#plot twist: he didn't forget

[sonofcurz]

Alpharius "I poisoned someones drink, but i forgot whose" Omegon

and

Corvus "the way this family dinner is going i hope it's mine" Corax

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

//...

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

A Day in Life

Synopsis: A day in the life of Jason Todd. Also, he's a househusband now. Oh, and a little plot twist.

Pairing: Househusband!Jason Todd X Gn!Reader; Platonic!Batfam

Tw: Canon level angst for Jason; Some sexual innuendos; Writer apparently doesn't know how to finish a story anymore; This is pretty slice-of-life so maybe boring?; English is not my first language.

Word count: 3,8k

Requested? No.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Wake up, make out, get up. First steps of your everyday routine. Sometimes making out turns into something more, but not today.

From his past life, as Robin, Jason learned a lot about discipline. As much as he tried to forget everything and everyone from his past before you, some habits die hard, although with time, with you and with therapy, he accepted that not all of his experience was bad or should be thrown away just because of one sociopathic clown who hurt him. Yes, Jason died, came back angry and did a lot of shit. But he was still alive and this could be a second chance.

While you, his darling spouse, get ready for work, Jason gets up, puts on his apron, fills the dog bowl for Daphne — your little brown dachshund that you adopted together four months after getting married —, opens the doors to the garden, so the dog can do whatever, and finally starts making breakfast and lunch. Breakfast so you two can eat together and lunch for you to eat at work. Sometimes you both meet up and eat together at your office or a restaurant. Today, that's not the case.

Simple yogurt with fresh fruits and nuts, coupled with a slice of chocolate cake he baked the day prior, eggs, toast and coffee for breakfast. As for your lunch box, a natural sandwich, salad, fruits and juice. He also fills up your two liter water bottle, so you feel pressured have no excuse but to stay hydrated.

Food. Until he was 12 his relationship with food was complicated, to stay the least. At first, his beloved but troubled mom would be in no condition to cook him three or more nice and fulfilling meals a day for a growing boy, he either had to learn and make do with quick instant food, eggs and old bread, or starve, since money was something he only saw when it was being handled to her drug dealer. His father was even worse. Jason loved his mom. Still suffers for her. He hated his father who was the one making her addiction worse. He’s still happy he died.

Living on the streets, food was a dream. A bad dream. It either came from trash or he had to do things that made him feel humiliated and guilty just to get some. And it was gone in a flash, he was so hungry he devoured it all in a second, and then his belly hurt.

Then he came. Jason loved his new father. Loved his new grandfather. Loved their food. So healthy, abundant and full of taste. So fun to prepare. He learned a lot from Alfred because he loved to spend time with him, play with the ingredients and make everyone and himself happy with the results.

But then he had those memories wiped out of his mind, (un)fortunately they came back, but at that time food was in the back of his mind. Sure, he didn't have to worry about starving, crime paid more than enough for that, but he didn't put much thought into any of it.

Now, with you, he's making new memories with food. He cooked and baked a lot with you and for you throughout all your relationship, and you did the same for him. He loves his kitchen, just like the rest of your house. The pantry and fridge are always full thanks to you. You take good care of him. You make his trust in you be worth it. And he reciprocates it. Healthy and nice food that brings comfort and makes you roll your eyes. Especially after he started frequenting cooking classes as a hobby, again, thanks to you.

After you are gone with a full belly and a pet in the ass (just like him, honestly), he continues his routine. He changes clothes and goes to the gym. Jason never stopped exercising, but the lack of all the activity vigilantism entails and with all the treats you two have, he started getting more soft. You loved it, he hated it. — Okay he didn't hate it, he just wasn't the most happy with it. Roy thought it was kinda funny, until Jason pointed out he also got softer after Lian. You honestly couldn't see why all that softness they were talking about was so bad since they were still very muscular and defined, just less dry and more snuggly. You honestly thought your Jaybird could go even further. — So the addiction of yoga to his routine happened.

After that, he goes straight home, eats, showers, takes care of his appearance to keep looking like a proper hubby that you can shove on your bitter frenemies faces, and makes sure to keep the maintenance of the house, so you can come back tired from work and enjoy a perfect house to rest on.

Hygiene. Another things that was complicated with his biological family. His father wouldn't touch a single plate or broom, and would beat and scream at his mom if she didn't put her high (again, because of him) ass up and did the labor. Most often than not, their house was messy, had a bad smell that his little nose was so used to that it's not like he minded, and had insects around. His clothes were dirty hand-me-downs, some fit him, some didn't, a lot of them had holes. His hair tangled and itchy.

When he went to the streets, it just got worse.

Bruce and Alfred fixed that. He finally learned what stink was because he only knew good and neutral scents. His clothes fit him. Everything around him was clean and well-kept. No holes, no stains. Hair always trimmed, soft and clean. Well maintained.

When he came back, cleanliness was basic. Of course he is gonna keep everything around him clean. Habit and common sense, you know? Clothes his size because why the hell would he use hand-me-downs when he can just buy his own? And they had to be the right size for his new 6’2 and almost 200 lbs body. Hair? Whatever. Always washed but as long as it didn't look ridiculous he didn't have time to put much thought on his appearance. He was genuinely surprised you were attracted to him at first sight.

Being with you, he learned to enjoy the little things in life again. Sometimes he finds himself unmoving in front of a random room of the house, or in front of the mirror, trying to grasp if it's all real, If this is really his life, if that's how he looks. His mind flashes memories of his childhood home and his current home. He ignores the memories of the manor not only because of the betrayal he felt for Bruce, but also because the manor was from the Wayne's. He was a Wayne. He is not anymore. This is him. His new house, with you, is what he wished he had growing up. What he always dreamed of. Love. Company. And comfort. He felt all of that while being a Wayne, until he despised the Wayne's. Not the couple that died decades ago or the centuries old descendants. But his father and his siblings.

On days where he doesn't take care of the house, he practices his hobbies. He now has time to do it all, surprising you, his therapist, Roy, and himself, he did cooking, gardening, pottery, crocheting and of course, reading. You paid for all his classes, praised him on his achievements, added his creations to the decor of the house, accompanied him on any event or place related to his interests, gave him his own library in one of the rooms in the house. He even made some friends between middle-aged women and the only other househusband and stay-a-home dad that frequented those places.

It was very funny and cute seeing rough, huge, leather jacket wearing and scarred Jason Todd telling jokes to 50-year-old white moms/grandmas and sometimes even babysitting their kids, pets and plants. You knew he could be a good dad one day if you decided to have kids. He was also more than happy to have just you, Daphne and good friends. And plants.

Warmth. When he was a kid his parents broke the heater during a fight, he wondered if they didn't have money to fix it, even with his father's activities, or if his father just refused to fix it. Anyhow, it was always cold in Gotham, freezing on winter, his dirty clothes with holes didn't help much. The streets didn't seem much different in that aspect. The manor kept him warm when he wasn't seven feet under the dirt, in a casket. When he came back, Jason always wore the warmest of clothes, even while sweating, he didn't know why. Now he did. Your house is always warm. Your body is always warm. Comfort. Your love gave him comfort. Warmth. A reason to live.

Love. His mom. Bruce and Alfred. You.

After he was done and rested for a little, Jason took Daphne for a walk in the way to the grocery shop. He wanted to try a new receipt you saw on tiktok today for dinner and had to get more flour and something for the filling.

After a few minutes of walking on his perfectly nice looking and safe neighborhood — nothing like crime alley. The type of neighborhood he saw on the television and imagined those other happy kids his age living and envied them. Dreamed of being adopted into one of their families while jumping from orphanage to orphanage. It never happened. He just got more abused. And then the manor was so isolated that you could only see mansions and plants all around. So big and far away that they looked empty of life. — he got there and strapped the dog to a post, next to a smiley golden retriever.

He got in and- fuck it, I'm going home. The empanadas can wait another day.

— Jason? Oh my god. Jason! Is that you?! — The infuriatingly familiar loud voice calls out from the middle of the shop and all heads turn to look. Shit, he can't go now without embarrassing himself in front of the cashier of his favorite and most visited shop. So he just nods, takes a basket and walks as if there was nothing interesting happening. It worked with the others costumers, unfortunately, Dick thought it was way too interesting and forgot his own basket that only contained eggs and cereal, and started following him around, this time, with a less surprised tone.

— Hey, Dick. — Jason idly muttered, that just made his coff coff brother indignant.

— Hey, Dick?! What the hell? Where were you? It's been three years! We thought you were dead! Or kidnapped! We never stopped looking for you! We were worried! We mourned! What happened? — Was it bad that Jason didn't want to give him a real answer? Probably. Especially with how much his therapist, who he saw on the days he didn't go to the gym, told him he should try to mend things with his family. So much so that he started actually contemplating it recently. But if he did it, it was going to be on his own time. Not by bumping into them in the grocery store. Oh, well. Jason was always good at adapting. The best.

And wow, three years had passed? Makes sense. Recovery does take time and he's been really happy for a while. Jason still remembers the day he decided to quit everything. It was the same day he decided you were the one, truthfully he always knew you were marriage material, the perfect one for him, out of his league, straight out of his most amazing dreams, peak goal for him, but he wasn't sure if he deserved to be the one you should be stuck with forever. He desperately wanted to, but he had to commit. Ride or die. He loved you, now more than ever, and didn't want to waste your time. He was still a bit messy at the time, but you made it all better, he was a lot better than he was before you came into the picture. You were the right choice. Jason always took you seriously, he was just insecure. So, while still in around eight months of relationship, he quit everything.

He quit his family. He quit vigilantism. He searched for recovery. And a year and a half later, with a little more than two years of dating, he made the big proposal. You married on your three-year anniversary. Got Daphne four months later. It's been around three or four months ever since.

While Dick’s math might not be exact, it is not necessary in this context, the point came across just fine.

He also knew that the fact that you both decided to not leave Gotham was going to bite him in the ass one day. One way or another.

— What happened? Oh, well. I retired. Got married. And now I'm a dad. — Daphne was like a daughter to him, so it was the same, right?

His nonchalant reply didn't seem to satisfy the other, though. Todd could see it, the urge to strangle him in his eyes. Dick wouldn't strangle his dead missing little brother, would he?

— You… You what? — Dick was in disbelief.

— You guys searched for me? Thanks, I guess? It means a lot. — Jason just sniffed and went on his way, leaving Grayson behind, paralyzed.

Maybe he could be fast enough and get out of there before the older one got a grasp of his senses back and followed him out. Part of him felt hope, the other heard yours and his therapist voices in his head, and the nagging was annoying. Maybe he never stopped being a “grump”, like you always amusedly said.

Oh, no. Here he comes again. Jason suppresses an eye-roll.

— Stop. Can you really explain? — The mix of emotions was almost overwhelming, an urge to cry, punch a wall, punch Jason's face, scream and who knows what more was running through Dick's body.

Jason sighed and finally addressed him completely. Tone lower so no one could hear.

— Okay. I met someone… Someone good. Someone special. A civilian. I was tired of everything. So I decided to retire and made sure none of you could find me. I'm surprised Roy and Lian kept the secret from you, though. Anyway. Now I'm a stay-at-home hubby, have a dog and go to therapy. You happy? — A beat of silence. — Hey, don't make that face… I was going to tell you guys eventually… When I felt like it… It's not like you guys saw me a lot. How much time did it take for you all to miss me? I made an appearance once in a while when someone asked for help and that's it. Alfred knew everything so if you’re gonna be mad at anyone, be at him too, not just me… And Roy. Don't forget Roy.

— A-Are you kidding me? Oh, yes, blame the butler! You couldn't even tell us? Like “hey guys, I'm gonna retire and take some time for myself for a while. Also, come to my wedding!” I wanted to be invited, you know?! Why didn't you invite me? Did you at least invite Alfred? Did- — Jason rolled his eyes and cut his rant.

— Yes, Alfred was there. Front row and everything. — Dick shrieked.

— T-That’s not the point! — His voice raised slightly from exasperation and both of them checked around for anyone's attention, then came back to the conversation.

Jason raised a hand to interrupt him and took a deep breath.

— Look. I wasn't in a nice place at the time, okay? I'm better now… And I was going to talk to you guys sooner rather than later… — Jason let a moment of vulnerability shine, hoping that would melt his brother's heart and fix things. It did. — We will have a second wedding when we renovate our vows in our 5th anniversary. You can be there… Everyone can be there. — Jason cleared his throat to interrupt the other again. — But now I have to get home in time to make dinner for my honeyboo, so why don't we… Stay in contact and… One of those days everyone can have dinner together and catch up, huh?

Dick took one of the deepest breaths of his whole life. Jason pursed his lips.

— Okay… — He stuck a finger in his face roughly. — But don't disappear again. Or else I promise I’m gonna personally make everyone track you down, understood? — Jason snorted. As if Tim and Bruce wouldn't do it already once they knew everything. As if Bruce didn't secretly keep track of him this whole time. Unless… Unless everyone changed and he didn't know his… His family anymore.

Why did it make him feel weird?

— Yes, boss. — Jason saluted him and left.

— Relax… — You elongated the word. — Nothing bad it's gonna happen… — You went behind Jason and tried rubbing his broad shoulders to chase the tenseness away. The sight and feel of his muscles almost made you drool, and you blinked to focus again.

— How do you know? — You pursed your lips and went to his side to try to make him take his eyes off of cleaning the countertop for the 4th time due to anxiety.

— Because they love you. And they care about you. And they miss you. — Jason deadpanned you. — Just give it a chance. If anything goes wrong, we will just kick them out and you never have to talk to them, ever again. We can even move if you want. Or go on a vacation to the same place we had our honeymoon, I can wear that skimpy piece you like… Spoil you rotten… — Your voice lowered seductively and you pressed your body to his side, running your hand up and down his arms with some pressure.

Jason’s mind went blank and he was speechless for a few seconds. Your eyebrows raised with a small, convincing smile that made all his worries go away. He sighed.

— Okay… Okay, you’re right… — He leaned down and sneaked an arm around your waist. You both shared a slow and wet kiss, bordering between sensual and calming. Unfortunately, he had to wait a few hours before having some action. He pulled his face away a few centimeters, looking you in the eyes. — I thought I had ripped that thing. — You blinked.

— You just might have. But I bought another one because I looked too good on it not to wear it again. — You shared a chuckle when the doorbell rang. You both looked at the door, then at each other. — Want me to get it? — You ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the last of his nerves. Jason swallowed.

— No. Have to get it over with. — He took a deep breath and then let out. Pulling away from your embrace. — Put the juice on the table for me, please? — You hummed and nodded.

Without giving a second thought, he walked in long strides and abruptly opened the door.

It was like that scene in Avengers: End Game when on one side there was just Captain America against the whole Thanos's army, just staring at each other.

— Are you wearing an apron? — Damian snarked with an eyebrow raised. Jason looked down. Yes, he was. Good start.

— Take your shoes off, there’s other shoes for you all there. And here I was having hope that at fifteen you wouldn't be a demon anymore. — Jason said sarcastically and gave them space to enter.

As soon as they got in the neighborhood they were all already skeptical. If you were the only one working, how much do you earn to live in such a nice area and with this nice house? They could even see a pool in the backyard and there were TWO expensive cars in the driveway. Jason said he quit all of the crime lord thing, did he keep the savings? Did he invest?

The little dog came running and barking, taking their attention away from the house and their shoes, Damian immediately crouched to pet her. Jason let a side of his lips go up. At least that hasn't changed.

— Her name is Daphne. — Jason spoke over the cooing of Duke and Cass at the dog. He locked eyes with Bruce who had an unreadable expression on his face. He looked older, Jason didn't know how to feel about that. Then gazed at Dick, who had a shit eating grin, Alfred, whose satisfied smile warmed his heart, and Tim, who was analyzing the space while changing shoes.

— Nice place. So, what does your partner do? — Are they committing fraud? — You appeared from the corner and replied for him.

— I direct the Queen Industries’s Gotham’s office. — You answered softly with a polite smile, stopping besides Jason, who wrapped an arm around you. Everyone's gaze turning on you made you feel shy, but you held on with confidence.

— Oh, wow, so Jason really is a malewife. — Your eyes widened in surprised and you couldn't hold back a laugh. Jason let a small smile graze his lips, coaxing the easiness out of him.

— I offered to pay cleaning and cooking service, but he wanted to do things himself. — You say, a little afraid they would get angry at you for “slavering” their Jason.

— Did you buy those cars outside? — Wow, Tim really was as skeptical as Jason had said.

— Hmhmm. — You nodded simply, as if it was nothing.

Jason's siblings raised their eyebrows and Bruce cleared his throat, and took a step forward, feet clad in fluffy slippers. He offered a hand and presented himself politely to you. You wondered how much of that was his persona and how much was just a father meeting his son's partner.

While giving them a tour of the house, the family — aside from Alfred who already knew it all — observed the details, happy memories in the form of pictures of trips, your marriage, birthdays, anniversaries, Daphne's growing stages, spontaneous moments that just deserved to be eternalized, trinkets, handmade pots, plants, Daphne’s toys, and the decor that was just a mix of you both. No guns in the walls, no corpses buried in the backyard, no blood stains. The only signals that it was their Jason living here and not a clone were the books, pictures and hidden security measures. 

It was… Good. Peaceful. Clearly the change in scenario helped him. It hurt them a little, some more than others, that it took him cutting them off for him to start healing, although, maybe opening up this new side of him for them meant that it wasn't just that. And it wasn't. The fault didn't fall completely on them. Nor on Jason. And one person, you, can't be the solution for all global crisis. Mental health is complex. Trauma is complicated. Past can't be changed, but the future can. 

That night, everyone enjoyed Jason's cooking, Daphne and the new future.

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Taglist:

@wandalfnation

[l4ndoflove]

simp...ly lovely

feat. max verstappen

lyrics preview you: a worldwide renowned singer. max: a four-time f1 world champion... and apparently your biggest fan?

maddie corny title, corny faceclaim, definitely corny concept, but i had SO MUCH fun writing it (if you want more smaus, send in your ideas!)

with @.lalalalisa_m

ynofficial

❤️ 3.8M 💬 18.2K

liked by tatemcrae, oliviarodrigo, maxverstappen1 and others

ynofficial singapore was UNREAL tonight. thanks to every single one of you for making it possible, i love u all <3 (still can't believe this was the last show tbh, miss u already)

asia tour over for now, see you guys soon xx

comments

tatemcrae ATE

ynofficial you can't spell ate without tate

❤️ by tatemcrae

user1 MOTHERS

user2 their friendship is my roman empire

user3 collab when???

user4 yn x t8 would be the end of me

oliviarodrigo prettiest girl everrrrr 💞

ynofficial back at you liv 💞💞💞

user5 AWWW

spotify our favorite pop princesses 💕

❤️ by ynofficial and oliviarodrigo

user6 prettiest besties alive fr

user7 the matching heart emojis 🥹

user8 people need a ynolivia tour ASAP

user9 i am people people is me

user10 YES PLEASE 💳💥💳💥💳💥

user11 the duality of woman

user12 i swear like how is that the same person

user13 good girl 🫦 vs good girl 😚

user14 LITERALLY

user15 if girlhood is a spectrum was a person:

user16 "miss you already" JUST ADD NEW DATES???

ynofficial working on it 🫶

user16 oh

user17 LMAO IT ACTUALLY WORKED

user18 @.user16 the hero we deserved 👏

user19 wait so new dates actually confirmed!?

user20 omg chill she didn't say anything yet

user21 BODY. IS. TEA.

user22 outfit too 🙂‍↕️

user23 don't forget the makeup!

user24 am i the only confused f1 fan here or

user25 NO BECAUSE SAME

user26 so we're all seeing max in the likes right

user27 apparently

user28 max verstappen being part of the yn fandom was not on my 2025 bingo card

user29 are we sure he didn't like this by accident 😭

user30 that sounds like something he would do yes

user31 i hate to break it to you but he's been at it for the past three weeks

user32 guys he liked ALL her tour posts

user33 SIMPly lovely huh?

user34 LOL BYE

user35 plot twist is plot twisting

f1 and ynofficial

❤️ 3.2M 💬 38.9K

liked by maxverstappen1 and others

f1 coming soon... @.ynofficial 🎤✨️

05.04.25 | 21:00 utc

#japanesegp

comments

user36 who is this and why is she on my fyp

user37 what about focusing on the race instead? just a thought

user38 and the earth kept spinning

user39 world before: 🌍 world after: 🌍

user40 no one asked 😍

user41 YN STANS HOW ARE WE FEELING ABOUT THIS

user42 f1 fan here, i have no idea who she is and i couldn't care less

user43 okay?

user44 this is exactly why f1 "fans" scare me

user45 anyways I'M SO EXCITED AAAHH

user46 me too! i missed her tour but i bought tickets to the race so now i get both... 🫠

user47 ugh you're so luckyyyyy

user48 f1 x yn fans living their best life rn

user49 OH THIS IS GOING TO BE SO GOOD

user50 face card never declines 🛐

user51 🔥🔥🔥

user52 mommy 🥵

user53 if this is an april fools' joke it's not funny

user54 PLS IT HAS TO BE REAL

user55 🕯manifesting hard🕯

user56 may our prayers be answered 🙏

user57 🍀🍀🍀

user58 you're not normal

user59 why is everyone in the comments so mad 💀

user60 fr like get a life

user61 forget everything the dutchman did it again

user62 he's so real for that

user63 DUDUDUDU HE'S DOWN BADDD

user64 the real question now is can suzuka handle these two goats

f1 guess we'll see 😉

user65 SCREAMING

ynofficial

❤️ 6.8M 💬 40.4K

liked by f1, maxverstappen1, oliviarodrigo and others

ynofficial quali now, sound check later 🥂🏁

comments

oliviarodrigo babe you're GLOWING

ynofficial it's the suzuka weather ☀️

f1 keep an eye out for our next pole sitter 👀

ynofficial on it 🫡

❤️ by maxverstappen1

user66 *insert leonardo dicaprio gif here*

user67 BRO THOUGHT WE WOULDN'T NOTICE

user68 he's so confident he'll get pole 😭

user69 he will just for her 🗣🗣🗣

user70 stay delulu folks ✊️😔

ynofficial i believe in him 🙃

user71 WHAT'S WRONG WITH THEM

user72 i'm already way too invested in their dynamic

user73 new ship to obsess over unlocked

user74 now my life is complete again 😌

user75 do you people really have nothing better to do in your free time?

user76 as a ferrari fan the only other available option is depression so no 🥰

user77 @.user75 we're good thanks 👍

user78 why is she here again?

user79 let her breathe ffs

user80 still genuinely don't understand where all the hate came from

user81 maybe it's because she has nothing to do with f1?

user82 she's not the first celebrity they've invited tho???

user83 i fear this argument is going nowhere

user84 neither is our girl but y'all aren't ready for that conversation

user85 PERIOD

f1gossippofficial

❤️ 62.8 K 💬 23.3K

f1gossippofficial max verstappen was seen attending yn's concert last night in suzuka!

comments

user86 you don't say

user87 *20 missed calls from lando*

user88 are we supposed to be surprised?

user89 yeah like any other driver so what

user90 who cares

user91 celebrating his pole position in style i see

user92 like a winner 🙂‍↕️

user93 he is a man of culture after all

user94 it's giving supportive boyfriend

user95 they're not even together

user96 exactly

user97 a girl can dream 🤷‍♀️

user98 okay but that clip of him singing along was genuinely so funny

user99 man knew the lyrics word by word

user100 where can i find it???

user101 it was on lando's stories i think(?)

user102 bro woke up and decided to expose max's ass

user103 very demure and mindful of him

user104 he did god's work 🙏

user105 lando is actually maxyn's number 1 supporter and no one can change my mind

user106 THE WAY HE'S LOOKING AT YN IN THE FIRST PIC HELLO ⁉️⁉️⁉️

user107 how do you know it's her 💀

user108 i mean i don't think he would look at lando like that

user109 maybe charles was on stage

user110 her smile omg 🥹

user111 she was congratulating max btw

user112 JAIL

user113 STOP SHE WAS BLUSHING SO HARD HAHAHA

user114 they're in love your honor

user115 i'm so not normal about them

redbullracing

❤️ 7.6M 💬 42.3K

liked by ynofficial, maxverstappen1, lando and others

redbullracing it was simply lovely meeting you @.ynofficial ❤️

comments

user116 PARENTS

user117 OMG ADMIN SHIPS IT TOO

user118 wasn’t this a lestappen fanpage

user119 💔

user120 charles crying in the corner because he's not max's main love interest anymore

redbullracing dw he's still our favorite 😉

user121 try not to ship two of the most problematic drivers on the grid: level impossible

user122 no one fangirls over them like red bull

user123 MAX LOOKS SO PROUD I CAN'T

user124 i bet the little fanboy in him was screaming

user125 max "i'm just happy to be here" verstappen

user126 they're so barbie and ken coded idc what anyone says

user127 wait i can actually see that

user128 idk about her outfit...

user129 and she doesn't know about you, problem solved 😘

user130 get her away from the paddock

user131 what did she ever do to you 😭

user132 i say let 👏 the 👏 woman 👏 breathe 👏

user133 amen 🙌

user134 SHE WAS THE ONE WAVING THE FLAG I'M UNWELL

user135 i'm gonna pretend this means she helped him win (i'm delusional)

maxverstappen1 she did

maxverstappen1 she was my lucky charm

user136 AGAIN!?

user137 i'm ending it all

user138 he's so awkward it's painful

user139 STOP DELETING THE COMMENTS AND JUST ASK HER OUT ALREADY

user140 why do i feel like he could really use some rizz classes from lando

❤️ by lando

lando @.maxverstappen1 told ya

maxverstappenfanclub

❤️ 75.5K 💬 7,968

maxverstappenfanclub unseen photos of max and yn in suzuka 🤩🇯🇵

comments

user141 how dare instagram hide this from me for a whole minute

user142 HOW DARE RED BULL HIDE THIS FROM US IN GENERAL

user143 the disrespect 😨

user144 they wanted to keep all the wholesomeness to themselves

user145 selfish pricks

user146 if you heard someone screaming that was me

user147 if you heard someone screaming no you didn't. i passed out

user148 only acceptable reaction

user149 do they know it's legal to talk about their feelings instead of doing whatever the fuck this is

user150 BLUSHING GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET

user151 SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

user152 there are two types of people:

user153 both valid af

user154 THE FIRST ONE IS THE REASON I STILL BELIEVE IN LOVE

user155 the eyes chico, they never lie

user156 the physical need to have someone looking at me like that

user157 so true

user158 oh he's GONE gone

user159 everyone talking about max BUT WHAT ABOUT YN

user160 ❗️❗️❗️

user161 YES THANK YOU

user162 you have no idea how much this means to me

user163 HER SMILE WHEN SHE SAW HIS CARHQYQKCZGUD

user164 and the little happy dance MY HEART

user165 they're disgusting (i love them sm)

f1wags._

❤️ 88.8K 💬 11.5K

f1wags._ ⁉️NEW WAG ALERT⁉️ @.maxverstappen1 and @.ynofficial spotted together after their collab shoot in suzuka!

comments

user166 hey so this is actually insane 😃

user167 I JUST OPENED INSTAGRAM WTF IS THIS

user168 WE WON

user169 SUCK IT HATERS

user170 calm tf down it doesn't mean anything

user171 suuure

user172 they say denial is a river in egypt

user173 just accept the fact that we were right all along and move on 😝

user174 MAXYN NATION RISE

user175 our moment has finally arrived

user176 i have no idea how we got here but i'm definitely not complaining

user177 we're being fed with this content

user178 I DIED DEAD

user179 when why and how did this happen

user180 i love how it goes from normal shooting to flirting to full-on tits out

user181 HAND PLACEMENT

user182 i see what you did there maximilian

user183 i'm 99.9% sure he smacked her ass one second after that picture was taken

maxverstappen1 why the 0.1%?

user184 FREAKSTAPPEN STRIKES ONCE AGAIN

user185 i can't believe he actually wrote that omg

user186 BOOM SHAKALAKA

user187 max or yn?

user188 BOAF

user189 I NEED A BIG BOY GIVE ME A BIG BOYYYYY 😫❣️

user190 great now kiss

ynofficial

❤️ 11M 💬 86.3K

liked by maxverstappen1, oliviarodrigo, tatemcrae and others

ynofficial fast cars, faster hearts 🫶

comments

maxverstappen1 ❤️❤️❤️

❤️ by ynofficial

oliviarodrigo can't believe i really lost you to a m*n 🤢

tatemcrae he doesn't deserve you babe

ynofficial don't be mean🧍‍♀️

tatemcrae not mean. just honest

oliviarodrigo yeah no i'm sticking to mean

user191 nothing will ever top this day

user192 THIS IS A HISTORICAL MOMENT

user193 I FUCKING KNEW IT

user194 canon event

user195 it was bound to happen at one point

user196 not the couple we deserved but the one we needed

user197 YOU CAN'T JUST DROP THINGS LIKE THIS ON A RANDOM SATURDAY

user198 the ship has sailed i repeat the ship has sailed

user199 words cannot describe how i'm feeling right now

user200 i've been jumping around my room for the past five minutes

redbullracing happy for you 🥰 (charles... not so much)

user201 admin is still stuck on lestappen and so am i

user202 maxyn defender till the day i die but lestappen is THE otp

user203 lando's lessons actually paid off lol

lando you had doubts?

user203 no sir 🫡

user204 lando yesrizz

❤️ by lando

user205 HOLY SHIT THIS WAS BETTER THAN READING A FANFIC

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[nanamiskentos]

THAT'S SO TRUE — toji fushiguro

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (e) and let the show begin !

prologue. → you vowed to yourself that you would rock toji fushiguro's world as a new year's resolution. but it's christmas eve already, and the year is almost over. by hook or by crook, you're gonna that gorgeous, buff older man in your bed tonight.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)

warnings. reader has never been chill a day in her life, áge gáp, dílf!toji, big díck toji (ofc), voyeurísm (sorta implied), másturbátion (f), jealous sèx, reader watches toji through binoculars, they match each other's freak, creámpíe, reader gets called 'slutty' and 'doll', orál (m and f. receiving)

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. that's so true — gracie abrams

a/n. incredible art by sakimichan 🍃 i had so much fun writing this 😁 reader is an adult!! i imagined toji to be 35-ish, and reader to be 22...? its christmas day for me so i'm a tad late 😩

mp3. bet you're thinking 'she's so cool' kicking back on your couch, making eyes from across the room. wait! i think i've been there too!

if your friends knew what you were up to right now, they'd skip the intervention and go straight to dragging you to the nearest police precinct.

forget a lecture, they would slap a pair of handcuffs on you first, citing charges of being horny to the first degree.

officer! she just can't keep it in her pants!

but did you care? not in the slightest.

you adjust the blinds, nudging them just enough to angle your binoculars a little lower. focus sharpened, lens zoomed in, and there he was. the object of your totally healthy, not-at-all unhinged plan.

the target in question? toji fushiguro.

your next-door neighbour, who also happened to look like he'd walked straight out of a naked biker calendar. leather jacket snug over his broad shoulders, a frame built for sin, and pectorals that were so sculpted, you often dreamed of bouncing walnuts off them. just to see if the nuts would crack.

months ago, you had made a new years resolution to yourself that you wouldn't end this year without bagging the man at least once.

yet here you were on christmas eve, a few days shy of the year's end, still plotting and scheming like a bond villain on how you could charm the socks right off toji fushiguro.

but you feared that tonight was beginning to deliver a cold, harsh slap of reality.

your heart suddenly gives an undignifed lurch as toji swings off his motorcycle in one fluid motion. but your smirk — yes, you had been smirking and you wouldn't deny that, vanished the moment your binoculars caught sight of her.

right behind him, a woman dismounted with all the grace and mature confidence that you wished you could summon on a good day.

you twist the focus knob, an unfamiliar figure sharpening into clarity. tall, polished, probably closer to toji's age rather than yours, and way too pretty for your scheming, heinous comfort.

she's hooking her arm through his like they did this all the time, and her cherry-sweet smile beams up at him like he'd hung the damn christmas lights himself.

and then, then! she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, casual as a snowflake fluttering onto the concrete below.

your chest tightens oddly, though whether it was from jealousy or sheer mortification, you couldn't tell. and you didn't want to tell.

toji fushiguro, for his part, didn't seem fazed, at least, not outwardly. he turns his shaggy head away, smiling faintly with that gruff and polite expression he sometimes wore when someone cornered him into small talk.

not that it mattered. you couldn't stop the frown that tugged at your lips, watching the pair disappear out of view, the motorcycle keys still dangling from his thick fingers.

you sigh, setting the binoculars down with a little more force than necessary. tonight was supposed to be your night, the grand finale where you capped the year off with a big win in the shape of this six-foot-two man, with green eyes that could strike you dumb.

and you had even planned ahead! you'd been certain that there wouldn't be any pesky interruptions, particularly of the pint-sized variety.

not that you had anything against megumi fushiguro, he was a good kid — if a little unnerving with that brooding energy he carried around like a hefty backpack.

but still, you'd never really spoken to him much. call it morals or basic decency, but dragging a clueless kid into your schemes just felt a little wrong.

so when you had overheard toji casually mentioning that megumi was out for a sleepover with some friend, something about how nice it would be to have a night for himself, you had taken that as a sign from the universe. a green light.

fate herself waving you through the doors to make your move.

except now, traitorous fate had also thrown you a curveball in the form of the older, mystery woman who had been clinging to toji's back on the motorcyle. all expensive burgundy fur, and a darling blowout that was way out of a college student's pay cheque.

still, you're not the kind of woman who folds at the first sign of trouble. no, you think, squaring your shoulders. who would you be if you gave up now? perseverance is the backbone of triumph, or something like that.

the walls of this apartment are criminally thin, and you trust that the muffled thuds coming from next door are none other than toji fushiguro leading his...date up the stairs and down the hallway. the metallic jingle of keys confirms it, a sound that sends a pang of irritation prickling beneath your skin.

your gaze shifts to your desk, to the corkboard cluttered up with polaroids of your friends, random university flyers, and pinned up lecture schedules that you never follow. you press three fingers to your lips, in a respectful and solemn kiss, before tapping your photograph of aaron hotchner, in a promise for the near future.

"i won't give up, hotch," you murmur, the solemn, printed face of thomas gibson crossing his arms — gazing back at you, a beacon of motivational determination.

and with that, you grab a notepad and the first pen you can find, even though it's half-dried and it can barely write. you flip the pages open, and begin dotting down your back-up plan on how to score toji fushiguro tonight.

you're pretty sure it's been an hour since you started furiously scribbling on paper. five dried-out pens and a mountain of crumpled drafts later, each one titled with variations of how to get toji fushiguro in my bed, your notepad is starting to look like a pathetic manifesto.

you sip idly at your grape soda, the fizzy sweetness staining your tongue a violent purple. and listen, to be clear, you're absolutely a feminist. truly. you're not the type to believe in pitting women against each other. that's messy, unsophisticated, and frankly it's far beneath you.

but sadly, here's the other thing. desperate times call for desperate measures. and as much as you hate to admit it, toji fushiguro, your brooding and hulking neighbour with shoulders that eclipse the sun, has your resolve teetering right on the edge. the wanting and lusty human spirit is unbreakable, and the idea of losing is as appealing as licking sandpaper.

the sound of a low thud breaks through your plotting, as you drop the end of the pen out of your mouth. your ears perk up at the faint creak of a door opening. you recognise the gruff voice, muffled through the thin walls.

"damn heater's out again. 'm just gonna go check the switch downstairs."

uh-huh. that's what you thought. this was just act one of the stage play.

see, about forty five minutes ago, inspiration had struck. you'd realised you needed to get toji out of his apartment, and given his bear-like simplicity: eat, sleep, grumble, repeat, it wasn't exactly that easy.

but every man needed his rest, and no man could rest on christmas eve when the snow was sticking to the window pane from the cold.

so, you had snuck downstairs and flipped the heater's breaker to his apartment off, leaving the rest blissfully untouched. setting an ideal trap for the vast man.

you crack your door open, just enough to watch him lumber off towards the left staircase.

it's one of two routes down to the basement, and the fastest, if you hadn't intercepted fate. about twenty minutes into your plan, you had grabbed a handful of out of order signs (printed with comic sans, the true villain of typography) and plastered them halfway down the left flight of stairs.

you dart towards the right staircase, your knee-high socks skimming the concrete steps in a frantic descent. as you reach the halfway point, you hear the telltale grunt of a frustrated toji.

"damn management can't even warn people about closures," he's muttering to himself, heavy footsteps falling in line behind yours.

right on cue. by the time he reaches the basement, there you are, innocently peering at the big, clunky switchboard. like it wasn't you who had just broken into it to render toji's apartment a freezing chill.

your sweater's been strategically tugged off one shoulder, and you're pretending the icy air isn't slicing at your bare legs, left exposed by the shortest pair of shorts you own.

"what brings ya down here?" toji grunts, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

you count it as a small victory when his eyes sweep over you, slow and deliberate, before the older man coughs and shifts his focus back to the switchboard. you sidle closer under the guise of curiosity, so close that the fabric of your sweater brushes his arm. the steel biceps flexing under the tight, black fabric of his tee.

"i don't know," you sigh, feigning innocence with a touch of melancholia, "it jus' got so cold of all a sudden." you cross your arms over your chest, pretending to shiver just enough to catch his attention without looking concerningly ill.

toji glances down at you briefly, his brow furrowing, "mhm. yeah," he mutters, before turning back to the labyrinth of switches, "can't believe how these clowns the place."

you watch as the man leans in, studying the panel like it's some kind of ancient artefact. his expression is set in that serious, furrowed way men always get when faced with the unfamiliar terrain of household maintenance.

cute. almost.

you, of course, had done your homework. a quick google search of the model number earlier had led you to the manual, and you already knew it was the purple switch on the top right. but why rush, eh? if toji fushiguro wanted to play handyman, who were you to deprive him? especially when you needed a little more time to set the mood, to give him some ideas.

every time his fingers hovered closer to the correct switch, you leaned in, cutting him off with casual chatter. enough to have the man's eyes drop over you once more, before flicking away before he could break the bounds of propriety.

"so, are you doing anything tonight?"

"what?" his gruff tone reverberates through the dim basement, bouncing off the concrete walls.

you flutter your lashes at him, meeting his sharp, verdant gaze, "i mean, it's christmas eve. got any fun plans?"

he straightens slightly, his hand falling from the panel as he looks right at you, "nah. just stayin' in." but toji tilts his head and throws the question back at you, "why aren't you?"

"why aren't i, what?" you tilt your head to mirror the man, feigning confusion, "staying inside? i was, but then i got cold. y'know, busted heater and all."

toji exhales through his nose, and you watch mesmerised as the scar twitches over his lip, "no, doll. i mean, doing something fun. you're young. got your whole life ahead of you to be old and boring."

the faintest flicker of a genuine smile tugs at the corner of your glossy lips. if only he knew. you clear your throat, "i guess," and you shrug, the movement subtle, but just enough to let your sweater slip a little further off your shoulder, "it's just not my...taste."

your gaze trails over him, deliberate but not obvious enough to tip the scales out of your hand. you hope that you're not wide-eyed taking in how his broad shoulders ripple, almost tense?

"ah." toji fushiguro, everybody. a man of great wit, and even greater vocabulary.

he's tapping a knuckle against the switchboard, frowning at the rows of colourful levers like they've personally insulted him. you take the moment to edge a little closer, peering up at him with a deliberate and doe-eyed expression.

"need help?" you ask, voice sweet enough to break through teeth.

toji snorts, "you? help me with this?" he glances at you sideways, one thin brow quirking up, "i've got this, doll," but he seems to sober up, remembering that he does not have this, "unless you even know what this thing does?"

"of course i do," you shrug, feigning nonchalance, "i'm pretty good at flicking the right switch."

and what a sweet, untainted victory when toji's movements still. he doesn't tear his gaze away from the switchboard, but his hands pause and you see his lips twitch, "uh-huh."

"you should probably head back upstairs," he says gruffly, his tone almost concerned, "basement's freezin' and you're gonna catch a cold in, uh," and toji's gesturing vaguely at your thin ensemble, clearly trying to be polite.

"i know, but i was just comfortable in this," you run your hands, pretending to tug at the hem of your shorts. ignoring how the goosebumps are practically beating your ass right now, and you're about an inch of a temperature drop away from hypothermia.

toji fushiguro mutters something under his breath, something about attitude and young people these days, but he doesn't move away when you sidle back closer to him again, the faint brush of your arm against his making the great man stiffen up again.

"so, no christmas eve plans at all?" you press again, cocking your head, "not even a little festive cheer? eggnog?"

"festive cheer?" toji scoffs, finally pulling the purple switch as the low hum of the heater continues to chug away. dusting his hands off like he's just solved a national crisis, like you couldn't have solved that ten minutes ago, "i'm not big on christmas."

"that's tragic," you sigh, "and i was gonna ask you to stand with me under the mistletoe." your tone is teasing, light enough to deflect any serious questions but you let your lips form a soft pout. just enough to teeter on the edge of innocence. the faint, almost-whine in your tone is carefully calibrated: harmless on the surface but laced with the kind of undercurrent that can plant ideas in a man's head.

"ya' got jokes tonight," toji's gaze lingers, a little longer than necessary. you don't miss the way his shoulders draw tighter together. how his jaw ticks, but the real prize for you is when his hand slides up to rub the back of his neck, fingers kneading at the thick muscle, like he's trying to shake something loose.

the corner of your mouth twitches again, oh. you've got him now.

"imagine going through life, so lonely on christmas. that's gotta do something to a person." you're so not seeing the pearly gates, but you've come to terms with that.

"yeah? like what?" toji huffs.

you tap a finger against your chin, pretending to think, "well. for starters, it probably makes you very grumpy."

"tch, 'm not grumpy," toji rasps, but his tone says otherwise, as he runs a hand through sleek strands of dark hair, "yer' something else, you know that?"

"i've been told."

tojo shakes his head again, and you don't miss the faint smile tugging at the corner of his thin mouth, "alright, kid. time to head back up before you freeze to death down here."

time's up on this charade. you puff out a breath, your coy bravado dimming just a little bit, "fine, fine. but i'm not a kid, y'know."

toji's green eyes flick to yours, like chips of sea-glass as he holds your gaze, before turning back towards the stairs, "yeah. i know."

you follow him up in silence, the soft patter of your socks suddenly too cold on the pavement. at the top of the steps, toji pauses, glancing back at you with an unreadable expression, "get some rest. and make sure no-one's messin' with the switches."

"why would they do that?" you say, a touch too quickly.

"no reason," toji says, just as abruptly, stepping back as though putting physical distance between you two would help, "but it's all fixed now. go on, back to your apartment."

you blink, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift, "what? no thanks for keeping you company."

"thanks," toji fushiguro says flatly, but his gaze isn't unkind.

"wow. don't get too sentimental on me now."

"goodnight," the man deadpans, swinging your door open for you, just for good measure. before turning on his heel, and heading for his own room.

back to the drawing board.

toji fushiguro is convinced that the universe has it out for him. some karmic retribution is surely circling overhead, just waiting to strike. because really, what other explanation is there for his constant predicaments?

his life had been fine, a little lonely, sure, but manageable. until you moved in next door, perhaps sometime last year. sweet, maddening, entirely too pretty for your own good.

what the hell was toji supposed to do with that?

he's still rubbing the back of his neck, pushing open the door to his apartment. his date, right, was still perched on the old couch, scrolling through her phone. she's looking up at him when he entered, arching a brow.

"hey, you were gone for a while," she lightly comments, tucking her phone away.

"yeah, uh, sorry 'bout that," he mutters, crossing to the kitchen, "this place has a habit of breaking down on me."

shui had set him up with this woman, insisting that toji needed to crawl out of his self-imposed hermit hole and start living a little.

"you're not getting any younger, fushiguro," shui had snarked, as if toji didn't already feel every year weighing on him. so, fine. he'd agreed, figuring one dinner with a woman way out of his tax bracket wouldn't kill him.

and to be fair, the date had been...fine. the woman was attractive, sharp-witted, and she didn't pester him with inane questions. the kind of woman that most people would be thrilled to spend an evening with. but toji just couldn't shake the strange emptiness that had settled in his chest.

still, he had told himself to quit overthinking. maybe he was just out of practice. or maybe shui oddly had a point, and he needed to stop letting life pass him by. so, he'd invited her back to his place, hoping another glass of wine and small talk would lead one things into another.

what he hadn't counted on was running into you in the basement. how your light voice would replay in his head, that teasing lilt burrowing under his thick skin and leaving him restless.

tojo shakes his head, reaching for a couple of glasses and the half-decent bottle of wine that he kept stashed away from megumi's prying hands. kid was at that age where he was too damn curious for his own good about everything. his brain, however, was still stuck in the basement, circling around you.

what the hell had you been doing there anyway? sidling up to him all close, sickeningly sweet perfume or some shit that made his jaw clench. batting long lashes at him, and teasing him about mistletoe kisses.

civility. decency. that was the bare minimum that he could give you, wasn't it?

"you've got quite the collection of, uh, things up there," his date's voice pulls him back, gesturing to the open cabinet with a polite smile. toji glances at colourful boxes of cereal, and the little plastic bowls with cartoon animals splashed all over them. megumi's favourites.

"yeah," he says gruffly, pouring the wine, "got a kid. just the one."

she nods, taking the glass he hands her, "that's sweet. how old?"

"six. he's...not here tonight."

before his date can reply, catch the insinuation that he's thrown out, another sound filters through the paper-thin walls. a giggle, a sweet laugh followed by a voice he knows all too well.

"i know, right! he was like, totally into me!"

toji freezes, the wine bottle hovering mid-pour over his second glass. he sets the bottle down with a little more force than necessary, pretending not to notice the way his date glanced toward the wall, clearly having heard you too. fantastic. as if the universe hadn't done enough to torment him today.

his teeth ground together as your voice floated through again, a singsong lilt that made his chest thump, and irritation flare all at once. what were you even talking about? who the hell was 'totally' into you?

"uh-huh," you had been laughing, your voice carrying through the wall, "and then, he asked me out!"

toji's grip tightens on his glass, wondering who on earth managed to pull you into a date. wait, why did he even care?

his date seems oblivious to the internal war raging inside of him, taking a sip of her wine and smiling, "so, what's your son's name?"

"megumi," he mutters, absently, eyes flicking through the wall like he could see through it if he squinted hard enough. ugh, what an awful thing to think. what was wrong with him? acting like freak, not able to mind his own business.

his date's laugh is soft and polite, "that's cute."

cute, yeah.

you thought it was cute too, didn't you? he remembered the way your eyes lit up when megumi toddled after you once in the hallway, clutching one of his ridiculous animal-print bowls.

"oh, what did i say?" your voice drifts again through the walls, following by a light laugh, "look, he was cute and all, but he just wasn't my type."

toji rubs a hand down his face, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his noise. you're just his neighbour. you're entitled to have your fun, to live your own life. that doesn't mean he has to like hearing about it.

meanwhile, his date sits stiffly on the couch, politely pretending your voice isn't bleeding through the walls like a radio she can't turn off. she's doing a commendable job of feigning disinterest, but toji knows it's killing what little momentum the evening had.

he clears his throat, trying to salvage things, "so, uh, got any plans for tomorrow? something fun for christmas?" great, now he's stealing lines from you.

her smile tightens, polite but clearly wavering, "just lunch with my family. my sister's bringing her kids over."

toji nods, grasping at conversational straws, "that's nice. i've got, uh, a brother. and an annoying little cousin."

"right," and she's glancing up at the clock, her patience thinning faster than her smile.

"oh, come on," your voice pipes up again, clearer this time, "you know my type's never been those kinds of guys. i like the big, rough ones." there's a pause, and then you laugh, the sound both coy and infuriatingly knowing, "yeah, like a bit older. all muscles."

toji freezes, trying to pretend like his insides aren't doing the tango. his date, on the other hand, has clearly reached her limit. her lips purse into a tight smile as she stands, smoothing her dress, "look, you've been nice and all," she says, voice clipped, clearly cutting off the chances of a second date, "but i really should get going."

toji fushiguro doesn't argue. doesn't even try to stop her. just watches as her expensive-ass coat swings off his couch, her heels clicking toward the door and her figure vanishing down the hallway.

he slouches back on the couch, arms sprawled wide, feigning a calm that he doesn't definitely feel. in truth, he's seconds away from keeling over, his chest tight and his pulse betrays him.

"huh?" your voice filters through the paper-thin walls, questioning and laced with mirth. the sound sends a shiver down his spine, and down somewhere else, "oh, my neighbour? toji, yep, that's him!"

his head jerks up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, eyes boring into the wall like he can will it to dissolve. tch, he's being such a dog. his ears are straining, sharp and unreasonably hopeful.

"yeah, he's so perfectly my type. tsk! yes, of course, i wish he'd just...yeah. anyway. but," you sigh, a dramatic exhale, "but i just don' think he's into me."

toji freezes, as heat floods his face, creeping down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. there's a traitorous clench in his groin as his stomach flips in a way that's both exhilarating and completely unwelcome.

the truth — shameful and complicated as it is — is that he is very much into you. has been for months. and it's getting worse.

every time you lean into him with those wide, sparkling eyes, every time you tease him with some playful jab or brush your fingers against his arm like it’s nothing, it carves a little deeper into his self-control. you're sweet, bright, always full of questions and comments that manage to sound innocent and maddeningly suggestive all at once.

but there's a prickling shame that comes with it, too, a harsh voice in the back of his head that tells him to grow the hell up. he's a grown man, for crying out loud.

a grown man with a kid who needs him, who already has enough on his plate without the complication of a pretty little neighbour who could turn his world upside down without even trying.

what could he offer you, anyway? you, who barrels down the hall in the mornings with an oversized bag bouncing against your hip, always late for something important, always in motion.

your life is big and full and bursting with possibilities. his, by comparison, feels...worn. quiet. comfortable in a way that makes him feel ancient when he looks at you.

still, it doesn't stop toji from looking. or from thinking things he shouldn't, like how your laughter lights up even the dullest days. or sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, pulling his hard cock out to tug on it, imagining your doe-eyes peering up at him.

toji rubs a hand over his face, groaning quietly into the crook of his elbow. what the fuck is he supposed to do with this?

you're starting to lose precious steam. for all your big talk about not giving up and winning toji over, the spark of confidence that got you this far is starting to sputter out. the lines that you'd carefully scribbled in blue ballpoint ink, a full script of fake laughter and coy quips begins to feel...a little tragic.

half an hour of pacing your apartment and pretending to be on the phone has left you feeling deflated, and painfully self-aware. your voice has grown too practiced, too rehearsed and you're starting to wonder if you even sound convincing anymore. and for all you know, toji fushiguro didn't even hear one word of it.

he's probably in there, sprawled on his couch, having a great time with his date. maybe laughing, maybe pouring wine, or maybe he's taken her to bed. fuck, your stomach lurches as your insides flip for no good, kind reason.

you glance at the cooling grape soda on your nightstand, still fizzing lazily in its can, and suddenly feeling quite awful. disgusted with yourself for the plotting, the dramatics, and the fact that it hasn't paid off in the slightest.

with a sigh that's more frustrated and resigned, you flop back onto your bed, ignoring the slight bounce of the mattress as you land. your apartment suddenly feels too hot, the air sticky and stifling.

you kick off the blanket that's bunched around your ankles, and you lie sprawled on top of the quilt. head tilted back against the pillows as you take in the dull hum of the light fixture and the occasional creak of the pipes.

with a despondent sigh, you find yourself half-heartedly parting your legs — maybe to entertain some false fantasy instead. you could have gone out, maybe really lived a little, just as toji had suggested.

you roll down the waistband of your shorts, pulling at the soft, elastic band. just tugging them down enough so you can trail your hands over the flesh of your thighs. yeah, you were that morose right now.

perhaps, you should have accepted the invites to all those christmas parties. you could have dolled up a little, grabbed a sweet drink or two on the house, fallen into the strong arms of a stranger?

you trail your hands over thin, soft skin. nails gently grazing over your mound, as you quickly run your middle finger through your slit, already dewy and moist. you muffle a small whine, because for all your showmanship earlier, you weren't above decency. and these walls were truly that thin.

but it's hard to not buck your hips up into your own touch, working your puffy cunt open with steady fingers. one finger, and then a second, fluttering at a gentle pace. how telling that the mysterious stranger in your fantasies is suddenly far older, with hazy green eyes and charcoal hair falling over his face.

you substitute the slap of your fingers for his, pretending its a rough thumb that pulls at your clit, gently pushing the throbbing hood up to run misshapen circles over the bundle of nerves.

"hah," you try to gnaw at your lower lip, keeping your mouth shut, as you're desparate for the creak of your bed frame to not carry over into the apartment next door, "t-toji, please."

there's a faint thud from next door, like someone has just hit their head. but you can hardly register it in your own mind. shuffling whines leaving your lips, as you use your fingers to stretch out your slick, sodden walls. getting faster, and faster with each piston-like gesture to curl the pads of your fingers up. searching, keening around for that rough spot that makes you squeal.

your eyes are fluttering shut, lashes falling against your cheek as your jaw tightens, heartbeat beginning to race as you heave for air, back arching up as you use your other hand to furiously flick over your clit, building up a steady ache in your wrist that you ignore, "ah, ah, toji, r-right there, fuck, 'm close."

each press of your finger against the walls of your entrance results in a large squelch echoing through your ears, getting closer and closer to that devastating peak, all the while as hallucination-toji snickers down at you and —

"hey!"

and just like that, your long-awaited orgasm, your beautiful climax, well. she disappears with nary a goodbye. your eyes snap open, heart hammering as you blink up at the dull ceiling. your hand is yanked away from your cunt, the cool air suddenly hitting the slick that's coating your fingers. your mind stutters, scrambling for clarity as an all-too-familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

"hey! c'mon, doll. don't have all day."

toji. toji fushiguro. oh, shit.

the panic rises quickly, what are your options? dive out the window and hope that you land on your feet? or fake an illness so convincing that you convince him that's contagious so he leaves? you consider it for a moment, but something else takes over. far more brave, or just reckless and lust-addled. you pull yourself upright, tugging your shorts back up. you shift your sheets, making sure that the dark, translucent patch is covered.

you pad towards the door with the air of a man marked for execution. when you swing it open, you're met with a red-faced toji. is he flushed?

you drop any cute pretense, and instead, lock your petulant gaze on his chest, straight up with the no eye-contact rule. it gives you a real, shameless good look at those heavenly sculpted pecs.

"what do you want?" you ask, voice as flat as you can possibly manage. but you're keenly aware of that mirror-gloss still coating your hands, and you wonder if its too obvious to scrunch your fingers in your sweatshirt. gross, someone get you out of here. the misery of your own making.

toji stands there, entirely dumbounded, and you notice the flush creeping up the peachy tan of his neck, a shade deeper than usual, "what do i want? what do you want?" he says, his voice rock-rasp.

you swallow thickly, ignoring the addled scent of leather, musk and something far more faintly addictive, "i have no idea what you mean."

toji huffs, obviously amused, before mimicking your voice with exaggerated sweetness, "oh, toji, please. right there, toji." he's mocking you, and your skin burns with the recent memory of that exact tone.

you consider for a split second if you can just hand him your lease tomorrow morning and call it quits. but then, toji continues, "y'know these walls are thin, right?"

you cross your arms, trying to steady yourself, ignoring how your poor cunt clenches with the faint memory of her ruined orgasm, "really? i had no idea."

toji mirrors your actions, his arms folding, but the effect only pushes his pecs up, and you try not to get distracted. but it's hard, very hard, "don't get all smart with me now. been hearing you giggle all evenin' and being all slutty."

"thought you had a date," you mutter, the act of playing pretend has long since passed and you're too far gone now to pretend. you scowl up at toji, meeting his gaze head-on, feeling your heart race as his eyes narrow and his pink lips part slightly. you can almost feel the urgent heat of his gaze dragging over your hand, your damp fingertips.

"how'd you know about my date? suddenly real concerned for me?" toji tilts his head, voice laced with infuriating amusement, and you fight the urge to lash out, to throw yourself into him and kiss him fuckin' stupid. instead, you dig in your heels, staying put.

"no, i'm not concerned," you stutter, floundering for a reason, "i'm just, well —"

"who asked you out?" toji cuts through your flickering thoughts, an undercurrent of something sharper in his tone.

"huh?"

"who was it? the one who isn't your type?" toji fushiguro says this all so casually, making your stomach flip. so he had been listening, he heard every word of you flouncing around your room.

you swallow hard, ignoring the sudden fluttering in your chest, "why? you jealous?" the words spill out before you can stop them, you raise an eyebrow, feeling a small victory in the way his priggish expression falters just slightly, "just go back to your date, fushiguro."

"gettin' real bold now," he murmurs, and you realise just how close the two of you are. how you can feel his body heart radiating off him. the tension between you is suffocating to say the last, and you can't decide if you want him to step back or push closer. he doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"thanks to your pretty antics, she sent herself packin', and now i'm all on my lonesome."

"how sad for you," and you suddenly curl your lip, "get a vibrator."

toji's maw drops open for a split second, before he shakes his head, "you first. don't know how you were doing all that without one," and he nods to your hand, "and because i wasn't hearin' much else."

something bold and red-hot comes over you, egged on by the damp sticking to your thighs, "want a visual demonstration?"

you barely have time to form a coherent thought before toji moves, a low growl rumbling in his barrel-like chest as he surges forward. his hands, large and calloused and warm, cup your face with surprising gentleness, though the intensity in his gaze leaves no room for doubt. then, his lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting. the faint scrape of the scar cutting across his mouth sending a shiver through you.

it's not careful, it's testing and tasting. as if he's waiting for you to push him away. but oh, you're not going anywhere. not when his kiss is setting your nerves alight, and sending your heart into a dizzying free fall. merry christmas to you, indeed.

you respond in kind, just as desperate, your hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders. the solid, hefty weight of toji beneath your fingers grounds you, even as the world tilts on its axis.

"ohh, look at you," toji all but purrs, pawing his hands over your back, your waist, settling over your hips as he pushes you further into your apartment. a strong arm stretching out to slam the door closed, tugging you further in. it seems he's too needy to even reach the bed, and you whine as you're shoved with your back to the wall. his hand coming up to make sure you don't quite slam in with too much force.

toji's lips are practically meshed to your own, and he's already pulling at the waistband of your shorts again. just as you were doing earlier, and you shudder, feeling thick fingers run along your hips.

"s-shit," toji gasps, "if ya' don't want me to —"

you groan, "no, n-no. want you," your voice quivers suddenly as warm fingers press into your soaked cunt. finding home right among your weeping slit. you don't even see where your shorts have been thrown, instead focusing on toji's hazy eyes flickering when they see that you've been wearing nothing underneath. all damn evening.

you don't think you've ever seen the man so dishevelled, heaving for air, as he tries to come to terms with all this, "so when you were in that basement, jus' tryna tease me? is that what you wanted?"

you can't help but laugh, but it's quickly cut off when toji's pressing a hot kiss to the very tip of your clit, it's so feather light and oddly gentle for the gruff man, and it has you keening over.

"that's it, gon' have you all in my mouth. gonna drink ya' up, it's what you wanted, right?" he uses two fingers to press right up against your entrance, parting your oozing folds so he can narrow his eyes at how ready you are for him, "gonna put this all in a cup, and drink it."

"t-toji!" you whine out, feeling your head go all light, and weightless, watching toji play with your core. seeing the older man gape at how you're soaking divots into his fingers, seeing emerald eyes darken with a carnal need to taste you. right now.

"stay still, doll. yeah, just for a sec," toji's hands tighten around your thighs, smacking a fat glob of spit over your trembling core, letting his index finger run the fluid up and down your pussy, a ragged laugh running raw from his smart mouth, "had no idea you were like this, been burying your pretty fingers in your cunt for me before, right?"

you need to get a hit of your own in, before toji fushiguro turns your mind to mush, "you been fisting around your cock for me, then too? bet it super hard when — fuck!"

your words are cut off by the flat pads of his fingertips coming down to deliver a jolt to your throbbing clit, slapping wet arousal around as toji almost glares up at you, but it's softened by lazy fondness.

"watch ya' mouth, doll. 'm wanting to go easy on you tonight."

he's delving straight into your cunt, like a man starved and searching for salvation between your thighs. you feel your mind go blank, that ruined orgasm of the past hour practically gaining a life of her own and cheering once more, coming back to you in embarrassing, full force as it barely takes a few, quick munches of toji's tongue around your sweet pussy.

that's all you need before you're quickly seeing flashing stars, and doing your best to hide the tremble in your thighs. but toji's having none of that.

his laugh is low, mocking and so ruined, "tchh, i really did interrupt ya' didn't i? must have been so close on that bed," but he's not stopping, practically speaking into your stimulated cunt, punctuating his words with buttery kisses, "must have caught ya' on the very edge for her to so ready for me."

"shut u-up."

"your wish? my command," toji snickers, letting your slick, running juices gather over his chin, "and you taste so good. she's a sweet thing, right," and you realise that he's not talking about you, but rather, about your weeping, glossy cunt that's shoved against his sharp nose. you've got the man practically pussydrunk already, and he's hardly gotten a good feel for it.

his hand comes to rest on your bare thigh, tapping it, "now 'm gonna need you to move that, yeah, that's right," you're slotting it over his broad shoulders, and it pulls him closer. and at this point, you don't even care for how you should be embarrassed, should be feeling some shame at having this rugged, older man salivating into your cunt. but there's a shocking glee instead, a quiet victory that's bubbling in your abdomen and already demanding an encore.

his tongue darts out again, this time he's prodding the muscle at your entrance, feeling for that slight resistance made weaker by your fingers earlier, all on your own. the very tip of his tongue in you has you whining again, slapping a hand over your lolling mouth.

"move that hand," toji grunts, punctuating each word with a flick to your clit.

"i c-can't," you gasp, hands finding a home in his clingy, dark strands, "people are gonna hear-ahhh," he's practically mouthing himself onto your pussy, slick strands separating from his lips each time he pulled away for air. the stimulation is making you so much more sensitive, tears springing to the corners of your eyes as the pleasure begins to sting so deliciously.

you pull fingers through ink-black hair, delicate threads that are soft to the touch and feather-light, "h-here, toji," you curl your fingers to angle him perfectly just so, and the burly man is letting you use him, letting you drag his mouth over your slippery folds. just so you can get him to flick his tongue over that spot that makes you cry out so perfectly.

and toji thinks he's never seen a greater sight. he feels a dizzy, heaving tightness in his jeans, that ache building in his groin like he's about to bust his load just from having you fall apart so prettily on his tongue. he ups the pace, making sure to nimbly etch patterns over your heated, swollen clit. he had you right where he wanted you, needed you, and he'd be damned before he'd left you high and dry.

"y'know, 'm thinking about to see this pretty pussy cum again," and toji sounds so proud, taking gratified in the fact that after only one taste, he's already attuned to the signs of your climax. the way your eyes roll back in your head, tears pricking at your eyes in a way that makes his cock ache even harder.

you're unabashed now, rolling your hips into him at a messy pace. letting spikes of white-hot and red-searing pleasure curl up in your abdomen, ready to burst. the entirety of his lower chin is coated in sweet slick, glistening his rough scar, with a clear drop just beading at his lip.

"i-i think 'm gonna, toji, toji - feels s-so —"

toji's mocking you, pitching his raspy voice up again to capture your tone, "oh yeah? 'm gonna, what? what are ya' gonna do? gonna cum, because that's what i'm here for, doll."

he's making a mess now, switching between a cool, short puff of air at your throbbing clit, and letting his tongue push into your gummy walls, unending pleasure until —

"aaand, cum. now, doll."

it bursts within you, swiftly and briskly. so intense that the edges of your visions become clouded with dark spots, a hazy vignette of sheer pleasure from toji's mouth running all over the filthy mess you've created. the gushing climax that must be soaking the scuffed, dark floorboards beneath toji's bent knees.

you don't even realise that you're still babbling his name, entirely lost in the daze of your second orgasm of the night. little cries of toji, like a prayer over and over, mantras that are making toji grin with his gleaming lips underneath you. all as he wraps his arms around your thighs, lifting you with brute strength. all the while not separating himself from your oversensitive cunt, petting soft kisses over your inner thighs, "gorgeous thing, aren'tcha? think ya' give me another one?"

you groggily lift your head as he sets you down on the bed, caging you beneath his considerable frame, "why? don't wanna, uh, stuff my stocking tonight?"

toji's green eyes flicker with mirth, amusement, only punctuated by him rolling them back in faux-disgust, "still runnin' that clever mouth, hah."

you squirm as he pushes his rough hands under your sweatshirt, letting both hands cup your breasts, pinching and twirling fingertips over your nipples, "are you a, mmph, a candy cane, toji?"

he doesn't break his concentration from where he's peeling your top off, "what nasty shit are ya' gonna say now?"

you giggle as he brushes past a particularly ticklish spot, "because i think you're s-sweet, and i wanna suck you."

"fuck."

in the blink of an eye, he's got you perched over on your knees, just as he hovers you. waistband pulled down enough to reveal black boxers, close enough that you could stick your chin out and press a soft kiss to the darkened patch of pre-cum that must be driving toji crazy.

and well, it's big. like it's jingle bells, jingle balls type of big. you drag your eyes from soft, curled black hair at the base of his groin and down an angry, thick red shaft that makes you clench your thighs.

"wan' me to slide over your chimney?"

that gifts you a barked, punched laugh out of the man — toji's got a large hand wrapped around his cock, "c'mon, doll. put that smart mouth to good use then," inching it closer to your lips in silent permission. you part your lips, anticipating the savoury pre that coats your tongue, the translucent fluid dripping from your mouth already.

he's thumbing down on your lower lip, easing the red mushroom tip into your waiting, eager mouth, "hah, think ya' were meant to take me. how's...how's this slutty mouth so perfect?" toji sounds ruined, all rock-salt rasp and his pink lips fall open, and a flush is painted over his tan skin.

you've never been one to give up, ready to angle your head lower, eager to take as much of him as possible into your mouth. but it's a hard stretch, as crystalline tears cling to your lashes, from the tight wrap of the back of your mouth around his throbbing cock.

toji's got his hand wrapped in your hair now, and you can tell that he's trying to be gentle with the strands as he angles your head lower, purring as you take him so well, "f-fuck, a perfect tease, yeah? fuckin' amazing," and you know he's telling the truth, for his cock is practically twitching with a life of its own in your mouth.

you've got this man hazy and drunk, just from sucking you off, and the realisation makes you whine all over again. reaching a hand down in between your thighs to rock up against your clit, all at the same steady pace.

and you know that toji is close, for those sculpted thighs of pure muscle tremble now, the powerful cords quivering as he bucks his hips, fucking your mouth in long, steady strokes. you also realise that you want him to cum, just like this, to have thick white fall from your lips to really seal and sweeten the deal.

but suddenly, you're left popping your lips shut, as toji groans, genuinely groans and shudders, pulling himself out of your mouth with a wet slop!

"don' give me that look, doll," toji chuckles, his chest heaving underneath the sculpted outline of his dark shirt, "can stuff ya' mouth with my cock later, if that's what you want. but 'm really gonna lose it if i'm not in her right now," and he's angling you back to give a loving, gentle pat to your glistening cunt.

rough, calloused hands slide across your bare back with an unexpected gentleness, against the soft curve of your spine as toji presses you into the mattress, so your head is finally resting back against the pillow.

toji's enjoying this, you know that, just from how he's taking your times to pull your thighs apart, sucking in a harsh breath at how your sleek entrance practically winks at him. tugging his hands roughly on his rock-hard cock, all so he can run the fat tip over your clit, making you mewl.

"don't t-tease, toji," you sniffle, feeling the searing tip push up against your clitoral hood, that nerves so stimulated that you're bucking up into him, wanting toji to just put the damn thing in already.

"fuck, doll," toji's taking a small mercy on you, pressing the first inch into your cunt, "i don't 'm the tease here, god knows how long you were jus' jacking off on the other side of the wall. hopin' that i'd come and stuff you like this?"

each inch that's bullying itself into making your head spin, making you wrap arms around his thick neck, just as he presses a soft kiss to the crook of your collarbone, "ya' good, doll? 's not too much for your, hnngh, tight lil' cunt, is it?"

you mewl as he bottoms out, and the stretch is unlike anything you've ever felt before. it's so deliciously big within you, scraping at the inside of your walls, "wan' be on top, toji."

"oh, yeah? lucky that i like ya' this much, givin' me orders and bossin' me around," toji huffs, using thick arms to pull you up instead, flipping you around so he's got you straddling his thighs, split apart so perfectly around his gliding cock.

"mmph, 's much deeper like this, toji," you chase after his lips, running your tongue over the taut, rigid scar that cuts over the right side of his mouth, all while he starts to set a maddening pace, bouncing you like a pretty toy over his cock, swabbing your insides with buttery wads of pre-cum, all sticky and loud in the silence of the night.

"lookin' good, doll," toji's grin can only be described as shark-like, and he's clearly pleased by the echoing squelches from the filthy mess that's dolloped between your groins, the smack of your ass against your thighs, tacky strands sticking to skin.

your chest is pressed against his shirt, and he's so enjoying the view. loves seeing how the swell bounces and hypnotises him, fuck, toji wonders how he's gonna go about the rest of his life away from you and your perfect pussy.

your eyes widen as you glance back, swivelling your head over your shoulder to watch the smacking movement of you against him, at how his thighs hold you up with a steady rhythm, "you're f-fuckin' me really well, toji," and god, he thinks he might just lose it all, then and there. the praise from your dewy lips is rushing straight into his cock, turning his mind to mush as he finds himself on some sort of autopilot.

he needs to cum in you, right now, needs to feel you milk him for all he can give. to stuff your syrupy cunt with mounds of weeping inches, and he's picking up the pace. smacking heavy, laden balls against your skin, so you whine and keen into him.

you're so caught up in the pleasure that you don't even realise toji had said something, words snapping around his teeth as he bounces you over and over, making sure that you ride him good, "w-what?"

"a date, doll," toji groans, smacking your hand away from your clit, just so he can toy with it, faster and faster, "lemme take ya' out properly, what'd ya' say to that, huh?"

"wanna take me o-out?" you all but weep over him, spearheaded on his tip, and raking sharp nails over iron abs, all underneath his tight top, "please, please, t-toji, wanna go out with you! and then," you hiss as he angles himself just right, curved sheath kissing that perfect g-spot deep within you, "and then i wanna do t-this all over again."

it makes toji's hips stutter, "yeah? pretty girl wants me to take her out, parade her around t-town, hah, i can do that. i can do all of that," he's gasping, feeling your tight heat snatch the life out of him. each girthy vein rubbing itself against your tacky cunt, "i can do all of that, and more. jus' lemme show ya', i'll spoil ya' for anyone else. those d-dumb college boys."

and you look at him with such gorgeous, pretty eyes that toji wonders how on earth he's gonna function now, with you so supplanted in his life. on his cock, even. he can taste something faintly sweet and artificial on your tongue, like tangy grape as he sucks on the muscle.

"never wanted a-any of them anyway, jus' you, toji. only you."

toji fushiguro loses his mind, he's cumming and his own orgasm is hitting him so hard that, in the back of his mind, he's concerned at how he's just filling you up. sloppy thrusts slowing down as thick, white translucent spurts paint your insides, right up to where he can see the divot of his tip through your abdomen. where you've taken in him so deep.

"s-shit," toji presses his mouth to yours again, harder, "look what ya' doin' to me, ruining me," and he also feels just a little bad for ruining your sheets, right as your own umpteenth climax for the night hits you, glossy and clear over the black tufts of hair. your pretty mouth pulled open in a wordless cry of his name, but toji doesn't let go. he lets you ride it out, that sticky mess becoming an afterthought for later.

in the hazy glow, toji's eyes wander over the mess of your room. but something else catches his attention, wads of paper flattened by an empty can of soda. he tilts his head, hair falling over his forehead, dampened by sweat. reaching for the paper with his curiosity piqued.

before he can fully read the words, you're suddenly pawing at his arm, practically leaping into him to get in the way, "wait, toji, don't! hey, that's private!" your voice is an odd mix of urgency and embarrassment, nothing like the angelic whimpers from a few minutes ago. you're swatting at his thick hand, trying to grasp at his fingers.

ignoring your protests and squirms, he crumples the paper open and reads the bold, hastily scrawled letters: how to get toji fushiguro in bed.

damn. so you had been responsible for that heater, the staircase, a fake phone call. he always did like them a bit cuckoo-bananas.

toji chuckles darkly, glancing up at you, barely able to suppress a grin. you're flushed, looking like you'd rather disappear into the floor, oddly shy despite the fact that you were so bold, and a minx riding him earlier to hell and back.

"look, i can explain. don't be mad, because i swear —"

toji groans, shifting you slightly in his lap, "mad? doll, 'm hard all over again. how'd you want it this time?"

[steviewashere]

I don't know when I'll have the time to write this, but:

CW: Minor Mentions of Blood, Character Illness (Hanahaki), Use of Queer as a Slur

Hanahaki AU. Steve develops hanahaki over Eddie. It's not because, oh, Eddie's probably straight and doesn't know I'm into guys...

No, it's because, oh, Eddie doesn't want to be very close to me due to previous hangups he has.

Cut to Steve coughing up dark purple, almost black petals. Soft and wet and sticky to his fingers. Then, after some time, they become small buds. Small black rose buds with gentle, prickly thorns sprouting in his throat.

People around them find out quickly, very quickly, that Steve is experiencing Hanahaki. Everybody, sans Eddie himself, finds out they're related to Eddie—even as these black roses symbolize hatred, even as they come close to death and mourning in their meaning—they're still perfectly Eddie in color, shape, and beauty. Obviously, since nobody wants Steve to, y'know, die, they tell him to confess to Eddie.

However, Steve is faced with a secondary option at one of his doctor visits. A surgery. The petals can be removed, the thorns torn out and tossed, his lungs cleared...but his brain shocked empty of all traces of Eddie. All traces. He wouldn't know Eddie as he is now. He wouldn't know Eddie from when Dustin would ramble on and on and on about his new guy best friend. He wouldn't know Eddie as the mischievous troublemaker in high school.

And he especially wouldn't know Eddie as his childhood best friend that he drifted apart from many, many years ago. Nobody but them knows that part.

And soon, through decision, through the fear of death...Steve chooses to forget that part, too. He chooses to remove Eddie from his conscious. Every last part of him. With the decision made, the party members keep Eddie away, Robin goes through Steve's room and hides anything he has of Eddie's—including a little memory box of their childhood photographs, little trinkets he'd receive from Eddie, doodles and crushed flowers...crushed flowers that look similar to the ones Steve coughed up with a note attached to them: "For the prince to my prince. Mama said they're for royal people, and I thought they were beautiful. These are for you, because you're beautiful, too."

Steve kept all of it. Tucked neatly away for nobody but him to see. All these delicate, baby confessions of two queer kids in rural America, waiting for the right moment; though never getting that after a fall out in their relationship.

According to Eddie, the two drifted away due to rhetoric Steve's dad was spouting; rhetoric that was being passed on and spat right at Eddie's face from Steve's mouth. Even if he saw Steve change during and after Vecna, he'll always remember the last big fight in their friendship; the day he was called a queer.

When Eddie finds out, he's beyond devastated that Steve would make the choice to forget him. He gets it, Steve didn't want to die. He knows. But now he doesn't even have a spot in Steve's life? It cuts deep, it hurts.

He knows so much about Steve. Little details. Favorite things. Where his moles are. How he styles his hair. What he looked like before braces, before Tommy, before high school bullshit, before all the traumas. He knows who Steve really is, sweet and nurturing and nearly unbearably kind.

And now Steve doesn't know him. Doesn't love him.

He wishes he knew, because then they wouldn't be in this mess.

But Eddie gets to fall in love with Steve all over again. Shake his hand and introduce himself. Even though he wishes they could meet each other as kids, just like they did. Because Eddie remembers a dorky, geeky, self-conscious, timid little kid quietly asking him if they could play princes on the playground. And Steve remembers Eddie at twenty-one, full grown and stubborn; not the same shy kid, not the bubbly kid...just a man haunted.

But! Plot twist!!!

What if, yeah, Steve does forget Eddie...initially?

He meets Eddie again, for the first time. He gets to know Eddie. He begins a friendship with Eddie.

And then he begins getting these awful...awful migraines being around Eddie. Flashes of fractured, half-formed memories of some kid with big brown eyes and a shaved head, of a kid crouched down in wood chips trying to find a guitar pick he had dropped. Little glimpses of smiles: some with teeth missing, some with teeth growing back in, some with blood-stained lips, some with a blue tint. There's splintering voices, a little boy's and an older man's and a squeaky, pubescent voice—he hears his own name crackled around the edges, hears Prince Stevie cooed and King Steve snarled, soft words whispered through choking sobs and whip wild yelling.

He looks Eddie straight on at one point, his face open with concern, but all he sees is an angry, sobbing, red-faced, wet-faced little Eddie talking with Steve, "You think I'm...I'm a dirty queer? Why would you say that to me? No...no, Steve, keep your voice down, keep your voice"—and then, quieter, a whisper—"I thought I could trust you. I know I like boys, but that was a secret. You're an asshole, Steve. Go fuck yourself."

And when he blinks again, Eddie's concerned face staring back at him, all Steve does is cough and cough and cough. Eventually, he's hunched tight into himself and spitting directly into Eddie's palm. Out comes a fully formed black rose.

A bud that hadn't bloomed, that hadn't been removed. Sharp thorns and wet petals and an eye that swirls and swirls and swirls.

It all comes back to him, then, staring at that flower, floundering backwards, catching Eddie's eyes in a daze.

It all comes back to him.

How much he's always loved Eddie Munson.

Anyway, just like, a hanahaki surgery gone wrong, I guess. Like they all think it works until, y'know, it doesn't. They get close again and it floods back in. The very thing he tried to get away from.

I imagine that after Steve coughs up that fully formed rose, Eddie squishes it in his palm. The thorns cutting up his hand, the petals crushed between his fingers. And then he just...eats it. Like fully puts it on his tongue, chews it up between his teeth, and swallows the whole damn thing—yes, even the thorns. There's blood in his mouth, petals between his teeth, blood and drool on his hand.

And he lunges forward to grab Steve's face, to kiss him so roughly they could be devouring each other. And all they taste in each other are the bittersweet ghosts of black rose petals and the metallic harshness of one another's blood; Steve had hacked up blood, too, from the thorns cutting his throat.

And when they separate?

"You were the first boy I ever fell in love with," Eddie confesses, "you're the only boy I've ever loved. There's been nobody else in that place, Steve. Only you, after everything, have remained."

Okay. Now I'm done. I promise I'm done rambling. Would this be interesting as a fic? I don't know. It's fine.

[lumentears]

🦴 boningthescions-bracket Follow

Preliminary Round! Who will be the Third's champion in the unofficial-official Most Smashable Scions bracket?

💎 twinkovertheriver Follow

👑 princess-ianthes-foreskin Follow

uh yeah i sure hope she is ;)))))

💎 twinkovertheriver Follow

thanks for the addition necrumblr user princess ianthe's foreskin

🦴 boningthescions-bracket Follow

By the King Undying, you people are dogs. I will reblog as usual.

⚔ middlechild-diagnosed Follow

Me: Haha, I went to Ida and came back with snow blindness from all the fake glitz. :D Haha, I went to the Koinortus Court and came back seven years ago - I would have posted sooner but the joke was pending approval :D Always, Without Fail, Some Fucking Dipshit:

🪐 p4x-d0m1n1 Follow

*Koniortos. Stay in school, kids.

🥴 badjokesbyjohn Follow

A prodigy child spirit talker has escaped Fifth House custody after stealing a priceless artifact. That's right, folks, we've got a small medium at large.

👻 siphon-me-harder Follow

john we've talked about the name thing

⚜ cavpositivity Follow

Hydration Check!

Has your necromancer had water and taken their vitamins/probiotics/perscriptions today?

🗡 cavaliercot-suggestions Follow

(un)friendly reminder that there's nothing wrong with kinky roleplay and the suggestions and scenarios on this blog do not equal endorsement of irl cavalier-necromancer relationships.

🩸 saints-alive Follow

You know what? No. Fuck this, and fuck you fetishising cavalierdom. Frankly, as a necromancer, I'm digusted knowing that my cavalier can't even wipe the blood sweat from my brow without you making it sexual!

🗡 cavaliercot-suggestions Follow

My brother under Dominicus you literally write reader x Necrolord Prime x lyctor fanfic

💀 bonetopick Follow

are we forgetting that OP has literally admitted to owning unpaid servants?

🗡 cavaliercot-suggestions Follow

they're skeletons?????????????

💀 bonetopick Follow

they didn't die to pick up your laundry lazy motherfucker

📜 solace-in-thighs Follow

taking my final exam tonight wish me luck guys!

📜 solace-in-thighs Follow

what thefuck. what the fuck. my cousin Throckmorton told me my metaphors were uninspired and my performance stilted. IF HE KNEW THE FUCKING NUMBERS MY EROTIC POETRY DOES ON NECRUMBLR

📜 solace-in-thighs Follow

joining the cohort. if anyone even cares.

🌹 the-rose-blown-semifrequently Follow

a novel where a flesh magician and a spirit talker become roommates and have wacky adventures

plot twist: the spirit talker is super extroverted and slutty and the life of every party while the flesh magician is so prudish they keep their clothes on in the sonic and so timid they faint at the sight of blood

the novel is called "the spirit is willing but the flesh is meek"

[dreamer-milore]

prettier on fiction

••∆ contains yandere themes ∆[Can be interpreted as reader, or a character with 2nd Person POV]

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Your life is already hectic, and the universe just made it better by giving you a coworker who's too clingy.

You thought your work life was going to be peaceful, as it could be anyway. The office job is quite hectic, but as long as you did your work, it should be fine for you at the very least.

No, actually.

Things didn't go as you planned. A plot twist, dare you say. And that variable who changed the plot and had it bend to its whim was no other than the new guy who everyone had been fawning over the moment he set foot in the building.

He arrived a few weeks ago. People thought he was nice, polite, and gentleman-like. But when it came to you, that man was a nuisance. Always trying to compete with you, to be one step ahead of you. He was so patronizing, so sickeningly sweet, you almost considered quitting your job.

But then, he's also so attached to your hip--your coworkers never knew a day where the two of you weren't seen together. You don't like your personal bubble being invaded--this man is a stranger to you and yet he keeps violating your personal space as if he was an old friend. He's made it clear that he wants to be with you wherever you go, day and night. He doesn't care if you flee to a different continent altogether, he'll keep following you even if you went to Mars. And it's even worse how he's just a few cubicles away from you.

"Hello, dearest!" he skipped over to your cubicle, two coffees in hand. He had made it a sacred routine to always give you coffee everyday.

You sighed, stopping your fingers from clacking aggressively on the poor keyboard. "Good morning," but there wasn't any kind of friendliness laced into it. Just a cold, distant mumble.

He frowned. "Don't be like that, my darling."

"Darling my ass, jerk."

You hate how he's so attached to you, so clingy. Yes, you do fantasize about having a loving future husband who would never bat an eye on anyone--you would be the center of his solar system, and he would revolve around you with unyielding devotion and commitment. And you do admit--you have a thing for clingy men. That's certainly a trait you want your future husband to have. For him to only have his eyes on you. But now that you're in this current predicament, you're starting to question your own standards. The clinginess you like is only to a certain degree, but even so, you now realize how annoying that can sometimes be, especially if that person is someone you barely knew. But you suppose it's daydreams and fantasies and such.

But in real life, that's just downright creepy and obsessive.

Not only was your coworker clingy, he was also... Possessive. Which you hesitate in actually claiming it as such. You only know so much about him, so he might be a little quick-tempered when you're not around, or when other guys are within your vicinity. One time, he verbally obliterated an intern you were having a nice, casual conversation with. He doesn't like how you're smiling and laughing at that intern's jokes. You never saw that poor intern ever again.

If you were ever to list one of the many things you hate most, is how he always, always, kept making physical contact with you, which is again, another form of his clingy behavior. He either has a hand on the small of your back, fixing your hair when the wind gushed by, wiping the corner of your mouth when he sees rice or whatever food on it (he still wipes it even if there was none), randomly caressing your cheeks, and on and on it goes. Don't forget, he's held your hand before, in which you pulled away minutes later. And he's also thrown himself at you, hugging you tight like a bear trap to its prey. And he's wrapped an arm on your waist when another guy got too friendly with you. He's experienced the comfort of your neck as well, sometimes burrowing his face at the crook of it. It's almost infuriating how he kept making so many excuses to touch you.

Even more so about how he knows so much about you. He knew all your preferences, all your favorite things, and your whole way of thinking--he knew you in a way nobody else would ever do. Again, you do like guys like that. Attentive and observant. Knows every little detail about their partner. It would've been romantic--intimate, even--if only he wasn't a bit creepy about it.

Your coworkers kept teasing you, shipping you with him. You found the idea not so much likeable. Because at the end of the day, he was just a mere coworker, not your boyfriend or something. So his actions are very weird for you, especially since people around you kept assuming the two of you are dating. It was a fact that brought you a twinge of discomfort. (After all, his actions are so persistent that it actually convinces people that you two are dating, which in fact is not. And even if you tried clearing that up to other people, there's always a lingering doubt still present in them).

So when one day, after your shift ended, and after you finally parted ways with him, he texted you a photo, that had your heart thumping faster like running a marathon.

The photo was of him, sitting on the couch of your apartment.

You ran as fast as you could. By the time you got back, you were panting heavily.

He walked up to you and gave you a glass of water, "Take your time, dear. I don't want you panting that hard." He smiles, cheeky and infuriatingly handsome, "I'd much rather you do that in bed."

You glared at him, "Explain--"

He shushed you, bringing his lips to yours for a brief moment, just to shut you up.

You stood there, frozen. You were slightly flustered, but you were more horrified with the fact this man is just casually lounging around your apartment like he owned the place.

"Come now, my dear. I prepared dinner for us." He guided you to take a seat, and sat across from you. Even up to now, his clingy attitude still shines through as bright as the sun.

When you stood up, wanting to go to the bathroom, he held your hand firmly, and had you sit back down.

"Let's just enjoy the night. Right, darling?" he raised a glass of wine to you, before sipping it down.

"R-Right..." you mumbled.

He chuckled. "What's wrong, darling? You looked like you've seen a ghost."

"Nothing."The two of you ate your food for dinner. (But you gotta admit, he's a nice cook).

When it was time for bed, he kept his hand in yours, making sure to never let you go."Darling, let's go to sleep, hm?" He brought you down with him to the bed. He wrapped his arms around you, and threw his leg over yours. Then buried his face in the crook of your neck. Like it's no big deal. Like it's been a common occurrence between you.

"You're tense."

How could you not? He invaded your personal space, he broke into your home, and most importantly, he forced his way into your life, and attached himself permanently to you.In fiction, you might have wanted that. But this is real life.He placed feather-light kisses into your shoulders. The action sent shivers down your spine.

"Don't be so stiff, darling. It's just me."

But he scares you.

You attempted to relax your shoulders. Not wanting to further upset him. You don't know what he could do to you. Why was he even doing this to you in the first place?

"I love you," he muttered between nips and kisses on your shoulder. Another shiver went down your spine.

"I love you, and only you. You're the only one who brightens my day. The only one I look forward to seeing. My guide after being stuck in an ever so long tunnel of darkness..."

he continued muttering his words of utter devotion to you.

You don't know if you should be screaming in joy, or screaming for help.

Because fantasy is not always the same as reality. Remember, things like these are prettier on fiction.

gift to @cloudedcreams

hope you love it!

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (16/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece •female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, dirty talk, smut, the angst, murder, character death, miscarriage and the trauma associated with it, panic attack, mafia stuff, brutal violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn’t let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father’s mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra’s husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin’s brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She was pregnant.

Although, according to all moral and social norms, she should have been crying in despair, she was happy: touching her belly with her hand, she felt nothing but love for this little being that was slowly growing inside her.

The fruit of their warm, deep, sincere affection.

The knowledge that she was not alone helped her when it was time for her to meet the staff for whom she was to be responsible from now on. Aemond insisted on being with her, fearing for some reason for her and the baby, she, however, knew that this was something she had to do alone.

Their stares when she walked into the VIP room in which she had ordered the meeting told her everything – grown men and women who looked as if they had seen far too much in their lives watched her in disbelief.

She knew they thought with disapproval that she was just a little girl, a whore who had been given this place as a gift by their boss that she wouldn't know what to do with, pestering them with her stupid bullshit.

She sat down in one of the empty armchairs, a few people lit cigarettes and grunted, other than that, complete silence all around her.

"I know what you're thinking and you're right. The fact that I have taken over these premises is a form of security for me. In true, not only for me, but also for you. Aemond will stop the flow of drugs through these and two other places that used to belong to my father. I have no intention of changing managers or leadership, quite the contrary – I want to talk to you about what you need. I want this to be a clean, legitimate business that is profitable. No drastic changes." She said, looking at them expectantly, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

A few people twisted in their seats, others looked at each other.

Silence.

Obviously they didn't trust her.

"Think whatever you want about me. It doesn't matter. Know, however, that my stepfather no longer threatens you, and Aemond will still protect this place. All I ask for is loyalty. If there is a problem with something, come to me with it, not to my uncle, or he will be furious. Now get back to work, I want to stay with the manager." She said calmly.

All but one man who could easily be her father got up from their seats and walked out, leaving them alone.

"This is not a toy you can just pick up and have." He said finally, firing up the lighter, leaning over the flame with his cigarette.

"I don't see it as a toy. We can all gain something if we accept each other. Would you rather keep wallowing in this shit and selling ecstasy to young kids? Don't you have children of your own?" She asked coolly, and the man snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

"I do. Three. Two sons and a daughter. Each of them works here. The sons as security guards and the daughter behind the bar." He said dryly and she swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on her back.

Fuck.

Had she just insulted him?

"You let your own kids do drugs? Do you want them to be arrested with you if the police come by here, as part of family integration?" She asked, and he sighed heavily, taking a loud drag on his cigarette.

"I didn't say that." He replied, letting the smoke out through his mouth.

"And I don't want that either. Help me protect you." She insisted, and he looked at her finally, as if he had made up his mind.

"You're just like your father."

She exhaled loudly, in an involuntary reflex she'd been holding back for the last few hours touching her lower abdomen as soon as the car door closed behind her.

"And how was it? Everything okay?" Her uncle asked, immediately grasping her hand in his, looking at her expectantly, tense.

"They are difficult people. Difficult, but tired. They don't want problems. They get used to it." She said quietly, exhausted and sleepy.

She looked at him, a worry in his eyes but also a tenderness from which she felt warm in her heart.

"Take me home."

The road to the sea was getting terribly long, perhaps because once in a while she felt an unpleasant twinge in her stomach, indicative of what was about to happen.

"– no – no, stop the car, stop the car –" She muttered, and he immediately pulled over to the side of the road – she only managed to open the door before she vomited on the grass, panting heavily.

"– oh, baby – why don't you lie down in the back seat? – you'll be more comfortable –" She heard his voice, his broad hand stroking her back.

Ever since they'd found out they were going to be parents he'd been so tender, so good, so sweet.

Exactly like he had been back then.

"– okay –" She mumbled and swallowed hard, wiping her mouth with her handkerchief. She unbuckled her seatbelt, climbed out and opened the door in the back, laying down on both passenger seats, closing her eyes.

"– sleep, little one – I'll drive slowly – we're not in any hurry –" He said, looking at her in the rear view mirror, and she nodded.

She flinched when she felt the car finally stop – she heard someone open the door, the fresh air and his familiar hands enveloped her, lifting her up, and she clung to him like a small child. He carried her into the house, to a room that belonged to him, where they had set up their makeshift bedroom for the time of renovation.

She felt him lay her gently on the bed, taking his place beside her a moment later, embracing her from behind.

"– you're tiring your mummy terribly –" He whispered, stroking her belly with lazy, calm motions of his hand. "– you need to let her rest –"

She smiled, allowing herself to fall asleep again, this time in his embrace. Her uncle often addressed their child as if the baby could already understand him – he was making a connection this way, realising that he was really going to become a father.

He was involved in everything about preparing for the arrival of their child into the world – they decided to dedicate the room she slept in that summer holiday to their future offspring and repainted it together, sticking cute glow-in-the-dark stickers on the walls in the shape of various planets and stars.

With some things, they had to wait because they didn't know if the baby was going to be a boy or a girl.

"It cost me a lot of money, but I made it. I have written permission from the Archbishop. Rhaenys, we can marry." He said to her one morning, holding a piece of paper in front of him that was to change their lives.

A dispensation for a church wedding.

"We need witnesses." She muttered, gripping his hand in hers. Her uncle nodded, as if he knew she'd said it.

"I know, Helaena agreed. I didn't want to decide about another person for you." He said, and she smiled, feeling grateful.

He became more open, more affectionate, always thinking of her and her needs too.

She knew who she wanted by her side.

"I know I'm asking a lot and that I'm not entitled to it. I know your father will be furious if you say yes, but… you have always been close to my heart. You didn't judge me. I wish I had you with me on this day." She mouthed in a breaking voice, standing alone in the bathroom with her phone pressed to her ear, wiping her face wet with tears.

She heard Baela swallow hard, shocked by her words.

For a long moment, they were both silent.

"– I – God – I've always felt you were in pain – only now I know why and I'm sorry you've been alone with this for so long – I don't want you to not have your bridesmaid on your wedding day – just tell me when and where –" She muttered and she burst out into a quiet sob, feeling relieved.

"– forgive me – forgive me for being such a disgusting person –" She choked out, whooping, feeling that she had finally described herself truly.

She had fucked her own uncle and was going to have a baby with him.

She was sick.

Baela drew in a loud breath.

"– stop – if he was your own birth brother, it would be much, much worse – on the positive side, he's actually only half your uncle –" She said, and for some reason she burst out laughing.

God.

"– right – it's a good thing I didn't choose Jace –" She mumbled, and Baela snorted.

"– exactly – let's stick to that –" She said.

"– it would be funny if the police burst into the church and arrested us –" She sneered, fiddling with the soft towel hanging on the rack, imagining commandos with guns ordering them to fall to the ground.

"– for what? – for drug dealing or for incest? –" Baela scoffed, and she giggled under her breath.

"– for everything – the list of crimes is long –" She said with a smile, for some reason feeling lighter.

It was the first time she had ever talked to someone about it completely honestly.

She shuddered when she heard a loud knock on the door.

"Rhaenys? Are you all right?" She heard his concerned voice.

Ever since he had found her in the bath then, he had been afraid if she stayed in the bathroom too long.

"Yes. I'm talking to Baela. She agreed." She called out to him.

"That's great." He said with sincere relief, as if he was afraid she would suffer another disappointment and rejection from her family.

They hadn't planned to invite any guests to the event, have a dinner together or anything of the sort – they knew that most of their family felt there was nothing to celebrate, and for them, as it wasn't a state wedding, it only had symbolic significance.

Helaena helped her choose the right dress – she wanted to look special that day, because even though their nuptials were going to be bittersweet, she was, in the eyes of God, going to be his wife.

"– oh – look – this one is lovely –" Helaena hummed, taking from the rack a long, white gown with a cut-out back and lace at the neckline and the ends of the delicate, long sleeves.

"– you're right – it would match the flowers in my hair –" She said, in her perfect image of herself that day wishing she had daisies woven into her curls.

Helaena dropped her off in the car at a shop near their house and they said their goodbyes – she needed nothing so much as a walk and some fresh air, however, she wanted to cook them dinner too, knowing that her fiancé would be back late.

Since he had started telling her about his affairs, what he needed to do and where he needed to go, she felt calmer and his absence no longer frightened her so much.

Besides, he wasn't leaving her alone anymore, she thought, touching her stomach happily, looking curiously at the shelves full of different kinds of pasta, searching for the perfect one for spaghetti.

She shuddered, having the feeling that someone had rubbed against her by accident, but then she felt that person holding something against her back.

"Be quiet and leave the shop slowly." She heard a cold, unfamiliar voice behind her and froze, feeling her heart leap up into her throat, a cold sweat on her back.

She looked to the side, wondering if she should scream, if anyone would help her, not knowing if this man held a gun or a knife against her body.

"Don't try anything or I'll butcher you like a pig." He said, as if he was reading her mind, and she swallowed hard, feeling burning tears of terror under her eyelids, her body involuntarily began to tremble.

She simply moved towards the exit, and the man she was afraid to look at put his arm around her like he was her boyfriend, clamping his hand firmly on her waist to make sure she didn't try to escape.

As soon as they left she sprang up to throw herself into a run, but the man grabbed her waist and clamped his hand over her mouth – she bit him with a loud squeal, but he only hissed, not letting her go, hiding behind the wall of the shop, two other men got out of the car.

One of them, a blond man with a beard and blue eyes had a scars on his left cheek.

"– come on, what the fuck are you waiting for – faster –" Tyland Lannister growled, and the man who was clearly his bodyguard forced her to bow her head and forcibly shoved her into the back seat, closing the door behind her.

She burst out crying, curling up as Tyland sat down next to her and the two men took their seats in front, driving away with a squeal of tyres.

"– shut the fuck up – be a good girl and no harm will come to you – I need to clear up a few things with your uncle –" He said lightly – only when she looked at him did she notice that he held in his hand a gun pointed towards her.

She pressed her body against the car door, looking at him with big eyes and shook her head.

"– please – please let me out, I'm pregnant – I –" She mumbled out and squealed, leaning forward, feeling a sudden, penetrating pain in her lower abdomen, and then another and another.

She began to pant loudly in terror, and wailed as Tyland slapped the back of her head with an open palm.

"– stop pretending – I told you to fucking calm down, I won't do anything to you – I won't –" He muttered and fell silent, looking with her at the drop of blood that ran down her thigh from under her dress.

She covered her mouth with her hands and screamed loudly, falling into sheer hysteria, the man in front cursed, telling her to shut up, and Tyland just stared at her, his mouth wide open.

"– stop –" He muttered. "– fuck, God, stop, stop, stop –"

"– here? – boss, we're in the middle of a country road –"

"– STOP, I SAID –"

The car stopped at the side of the road with a screech of tyres in a way that made her hit her head on the seat in front of her – Tyland opened the door, grabbed her ankle and dragged her out of the car like an animal, leaving her on the grass, then got back inside.

The car drove off.

She just breathed, whooping with tears, looking at the grass around her and the tree trunks, feeling a horrible warm stickiness between her thighs, twitching all over, not having the strength or the will to get up.

After a while some other car stopped beside her, the people inside screamed in terror and got out, a woman who could have been her mother ran up to her and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Good God, I think they raped her."

No, she thought.

They took something much more precious from me.

She heard his loud, frightened breath as she lay in the hospital bed, the policemen standing beside her grunted at the sight of him.

"Are you her family?" Asked one of them.

"Y-yes, I'm her uncle. Good God, what happened?" He mumbled in a breaking voice.

"Your niece was found by a woman on a country road, thrown out of some car. She immediately informed us, suspecting that a rape had taken place, however, the cause of the bleeding was a sudden stress-induced miscarriage. The victim does not speak and does not want to say who did this to her. Could you please…"

The man did not finish as she heard him burst into a loud, mournful sob, felt the touch of his hands on her body, his face pressed into her hair, his broken, heavy breath.

Her eyebrows arched in pain, a single, lonely tear ran down her face.

Daemon had warned her.

The hours, the voices, the smells merged into one for her – she heard her uncle's voice, her mother's voice, she smelled their scent and touch, she heard their weeping and despair, but she herself felt like she was dreaming awake, feeling and experiencing nothing.

She felt herself awake when she heard another familiar voice.

"Did she say something?"

"No. She's silent. There's no contact with her. She's in shock." Her mother muttered, and Daemon embraced her, looking her straight in the eyes.

She felt something – she felt her heart hit harder in her chest, her eyebrows arched in misery, her breath caught in her throat.

"– baby – baby, please, say something to me –" She heard her uncle's whisper and only after a moment did she realise that he had been lying next to her on the bed all this time, that he had been stroking her head, that he had been looking at her, that he had been crying like a little baby.

"– get out for a while – leave us alone –" Daemon said – her uncle opened his mouth, furious, but she spoke up before he could say anything.

"– I want to talk to my dad –"

Everyone around her fell silent – Rhaenyra walked over to her brother and took his hand, explaining to him in a whisper that they would be back soon, that she was no longer in danger, that everything would be all right.

She felt herself quivering all over when Daemon took the chair and sat down beside her bed exactly as he had done then, after she had tried to take her own life.

She looked at him, into his bright, piercing eyes, and thought that this was what he was trying to protect her from.

"I wanted this child, dad. Very, very much." She muttered and closed her eyes, feeling the blissful emptiness she had surrounded herself with begin to crack, the pain that pierced her body, her heart so strong that she sobbed.

"I know." He replied.

"Is the baby…is the baby still inside me?" She choked out with difficulty, whooping with her own tears, feeling like she couldn't catch her breath.

"No. I'm very sorry, but no. It was too early, the baby was not yet formed. Nothing could be done." He said and she clamped her hands on her lower abdomen, thinking she felt like ripping out her uterus and other entrails because they were useless.

She was full and suddenly empty again.

She felt her father's hand on her arm, his fingers strong, his embrace giving her a sense of security.

"I have abandoned you. I chose my own pride. I knew he would want to take revenge on him. If I had given you my protection, it would never have happened. Forgive me." He said, and she closed her eyes, thinking that she wanted to become nothingness and disappear.

Despite Daemon continuing to speak to her, she fell into a state of half-sleep again, unable to think about it – her mind was repressing everything that had happened and waiting, although she didn't know what for.

What was she actually waiting for?

For her baby, she thought.

Little girl or little boy will be born in a few months.

No, she realised.

Not any more.

Tears ran down her face, but no sound came out of her mouth.

She saw him – her uncle stood in the doorway of her hospital room drenched in tears, trembling like a small child, just like she had been when she came into his room then, terrified of the darkness.

Darkness surrounded him, and he was frightened.

She didn't want him to be afraid.

He cried out loudly when she reached out her hand to him – she realised it was already dark around him when his body snuggled against hers, when he embraced her and kissed her cheek, when his face snuggled into her skin.

They lay, just breathing, holding hands – there was something comforting about that – in his silence. The fact that he knew there were no words of comfort, of justification, of absolution for them.

What did exist, however, were their bodies, warm and familiar, clinging to each other to find shelter.

She fell asleep, wrapped in his scent.

"I know you think this is my fault. That you will never forgive me." She heard his voice as if from a distance – she blinked, surprised to see that it was already daylight all around her, that her uncle was sitting beside her in a chair, looking at his hands.

Days flew by between her fingers.

How long had it been since that incident?

Since when had she been empty?

She pressed her lips together, feeling nothing but rage.

"I want Tyland Lannister." She hissed in a cold, shaking voice, and he looked at her in shock.

They stared at each other for a moment – his lower lip twitched when he suddenly realised what had happened, something in his gaze that had always frightened her, but now pleased her.

Aemond

Emptiness.

It seemed to him that he had simply gone through all the phases of grief – from despair, through denial, to a state of complete indifference.

His child, whom he had so desperately wanted, was no longer there.

He thought it would help to give the baby a funeral, even though they had nothing to bury – that's why they put the glowing stickers they had stuck on the walls of the room that was to belong to their child in a small box and buried it under a tree in the garden of their house.

She wanted the thing that would remind her of their loss to be close by, so that she could look at it every morning from her window.

It was an ordeal they lived through together, and although they suffered, they found relief in each other's arms.

She let him take her for the first time two weeks after it happened.

Lying in front of him in his embrace, she took his hand in hers and slowly guided it down under the material of her panties – she surprised him with this, because he was convinced that the vision of him touching her like this would be something disgusting to her – she, however, was wet.

He couldn't hide how much he missed her, and after a moment they were both naked from the waist down, fucking each other like animals with loud smacks of their hips, wanting nothing more than to feel fulfilled and relieved – the release he felt when he finally came inside her was like a revelation, her body hot and sweaty in his embrace, her little cunt pulsing on his erection, sucking his seed.

I'll give you another baby, he thought tenderly, kissing her long neck, not saying it out loud though, not wanting her to think he had already reconciled himself to their loss.

I will give you another baby, and then another and another.

We will be a big, happy family.

If he could say that anything good had come out of this awfully sad situation, it was that their families had begun to talk to each other again – Otto and Daemon couldn't forgive the murder of their grandchild, and Alicent, Rhaenyra, Jace and Baela had watched over his niece in his absence, looking after her.

Even Aegon asked him for a meeting, which was strange and downright comical. His brother put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him in a way from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.

"We're going to catch that son of a bitch."

The only person who was afraid to meet them was Helaena, blaming herself for what had happened despite the fact that neither he nor his Rhaenys resented her.

"She said she wanted to go shopping. Your house and the beach was across the street. I-I had the security guards go and take her dress to your house. She wanted to take a walk, she insisted. I…"

"Stop. You are not the one who did this to her. No one is blaming you." He said calmly, staring dully ahead, sitting in his car, feeling that his heart, his skin, his body, his breath were cold.

I want Tyland Lannister.

He licked his lower lip when he spotted his silhouette in the distance, coming out of one of the clubs surrounded by a few of his thugs, surely for protection.

Jason helped his brother move to another city, hoping they would never find him.

But he was wrong.

"I have to go." He said and hung up, starting the engine, dialing another number.

He never thought that he'd talk to him of his own free will.

And yet.

"He just left."

He followed him for a few streets, driving a few cars behind him, feeling strangely calm and patient – he had the impression that there were no more tears he could cry or screams he could shout.

His persona had come full circle, becoming again exactly who he had been before she had called him that evening for the first time in eight years.

He smiled, seeing that they had realised that someone was following them, trying to change direction suddenly – as he had predicted, they had fallen straight into their trap, and hundreds of loud gunshots rang out around the corner.

He pulled over to the side of the road and stepped out of the car, watching as Daemon's men slaughtered Tyland's men one by one, surprised by the manhunt from both sides, unprepared for such a sudden, merciless attack.

"– please –" Tyland mumbled, crawling on the ground at Daemon's feet – his sister's husband held a baseball bat in his hand, all dirty from his blood.

He thought with amusement that Lannister's face looked like a squashed tomato.

Together with Daemon, he dragged him, moaning and crying, to the boot of his car, locking him in there, and together they set off without exchanging a word.

By the time they reached the house by the sea there was only an hour left until dawn – Tyland had passed out in the boot from a lack of oxygen, and a strong kick to the liver revived him, making him draw in air loudly and cough, spitting up blood.

"– no – no, no, no, no, please, no –" He whined as they began dragging him along the ground towards the door, leaving a trail of his blood on the ground behind them.

When they walked into the house they threw him to his knees in front of her – his Rhaenys looked at his hunched, pathetic figure sitting in front of him on the couch in a white dress he was seeing for the first time, a knife in her hand.

Was this supposed to be her wedding gown?

I have taken away your purity and innocence, he thought with pain, looking at her with adoration.

Kora was no longer there.

Only Persephone was left.

His Queen of the Hades.

He longed to lie down at her feet and simply abide.

"– I lost someting because of you –" She said and raised herself up, touching her lower abdomen. "– my baby didn't even manage to take their first breath –"

He closed his eyes, feeling the squeeze in his throat, the pain he felt in his heart unbearable.

"– I didn't know – I didn't know, I'm sorry, I didn't know –" Tyland mumbled, because of how swollen his face was his words were indistinct and difficult to understand.

Standing over him, in her white dress, with a knife in her hand and with her beautiful hair loose, she looked like a ghost.

Like Death.

"– you threw me out of the car like an animal – you left me to die and drove away –" She whispered, tears one after another rolling down her beautiful, tired, pale face.

She had waited so long for this.

For relief.

For justice.

But no more.

"– please – please –" He begged, and she took a step towards him and knelt before him, looking straight into his eyes.

"– let me, Rhaenys –" He muttered, not wanting her to burden herself with this, to dream nightmares like him, to suffer like him because of what she had done.

"– no – I want to feel the life drain out of him – as it did out of me, then –" She said, and the knife she held in her hand stabbed into his side like butter.

Tyland wailed, grabbing the hilt, but Daemon held him down, preventing him from moving – he saw her slide the blade out, a huge bloodstain spilling down his shirt, dripping down his leg straight onto the foil-lined floor.

"That's enough. I'll take care of the rest. Take a bath and burn everything." Daemon instructed, laying Tyland's barely alive body on the ground, his breathing shallow until his eyes went blank.

His soul had left his body.

"Come." He said to her, taking the knife from her palm, placing it on the floor. He nodded at Daemon and grabbed her hand, leading her upstairs to the bathroom where the bathtub was.

Her entire dress and hands were in blood.

"Come here, little one. Come, let's wash it all off. It's okay, honey." He whispered, hugging her close, sinking his hands into her soft, smooth curls, and she reciprocated the embrace, sighing, closing her eyes as if relieved.

"Thank you."

Again she lay in the bath red with blood, again she was pale, however this time he felt that the life was not escaping from her, but returning to her – with each passing minute her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide as if her mind had returned to reality.

"Is he dead?" She muttered, and he swallowed hard, washing away with his hands any trace of what they had done from her beautiful, innocent body.

"He's no longer here. He's disappeared. He was just a monster from the wardrobe, nothing more, my love." He said quietly and she sighed, her hand touching his face.

"Do you still love me?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he looked at her, shocked.

"You are the love of my life. You need to rest. You are very tired. You haven't slept well in a long time. You're daydreaming." He replied, taking an unruly strand of hair from her face, her gaze warm and tender, meant only for him.

"Are you not disgusted with me? I've done something monstrous. I think I killed someone." She whispered, her eyes full of tears.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, pressing his forehead against hers, stroking her hair as if she were a small child. "– I forbid you to say such things – it will be our secret – mine, yours and your dad's – only we will know about it –"

"– about the monster from the wardrobe? –" She mumbled, and he nodded.

"– yes –"

Rhaenys

"– I'm scared, mummy – can I have my little lamp lit today too? –" Aemma muttered, but before she could answer her anything, she heard a voice from the bed above them, belonging to Visenya.

"– no, I can't sleep then –" Her older sister hissed, looking down at them, the bright curls she had inherited from her father in disarray.

"– I'm afraid of the monster from the television – the one from the horror movie that Aegon was watching –" Her daugther said in a breaking voice, and she furrowed her brow, shaking her head.

"– I told you this is not a film for small children –" She said sternly, and Aemma lowered her gaze on the verge of crying.

Vinseya groaned in frustration and climbed down the ladder, lying down under the duvet next to her little sister.

"– move along, coward – I'll kill any monster that disturbs my sleep –" Her daughter muttered, and she smiled and stood up, turning off the lamp.

"– good night –" She hummed and left, closing the door behind her.

She sighed, seeing the light on in his office, and moved lazily in that direction, finding him bent over documents. He glanced at her, then at the silhouette of her naked body hidden only beneath a soft silk bathrobe, and licked his lower lip with his tongue.

"– I'll come soon – give me a moment longer –"

"– talk to Aegon tomorrow – he mustn't let Aemma watch horror movies with himself because she is afraid afterwards – she's too little –" She said.

He shook his head, signing a few things.

"– I'll try, but you know him – he'll find a thousand excuses and explanations –" He grunted, and she laughed under her breath.

"– he resembles your brother –" She said amused, leaning her hip against the doorframe, and he snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth lifted upwards.

"– indeed –" He said and looked up at her, his gaze again escaping down to her breasts and then even lower.

"Come here. Sit on the desk." He said, leaning back in his chair, and she obeyed his command with a smile, walking closer with a lazy step.

He stood up as soon as her buttocks touched the tabletop, spreading her thighs apart, making her have to reach back with her hand to catch her balance.

"– ah –" She gasped as his fingertips sank into her fleshy, warm womanhood, collecting her sticky wetness.

"– since when are you in this state? – hm? –" He hummed, pushing her closer to him with an impatient tug of his hand on her ass, the other digging warningly into her delicate skin, trailing it around her swollen clit.

"– since this morning – since I saw you come out wet and naked from the bathroom in our bedroom – I've needed you, and you haven't touched me –" She mewled regretfully, feeling her walls clench greedily around nothing, craving him inside her.

What he heard was enough for all his foreplay, and with her help he quickly undid the belt of his trousers, his breath heavy and hitched.

"– after all, I fucked you last night – I had to drive Aegon and Visenya to training – you could have joined me in the shower –" He exhaled, impatiently releasing his long, hard erection from his boxers.

She sighed and tilted her head back as, without even waiting for her response, he directed the head of his cock against her slit, opening her wide on his fat length, filling her with himself with one, lazy thrust.

"– uncle – o-oh, fuck, uncle, yes, yes, yes –" She cried out, resting her hands behind her back, letting the material of her bathrobe slide off her shoulders, revealing her breasts full of milk, bouncing each time his hips pounded against her buttocks.

"– God, be quiet – shhh, be good or I won't let you come – is that what you want? –" He breathed out and she bit her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up at him pleadingly, something in her gaze from which he began to slam into her like mad, himself struggling to restrain himself not to moan.

"– that's what I thought – you come to me – ah – begging with those big eyes for my cock – and then you can't even fucking behave –" He growled and sighed, feeling her struggling to stifle a sob of pleasure when another thrust against that same sweet spot made her fall apart in front of him, panting heavily along with him, the next few loud, sticky slaps of their bodies were enough for him to cum with a sigh of relief.

They knew each other's bodies all too well by now and, with amusement, found more and more that they had trouble holding back from coming too early.

It was just too pleasant.

"– I'm pregnant –" She whispered, and he blinked and looked at her, as if he needed a moment to start thinking soberly after such intense fulfilment.

"– what? – but –" He exhaled.

"– I'm sure – I went to the doctor today –"

"– you lied to me –" He said with irritation in his voice.

"– Criston drove me there – I told you I would go shopping with him and we did after the appointment – no lies –" She said with a smile, touching her belly affectionately.

Her husband sighed, placing his hand on hers, the expression on his face calm and gentle again.

"– it's the sixth – what a big family indeed –" He hummed, and she laughed, nodding her head.

"– yes, my love – another child to drive to training –" She said amused, and he kissed her forehead with tenderness, from which a pleasant warmth spread over her heart.

"– don't sit here too long –" She sighed, jumping off his desk as soon as he slid out of her.

"– I won't –"

On her way to their bedroom, she walked into their youngest child's room and smiled, covering her little son more tightly with the duvet. Aemon's leg immediately pushed the bedclothes off him with his mutter of displeasure, so she gave up and left him alone.

She froze, spotting a silhouette in the corner of the room, thinking it was a man, with bright eyes, blonde hair and a beard, but was relieved when, after a moment, she noticed that it was the only shadow cast by the wardrobe standing nearby.

When she walked into their bedroom, she immediately turned on the lamp by their bed and waited patiently for him to return.

She knew she wouldn't fall asleep anyway.

When she was alone in bed, she saw his face and her hands sticky with blood.

When she heard her uncle's footsteps, when his warm body finally lay down beside her and his lips placed a soft, sticky kiss on her neck, she turned off the light, his whisper next to her ear like the calm hum of the wind.

"– now I will let you moan as much as you wish –"

"– Aegon – don't let her swim out into the deep water – Daeron, Visenya keep an eye on her, after all you can see she can't swim well yet –" He shouted to their children the next day, lying in front of her on a towel on the beach, little Aemon, sitting next to them, was building a sandcastle, the hot sun burning their skin.

"– okay, Dad! –" She heard Daeron voice behind her, lying on her stomach in her black one-piece bathing suit with her back cut out, reading a book, her husband's doctoral thesis on an excavation he had run with her in one of the cities the year before.

"– what do you think? – it's the last time for corrections – I've read it hundreds of times and it already makes me want to vomit when I look at it –" He said disapprovingly, turning his gaze towards the sea again.

"– it's the best doctoral thesis I've ever read – really –" She said softly, turning the page, amazed at how effortlessly her husband wrote.

"– look, mummy – it's a fortress, and here's the moat – and there's a dragon on top –" Mumbled Aemon, forcing the Mighty Vhagar figurine that had once belonged to his father onto the top of the tower.

"– beautiful, darling – it looks like the real thing –" She said with warm approval, and Aemon smiled broadly, satisfied, busying himself with creating a bridge over the moat from sticks.

"– Aemma, don't swim so far away – how many times do I have to tell you? –" Her uncle called out, raising himself angrily on his elbow, and she sighed heavily, throwing him a look full of pity.

"– she has swimming sleeves that are full of air that will float her even if she stops moving her arms and legs – she won't drown –" She said, and her husband sighed heavily, looking anxiously towards their children playing in the water.

"– I prefer to be sure –" He muttered.

She looked at him tenderly for a moment, feeling nothing but warmth in her heart.

He was such a good father.

Such a good husband.

She knew that one day they would have to explain to their children why they only had a church wedding and were not married before the state.

But not yet.

"So let's make sure. We should swim with them." She said, extending her hand to him, and he looked at her, apparently recalling their conversation in his car then, many years ago, when he had described his fantasy to her.

He licked his lips with his tongue and grinned in a way she loved.

"Come."

______

Author's note: The child that Rhaenys lost was Viserys: I decided that this story, because it is so dark, could not end differently, and the decisions of the characters had to lead to tragedy sooner or later. Something dies in Rhaenys, but thanks to this she can finally fully join her husband in their Hades, crossing the border of innocence and naivety, maturing in a kind of cruel way. However, the rest of their children, who appeared in the original series, are born. After losing Viserys (in this version they did not know that it would be a boy), they decided that they wanted to have as many children as God would give them, since he took one away from them (in their eyes one too many). Visenya and Aegon will definitely become mafia bosses in the future, just like their father, lol. Their children have the same characters and looks like in the original series, which you can see here.

[hyuckmov]

himbo haechan pt.2

first part here wc: 12.9k (!!!) genre: fluff, smut, a little angst if u squint warnings: shower sex, unprotected sex, masturbating, just the tip (!), handjobs, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, fingering, softdom/sub dynamics (haechan doing both), being ignored during sex (!!!), aftercare, creampie a/n: thank u for loving himbo haech and thank you for being patient with me :) this fic took me so long because i originally wasn't going to have a plot, but piecing together scenes didn't feel like it was a sincere effort for how much i loved himbo haech so i tried my best to do more <3 this MIGHT be the tamest thing i've written, if you followed me for filth i promise i will make it up to you in another fic LOL let me know what u think, i hope this is hot, and i really hope you like this !!!

haechan thinks he'll never forget the first time he meets you. 

for him, time slowed and there was no other explanation. his heartbeat rushed loud in his ears, a warm glow spread all throughout his body to the tips of his fingers. you had walked into the living room of the house party, angrily mouthing off someone who had spilled his drink on your sleeve, your voice traveling over to him over the undercurrent of the music blasting from the speakers, and he loved it. the sting of your tone, the way your chest rose and fell, the flush in your cheeks. 

he wanted to stand by you as close as he could and watch each shade of emotion flicker in your eyes, he wanted to hear the ring of your voice through your chest, he wanted every bit of your attention directed at him. for once in his life, he didn't just want to touch — he wanted to hold. 

"renjun…" he whispered, voice reverent and hushed like he was in a church. "i'm in love."  

"um…renjun left an hour ago…?" jaemin shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, leaning over haechan and waving his hand in front of his face. "i've been talking to you for the past 10 minutes about next week's hockey game…" 

absentmindedly, haechan grabs jaemin's wrist and pulls his hand away from his face, eyes still focused on the way you storm towards the kitchen. "okay renjun." 

he sees you walk out, a fresh drink in one hand, the other arm hooked around some guy who he's now forced to acknowledge. but he's nothing compared to haechan, and haechan knows if he tries, if he could just walk over to you, talk to you, get to know you… 

"haechan, no." and now mark has swooped into his vision, what was he doing here? grabbing him by the shoulders, mark speaks loudly and slowly to haechan, as if he was scolding a very small toddler. "she has a boyfriend." 

who? "um…" his brain skids through potential responses, but he can't make sense of anything mark is saying. "sorry to hear that…" he mumbles. 

"this is not the time to be snarky." 

where were you now? eyes searching for you over mark's shoulders, he tries to keep up with the conversation. "if you say so, mark."

"jaemin, what's wrong with him? is he drunk?" 

"i'm fine, mark–" impassioned, he grabs mark by the forearms, catching him off guard. haechan stumbles to his feet, patting his pockets for his phone, so he can save your number when he gets it, eyes sweeping the room again and finally spotting you as you step into a corridor leading off from the living room. even though his legs just aren't moving, his heart thunders in his chest in a way it hadn't for a long time, a thrum he couldn't keep up with. 

his stomach twists when he realises there’s only one explanation for how he feels towards you, as if he was on a rollercoaster about to tip over — a messy tangle of nerves and excitement all at once. 

"mark, i think i've found the one." 

x

"i can't believe i really get to hold you like this…" he murmured, in awe. 

haechan said something along these lines practically every time you cuddled in the evenings, and the words never faded in their sweetness. lost in his own thoughts, he stroked your hair with slightly shaky hands, and placed a gentle kiss to your temple. "i keep thinking i'm going to blink, and then the next second you'll be yelling at me again…" 

you feel a twinge of guilt, and you're just about to apologize when —

"…but also, i kind of miss that too…" 

there it was.

"do you want me to pretend to get mad at you?" you suggest, smiling a little as you climb on top of him. there's something reverent in the way he tilts his head up, never breaking eye contact as his hands instinctively come up to grip your waist and steady you. "or you could make me mad on purpose?"

"wouldn't be the first time…" he mumbles, the familiar cloudy look making its way into his irises, his gaze now unfocused and dazed as his eyes flick up and down your body. 

"really?" 

he nods. "never actually deleted our project, didn't actually submit a draft for the final assignment, didn't really lose your underwear…" 

a laugh rises up in your throat, half part incredulous and the other hopelessly endeared. 

"if you want me to be rough with you, next time, just ask me," you promise him, patting him on the chest lightly. 

"i mean…i keep thinking i want you to get mad at me, so we can fuck like we used to…" he scrunches his nose in thought, lowering his gaze. “but i just… there’s just…”

"but…?" 

"but also i really like making love to you," he whispers. "i love it so much, and i feel like, because we're at the start of our relationship it means more.” holding your hands in his now, he gives them a light squeeze. “and i don’t want to ruin that, you know?”

 your breath hitches in your throat, and all of a sudden you don’t know what to say. 

"does that make sense?" he asks, softly. "did i say something wrong?" 

“haechan….” you’re convinced your heart has melted in your chest, tears threatening to fall from your lashes from how raw and intimate he could be with his words. love was so easy to him, and he showed you time and time again that he wouldn’t change. “i love you so-”

“- so should we try shower sex?” 

you're speechless.

"from your lack of response, i'm guessing no… but-!" eagerly, he picks up his laptop from the side table, and holds it up so you can see the screen, covering his face all except for the puppy-eyes he's giving you. "look! having shower sex twice a week can reduce the risk of heart diseases by 50%!"

"haechan…"

"we have to do it!" he's so excited he drops his laptop on the bed to hold your hands in his, rubbing your fingers gently as he bounces with excitement. "so we don't get heart disease!"

"i don't think…"

"it also increases mindfulness because it engages all 5 of your senses…" he continues, words coming out in a rehearsed rush, and you can tell he's been researching this topic for a while. "didn't you tell me i should try being more mindful?" 

"i kind of meant it more like mindful of your surroundings…" you frown a little. "you still bump into people almost every time we turn a corner on the street…" 

"see, we just said the exact same thing," he breathes. "please?" 

and although you think you should be desensitized to him already, it still catches you off guard when he sits up to lean in closer. the swell of his lips, the flush shining on the tip of his nose and dusting his cheeks whenever he got excited. it shouldn't affect you, the lights reflected in his eyes, the way they're misty for god knows what reason, and the knowledge that if you asked why, his answer would be that it's because he loves you, so so much.  

"haechan…"

"i'll be really gentle…" he says, softly. rubbing hesitant circles on your bare waist with his thumb, he dips his head a little to hold your gaze. "i promise. i'll take care of you."

the words go straight to your gut, a sharp sting ringing high in your nose bridge as you feel a slight prickle of tears in your eyes. he's still looking at you with those eyes you fell for, gentle and patient, the same voice that always soothed and comforted you, with an undertone of fierce devotion that you craved.

melting into his arms, you tuck your head into the curve of his neck. your voice is shaky when you speak. "i'm about to cry," you grumble. "and we're just talking about shower sex." 

his laugh vibrates against your chest — the sound is warm, and it feels like home. "i'll take care of you," he repeats in a whisper, lips pressed against your hair. 

x

it really is every bit as sweet as he promised, when you find yourself pressed against the shower wall, strong arms lifting you up as he kisses you fiercely. 

"is this okay?" he murmurs, rutting against your core in rough pulses. "this way you don't have to focus on not slipping…" 

"yeah…" you gasp as he pushes you against the wall again, adjusting his grip on your thighs. the muscles in his arms tense, and the veins leading down to his fingertips are prominent under his skin. it's so unbelievably hot, the way his chest heaves with need, the soft whine in his breath as the tip of his cock catches against your entrance. 

"i can't wait," he blurts out, forehead pressing against yours as he rubs his cock against your wetness again, the blunt tip nudging against your clit and making you cling onto him tighter. "do you want me to prep you some more or… or can i…" 

you shake your head. "want you now," you tilt your head to kiss him and he surges towards you eagerly, suckling on your bottom lip hard, desperation heavy in the way he licks into your mouth. 

"i'm sorry, i love you, i'm sorry, you're so good to me…" he murmurs, pushing into you with a stretch that makes you tense. his hand soothes down your back, and he shifts you against the wall again. "fuck, i'm sorry baby, just a bit more…" your walls are tight and warm around him, sucking him in as he tries not to buck his hips into you, trying to be as gentle as he promised, mumbling apologies into your skin. 

the steam of the shower coiling around your skin and the feeling of being filled up by your boyfriend was almost too much to bear. thighs clamping around him, your mouth falls open as you grip onto his neck for support, fingers curling around the hair at the nape of his neck. and now he's whimpering, his hips jerking forward and suddenly you're taking all of him, filled to the brim by his thick cock. 

murmuring another apology, he licks shyly at your neck and presses a kiss to your sweet spot, marking your skin. his nose bumping against the curve of your neck making your heartbeat race, a sweetness you can't quite explain. 

"haechan, please move-" 

"i…" he swallows, lifting his head to face you. his pupils are blown out, his voice dropping an octave as his fingers tentatively stroke the side of your thigh. "fuck, baby, you have to relax." 

"i can't if you don't move-"

"i'm gonna cum if you keep squeezing around me like this," he admits, a small whimper escaping from the back of his throat when you only clench around him harder from his words. "please…" he freckles kisses down your throat, hand rubbing soothingly up your lower back as he pins you to the wall with his hips. slowly, you begin to relax into your position, his touch comforting you and slowing your heart rate down. 

"good girl," he praises, softly, with a kiss on your nose. 

your heart soars. 

he pushes forward, slowly setting a rhythm as he angles his hips deeper, closing his eyes as he melts into the feeling. his tip presses against a spot which makes you whimper, each vein and ridge of his length dragging against your walls and pushing you closer to the edge. your clit aches at the feeling of being stretched out, and you reluctantly take one hand off his shoulders to rub yourself with careful fingers. his hips stutter as you tighten around him again with your own movements, and it only spurs him on to chase both your highs faster. 

you start sliding down the wall, smooth tiles warm against your back from the water, but he's too far gone to care – shoving you carelessly higher as he thrusts harshly into you, eyes fluttering open to see the way your tits bounce from his movements, water droplets running down your curves and almost bringing tears to his eyes. 

"i wanna touch," his sounds rising in pitch, scratchy moans broken up by jumbled words and curses. "more, want more…" he jerks away one of his hands holding you up to palm at your chest, but you start to slip and he's forced to hold you up again. he's so frustrated he's half groaning, half begging. "please cum, want you to cum on me…"

you can't help the laugh that bubbles from your throat. "are you begging?" 

"YES-" he moans, loudly, the sound echoing through the bathroom, booming against the backdrop of running water. 

you laugh again, the hand slick at your clit sliding over to his mouth, tips of your fingers brushing his soft lips, and then he's cumming, warm and hot inside you, hips relentless as he all but fucks you into the wall, hands cushioning your hips yet gripping you in a way that would leave bruises of their own. the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you making you cum as well, thighs wrapping around his waist like a vice, body hypersensitive, feeling every single rivulet of water running down your skin. 

it's a while before you both drift back to the present moment, as he seems frozen in his position, chest heaving and eyes unfocused. 

as he lets you slide down to stand on your own two feet, his arms still holding you slumped against him, he groans low in his chest. 

"next time, we're doing this in the tub." 

x

part of being with haechan is getting to know his friends, which is why you're currently sitting in between haechan's legs, in a circle with them around a monopoly board as renjun complains about for what feels like the thousandth time. 

"this is so unfair," renjun grumbles, as he shoves a few paper bills in haechan's direction, crumpling them in the process. 

"the rent is $200. you only gave me $10." 

"i don't HAVE $200–" 

"then drink." haechan pushes the bottle towards him. "one shot for every $50 you owe me," he reminds him, smiling triumphantly. 

it was something jaemin and haechan had thought up together. a drinking game infused with monopoly, where no players would ever go bankrupt, as long as they kept drinking for the money they owed. 

as well as a shot whenever you passed go, whenever you bought a property, and a dozen other random rules designed to make everyone pass out before the night ended.

"haechan always wins," renjun jabs a finger at him accusatorily. "because he always gets y/n's help when the game starts —" 

"how is it my fault for having a smart girlfriend?" 

"if anything," jaemin chimes in, more for the fun of it than the actual argument. "you should pass her around each round, so we all get one chance at winning." 

haechan narrows his eyes, brows furrowed in suspicion. "is that a double entrée?"

"you mean double entendre," you mutter. 

"yeah, what she said." 

"you two need to relax," jaemin waves a hand in the air, dismissively. "no one wants to fuck your girlfriend." 

"why not?" 

"you're impossible." 

"but –" renjun hiccups, finishing the last of the soju. "it's also unfair that the more haechan drinks, the more rational he becomes. why do we still play drinking games with him? if we played monopoly sober—" 

haechan boos him vehemently, and jaemin joins in happily, switching sides in a heartbeat. 

"- haechan wouldn't stand a chance. he'd still be asking me what direction you went in on the board–" 

"that was my first time," he mumbles, self-consciously. you pat him on the shoulder, soothingly, and he takes the opportunity of renjun now yelling at jaemin, to study your face, brushing your hair away from your eyes. 

"are you okay? do you want some water?" 

your pause before answering is all he needs. truthfully, you tapped out after the third time haechan passed go, letting him take the reins as the excessive alcohol miraculously cleared his head. the more you drank, the more you craved skin-on-skin contact with him, getting spacey and quiet. haechan loved it, feeling you pliant and a little needy in his arms, but it worried him just as much when you couldn't bicker back and forth with him. 

helping you to your feet, he hooks his arm in yours and shuffles towards the kitchen, not even bothering to wave to jaemin and renjun, who were at that point heatedly dividing their assets over the game board. 

haechan pours a cup of water for you, his hands moving sure and steady under the fluorescent lights as he holds it up to your lips. you reach out to hold it yourself, but he stops you with a hum, tilting it up to your lips.

"i don't want you to drop it," he says, fondly. "take a sip?" 

feeling shy under his gaze, you drink carefully, dribbling some onto your chin when he lifts the cup too early. 

"messy baby," he teases, softly, his thumb brushing your lips as he wipes your chin carefully. 

 now you're sure the feeling in your stomach is not nausea from the alcohol, but the need to have your boyfriend pressed up against you right that second. a whine rises from the back of your throat – a habit you'd picked up from him, and you bury your face in his chest, making him laugh. the sound is deeper and warmer than you'd ever heard it, buzzing against your ear and making your chest fill with butterflies. you've never seen him like this. something authoritative in the way he guides you towards the kitchen counter, coaxing you to take another sip of water as he looks at you lovingly. 

"you should go to bed soon." sliding his phone out from his back pocket, he flashes his lockscreen at you – a photo of the two of you, taken on jaemin's film camera. 

distracted, you blink up at him. "why?" 

"you have that essay due tomorrow?" mindlessly drawing circles on your waist, he looks deep into your eyes, hoping you're really listening. "you told me you were almost done, but i know you always manage to find some way to make it more complicated…and your proofreading always takes hours…" 

it's a little hot, how clear-headed and coherent he was being, in the dead of night after rounds and rounds of drinks. fuck that, it was making you feel dizzy, the way he slid his palm onto your forehead to check your temperature when you don't respond.

"baby? are you with me?"

"renjun was right…this is so unfair," you mumble. "did you secretly stay sober or something?" 

"i'm hammered, actually." smiling, he takes his own sip of water from the cup. "can't you tell?" there's something tender in that moment, as the tip of his nose brushes against yours, as he pulls you closer and you can smell his fabric softener on the oversized shirt he's wearing. the faint perfume he wears fills your senses, and he smells so good, and his arms are so firm around you…

"haechan," you're a little breathless. "i need you." 

"what?" 

your hands fumble with his shirt, sliding underneath it to touch the bare skin of his waist, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"fuck." he lowers his head, eyes closing as he takes a shuddering breath. "not right now, baby." 

"i know, i mean when they leave –" 

"i mean not today. not while you're this drunk, i'm sorry –" at the look on your face, he presses a quick kiss to both your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose and finally your mouth. "i'm sorry," he repeats, softly. "it doesn't feel right." 

"i thought you wanted –"

"trust me, i do…" he bites his lip, and now he takes a step away from you, trying not to let the feeling of you in his arms affect his judgement.  "you have no idea how much i want to." 

"so –" 

"but not like this," he says, firmly. "i don't think we're ready for it right now. hey –" you're pulling away from him too, now trying to leave the kitchen. "i'm still going to help you take off your makeup and get undressed —" 

"yeah?" 

"and then we're going to go to bed." he pleads with you with his eyes. "i'll do everything with you in the morning, after you're done with your assignment, okay?" 

a beat. 

"y/n…" sternly, he tilts your chin up to look him in the eye, and it makes you shrink a little, but god it makes you want him more. "okay?" 

sullen, you nod. 

"use your words." 

fuck. "okay," you breathe, meekly, even though every impulse in your body is making you want to pull his body into yours. somewhere in the haze of your mind, you still can't shake the way his broad shoulders look under the light as he guides you out of the kitchen, your hand held tightly in his. 

x

the gentle morning light and the silence of your apartment is comforting, as you sip your drink and wait for the pain in your head to subside. 

after haechan had rejected you, he had kicked out renjun and jaemin, bringing you to bed immediately. wiping your skin with makeup wipes, and kissing you to ward you off as your hands kept wandering to him was probably the most torture you had ever put him through. you almost felt bad when you realised you truly couldn't spend time with him today either, your mind clearing and focusing on the assignment that haechan rightly pointed out you still had to complete. 

so when he slinks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around you, you lean into his touch instinctively, curving your body into his. 

it's also why his sudden gasp makes you jump. 

"what–" 

"angel…" he's starry-eyed, voice hushed and reverent as he gently brushes the underside of your boobs with his fingers. "are you not wearing anything under this shirt?" 

it was as if the him from last night had completely evaporated. "um, yeah…" 

"did i do something good?" his big hands shamelessly cup your breasts, squeezing them together as he sighs. "is this a reward?" 

"i mean…you were really responsible last night…" 

hopping up happily against the kitchen counter and sandwiching you between his legs, he kisses you on the mouth sweetly, barely able to contain his smile. "i love you," he whispers against your lips, hands roaming up your shirt and teasing over your nipples. "we're going to have so much fun today." 

"about that…" you place your hands over his own through your shirt, halting his movements. "you can't fuck me today, i'm sorry." 

he lets out a dramatic, betrayed gasp, heart-shaped lips parting and eyes glistening with hurt. "why would you say that?" 

you blink. "because it's true…?" 

"are you…are you finally sick of me…?" his hands drop from under your shirt, tracing a sad circle with his fingertip on his toned thighs. "of my cock?" 

"haechan, it's 8 in the morning." 

"is it your vibrator? has it replaced me?" 

"this has nothing to do with you —" 

"YOU'RE FUCKING RENJUN?" 

you wind your fingers into his hair and tug, harshly. 

it's not your favorite trick, you admit, because the reaction was always 50/50. he would get either even more distracted, or focus up and listen to you — even if for the purpose of discerning when you would be down to fuck next. 

today he lets out a quiet moan, head falling to your shoulder as his hands find your chest again.

"first the shirt, now this —" he mumbles, gloomily. "you're evil." 

"i'm busy." you push at his shoulders so he'll straighten up and face you, but his face is still resolutely nuzzled against your neck. 

"you're always busy," he bites back, frustrated. "last week, and the week before that, and the week before that." 

"yeah, because i go to college?" you remind him. "and you do too?"

"but can you really not spare 20 minutes?" he whines, lifting his head to look at you with hurt eyes. 

there's a pause, as he takes a deep breath. 

"i'm sorry —" 

"no, it's okay," he mumbles. "i shouldn't be pressuring you." biting his lip, he leans in again, resting his weight on yours. 

"how long will you be gone today?" he asks, quietly. 

"i'll be staying at home," you comfort him. 

"i can keep you company," he says, quickly. 

"haechan –" 

"i won't even distract you," he continues, his words a sharp contrast from how his pouty lips brushed your skin, casually starting to pepper kisses under your jaw. his voice dips low when he adds, "i can be good." 

"right." your focus has been ripped to shreds as his movements grow more needy, his touches on your chest making you arch into him for more. when his thumb circles your nipple, teeth biting down gently on the sweet spot on your neck, you can't help letting out a whimper, slumping against him just slightly as your knees start to feel weak. 

he laughs at that, finally straightening and pulling away from you. 

"yeah," he says, proudly. "there's no way you're sick of me and my cock."

x

a few hours later, all his bravado had completely melted away, the signature whine coming back to his voice.

"not done? still?"

"you're stressing me out." 

behind you, the boy lets out a wounded sound. "but i even got you those resources from the library…" 

"those were really helpful," you concede. you didn't know he had it in him, but apparently all the sessions you'd spent together in the library really paid off. "i just have a bit more to write."

the first hour, he'd been content with lying on the bed and watching you work at your desk. the second hour, he moved the whole desk closer to the bed, – almost breaking a lamp in the process –, so he could hold your hand and play with your fingers when you were scrolling through research articles. 

he dozed off when you had to type – a hand splayed firmly on your thigh, and when he woke up, eagerly pulling you towards the bed and hands already teasing under your waistband, you had quickly asked him if he could go to the library to get you a book that could help. 

which led you to where you sat now, between his spread legs in front of the coffee table, his hands holding your boobs as you struggled through your last few paragraphs.

"i'll wait," he says, softly, arms now falling to your waist as he pulls you in for a hug. you lean back on his chest, but you're surprised when he starts to stand, untangling himself from you and gently placing a pillow behind your back for support. 

you feel a little pathetic when you ask, "where are you going…?"

"i don't want to distract you, baby." he squats down and places a kiss on your cheek, his other hand caressing your face. "i'll wait for you in our room, okay?"

"okay…" you say, watching him shuffle to the bedroom, feeling that the room lost a bit of its energy. 

without haechan, you can focus a lot better, and you almost guiltily speed past the rest of your project, feeling bad for neglecting him. you don't even bother to check your writing again as you're submitting it, all your thoughts now concentrated on your boyfriend, alone in his room, waiting patiently for you to spend time with him. 

placing your laptop on the table, you make your way down the hallway, thinking about maybe being extra sweet to haechan as a thank you for being so supportive today, when your footsteps falter and you stop just outside your bedroom. 

because seeping out of the door are sounds of crying, choked sobs and whimpers of your name muffled but unmistakable. 

was he that upset? the forlorn expression on his face resurfaces his mind, the way his voice went quiet, how he begged that he could be good for you. maybe it wouldn't have hurt to indulge him a little in the morning — judging from the time now, you still probably would have made your deadline. 

"haechan?" you knock, hesitantly, but there's no reply, only a low, pained sound of…frustration? sadness? it worries you, so you push open the door gently, eyes immediately darting to the bed where he lays on the sheets.

and you freeze. 

because unlike the weepy, sad, haechan you had imagined, you're faced with something completely different – haechan, shirtless, leaning against the headboard, his legs twitching on the bed as he strokes his cock fast, hips bucking up into his fist as he throws his head back and moans loudly, cum splattered over his bare torso telling you he was overstimulating himself, again.

for how well you know him, you really should have seen this coming.

"i'm sorry, baby," he whimpers, hand still moving slowly despite being caught, and you can see how red he is all over — flushed cheeks and ears, the tip of his cock peeking out from his hand. "i wanted to be good for you, but i just- couldn't- wait…" 

crossing over to the bed, you sit by his side and look him in the eyes, his hand speeding up as he pants, looking back at you. 

"you like me that much? that you could cum just from thinking about me?" 

"yeah," he moans, his other hand now teasing his own nipple, pinching it and rolling it with his fingers. "c-can cum just from, looking at you, even if you're not d-doing anything…" 

"then you don't need me now, right?" 

"no –!" his clean hand darts out to grab onto your wrist, his other halting and squeezing the base of his cock, trying not to cum. "please, i need you so bad, want you to help me…" 

you sigh, pulling away from him. "i don't know, i'm not really in the mood right now," you lie. 

"please," he begs, trying to shuffle closer to you, but you back away. "i need to be inside you right now…" 

"but i'm still sore from last time. it hurts." you try to act like none of this is getting to you, but it's way too difficult, especially when haechan finally manages to kiss your neck, shuddering against you as his other hand gives a careful stroke. 

"what about just the tip?" he pleads, voice small. 

you roll your eyes. "as if you could be satisfied with just the tip –" 

"i'll be good…" he whines, softly. "just the tip, okay? just really need to feel you right now…it'll just be a bit of a stretch…" 

"you won't bottom out?" 

"no," he shifts uncomfortably, his hand squeezing tighter around the base as the thought of being in you, even just the tip, brings him closer to cumming than he would like. "i'll fuck you with just the tip, i promise." 

you barely give him the okay before he's tugging impatiently at the waistband of your barely-there shorts and panties, groaning loudly when his fingers drag through your folds. 

"you're killing me," he pants, shaky fingers rubbing your clit. "i'm gonna make you cum first, okay?" 

"just-" you try to keep your voice level, but when he slips a finger into your hole, your body crumples against his. "just make me cum on your cock –" 

"baby, i want to…" his lips are soft against yours, as he consoles you with short kisses. "but i might cum way too fast if i fuck you right now." 

"with just the tip," you remind him, biting back a moan when he slips in a second finger and starts making scissoring motions. 

"yeah, you want to be stretched out, hm?" he smiles when he feels you clench tighter around his fingers. "you don't mind if i don't fill you up?" 

internally, you start to curse yourself, because fuck you do want him to fill you up. "i don't mind…" you say, weakly, focusing instead on the way he was circling your clit as he crooks his fingers against your walls. 

"so warm and tight," he groans. "you're close, right?" 

"yes–" 

his movements on your clit speed up and your hips buck into his hand, grinding against his fingers. "fuck, that's so hot." his lips wrap around your nipple through your shirt, and you moan as he sucks wetly, lips brushing your chest as he speaks. "you look so pretty riding my fingers, baby." 

you tumble headfirst into your orgasm, body shuddering against his when he applies a sinful pressure against your clit, the way he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes too much to bear. he pulls his fingers out from between your legs, immediately sticking them in his mouth and sighing at the taste, his other hand caressing your hip soothingly. 

"lay down for me," he coaxes, touch gentle as he maneuvers your legs around his waist. running the tip of his cock through your soaked cunt, he lets out a shaky moan, tones rising dizzyingly higher as he presses against your entrance. 

"haechan…" you plead, as he nudges your clit with his cock, making your hips jolt.

he reaches out to squeeze your hand. "i'm right here," he murmurs, kissing your fingertips lightly as he brushes your hole with the pink head of his cock. his words make your chest flutter in a way that has nothing to do with the ache between your legs. "i'm here," he repeats, softly, as he slowly slips the bulbous tip of his cock into you, and you can feel yourself clench tight around him, sucking him in further despite his efforts to pull out. 

"can you cum like this?" his tone is still soft as he reaches to rub your clit, applying light pressure, fingers slipping from how wet you were. "because, i think i can cum like this, feels so sensitive…" he wags his hips a few times, feeling the head of his cock move inside you, and he moans weakly. "is this what you wanted, baby?" 

your legs clamp tight around his waist, trying not to move your own hips, focusing on his shallow thrusts and the slight pain of the stretch. in truth, you wanted him to push deeper into you, craving both the way his thick cock always made you feel full, and the feeling of him pressing you into the bed under his weight. you just had to hold out until he started begging for more. 

"feels so good, haechan," you praise, and he flushes, rubbing your clit even faster as he moves against you. 

"you don't-" he pants. "are you sure you don't want more? you're okay with this?" his voice sounds almost hopeful.

you nod again, tugging him towards you for a kiss, the slight shift in his position making his cock slide deeper into you. he moans low against your lips, breaking away quickly and pulling out entirely. "fuck, sorry–" 

but then he's shoving himself back into you roughly, going past the tip and sinking deep into your cunt as he lets out a satisfied groan, and you can feel his hips flush against yours as he covers you with his body. kissing you harshly, his tongue strokes the roof of your mouth as he moans again, hips now thrusting fast into yours, wet sounds filling the room as he pushes deep into you each time. 

"haechan!" 

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he gasps, although his hips are relentless against yours, hands pushing your thighs up so he can reach deeper into you, "i couldn't, you're so fucking wet and tight and warm –" you can feel him throb inside you as he fucks you, riled up by his own thoughts. "wanted to feel you all over me…" 

his angles his hips again, searching for your soft spot, holding your body tight against his. when he feels you tighten around him, back arching and nipples brushing against his in a way that makes electricity run down his spine, he bucks into you, your sounds in his ear telling him you were reaching your high. 

after being teased with his tip, you much appreciated the feeling of him being sheathed deep inside you, his cock nudging your sweet spot and making you clench harder around him each time. when his fingers find your clit again, it only takes a few seconds before you're cumming hard around him, feeling slick on your thighs with the force of your orgasm. seeing your cum form rings of white on his cock makes him whimper, and your lips brushing against his skin is all it takes for him to cum too, soaking your walls and making you hiss at the sensitivity. 

you lie there for a moment, basking in the feeling of him lying against you, feeling too tired and filthy to move. stroking his back tenderly, you notice his breathing doesn't even out as it usually does, and when you feel hot tears on your shoulder you jolt, alarmed. 

"haechan, what's wrong?" 

"did i hurt you?" he sniffles, lifting his weight off of you so he could check on your body. "i'm sorry, i know i promised just the tip, you said you were sore…" 

your heart flutters in your chest as he pulls out, wiping between your legs gently with his shirt even as tears run down his cheeks. "i d-didn't mean to hurt you…" he breathes. he closes your legs carefully, before running his hands over your thighs. "are you okay? please say you're okay…" 

"haechan, i'm fine, really,"  you sit up to reach him, but he quickly stops you, laying a hand on your shoulder.

"you should rest-" 

"haechan i was just…" you place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers in a reassuring manner. "i was just teasing. i wasn't actually sore." 

a sniffle. "really?" 

"yes, of course –" you squeeze his hand. "thank you for taking care of me." 

it takes a little more reassurance and a lot of kissing to get him to smile, as he prepares a hot bath for you, skidding off to the kitchen to make something for dinner. you eat dinner while cuddling with him in front of the television, your legs in his lap as he pours wine for the both of you, the glasses he bought to 'look smarter when i'm with you' slipping down his nose as he focuses his gaze on your lips for a little too long, watching your tongue dart out as you taste the wine. 

it's times like these – with his arms around your waist and his eyes never leaving yours as you tell him the most trivial thing about your day, — where you cannot imagine ever living a life before you were loved by him, and the very thought of a universe where the two of you couldn't speak to each other was enough to make your breath catch in your throat, and make your chest feel tight. 

"you okay?" he takes the wine glass from your hand, brushing his lips against yours softly. only haechan would think that kissing you would be a way to get you to focus.

"i'm thinking too much," you admit, leaning into him and pressing your cheek against his. 

"about…?" a kiss on your nose. 

when you looked at him again, your worries did seem to fall away. it didn't ever seem possible that he would fall out of love with you, or even think about replacing you, what with the way he was holding you so carefully, eyes doing that deep dive into your own that always left you feeling naked and vulnerable.

"i hate it when i can't read your mind," he murmurs, a little sadly. "i wish i had some way of knowing the right thing to do, all the time, whenever it comes to you." 

"i think you do," you say, softly, meaning every syllable of it. 

"okay…." he tilts his head to the side, thinking hard, lips jutting out into a sweet pout. "i think the right thing to do now…because you're overthinking things…"

you encourage him with a hum. "maybe we can make some tea –" 

" — i think i should fuck you stupid." 

a pause. 

"haechan…" 

"yeah i know, my idea is better." 

and scooping you up into his arms, he carries you, laughing, all the way to the bedroom, and you can admit that after that things do start to get a little blurry, your mind filled with nothing but him, and him, and him.

x

but haechan makes you feel so loved, that you almost forget the whole world is in love with him too. 

it's equal parts of annoyance and jealousy that stings at your chest when you see haechan surrounded at the back of the lecture hall, a group of girls forming a circle around him as he sits on the table, showing them something on his phone and kicking his feet restlessly like a little kid. was he giving them his number? 

"it's been like this every time i've picked him up from this lecture this past two weeks," you mutter to renjun. 

"ooh, i wonder how many of them he's slept with…" he muses at your side, his tone way too cheery. he had followed you as you made your way to pick haechan up from class, wanting to ask him something about the party happening that evening. "i think i recognise a few of them…" 

"renjun, i hope you know that i don't trust you. at all." 

"but i'm his best friend-" 

"you told me to pull on his hair to shut him up and he moaned-" 

"and look where you are now," he folds his arms triumphantly, a smug smile on his face. "happily celebrating your 2nd month with him." 

"to think that all i asked for was advice on how to shut him up," you mumble, but you still feel a warm glow in the tips of your fingers anyway. you always do, when you're reminded of how far you've come with haechan. 

a loud chorus of cooing and giggling comes from the corner of the hall, and you're sharply brought back to the present moment. 

"renjun…" you hesitate, wondering if it's exactly right to be asking this. "has haechan really…um…" 

"fucked a lot of girls?" renjun finishes your question. "how else do you think he gets so good at it?" 

your skin feels hot. "oh." 

renjun looks at you knowingly. "don't compare yourself to them, you know he doesn't do that." 

"doesn't he…?" you wonder out loud. the girls surrounding haechan were in a league of their own, pretty and confident in all the ways you weren't. you had never quite been with someone like haechan before, someone so well-known on campus, and in turn knew everyone's names and faces. you wanted to believe your differences were something sweet, an opposites attract situation where you always brought the balance he needed and could feel safe in, but a part of you would always wonder about whether he would ever get tired of it. 

"he hasn't talked about any other girl, past or present, since he's met you," renjun reassures, softly. "he really thinks you're the one." 

you think about haechan now, and you try to imagine how it would be like with someone else — his world revolving around them, the look of adoration in his eyes. it gives you a bitter taste in your mouth with how easy it is to imagine. "has he really never thought that about anyone else before?" 

renjun takes a moment to think. "if he has, he hasn't told us." 

and if you were honest with yourself, you don't know if that's enough to ease your mind. 

x

"well, i was thinking i would get this…" 

a loud chorus of nos erupts all around him, and he furrows his brow, a pout forming on his lips. 

"why not?" 

"it's a bracelet that's meant to lock in your love," karina warns. 

"so?" 

"it's possessive and claiming," karina advises, and the girls around her nod in agreement. "it's like a message saying – 'you're going to be with me forever-'"

"but i am going to be with her forever…" he protests, and a wave of awws coo all around him. forlorn, he looks back down at the photo of the cartier love bracelet he has saved in an album of gifts he was thinking of buying you. he hadn't even gotten to ask the girls about which color would match your skin tone before they had collectively agreed the bracelet wasn't a good idea. 

"haechan, it's 7 thousand dollars…" 

"she's worth it," he mumbles, the answer coming to him like it was common sense. "i'll get a job…i can always earn it back…"

"why don't you get her something she's mentioned?" giselle suggests. "like perfume she likes, or a book, or…" 

"i don't want to just get her…a book," he huffs. "i want to get her something she can wear all the time, and everytime she looks at it she'll think of me." 

"really?" she presses. "or do you just want her to show everyone she's yours?" 

"i mean, yeah-" he runs his hand through his hair, shaking it roughly to clear his head. "i mean, maybe? i don't know…" 

another round of cooing starts up, as the girls lean in a little closer, patting him on the back or placing a comforting hand on his arm. 

"i guess i've been feeling like i want her attention…maybe…" he kicks his feet in the air frustratedly. 

"you should talk to her," winter suggests. "aren't you the one who's always talking about open communication?" 

"i love communication," he mopes. "but when i'm with her i get scared…i get so scared of losing her i don't know what to say…"

some of the girls clutch at their hearts, others pulling him into hugs. 

"thank you guys…" he says, earnestly. "i'll think about your advice…" 

"ready to go?"

he jolts at your voice, back straightening and head whipping around to face you. 

"hi!" he blurts out, a little flustered and giddy. "yeah, i'm ready…" he grabs a bunch of papers from beside him and shoves them into his bag haphazardly, slinging one strap over his shoulder as he plucks your laptop from your hands, carrying it for you like he always does. 

"say goodbye to everyone, haechan." he thinks he catches something in your tone – you're trying to keep it light, but something sounds off. 

"byebye girls-" he mumbles, obediently, hopping off the table and standing next to you. when the chorus of goodbyes echoes back, he thinks you walk just a little bit faster, making it harder for him to loop his free arm around your shoulder…

it worries him. 

"you're coming to the party later right?" 

you push open the door with a bit too much force, and he shouldn't be distracted, shouldn't be deterred from his mission to find you the perfect gift and figure out why you were upset, but his thoughts flood with the image of you pushing him around too — and it's like he can feel your touch, the way he imagines it, heavy and warm against his chest. 

it's like he's underwater, as you reply a curt "yes" to his question, because he wants you to shove him against a wall and push him, hard, until he's breathless. you're walking, back to your apartment he presumes, eyes fixed on the road ahead and the way you're blatantly ignoring him also makes his heart hammer fast. he wonders what things he can get away with as you ignore him, wonders if you'll ever let him touch you while you're on your phone, or-

"- get ready at my place?" 

what?

you've stopped walking. your hands are crossed over your chest.

"so? do you want to come?" 

cum? 

"yes please," he breathes. "i mean, if you want me to, but i also want you to cum…" 

"come where?" 

cum where? holy fuck. 

"on my face" he answers, eagerly. "we haven't done that in ages —" 

his face falls when it registers that the groan you let out is out of frustration, and not the sound he usually hears ringing in his ears when he curls his fingers just right. 

"haechan, focus." you grip him by the shoulders, choosing to ignore the fact that giving him commands was always a surefire way to get him to lose focus. "do you want to come home with me as i get ready for the party? or do you want to go help your friends set up?" 

"with you," he says, quickly. 

"the party starts in 30 minutes, i don't think we'll have time to do…" you wave your hand haphazardly. "whatever you're thinking of." 

"sit on my face?" 

"yeah, that." 

whining, he links his arm into yours as you cross the street together. "is this becoming a theme in our relationship? you telling me we don't have time and us just fucking anyway?" 

"uh…"

"is it like…your kink? because it's really annoying," he fishes out the keycard to your apartment complex, clumsily tapping it against the sensor and failing to unlock the door in his frustration, shoving against it far too hard and making the glass shake. "ah, fuck–" 

"i'll do it," you brush past him, taking the keycard from his hand. "calm down, please, haechan." 

"it's not just about fucking," his voice is rough. "okay, well, this thing with you ignoring me, it's growing on me i'll admit. i can see us doing something with that in the future –" he's talking way too loudly about this in the lift lobby, urgency in his tone making his voice ring in the space. "but i also need to feel like you want me around, you know?" 

"of course i want you around." you blink, surprised. your voice softens when you cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at your face. "are you serious? is that what you really think?"

"i dunno…" the question 'do you just want to show everyone she's yours?' echoes around in his head, and he winces at the thought of it, possessive and needy. he tries to backtrack, mumbling out, "i don't know why i said that." 

you bite your lip. something was off with him. you were both worried about things you couldn't articulate quite yet, and you knew everything would work out if you just talked about it and came up with ways to reassure each other. 

and usually he was the first one to sit you down and get you talking about what was on your mind (like the time you were upset he kept staying up gaming), or communicate his own thoughts no matter how jumbled (like the time he was convinced your ex was cursing your relationship with 'bad vibes'). 

but today he's quiet all of a sudden, wide-eyes staring up at yours hesitantly, and it hurts. 

"okay," you say, softly, letting go of his face. 

"what?" 

"okay," you repeat, stepping into the elevator. "when you're ready to talk about it, you can let me know." holding open the elevator doors with one hand, you're even more confused when haechan takes a step back, hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he looks up at you. 

"i'll go help set up the party…" he watches your brow furrow, and hastens to add, "if that's okay?" 

and even though all your instincts are telling you to coddle him, to beg him to tell you what's wrong and to kiss the pout off his face, you nod and step back into the lift. 

"yeah, i'll see you later." 

it's pathetic how much you miss him once the lift doors close. 

x

when you arrive at the party, haechan is nowhere to be seen, something renjun is very angry about. you end on the balcony with jaemin, half part ensuring he doesn't do anything impulsive, and the other part…

"so you're jealous because haechan knows many beautiful, confident, and smart women who he could easily replace you with?" 

jaemin was just coherent enough to give sound advice, and just tipsy enough to be very blunt about it. 

"so you think it's a valid concern?" you press. 

"you know what, when he gets here…" jaemin pauses, swishing the contents around in his cup contemplatively. "ask him to take you upstairs." 

"to do what?" 

"fuck, obviously," he looks at you, disgusted. "is this your first day dating him?" 

"why would i do that?" 

"just trust me on this." he takes another sip. "do you think he'll say yes?"

"of course," you roll your eyes. "is this your first day knowing him? we were just fighting about it-" you break off, realizing you said it was a fight. 

"you guys had a fight?" now jaemin sits up, interested. 

"not really, i mean…" was it a fight? "something slipped out about me not spending enough time with him." 

"i can see that," jaemin muses, brown hair falling over his eyes as he tilts his head this way and that. "he's always liked attention." 

"but he usually loves to talk things out…today he just walked away." your voice is small, missing him again as you thought about him. 

jaemin smiles, knowingly. "he's just scared." 

"really?" 

"yeah, i remember when he first met you –" he stops abruptly. "oh, he's here." 

your head snaps up as you look through the glass doors of the balcony, and sure enough, haechan had shuffled into the living room, eyes scanning the room, before disappearing behind a crowd of people.

"what did you say to him?" jaemin marvels. "he looks so defeated." 

"i didn't say anything," you mumble, guilt once again crashing through you. "i'm gonna go now, okay?" 

not listening out for a reply, you slide open the doors hastily, doing a quick survey of the living room to see if he was there. your heart stops when you see him standing in a corridor off the living room, leaning against the wall in the leather jacket he knew you liked. his eyes meet yours, hesitance written all over his features, but also a kind of tenderness and warmth that was so familiar. 

you make your way to him, watching as he straightens, hands reaching out for you before you've even reached the corridor, and the first thing he does is envelop you in a hug. his arms wrap around you and squeeze you tight against his chest as he rests his chin on your head, cradling you in his touch as he sways slightly. 

he doesn't say a word as he gently breaks the embrace to kiss you, holding your face tenderly in his hands, palms sliding around to the back of your neck as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. his tongue slides against yours, and his fingertips tremble just a bit against your skin. 

even when you break apart, he still doesn't speak just yet, eyes staring closely at yours, and you held the eye contact, feeling like he was reaching his hands into your heart as he pulls you a little closer. 

"i'm sorry," he begins. "i shouldn't have walked off. i wanted to talk to you but i was afraid i would say something wrong." 

"it's okay–" 

"wait." he exhales. "i rehearsed this on the way here, could you forgive me a bit later?" 

you feel yourself smile as you pull him into another hug, which he returns. 

"now i'm just thinking about how good you smell," he mumbles into your hair, a little begrudgingly. 

"it's okay if it's not rehearsed," you tell him, softly. 

"but i don't want you to misunderstand," he insists. "i think recently i've been feeling like you don't really have time for me…or that i have to earn your attention…" 

"haechan–" 

"and it's hot sometimes," he emphasises. "but other times…" 

"i'll get better at balancing things," you promise. "i miss you too, you know. when i'm always stuck at the library." he's looking at you with that starry-eyed expression again, and you wish you had just told him all of this sooner. 

"is that what was bothering you?" he asks, gently. 

you could just end the whole thing now, brush past the sick flutter inside your chest and tell him there was nothing else. but the thought of stepping out into the corridor and losing him to the crowd was too much to bear. 

jaemin's advice flits into your head, and you grasp at it like a lifeline. 

"haechan, if i asked you to go upstairs with me now, what would you say?" 

"to do what?" he asks, curiosity making his eyes widen. 

"you know…" feeling a little stupid, why hadn't you pressed for more information from jaemin?, you looped your fingers around his belt loops and tugged him a little closer. "so i can pay attention to you?" 

"um…are you really distracted right now…?" 

"to fuck, haechan." 

his jaw drops and he freezes, melodramatically, for a split second. 

"haechan?" 

spluttering back to life, he grips onto your arms. "is everything okay?" a hand comes up and brushes your forehead, feeling for your temperature. "are you sick? do you want me to take you home?" 

"haechan," exasperated, you roll your eyes and shove him a little so he backs away from you. he's still peering at you with disbelief, eyes scanning your frame, and you just know he's trying to see if your face is flushed, or if you're drunk. "stop looking at me like that," you mumble. "why are you so surprised? as if you've never fucked anyone upstairs at a party before –"

"i mean, yeah," he chokes. "but that's…that's just for fun." 

"so we can't have fun?" 

"no!" he screws his face up in concentration. "that's not what i mean." 

"so…you don't want to take me upstairs?" 

he shakes his head, firmly. 

"...but you were fine with taking girls upstairs in the past?"

he exhales frustratedly, rubbing his temples, words swallowed by his pouty lips as he tries to explain. "you're… you're different to me."

"what-"

"i want everything to be perfect," he says, softly. "i can't do that in some random guy's bedroom. i want to take my time with you, and i want you to know i love you." he takes a deep breath, and his voice drops an octave when he next opens his mouth. 

"i can't do that upstairs, and i've never done it with anyone else before." looking up at you through his lashes, there's a small smile on his face as his hands reach out to hold yours. "that's what you're worried about, right?" 

"when did you get so eloquent?" you ask, quietly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks and light up your body with warmth. 

doe eyes look at you, fascinated. "what does eloquent mean?" and then, eagerness rising in his voice, "does it mean hot? do you want me to take us home now?" 

you push forward and kiss him on the lips, hands squeezing his waist and drawing a whimper from the back of his throat. working your way down to his throat, you suckle on the mole that lies just under his jaw, working your way down and drawing another choked sound from him as he realises what you're doing. he scrabbles at his shirt desperately, unbuttoning the top buttons with clumsy hands just as you finish marking his throat.

"here," he whispers, tapping at the mole on his chest, and you smile, kissing it gently. "and here –" he unbuttons his shirt a bit more, tugging at the sleeve so you can see another mole under his ribcage. "one more –" 

"baby, are you going to take off all your clothes in the middle of this corridor?" 

"if you kiss all of them, i will." he says, determined, hands now going to his belt buckle. 

"let's just go home." when he starts to splutter in protest, hands now pulling the belt off his belt loops, you hastily take his hands in yours to stop him. "so i can see them better, okay? it's too dark here." 

flushed, he nods quickly, bouncing on his toes as he does up his belt again. 

"just so you can see better," he echoes, shyly. 

x

you wake up when haechan gets back into bed. 

he's washed his face and brushed his teeth, you can smell mint on his breath and freshly applied perfume when he presses a light kiss to your cheek, watching him out of your barely-open eyes. it's endlessly endearing that he cares about how he tastes and smells to you, even after months of being together.

"baby," he whispers, the familiar excitement in his tone. hands roaming your skin, he drags down the collar of your shirt with a fingertip, pressing a kiss low on your collarbone, the other rubbing indulgently over your bare stomach. "baby, are you up?"

it had been about a week since the party, and haechan and you had promised to make time for each other in the mornings, waking up a little earlier every day. sometimes you lay and talked about the day ahead, sometimes you would both agree to sleep in. and other times… 

his hand slides into yours, as he presses a few more sloppy kisses to your neck, flicking his tongue against your jaw. he was extra touchy whenever he just woke, seeking your warmth under his palms and tangling his legs in yours. "baby…i need you." 

lying still, you shut your eyes firmly, slowing down your breaths as if you were asleep. it's a moment before haechan gives up, placing one last kiss on your shoulder before you feel him sigh against your skin. opening your eyes just slightly, you see him lying on his back — staring at the ceiling with a pout on his face, one hand rubbing absentmindedly on your hip. 

a week ago it would have been too soon, but now's the perfect time to try it as you slide your hand over to his shorts, feeling the silky smooth skin of his upper thighs as you lightly drag the fabric up. 

his breath hitches. "y/n?" 

keeping your eyes shut and your head turned towards the sheets, you ghost your hand over the front of his shorts, the fabric stretched around his length. tracing over the outline of his cock, you squeeze him lightly, drawing an achy moan. 

"baby…" his voice is hesitant. "what are you doing?" 

you resist the urge to respond, his voice and his heavy breathing the only sounds in the room, amplified in the cold morning. you hear him take another shaky breath when you slide your hand under his waistband, skin hot to touch, and grip the base of his hard cock, feeling it twitch slightly under your touch. his legs slide restlessly against the sheets, hips shifting, trying to get you to move your hand. 

"y/n?" he tries again, before letting out a hiss as your fingers move up to his dripping tip, rubbing at his slit gently. "fuck, okay," he pants, cutting himself off with a shaky moan as you pump his thick length with your fist, fingers barely forming a complete ring. he was leaking so much precum, more than you've ever felt before, cock throbbing and twitching heavily against your palm, making you press your thighs tightly together, trying to focus. his hips buck up into your hand sporadically as he loses control of his movements, and you indulge him by keeping a steady grip, letting him fuck your fist. 

you hear a familiar choke, and you open your eyes wider by just a sliver, to see tears running down his cheeks, the tip of his nose red. his mouth hangs open, lips wet with saliva and tears, drooling slightly from the corners of his mouth. he's been moving his head this way and that on his pillow, his hair mussed up and falling over his eyes, a complete wreck from you fulfilling his fantasy. 

slowly, you open your eyes as you release him, bringing your slick covered hand up to his face and wiping his tears and drool away as best you could. his head snaps in your direction, panting heavily and eyes half-lidded with lust, searching for yours. 

"please don't stop," he begs. "please, i wanna cum–" 

you close your eyes, hand falling to the sheets next to you as you pretend to settle in again, pulling the thin blanket over you. the only sound in the room is haechan's small, achy voice, whimpering "please, please, please" over and over again, punctuated by sniffles. 

and then, you feel your covers being lifted, heavy hands landing on your waist. 

"let's see if you can ignore me through this, angel." haechan's voice is dark, as he tugs down your shorts and panties with an urgency and desperation you know well. you feel the sting of cold air as your thighs, wet with slick, are held open by his arms, a groan rumbling low from his throat as he takes in the sight of your wet core. "look at me," he demands, making his tongue lie flat and wide as he licks up the arousal leaking onto your thighs and the outside of your core. 

with your eyes closed, each press of his tongue on your skin is magnified by the thousands. you've never felt so sensitive, and you swear you could cum just from the way he kitten licks at your clit, breathing heavily against your sopping heat. but you couldn't look. 

"stubborn baby," he mouths against your folds, tongue dipping into your hole and letting out a satisfied hum at the taste. "you look so pretty, pressed up to my face like this," he praises, one hand releasing your thigh and sliding a finger into you. "you're so tight..." he slides his finger in deeper, pressing against your spongy walls. smiling, he presses his tongue onto your clit, applying a pressure that made you clench even harder around him. "always so tight for me, i don't fuck you enough, hm? squeezing around my tip –" he strokes your walls with the tip of his finger, feeling you pulse. "just like that," he mumbles. 

haechan rarely talked so much while he was eating you out, but now he just couldn't seem to stop, loving the way his voice filled the room, covering your little choked whimpers and moans that you tried to bite back. 

"could play with you for hours," he groans, adding another finger. "you look so cute stretched out over my fingers." he curls his fingers towards the front of your walls, brushing past a spot that makes your hips jerk up, and a moan slip past your lips. "you like that?" 

but then he's withdrawing his fingers entirely, smearing your arousal messily around your folds before circling up to your clit, fingers slipping as he rubs the sensitive nub. "you're dripping," he breathes, dipping back to your entrance, laughing cruelly when he feels your hole clench around nothing. "when you wake up…" he says, sarcastically, and the tone makes your stomach twist. where did he learn all this? "you can beg me to fill you up. are you having a nice dream, baby?" 

you feel him sink down to the bed again, his hair tickling your inner thighs as his mouth attaches to your core, messily frenching your folds. "so swollen," he mumbles, now circling your clit and flicking it lightly with the tip of his tongue, a stinging pressure. "i wish i knew what you needed, sweetheart," his voice is sad, and you just know that if you opened your eyes you would see his own, blinking back at yours innocently. "do you need me here?" he presses your clit the way he knew you craved, mimicking a vibrating motion with his wrist. "or here?" three fingers shove deep into your cunt, and your back arches. "both? or…" you feel him rise, hands guiding your knees to your chest, and you finally, finally open your eyes. 

the sunrise is beautiful against his golden skin, stinging at your eyes as you blink back tears fogging your vision. his face is tear-streaked, hair still a mess, your eyes tracing the light illuminating the moles on his neck, his chest, his torso, his thighs. he lines himself up to your entrance, kissing the side of your knee lovingly. 

"good morning, baby," he smiles, eyes crinkling. "i'm going to fuck you now." 

"haechan-" your voice is hoarse from lack of use. "do you want to try it from the back?" 

there's a pause.

"fuck yes," he groans, his hands moving you effortlessly, helping you get on all fours. you arch your back, pressing your face against the sheets as you wiggle your hips in the air, hearing a moan rise from his throat as he fists his length urgently. 

"hurry up," you whine. 

"hurry up…" he mocks, giggling as he runs his hands down your spine. "you're so spoiled, princess." his hands grasp at your hips, and you feel something heavy push between your legs, his tip pushing into you, the initial stretch making you tense.

"fuck…ah–" he bottoms out, feeling your walls pulse around him, holding still so you can adjust. "you're so tight like this, fuck." when you let out another whimper, he starts to pull out, body stiffening. "are you okay? can i –" 

"please move," you whimper, hips jolting as you start fucking yourself on his length, need surging through your body. his hips snap against yours, wet sounds filling the room as skin meets skin. his hand comes around to touch your clit, rubbing it harshly, and you cum instantly, stars blotting your vision as your knees go weak. 

"just a bit more, baby," he whimpers, speeding up to chase his high. "you want me to fill you up? fuck you so full of my cum you can't ignore it?" pulling you up, he grasps at your breasts, kneading the soft mounds in his hands and pinching at a hard nipple. the moan you let out pushes him over the edge as he cums, hard, warmth shooting into you and coating your walls as you milk him dry, sensitivity making you clench around him again.

"i love you," he whispers, kissing you sweetly on the nape of your neck before pulling out, wincing at the feeling. you lie back on the sheets, winded, as he gets a towel from the bedside cabinet and wipes your thighs dry, purposefully pushing some of the cum leaking out of your entrance back in with a gentle finger, your thighs shaking at the feeling. you make grabby hands at him and he smiles, putting down the towel before all but jumping into your arms, kissing you again on the neck and nuzzling against your shoulder. 

"so?" he raises his eyebrows. 

"so what?" 

"it's hot, right?" he gushes, eyes sparkling. "the ignoring thing? fuck, when i kept calling for you and you closed your eyes…" he sighs. "you're my dream girl," he says, sincerely. "do you know that?"

"i'm your dream girl because i ignore you?" 

"we should only do this once in a while…" he's lost in his own world, brows furrowing as he chews on his cheek in thought. "i miss hearing your pretty sounds…" 

"or maybe you could ignore me," you suggest, sleepiness taking over your body again as you curl up closer to him.

"you really are my dream girl," he marvels, planting a light kiss on your forehead as you drift off, safe in his arms.

x

"we have a problem." 

"the problem we have," you correct him, as he locks the bathroom door behind you. "is we should stop coming to these parties."

"he keeps looking at you," haechan huffs, his eyes trained on your body. "and i get it, because i look at you and i want you now but –" frustrated, he tugs a little at the hem of your dress, which was currently riding high on your thighs as you sat on the bathroom sink. "but you're mine." 

"be honest, do you wish you bought me that $7000 bracelet now?" you tease. 

at haechan's encouragement, you had started to befriend karina and her friends, finding their confidence and enthusiasm infectious and endearingly reminiscent of your boyfriend. they had told you that he spent weeks meeting them after lectures, asking for advice on the littlest things – like how to be there for you on your period, how to help you pick out an outfit, and how to choose gifts.

"very much so," he groans, and you pull him towards you, giving him a kiss. it's when he's kissing down your neck, your breaths becoming shallow, hands pawing absentmindedly at his chest, when he suddenly freezes, an idea forming in his mind. 

"do you think i can spell my name on your neck in hickeys?" tracing the letters with his fingertips, he furrows his brow, mumbling to himself. "maybe just the initials? or one letter. or a symbol…" 

"you're so stupid-" you cut yourself off, slotting your lips with his again. when you break apart, there's a softness in his eyes, his tone low and hesitant. 

"you like it…" he runs his tongue over his lower lip, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "right?" 

"haechan…" you wrap your arms around him, feeling him relax into your hold. "i love you," you say, softly, in his ear. you feel him smile against your neck, murmuring back a soft i love you too, the fact that he never let it go unanswered making you feel giddy and lovestruck all over again. 

"i know what to do," he beams, pushing you gently against the wall and letting his body cage you in — and when he starts sucking a mark onto your skin, you have a vague idea of what it's going to be. 

x

when you rejoin the party, the music is still blasting loud as if you've never left, the energy feeds into haechan's enthusiasm as he taps, or rather, hits the shoulder of the first person he sees coming out of the bathroom, who happens to be jaemin. 

"JAEMIN." 

"shut the fuck- oh." jaemin turns, raising his eyebrows when he sees the two of you. "going home?" 

"just bear with it," you mumble, feeling your cheeks heat up as haechan puffs his chest out proudly, clearing his throat to speak. "he's doing a thing." 

"she's mine," he crows, proudly. tracing one of the marks on your neck, he beams up at jaemin with starry eyes. "i did this to her." 

"cool." the boy flashes him a thumbs up, which haechan returns enthusiastically. voice dropping low, jaemin leans in. "is he going to repeat this to everyone you bump into on the way out?" 

you see haechan waving at renjun, signaling that you were about to be tugged over. "i think so." 

jaemin nods slowly, lips stretching into a smile. "you're a lucky girl, y/n." 

you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. you take in the glow of your skin, the hickeys scattered across your neck and collarbones, your styled hair completely messed up around your face. you take in the arms around your waist, the man next to you peeking at you from the corner of his eye as if he couldn't believe you were there pressed against him, his own hair tousled and wild. 

and you feel yourself smile. 

x

bonus: 

"mark, i think i've found the one." 

"and i told you, she's with someone–" 

"leave it." jaemin murmurs. "he's haechan. she'll probably leave whoever she's with because of him." 

"haechan," but mark's voice is insistent on pinning him to reality as he puts both hands on haechan's cheeks, forcing his head to turn so he's looking him in the eyes. "if you're not serious about it…" 

"but i am." haechan is a little breathless as he sways on the spot, eyes finally focused on mark's. "i really want to talk to her…"

"that's not-" 

"but i don't want to mess up." swallowing, haechan runs his hand through his hair. "what if i say the wrong thing, what if she thinks i'm stupid." his eyes search the crowd for you again, before settling back on mark's round ones. "mark…" his voice is soft, and just a little bit scared. 

"what if she doesn't like me?" 

mark's hands fall away as he takes in the little bit of wild sincerity in haechan's eyes, and the hesitance he hadn't quite seen before. 

it takes a lot of encouragement, to finally persuade haechan to meander his way over into the corridor he's sure you haven't stepped out of. even then, his steps are unsure and faltering, panicked eyes finding mark and jaemin's in the crowd seeking reassurance, and mark thinks when he finally meets you he isn't going to make the best first impression at all. 

haechan was someone who dove into things, who felt emotions as hard as he possibly could, running headfirst into everything in life without knowledge or fear of consequence. 

maybe there was some credit to his the one theory, mark thinks, because you were the one thing haechan couldn't even start to walk towards for fear of losing in the crowd. 

mark had a good feeling about this — something told him that it would all work out eventually. 

taglist: @luafvr @liliansun @hotmessexpress35 @ery-noice @tddyhyck @xenkimmie @ofjunemoment @neochan @acidwon @babyjenono @kittydollzz @smwhrinthehaze

[moonstarsunflower]

déjà vu

by moonstarsunflower

pairing : mingyu x fem reader

summary : when you meet kim mingyu, you can't help but feel as if you've already seen him, but where?

genre : angst, non-idol!au, a little fluff ig, hurt but no comfort, just straight up angst

notes: photos not mine, credits to rightful owners, pinterest-based!

warnings : mentions of accident, nightmare, a plot twist, basically not a happy ending, but who says it has to be that for long?

word count : 3.9k

song rec : if i were to pair it with a song—Epilogue by Ólafur Arnalds

a/n : this plot has been in my drafts for a long while, angst waiting to be discovered

The coffee shop was a small, cozy nook tucked away on a quiet street—just the kind of place you'd find yourself losing track of time in, scribbling thoughts into a notebook or people-watching with a latte in hand.

You liked it here—the hum of low conversations, the soft click of keyboards, the earthy scent of roasted coffee beans wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Today, though, there was something different in the air.

Maybe it was the rain lightly tapping against the window, or maybe it was because you had that strange sense of someone just about to walk into your life.

You fumbled with your wallet, distracted by the jumble of thoughts in your head. You weren't even looking when you bumped into the counter, sending your coffee splashing across the edge and onto the floor.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, bending down to grab the napkins from the counter.

The mess wasn't catastrophic, but it was enough to make you feel clumsy, especially when everyone else in line pretended not to notice.

You felt your cheeks heat up, already regretting coming in today.

And then, a soft voice.

"Don't worry, I got you."

You looked up, startled, meeting eyes with a man who had quietly slipped into your little world.

His smile was warm and easy, like the sort of smile people gave when they already knew you, when they'd already been a part of your life for longer than a mere moment.

His gaze lingered a little too long for something casual, like there was an unspoken connection that hung between you two, just for a second.

You blinked, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, like something about this moment was... familiar, even though it shouldn't be.

His hand reached down to pick up your coffee cup, and as he straightened up, he handed it back to you, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

"It happens to the best of us," he said.

You took the cup, still slightly dazed, as if your feet weren't quite on the ground.

There was something magnetic about him—something that tugged at you in a way you couldn't explain, but felt deeply, right in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe it was the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, or how he seemed to have all the time in the world just for you.

You could almost swear he didn't even look at the coffee cup in his hand, as though he was holding it out to you simply because that's what he had to do at the moment.

"Thanks," you managed, your voice quieter than you'd intended.

He chuckled softly. "No problem."

For a moment, you stood there, an odd, unspoken pull keeping you locked in place.

You wanted to say something, ask him something, but the words felt stuck in your throat.

Instead, he gave you one last smile, something a little softer now.

"You look like you could use another coffee," he said lightly, almost like it wasn't just an offer.

Like he already knew you'd be here again tomorrow.

And with that, he walked away, as if there was nothing extraordinary about the encounter at all.

But you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.

Something you couldn't put your finger on. Something you were certain you'd never forget.

You felt your heart skip a beat, not knowing yet how deeply this moment would mark you.

But in the back of your mind, you knew—this wasn't the last time you'd see him.

♢

The weeks that followed felt like a dream, and you couldn't quite tell if you were awake or still caught in the haze of something that felt far too surreal to be real.

Every moment spent with him—Kim Mingyu—felt like a gentle lullaby, a soft rhythm that you couldn't resist.

You found yourself in places you didn't expect to be, with him by your side, and yet everything felt so right.

One Saturday afternoon, the two of you wandered into a quaint bookstore tucked away between two bustling coffee shops.

The air smelled of old paper and the faint scent of vanilla from the candles by the checkout counter.

He picked up a random novel, scanning the back cover with that serious expression of his, before glancing over at you with a grin.

"You're more of a mystery novel type, right?" He asked, his voice light, teasing.

You nodded, laughing. "Of course. It's all about the suspense, the twists."

Mingyu raised an eyebrow. "So, you like things to be... unpredictable?"

You shrugged, looking down at the shelf in front of you. "Maybe."

"Seems that you like keeping things interesting," he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Just like how you never tell me what you're really thinking."

You chuckled, feeling the familiar warmth of his attention enveloping you. "I have my secrets," you teased back.

It was the first time in a long while that you felt like yourself.

No pressure, no expectations.

Just two people casually strolling through the aisles, laughing over obscure book titles and pointing out the oddest finds on the shelves.

Later that afternoon, you found yourselves walking under a soft drizzle, the kind of rain that barely touched the skin but made everything feel more intimate.

The street was quiet, the sound of raindrops tapping the pavement blending with your footsteps.

He held out his jacket to shield you from the wet, the fabric warm against your shoulders.

"I swear, this rain follows us," Mingyu muttered, his eyes bright with amusement.

You laughed, feeling light—lighter than you had in months, maybe even years.

"It feels like we've done this before, doesn't it?"

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, then nudged you with his elbow. "Maybe we were just meant to."

You couldn't quite place it, but there was something so familiar about being with him.

Every laugh, every shared glance, every word between you two seemed effortless, like you'd known him for longer than just a few weeks.

When you looked at him, as in really stare, his face looked—

"Tell me, Mingyu, have I actually seen you before?"

Mingyu was softly surprised, but then he gave you a fond smile.

"Who knows. Maybe you did."

Soon, texting him became second nature.

It was almost like you couldn't help it, reaching for your phone in between shifts, during lunch breaks, or whenever you had a free moment.

You found yourself grinning down at your screen more than you ever thought possible, tapping out silly messages with the kind of ease that made it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

"I found the perfect latte art today. Guess who?" You'd send, a grin spreading across your face as you imagined him seeing it.

"You? Again? You're obsessed with coffee art," he'd reply almost instantly, the playful banter always lighting up your day.

You never thought you'd look forward to something so simple, but every notification from him made your heart skip just a little bit faster.

Your friends noticed it too, the way your expression would soften whenever you glanced at your phone, like there was something on the other side of the screen that made you smile.

They'd laugh at you, teasing you about your secret smile, but you didn't mind.

For the first time in a long time, you felt light, like the weight that had been dragging you down was slowly lifting.

It was a feeling you hadn't realized you'd missed so much.

But no matter how many texts you sent, or how many small, perfect moments you shared with him, a part of you still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more—something important, lurking just beneath the surface.

You didn't know what it was, but it was there, and somehow, it only made the moments with Mingyu feel even more precious.

And then, on one of those quiet evenings, when the sky outside turned an inky shade of blue, he'd sent you a message that made your heart skip in a way that was far too familiar.

"You make me want to be a better person, YN."

For the briefest moment, you almost wanted to respond with something just as vulnerable, but instead, you tucked the phone away, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest.

You hadn't realized it then, but something inside you was already starting to change.

♢

The dreams started small at first—little things that didn't seem to mean much.

At least, that's what you told yourself, convincing your mind to shrug it off.

In one of them, Mingyu was there, making breakfast in your kitchen.

The morning light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over everything.

He was humming to himself as he flipped pancakes, his back to you as you sat at the table, watching him.

The sound of the sizzling batter was comforting, familiar in a way that felt like a memory you couldn't quite place.

You smiled softly, enjoying the scene, the gentle rhythm of his movements as he worked.

It was the kind of morning that felt like it could last forever—a simple, quiet moment.

When he finished, he set the plate in front of you, his hands brushing your shoulders as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"Here you go, breakfast is served," he said, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You felt an overwhelming sense of comfort, like nothing in the world could touch you in that moment.

It was bliss.

But then, the next morning, when you woke up, the world felt off-balance.

Disoriented, you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the vividness of the dream.

You could still hear the hum of the kitchen, still feel the warmth of his lips on your forehead.

The dream had been so real—so tangible—that it lingered in your mind, making everything feel strange.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Just a dream.

But they kept happening. More frequently now.

Another morning, you found yourself in a different dream.

This time, Mingyu was tying your shoes, bending down in front of you with a focused look on his face.

His hands were gentle, his fingers brushing against your skin as he adjusted the laces.

It was an oddly tender moment—nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.

But it was him, so him, in the way he was so present, so attentive, as though everything he did was meant just for you.

And again, you woke up feeling... happy.

Disoriented, but happy.

There was no mistaking the depth of the emotions these dreams pulled out of you.

Each one left you with a lingering warmth in your chest, a strange sense of longing that you couldn't quite explain.

It was as if something about these moments with him felt strangely familiar, like a feeling you couldn't quite place, but that had always been there, just waiting for you to notice it.

Then came a dream that wasn't quite so comforting.

You and Mingyu were in a car, the engine humming softly beneath you as you drove along a quiet road.

The sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

He was beside you, smiling at something you said, but there was something oddly out of place.

The air between you two felt charged, like there was a conversation left unsaid, a weight pressing on you that you couldn't quite shake.

Every mile felt longer, heavier.

You couldn't pinpoint the source of the unease, but it lingered—like the calm before something inevitable, something you couldn't grasp.

It felt too real.

The dream shifted, flickered, but you were already wide awake by then, your heart pounding in your chest.

You sat up in bed, gasping for air, the remnants of the dream clinging to you like fog.

Your pulse was quick, your breathing shallow.

You didn't understand why that particular dream unsettled you.

You tried to shake it off, told yourself it was just a bad dream.

Nothing more.

But as the days went by, the feeling didn't leave.

It lingered, always just beneath the surface, like a shadow that kept following you.

And you had no idea just how much that dream, that sense of unease, would come to mean.

♢

"Who's got you smiling like that?"

The question caught you off guard, yanking you out of your little bubble.

You looked up from your phone too quickly, almost guiltily, and saw your friends watching you with curious eyes—some teasing, some suspicious.

You blinked, scrambling for something casual to say, but your mind stalled.

"It's nothing," you muttered, tucking your phone against your chest.

That only made them more suspicious, of course.

You could feel their eyes narrowing as you tried to play it cool, but the truth was—you didn't want to share.

Not yet. Not this.

Whatever it was with Mingyu, it felt too new, too delicate.

Like saying his name out loud would make it disappear.

"Hey," one of them leaned closer, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're totally seeing someone, aren't you?"

You laughed, but it was strained. "No, it's not like that."

"Then what is it?" Another friend chimed in, trying to peek at your phone.

You angled it away instinctively, clutching it a little tighter.

The message thread was still open—his name at the top, his last reply glowing softly on the screen like a secret no one else was supposed to see.

Your thumb hovered above the keyboard, pretending to type back.

But the truth was, you hadn't sent anything in a few hours. You were still rereading the last message, still sitting with the way his words made you feel.

It wasn't just a crush.

It felt deeper.

Like a string pulled taut between you and him—something invisible, unspoken, but undeniably real.

"You're being so weird about it," one of them teased. "At least show us his profile pic or something."

But you only smiled, pressing the side button to turn off your screen before slipping your phone into your pocket.

"I'll tell you when it's time," you said with a shrug.

They groaned in unison, calling you a tease, begging for details, but you just laughed again—this time a little softer, more wistful.

Because it wasn't about hiding.

Not really.

You were just... protecting it.

Protecting him.

♢

There were moments—small, fleeting ones—that left you questioning everything.

It started at the little café by the corner of 46th Street.

The place wasn't anything special—worn-out menus, chipped mugs, the scent of old coffee grounds clinging to the walls—but when Mingyu led you inside with that easy smile of his, you felt your chest tighten.

You'd been here before.

You were sure of it.

He didn't even need to speak.

You already knew where he'd sit: the window seat, second table from the back.

You slid into the seat across from him without thinking, like muscle memory you couldn't explain.

When the server approached with a practiced smile, you didn't bother glancing at the menu.

"I'll have a vanilla latte. Two pumps, light ice," you said easily.

As the server nodded and left, Mingyu tilted his head, grinning.

"I was gonna order that for you," he said, teasing.

You blinked at him. "How would you know that's my order?"

He laughed it off, brushing it aside like it was nothing. "Lucky guess?"

But something about it snagged in your chest.

You weren't laughing.

And when he started rambling casually about coffee—the way black coffee made him feel "dangerous" and lattes made him "soft"—you felt the words forming in your mouth before he even said them.

You could have mouthed the whole joke with him.

A chill ran down your spine.

You stopped, voice suddenly tight. "You've said that before... haven't you?"

Mingyu looked up then, his eyes warm, but behind them was something else—something you couldn't quite place.

He smiled, soft and unreadable.

"Déjà vu, huh?" He said lightly, as if it meant nothing at all.

"Maybe we've just been here before."

And then he changed the subject—something about a dog outside the window, a funny story about his neighbor, anything to pull you away from the moment.

But the feeling lingered.

The next time it happened, you were walking through the park and paused under a tree with yellowing leaves.

The wind brushed your face just so, and you turned to him before he could speak.

"There's a bench right around the corner that you always trip over," you said, more to yourself than to him.

Mingyu blinked. "What?"

You faltered again. "Nothing."

He smiled like he knew a secret and took your hand.

And you let him.

But every time it happened—the eerie familiarity, the way you seemed to know him before you knew him—it left a quiet ache in your chest.

Like your heart was trying to remind you of something your mind had long forgotten.

♢

You had finally decided it was time.

After weeks of hiding smiles behind your phone and dodging questions with half-lies and shrugs, you told your friends you wanted them to meet someone.

Someone important.

You didn't give them his name.

Not yet.

You just said, "You'll love him."

And you meant it. You were sure they would.

The night before, you had stayed up late picking out an outfit—something that felt like you, but better.

You tried on three different tops before settling on the one he once said brought out your eyes, even though you didn't remember when he said it.

You just... knew.

The morning felt electric.

You were a little nervous, but mostly excited.

It felt like everything was falling into place.

You texted him, just to confirm: See you at 2? Can't wait for you to meet them 🥺🫶

No reply yet, but that was fine. He always texted late anyway.

You met your friends at the café—the same one from before.

The energy buzzed around you—laughter, the clinking of mugs, chairs scraping against tile.

Your friends were mid-conversation, wildly speculating about who this mystery guy could be.

"Tall?"

"Hot?"

"Is he in your field? Wait, is he someone you've worked with before?"

You laughed, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds.

"He's just... someone special," you said, your stomach fluttering.

2:05.

You checked your phone. No reply.

It was okay. He'd be there soon.

You went back to smiling, pretending not to notice your friends exchanging curious glances.

2:13.

Still nothing.

You opened your texts again, reread your message. The typing bubble never appeared.

You tried not to let it show—the twist of something heavy sinking into your chest.

Not yet. Not here.

Maybe he was just caught up. Maybe his phone had died. Maybe—

"Is he standing us up?" One of your friends joked, half-laughing.

You forced a smile.

"No. He's coming."

You said it like a promise, like you believed it too.

♢

You hadn't planned to tell them like this.

But the minutes stretched on, and Mingyu still hadn't shown.

You kept glancing at your phone, willing it to buzz, to light up, to do something—but the screen stayed dark, and your stomach coiled tighter with every second.

Eventually, one of your friends leaned in, voice dipped in annoyance.

"Seriously, YN. Who is this guy?"

You hesitated.

You really did.

But they were your friends.

You trusted them.

And more than that—you were proud of him, of this strange, beautiful thing between you.

So you said it, smiling soft and sure.

"His name's Mingyu."

Everything stopped.

You didn't even notice the fork clattering onto the plate until it echoed across the table.

One of your friends went rigid.

Another blinked at you like you'd spoken in another language.

"That's not funny, YN," someone said, quiet and sharp.

Your smile faltered.

"What?"

The air around you shifted—heavier, colder.

"What do you mean?" You asked, the laugh catching in your throat. "Why would that be a joke?"

Their eyes were wide now.

Worried. Scared.

"You were with him," one of them whispered. "When it happened."

A beat passed.

And then the words slammed into you like a wave.

"A year ago. The car accident, YN. Don't you remember?"

Your breath caught. Your ears rang.

And just like that—flashbacks.

The squeal of tires.

The scream you couldn't place as your own.

Shattered glass. Twisted metal. Blood on your hands.

A name on your lips.

Mingyu.

You gripped the edge of the table, suddenly ice-cold.

Your heartbeat roared in your ears, drowning out everything else.

The world blurred at the edges.

No.

No, that couldn't be right.

Because Mingyu was—he was real.

He had to be.

You talked to him. You saw him. You—

Your vision swam.

And all at once, it wasn't just déjà vu anymore.

It was memory.

♢

You ran all the way home.

You didn't wait for the questions, didn't stop when they called your name.

The cold air scraped against your skin, but you barely noticed.

Everything felt like static.

Like your brain was trying to catch up with your heart and failing.

By the time you got inside, your knees gave out and you collapsed at the foot of your bed.

You didn't even try to move.

You just sat there, crying—loud, ugly sobs you couldn't hold back even if you tried.

You didn't care how messy it was.

You couldn't breathe past the ache in your chest, the betrayal of your own mind.

You grabbed your phone with trembling hands and opened your messages.

You scrolled.

And scrolled.

And kept scrolling.

Message after message, every single one from you.

"Can't wait to see you 🥺🫶"

"Thinking about you again lol"

"Where are you? I'm here."

"Miss you."

No new replies.

No bubbles.

No delivered tags.

Nothing.

Just your words. Your side of the conversation.

You stared at the screen through tear-blurred vision, a dull roar in your ears as reality started crashing in.

He had never texted you back.

Not once.

And somehow... you hadn't noticed.

♢

You didn't hear him come in.

You weren't even sure he did.

But suddenly, he was there—sitting beside you on the floor, like he'd always belonged there.

Like he'd never left.

Ghost? Memory? Imagination?

You didn't know. You didn't care.

He felt warm. Real enough.

You turned toward him, and he opened his arms like he had been waiting.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it," he whispered, voice gentle against the storm inside your head.

You broke again, folding into him, sobbing into the chest you weren't sure existed.

"I missed you," you cried. "I didn't remember, but I missed you so much."

His hand found your hair, fingers curling into it softly—just like in the dreams.

Just like before.

"You were happy again," he said.

"That's what mattered."

♢

The next morning, you woke up with a heaviness that didn't crush you—but pressed against you like the weight of something precious.

Something once lost.

You didn't cry again.

You picked up your phone, opened the message thread, and stared at it for a long time.

Then you set it down, the words still there, untouched.

Later, you walked to the cemetery.

It was quiet.

The kind of quiet that made your footsteps feel too loud.

His name was etched in the stone, weathered and still.

You placed a paper coffee cup beside it.

His favorite.

No words. No dramatic goodbyes.

Just the sound of birds and wind and your heart trying its best.

And when you left, you didn't look back.

You walked away slowly, sunlight threading through the trees, warm on your shoulders.

Maybe he was watching.

Maybe he wasn't.

But you smiled anyway.

just imagine ; svt | masterlist

🌻

a/n: the way i had to not spoil the plot twist in the warnings section hahaha! im probs supposed to add it but i wanted it to be a surprise. 😅

so yn actually had retrograde amnesia here after the accident, smth i've explored in one of my fics before but smth i wanted to explore again but in a different way.

i hope u enjoyed this! i cried so much i dont think i could ever read it without bawling my eyes out 🥺😔

questions? send your thoughts! feedbacks are much appreciated!

🌻

©️ 2025, moonstarsunflower. All rights reserved. Do not copy, repost, or use without permission.

[ijustwannabecool]

Temporary Tenants

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary... A snowstorm traps you in a remote Airbnb with a stranger in a tuxedo who just ran away from his wedding. You were there to forget your own heartbreak—what neither of you expected was to find something worth staying for.

Trigger Warning: infidelity (past), anxiety, mentions of press intrusion, emotional vulnerability, public scrutiny

A/N: Enjoy!! Please let me know how you like it! Requests are open. Have a beautiful day!!!

Temporary Tenants

You almost didn’t make it.

The snow had started falling hours ago—thin and gentle at first, like a whispered warning—but by the time you turned off the main road and crawled up the narrow path toward the cabin, it was a full whiteout. Wind howling. Headlights swallowed whole. Even the pine trees looked like they were huddling together for warmth.

But now you're here.

You slam the car door shut, your boots crunching over snow as you make your way to the porch. A gust of wind whips your hair across your face, biting cold seeping through your coat like it has something to prove.

The cabin stands tall and quiet in front of you. All wood and glass, clean lines and sharp corners, a modern nest tucked in the French Alps. It’s the kind of place people book when they need to run away. The irony isn’t lost on you.

You dig the key out of your coat pocket, your fingers trembling more from exhaustion than the cold. Forty-five minutes of blindly following a glitchy GPS through winding mountain roads—and now, finally, peace.

You insert the key.

It doesn’t turn.

You try again, slower this time.

Nothing.

Your brows knit. Maybe you're just tired. Or frozen. Or cursed.

You try again—wiggle, twist, push.

Still locked.

Then you hear it. Movement. Inside.

Footsteps.

A shadow flickers across the floor-to-ceiling window beside the door. Your pulse stumbles. For a second, you wonder if you got the wrong cabin, but no—the confirmation email is still in your inbox, clear as day. Your name. Your booking. Your retreat from the world.

The door opens.

And there he is.

Disheveled. Barefoot. Wearing a tuxedo shirt with the top buttons undone and a look that says he didn’t expect company tonight. His hair’s a little messy. There’s a champagne bottle in his hand and a scar along his jaw you swear you've seen before—somewhere.

His eyes narrow. Yours widen.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low and raspy, edged in some sort of accent—French, maybe. Or something that lives on the tip of one.

“I think I’m supposed to be staying here,” you say, holding up your phone like a shield. “I booked the cabin. Through ChaletNest. For the weekend.”

He doesn’t look at the phone. He’s looking at you now, frowning like you're the plot twist in a story he didn't ask for.

“I booked it too,” he mutters, pulling his phone from the kitchen counter and turning the screen toward you. Your eyes scan the confirmation—same dates, same platform, same rental.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper.

He steps back, just enough for you to see the open suitcase behind him. Clothes spilling out. A tie hanging from the arm of the couch like a white flag.

“Double-booked,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s... great.”

You stare at him. At the bottle. At the tux. At the absurdity of it all.

“I drove five hours for this,” you whisper.

He sighs. “I ran away from my wedding for this.”

Silence.

A beat.

Two.

You both just stand there, snow swirling behind you, warmth glowing behind him.

And then—because the universe apparently has a sense of humor—a sudden gust of wind slams into your back and knocks the door wide open.

You stumble inside on instinct.

He doesn't stop you.

He just looks at you—properly this time, like he’s not sure what to make of you. His eyes soften for half a second, like maybe you're not the worst thing that could’ve happened tonight.

“Temporary tenants,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you.

You say nothing.

Because somehow, you know nothing about this weekend will be temporary at all.

----

The first five minutes are spent in silence.

You’re standing in the entryway, soaked boots leaving melting footprints on the hardwood floor while tuxedo-guy rummages through drawers in the kitchen, pretending you don’t exist.

Or trying to.

You watch him grab two mismatched mugs, rinse them out, and fill them from the still-warm kettle. No words. Just the gentle clink of ceramic, the hiss of steam, and the occasional creak of the cabin settling into its snowy cocoon.

He sets one mug down on the island across from you without looking up.

You hesitate.

Then: “Thanks.”

He nods, finally meeting your eyes. “It’s just tea. Don’t thank me yet.”

You raise the cup anyway. “Better than screaming into the void.”

That earns you the tiniest flicker of a smile. Barely there. Gone too fast.

He leans back against the counter, one hand curled around his own mug, the other still holding that damn bottle of champagne like he forgot it was there. His sleeves are rolled up now, forearms crossed. There’s something quiet about him, but not peaceful. Like he’s trying really hard not to feel anything.

You recognize the look. You wore it yourself two weeks ago.

“I can sleep on the couch,” you say.

He blinks.

You gesture vaguely toward the small living area. “Until the storm clears. Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

“I’m not planning to,” he replies, voice dry.

“Well, that’s a relief.”

He says nothing, just stares out the window like maybe this is all a dream and he’s waiting to wake up. There’s snow piling up on the glass, muting the world into white.

“You live around here?” you ask.

He gives a short laugh. “Not even close.”

You don’t push. But now you’re curious.

Because there’s something... off. The tux. The way he looked at the cabin like it was the last place on Earth. The flicker of grief behind his eyes, the kind that doesn’t come from a bad dinner or a bad date but something bigger. Something final.

Your voice is softer this time. “You really ran from a wedding?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, finally: “Yeah.”

You sip your tea. It’s chamomile. Of course it is.

“Well... I just got dumped after six years by a guy who told me he needed time to find himself. Which apparently meant sleeping with our neighbor.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“So, yeah,” you continue. “Cabin in the snow. Great idea. Five stars.”

The ghost of that smile returns. “We’re quite the pair.”

You grin. “Tragedy twins.”

A pause.

“I’m Charles,” he says at last, setting the bottle down.

You almost choke on your tea.

Not because you recognize the name—you don’t—but because of the way he says it. Like it’s a name that’s weighed him down his whole life.

“Charles...?”

He doesn’t offer a last name.

Just takes another sip of tea and says, “You?”

You hesitate.

“Y/N.”

You don’t give your last name either. Fair’s fair.

Another beat.

“So,” you say, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Charles leans against the counter again. “Not particularly.”

You nod, pretending not to be wildly intrigued. “Cool. I’ll just sit here and drink tea with a stranger who may or may not be emotionally unstable.”

He snorts. “Says the woman who yelled at a door for ten minutes.”

“Okay, fair.”

The cabin settles into quiet again. The fire crackles. The storm rages outside.

You don’t know it yet—but this is the beginning.

Of something inconvenient. And maddening. And beautiful.

Something temporary that won’t feel temporary for long.

----

You wake to the smell of wood smoke and something warm, something vaguely sweet—like cinnamon and butter and the soft hush of winter against thick windows.

For a second, you forget where you are.

Then the memory clicks in.

Tuxedo guy. Snowstorm. Wrong key. Right kind of bad timing.

You groan, rubbing your eyes as you sit up on the couch, neck sore, blanket half-kicked to the floor. You slept in yesterday’s clothes, your socks are missing, and there’s a weird crick in your back you’re pretty sure is from the decorative throw pillow masquerading as support.

Charles is already up.

He’s in the kitchen, his shirt changed now—plain gray tee, sleeves tight around his arms, hair still a little mussed. He moves quietly, deliberately, like he’s trying not to wake you… or trying not to be noticed.

You clear your throat.

He glances up. “Morning.”

“Smells good,” you croak.

“French toast. Thought you might want something.”

You blink at him, suspicious. “You cook?”

He shrugs. “Only when I don’t want to think.”

You get up, shuffle to the kitchen. He hands you a plate without a word. You notice he made extra, like he knew you’d be hungry but didn’t want to ask.

You eat in silence. It’s actually… incredible. You almost say something sarcastic, but then you glance at his face and decide not to.

There’s something about him this morning. Less broody, more… heavy. Like he dreamt of something he couldn’t forget.

“So,” you say, chewing, “what’s the plan for today? Sit in silence again? Judge each other from opposite ends of the room?”

He smirks. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Then we can add passive-aggressive games of Scrabble to the agenda.”

“I don’t lose at Scrabble.”

“Bold claim for someone who wears a tux to breakfast.”

A real laugh escapes him—soft, deep, unexpected. It startles you.

You realize, suddenly, that you don’t want him to be quiet anymore.

You want to know what happened before the champagne and the silence. Who he left behind. Why he ran.

But you don’t ask.

Instead, you say, “There’s only one bed, isn’t there?”

He pauses.

Nods.

“I can take the couch again.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says. “You looked miserable.”

“Charming.”

“I meant… you didn’t sleep well.”

You meet his gaze. “Neither did you.”

Another pause. There’s a softness in the way he looks at you now. Careful. Like he’s not used to being looked at without expectation.

“I don’t mind sharing,” you say, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them.

His brow lifts.

“Not like that,” you add quickly. “Just sleeping. Like, co-sleeping without… you know. The co part.”

He’s trying not to smile. “I’ve never co-slept with a stranger before.”

You shrug. “Me neither. But I also didn’t plan to have a midlife crisis at twenty-nine, so here we are.”

He stares at you for a beat, then looks away. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“You can have the left side,” he says. “I don’t move much in my sleep.”

That night, you lie awake for hours.

You’re aware of every breath he takes, every shift in the mattress. You keep to your side, staring at the ceiling, the storm outside, your own thoughts—loud and looping.

Somewhere in the dark, he says quietly:

“Do you ever feel like you don’t know who you are without the people you’ve disappointed?”

The question lands like a stone in your chest.

You don’t answer right away.

Then softly, “Yeah. I do.”

Neither of you says anything else.

But somehow, you sleep better than you have in weeks.

----

Day two of what was supposed to be a two-day getaway, and now… you’re stuck.

The storm hasn’t let up. The cabin’s buried deeper in snow, the Wi-Fi is still down, and your phone’s hanging onto 8% battery like it's afraid of dying alone.

But honestly?

It’s not the weather that’s keeping you up tonight.

It’s him.

You glance toward the bedroom—toward the warm pool of light from the cracked door, where the bed creaks gently every time he turns over. Charles.

You still don’t know his last name. Or why he drinks champagne like it’s a coping mechanism. Or why someone would show up to a mountain cabin in a tux, alone, with red-rimmed eyes and zero desire to explain himself.

You don’t ask. He doesn’t offer. It’s a quiet deal you’ve both silently signed.

You're just getting up to pour yourself a glass of water when you hear it—a low pop, then a crack that makes your stomach drop.

You turn toward the front of the cabin.

The big window—the one overlooking the trees—is laced with a long, jagged fracture, slicing diagonally across the glass like a lightning bolt.

“What the hell…”

You’re already walking toward it when Charles appears behind you, shirtless again, in flannel pajama pants and bare feet.

“Don’t move too fast,” he says, instantly alert. “Could be unstable.”

You glance over your shoulder. “You always sound like you’re about to deliver bad news.”

He crouches down, inspecting the base of the window. “Because I usually am.”

Charming.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “Do you think it’s from the cold?”

He nods once, jaw clenched. “Could be a pressure fracture. Cold air outside, warm inside—it happens.”

You kneel beside him. “So what do we do?”

“I can reinforce it. For now.”

You both get to work—gathering duct tape from the junk drawer, some thick towels, an old yoga mat from the closet. There’s no heater near the window, thankfully, but the chill seeps in anyway.

He cuts strips of tape with methodical precision. His hands are steady. Unbothered.

“I get the feeling you’ve had to fix broken things before,” you murmur.

He pauses—just slightly. Then goes back to taping.

“Too many times,” he says.

You don’t ask what he means. But part of you wants to.

Later, you’re both huddled in the kitchen with cups of something warm—he called it “tea,” but it tastes suspiciously like hot water with a cinnamon stick thrown in—and the window is reinforced, for now.

“It’ll hold,” he says, staring out at the snow.

“How do you know?”

He shrugs. “I don’t. But worrying won’t keep it from breaking.”

You eye him. “Is that your life philosophy?”

“Something like that.”

You sip your drink, trying not to shiver. It’s cold now. Cold enough that the only truly warm space left is the bedroom.

And the bed.

The one bed.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

But later—when your teeth are chattering and the blankets on the couch feel like they’re made of paper towels—you hear him call out.

“You can come in if you want.”

You hesitate.

Then you rise, dragging your pillow behind you like a peace offering.

He’s already under the covers when you slide in, careful to keep space between your bodies. The mattress dips gently under your weight, and you both lie still for a long, long time.

No words.

Only breath. Only distance. Only silence.

Until—

“I didn’t expect anyone else to be here,” he says suddenly, voice quiet in the dark.

“I didn’t expect someone to be here in a tux,” you whisper back.

He laughs, but it’s soft and sad and almost beautiful.

You turn toward him slightly. “Were you… coming from something? When you got here?”

Another pause. This one stretches longer.

“I was… leaving something,” he says.

And that’s all he offers.

You let it hang there. You don’t ask what. Or who. Or why.

But it echoes between you anyway.

Leaving something.

You stay awake long after his breathing evens out. Staring at the ceiling. Listening to the storm. Wondering what kind of man runs away from something without even taking off the bowtie.

----

The morning light filters in faintly, dulled by thick snow clinging to the windows. You wake up still curled under the covers, your side of the bed just a little colder than his. The sound of soft clattering from the kitchen draws you up.

Charles is already up, again. This time, he’s got a hoodie on, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The kettle is hissing, the smell of toast lingers faintly in the air.

He glances at you as you shuffle in, blanket still draped over your shoulders. “Morning.”

You nod. “We’re still snowed in?”

He gives a small, humorless smile. “Seems like it. Roads are shut down until tomorrow at the earliest.”

You sigh, sliding onto a bar stool. “So much for a two-day escape.”

“Could be worse,” he says. “You could still be with the neighbor-sleeping ex.”

You snort. “Touché.”

The two of you eat quietly—toast, more of that strange tea—and the cabin feels slightly less strange now. Familiar, even. Like a snow globe you’ve decided to stop shaking.

Later, you spend hours playing board games you find buried in a cabinet. Charles reads the rules aloud with faux seriousness, like he’s hosting a game show. You cheat openly. He accuses you of war crimes in Monopoly. There is laughter. Real, actual laughter.

In the late afternoon, when the fire dies down and the wind howls louder, you both sit near the hearth, wrapped in throw blankets, a pile of books between you.

You run your fingers along the spine of an old novel. “Do you read?”

Charles nods. “Used to. My brother and I would compete. Whoever read more by summer’s end won.”

You smile. “Siblings are the worst and the best, huh?”

He looks at you. There’s something in his eyes—a flicker of grief or nostalgia. Maybe both.

“Yeah. Mine still thinks I’m the reckless one.”

You pause. “Are you?”

He shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”

You offer a piece of yourself then. “I’m the youngest of three. I was the quiet one. The one everyone expected to stay put. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

You look at him. “Because I didn’t want to be small. I didn’t want to be safe. I wanted to feel something bigger than the town I grew up in.”

He watches you, really watches.

“Did it work?” he asks.

You smile faintly. “Sometimes.”

Dinner is improvised—pasta, butter, garlic. He insists he can make anything edible with enough cheese. You don’t disagree.

While you eat, he shares a story about getting lost in a vineyard during a family trip to Italy. You picture him younger, sun-drenched, charming even then.

You counter with a story about getting locked inside a museum overnight on a school trip.

“That explains so much,” he says, eyes warm.

You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you seem like someone who’d make friends with the statues.”

You both fall into an easy rhythm. Conversation layered with teasing, but underneath it all: connection. Thread by thread.

That night, as you crawl back into bed, he joins you without hesitation. No words this time. Just warmth.

You lie facing each other in the dark.

“Today wasn’t so bad,” you whisper.

He hums. “Not bad at all.”

A pause.

Then he says, almost too quietly to hear: “You make it feel like I’m allowed to breathe.”

You say nothing.

But your hand finds his under the covers. And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

----

It starts with a sound.

Not the crack of glass this time, or the wind howling. It’s a tone.

A sharp, mechanical beep.

Your phone.

You both scramble from bed, tangled in blankets, bare feet hitting cold floorboards.

It’s blinking. Glowing.

You hold it up, stunned. One bar of signal. Just one. But enough.

Charles stands beside you, silent. You scroll quickly, your screen buzzing with old notifications, missed calls, and a flood of texts from your sister. You’re skimming through them when you feel Charles stiffen beside you.

You glance over.

He’s staring at his own phone. Eyes locked. Face drained of all the softness it had held last night.

You don’t ask what it says. But you don’t have to.

Because he whispers one word under his breath, voice flat:

“Ari.”

—

Charles – Then

The mirror was fogging from his breath.

He had stood in the dressing room, the hum of conversation muffled by velvet walls, the bowtie strangling him.

They’d asked if he was ready.

He had nodded. Lied.

Alex had picked the venue. A vineyard, of course. Beautiful. Curated. Sterile.

His tux had been tailored. His name etched into the cuffs.

But something had been wrong for months. And no one had noticed. Or maybe they had—maybe they just thought he’d go through with it anyway.

Because when you live your life in the spotlight, you don’t get to have doubts. Or if you do, you keep them quiet. Out of the frame.

He hadn’t planned to run.

But as they played the music, and he stepped forward, and his brother put a hand on his shoulder—he felt it.

The absolute certainty that this wasn’t right.

And the equally certain truth that he had no one to blame but himself.

—

Y/N – Then

It was a Tuesday.

You had come home early.

Not for any grand reason—just because the meeting had ended sooner than expected and traffic had been light.

You unlocked the door.

Laughed when you saw his shoes in the hallway. Called out his name.

Silence.

And then—a noise.

Low. Familiar. A laugh that wasn’t yours.

You moved slowly. Opened the bedroom door.

There she was. The neighbor. Wearing your hoodie.

And there he was. Looking at you like you were the one who’d walked in on something wrong.

You remember standing there for too long. Not yelling. Not crying.

Just… watching them. And knowing that something had broken. Something big.

—

You and Charles don’t talk much after that.

You both sit across from each other, nursing lukewarm mugs of whatever tea he cobbled together. The fire is low.

The bar of signal fades again.

He doesn’t explain who Alex is.

You don’t explain the texts.

But the quiet is different now. Not uncomfortable. Just raw.

Later that evening, when the lights flicker—just once, just enough to make your stomach tighten—you both instinctively reach for candles.

Charles lights them with practiced ease, as if he’s done this before. And maybe he has. Maybe he’s used to sudden blackouts. Sudden changes.

The cabin glows gold. And soft.

And quiet.

And you say, out of nowhere, “I used to think I was the kind of person people stayed for.”

Charles looks up, eyes meeting yours across the flame.

“You are,” he says, without flinching.

You don’t thank him.

You don’t cry.

But you do get up. Slowly. Cross the small space between you.

You sit beside him on the rug. Your knees touch.

He doesn’t pull away.

When your head finds his shoulder, his breath stutters.

When your fingers graze his wrist, he turns his hand, palm up.

And when he looks down at you, eyes wide and open, you see him.

Not the man in the tux. Not the one with secrets.

Just Charles.

And you think maybe you were never meant to find this place. Maybe it was meant to find you.

----

The next morning, the storm has quieted.

Outside, everything is white and still. The wind has died, the sky is a pale kind of blue, and the cabin feels insulated in a bubble of silence. But inside—it’s something else entirely.

You wake in the bed you now share. Not pressed together, but not far. Your shoulder brushing his. His hand resting somewhere near yours, not quite holding, not quite letting go.

He shifts when you sit up. Blinks slowly.

“Do you always wake up so dramatic?” he mumbles.

You smile, soft and sleep-warm. “Only when I’ve been emotionally hijacked the night before.”

He laughs. It’s light, real, like the way the morning sun filters through frost-laced windows.

Breakfast is lazy. Toasted croissants you found in the freezer. More tea. This time, actual coffee too—a miracle unearthed in the back of a cabinet.

And conversation.

Little things.

Favorite holiday traditions. What your moms used to pack for school lunches. How Charles was once chased by a goose during a field trip in Paris. How you were banned from choir after accidentally triggering the fire alarm with a glitter bomb project.

The laughter is easy. The space between you smaller.

It isn’t until later, while you’re curled up on the couch together reading separate books from the same shelf, that the mood shifts.

It starts with a sound.

Again.

A knock.

Three sharp raps at the front door.

You both freeze.

Charles is on his feet first. His whole body changes. Posture upright. Face unreadable.

You stand behind him as he opens the door—slowly.

A woman stands there. Snow-dusted coat, gloves clutched in her hand. She looks like she belongs on the cover of a travel magazine.

“Charles,” she says, voice clipped and British and unmistakably familiar.

You look at him. And for a second, you see him go very still.

“Sophie,” he says. Like it tastes bitter in his mouth.

“I figured this is where you’d disappear to,” she says. Her eyes cut toward you. Assess. Linger.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I’m here because Alex is worried sick,” she says, stepping one foot inside without permission. “And so is your mother. Not to mention your team.”

You blink.

Team?

Charles doesn’t answer right away.

You watch him turn toward Sophie. Watch his jaw tick.

“I said I needed time. I meant it.”

“You didn’t say you’d vanish off the grid with some stranger.”

You flinch.

Charles steps between you. “She’s not a stranger.”

That hits something in your chest you weren’t ready to name.

Sophie scoffs. “You always did have a thing for dramatic exits.”

And then she’s gone. Just like that. No snowshoes. No apology.

The door shuts.

Silence swallows the room.

You look at him. “Charles.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “There are things I should’ve told you.”

You nod. Once. “Okay.”

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

“Not here. Not yet,” he says.

You should push. Ask. Demand. But you don’t. Not when he’s standing like that—like someone who has never once been allowed to fall apart.

You walk to him instead.

Reach for his hand.

And when he pulls you in, when his forehead drops to yours, you feel it—the ache, the apology, the war.

And you stay.

Because maybe you don’t need all the answers yet.

Maybe what you need is this.

The fire.

The silence.

The truth still sleeping between you, waiting for morning.

----

You don’t move for a long time.

His forehead resting against yours. The room still humming with the echo of Sophie’s presence—sharp and cold and gone.

You hear his breath first. Then feel it, shaky against your cheek.

“I didn’t expect her to come,” he finally says, voice low and rough.

You don’t ask who she is to him.

Yet.

“I figured,” you whisper. “She didn’t look like someone who hears ‘no’ often.”

Charles huffs something between a laugh and a sigh.

“She was my manager. In a way. Or… a fixer, maybe. A babysitter for adults who are expected to behave perfectly in public.”

You nod, barely.

“She said your team was worried,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice light. “What kind of team?”

He pulls back a little.

Looks at you like he’s preparing for something. Bracing.

Then finally:

“I’m a Formula 1 driver.”

Silence.

You blink.

“I’m sorry—what?”

“F1. Cars. Racing. I drive professionally.”

You laugh—because what else can you do?

“No, seriously.”

He just stares.

The silence stretches.

“You’re not joking.”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to tell you earlier. But I didn’t want to be him here. Just… me.”

You sit down on the edge of the couch, like your body needs to touch something solid. “So that wedding…”

He nods once. “Was supposed to be the final touch. Public. Perfect. Ari was the PR executive who helped manage my transition to a new team. Sophie handled logistics. They handled everything—except how I actually felt about it.”

You’re quiet. He watches you, waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

But you don’t.

You say, “And here I thought my ex cheating with the neighbor was dramatic.”

He smiles, finally.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I liked not being known.”

You look at him, really look.

“You still aren’t. Not really. Not yet.”

He nods. “Then let me try.”

You both sit there for a moment. The air between you a little lighter now. More real.

Eventually, you speak again.

“My real name is Y/N L/N.”

His mouth tips upward. “Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc.”

You blink again.

“That’s… a lot of name.”

He laughs. “I know. My brothers used to chant it like a spell when they were mad at me.”

You lean into him.

“So now what?”

He looks out the window.

“The snow’s clearing. Roads might reopen tomorrow.”

Your heart sinks a little, but you nod. “Makes sense.”

Then he turns to you.

“But I’m not in a rush to leave. Are you?”

You smile.

“No.”

You don’t need to say what comes next.

Because whatever this is—it’s not temporary anymore.

----

The final day begins the way the first one didn’t—with ease.

No howling wind. No frozen keys. Just a quiet morning glow, the fire already lit, and Charles flipping pancakes in the kitchen like this is just another Sunday.

It would almost be normal—if not for the tension that still lives just behind his eyes.

You don’t talk about Sophie. Not yet. But she’s there. In the silence. In the way Charles keeps checking his phone, despite saying he isn’t ready to leave.

You’re halfway through your coffee when the knock comes again.

Softer this time. But sure.

Charles answers it before you can move.

Sophie’s back.

This time in jeans, no heels, hair pulled back. Still stunning. Still a storm wrapped in silk.

“I’m not here to fight,” she says, holding up her hands. “I brought food.”

And she does—actual food. Groceries. A bakery bag.

Charles lets her in. Barely.

You sit quietly at the far end of the room as they talk. Not hiding. Just... observing.

Sophie glances at you once—just once—but her attention stays on Charles.

“You don’t get to vanish. Not like that. Not now,” she says, keeping her voice low. “The media is asking questions. The press wants statements. Ari’s spinning the narrative. And Alex is trying to keep Ferrari from throwing you under the bus.”

Ferrari.

The word hits like a cymbal crash in your head.

You stare at Charles.

He nods almost imperceptibly, confirming everything you just overheard.

It’s one thing to know he’s a driver. It’s another to hear the name of the most legendary racing team in the world spoken like it’s just another item on the to-do list.

Suddenly, the world outside your little snow-globe bubble comes rushing back.

And it’s massive.

Charles is saying something to Sophie now. About needing space. About not regretting his choice. But your ears are still ringing.

She’s standing by the fireplace, arms folded. Calm, practiced.

“You don’t have to marry Ari,” she says. “But you do have to clean up your mess.”

You feel like you’re intruding on something far too large for this room.

And yet, his eyes flick to you.

Only you.

“I will,” he says. “Just not today.”

Later, after Sophie is gone and the sky has turned the color of smudged graphite, you and Charles sit on the steps outside the cabin, bundled in borrowed blankets. No words for a while.

Until you finally ask:

“Is this where we go back to being strangers?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t think I could if I tried.”

He leans into your side, shoulder against yours.

And you realize then, with absolute clarity:

The world might be too big for this to last.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.

Inside the cabin, it was something else. Something untouched.

And whatever comes next—press, headlines, racing, the inevitable pull of real life—you’ll always have this.

The knock. The snow. The wrong key.

And the boy who ran away from everything… only to find you.

Temporary? Maybe.

But unforgettable? Absolutely.

----

You leave the next morning.

There’s no dramatic goodbye, no rain-soaked kiss goodbye at the door. Just snow boots, zipped bags, and two people trying very hard not to look like they’re breaking a little inside.

You drive your separate ways.

But the world doesn’t wait.

By the time you reach your apartment, Charles’s name is everywhere.

Not just in motorsport headlines—everywhere.

“Runaway Groom: Ferrari’s Golden Boy Charles Leclerc Disappears Before Wedding to PR Exec Ari Delacourt.”

Photos. Articles. Blurred shots of the cabin. Even a grainy screenshot of you from someone’s phone outside the gas station you stopped at.

The media dubs you The Girl in the Cabin.

Charles texts you the link to one article.

Charles: I’m so sorry.

You: Not your fault.

Charles: I didn’t want this for you.

You: But it was always going to come for you.

You don’t speak again for three days.

It’s a Friday when your doorbell rings.

You open it expecting a package.

It’s Ari.

Poised. Blazer. Sunglasses. A calm fury in designer heels.

“I just want to talk,” she says.

You let her in.

You don’t know why.

She walks your apartment like she’s scouting it. Like she’s trying to find something ugly to confirm what she already wants to believe.

“I don’t blame you,” she says finally, sitting on the edge of your armchair like it’s beneath her. “I know Charles. When he doesn’t want to deal with something, he runs.”

You stand across from her, silent.

“And it was never really about me,” she says, “but I didn’t think he’d burn everything down over someone he barely knows.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“It wasn’t a plan,” you say quietly.

“I know,” she says. “That’s the worst part. It was real. And he never looked at me like that.”

Ari stands.

“Don’t expect it to be easy. They’ll come for you. Not just the press. Sponsors. Brands. They think you’re a liability.”

“I’m not anything,” you say. “I’m just a person.”

“Not anymore,” she says, walking past you. “You’re part of his story now.”

She leaves without looking back.

You sit in the dark for a long time.

Then, just as your chest starts to ache in that unbearable way, your phone buzzes.

Charles: I need to see you.

Charles: Please.

You don’t type back right away.

But when you do, it’s only two words:

You: Come over.

----

He shows up an hour later.

No security. No black car. No sunglasses to hide behind. Just Charles, hoodie pulled over his head, cap low, knocking gently like he's afraid of breaking the moment before it begins.

You open the door, and neither of you speaks at first.

He looks tired. Not media-trained, not polished. Just... Charles.

You step back to let him in.

The second the door clicks shut behind him, he pulls you in.

Not urgently. Not recklessly.

But like he needs to know you're real.

You don’t kiss. You don’t need to.

You just stand there. Arms wrapped around each other. Breathing in sync. Letting the world fall away.

Until it knocks again.

Hard.

Louder.

You pull back.

Charles goes still.

“Don’t answer it,” he says, already walking toward the window.

But you do. Instinctively.

Flash.

Flash.

Voices shouting your name. His.

The hallway is packed. Cameras. Reporters. Microphones shoved toward your door like weapons.

Someone screams, “CHARLES! ARE YOU STILL IN LOVE WITH ARI?”

Another: “WHO IS SHE?”

Click. Click. Click.

Charles slams the door shut. Pulls the curtains. Locks the bolt.

You’re frozen.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time not soft—not broken—but angry. Furious. “They weren’t supposed to know where you live.”

You’re shaking.

“They’re camped outside?”

He nods. “They’ll follow me anywhere. I thought I could slip past.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, through clenched teeth: “This was our last quiet place.”

He flinches.

“I know.”

You sit on the couch. He sits beside you.

You’re both staring at the closed curtains, breathing hard. The world is at your doorstep now.

“I can fix this,” he says, but it sounds like a question.

You turn to him.

“Can you?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But he takes your hand.

And doesn’t let go.

Outside, the flashes keep coming.

Inside, neither of you moves.

----

The call comes at 6 a.m.

Charles answers it from your kitchen, barefoot, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You watch from the doorway, a blanket wrapped around you like armor.

You can’t hear what’s said. But you can see the way his expression shifts.

Tightens.

When he hangs up, he doesn’t say anything at first.

Then: “They want us to do an interview.”

You blink. “Us?”

He nods. “They think it’s the only way to stop the bleeding. Set the record straight. Control the narrative.”

Your stomach twists. “What narrative?”

“That I left Ari for you. That you’re some kind of scandal.”

You exhale hard. “Ari came to my apartment.”

Charles stills. “She what?”

“She told me I was part of your story now. That I should expect the world to turn on me.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “She’s not wrong. But she’s not right either.”

You look down. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I know,” he says. “Neither did I.”

Silence.

Then: “But I’m done hiding. If I go in alone, it’ll be half a truth. If you come with me… it’s real.”

You stare at him. “You want to make this real?”

He nods. “It already is.”

The studio is cold. Bright. Everything smells like makeup and metal and nerves.

You sit beside him. Charles’s hand hovers above yours on the couch, unsure if it belongs there in public.

The interviewer smiles too wide.

“You’ve been the center of quite a whirlwind,” she says, voice syrupy.

Charles glances at you. Then at the cameras.

“Yes,” he says. “But not everything about it has been chaos. Some of it has been… grounding.”

The interviewer turns to you.

“And you? What has this been like for you?”

You pause.

Then say the only thing you believe:

“Unreal. But also, somehow, the most honest thing I’ve felt in years.”

They wrap the interview. Lights dim.

The show is over.

But your story? It’s just beginning.

----

The call comes at 6 a.m.

Charles answers it from your kitchen, barefoot, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You watch from the doorway, a blanket wrapped around you like armor.

You can’t hear what’s said. But you can see the way his expression shifts.

Tightens.

When he hangs up, he doesn’t say anything at first.

Then: “They want us to do an interview.”

You blink. “Us?”

He nods. “They think it’s the only way to stop the bleeding. Set the record straight. Control the narrative.”

Your stomach twists. “What narrative?”

“That I left Ari for you. That you’re some kind of scandal.”

You exhale hard. “Ari came to my apartment.”

Charles stills. “She what?”

“She told me I was part of your story now. That I should expect the world to turn on me.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “She’s not wrong. But she’s not right either.”

You look down. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I know,” he says. “Neither did I.”

Silence.

Then: “But I’m done hiding. If I go in alone, it’ll be half a truth. If you come with me… it’s real.”

You stare at him. “You want to make this real?”

He nods. “It already is.”

The studio is cold. Bright. Everything smells like makeup and metal and nerves.

You sit beside him. Charles’s hand hovers above yours on the couch, unsure if it belongs there in public.

The interviewer smiles too wide.

“You’ve been the center of quite a whirlwind,” she says, voice syrupy.

Charles glances at you. Then at the cameras.

“Yes,” he says. “But not everything about it has been chaos. Some of it has been… grounding.”

The interviewer turns to you.

“And you? What has this been like for you?”

You pause.

Then say the only thing you believe:

“Unreal. But also, somehow, the most honest thing I’ve felt in years.”

They wrap the interview. Lights dim.

The show is over.

But your story? It’s just beginning.

----

The internet breaks before the credits roll.

Clips from the interview go viral. Half the world is swooning over the way Charles looked at you when you spoke. The other half is demanding explanations from Ari, from Ferrari, from the PR machine that tried to keep the story quiet.

You’re trending. Again.

The memes are wild. The headlines are worse.

“Cabin Girl Speaks.”

“From Nobody to National Obsession.”

And your inbox?

It’s a battlefield. Messages from people you haven’t spoken to in years. Brands. Trolls. A message from your childhood best friend that just says, “????”

Charles doesn’t leave your side.

Not even when your landlord calls to tell you the building is crawling with reporters.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he says.

“I’m not going into hiding,” you snap.

“I didn’t say hiding. I said… Monaco.”

You blink.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It’s quiet. Gated. And I have a place there.”

“You want me to move countries?”

“I want you to breathe again.”

You stare at him. And slowly, you nod.

—

You land in Monaco three days later.

It’s surreal. The stillness. The quiet hum of ocean air. The safety.

The apartment is beautiful. Understated. His.

He shows you the terrace first. Then the kitchen. Then the bedroom you can have if you want space.

“You don’t have to stay,” he says that night, standing in the doorway like he’s unsure of his place in your life.

You cross the room. Pull him to you.

And kiss him.

It’s not urgent.

It’s not rushed.

It’s the kiss of two people who know what it means to be stripped bare in front of the world—and choose each other anyway.

Outside, the world keeps screaming.

Inside, you finally exhale.

----

Epilogue – The Moment It Changed

There’s a photo in a frame by the window.

It’s not glamorous. Not posed. Just the two of you on the floor of that cabin, tangled in a blanket, heads tilted back in shared laughter. A fire glows in the background, and your eyes are shut like you’re laughing too hard to care.

Charles took it with the self-timer. You didn’t even know until days later.

That night—before the kiss, before the world knew your names together—was the moment everything shifted. The moment something real took root between the silence and the storm.

Then. Cabin. Day Three.

You were reading on the floor by the fireplace, legs stretched out and socked feet tangled with his. Charles was half-asleep beside you, the side of his face pressed into your thigh, breath warm and steady.

“I’m going to mess this up,” he said quietly, eyes still closed.

You looked down at him. “This?”

“Whatever this is.”

You set the book down.

“Then mess it up honestly.”

He blinked up at you.

And smiled.

That night, he told you he liked the sound of your voice when you read. That it made the silence easier. That it reminded him of home.

And you told him that you hadn’t felt safe in someone’s presence for a long time—until him.

Now. Monaco. Weeks Later.

It’s been quiet here. Not because the world has stopped spinning, but because you’ve both decided not to let it spin you apart.

Charles gets up early to run by the marina. You make coffee the way he likes it now—burnt. Somehow it’s become a thing.

You write again. Paint sometimes. He reads next to you while you do, legs stretched across your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s not perfect.

But it’s safe.

And real.

One night, after a quiet dinner and two glasses of wine, he tells you everything.

Not just the wedding.

The feeling.

The way his chest locked up when the doors opened and Ari was standing there. The voices, the pressure, the cameras waiting. The thousands of eyes he couldn’t see but could feel. The sound of his own name echoing in a room where he didn’t want to belong.

“I couldn’t breathe,” he says. “I looked at her and realized I didn’t want forever to start there. Not like that. Not with a lie.”

You sit across from him, knees tucked to your chest, and tell him yours.

How you found the texts.

The photos.

How the world stopped moving when the truth landed in your lap like a cruel punchline. How you packed a bag and drove for hours until the cabin swallowed you whole.

“I felt disposable,” you whisper. “Like I could disappear and no one would even notice.”

He doesn’t speak.

He just reaches for your hand and presses it to his chest.

“You’re not disposable. You were the first thing that felt like a choice I made for me.”

And you believe him.

Later.

People still talk.

But not as loudly.

The headlines fade. The clicks slow down. The world finds new things to scream about.

And in the stillness, you and Charles build something small. Soft. Yours.

There’s talk of returning to the grid.

There’s talk of traveling again.

But there’s also quiet days in the apartment, burnt toast, shared playlists, and the promise of something you never expected to find when you drove into that storm:

Peace.

There’s one more photo on the windowsill now.

Charles. Holding your hand at the edge of the terrace. Hair messy. Eyes bright.

And you.

Looking at him like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Because maybe, for a moment, it doesn’t.

And maybe that’s the point.

Because sometimes the best kind of forever starts with a door that shouldn’t have opened…

and a name you didn’t expect to remember.

[ccupcakeyss]

.  𓂃 ଓ ۪   ݁ WHAT A LONG DAY . . . 𓈒      s

SUMMARY: sylus comes home from a looong day of work and needs some... relief.

CW: female reader, mdni, p in v, praise kink, size difference, straight up smut, porn with no plot, cowgirl, explicit language, sylus is such a needy lover boy . . .

WC: only 551, keeping it short ♡

NOTES: first time writing!! i would love to take reqs!!! i do lads, mha, jjk, bllk and etc. lmk if you have any reqs and ill try do them asap!! btw, this is not proof read so sorry for any mistakes!! anyways, thank you for reading and enjoy!（⑅ᴗˬᴗ）

Sitting on the sofa, entranced by you book, you don't notice the sound of the door opening and shutting, shoes being taken off, and before you know it. He's there.

"Sylus!"

He's on your chest, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his big arms wrapping possessively around your tiny waist.

"Missed you. I feel exhausted." He said nonchalantly, hiding the tiniest bit of emotion. His words were mumbled by your neck.

You drop your book, putting it to the side. Your small hands run through his hair. You smile to yourself. This was a rare moment. A moment where Sylus wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his girl's arms. Especially after a long day.

"Yeah? I missed you too."

You suddenly feel his hands stroke your waist. Ah. So he's feeling needy, huh?

"Need you so bad."

"Ahem.. Uh, Sylus? How about we take it easy tonight and just res-"

"Bedroom."

The next few minutes are a blur because next thing you know, you're on top of Sylus, your wet pussy lips only just brushing against his tip.

"C'mon. I've got you, jus'relax."

His reassurance made you forget about the size of the beast between his legs. You hold onto his shoulders and sink down onto his cock, a moan escaping your mouth with each inch you take.

"Jus'like that. Atta girl... Fuck you're so tight..."

He's holding your hips down, tightly. Once all the way in, you hiccip. you've never felt so full. I mean, Sylus was big but you didn't realise how big until you took the whole thing in. Feeling incredibly full, you fall onto his chest, holding onto his shoulder and whimpering as his hands crawl to your ass, before thrusting with no mercy. His thrusts are filled with need, content and love.

"Missed," Thrust. "You," Thrust. "So," Thrust. "Bad."

You feel like youre gonna cum just hearing his raspy voice in your ear as he fucks you senseless. What on earth took over him to come home from a long day of work all horny?

You lift your head and kiss him as he's thrusting, fucking you. Moaning and wet squelches fill the air.

"F-Fuuck... S-Sylus m'gonna cum..." You moan, breaking the kiss and panting heavily in his ear, which makes him feel like he's just getting harder by the second.

"Yeah? Hol' on a little longer 'kay?.. Being so good f'me.."

You feel like youre gonna explode. You moan shamelessly. Normally you'd be worried about someone hearing, but he's fucking you so good you don't seem to care.

"S-Sylus I-I can't... G-Gonna cum!..." You pant, sitting up and riding his cock as you twist and fiddle with the pink buds on your chest.

"Go on kitten, cum all over my cock..." He says before thrusting in one final thrust, ropes of hot remen spilling into you. A wave of pleasure spills over you too as you moan out, cumming. He moves in the aftershocks, fucking his cum into your tight pussy.

Laying on his chest, his dick comes out with a wet plop!

"You wanna shower now or later?" He asks, stroking your head.

"Later..." He nods at your reply and kisses your forehead before pulling you close to his chest. This was his way of saying, "You're mine."

[slutforleeminho]

heyy, i love your work, i was wondering if you could write a fic based on the song ‘the other woman’ by lana del rey where the reader is the other woman. you could do it about any member :)

this is my first ever request since i’ve been on this app so i hope i did it right 😭

The other Woman • Hwang Hyunjin

thank you so much! i’m so happy that your first ask was on my acc! i hope you like it<3

warnings: suggestive(no explicit smut), arguing, infidelity, toxic relationship, plot twist at the end;)

"I have to go, beautiful." Hyunjin leaned down to kiss your forehead after pulling his pants up and buttoning them. He placed his hand on the side of your face, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. "She'll get suspicious if I stay any longer."

This was normal for you, yours and Hyunjin's little routine. He'd take you out to dinner and treat you like a princess, paying for your meals and anything else you could possibly want. Holding your hand and taking you places you've only dreamed of going, then he'd take you home --your home-- and he'd fuck you like there was no tomorrow. And then he'd leave to do the same things with his wife.

You never understood why he pursued you the way he did when he had someone at home to take care of, but you didn't care enough to bring it up. Why would you? You have everything a young woman could ever want; a young, handsome, rich man who gives you anything you want. But only a few times a week. It's okay though, that just gives you plenty of time to do things that you enjoy like reading and going to museums and admiring the beautiful pieces of art that you wished you could just shove in your bag and take home with you.

"Okay," You said with a tired smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Actually, I meant to tell you, I won't be able to come over tomorrow. Apparently, Violet has a family reunion, and she wants me to accompany her." He stated as he pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed his bag from the chair in the corner of your room.

Violet. Such a pretty name for such a lucky woman.

"Oh." Was all you replied with.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not, these things happen," You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into as soon as you entered this relationship, if it can even be called that. "Just text me when you can. let me know when you want to meet up."

"Of course." He smiled.

He kissed you deeply before he left that night, almost making you forget that he had someone at home waiting for him, and you would be left here, cold and alone.

That text that he promised didnt come until a week later.

"I miss the way you feel wrapped around me." Was all that the message contained. You liked to imagine he was talking about your warm embrace, but you knew that wasn't true. He just wanted to feel an unfamiliar body underneath his.

You weren't sure how you ended up like this. When you first met Hyunjin he was sweet and caring, attentively listened to you while you complained about your bad day at work and massaged away all the soreness in your muscles. You can't remember the last time he's taken you out to dinner or bought you flowers. Now you were just his escape from his nagging wife.

You put up with the constant shame and guilt you felt for being with someone who already had their someone, because you thought that maybe his love for you would grow and that maybe someday Hyunjin would realize that you're the one he wants to spend every waking moment with and not someone else. But as your love for him grew your patience shrunk until one day you snapped.

Hyunjin was collecting his things after he had finished what he came here for, which was to get his dick wet and nothing more. "I won't see you again after tonight."

Hyunjin stopped in his tracks and stared at you with wide eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I deserve more than this. I deserve to have someone's full attention and all of their heart." You held yourself together, determined not to cry Infront of him. He doesn't deserve your tears.

"Baby, what are you even talking about?" He knelt down in front of you and placed his hand on your shaking knees. "Of course, I love you."

"No, you don't," You shook your head. "You love my body, you love having someone at your disposal, someone you can use only for your own pleasure. If you loved me even in the slightest there wouldn't be another woman getting the treatment that I crave so fucking much." All the emotion you've kept stuffed away finally revealed itself in the form of a single tear running down your cheek.

It was silent for a long time before Hyunjin spoke. "I'll leave her." You snapped your head up so fast that it hurt. "If that's what you want than I'll do it." The way he worded it as if it was your choice whether his marriage ended or not made you sick to your stomach, but you couldn't deny that you felt a flutter of hope in your chest that maybe this didn't have to end after all. But you're smarter than that. He says this now, but he doesn't mean it, and even if he did you wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing that a woman who did nothing wrong was out there most likely crying herself to sleep while your warm and safe in the love of her life's arms.

"No, be with her. I'll be okay." That was a complete lie but even after everything he's done, you still don't want him to worry about you.

"Please don't do this to me. I love you and I want to be with you. He held on to your legs tighter.

"Funny, isn't that what you told her when you vowed in front of God and everyone that your love for her would be eternal." His mouth snapped shut and his hands left your legs before he stood. He leaned down and before you could register what was happening his lips were on yours. You immediately reciprocated, leaning forward and pressing yourself closer into him. He was so intoxicating, the way his tongue glided with yours so smoothly had you in a trance; you snapped out of it when he placed his right knee on the bed beside you and started pushing you backwards. "No!" you shoved him away. He stumbled backwards but regained his balance quickly. "I'm not doing this with you, Hyunjin. I can't do this anymore, its wrong."

"Since when do you have morals?" His voice was louder this time, he was pissed.

"I've always had them, but I put them aside because I love you!" It was your turn to stand up and look him square in the face. "But the longer we do this the more I realize that this isn't love, its obsession and its toxic. You never loved me Hyunjin you were curious about infidelity, and I was an easy target because my standards were so fucking low that I actually settled for you."

"Fuck this, I don't have to sit here and listen to you degrade me like this." He grabbed his bag and left, but not without slamming the door behind him.

~

The past month has been hell. After laying in your bed for an entire week you decided to pack up all of Hyunjins things and throw them out, the smell of him that was radiating off of them was making you sick to your stomach every time you walked in the room. And then you went to the mall to treat yourself to a new outfit, you wanted something that didn't have any memories of him attached to it. A trip to your favorite coffee shop followed after that. you hadn't been her in a while and you missed the smell of fresh espresso as you walked in the door.

After getting yourself your favorite -a butter pecan macchiato and a small triple chocolate brownie (they were out of doughnuts)- You sat in the best spot in the entire shop, in a little booth in the corner right next to the window, where you could watch the leaves that had no color left in them fall to the ground only to get trampled over by the passing pedestrians. The leaves reminded you a lot of yourself in a way, but you hoped you never had to fall again.

"Hi," a voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned to find yourself looking up at a very handsome young man. His hair was blonde, and it came down to his shoulders. he had an apron on, and a big smile plastered across his face, little freckles decorated his cheeks. "I saw you bought one of the brownies, it's a new recipe I tried, and I wanted to ask if you enjoyed it."

"Oh," You blinked up at him. "Um yeah it's really good, maybe my new favorite."

"Oh, thank god," He let out a sigh of relief. "I was worried that it wouldn't be any good. See a couple of the ingredients I use were sold out, so I had to substitute-" He stooped in the middle of his sentence. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I tend to do that a lot."

"No, it's okay," You huffed out a laugh. He was so cute. "Now I'm curious about what ingredients were sold out." You joked.

He smiled widely at you and stretched his hand out. "I'm Felix."

You hesitated but took his hand anyway. "Nice to meet you, Felix."

PART TWO HERE

THANK YOUUU ALL FOR A THOUSAND FOLLOWERS I DONT EVEN KNOW HOW TO FEEL 😭

taglist: @katsukis1wife @sungprotector @seung-mine @favieee @soephiphanymain @z4hir @minnieslover @kjr-army @caitlyn98s @bangchansbae @fawnpeaks @yumiblogs

[anxiouspotionofgloom]

Scarian fics rec!

Ok so, here's me dumping all the Scarian fics I love and find underrated (under 1k kudos, please go give them some love if you see this 🥺)

No particular order except for number one, because this is my favourite fic ever and I think of it almost every day it is so criminally underrated and may or may not be the reason I created this list...

Sorry for the ping authors, I've been told most people would like to be pinged on those if I included their fics, so here we go I guess!

as above, so below by @birrdies

Hermit’s Hollow was a quiet town where you learned to ignore whisperings of nonsense and the dull, persistent feeling of being watched before you learned to ride a bike. To call it pedestrian would be a great disservice to all the terrible oddities occupying it— folks and legends alike. Not that Grian believed any of them, of course. Or; There's something wrong in Hermit's Hollow. There's something wrong with Grian. Neither of these are a surprise to him.

I'm begging you to give it a chance, it has legit rewritten my brain chemistry, the scarian dynamic is so perfect in here, the plot so fleshed out and it reaches, dear lord it reaches inside your chest and twist. I cried. I laughed. I smiled so hard it felt like it was carving itself on my face. My favourite Scarian fic forever probably.

2. they say my star is a little lonely (so how about staying a little longer?) by Lappisu (I don't know if they have Tumblr please lmk if they do ;-;)

Forgive Grian for not keeping track of the time. Centuries and seconds all feel the same when it's been so long since anything has happened on the little planet Grian calls home—until a being that calls himself Scar lands. He's too loud, and too bright, and too much of everything. Unfortunately, Scar is the single most interesting thing Grian has laid eyes upon in a long time. Forgive Grian for wanting more. or: Grian and Scar, strangers in space, and then some.

This fic is so so good, I am so intrigued by the concept and the lore behind it all, I am genuinely reading it for scarian but also for the world surrounding them, and thinking of Grian, alone on his little planet, it Gets to me. And the ending moment!! I was literally kicking my feet twirling my hair, I'm very weak to 'I'll kill them all' moments thank you <3

3. counting steps by @ilexdiapason and @greyquills

“Well - if nothing's broken, you didn't chip any teeth or anything, then I guess it's all good, right?" (It is not all good. It has lost everything. It has unbecome itself and now it has nothing, not even the wings on its back, not even the Sight in its core.) "Yes." Or: in which Grian has Fallen, but somebody is there to pick him up again. And again, and again, and again, every time he cannot find his way.

This fic is 9 kudos away from being out of this list but I'm squeezing it in there because it is SO good. I ate it up the whole way through. Fallen angel is such an interesting trope, and I love what they did with it. It is such an ode to humanity and what makes us us, seeing how Grian slowly creates himself out of all the things he has discovered, the things that Scar has made him discover, it goes very hard. Tears in my eyes perhaps.

4. it feels good to be known so well by @roseandmaple

Somehow, in the chaos that is the apocalypse— former human beings rising from the dead and whatnot— Scar has managed to find his way into the Compound, a makeshift gated community of survivors from all around the world, led by a man they call Grian. By some grace of God (or, more accurately, his own silver tongue) Scar has quickly climbed his way up the ranks, and has found himself in the position of their leader’s right hand man. The unfortunate thing, though, is that Scar’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve it. Because Scar is still himself— clumsy, forgetful, reckless— but for some reason, Grian hasn’t sent him away yet, hasn’t replaced him with someone better, and a nagging voice in the back of Scar’s mind has one question: why? Or: Scar gets injured, Grian fixes him up, and they finally talk about their feelings.

Very cute fic!! I'm so interested in the relationship Scar and grian seem to have! It balances humour and self-doubt well, coupled with soft scenes that I'm 🥺 about.

5. Moths to a Fluorescent Flame by @entropyhours

Scar's there, standing, a cheeky, ever so slightly bashful grin on her face. It's almost a smirk, her classic slightly off-kilter upturned smile that frequently makes a cosy home on the tanned lines of her face. She makes a door opening gesture with her arms, a silly, dramatic thing that involves far too much motion for the small amount it realistically communicates. Can I come out? I'll leave you alone if you really want. Grian doesn't know what she really wants. In there it's warmth and joy and noise and people and the fear that all this is transient and bound to crumble in her careless hands. Out here it's cold and lonely and unchanging stillness and safety. Devil you know better than the devil you don't. Moth burning up in the neon radiation it trusts more than anything else. Icarus inside, Icarus outside. (in which a substantial New Year's kiss is shared at midnight, but feelings are best left unspoken)

It is MY rec list and I get to decide which fics go on here which is why I'm nominating my friend!!!!!!! It is such an amazing yuri fic (we need more of those in the world) The way scarian are so soft at each others in here, they have this understanding of each other, the things left unsaid and the things that are indeed said, it's all so lovely!!

6. The Love of a Killer by Anonymous

It has been 3 years since Detective Grian caught and apprehended the ‘Goodtimes Killer’, almost dying in the process. When the serial killer escapes prison, Grian is once again thrown back into a game of cat and mouse to catch him. Only this time, the killer has a new obsession with the detective that may prove detrimental to the case and his life.

Obsessed with this one. It's darker than the other fics but my god. MY GOD. This got me to rewatch hannibal for the fourth time and start a fifth. It is just so amazing, from the cat and mouse relationship between Scar and Grian (where they both try in turn to be the cat) to the plot besides the 'romance' that is so intriguing to me, it goes way beyond being a simple chase of a murderer, truly i'm amazed and oh so patiently waiting for a new update!

7. Splinters by orangeghosts

When Grian has trouble with a build, his solution is to just work harder. Unfortunately, this can lead to him neglecting pesky things like basic self care, including the preening of his wings. Enter Scar, who agrees to lend a hand with the terraforming on Grian's base - if he agrees to clean his wings first. And to stop him from sneaking off and working instead, Scar insists on watching him the whole time. This puts Grian, master of deflection and ignoring his feelings, in a rather tricky situation.

Honestly anything by this author is amazing, they've got a way with words that i find so magnificient, and it comes out so beautifully when coupled with their great characterisations. Honestly i'm weak to preening fic anyway, this is so soft and in love and if you've been yearning for them gay love, I would suggest you give it a try!!

8. A Certain Je Ne Sais What by @good-chimes

Literally any one of Grian’s friends would be a better soulmate than Scar, and Grian is going to prove this scientifically. Grian’s already felt it, a pinprick in his thumb. He’s familiar—he’s so painfully, unforgettably familiar—with the way Scar sees something and is already reaching out to touch it before he’s asked questions like 'what is this' and 'is it bad news' and 'is it going to hurt me, Scar, and by extension the unwilling bystander my physical sensations are now linked to'. Scar just immediately reaches out.

Another author I'm obsessed with. Pure bangers. This particular fic of them is one of my favourite, purely because of how well it gets the personality of Scar and Grian. It's so much them reading it again makes my heart vibrates: these are the men I (metaphorically) fell in love with. It is also frankly hilarious. So very Grian to list everything like that and still cuddle up to Scar. Big seal of approval, love this fic!

9. Graveyard Cinderella (the whole cemetery cryptid au) by @sisyphean-torment

As a necromancer, the last thing Scar expected when he dug up a coffin to raise someone from the dead and con them out of their valuables, was for the resident to already be alive. It only gets more confusing from there. Or, hey what the fuck is up with Grian

This AU is soo funny and I'm fascinated by everyone's deal, author has a way to write everything so naturally and yet we barely get some details about what's happening, which is one of my favourite kind of stories!! Though really, check out anything they've written, it's a gold mine :>

10. do you ever think of me and my two hands? by froggenbie

Grian and Scar drift back to each other throughout every season of the Life series. Except drifting makes it sound like it’s an accident, like it’s not purposeful. Like it’s not love. Like it’s not fate. or: hearts embroidered in clothes, puppy love laughter, three seasons of mountains, and a big fuck you to the universe or or: desert duo’s history throughout the life smp

I really liked this one!! The writing is so emotionnal, almost poetic, and I love this type of stories that explore characters within the bounds of canon (almost!).

11. out of memory and time by @purple-nightfall-writes

Scar looked at him with interest. “You’ve been living here, all by yourself, for five years? I think I’d go crazy." “Well, can’t promise I haven’t,” Grian said, shamefaced. After all, minutes earlier, he’d tapped into ancient magic to scream at a total stranger. Likely not a total stranger, actually… he mused, remembering the matching rings. There was an obvious question they raised. It was much too weighty to ask. “Do you think we knew each other?” he asked instead. “During the months we both lost, I mean.” Scar leaned back, thinking for a moment. “I mean, we must have at least met, right? If I knew your name, and you’ve got a ring I enchanted.” Grian startled slightly. He hadn’t really had time to process the implications of the name, on top of everything else. “You used my real name,” he said quietly. “Not many people even knew that one.” Or: Famed wizard Scar finds himself wandering in an unfamiliar land with no memory of how he got there. Grian, the dutiful Watcher, finds himself staring at a reflection he doesn't quite recognize, haunted by a sense of unease. Together, they must figure out what happened and what connects them to each other.

Another friend :D This fic is so cute and really funny, I promise, once you read it fully the silly gets you ahahahha. Man, Scar and Grian in here are dumb in the best way.

12. Scar's Magical Emporium for Lost Grians by butterfly_wings

Things! It's Scar's Magical Emporium for Lost Things. - Grian (Scar runs a shop for lost objects. Grian is the unfortunate soul who keeps appearing in the store.)

It is SO adorable I immediately fell in love with the premise of this, and it upheld its promise as I read through the story! All in all it's deeply cute, but if you think about the reason behind Grian's appearance there's this bittersweet feeling on your tongue, how Grian is lost and Scar knows it and is so patient with it ahhh <3

13. a little victimless crime by @definitelynotshouting

On a technical level, the rite he’s performing is paltry compared to what he executed all those heady months back– chalk-powder in concentric circles, a matchbook, the potential for flame. Simple. Too simple; any of his old professors (Academy-trained, tried, and true) would have failed him for presenting such a stripped summoning spell. But half the magic lies in intent– with enough bull-headed, scrabbling belief, you can claw anything into a shape of your choosing. Grian had taught him that. One breath. Two. No room for doubt– no room for second chances. Scar strikes the match and, with a deft flick of his hand, tosses it into the chalk-powder.

A bit of a short one but I'm frankly enamoured with the rich universe the author managed to write in so few words. (One of my favourite author too, please check them out!) The way Scar and Grian fit together, the way their softness is contrasted by their fury at the world for wronging them... Amazing. I'd read a hundred more of them.

(The next two fics are '&' (platonic), but I didn't have enough to make two list separately so if you want Grian and Scar in all their forms, you can read those too, they're amazing, but please don't bother authors about it thank you)

14. Interlude From Another Reality: Peacock's-Eye by @sixteenth-days

"My assistant," announced Scar Goodtimes, newly-promoted Head Archivist of the Peacock's-Eye Institute, to nobody in particular except maybe the paused audio recording software on his laptop, or perhaps the small pile of tape recorders his predecessor'd left piled on a shelf in the corner, or arguably the little peacock-feather eye logo that dotted the office as haphazardly as it did the entire Institute, "is weird." (In which Scar is Grian's Archivist, and Grian is Scar's assistant.)

Ok skirting the edges of small fics here, but I really liked this fic!! You don't necessarily need to read the hermitcraft serie to get it, just have some basic knowledge from the podcast, but be aware this fic contains spoilers for the original TMA! Absolutely love how Grian was written here, he's just a funny little guy, and all the possessive use on words despite him not knowing the source, chef's kiss!!

15. catching signals that sound in the dark by @droidofmay

“Poultry Man, I’m gonna have to ask you to step back,” Scar said, and Grian went still. “Or, y’know, I guess I’m telling you? Definitely telling you, this is an order– step away from the Voidsong. Remove your digits from his person now, please, or I am going to have to explode you and explain that to Pearl and she will never give me extra concert tickets ever again.” Scar had his bow drawn, an arrow pointed in Grian’s direction. He was close enough that it would tear through Grian’s host body like paper, though the explosives in Scar’s quiver would’ve been more effective, and he was tense around the eyes, a wobbling downturn to his mouth. His voice had trembled, emotion leaking through like before he’d gone professional. Grian knew how those feelings tasted from the inside. He knew those hands, that vascular system, how Scar’s smooth voice felt as it vibrated out of his throat, as his tongue shaped the words– and that was what drew him back from Voidsong, even if it really would’ve been wiser to keep himself intertwined, because he knew that terror, too. Incredibly well. Way too well, as a matter of fact.

I'm thinking of this fic at least once a week. I'm such a fan of complicated relationships, and adding in the mix Grian as some strange symbiote thing? Complicated doesn't even begin to describe the way Grian was wrapped inside Scar's body so deep like a second soul, intertwined in such disturbing manner, I live for that!! The way they know each other so intimately and yet there's so many dark stains on each other's understanding, I'm so unwell it's not even funny. Odaigahara is such an amazing author in general, the words gut you. Like a knife, those sentences cut through your skin to twist your insides, and there's nothing you can do but continue to read.

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Anyways that's it! It was my first time doing a fics rec, I hope it was to everyone's liking!! Please give some love to the authors, as an author myself I know most of us get oh so happy to see a little comment in our inbox or even a kudo!!

You can also contribute by putting your favourite under 1k kudos scarian fic in the tags or reblogs!

Amazing day to all, hope you'll find some fics you haven't heard of before :>

And if you have read them all... well you get the knowledge that you have excellent taste 😌

[asyliah]

Lucky for you, that's what I like! xiao x f!reader

𐙚 . sum . You just got dumped and thought going into bar and flirt a guy named Xiao is a good idea. <spoiler alert!> It is a good idea.

𐙚 . warnings : Dom Xiao .ᐟ Y/N took the initiative .ᐟ drunk sex .ᐟ creampie .ᐟ plot twist at end .ᐟ unprotective sex .ᐟ Sub xiao at first .ᐟ please tell if there's more

Your boyfriend callously ended your relationship, claiming that he discovered someone else who could better fulfill his desires and be intimate with him. It made your blood boil just to think about his reasons for breaking up were all about fucking sex, and because you don’t want to do it yet because of trust issues. All those sweet words, promises, and futures he said are all gone in the ditch. It was that night you thought of going to a bar just to forget every problem, and maybe finally get another guy. All you ever wanted is to taste the sweet revenge of your now ex-boyfriend that you're not the only one who can pull another one.

You wore that slanted violet dress that had frills on the side, and your legs covered in fish nets. All dolled up, despite being lost in the crowded bar. Hands elegantly resting on the counter, slurring every thought that you could muster while drinking another shot of tequila on your throat. It wasn't your plan to get drunk at the bar, not in this state! You quickly stood up from the bar stool and suddenly tripped from the high stiletto heels you wore.

Someone caught you in his arms, and when you tried to see his face clearly, it suddenly caught your attention. A handsome guy, with green dyed hair with a streak, his hair tied to his side, his bangs almost alluring a mystery, and his ember eyes staring at you in shock.

“Cutie, what’s your name?” you asked him, fingers circling in the hem of his shirt. “X-xiao,” he stuttered. “Are you single? You’re too cute to be not single…”

“I am single..”

That’s all for you to start flirting with him nonstop, poor guy, he only wanted to have a taste of the bar's seasoned cocktail when some cute drunk girl suddenly teased him.

You were asking his name, laughing seductively, everything at once. Yet Xiao didn't try to reject your moves. How can he? He never even had a single girl in his entire life being so touchy or flirty with him, and it felt like a dream in heaven that someone he just met in a bar was all like this. Both of you already took strong shots of alchohol.

You led him into a private room and started to suggest something more than flirting. He felt your lips pressed into his, plump lips lingering in his face while he felt the bitter taste of alcohol on your tongue. Your eyes are hazy, and clouded by judgment as your desire only controls your hidden demons. Xiao keeps trying to hold himself, not giving in to this desire. But how can he when your hands are wandering into his body till to the tight area of his pants, where his cock is already leaking in precum from the arousal? It's been pain ever since he's been trying to receive every tease you get from him and the compliments you showered. Yet Xiao knew you were not sober and trying to tell you that you're drunk and you shouldn't be doing this even though deep in his mind he wanted this to happen. His hard cock already hardened from the images of your naked body under him, completely at his mercy as you took his length like a good girl.

His imagination gone wild from the thought of it. 

Now he is also drunk in lust and the lewd display, putting a show him like a bitch in heat, debauched and so loose of control. Messy hair, lipstick smudge on your lips, and the showy dress that shows your sexy figure make it hard to control. "I want you," you slur into his ears while chuckling. "You're such a cute boy, I wanna eat you whole," you licked your lips.

And you slowly go down in him, taking off the belt and his pants. Taking off every bit of clothes he had, springing his hard cock, erect and a good length for you. It was thick, and girthy, with the tip already leaking angrily––begging to be touched. The ecstasy of your lips in his hard cock going up and down, your tongue doing wonders in every part. His tip being licked with your sly tongue, his cock reaching the back of your throat making him moan in the euphoria at the new feeling he discovered. His hands slithered their way to your head, guiding the pace, till every lock of your hair was gripped tight into his knuckles, taking control. You almost gagged at his rough pace, it was so intense that your eyes teared from the arousal. The groans you made have him spurt into a few bittersweet cum in your mouth. Feeling the cum in your throat made you see stars, as you cleaned off his cock with your mouth. "Are you even a virgin?" He huskily asked in between his breaths, and you looked at him with your eyes fluttering trying to understand his question. "Me.. a virgin.. hehe," you said, licking off the remaining cum in your hands to clean it.

Xiao almost came hearing you were not a virgin, he swear to the Archons.

Seeing the sight of you going down only for him even made Xiao more aroused. Xiao grabbed you in your arms and took the initiative to kiss you so deliriously, not caring if your mouth was from his cock. He doesn't care. All needed was to kiss you badly, suckimg your tongue, and taste you. His hands wander into your breasts, while your hands in his neck hugging him. A small hum in your voice was like a lullaby in his head, and you kissed his neck slowly, giving him hickeys. As you two kiss, driven by the heat, xiao's hand slips in between your legs and tried to play with your clit so slowly. His other hand undresses your top slowly, leaving to expose your erected nipples. Xiao sucked every part of it, and every moan that was left on your lips is addicting like a siren tempting him.

"Fuck me, Xiao. I needed it. I need you," 

“W-wait. I don’t have any condom with me,” Xiao said, his mind still on places. You looked at him with puppy eyes, begging at him. “No need for it, I have a birth control.”

☆

Xiao breathed heavily beneath you, his cock reaching the deepest part of your inside as your pussy sucked his cock whole. The squelching noises in the room are so loud, and the loud moans you create every thrust and grunt he makes you feel. “Does it feel good?” he asked, his tongue licked the tears dripping in your tears. You were too fucked out to answer his question. Fuck, his dick is too good, and for the both of you to be virgins makes it more arousing to you.

Tears stung in your eyes, loving the pleasure he gives you. “Your ex must be so stupid to leave you alone, but it’s okay. It means I can have you *now.” *Xiao moaned in your ears, sucking your neck. “Your mine.” He reveled in the sight of your fucked out expression, your breath staggering trying to take everything from his length.

He softly brushed his “You dont understand how I waited for this moment,” he moaned, and you thought he could see his eyes could form hearts from the way he looked at you like a lovesick. His fingers playing with your swollen clit, and as your pussy clenched tighter in his cock, he moaned in bliss and another hot cum spurted inside of your gummy walls without a warning. Even cumming, he still railed his cock without stopping, forming a white ring in the base. You tried to register what he was trying to say, but you finally have become mindless fucked by him.

Xiao could only chuckle at your state, "Are you feeling that good?" he cooed, you were teasing him several minutes ago and now you're reduced into a babbling mess trying to take his cock. Adjusting his position closer to you as your hands reel him close to kiss another sloppy one.

It was like he knew everything about you.

He rammed another strong thrust into you, causing you to scream. There is nothing you can do but take it his own, you shudder with every thrust he takes. He took note of your expressions. Archons, you'd be the reason for his death, you're too cute. Your pussy is too tight, wet, and a squelching mess as if it was begging to be filled with another drop of his cum.

"X-xiao...more...p please.!" you begged, your nails dug at the back of his skin. Xiao hummed, "More? You want more?" he teased you, his hips grinding and rolling into you, and the tip of his cock hitting at the end of your inner walls as your eyes roll out in pleasure. You keep muttering pleas into him, anything to snap the coiling feeling of your core and just let loose of it all.

With captivating satisfaction in his eyes, he tenderly caressed your face before plunging forcefully into the sofa. "Did you know, I stalked you for years?" he thrust in you with a strong force, making you jump. His words barely register in your ears, but you tried to hear him right when another thrust plunged into you. "I loved you too much, and when I followed you here, all dolled up so pretty while you are broken from a douchebag." Xiao groaned at the thought of it. "Archons, I hate your ex. I am thankful you were the one who took the initiative for me," hearing his confession now made you sober, your clear eyes looked at him dumbfucked from his cock.

"W-what..?" you broke a question and then the knot in your core snapped, your cunt leaking with your juices. Then Xiao followed, his heavy cum overflowing into your swollen and used cunt. Both of you were trying to catch your breath, while his cock still plugged inside of your overstimulated cunt. The feeling of fullness and warmth enveloped inside, especially as it was the first time you had sex.

Xiao keeps kissing you so lovingly, and as your mind becomes clearer from the alcohol, you are uncertain about your feelings. The cutie above you looked possessive as if he was marking his territory in you.

"I love you Y/N♡. I will never ever leave you. "

🧷 @asyliah