” he said, holding it up. “I didn’t know if I’d get to give it to her.”

She ran back to us just then, sweaty and smiling.

Jungkook knelt again and held out the tiger.

“For you.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Thanks, Mr. Kookie!”

She hugged him. No hesitation.

He closed his eyes like the moment hurt in a way he needed.

═══════

That night, after Eun Ae was tucked into bed, I sat on the couch with a blanket around my shoulders and my phone pressed to my ear.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Like the kind of quiet that presses in on your skin and makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

“She hugged him,” I whispered.

My best friend on the other end of the line didn’t speak. She waited. She always did.

“She hugged him like she’d known him her whole life. Like he hadn’t missed anything. Like he hadn’t disappeared.”

I wiped under my eyes with the edge of my sleeve.

“And he was… good with her. Gentle. Patient. Funny. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to meet her. Like he already loved her.”

“You sound surprised,” my friend said.

“I am,” I confessed. “I don’t want to be. But I am.”

There was a pause.

“You still love him,” she said.

I closed my eyes.

“Don’t,” I said softly. “Please.”

“Y/N-”

“I can’t afford to love him,” I whispered. “Not again. Not after what he did.”

The words came out raw and wet and cracked.

“I spent years hating him,” I said. “Years trying to forget the way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, the way he made me believe in things that never came true. And today, I watched him hold our daughter’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I…This could’ve been real. This life. This moment. All of it. If he had just… stayed.”

I swallowed the sob that threatened.

“I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel hate. I felt… sad. And full. And furious. And terrified. All at once.”

“You’re allowed to feel all of that.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

She didn’t say anything for a while.

Then: “Do you think he still loves you?”

I laughed. Quiet and bitter. “He says he does.”

“And do you believe him?”

I looked out the window. The city lights blinked back like stars caught in a snow globe.

“I believe he thinks he does,” I said. “But I don’t know if he loves me- who I am now. Not the girl he left behind.”

“You don’t have to decide anything now.”

“I don’t want to decide anything,” I said. “I just want to breathe again.”

I hung up after that.

Tucked my phone under the blanket and rested my head on the arm of the couch. My eyes closed. My chest ached. I felt heavy and hollow and full of fire all at the same time.

And then I heard it.

A shuffle.

A creak of the hallway floorboard.

I turned.

Jungkook stood there, just outside the door frame, his hand against the wall like he needed it to hold himself up.

He hadn’t knocked.

He hadn’t said a word.

He just looked at me like he’d walked straight into the center of a storm he hadn’t seen coming.

“You heard all that,” I said, my voice flat.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. “I was bringing back the little drawing she made. She left it in my jacket pocket. I was going to knock. I just… heard you.”

I sat up slowly.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He didn’t budge.

“Y/N,” he said softly, voice shaking. “I love you. Not just the girl I left. Not some idea. You. Right now. All of it.”

And then he crossed the room.

Without another word, he bent down and kissed me.

Soft and sure and shaking all at once.

And for one second - just one - I kissed him back.

It was like breathing again for the first time in years. Like lightning. Like a heartbeat I didn’t know I missed.

But then I pulled back.

And I slapped him.

Hard.

He didn’t even flinch.

“You can’t just do that,” I said, my voice rising. “You don’t get to walk in here, say I love you, and kiss me like it erases what you did.”

“I know,” he said, eyes shining. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I just needed you to know it’s real.”

A long silence stretched between us.

He finally set the folded piece of paper on the table.

It was a crayon drawing. Stick figures. A tiger. The word “KOOKIE” spelled backwards across the top.

“I’ll go,” he said, stepping back. “But… thank you. For today.”

He turned and walked out before I could say a word.

And I sat there, hands shaking, heart a mess, trying not to chase after him.

Because no matter how much I wanted to…

I didn’t know if I could survive loving him again.

═══════

I didn’t mean to kiss her.

I meant to leave.

I meant to say those words and walk away like a man who’d learned his lesson. Who knew better now.

But when I looked at her- sitting on that couch, eyes full of grief and strength- I forgot what I was supposed to do.

And when her lips touched mine back… for that brief, burning second, I thought maybe I wasn’t too late.

But then she slapped me.

And she was right to.

I walked out shortly after. The drawing Eun Ae made was still on the table. The door shut behind me like punctuation on a sentence I’d rewritten too many times in my head.

I didn’t go to my room.

I went to Namjoon’s.

He was still up, writing in a leather-bound notebook like always. When he opened the door and saw my face, he didn’t ask. Just moved aside to let me in.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the hem of my hoodie.

“She still hates me,” I said.

Namjoon didn’t reply. Just waited.

“I heard her talking to someone. On the phone. After the zoo.” I exhaled shakily. “She said it could’ve been real. The life. The moment. If I had just stayed.”

My voice cracked.

“She’s right,” I said. “It could’ve been. I destroyed everything.”

Namjoon sat in the chair across from me, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t destroy everything.”

“I kissed her,” I admitted.

That got a raised eyebrow.

“She kissed me back. For a second. Then she slapped me.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “You probably deserved it.”

“I definitely deserved it.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs, head in my hands.

“She thinks I’m just showing up now because of Eun Ae. But it’s not that. I was going to try before I even knew. I swear. I just… I still love her. That never went away.”

“I know,” Namjoon said. “We all do.”

“She said she doesn’t know if I love who she is now. Not the girl I left behind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “She’s stronger. Sharper. She’s everything I wish I’d grown up fast enough to deserve.”

Namjoon nodded slowly.

“Then show her,” he said. “Not with words. You’ve said enough. Do something.”

“Like what?”

“Think,” he said. “What did she love? What mattered to her?”

I blinked.

“Wildflowers,” I said. “She always picked the ugly ones growing out of sidewalk cracks. Said they were survivors.”

Namjoon smiled. “Then that’s where you start.”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.

“I’m going to show up,” I said. “Every day. Until she tells me not to. Or until she believes me.”

“Good,” Namjoon said. “And Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a piece of shit. You were a scared kid who made a selfish mistake. Now you’re a man who has to own it.”

I nodded again.

I wasn’t running anymore.

Tomorrow, I’d bring her flowers.

Not roses.

Not something expensive or flashy.

Just wildflowers.

The ones that survive.

═══════

He didn’t text the next morning.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t knock.

But when I opened the door to take out the trash, there was a bouquet of wildflowers on the step.

No note.

No explanation.

Just color.

Simple and honest.

I stared at them for a long time before I brought them inside.

I didn’t put them in a vase.

Not yet.

Eun Ae noticed them instantly.

“Oooh, are those for you?”

“Yeah,” I said, almost under my breath.

“From Mr. Kookie?”

I froze.

She giggled. “He smells like sunshine.”

I blinked. “What?”

“His hoodie. It smelled like sunshine. And gum.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

She took one of the smaller stems from the bouquet and tucked it behind my ear before skipping off to play.

═══════

The next day, he didn’t bring flowers.

He brought her a book.

One of those thick picture books with a glittery cover and a dragon on the front. She shrieked like she’d won the lottery. He handed it to her without a word and let her read to him, even though she kept skipping pages and making up half the story.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t correct her.

He just smiled like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

I watched from the kitchen, trying not to feel anything.

Trying to stay steady.

Trying not to remember the way his hand had felt on my cheek when he kissed me.

And the sting of my own palm after.

═══════

The third day, he showed up with both- flowers for me, a new stuffed animal (a bunny this time) for her, and takeout from my favorite noodle place.

He didn’t ask to stay.

Just handed it over, bowed, and walked away.

I didn’t stop him.

But I didn’t close the door right away either.

═══════

The fourth day, he didn’t come.

And I hated how I noticed.

How the absence felt like a missing rhythm in my day. A skipped beat.

I told myself it was good. Smart. Necessary.

That space was healthy.

But then he texted.

Jungkook: Didn’t want to crowd you today. Just… wanted you to know I’m here.

I didn’t reply.

But I stared at that message for a long time.

═══════

The fifth day, he came by again. This time he asked if we wanted to go for ice cream.

Eun Ae screamed like he’d asked her to Disneyland.

I tried to say no.

I did.

But my mouth betrayed me.

“Okay,” I said. “Just an hour.”

He didn’t smile like he won.

He smiled like it hurt to be that grateful.

We walked to the corner shop with her bouncing between us. He let her pick his flavor. She made him get bubblegum. He pretended to like it. I knew he didn’t.

He caught me watching him.

And didn’t look away.

That night, after she was in bed, I sat on the same couch, stared at the same wall, and whispered into the dark:

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

And I meant it.

I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But I also wasn’t closing the door anymore.

Not all the way.

═══════

I should’ve known it was too good to last.

The morning started perfect.

Too perfect.

Jungkook showed up with matching zoo t-shirts he found online. One for him, one for Eun Ae. Hers said “Mini Tiger.” His said “Big Tiger.”

She laughed for five straight minutes and made him wear it out in public.

I rolled my eyes and told him he was shameless.

He just grinned and handed me a coffee with two extra espresso shots- exactly the way I liked it.

“Trying to bribe me?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

I didn’t smile.

But my fingers brushed his on accident when I took the cup.

And I didn’t pull away.

We took Eun Ae to the botanical gardens. Let her feed koi fish and run across wooden bridges with her stuffed tiger tucked under one arm. Jungkook stayed close the entire time. Carrying her backpack, tying her shoe when it came undone, wiping ice cream off her face.

It almost looked like a family. 

Almost.

We sat on the grass to rest before lunch, and she ran over to the koi pond like it was a different world.

“She’s so comfortable with you,” I said, trying not to let it sound like an accusation.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I want her to be.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then he looked at me and said something that should’ve been sweet.

But it wasn’t.

“She’s just like you, you know.”

I blinked.

“She’s strong and stubborn and always needs to be right. She even talks with her hands like you do- ”

“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

He froze. “What?”

“Don’t compare us like that.”

“I wasn’t- I meant it as a good thing-”

“She’s not a mirror, Jungkook,” I snapped. “She’s a person. Her own person.”

“I know that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like- ”

“You weren’t around. You don’t know what she’s like. You’ve seen her for what? A week? You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

And I saw something shift in his eyes.

Something small and hurt.

Then a tiny voice interrupted us.

“I’m sorry,” Eun Ae whispered.

We both turned.

She was standing by the fish pond again, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” she sniffled. “I’ll be good.”

“No,” I said quickly, moving toward her. “Baby, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She clung to me like her little heart might explode.

I scooped her up and pressed her to my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice thick. “I’m not mad at you. I promise. You didn’t do anything.”

She looked over my shoulder at Jungkook. “Are you mad too?”

He shook his head, eyes glassy. “No, sweetheart. Never.”

“I just wanted to have a nice day,” she mumbled.

My throat tightened.

“I know,” I whispered.

We sat on the bench together for a long time after that.

No one said much.

═══════

Eun Ae fell asleep in the car on the way home, and Jungkook carried her inside like muscle memory. He tucked her into bed without needing directions, covered her with her favorite blanket, and kissed the crown of her head before stepping back like it hurt to walk away.

Neither of us said much after that.

He left for the venue early that night to prep for their final concert.

I stood in the hallway after he left, hand pressed against the door, heart aching like it was made of split seams and bad timing.

I didn’t cry.

But I wanted to.

Because I knew this was what I did.

Push away before I could be left again.

═══════

The stadium vibrated under my feet.

Screams rolled like thunder across the roof, and I could feel the beat of the music reverberating through the concrete backstage walls.

It was the final night of BTS’s residency.

Everything was fire.

Everything was electric.

Everything was right- except me.

I stood at the main comms table with a headset snug against my ears, spitting rapid-fire cues to the light techs, the camera ops, and the runners, my voice a metronome of control.

“Camera C, pan stage right. Cue smoke burst. Light rig alpha, wait two seconds on drop- no, two seconds, not four-”

My tone was clipped. My spine straight.

On the outside, I looked like I had it together.

But I could feel it.

The crack behind my ribs. The pulse behind my eyes. The way I flinched every time his voice cut through the speakers.

Every note he sang.

Every lyric he poured his soul into.

It hurt.

I told myself I didn’t care.

I told myself I was over it.

But every time the lights shifted and his silhouette appeared, I remembered the way he’d looked when he kissed me and the way he’d stayed when I slapped him.

I remembered how his voice broke when he said, “I love you. Right now. All of it.”

I remembered the way he meant it.

And I remembered how much that terrified me.

“Y/N?” someone called in my ear. “Spotlight three needs confirmation. We’re doing the slow solo bridge in thirty.”

I blinked, the fog in my head thick.

“Copy that,” I said quickly. “Cue in thirty. Confirm on bridge.”

I watched the monitors as he stepped up to the center of the stage.

Alone.

Golden lights haloed around him. Fans screamed his name from every direction.

And he sang.

Not just to them.

I knew that voice.

I knew when it was for the crowd…

…and when it was for me.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

Stop it.

Don’t romanticize this.

Don’t soften.

But I did.

I always did.

Every time his voice cracked. Every time he hit a note like it cost him a piece of himself.

He looked straight into the lens during the final chorus- the one that streamed to every screen in the arena.

It was almost too direct.

Too intentional.

And in that moment, I knew.

He wasn’t singing to a sea of strangers.

He was singing to me.

The cue ended. The screen faded to black. Lights cut. Screams exploded.

My heart thudded harder than the bass.

I turned away from the monitor and pulled off my headset.

I needed air.

The crew backstage was already preparing for encore. The guys were offstage hydrating, catching their breath, prepping for the last two songs.

I slipped through a side door and stepped out into the shadowed corridor by the loading dock. It was cold. Quiet. The noise of the crowd muffled by thick walls.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

I didn’t want this to hurt.

But it did.

I didn’t want to care.

But I did.

And worst of all?

I didn’t want to want him.

But God, I did.

═══════

The cheers were still echoing in my bones.

My shirt clung to my back, soaked through with sweat. My hair was dripping. My lungs were still catching up.

But all I could think about was her.

I didn’t see her once during the show. Not backstage. Not in the wings. Not even in the flashes of tech crew darting through shadows.

But I felt her.

Like gravity.

Like silence.

Like a missing beat in the rhythm I couldn’t get right.

I sat alone in the dressing room while the rest of the guys laughed and recapped their favorite fan chants. Jimin had his feet on the table, Taehyung was dancing shirtless with a can of soda, and Jin was complaining about the confetti in his hair.

But I couldn’t join them.

I couldn’t even smile.

My hands trembled as I unlaced my boots. My knees bounced restlessly. My throat was dry, but I couldn’t drink anything.

Because all I could hear was her voice.

“You don’t know what she’s like.”

“You weren’t around.”

“You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

She was right.

Every word.

I’d tried so hard to connect, I didn’t realize I was stepping on landmines she’d spent years trying to bury.

I messed it up.

Again.

“Yo,” Namjoon said, stepping into the room and tossing me a towel. “You good?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

I sighed. “I know.”

He sat down across from me, cracking open a bottle of water and sliding one my way.

“She didn’t talk to me tonight,” I said.

“You talk to her?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then maybe she’s waiting.”

“Or maybe she’s done.”

Namjoon didn’t say anything to that. He just leaned back and looked at me with those eyes that saw way too much.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

I blinked. “Regret what?”

“Kissing her.”

I hesitated.

“No,” I said. “Not for a second.”

“She kissed you back.”

“Just for a second.”

“But she did,” he said. “And that means something.”

“Does it?”

He nodded. “It means she hasn’t closed the door. She’s just scared to open it.”

I stared at the floor.

“I don’t want to scare her,” I whispered. “I just want to show her that I’m not that kid anymore. That I’m not running. That I’m here. I’m here.”

Namjoon leaned forward. “Then tell her. Really tell her. Not to fix things. Not to beg. Just to say it. Say what you didn’t back then.”

I nodded slowly.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” I said. 

“Then tonight’s your last chance.”

“I don’t know if she’ll open the door.”

“Then knock anyway.”

I looked up.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “If she sends me away, I don’t know if I’ll recover.”

“She won’t send you away,” he said. “Not if you’re honest. Not if you’re real.”

I took a deep breath.

I was real.

I was terrified.

But I was real.

═══════

I didn’t ask what he was doing here.

I didn’t ask why he looked like he hadn’t slept in days or why his fingers were twitching at his sides like they didn’t know how to be still.

I just watched as he stepped inside my apartment, slowly, like the floor might vanish beneath him and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

He stood there for a long time.

Like he couldn’t find the words.

Like if he said the wrong thing, I’d vanish.

I leaned against the wall and waited.

He finally looked up.

“I didn’t know how to leave this city without seeing you again.”

I didn’t reply.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said. “Not your forgiveness. Not a second chance. Not some happy ending I don’t deserve. I just… I need you to know.”

His voice cracked.

“I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

My breath caught.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped. I left because I was scared. And young. And stupid. And then I was ashamed. So ashamed I couldn’t even look at myself. So I blocked you. I shut you out. Because every time I thought of you, I remembered what I threw away.”

My throat burned.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said. “And you raised our daughter without me. You built a life, a home, a future- and I wasn’t there. I missed her first words. Her first steps. Her birthdays. I missed everything.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I don’t deserve to be her dad. I don’t deserve to even stand in this hallway. But I’m here. And if there’s even the smallest piece of you that believes I could be more than what I was-”

He stopped.

Swallowed hard.

“-then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

The silence that followed felt like thunder.

And then I whispered, “You don’t get to walk back in and say the right thing and expect it to fix the past.”

“I know,” he said, hoarse.

“But…”

He looked up.

“But you said the right thing anyway.”

And then I stepped toward him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Until I reached for him.

And he broke.

His hands cupped my face like I was something fragile, like I was glass, like he wasn’t sure if I’d let him keep holding me.

And when he kissed me- this time- I didn’t slap him.

I kissed him back.

Hard. Messy. Real.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t soft.

It was years of ache and regret and longing that had nowhere else to go.

His hoodie came off, tossed aside like it was nothing, and mine followed, sliding to the floor in a forgotten heap.

Hands found skin like they were remembering. His fingers traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, like he was mapping me again, reclaiming territory he’d lost. 

My back hit the hallway wall, the cold plaster a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against mine. He kissed down my neck, his breath hot and ragged, and whispered, 

“I missed you so much. I missed this. I missed you.”

I moaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding layers like they were shackles, breathless and desperate. 

The bed creaked beneath us as he lowered me onto it, his weight hovering above me, his eyes searching mine like he needed permission.

“This okay?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his voice raw with need and uncertainty. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest, but he needed more. 

“Say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips found mine again, hungry and demanding, but his hands were gentle, reverent, like he was worshipping me. He kissed his way down my body, pausing at my breasts, his tongue tracing the curve of my nipples, his lips murmuring praises against my skin. 

“God, I missed these. So fucking beautiful.”

I arched into his touch, my breath hitching as his hands slid down my thighs, his fingers brushing the edge of my panties. He hooked them with a single finger, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Always were.”

He kissed his way back up, his lips brushing mine before trailing down my neck, his hands roaming over my body like he was memorizing every inch. 

“I’ve thought about this every day,” he confessed, his breath hot against my ear. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

I reached for him, my hands tracing the lean muscles of his back, the ink of his tattoo sleeve, the piercings that glinted under the dim light. He was solid and real, and I couldn’t stop touching him, like I needed to prove he was here, that this was real.

He shifted above me, his eyes dark with need, and I felt him, hard and insistent against my thigh. 

“I need you,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping my hips. “Now.”

I nodded, my heart racing, my body aching for him. He didn’t waste another second. He entered me slowly, his eyes locked on mine, his breath catching as he filled me completely. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel so good.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate, his hips rocking into mine, his hands gripping my thighs like he was anchoring himself to me. 

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding, and I obeyed, my eyes meeting his, holding his gaze as he thrust deeper, harder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine with each movement. “So perfect.”

His words sent shivers down my spine, his praise fueling the fire burning between us. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts with my own, our bodies moving in perfect sync. 

“Jungkook,” I gasped, my nails digging into his back, my voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight in my core.

He growled, his pace quickening, his hands gripping my hips tighter, his control slipping. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

His words were my undoing. My walls clenched around him, my body trembling as my orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure washing through me, my breath catching in a sharp cry. “Jungkook!”

He whispered into my neck, his lips brushing my skin, his voice hoarse and desperate. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His words were a balm, a salve to wounds I didn’t realize were still raw. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back, my body still trembling as he followed me over the edge, his thrusts becoming frantic, his breath ragged against my skin. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he came, his body shuddering above me, his release a sharp, primal sound.

He collapsed onto me, his weight heavy but comforting, his breath hot against my neck. For a moment, we just lay there, our hearts pounding in unison, our bodies still joined, the silence thick with unspoken emotions.

He brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, voice trembling.

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t ask him to leave either.

And that was enough.

For now.

═══════

I woke up to the sound of his breathing.

Slow. Steady.

It filled the room like the soft hum of a song I hadn’t heard in years.

For a moment, I didn’t open my eyes.

I just listened.

Soaked in the weight of him next to me. The warmth of his arm draped around my waist. The rise and fall of his chest behind my back. His hand, large and gentle, resting against my ribs like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

The light was pale through the blinds. Morning had barely begun.

But the ache in my chest already knew it was time.

I turned over slowly.

He was already awake.

Watching me.

Not smiling. Not saying anything.

Just looking.

Like this was the first morning of his life that made sense.

I searched his face for hesitation.

There wasn’t any.

Just quiet awe.

And something softer than I knew what to do with.

“You didn’t sleep,” I whispered.

“Didn’t want to.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Didn’t want to miss this.”

My throat tightened.

I looked away.

“You’re leaving today.”

It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “My flight’s in four hours.”

I swallowed.

“Will you tell her?”

He nodded again. “I want to. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“I’ll wait.”

I looked back at him.

He meant it.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said softly.

“Me neither,” he replied. “But I want to find out.”

Silence stretched between us like thread.

“Can I see you before I go?” he asked.

“You’re seeing me now.”

He smiled. Just barely. “After I pack. Before the airport.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no.

He leaned in and kissed me once- just once- like he didn’t want to ask for more than I could give.

Then he pulled back, exhaled, and whispered:

“I’m so in love with you.”

I didn’t say it back.

But I didn’t need to.

Because he pressed his forehead to mine, closed his eyes, and stayed there for a long time.

And when he finally pulled away, when he slipped out of bed and gathered his things, I watched him with something heavy and quiet in my chest.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something like hope.

And when Eun Ae woke an hour later and asked where Mr. Kookie was, I smiled, just a little, and said:

“He’s not gone. Not really.”

Because for the first time in years…

I believed it.

═══════

Post A/N: dont hate me 😭 there’s still so much to their story

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Posted: 06/24/2025

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[buckyseternaldoll]

use me. you're all mine.

💗 based on this ask!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You were too sore to move. Too fucked-out to think. Good thing Bucky never minded doing all the work.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, established relationship, p in v, multiple rounds, oral (f receiving), fingering, titfucking, creampie, overstimulation, soft domination, praise kink, possessiveness, aftercare

Word Count: 6.2k

You pushed your hand against the old iron railing of the park bench, lungs burning, legs barely holding you up. Your vision blurred slightly with the sting of sweat and exertion, and you blinked hard, panting like you’d been chased by the devil himself.

Ten miles. Ten. Miles.

What kind of boyfriend makes his office-worker girlfriend run ten damn miles on a Sunday morning?

You’d tried everything to get out of it. Claimed you were on your period—he handed you a heating pad and said you could rest after one lap. Told him you were sleepy—he brought you coffee and kissed your forehead until you got dressed. Said you had pending reports—he reminded you your team was off today and physically took your phone away.

Today? There was no escape. Bucky Barnes had made up his mind, and your ass was getting dragged out of bed.

He stood just a few paces away now, breathing easily, barely a sheen of sweat on his stupidly perfect face. He looked like he’d gone out for a casual walk. Meanwhile, your lungs were in revolt and your legs were contemplating early retirement. He’d lapped you more times than you could count, each time with that smug little grin and a wink like he wasn’t actively trying to kill you.

You shot him a death glare as you hunched over, hands on your thighs, gasping.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

As if summoned by your suffering, Bucky jogged back to your side, eyes sparkling with amusement and affection—those glacier-blue depths that always managed to look soft when they were fixed on you. Not a drop of sweat clung to his skin. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, not drenched, and his black jacket hugged every line of his body like it was tailored to worship him. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot, not finished a ten-mile run.

He grinned, all charm and mischief. “Finally done, baby?”

You groaned, dragging yourself upright with one last dramatic breath. “Not fair,” you pouted, lips dry, voice hoarse. “I could do better if I had the damn serum too.”

He let out a low laugh and reached up to ruffle your hair, even though you flinched away with a whine. “Yeah? You did ten miles, babe. Most people can’t even do three. I’m proud of you.”

“You’re evil,” you said, but it came out weak, almost fond.

Bucky leaned in, brushing a kiss against your temple. “C’mere,” he murmured, crouching a little and patting his broad shoulder. “I’ll piggyback you home.”

Your heart stuttered—because yeah, maybe he made you run like a prisoner in a bootcamp, but goddamn if he didn’t make up for it by being the sweetest man alive. You climbed onto his back with a tired whimper, arms looping around his neck. His hands slid under your thighs, hoisting you easily, and you let your cheek rest against his shoulder, body melting against his.

His scent—sweat, faint cedar, something like pine and leather—invaded your lungs and calmed you. The warm press of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the easy strength in his arms…

You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to do anything.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the ache between your legs every time he handled you like this—effortlessly, confidently—but you found yourself sinking into that helpless softness, completely pliant in his arms.

—

You didn’t even bother to shower. Despite Bucky’s firm reminder not to touch the bed while you were soaked in sweat, you collapsed onto it anyway the second he set you down. Face-first, limbs sprawled. Every cell in your body screamed for mercy.

“I just told you not to get outside clothes on the bed, doll,” he grumbled somewhere behind you. “You’re gonna stink up the whole damn—”

You didn’t care. Not when your legs felt like they’d been boiled alive. Not when your lungs were still trying to remember how to breathe properly. And certainly not when the mattress beneath you felt like heaven incarnate. The sheets cradled your body, warm and soft and forgiving. You’d survived. Barely.

It didn’t matter that Bucky had carried you the entire way home—twenty-five minutes by foot, uphill, with ease—while you just clung to him like a human backpack. Your legs still hated you. They pulsed with soreness, heavy and limp, and you were too far gone to even strip off your sticky sports bra or peel off your leggings. You sank deeper into the bed, eyes fluttering shut, your entire body a weighted ache.

But then…

That warmth crept up your spine.

Subtle at first. A flicker. A ghost of pressure between your thighs. That slow build of something… needy.

Oh.

No.

You knew this feeling. That low hum of arousal that started in your stomach and melted downward like honey. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? You were half-dead from exercise, fully clothed, not even freshly showered, and still—your body ached in a different way now.

You remembered reading somewhere that intense physical activity could trigger arousal. Some post-workout hormonal thing. At the time, you’d laughed.

Apparently, you were the chosen one.

You squirmed slightly on the bed, as subtly as your aching muscles would allow. The friction of the tight fabric between your thighs made your breath hitch. Oh, fuck.

You turned your head just barely, cheek pressed to the mattress, eyes tracking Bucky as he moved around the room. He was muttering to himself now, tugging off his running shoes and unzipping his sleek black jacket—the fitted kind, snug around his biceps and made for cool-weather runs. Underneath, he wore that short-sleeve compression tee that clung to every line of his chest like second skin. His running pants stayed on—tactical-cut, dark and thick, hugging his thighs and hips like they were molded for him.

Not a single drop of sweat marked his body. His shirt stayed dry. His skin barely flushed. Every muscle in his abdomen shifted with effortless precision when he moved, flexing beneath the fabric, carved and controlled. Even while scolding, even half-annoyed—he was beautiful. Too beautiful.

Still grumbling, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Didn’t even stretch after running. I swear, sweetheart, you’re gonna lock up like the Tin Man—”

Your eyes drank him in. Every hard line. Every twitch of his jaw. The way his forearm flexed as he wiped sweat from his brow. The deep V of his hips when he unhooked his belt lazily and tossed it on the floor. You didn’t even notice yourself moan.

It slipped out without warning. A soft, pathetic sound from the back of your throat.

Bucky paused mid-sentence.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him. But you knew he heard it.

Still face-down, your lips curved in a sleepy little smile.

Yeah. Maybe you weren’t completely dead after all.

—

You let out a long, heavy sigh as you rolled onto your back, limbs dragging like dead weight. Every muscle screamed. But the second your shoulder blades sank into the mattress, it felt like heaven. You blinked up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling with post-run exhaustion… and something deeper starting to stir underneath it.

You turned your head just slightly and saw him at the foot of the bed, still muttering to himself like a grumpy old man. Something about outside clothes and ruined sheets and “how many times do I have to tell you…” — but your ears had tuned out.

Your eyes hadn’t.

They were locked on the way his black compression tee clung to his torso, outlining every line of muscle like a sin. The way his running pants sat low on his hips, stretching tight over his thighs, leaving nothing to imagination. He was still fully dressed—just his shoes off and his jacket somewhere on the floor—but somehow it was worse like this. More dangerous. Effortless.

You smiled.

Lazy. Sheepish. Just a little mischievous.

He caught it immediately and rolled his eyes.

“Oh no,” he muttered, walking toward the dresser, facing away from you. “Don’t you start.”

“Start what?” you asked sweetly, voice light and high and full of innocent sin.

He ignored you.

You bit your bottom lip. “You know how sexy you are when you’re annoyed, right?”

Still nothing. But you saw the tiniest flex in his jaw.

“I mean it,” you went on, letting your voice drop into a slow, flirty purr. “The way your shirt hugs your back… those tight sleeves… your thighs in those pants? Baby, you look like you were carved for sin.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, head tilted back like he was praying for strength. “You’re laying in your outside clothes right now.”

“And I’m being punished,” you said, utterly unrepentant. “Forced to look at my obscenely hot boyfriend while I can’t even move. Cruel, really.”

He turned to face you then, arms crossed, glaring half-heartedly.

You didn’t blink. Just let your eyes drag down his body, slow and obvious. Your gaze stalled on the outline between his thighs.

“I swear I saw your dick twitch in those pants.”

He scoffed. “It didn’t.”

“It did,�� you said, grinning. “Just the tiniest little flinch. Like it heard me.”

His hand dragged down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

You smirked. “Mm. My beloved cock’s on my side, it seems.”

Bucky let out a grunt—sharp and low—and you knew that sound. That was him holding back. Fighting the urge to pounce.

So you gave him the final push.

“Come and use me, baby,” you said, voice soft and aching now, all your earlier teasing stripped down to raw need. “Do me. Just… use me. I’m too spent for anything. My pussy’s throbbing for you. It wants you.”

Your hand lifted weakly from your stomach, hovered over your center—still clothed, still damp with sweat—and fell back to the bed with a soft thud, helpless. Like your body had given up the fight. Like it was offering itself to him.

“I can’t move,” you whispered. “But I need to be fucked. Please, Bucky. I just wanna lie here and be used by you. I don’t care how. Just… do something.”

You meant every word.

There was no game. No act. Just aching limbs and a burning need only he could fill. You needed his weight over you. His hands pinning you down. His voice in your ear telling you how good you were, how soft, how wet, how perfectly made for him.

You watched his eyes darken. His jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides.

He was already losing the war. And you were more than ready to surrender.

—

Bucky slowly walked toward the bed, steps deliberate, jaw still tight. That grumpy little scowl was fixed on his face—but you saw the corners of his lips twitch. He was trying not to smile.

You knew that face.

You knew he wanted this too. Always did. He’d told you before—muttered it against your neck after long nights, half-asleep, all sincere—that if he had it his way, he’d keep you in bed and fuck you every single day. Just because he could. Just because he loved you. Just because he liked how you let him have you like this—soft and pliant and so damn needy.

He climbed onto the bed slowly, letting his weight dip the mattress, bracing his hands on either side of you as he hovered above. The heat of him soaked into your skin instantly, and your eyes flicked down—straight to the heavy tent straining in his pants.

His breathing had deepened. His eyes darkened.

“Did you mean it?” he asked, voice low, almost quiet.

You blinked up at him, confused at first, brows twitching.

He leaned in just an inch closer. “When you said to use you,” he clarified, eyes locked to yours. “You meant that, baby?”

You nodded, soft and sure. “Just do me however you want, Bucky,” you whispered. “I’m all yours.”

Something in his chest shifted. His shoulders dropped a little, and his mouth curled—not into a full smile, but close. Close enough that it made your stomach flutter.

“Don’t take it back later, doll,” he said, tone teasing but serious underneath.

And then he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not greedy.

Just deep.

He kissed you like he’d waited all day for it. Like this was what he was always meant to be doing. His lips pressed slow and warm against yours, his mouth coaxing you open, his body still hovering while yours stayed limp beneath him. You didn’t lift a finger. Didn’t try to match his intensity. Just let him kiss you how he wanted—how you needed—until your breath caught in your throat.

His vibranium palm came up to cradle your face. Cool against your flushed, overheated cheek. The contrast made you whimper softly, and Bucky pulled back just slightly, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. He nibbled once—gentle—and let it go.

Then his back straightened as he sat up briefly. He tugged the black hair tie from his flesh wrist—always there, always ready—looped it around his fingers, and swept his dark hair back into a low, tight bun at the nape of his neck. That little motion—so casual, so in control—made your thighs twitch.

He leaned back over you, lips hungry this time, and kissed you again, deeper, messier, his flesh hand sliding down over your chest. His touch was firm but reverent, his thumb brushing the slope of your breast before cupping it gently.

Your sports bra—thin, lightly padded, soaked with sweat—clung to your skin like second skin. Your nipples were already stiff beneath it, achingly obvious through the damp fabric, and Bucky let out a low hum when he felt the swell under his palm.

But he wanted more than that.

He sat back just slightly and gripped the hem of your tank top, eyes flicking up to your face like a warning. You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

So he peeled it upward, slow and deliberate, baring your stomach first—then your chest. He pushed it all the way up until it was bunched under your armpits, leaving your sports bra fully exposed to him. You were still covered, but barely. The thin material left nothing to the imagination. The outline of your nipples strained against it, sharp and swollen and so temptingly sensitive.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

“Fuck,” he muttered under it, eyes darkening. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

He leaned in again, his fingers grazing the side of your breast as he brought his mouth down to the peaked swell pressing through the fabric. He circled his thumb lazily over it first, teasing, coaxing another tiny shift from your hips. Then, with almost reverent control, he let his teeth scrape over the sensitive spot, catching it gently through the bra.

The soft wet drag of his tongue followed—hot, slow, obscene.

You gasped softly, fingers twitching at your sides.

He mouthed your breast through the thin material like he had all the time in the world, like you were the only thing worth worshiping. The fabric stuck to your skin, making every movement exaggerated—every flick of his tongue, every pull of his lips against the soaked material sent sharp heat shooting straight between your legs.

Still, you didn’t move.

You didn’t lift your hand. Didn’t thread your fingers through his hair.

You just laid there, aching.

Lazy. Desperate. Helpless.

Just like you’d promised.

—

You let out a soft, broken moan when his vibranium hand slipped beneath your bra, the chilled metal cupping your breast like it belonged there. The contrast was delicious—cold, precise fingers tracing your heat-swollen skin, gently rolling your nipple between metal fingertips until it ached.

Bucky took his time.

He teased the peak slowly, expertly, watching the way your mouth parted, how your hips gave the faintest twitch in response. Then, after a few lingering strokes, he slid his hand free, only to hook his fingers at the base of the bra and begin peeling it upward.

You felt the stretch of the fabric, the tight tug as he slowly lifted it over your breasts, letting them spill free into the air.

But he wanted more. Full access.

So he moved fast.

In one smooth motion, he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slightly—just enough to free you from the cling of damp cotton—and pulled both your tank top and sports bra off your body with practiced ease. You didn’t lift a finger. You didn’t help. Everything was done by him—quiet, controlled, careful.

Now you were bare to him.

Bucky groaned at the sight. Deep and low, like it came from his chest. His eyes devoured you—soft skin, flushed peaks, the rise and fall of your breath as you just laid there for him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already leaning back in.

His mouth found yours again in a deeper kiss—slower this time, wetter, hungrier. Then he began to trail down. Wet kisses along your cheek, then your jaw, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin. His lips dipped to your throat, your collarbone, and lower still. He left hickeys on the way down—faint bruises blooming across your chest like he couldn’t resist leaving his mark.

Then he settled between your breasts.

Cupping them with both hands, he nuzzled his face into the softness of your chest, breathing you in like he was worshiping. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin before his tongue lapped slowly at one nipple, then the other. His mouth closed around the sensitive peak, wet and reverent. His lips dragged, tongue swirling, teeth gently tugging—then switching to the other breast, groaning low as he tasted you.

He smelled it then. That sweet, slick scent drifting up from between your legs.

Sex and sweat and honey.

You saw him shiver, just slightly, as the scent hit his tongue like a drug.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped against your skin, lips wet. He kissed down your sternum, slow and wet, trailing spit across your stomach as he moved lower. “You taste so fucking good.”

You moaned again, louder this time. Your legs twitched, your hands balled weakly at your sides. You still couldn’t move. Still didn’t want to. This was what you needed—Bucky taking his time, touching you like you were his to savor.

He reached the waistband of your leggings next. Hooked his fingers under both fabric and panties.

His vibranium hand slid beneath your hips like nothing, lifting you easily—like you weighed nothing at all—while his other hand tugged the tight material down your thighs in one slow drag. He slid off the bed to kneel, pulling them fully down past your knees, past your calves, until they were tossed aside with zero ceremony.

And then he just looked at you.

Laid bare across the bed. Faint bruises scattered across your breasts. Your cunt glistening between parted thighs, slick already dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

His cock strained painfully against his pants.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes blown wide with hunger. “You look so good like this. So fucking sweet. Can’t believe how good you smell—like sex and sugar.”

He stood, yanking his shirt off over his head in one swift pull, then shoved his pants and briefs down together. His cock sprang free with a heavy bounce, flushed and leaking at the tip, arousal glistening across the head. He groaned as he wrapped his hand around it, stroking just once—slow—spreading the pre-cum down his shaft.

“Didn’t even touch your cunt yet,” he muttered. “And I’m already this fuckin’ hard.”

He climbed back onto the bed—this time not hovering.

His weight settled over you gently, not crushing but close. Braced slightly with his vibranium arm, he slotted himself between your thighs and kissed you again, deep and possessive, while his knee pressed into your inner thigh, nudging your legs wider.

You gasped into his mouth as he rocked his hips forward, dragging the length of his cock along your soaked folds—hot and thick, the slick sounds obscene between you.

You were completely naked.

Beneath him.

Open.

His to use.

And you still hadn’t moved a muscle.

—

Bucky pulled back from the kiss, chest heaving just slightly, lips wet and pink and shining with your taste. You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved.

With ease, he slid both arms beneath you—one warm, one cold—and lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your legs dangled limply, useless with need, as he repositioned you across the mattress. He carried you closer to the edge of the bed, laying you back down gently, your hips now perfectly aligned with where he knelt on the floor.

His eyes were locked between your legs.

He didn’t say a word.

Just settled down, bracing one hand on your inner thigh as he leaned in.

His head dipped.

And he devoured you.

His tongue licked a slow, hungry stripe up your folds, curling as it reached your swollen clit. He paused there, lips wrapping around the bud, sucking with obscene care—firm enough to make your thighs twitch, soft enough to keep you on edge.

You whimpered, breath caught.

Then he did it again.

He slurped every drop of arousal leaking out of you, groaning into your pussy like it tasted better than anything he’d ever had. His nose bumped against your mound as he buried his face deeper, his tongue working relentlessly over every part of you. He licked your folds with reverence, sucked your clit again until it throbbed, then slipped lower—tongue-fucking you with precise, expert strokes.

“F-fuck,” you choked out, back arching slightly against the mattress. “Bucky—oh, god, baby—just like that…”

He moaned into you. The sound of it vibrated right against your cunt, making your hips jump.

His vibranium hand came up then—cold, slick with your arousal—and pressed against your entrance. One metal finger pushed in smoothly, curling upward just right as his mouth stayed latched on your clit. He fucked you slowly with it at first, shallow and steady, while his tongue never let up.

Then a second finger slid in beside the first.

“Bucky, fuck,” you gasped, voice already wrecked. “Feels so good—feels so good—”

Your hips jerked again, barely lifting off the bed, but he held you steady. That strong hand flattened gently on your thigh, pinning you in place as he fucked you deeper with his fingers—slow thrusts, deliberate curls—while his tongue traced tight circles over your bud.

You couldn’t stop moaning.

Couldn’t stop praising him in breathless, broken gasps.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” you whimpered. “Always make me feel s-so good… You know exactly what I need—fuck—just like that, just like that…”

He groaned again, loud this time, his breath hitting your folds in hot waves. The sound of it, the feel of his mouth, the perfect pressure of his fingers inside you—it was too much.

Your inner walls clenched tight, fluttering around him as he slipped a third finger in.

Your back arched.

Your mouth opened in a silent cry.

And then you came—hard.

The orgasm tore through you like lightning. Your cunt clenched around his fingers as you squirted just a little, a warm splash wetting his face and chin.

But Bucky didn’t pull away.

He groaned into it.

Tasting you. Taking it.

Only when your body fully stilled again, trembling and breathless, did he finally lift his head.

His face was soaked. His stubble glistened, lips red and swollen, jaw wet with your release. His flushed cheeks, his glazed eyes—he looked absolutely ruined. But proud.

So fucking proud.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, staring at you like you were art. “You came so hard, baby. Made a fucking mess.”

You whimpered softly, dazed, eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the way he licked his bottom lip.

“Smell like heaven. Taste even sweeter,” he muttered, still between your legs. “Could live right here.”

Then, softly, with just the slightest growl—

“All that for me, huh? This pretty little pussy, all mine.”

—

Your breathing was still shallow. Chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of release, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

Bucky watched you.

So soft.

So fucked-out already.

And he wasn’t even close to finished.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—only smeared the wetness further across his flushed skin—then leaned forward, placing a firm kiss to your trembling inner thigh.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured. “Not done with you yet.”

Before you could even try to move, he was lifting you again.

Strong arms slid beneath your thighs and back, and in one easy sweep, he had you cradled against his chest. You let your head rest on his shoulder, arms draped lazily around his neck. Your legs fell open naturally, wrapping loosely around his waist.

Then he stood.

Carrying you.

Guiding your body.

You felt his cock—hot and hard and slick from your folds—press against your entrance as he backed toward the nearest wall for balance. He bent his knees slightly, adjusting his grip, then lined himself up.

And thrust in.

One long, slow push.

You gasped against his neck as he filled you completely, your body stretching around him, still pulsing from your last orgasm. But you didn’t move. Didn’t help. You just let him hold you there—impaled, trembling, claimed.

“That’s it,” he growled softly into your ear. “Just let me fuck you, sweetheart.”

He started to move, his hips bucking upward while yours stayed still, each thrust lifting you just slightly before he brought you back down onto his cock again. You moaned helplessly in his arms, your nails digging faintly into his shoulder, but still—you didn’t help. You didn’t ride him. He rode you.

“Feel that?” he panted, kissing your cheek as he fucked up into you again. “All you gotta do is hang on, baby. Let me do everything.”

You nodded weakly, whimpering his name.

Bucky didn’t stop—he walked.

Still inside you, he carried you down the hall. Each step jostled his cock inside you, and your breath hitched, your lips finding his jaw as your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist.

He reached the kitchen. Stepped right up to the island.

And set you down.

He pulled out with a wet sound, just enough to turn your body around and push you gently against the cool countertop. Bent you forward with a hand between your shoulder blades. Then he slid back in—smooth and full—until your hips met the edge of the marble and he bottomed out.

He set a faster rhythm now.

Still not rough. But urgent. Deep. Powerful.

The sounds between your bodies were obscene—slick, needy, relentless. You cried out softly, arms slack on the counter, face pressed to the smooth surface. Bucky groaned above you, hands gripping your waist tight, pulling you back into each thrust like he couldn’t stand being even an inch away.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, hips snapping forward. “This pussy was made for me. You were made for me.”

You were close again. He could feel it—feel the way your walls clenched around him, feel the heat blooming again in your core. But before it crested, he pulled out.

You whimpered, almost sobbed at the loss.

“Shhh,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “Not yet, baby. You’ll come again. Just not here.”

He lifted you again, cock still hard, twitching against your stomach. Carried you to the living room like you weighed nothing, and laid you flat on the couch. Your limbs sprawled, loose and spent, head sinking into the cushions.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t even try.

And Bucky smiled.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, kneeling onto the couch. “So good for me, baby. Letting me use every inch of you.”

He climbed onto the couch, knees bracketing your torso now—straddling you fully, just above your belly. His cock hung heavy and flushed, resting right over your sternum. From this angle, you didn’t have to do a thing—just lie there and let him use your body like it was made for him.

And slid his cock between them.

You moaned as the hot, heavy weight of him pressed into the softness of your chest. He moved slow at first, hips rolling, the head of his cock brushing your chin with every pass. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he groaned. “You’re so soft. So warm. Just right for me.”

His pace picked up slightly—still controlled, still reverent. He pressed your breasts tighter together, guiding the friction with both hands, watching your spit-slick skin mold perfectly around him.

“You fit me everywhere,” he murmured, voice breaking slightly. “Doesn’t matter where—I touch you and it’s like you were made for me.”

You watched him—watched his abs tighten, his jaw slacken, his throat work around the moan he tried to hold in.

“God, baby, I love you,” he rasped, cock twitching between your breasts. “I fucking love you. So much.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed.

Every inch of you was soaked in him—in his body, his scent, his words.

He leaned in, breathing hard now, and kissed you again—messy and full of need, still moving between your tits as he whispered against your mouth:

“You’re mine,” he said, almost breathless. “Every part of you. All mine.”

—

And then you felt it.

His rhythm stuttered. His hips jerked forward one last time, harder, needier, and he groaned—deep and broken—as he came.

His cock pulsed between your breasts, warm ropes spilling over your chest, streaking across your flushed skin in slow, heavy spurts. You felt the heat of it trickle down between your ribs, painting you in him. Marking you. His seed glistened against your skin, sacred and hot, and Bucky moaned again at the sight of it.

“You look so good like this,” he whispered, voice frayed. “All covered in me.”

But he wasn’t done.

Even as his breath trembled and his hands shook, he shifted lower, sliding back down your body, guiding the head of his cock to your entrance again.

He pushed in slow.

You whimpered—high and soft—as he filled you, gentle this time, deeper than before. You were so warm. So soft. So still. Bucky felt like he was sinking into heaven.

Your body didn’t fight him.

It welcomed him.

He leaned in close, nose brushing your cheek, mouth near your ear.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered. “I promise, baby. Just wanna feel you. Wanna make love to you until you forget your name.”

You moaned weakly, barely able to respond. Your hands twitched beside you, limp and useless, but your legs parted more, letting him in fully.

He rocked into you with reverent precision. Each thrust smooth, slow, sure. Like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was branding his love into you. Etching himself into your bones. His chest brushed yours, your breasts bouncing softly with every movement as his vibranium hand cradled one, thumb sweeping lazily over your nipple.

“I love you,” he panted, thrusting deeper. “I’m yours.”

Another slow roll of his hips.

“You’re mine. You’re everything.”

He leaned down again, kissing you hard, tongue sliding into your mouth with a groan. You moaned back—exhausted, overwhelmed, but drowning in the warmth he kept pouring into you. It felt like being held from the inside out. Like being blanketed in love.

He never stopped.

His pace stayed gentle, but it carried a rhythm that built and built, soft waves crashing into your core. Your whimpers grew louder. Higher. His name left your lips in broken pleas.

“Bucky…”

“I got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here.”

You felt your high coming again—slow and blinding. Your whole body tensed, your back arched faintly. Bucky felt it. Matched it. He moved faster, never rough, just deep and steady and so full of love it hurt.

He came again right as you did.

Your body jolted—not from pain, but from the force of it. A tremble that started deep inside and rolled outward, stealing your breath. Your walls clenched tight around him as he spilled into you, cock pulsing, burying it all as deep as he could. He groaned, his face tucked into your neck, his hand gripping your side like he couldn’t let go.

And you…

You were floating.

Eyes half-shut. Lips parted. Chest rising slowly.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

But not from pain. Not from exhaustion.

From comfort.

From the way he’d loved you so gently you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

Your voice came out soft. Barely audible.

“Feels too good… I can’t… open my eyes…”

Bucky chuckled against your skin, still catching his breath. He pressed a kiss to your temple, to your cheek, then your mouth.

“Yeah?” he murmured, brushing damp hair from your face. “I fucked you to sleep, didn’t I?”

You gave the faintest nod, your lashes fluttering.

“I didn’t even move,” you mumbled, drifting. “Didn’t do anything…”

“And still took it all like my good girl,” he whispered, smiling as he pulled the blanket from behind the couch and draped it over you both. “Go on, baby. Sleep. I’ll hold you.”

And he did.

With one arm wrapped under your back and the other splayed over your stomach, he kissed your forehead and let you melt into him—completely spent, completely safe.

Just how he always wanted you.

—

You didn’t wake slowly—you woke deeply.

Like surfacing from the bottom of a still ocean, lungs full of peace, limbs heavy with satisfaction. You blinked your eyes open and stared at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented by how still everything felt. No tension in your shoulders. No buzzing anxiety. Just the slow, warm ache between your legs, and the lingering hum of being held.

You shifted your head slightly—and that’s when you realized:

You were no longer on the couch.

Bucky must’ve moved you sometime while you slept. You were on a rolled-out floor mattress now, cozy and plush, layered with your softest throw blankets. Your favorite pillow cradled your head. Another one—the plushie he always teased you for loving—was tucked under your arm. And you were fully wrapped in a blanket, warm and clean and cocooned in the unmistakable comfort of care.

Everything smelled like Bucky.

And steak.

You heard it—faint sizzles and the dull clatter of utensils from the kitchen just beyond the living room. A warm light glowed under the doorframe. Something soft played on the TV, volume barely audible. It was the most comforting thing you’d felt in months.

You blinked again, then slowly pushed yourself up on one elbow, turning toward the source.

He was there—Bucky, in grey sweatpants and a fitted tee now, barefoot, hair loosely tied, standing over the stove like he belonged in someone’s quiet dream. He glanced up just as you stirred.

A smile curled his lips.

“Well, well. Morning, sleeping beauty.”

You rubbed your eyes, voice thick with sleep. “Morning? What time is it?”

“Eight,” he said, glancing at the oven clock.

“…Eight? Like. PM?”

“Mm-hmm.”

You stared at him, stunned. “We… we started before noon.”

He chuckled, plating up a steak with practiced ease. “We made love a little before, yeah. You passed out sometime after round three.” He looked over his shoulder, grinning. “You’ve been out cold for a solid eight hours.”

Your jaw dropped. “I slept eight hours? In the middle of the day?”

“Didn’t move a muscle,” he teased. “I carried you off the couch, set up the mattress, tucked you in with your favorite plushie—like putting down a baby deer.”

You flushed, flopping dramatically back into the pillows, blanket pulled to your chin. “God.”

He kept talking as he worked. “Though, to be fair… I’m the one who ran more than ten miles, carried you home uphill, and did all the work.”

You sat up again just to pout at him. “You’re a different breed, Bucky. You’re enhanced. That’s like… cheating.”

You meant it playfully, but something bitter curled inside the words. You hated how small you sometimes felt in comparison. And Bucky, sharp as ever, caught it.

He set the plate down, turned off the stove, and walked straight toward you.

In three quiet strides, he was crouching beside the mattress, warm hands finding your waist before you could blink.

“Hey,” he murmured, gently pulling you into him. “You’re not less just because I can carry you like a backpack.”

You snorted against his chest. “You did carry me like a backpack.”

He laughed softly, then tilted your chin up, brushing a kiss across your forehead.

“Okay,” he said, smiling, “but think about the perks of having an enhanced boyfriend.”

You raised a brow, already bracing.

He leaned in close, voice smug. “Like… wonderfully good sex?”

You smacked his arm with a sleepy glare, biting back a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love me anyway.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do.”

He kissed you again—slow, easy, full of affection. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything. Just gave.

You melted into his chest, arms draped around his waist. His scent surrounded you—clean soap, wood smoke, faint traces of sweat and your own body on him—and your whole body exhaled in relief. Like you hadn’t realized how much you needed him until just now.

You opened your eyes again just to look at him.

His face.

His warmth.

His whole being.

And you knew, with a fullness so deep it didn’t even need words—

You were his. And he was yours.

Inseparable. Unshakable. Built to last.

[sabxynsweet]

Okay, hear me out….

Mattheo and sweetheart in the common room and she falls asleep on his shoulder and Mattheo threatens a bunch of first years or whatever who come in loud to stop them from waking her up.

OR OR OR

sweetheart falls asleep on someone ELSE’s shoulder and Mattheo gets mad and jealous, and purposely wakes her up

sweetheart!reader falls asleep on enzo’s shoulder, mattheo's not having it

both these ideas are so cute i think i'll write both <3 here’s your second idea, thank you for the request lovely ! the opening of this is SO dramatic because these boys really are terrified of mattheo it's so silly

They say that right before you're about to die, your life flashes before you like a montage.

Enzo's experiencing that now, memories coming to him like scenes in a film reel while he's frozen sitting at the dining table of the common room.

If it wasn't bad enough that the two of you were paired up for an assignment for a class that Mattheo wasn't in, it was real bad now because you were fast asleep on his shoulder and he couldn't move.

Theo walks past and stops when he see’s Enzo with a look of pure fear on his face, similar to a deer caught in headlights.

"What's up, Mate." Theo asks, Enzo glances over at him with "help me" eyes, unable to move more than his eyes with you hindering his movements.

"Oh." He laughs, "Mattheo's not going to like that."

"Don't you think I know that." Enzo hisses, glaring at Theo who was still laughing, "Let's hope she wakes up before Mattheo see's."

"Before Mattheo see's what?" Mattheo asks, voice cold and low.

Enzo flinches, making you stir a little but, much to his dismay, you're still fast asleep. Theo simply grins and moves back to watch.

"Listen, she was nodding off, I didn't mean to-" Mattheo ignores him, walking closer. Enzo thinks that today he might die.

Mattheo barely even glances at him, instead, he gently taps on your shoulder.

You stir awake - properly this time - and when your eyes meet his, his eyes soften and his annoyance dissolves into nothing.

"Mattheo?" You mumble, your head lifting off of Enzo's shoulder, he breathes a sigh of relief and moves quickly to stand next to Theo.

"Hey." He says, "you fell asleep there."

"Oh." You yawn, "what time is it?"

"5."

"Oh," You say, a little happier now, "it's not too late for a nap right?"

He shakes his head, "no."

You smile, eyes fluttering close again.

"No, baby, you're not sleeping in this position." He snorts.

"Why not." You whine, "M'tired, just let me die."

"You'll hurt your neck."

"You know, it's so totally not my fault that I fell asleep because your common room is so dark."

"I know, Sweetheart."

"Anyone would fall asleep here." You mumble before attempting to sleep again.

He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"Come on, you can sleep in my dorm."

"Really?" You murmur, one eye peeking open.

He nods.

"Will you wake me up for dinner?" He nods again, you smile.

"You're my favourite alarm clock." You coo jokingly.

He rolls his eyes but he's still smiling, he reaches out his hand and you let him lead you up the stairs. You lean your body weight on him.

"Unbelievable." He just barely hears Enzo mutter from below, "he was ready to murder me and then she wakes up and he's prince fucking charming."

Mattheo rolls his eyes and continues to guide you, careful not to let you fall.

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage @megzz-x

[wosospacegirl]

dinosaurs and...sex? - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia's girlfriend is way too stressed out for her own good, so she puts matter into her own hands (fingers)

Word count: 2.2k

Warning: (+18) fingering and oral (r receiving) and at the end suggestive to oral (r giving) because we are all switches here at wosospacegirl

A/n: I think I've found my niche in fanfic and it's writing nerdy lesbian sex...sorry it's repetitive but it's just so fun to write them...

this is a scheduled post because I *actually* have a dinosaur test to study to and I don't have alexia to eat me out so--

..

"Can I come in, or are you still acting like a monster?" Alexia said from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. She was holding something, but you couldn't quite see what, mostly because your eyes had stopped functioning after reading the word Mesozoic for the ninth time.

You had decided to go to university.

 And now you carry that burden every day. Every. Single. Day.

It was finals week, and you were an absolute wreck. You were so stressed that you had caught the worst cold ever known to humankind. Why your immune system gave up on you at the slightest sign of stress, you didn't know.

Alexia had taken care of you and made sure you rested. But of course, that meant you hadn't been able to study for three whole days.

And now here you were, at Alexi's house, sprawled across her bed, surrounded by books that were open at completely random pages, with class notes you didn't even remember taking.

Your eyes hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurt. But mostly your soul, because you felt like you barely had one. Surely you had long lost it between the Jurassic and the Cretaceous period.

And when everything hurt, it made you angry, because you couldn't study the way you wanted to. And when you were angry, you were rude.

Alexia had shown up (to her room, in her house) and asked if the two of you shouldn't take a walk or do something relaxing. AKA: She was getting stressed from watching you mumble like a maniac about something called…Coelurosauria?

You, ever the sweet and understanding girlfriend, had snapped at her, questioning why the hell she was bothering you while you were studying.

It wasn't a "Hi, Alexia, I'm sorry, I can't talk right now."

It was a "Oh my fucking God, Alexia, can't you leave me alone for two whole minutes?"

Alexia–who was actually sweet and understanding– didn't say anything. She just stepped closer to where you were sitting, kissed the top of your head, and left a protein bar beside you before quietly walking away, probably heading for a lonely walk around Barcelona.

You cried while studying the skeleton of the Brachiosaurus because you felt guilty afterwards.

You didn't want to be mean, but finals brought out the worst in you. Still, Alexia wasn't the one to blame.

You knew Alexia was back when you heard the front door on the first floor opening and then closing. You heard her taking off her shoes and making her way upstairs.

You felt the mattress dip beside you, and when you turned around, Alexia was sitting there. You gave her your biggest, most apologetic eyes. 

"I'm sorry," you said, genuinely.

Alexia looked at you, cupped your jaw, and brought your mouth to hers. She kissed you sweetly. "It's okay," she murmured against your lips as you closed your eyes. 

"I know you get grumpy when you're overwhelmed with school. No need to say sorry."

"Yes, I do," you said, breaking the kiss and flopping back onto the bed, almost like a starfish. Your book was lying open beside you as you stared at the ceiling. "I was rude, that's not okay."

"It is okay," Alexia said, as she hovered above you, her hair tickling your cheek. "Because you sound hot when you're mad."

You rolled your eyes and pecked her lips. "Okay, now you're stretching."

"I'm serious," she said, getting off of you and sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. "You pout and your brows furrow…It's like  exactly the face you make when you're about to cum–"

"Okay!" you interrupted, throwing your book at her, your face burning. Alexia could be so crude when she wanted to.  "No talking about sex, or–"

"--you cumming?" Alexia teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," you groaned. "This is literally the most boring subject ever. It doesn't pair well with dirty talk."

Alexia stayed quiet for a few seconds, and you took that as a sign to return to your notes and re-read them. You were lying on your stomach now,  your paper was spread out in front of you, when you felt Alexia climb on top of you and drop all of her weight onto your back.

Out of the sudden, you had a book to your face as well–your zoology and evolution of dinosaur book.

Alexia cheekily snatched your notes, and before you could complain, her voice filled the room as she read the book.

"Thyreophora, often known as armoured dinosaurs, were a group of ornithischian dinosaurs that lived from the Early Jurassic until the end of the Cretaceous…"

You listened as Alexia spoke, and you couldn't help but feel as if she was… reading it erotically?

You felt her weight on your back, the way she held your book right in front of you, holding it with one hand while her other hand stayed pressed to your ribcage.

"Primitive forms had simple, low, keeled scutes or osteoderms," she continued, her voice low as she pressed more fully into your body like she was getting cosy, relaxing. "Oh, those are cool, right, bebé?" she said against your ear, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you.

You had known Alexia long enough to recognise when she was doing this on purpose.

Sometimes, you had the willpower to push her away and to fight back. You had to study, your exam was tomorrow!! But right now?

Right now, you wanted to be pliant.

"Most thyreophorans were herbivorous and had small brains for their size," she said, her hand slipping under your shirt, her cold fingertips grazing your skin just above your ribs. 

"Oh, does that mean they were dumb?"Alexia asked innocently, placing a kiss on the back of your neck.

"N-no," you stammered as you tried to move, but her body was still pinning you down. "Brain size doesn't really determine intelligence…"

Alexia hummed against your skin, letting the book fall onto the bed with a soft thud. 

Now her full attention was on your neck, she was licking your skin before sucking the it into her mouth.

"I thought the bigger the brain, the smarter?" she murmured.

She sat up from behind you and turned you over, leaving you flat on your back. Then she kissed you deep and slow, biting your lip.

"No, it doesn't mean that," you mumbled, lifting your arms as Alexia pulled off your shirt, leaving your torso bare. "W-what is intelligence, after all, right? It's a very human construct and we…."

Your breath hitched as Alexia kissed your stomach, slowly making her way down to your navel, then she gently tugged at the waistband of your pants.

You lifted your hips, helping her in the process of getting you naked.

"Keep going, amor, "Alexia said, kissing you just above your underwear. "I don't want to distract you from your studies."

Her fingers slid down to your centre, where the wet spot of your underwear was. Your eyes were closed now, but you knew Alexia was smirking.

"What were you saying about intelligence?"Alexia coaxed, her voice innocent, as if she wasn't doing anything wrong, as if she really was helping you study.

But thinking about dinosaurs or intelligence or anything was nearly impossible as she hooked her fingers into the sides of your underwear and pulled them aside, exposing you completely. She slid her fingers just above your cunt, spreading your weteness slowly around your folds, teasing you.

You moaned as Alexia pressed just the tip of your finger inside of your cunt, your hips moving, begging for more contact, but Alexia didn't give in. She wanted to make you work for it for a bit.

"If you don't talk," Alexia said sternly, kissing the inside of your thigh, "I'll stop. Keep going. Tell me about the subject."

You were in silence, your brain mush. It was like you forgot you even knew any words, let alone the evolution of ornithischian dinosaurs.

Although you were quick to remember it when Alexia took her mouth away from your body.

You clutched at her head, pressing her against your cunt. 

"Please, keep going–"you whined. "I-I was saying that intelligence is a human parameter, and we shouldn't judge other species based on it because it's honestly a very anthropocentric concept…"

"There she is, my smart girl, "Alexia purred. And just like magic, she slid her index finger inside of you, and your body welcomed it immediately. "What else can you tell me about those Thy… Thry…"

"Thyreophora," You breathed as Alexia slid another finger in, thrusting into you so slowly it made you want to cry. "There are two major groups, th-" 

You didn't even get to finish, because you felt alexia's hot breath against your cunt, her mouth touching your clit, wrapping her lips aorund itand sucking gently. "Fuck–more." 

Alexia slapped your thigh; it didn't sting, but it was a warning.

"Keep talking." 

So you did.

Alexia ate you out slowly as if she was savouring every single drop of your wetness. You were very aware she was enjoying herself way too much; you also knew she was doing it as a form of revenge, too.

But you didn't mind for her motives, not when she kept fucking you like that. She only stopped when you stopped talking. 

She really was taking your studies very seriously.

Alexia's tongue was thrusting inside of you. You didn't know how she had mastered the ability to penetrate you so deeply with her tongue, but you (once again) didn't care.

Her hands were pinning you down on the mattress, clutching your hip bones, not letting you move an inch as she continued to thoroughly pleasure (or maybe torture) you.

It took you a while to cum, but not because Alexia wasn't giving you what you needed, but because your body had trouble switching from stressed, anxious and overstimulated to relaxed.

Alexia didn't say a word about it. She didn't make you feel bad that it was taking longer than usual. She just kept her mouth on your cunt, as if she had all the time in the word.

And when you finally came, it felt like your body had truly relaxed for the first time in days. 

You felt as if all of your muscles relaxed all at once. Your eyes rolled back, and you yanked at Alexia's hair with a little more force than you were intending to, but she didn't complain. 

You were trying to catch your breath when alexia finally lifted her face from your cunt. 

She made her way up your body, kissing your stomach and your breasts before (finally) kissing you, and sliding her tongue in to let you taste yourself.

"See," Alexia whispered as she broke the kiss. She lay her head on your chest, her finger gently tracing your face. "I was right."

"Rigth about what?" You barely manage to say. 

"Your face when you cum," She said against your sking, kissing your collarbone. "The pout, the furrowed eyebrows."

You blink, still pretty much dizzy. "Did you make all of this... too prove a point?"

"Maybe," she said, smiling. 

"I hate you," you murmured, closing your eyes and letting your hands run through her hair.

"You don't," Alexia said. "You just came in my mouth, I think that was a love confession, actually."

You chucked at Alexia's words. 

Maybe it was the oxytocin running through your body stream, or maybe it was the quiet realisation that this was the first time you and Alexia were properly intimate in days, mostly because of your schedule at uni and her schedule at Barcelona.

You surprised yourself by lowering your head and kissing her again, your hands slipping under her shirt to trace the back tattoos you knew by heart.

Alexia kissed you back–and what was a sweet kiss–turned into something urgent.

"I want you," you breathed against her mouth, your hand curling around the back of her neck. "Now."

"Yeah?" Alexia smirked. "How?"

"On your back, legs spread open," you said.

"Okay," she simply said.

She did what you asked of her. 

She lay down, but she winced slightly when one of your pens dug into her back.

You watched her for a moment, admiring her, and then you undressed her completely. You took her shirt off, and then her training bra.

You wrapped your lips around her nipples, sucking them until Alexia was gasping, asking for more.

Without wasting another second, you pulled down her shorts and underwear in one go. 

You spread her legs apart with each of your hands and began kissing the inside of her thighs, biting them softly,  leaving teeth marks where no one would see them.

You were in your moment now.  Feeling hot and heavy, watching Alexia's cunt dripping right in forn of your face, how pretty her cunt looked, how ready she was for you.

But just as you were ready to taste her, Alexia said.

"Do you want me to read your notes out loud while you do it?"

You paused, your mouth still slightly open, looking up at her. You truly had a problem reading her facial expression.

At the same time that it looked like she was teasing you, it also seemed like the proposal was sincere, like she might actually do it if you said yes.

You glared at her, your eyes narrowing, trying to make your point across without having to use any words.

"Okay," she said quickly. "I guess that's a no."

..

A/n: Got the dino infos on Wikipedia!

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13 , @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics

[starryjake]

idea... reader being insecure about getting head but she has MUNCH HEE as a boyfriend and she ends up being addicted too

🫰🫰🫰🫰well yes.

“please, baby,” heeseung nearly begs.

his hands are rubbing your bare thighs, slowly making their way up and up and up.

he pushes the fabric of your skirt up as he goes, eager to get to what’s laying beneath it.

“i don’t know, hee,” you say.

you’re nervous, although you can’t deny how much just his hands rubbing your thighs are turning you on. you can feel yourself getting wet, an ache starting to from from the need to be touched.

“there’s nothing to be nervous about, i promise,” he tells you assertively. you look into his eyes and know that means it. “i just wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. that’s all i want.”

that was mostly all he wanted. of course he wanted to make you, his sweet girlfriend, feel good. but he also knew he would get a lot of pleasure out of himself.

since the day he started going out with you—hell, from the minute he met you, he wanted to taste you. he wanted to get his head between your legs and give you the head of a lifetime.

“but what if—”

heeseung cuts you off with a delicate kiss. he kisses you slowly, deeply, and it makes you realize even more so how bad you need him.

“you trust me, don’t you?” he whispers.

“yeah,” you answer, meaning it with all your heart.

“can i?” he asks, digging his finger into the waistband of your skirt.

“yes,” you finally tell him.

he practically rips your skirt and underwear off of you, beyond eager to finally get what he’s been dreaming of for months. you were worth it wait, he knew it before even getting a taste.

he lays down on his stomach, glancing up at you with his big doe eyes to ensure that you were okay. you still had that worried expression on your face, but heeseung was set on changing it to a pleasured one.

he kisses your thighs, his lips so soft and light that it tickles. you giggle a little, which in turn, makes him smile, relieved to know that you’re relaxing.

then finally, finally he leans in and licks a long, firm strip up from the bottom of your pussy to your clit. you gasp at the sensation, throwing your head back because suddenly it’s too heavy to hold up.

“oh my god,” you moan, thighs attempting to close around his head.

he pushes them back apart, tilting his head to lean on one as he focuses on eating your pussy. he licks up and down and circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, which has your legs twitching.

“heeseung,” you cry out, reaching down to entangle your fingers in his hair.

“mmm, yeah, baby,” he moans into your cunt. “you taste so good. you’re so wet for me, honey.”

“it feels…” you trail off as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks for a moment, quite literally taking your words away.

“feels what?” he asks.

you couldn’t remember what you were going to say. you couldn’t even think. he was eating you out so good it was making you dumb.

he didn’t mind. he could feel himself going dumb too, lost in how good you taste and how smooth and warm and amazing you feel against his tongue.

“my perfect girl,” he praises, slightly squeezing your thighs. “god, it’s so fucking good.”

all you could do was moan, getting confident enough to spread your legs wider and hump your hips up into his face. somehow, you needed even more, and he would give it to you.

he shifted his hands from your thighs and used his fingers to spread your pussy, then stuffed his face right back into it. the tip of his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue thrusted in and out of your hole was enough to send you over the edge.

“hee!” you nearly scream. “i’m cumming! fuck, i’m cumming. i’m cumming, i’m—”

again, you couldn’t speak anymore. you were cumming way too hard to do anything but let it wash over you in silence. heeseung kept his head buried between your legs while you did, nursing you through your orgasm.

you yelped when you finally came down, and heeseung regretfully pulled away from your pussy. his lips, chin, and nose were glistening with your cum.

“fuck,” he growled, crawling up the bed to kiss you hard on the lips. “you’re so fucking hot, baby. can’t believe i finally got a taste of you. i don’t think i’m gonna be able to go a day without it now.”

and you had no problem with that. who were you to complain about your boyfriend starting and ending every day with his face between your legs?

[ogwintersmind]

Current boyfriend — Katsuki.

Katsuki hated TikTok with a passion. He had the app on his phone of course- only because you insisted he follow you and he needed to keep up with the trends or whatever. Still, he never really used it.

BUT ever since the two of you had gotten together he'd fallen victim to every trend you decided to participate in—so when the 'current boyfriend' trend started making its rounds, you already knew you had to do it. Katsuki was sitting at the table, eating after a long work day and a shower, minding his own business. But of course - any amount of quietness he had absolutely required his wife to come and "ruin" it by bothering him.

"Kats," you approached him with that innocent expression and that sweet sweet voice - it's all an act of course, and he knew it. "I wanna make a nighttime routine video for my TikTok. With you in it, okay? Please?" He rolled his eyes and let out a long huff, the kind that always came right before he gave in to your whims.

"You're always putting me in these dumb videos," he grumbled, his eyes never leaving his food. Then he spoke again, "yeah, we can film it. Just let me finish eating and we can start.”

Pertect. He'd fallen right into your trap. Like he always does.

You grabbed your phone and turned on the camera. "Okay! I'm gonna film the intro now though."

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered. Still not looking up from his plate (fatty).

The camera focused on Katsuki's side profile as he ate, and you started the video. Putting on that innocent act of just filming. "Hey guys! A lot of you have been asking me for a nighttime routine, so l'm gonna do one tonight. Oh, I'm also gonna have my current boyfriend in the video too."

You barely finished speaking when Katsuki froze mid-bite. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you. "Current? What the fuck? Delete that."

The two of you locked eyes for a long moment. Neither of you is saying anything. You were already trying not to laugh.

"It's just a saying," you shrug. "It's not that serious." Katsuki's expression was one of disbelief. "Just a saying? First of all, never have I ever been so fucking offended." He set his chopsticks down with purpose. "Second, make sure you're listening to this very carefully— I am your husband. Your literal fucking husband, and not only are you reducing me to your BOYFRIEND when we've been married for a year, but you're reducing me to your current boyfriend at that. What, are you gonna have a new one tomorrow?" He was genuinely so pissed off at you right now.

"Turn the damn camera off and try again. I'm actually not joking, Reader." You shut the camera off and give him a small chuckle. "It's just a joke, crybaby. It's a TikTok trend." Of course it was.God, he was so tired of you doing these stupid trends on him. " Yeah, whatever, get out of my face. You're so annoying." He continued eating with a slight smile on his face, knowing that later, you and your supporters would be making fun of him and his reaction in your comments.

Thanks for reading!

I know I haven’t posted in a while 😅 I’ve been very busy (lazy) .

I was gonna do multiple characters but I got too lazy so if you want that then let me know !

see you in the next one friends ♡.

XO- winter ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡.

[lazysoulwriter]

stay close - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: explicit smut, established relationship, sleepy summer sex, lace lingerie, soft dom!pedro, needy and affectionate, praise, gentle asking, cockwarming turning into slow love-making, intense emotional connection

The fan hums softly, spinning uselessly above your bed.

It’s summer in LA. The kind of heat that lingers in your bones. You’re half-asleep on the cool sheets, barely covered, chest rising slow and soft. Pedro’s behind you, wide awake and suffering.

Not because of the heat. Because of you.

You’re wearing that new set you tried on earlier — black lace, barely-there, the kind that wasn’t really made for sleeping but you insisted anyway. “It’s too hot for anything else,” you mumbled, already climbing into bed.

Now here you are. Back pressed against him, your ass snug against his thighs. One strap slipped off your shoulder. Your hips shifting every so often in your sleep, dragging that sweet curve over the very obvious problem in his boxers.

Pedro groans quietly into the pillow.

He wants you.

No—he needs you. Just to feel close. Just to have you wrapped around him, even if it’s slow. Even if it’s quiet. Even if all he gets is a little of you, half-asleep and pressed up against his chest, breathing softly while he stays buried inside you.

He leans in and kisses your shoulder. Soft. Careful.

You stir just a little, humming.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice like gravel. “You awake?”

“Mmm… kinda.”

His hand drags slowly over your waist. He presses a kiss behind your ear, lips warm and needy.

“Can I… stay inside you?” he asks, barely above a breath. “Not fuck. Not yet. Just—be close.”

You blink, still half-lost in sleep, but the way he says it makes your body ache. He sounds so tender. So full of want.

“Yeah,” you whisper, reaching back to touch his hip. “Yeah, baby. Come here.”

He pushes his boxers down, carefully tugs your panties to the side. Takes his time. Just the tip of him sliding between your folds has him exhaling like it’s relief.

And then he’s inside. Slowly. Deeply. Filling you with a low moan that makes your whole body shiver.

You gasp softly. “Pedro…”

“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing the nape of your neck. “Just like this. You feel so fucking good. So warm. Let me stay.”

His hands grip your hips, not to thrust — just to hold. To anchor himself in the sweetness of you.

But the longer he stays buried in your heat, the harder it gets to hold back. You’re clenching gently, body responding even in your daze, and he can’t help the way his hips start to roll. Slow. Deep. Intimate.

You moan.

“Wanna make love to you,” he whispers, breath shaky. “Let me. Please.”

And you nod, already melting for him.

What follows isn’t fast or rough. It’s needy. Soft kisses. Slow strokes. His hand slipping under your lace bra to thumb over your nipple. His mouth on your shoulder, your jaw, your cheek.

“So beautiful,” he pants. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You come with a whimper, pressed into the mattress, body trembling around him as he follows seconds later — groaning your name like it’s the only thing that ever mattered.

After, he holds you even tighter. Still buried inside. Still connected. Still needing to be as close as possible.

You whisper, half asleep, “I love you.”

And he kisses your shoulder again, whispering, “I’ll never get enough of you.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[aervera]

Only Yours Today

synopsis. when nanami unexpectedly calls in sick just to spend the day with you contents. sfw, tooth-rotting fluff, nanami being a gentleman and a sweetheart. notes. i want a day-off from college. but i can't since last semester and everything is hectic

MASTERLIST

you wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of your favorite kettle whistling.

your first instinct is to panic—because nanami never leaves for work without waking you first. he’s religious about routine, almost obnoxiously so. 7:00 a.m. sharp, every weekday. a kiss on your forehead, a brush of his knuckles down your jaw, then the sound of the front door closing softly behind him.

except he’s… here?

you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the sun is barely peeking through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in soft gold. there’s the familiar creak of floorboards, then the quiet click of your bedroom door opening.

nanami steps in with a tray balanced in one hand and that subtle smile that always manages to wreck you.

“good morning, y/n,” he says, voice warm, deep, and freshly brewed like the mug in his hand.

you blink at him, confused but already melting. “…are you working from home?”

he sets the tray on your lap—coffee, lightly sweetened just how you like it, and toast with the edges cut off.

“i called in sick,” he says casually, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “so i’m all yours today.”

you stare at him.

then blink.

“wait, what?”

“i said—”

“you called in sick?”

he nods once, then takes off his glasses to wipe them with the edge of your blanket like he does when he’s pretending to be nonchalant.

“you never call in sick,” you say, still stunned. “you went to work the day you had the flu. you showed up to a meeting after a night mission with three broken ribs.”

“that was reckless,” he agrees simply.

“exactly—so why now?”

nanami finally meets your gaze, his expression gentling as he walks over to your side of the bed.

“because you looked tired last night,” he murmurs, “and i wanted to give you something soft to wake up to today. so… me.”

your breath catches.

because he says it without fanfare, without performance. just a truth he’s already accepted.

you shake your head slowly, dazed. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m aware,” he replies smoothly. “but you’re the one who keeps me.”

breakfast happens slowly, in the warmth of rumpled sheets and half-lidded smiles. nanami sips his coffee while reading the news off his phone, one hand casually resting on your thigh under the blanket like it belongs there. (it does.)

afterward, you get up to brush your teeth, but he follows you into the bathroom like a shadow. you arch a brow when he wordlessly picks up your toothbrush, dabs on paste, and hands it to you.

“you’re hovering,” you mumble, toothpaste foaming slightly.

“i’m staying,” he corrects. “different.”

you snort.

but you don’t ask him to leave.

by 10 a.m., the two of you are on the couch, feet tangled, a fuzzy blanket over both your legs. there’s an old documentary playing—nanami’s choice, something about 19th-century trade policies—and you’re pretending to watch, but you’re really just watching him.

his hand rests on your ankle, thumb lazily drawing circles.

there’s no urgency in his touch. no demand. just quiet affection, like he has nowhere else to be—and more importantly, no one else he’d rather be with.

you sigh, nuzzling your cheek against the pillow. “i still can’t believe you called in sick. they’ll riot at the office.”

“they’ll survive.”

“you’re the backbone of the entire team.”

“i am.” he glances over at you. “but you are the backbone of me. and i happen to think today, i need my spine more than they do.”

you blink slowly.

“you’re weirdly poetic when you’re not sleep-deprived.”

“i am always poetic. you just don’t listen before your morning coffee.”

you both laugh.

it’s light and easy, the kind of laughter that only happens when the rest of the world is far away.

around noon, you both go for a walk. nanami holds your hand like it’s a habit, not a choice—thumb brushing over your knuckles as he listens to you ramble about the weird dream you had last night (something about a baby panda that spoke fluent french and asked you for tax advice).

he listens, fully and attentively, nodding like it’s the most important topic in the world.

at one point, he pauses near a small corner café. “would you like to go in?”

you grin. “only if we sit by the window and pretend we’re strangers falling in love for the first time.”

he hums, amused. “you want a day off and a meet-cute?”

“i want it all.”

nanami chuckles. “you always have.”

and you always will—especially when he looks at you like this, like your world is the one he’s happiest orbiting.

you return home in the early afternoon with croissants and coffee and a single tiny flower he plucked from the hedge when he thought you weren’t looking.

you catch him slipping it into your cup holder and he just shrugs, all deadpan. “i didn’t have a vase.”

you press your face into his coat, laughing.

back inside, he rolls up his sleeves again—domestic deity style—and makes you both lunch. it’s something warm and simple, but he plates it like a michelin-star chef because that’s who he is: always composed, always precise, even in love.

“i’ve noticed,” he says quietly as you eat beside him at the dining table, “that when i’m home with you, i feel less like a man dragging his feet through obligation. and more like someone who’s… content.”

you tilt your head. “you’re never obligated to stay.”

he looks at you, serious. “no. but i want to. which is rarer.”

later, you nap in his lap.

he’s seated on the armchair, legs stretched out, a book in one hand and you curled against his chest like you were carved to fit there. his free hand strokes through your hair in slow, absent motions.

he doesn’t say a word.

but you feel it in every quiet sigh, in every slight shift of his fingers against your scalp.

he chose this day. he chose you.

you wake up just as the sun begins to dip behind the skyline, golden-orange light painting his features.

“hey,” you whisper, voice still hoarse with sleep. “still here?”

his hand rests on your back, palm warm and grounding. “always.”

as evening settles in, you both lie on the bed, tangled beneath soft sheets, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

you whisper, “do you ever regret days like this?”

“never,” he says instantly.

“even when you’re falling behind on emails and half your company probably hates me right now?”

nanami shifts slightly so he can look at you fully. “no one hates you.”

“i might’ve stolen their favorite employee.”

“they’ll manage.” his thumb brushes your cheek. “you need to understand, y/n—i didn’t call in sick because i was burnt out. i called in because i wanted to be here. with you. no spreadsheets. no deadlines. just… this.”

you don’t respond with words.

instead, you tilt your chin up and press your lips to his—softly, slowly, the kind of kiss that speaks of deep affection, quiet promises, and something warm blooming in the silence between breaths.

he kisses you back just as gently.

no rush.

no need to ask for more.

this is enough.

by nightfall, you’re brushing your teeth side by side again, and nanami’s reflection catches yours in the mirror. he watches you like you’re the sunrise at midnight—like you’re something rare and real that he never wants to miss.

you spit out your toothpaste. “you’re staring.”

“i’m allowed.”

“because you’re sick?”

“because i’m in love.”

you freeze, toothbrush halfway to the sink.

then slowly, you glance at him. “you love me?”

nanami places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently toward him until you’re standing face-to-face.

“i think i’ve loved you since the first time you made fun of my tie pattern,” he says softly. “but yes—i do.”

your chest tightens in the best way.

you whisper, “i love you too.”

he leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “good. because i plan to call in sick a little more often.”

you grin. “scandalous.”

“i prefer the term intentional.”

that night, he holds you close beneath the blankets, one arm wrapped around your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck.

and just before you fall asleep, you hear him murmur:

“being yours is the only thing that ever made me feel like i wasn’t wasting time.”

you smile into the dark, your heart full.

because today, time didn’t feel wasted.

it felt like love.