#Cap!puffy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 2 months ago

Text

JUICY!

Synopsis. The first time the cóndom breaks? Raw, next question.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, cóndom tearing, unprotected, creampíes, they’re PÚSSYDRÚNK, breaking furniture, GOJO’S POWERS, first time raw, going feraI, brèeding, proposals, true form Sukuna, dp, manhandIing, full neIsons, headIocks, best friend!Ino, spítting, p talking, p sIapping, they’re big, tummy buIges, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week!

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 10/10

“O-oh.” His gruff baritone echoes out a slight crack - a crack. Toji Fushiguro never lets his voice shake, he never stutters. You gaze over your clammy shoulder in confusion as the knobbly shape of his Adam’s apple bobs dryly, “It…broke.”

Honestly, with Toji’s sheer barreling size, how could that flimsy lil’ rubber not have broken?

Callused fingertips dig ravenously upon either side of your hips, you’re feeling the ends of his curly happy trail scratch your back as he motions to pull out—

“Oh my god, doll. Doll.” Right before scorching panted gasps hit the middle of your spine and he’s moving his sculpted v-line to rut- animalistically. “You- you feel like-” Buck after buck. Groans strangled, eyes half-lidded, one of Toji’s massive palms come slamming down on the rickety headboard. “-th-this?”

“S’alright.” Toji flinches once your pretty voice speaks up, dazed pupils looking anywhere but at your cutely needy expression. “I wan’ it raw, Toji–”

“R-raw?”

You gawk as veins start decorating his flexing forearm, pointed knuckles white where he was gripping onto the bedframe for dear life. It snap-snap-snaps! faintly underneath his strength, “What have I said about talking outta ya haaaah- pussy, mama?”

“To not.” Your lower lip puckers into a pout that makes him gulp, his head shaking slightly in an effort to regain his senses. “But m’not- see?”

CRACK! That mahogany now fully splintered underneath his carnally itching digits, “You’re- oh.”

To prove your point, your knees push firmly against the springy bedcoils and grind backwards in a slooooow figure-eight that makes his bawling tip slurp ‘round your walls. That makes the hulking man bite back handful of raspy whimpers-

Oh. Making the big, bad Toji whimper?

Though, how could he not when the torn ends of the condom were flapping open to let him gift your deepest insides with the slowest, wettest smooch. Every miniature movement making the crowned top of his swollen cockhead splatter out heavy bucketloads of pre that stuck to your cervix in a steaming hot gloss. Slipping n’ sliding.

Toji flinches as he feels your bloated lips struggle to clench around his plump circumference. So soft. So warm.

“Warm?” Fuck- did he say that out loud? You’re letting your spit-glued mouth curve up into a smile at the way his maw drops with drunken realization. “See? I told you I-”

He cuts you off with a grumble of something that sounds like ‘shaddup.’ And it almost gives you whiplash when, in mere nanoseconds, Toji forces himself to reel back n’ leave your gooey innards squeezing instinctively around nothing - for only the briefest, quickest moment before completely tugging that tattered rubber off of him and sheathing himself silly.

“Can’t- can’t even- fuck! Why does it feel so fuckin’ good-”

Lazy and savoring every mushy ridge and crevice inside of your wet pussy.

Your words croon out, “More- more.”

He snickers, though there’s something octaves higher in his tonality - something unsteady. Abs tensing as he slouches over, Toji traps your throat in a headlock and growls, “T-take it then. Take it take it, dammit.”

It was almost ridiculous just how much he was throbbing, leaving your legs weak every time his puffy veins rawly massaged a lil’ ba-dump–! on top of the tenderest spots along your elastic walls.

“Ngh- To-Tooooji! S’in sooo deep.” You scramble, your body thrashing once a meaty, capped knee pushes up against the base of your spine to make you bend.

“Tha’s it- yeah. Aaaaarch f’me, atta girl.”

“You feel so ngh–” Torrents of sappy saliva dribble out of your mouth and drench the poor pillows see-through, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the swerving crashes of his perfectly spherical crownhead. Over n’ over. “-feels so gooood!”

He was ruthless, pillaging your treasure trove of sensitive spots with bruising batters. Deeper. Deeper.

And you’re so caught up in Toji’s relentless cadence that you almost don’t notice the way his husky breaths grow quieter, something like awe shining in those jade eyes.

Not until a wet splat! of slobber hits your back, “Fuck. Fuck! N’ you can feel me t-too, huh? You- you can feel me- c-can really feel me. Heh- can feel me fucking you all deep inside, huh?” Honed canines nibble down on your earlobe as you nod, pinning you down with his hefty weight. “Can ya feel every thrust? Every inch? Every vein, mama?”

“Yes- yes yes yes yesss–!” Comes out your garbled answer, tiny sobs hiccuping at the back of your throat at the sheer force of his gyrations. Toji was fucking a bright red branding onto his humidly perspired pelvis in memoir of you.

“A-always wanted to try something…count them.”

“Wh-what?”

“Count.” It takes a few slimy snogs to your gummy cervix before you’re realizing what he means, the underside of one of his zig-zagging lightning bolts slithering just against your g-spot and making you whine.

He wanted you counting every winding vein without the condom on.

“O-one.” You’re shrilling out, and Toji was so gone that his glassy irises dilated pure Stygian black. Tendrils of his shaggy bangs tickling the back of your neck, he’s aligning his thick, rock-hard length to rub your sweet walls with two more prominent veins. “Two- hck! three.”

Awe-struck, funneling in great heaving gasps to grunt out, “Ohhh, atta- atta girl. S’that it?”

“No- ngh-” One more vein wrapping underneath the ridge of his slippery slit, two more where his glittery glossed hilt was bulging your entrance wiiiidely agape. And you’re crawling away from the slamming impact of his rummaging strikes. “Six- six!”

“Good giiiirl.”

Leaving you so sappily wet with aroused pre, Toji’s filthy headlock curls tighter around your neck and puuuulls your boneless body further into him.

Practically melting into you. He had you bowed like such a slut, your back glissading down every bumpy ridge of his sweat-dampened abs. You’re counting eight of them in your fuzzy mind before Toji’s calmed his harrowing breaths down enough to spit out, “Don’t run. W-we are going to have soooo much fun, doll.”

And that certainly couldn’t have boded well for your poor pussy.

Because without warning, he slips off a free hand down to cradle the rotund outline on your tummy where his bludgeoning mushroom tip was stirrin’. A thick sensory pad daring to push down–

“Fuh-fuuuuuck—” Toji’s dark brows furrow at the shocks of pressure, biceps bulging once he tightens his lecherous hold on you. You turn to see then that a languid smile rests upon his face as his hips give you a thorough pound, easily pinpointing your g-spot with a beaded few slivers of precum. “N’ when we’re ngh- done…” A soft peck skims across your lips, almost mockingly innocent. “M’gonna hafta buy you about ten Plan Bs.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Princess treatment

“...my w-wife.”

“Yes, Ken–?” You’re cooing in a low, honeyed tone - the exact type that makes your towering husband bite back a primal snarl. Gasping. Heaving.

Your hands tighten on the fringe of his work desk, splayed out on top of so many documents like a slut. You’re about to ask again before-

“My…wife.” Nanami’s handsome jaw shuts with a sharp click! rasping grunts threatening to escape his stern lips as if he couldn’t even control them. He loosens his silky yellow tie still on, “I-I can’t- oh…my god. M’gonna marry you- m’gonna marry you.” Trying - yearning for some semblance of control before the blushing hot cap of his cockhead skims your slicked entrance once more and he’s shivering all over again, “The- the condom- broke.”

And the way your pretty mouth falls into a sweet oh! only makes that clingy rubber crack open even further, completely useless against the way that his pounding length was endlessly growing. Bigger. Thicker.

So many copious bloated inches stiffening up until the ridges n’ puffy veins on his cock rip past even the stretchiest condom - your husband grew so big.

Sensually, your hot fluttering insides squeeze around him just once more and it’s enough for Nanami’s forehead to fall into the crook of your neck with a groan. Sweaty blond bangs gluing to your feverish skin, “Don’t- don’t do that, my love- I hafta pull out…hafta- new condom.”

But for every slimy inch that he was squeezing out of your tight pussy, Nanami was stirring in two more. Chasing the slippery smooch of your raw cunt slurping his rummaging length, enough to drive the man mad.

“Well, you don’t have to.” You’re piping up, knees weakening at the way his strawberry divot squelches out an excited lil’ wad of pre at the notion.

And he’s wasting no time scooping up a clingy hold on your hips, supporting your weight until the globes of your ass were swung almost midair as he pounded you into his frigid desk. “You- you just said–” Guttural, generous lungfuls of air being intaken to help him secure his breath, following every plap after plap after plap. “-you want me to- ohhhh–”

It’s as if his intelligent mind was clouding over after even a glimpse downwards at the way your raw folds were glossing out such a thick frothing of slick all down his girth. Stuffed to the brim and throbbing as his ringed finger pries apart your glittery folds to see - just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

You’re so wet that it’s splattering everywhere, and he easily slides out the now-useless condom in-between sloppy slams. Muttering to himself as if in disbelief, “Really…really want it raw- fuck!”

“Ken- mmpf–!”

And just as soon as Nanami’s fully barreling cock sheaths fully rawly inside of you, your husband’s pinning you laid flat on top of the desk - hiccuping, flinching, simply taking a second to let his thick, veiny shaft draaaag around your dripping wet cunt.

“O-oh.” You’re feeling his meaty thighs kissed behind your own shiver once the dribbling orifice homed on top of his cockhead pushes a deep crater into your spongy cervix. A slurring slew of swears leaves him, gasping. “You– m’really gonna m-marry you, darlin’.”

“Kentooo–” Your hips lurch up n’ down whilst he remains sluggishly unmoving, as if he couldn’t bring himself to unless he wanted to snap. Struggling to push onto your elbows with the way the sheer stretch had you dizzy, it’s like he was impaling you sinfully. “-we a-already married. Fuck- need you to move- please-”

“A-already married?”

In disbelief, his molten eyes flit from the matching wedding rings on your fingers to the way you were adorably whining and begging for his cock.

And he feels his mouth water-

“S-so we’re…married.” Words coming out dry, harsh. But there was something so darkly sexy in his usually-gentle tone that it made your adhesive-like walls clench- “Fuck! Don’t-”

Before you know it - before even Nanami seems to know it - that speckled tie dangling from his neck finds its way wrapped around your wrists, tight. The ends of his thick fingertips holding onto the restraint and tugging you bodily, “Don’t move- don’t you dare– fuuuuck I could cum from just that. I-if you want it raw, you needa hah- behave, my love.”

Honestly, he could’ve cum just from the way your sugary insides were pulsing around him. Just from the way you were so gorgeous underneath him like this.

You’re whimpering, eyes slithering to the dark depths of your head when his mazing divot probes ‘round your tender innards. Tugging on the tie, “Ken- S’sooo good, Ken–”

“Shhhh shh sh, I know I know–” And you swear he seems to grow even bigger at the velvety springs of slick leaking out of you, pulling your walls so taut that you could almost scream. The snaking patterns of his veins dig even further into your sweet spots, thicker. Bigger.

Fuck- was Nanami getting even harder. Throbbing and throbbing every ounce of blood in his body, his temperature was just as feverish as his pace now that he didn’t have that damn rubber anymore.

“O-oh…my god.” A shrilling wail seems to break out from your lips, speckles of saliva glossing your chin as they flap stupidly. “You got- you got even b-bigger, Ken–”

His plowing circumference snags on your rubbery hole, and he’s thumbing down between your sleek slick to help himself sink into your pretty cunt. “Lemme do a-all the work my…my wife.” You watch in awe as Nanami’s face breaks out into a dopey, pussydrunk grin at those very words. “My wife- my wife my wife my wife– such a filthy pussy you have.”

“Wh-what if it gets too big-”

With a thunderous bang! one of Nanami’s thick, muscular thighs comes striking on top of the flat plane of the desk.

Angling his stubby mushroom tip to poke the target of your g-spot like a dartboard, his wobbly lips graze your temple with a hum. “Take it- all you h-have to do is take it.” You’re keening with every mercilessly bludgeoning whack planted towards the very back of your pussy, “Follow my finger-”

“H-huh–” Flapping open your heavy, tear-dampened lashes, you’re following the lines that Nanami begins to draw straightly down your tummy.

All the way from the fat of your pussymound n’ up, up, up to where his bottomed-out length was pushing a circular bruise deeply into your cervix. Back and forth.

“Uuuuup n’ down-”

And it was just as much to make him hold onto his rationality just as much as it was for you, “U-up and down.”

“Yeah? Yeahhhh–?” Nanami coos down at you, the edges of his plump lips twisting into such a sleazy smirk. And right now you were too dumb to even realize if he was pulsating even fatter, “S’not too big hah- now, huh? Look at you taking it like a champ- like my ngh- wife.”

Every uncovered pummel made his body tremble— but the only problem was that he couldn’t stop his foggy glasses from slipping. Hands reaching up to push and push, but he was so pussydrunk that he missed.

“Kentooo–” His dumbifying pace coaxed a few carnal mewls out of you, shakily nudging your husband’s glasses to their rightful position so that he could gaze greedily down at you.

The way your back arched off of the now-moistened desk into the perfect curvature, hips rutting–

“Oh.” Nanami’s sudden, harrowed gasp makes you still - almost. Before he’s scrambling a free hand to dangle off of your slamming flesh and manhandle you back into your swervin’ gyrations, genuinely asking. “Y-you’re my wife- but are you the hah- mother of my kids, yet, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Maxxximum

You’re whimpering as soon as Geto’s thickly padded fingertips descend down to your slobbering slit, thumb and index softly caressing it with a coo. “Awww she wants more, pretty pussy—” Before pinching—

“Fuh-fuck–!” Your head throws back and lands directly on top of his sharp collarbone, body writhing in this filthy full nelson he’d manhandled you into. Was pinning you down into- “Suguru- Sugu- don’t care about the condom, just put it iiiin–”

“Oh, you slut.” He’s mocking a hollow breath, curling his left hand ‘round your waist to glissade your back down his sweat-streaked core. Geto’s broad chest vibrates as he tuts, “And after you said that it was ‘t-t-too much–’”

Truly, he was so mean.

And the only thing meaner than Geto was the way he fucked - striking, vicious rams inside your dripping wet pussy that not even a condom could handle. It’d only taken a few merciless pounds into the deepest, goopiest depths of your cunt until he’d torn it clean through.

Needily, you’re edging your squirming hips further down his toned body. Hiccuping at every bumpy ridge of his abs as you inclined closer to the heated, throbbing length between his long legs–

“Whoops- upsy daisy.” He’s muttering smugly to himself as he draaaaags you back up to where you’d been splayed out all prettily, accidentally bucking upwards so that his crowned, cherry-red tip scrapes straight down your pussylips- fuck.

Gasping, rutting– and it’s all that Geto Suguru can do to try and force out a crazed little titter to try and save his cocky act. “W-well.” Throat dry, he’s never been more thankful that your beautiful eyes were too dazed to catch onto his angry blush. “Since you’re sooo desperate, gorgeous- beg.”

“P-please.”

Aligning the silver orb of his Prince Albert’s to give your flooded entrance a welcoming kiss, frigid and sinful. “More. Tell me you wan’ it raw.”

“Please, Sugu–” Your dewy lips flap desperately at the feeling of that metal piercing decorating the tip-top crown of his bloated cockhead, slick with so many numerous layers of glittering pre that splat! splat! splattered! down onto your pussymound. Your widened, shiny eyes turn to him, “J-just want you raw.”

Oh. Geto Suguru hadn’t even stopped to consider this being his first feeling of your cute cunt without a condom before he’s sinking in.

Slow, aching glides just to fit past that tightly ‘rounded entrance of yours and- shit, were you always this fucking tight?

“S-so soft…” He’s breathing out into your ear without realizing, the rounded curve of his ballsack flinching tenderly at the gummy feeling of your walls hugging him. Before he’d even realized, Geto was fucking addicted.

He was salivating at the feeling of your velvety walls dripping goblets of slick down his veins, long raven lashes fluttering. Almost in disbelief - “So sweet-” And then your sweltering hot insides squeeze and– “So….”

Geto doesn’t even have the words to describe - doesn’t even have the brainpower.

Only scrambling his tense fingertips urgently down to your pulsating damp clit and pinching- “C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon-” Gnawing down on his plush lower lip, “Squeeze me a-again, gorgeous–”

“O-oh my god…Suguru.”

Head dazed and heavy, the only thing that gives you some semblance of clearance is the splashing speckles of something wet sprinkling against your cheek. Oozing. And only after lifting your head from the musky nape of Geto’s neck do you realize that he was slobbering. A thin line of spit that hung off of the rosy-pink edges of his lips.

Gasping, “A-are you drooling?”

Fuck- was he? Nose wrinkling in almost-endearing fury, Geto’s nudging your jaw agape to scoop up his excess saliva and spit. Missing.

So dazed right now that he’s splattering about half of the webbed wad beside the unfastened corners of your mouth. A shimmering sheen that he can’t help but crane his head over to kiss away–

“S-so fuckin’ what?” Geto growls from the hoarse back of his throat, punishing your pussy with those signature rude thrusts of his. The ridges of his v-line scratch brandingly into the base of your spine, his thick thighs parting as he bludgeons his achy, sagging cock deeper. “Who’s fuckin’ idea were haaa condoms anyway? Looks so much prettier droolin’ over me l-like this. So much sweeter–”

He was so big that even the tiniest of gyrations had Geto reaching spots you didn’t even know existed, the circular decoration of his piercing acting like a spotlight mazing past every glutinous wall. Striking your g-spot dead on- “S-so much chattier.”

And he wasn’t just talking about those sweetly wailing sobs being torn out of you with every hammering thrust- no.

Your perfect pussy was just as talkative, even more so now that he was rubberless - every slippery sliiiide slurring out the wettest, loudest songs of squelches that make Geto’s ears burn red.

You’re twistin’ and turning with every slap! of his breeder balls skin-to-skin with the treacly base of your cunt, babbling. “Sugu- fuck- Suguru—”

Tugging on one of his long, inky locks that makes him let out a soft oi! He’s squeezing his prolonged, manicured digits around your clit and draaaagging in return.

Grumbling from behind, “H-honestly- s’that all you know to say?” Though, he doesn’t sound the tiniest bit upset, “Ya can’t talk or you just hah- want her to?” Another pinch on your knobbled clit, another squeeze that makes Geto groan your name like a prayer. Sluuuurping, “Talkative girl- might as well let her make the speeches for the association instead o’ me.”

Hit after precise hit, the globular curve of his tip was spearheading you to the maximum.

And Geto’s only growing more animalistic, more drunken – bottoming out till his strawberry-flavored orifice digs into your cervix and he’s forced to bite down on your shoulder to keep from whimpering.

“S-speaking of-” The warble in his baritone voice made your heart race, Geto’s bloated cock giving a sultry lil’ ba-dump–! that you feel all the way in your throat. He whispers scratchily into your ear, “I hear the association has a meeting in here soon…”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Hey, emo boy!

“M’gonna put it in now, baby—” Choso’s breezy summer breaths fan your face, and the cute mahogany eyes he looks down at you with are sparkling. “M’gonna…”

Pushing apart your jittery legs with a slow sluuuurp–! emanating from your sap-glued folds, you’re watching with a coo as he furiously fists his angrily swollen cock at simply the sight of you. Hips bucking into his hand, condom stretching with every growing inch he’s filling out–

“S’gonna be a bit of a hngh- stretch.” He’s gulping, and the scent of his vanilla cologne wafts through your senses as Choso slouches in close. So close. An open palm resting on the mound of your pussy, “S’gonna be- oh.”

He’s not just gasping, he’s heaving.

Lurching back his strong hips, Choso’s rosy lips gape at the singular line of glistening slick that connects his bawling divot to your hole. Winking and just as needy as he is.

“Cho– are you okay, baby?”

A full-bodied shiver running viscerally throughout his limbs, your poor boyfriend grits down on the soft insides of his cheek hard enough to taste iron– “Baby–” He’s strangling out through a honeyed syrup watering his tastebuds, “-baby i-it broke.”

Your mouth drops into a perfectly sweet ‘o’ once you’re taking a look downwards for yourself, the sprayed sheen from between your inner thighs smearing against each other as you clench. “Aww, you pulled it too far down, Cho–” And before he can open his mouth with a few desperate apologies, you’re plowing on- “But, I don’t really mind…”

Choso pinches himself once, twice– he pinches himself five times already until his veined forearm was red n’ raw just to make sure that this was real life.

The very same pinkish flush that was capping the top of his glistening globed tip, streaming out such thick wads of pre that were now beginning to plug up your quivering entrance.

“Choso?”

“Fuh-fuck–!” The fattened pad of his thumb comes collapsing down to cover the sobbing orifice homed at the end of his heavy, throbbing cock. So hard now that his length was beginning to sag n’ spank down on your bloated pussylips with a wettened thwack! “M’sorry- sorry I hafta- or else I’ll cum.”

“I don’t mind.” Ohhhh, Choso had half the mind to plant his ringed fingers over your mouth and make you stop him from losing it. “Wan’ it inside though, baby.”

“I-inside.” Comes out his echoing repetition, hazed peripherals falling to and fro from your needy expression to the way his cherry-red shaft lay sandwiched between your leaking folds.

Ba-dump–! Ba-dump–! Ba-dump–! Right where your perked clit was jolting in carnal tandem with his girth. Fat and aching for but the tiniest touch that it’s almost as if on autopilot that he’s tearing off the rest of that useless condom and letting his sensitive underside sliiiiide–

“O-oh shit.” Choso’s groaning out, half-blindly guiding one of your hands to latch onto his damp locks so that you could pull— stopping himself from throwing his head back because all he wanted to look at was you, you, you.

“Easy there- easy now, Cho.” You hum, the lecherous grin twisting your lips ever-growing once he’s squeezing and squeezing his curvaceous head just past your entrance - sensually.

Ragged, mindless thrusts that fit his wide length inside - Choso was just so big that only a singular plump inch inside and you’re damn near being driven mad.

And that’s exactly all that it takes - an inch.

An inch stuffed inside of your velvety, plush cunt before Choso snaps his hips and cums. Over. And over. And over. In thick, saccharine ribbons that dollop down the sides of your channel and stir like a slushy every time he’s swivelin’ his pointed tip into your softest innards.

“Shit- shit shit shit I can’t believe I-”

“No need to be hngh! shy.”

“But I-”

“I-insiiiide-” Your arms wrap around his neck and crash an open-mouth kiss that he whimpers into, sharpened canines nibbling on your bottom lip like a candied gum. Hollow, rasping breaths every time he’s fucking and fucking his pounding cock. “All- all inside- fuck–”

And then your rubbery ring of muscle snags on one of his slimily scraping veins and tightens– “N-now tha’s just unfair.” He hiccups, dark eyeliner smearing with every gulping sluuuuurp your winking pussy milks out. “-sh-she feels like heaven.”

You’re flinching as one of his sensory tips scrape the milky outer edges of your sloped pussy, puddling a glutinous few cobwebs of seed that he promptly glides across your lips like a staining ivory gloss. Kissing you.

“So soft. So…warm w-with my cum–” He’s drawling out, feverish forehead hitting yours with a dull thud. Choso’s boring dead-on into your hazily dilated pupils as his orifice constantly pumps out sploshes of sappy cum, “Think m’gonna m-marry her hngh- you. Her. You.”

“You’re too cute, baby–” You’re huffing n’ puffing with every pap! of his humid v-line stinging the base of your dripping cunt.

And Choso might have been sweet, but the way he was fucking you into the mattress was definitely not. Anything but.

Brows furrowed, nerves on his neck popping, snarling his teeth like an animal— he’s gnawing down on the globes of your shoulder and drilling his swollen length into you like he was crazed. Feral. Your treasure trove of honeyed spots being upturned like never before, even when Choso was bludgeoning his hips back at the recoil you could still feel his probin’ circular bruises.

“Yours–” He’s punctuating his pants with a sharp gust of that particular word, like a mantra. Warm globules of drool and eyeliner seeping into your skin, “Yours yours yours- yours.”

You’re whimpering at the chilling drag of his pierced tongue swabbing down your bottom lip, “H-haaa, baby– cum in me once m-more, m’kaaaay–?”

“P-pinch me.”

With a questioning glint in your gaze, you’re pinching Choso and watching as he all but melts at the pinpricking pain. So he wasn’t dreaming.

Collapsing his hefty bodyweight on top of yours until the bumps of his washboard abs kept on glissadin’ down your front, moaning. “S-so it’s real. It’s real.”

Hiccuping, trembling.

“M’gonna cum- gonna c-cum alllll for you now, baby—” He’s hissing through gleaming clenched teeth, and something in his voice shakes. Pitches octaves higher, “M’gonna cum- c-cum until you can’t- even- fit- it- and- and in return…”

Pound after pound after pound and yet Choso still finds the time to tenderly cradle your dominant hand and curl it possessively around his neck. Groaning, “-choke me.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - MILKYWAY?!

“Shit- shit, look at the mess you’re making.”

More like the mess that Sukuna himself was making - all in thick, clumpy ribbons of cum that poured from the crevice of your pussylips. It made such a saturated lil’ puddle on his cursed pair of lips, licking and grinning at the way your poor pussy couldn’t keep up with his sheer loads.

And, clearly, those puny human condoms couldn’t either.

“Keh– don’t need this shit anyway.” He’s scattering away the shattered remnants of rubber, holding your pretty hips hovering up in their cute lil’ reverse cowgirl as he watched you driiiiiip–

“R-raw, Kuna?” Your whimpering wails ring over the sultry squelches of his second tongue sliding up n’ down your puffy bloated folds. Every dragging movement of his globular tip making you flinch oh-so-adorably on top of his sculptured hips. “Can you even handle it?”

A thorough spank! on the globes of your ass leaves you whimpering instead, Sukuna’s snickers bellowing out. “Who’d you think yer talking to?”

“W-well if I get pregnant, I want a hngh- daughter though-”

“Tch- daughter or son, you’ll get my hah- heir, brat.”

Precariously, you’re being jostled on top of him as he slouches back on his royal bed, third and fourth hands thumbing at your soppily glued-together folds and watching as their smeeeear with milky cum.

A sploshing trail of it follows from the inner parts of Sukuna’s thick thighs to right where his dual raw mushroom tips were swabbing your sloppy entrance. Just the slightest smooch of his feverish, sensitive shaft slits leaves the king hissing– “N’ you’re gonna take it all like a good girl, mama.”

And oh- oh, fuck.

Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t prepared for this.

For the way your velvety folds pry apart and swallow him like your pretty pussy was starving. Rummaging length being bustled deeper n’ deeper, you were so fucking hot inside that he’s fighting not to let his crimson eyes sprint to the back of his head.

“O-oh you’re–” And Sukuna’s gruff baritone cracks; no matter how much he’s clearing his throat, it’s holed with so many voice breaks that you’re turning your head ‘round and smirking.

“Did you just-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He’s burning, feverish.

Another stinging slap and a few skitters of cursed energy flow through your body - like the lecherous brush of his bawling, swollen cocks was enough for him to be losing control over his own powers.

“S-so this is what this pretty lil’ cunt feels like- hah-” With a solid plunge, he’s spearheading those plump, split-ended heads until they mark two fat circles on your sponged cervix.

Your fluttering folds peck his coral-pink happy trail, tastebuds simmering with what felt like the savory taste of him - bottoming out, and Sukuna finds his devilish eyes fucking welling with tears. Head tumbling back because you were so soft and warm and tight. So, so tight–

“Tight, huh?” Did he even realize he was babbling all this out loud? Your lip-slicked lips struggle not to wobble into a dumbified pout, pupils wandering the whites of your eyes in circles every time his silky girths brushed up against you and each other and you–

With a grouchy grumble, Sukuna’s planting another solid thwack! of his monstrously large fingertips on your right asscheek - or, at least, he tries to.

Oh, does he try.

The roughened plane of his palm coming down - missing. Hips instead bucking upwards with three repeated whacks into the bottom of your pussy, he’s caressing the slurping lips of your bulging cunt instead with an almost whine– “K-know your hck! place, human.”

Almost whining.

The lecherous ends of his second tongue slither around the sheeny insides of your thighs and start to toy lil’ hearts on top of your perked clit. Leaving Sukuna to ram, leaving Sukuna to gasp– “You’re never gettin’ off easy after this- oh, you’re never getting off easy.”

“Wh-what do you…” Your stupidly saliva-filled mouth goes completely dry at the look of complete and utter raw need on his face.

Eyes struggling to bat open, mouth glittery with spit, nostrils flared once he’s punishing the insides of your dripping wet cunt one slam. Two. Three. “Gonna hafta let m f-feel this ngh cute cunt allllll the fuckin’ time now, mama.” He’s croaking out through ragged bursts of breath, latched so deeply on your hips that he was clawing at you now. “Gonna hafta- feel her- breed her.”

“You- you already are–” You’re crying out at the jiggling cylindrical bulge being furiously fucked into your tummy, Sukuna’s barreling lengths pinpointing parts of you you didn’t even know existed with his swashing webs of cum.

Over and over.

“You think this is me heh- breeding you, brat?” Glowing crimson eyes widen at you, feral. “This- no no no no- this s’me fucking you–” He’s creeping up a vice-like hold on your perspired neck, keeping you from crawling away – keeping you hostage to every vicious plap! of his rugged v-line hips. Matching twin cockheads stirrin’ you from the inside out, “-twice.”

Filthy, filthy splotches of pre leave a mess that slips from your treacly slit. You were so wet that you’re practically sobbing steamy torrents of sap that glistens down his thighs, and Sukuna’s finding himself in fucking heaven.

“Ohhh m’gonna breed ‘er-” He growls through his clenched teeth, abs tensing until the globes of your ass slipped over the ends of every ridge. “Breed her every day- every h-hour-”

Your body jerks at the sweltering hot gusts of his pants striking you from behind, attempting to keep up with his vulgar, vulgar pace. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuuuck. Dunno if I’ll last, Kuna–”

“Cum-” And the curling corners of his grin slant with something predatory, murky pheromones leaving your brain hypnotically heady. “-the momma’s s’pposed ta cum if we want a baby.” He didn’t even believe in old wives’ tales, but the way you moved your hips made him so dumbstruck.

And you didn’t know who was faring worse - him or you once you’re letting him fuck you through your filthy high.

The sparks n’ waves of your orgasm crashing into you all at once, Sukuna’s dabbing your tenderized g-spot with so many hits upon hits. Milking your high, ravaging his naturally veined cock until every inch of him was raw n’ red - so pussydrunk that he doesn’t even realize he’s bulldozed into his own high until you register it first.

“Sukuna—” Your mouth dangles wetly open, breezing gales of gasps ripping from you with every weighty splat! of something wet and gooey at the back of your pussy. Double the probes to your g-spot, double the ribbony wires of seed sprinkling into you - he’s never using a condom ever again as far as you let him.

“O-oh, mama…”

And the king of curses was so mesmerized at the creamy frothing dripping out of you. Sticky, syrupy white that glues to the backs of your thighs and makes his second mouth water - so much so that he doesn’t even realize that he’d whimpered.

♡ INO TAKUMA - H.O.T.T.O.G.O.

“M’fucking you- I-I’m really fucking you-” The last word of that sentence ends up strained, scratchy and gone. “...raw.”

“Taku~”

“Fuck-” It was just too cute how Ino’s blushing cheeks just barely peeked from underneath his heavy, cotton ski mask. The humid fabric sticking to his heated skin as you swerved your hips in a slooow heart–

“Aww– c’mon now, Taku.” Your fingertips scratch down the sweat-matted tendrils of your best friend’s chestnut bangs, tugging - and it makes him let off the prettiest pitched groan. And the sinful noise itself is enough for you to slip yourself down just one more swollen inch, “No need to be shy—”

“B-but raw? Seriously?” Comes his answer, head throwing back into your satin pillows at your lecherous motion. And Ino’s hands are twitching - clawing at your hips as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to slow down or ride the utter soul out of him.

Traitorous hips arching off of the bed with a rickety creak–! he’s creeping his globed pink-tipped cock deeper past your softly saturated folds. Mumbling away, “F-friends don’t do this-”

“Well— d’you want me to stop, baby?” You’re scoffing, eyes flittering over to the golden foil you’d accidentally torn with your teeth. “Or, I could get another condom-”

“No.” And the answer is so sharp and hoarse that you’re both momentarily shocked - aroused. The temperature in the room rising about ten degrees, and Ino looks burning hot when his half-lidded eyes finally emerge from underneath his mask, “No.”

His slender fingerpads caving in to the curves of your hips, down. “N-no.” Ino’s gritting through clenched pearly whites as he’s grabbing a handful of your asscheeks and slamming you down. “No- no no no no- don’t move. Don’t-”

And fuck- you’re watching in awe as the realization hits him that he’s really, really inside you raw.

That heavenly gaze takes over his molten peripherals and turns them pure white with eye-curling bliss, strings of spittle departing with every babble. “Move- p-please move.”

Ino was so fucking looong that the outer parts of your thighs ached after every trawling drag from his burly base to his pink, dewy-tipped cockhead. Glossing your puffed-up pussylips over with a ribbon of creamy pre every time you bounced your hips vulgarly.

“You should haaaah– make up your m-mind, Taku—” You’re giggling smugly, watching as his pert mouth drops deeper and deeper into an adorable oh!

“S’your fault- r-raw.” Lilting baritone cracking ‘round that last word as if his melty mind couldn’t even think to say it just yet. He’s nibbling down on the insides of his cheek with a grunt, “Your fault y-your ohhh fuck- your pussy feels t-too good, pretty–”

Ino’s mahogany lashes flutter rapidly, blinking back shiny beads of tears at the sexy clenches n’ kisses of your gooey walls. Slouching further back, he gazes with labored breath as your parched cunt dribbles a sweltering rope of sap down one of his prominent veins. Dumbfounded.

In love.

“Wh-why does it feel so good–” One of his thumbs brush down to your sprinkling folds as if confirming the absence of a condom. Sure, he’s had practically no experience but this was heaven. Moaning throatily, “Wh-why. Shouldn’t feel this- it shouldn’t feel this…” You’re catching a hint of something unreadable in his eyes as he drifts his fiery gaze to you, “C-can you write my name, sweetness?”

And how could you not listen to that request?

Copping a solid handful of his battle-toned pecs, you’re balancing yourself enough to spell out a sloppy T-A-K-U-M-A with his barreling girth - weakened bedsprings singing as you do. The swirlin’ on those U’s especially poking his cream-capped crownhead into your favorite nooks and crannies.

Ino’s widened gaze glasses over as his muddled mind follows every letter and every squelching draaaaaag of his name.

Letting a few slimy veins skid directly into a clash with your g-spot and watching as you whine– “Oh….birthing hips” He gasps as if just coming to the realization.

“Birthing hips?” You’re cooing in amusement.

And Ino can only nod and nod and nod. Plunging his hips needily upwards to chase that engulfing snog of his ridged slit gliding along your silken insides. Soft. “Gonna make me lose it-” He’s gasping, free arm shooting up to curl around your neck and dragging you into a filthy, filthy French kiss.

“T-Taku mmm—” You’re blabbing out, stupid on the way his tufts of tawny hair rubbed up against your clit so deliciously.

“Gonna make me l-lose it–” And then you clench and Ino slobbers - he was fully fucked-out, gone. A blossoming blush taking over his body like a heatwave, silken locks heavy with perspiration until he had to just spy through them, cock twitching. “-gonna make me- oh…gonna m-make me…propose.”

Before you can even think of responding to his little confession, he’s summoning every existing ounce of strength in his body to clamber up onto his elbows. Glittering droplets of spit slipping from his puckered lips, “Need to pull out- need to, but…” And murked clouds of candied breath depart from his maw as soon as he readily opens, “-wan’ you t-to spit in my mouth, pretty.”

And you do - in a thick, viscid wad that glues mostly to the side of Ino’s mouth with the way he was fucking you so urgently. Hips drilling in a feral motion like he couldn’t bring himself to stop, to slow down.

You find your brows raising in intoxicated surprise as Ino startles out a shocked, drawling giggle– his husked tone veering octaves higher at times. “Y-you missed.”

“Hey- mmpf!”

A fat thumb comes to wipe off the driveling excess decorating the side of his face - before he’s stuffin’ it into your pouted maw before you can even think to complain about your target.

With his rummaging digit hooked inside your mouth, Ino drag-drag-draaaags you closer to him, his next few uttered words tickling the curve of your ear. “S-since you missed, I get to haaaa- cum inside now, sweetness. M’kay?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “It’ll work.”

“N-no it won’t.”

“Yes it will.”

“No it- fuck!” And you can’t even get irritated with your overeager boyfriend’s cursed energy for crushing those flimsy condoms before he’s fucking you stupid with exactly that–

Raspy breaths labored, neat crescent nails clawing onto your hips - Gojo’s slamming his slenderly toned hips into yours so hard that sparking bolts of blue lightning flicker from his skin onto yours.

“S-see–?” He’s cooing in a sultry smooth tone, one stray thumb catching on the saturated edges of your pussy and prying apart wiiiiide enough that he can glimpse the concentrated limitless wrapping ‘round his barrelling hard shaft. “S’working- h-heh, who needs fuckin’ condoms when you’ve got the ngh- strongest, sweetheart?”

“M’tell- telling you–” You’re struggling to puff out - to gasp.

“Yeees?”

“I-it’s not gonna- fuck–!” And Gojo - oh, he’s letting his hazed sapphire eyes circle with a ring of glowing power as his Six Eyes directs his spherical, sobbing tip precisely to your poor g-spot. Whack after sodden whack.

Gojo was so fucking big that every one of even his tiniest grinds was bound to leave wet lil’ smooches on your cervix. Winding patterns of sappy pre that sploshes into every crevice and cranny he’s stuffing his scalding, limitless-decorated length inside of.

Cocky hums breezing against the tender lobe of your right ear, “What was thaaat?” You’re whimpering once a pair of his pale, lengthy fingertips creep down to your pursed pussylips and pinches. “C’mon squeeze ‘er t-tighter f’me, my girl-”

“Y-you’re sooo—” You’re sobbing out, heels flinching into the plush padding of his shoulder muscles as he’s rovering a targeted hit to your bulging g-spot.

Until he’s sure you’ve memorized the exact rounded pinpoint of his divot, the exact shade of pretty pink nuzzling up to your delicate patch of nerves.

“What was that? Huuuuh–?” Gojo’s perfectly pearly white smile twitches into something almost dangerous, “C’mon- you can hah! do it.” Smoky breaths hitching with every cute squeeeeze of your carnally heated innards, he’s clenching your oversaturated folds snugger. “Tighter. Tighter.”

And that’s exactly what you do.

Just the noisiest, most lecherous hug of your silken soft walls all kissin’ all over his sheathed girth and Gojo finds himself flinching.

Long lashes flapping his watery eyes shut, handsome jaw ticking with a sudden tension, gasping- bucking. And you’re throwing your head back with a sob when the doughy fingerpads gripping onto your pussymound buzz with the power of leaking cursed energy.

As if Gojo wasn’t even in control anymore.

“Raw-” He’s strangling out - hoarse. Parched. “I’m- raw…”

“T-Toru, are you o- fuck.”

Your heart almost stops when the strongest finally lurches his head up at your announcement of that little nickname as if on primal instinct. Flinching. Heavy lids pulling open just the tiniest bit– and the look in his dilated, near-black told you that something in him had snapped.

That something in him was just about on the verge of racking up a kill count higher than the population right now.

Against the tiny inkling of rationality flashing red in your muddled mind, you’re breathing out, “Toru, are you alright?”

“Do I look alright, sweetheart?”

“D-did it work?”

Gojo’s movements are rapid, jerky as if he’s being strung along by some external force– and those glassy eyes fall upon where your sloppy hole was readily swallowing his every lollipop-red, raw inch. And then he startles out a shock of laughter– “Didn’t work.”

His limitless had faltered and now so was he.

Your skin goosebumps with concern at the air, lilting octaves in his voice. The way that he’s ramming a thoroughly rummaging strike to your gooey core that you seem to feel all the way in your lungs.

“D-didn’t work.” He’s giggling into your ear, the raw - raw - scrape of his orbed divot digging a translucent line of pre all the way down, down, down to your womb and leaving him hissing. “Didn’t work didn’t work didn’t work- didn’t work n’ I haaaah- don’t regret it one bit.”

“Y-you don’t?” You’re blubbering out, every sappy smudge of his veins across your g-spot was leaving you oh-so-stupid on his fat, veiny cock.

“Not- one- bit-” Every single word, every single syllable was punctuated with a thick, solid pillage of your gummy walls. Because now that Gojo Satoru had finally felt all of you - he couldn’t get enough. “Y-you’ve been holding out.”

Before you can even think to wonder what he meant, he’s sinfully leveraging those supernatural reflexes to swat down a few more digits on top of your dribbling cunt and spreeeead.

“Look at her- feel her. So soft, so wet-” Hiccuping, a tiny sob crackles at the clogged-up back of Gojo’s throat every time he’s running his rounded cockhead into you. Great glittering tears dangle from those snowy lashes of his, “S-so heavenly and- ohhhh you’ve been holding out my girl– look at you.”

You’re wrenching your dizzily circlin’ gaze open to watch as he’s splurging a few stringy wads of slick onto his fingers and letting it streeeetch slimily between them. “Y-you’re filthy-”

“O-oh right, no playing with food…”

Hah, as if.

Not even nanoseconds later you’re feeling the buzzing spank of those very same digits rolling over your needy clit simply throbbin’ away. You whimper once he’s twisting the delicate nub in his touch to write a pretty TORU~♡ right on top.

“Might just b-be my new hngh- obsession.” Gojo’s purring against your cheek as you writhe and whine underneath him so cutely, glittering eyes dead-set on you. Recording every detail. “Never gonna let you go now- ngh- gonna fuck you forever- gonna feel her- haaaah- you’re m-my girl, right?”

And you’re simply nodding and nodding and nodding as he’s cooing at you through every shuddering ram.

Right where his sculptured pelvis was riding against yours was now starting to burn bright red, the stinging impact seeping out such powerful waves of reverse cursed energy zapping through your body so that Gojo wouldn’t break you when his tempo got harder and harder–

“You’re gonna c-cum soon, sweetheart-” He’s choking in-between a gnawing kiss down on your syrupy tongue, feeling the way your scalding tastebuds water once you realize his Six Eyes was accurate.

Your cottony head throwing back uselessly into the decadent pillows with a wail, “Please- please, let me cum- Toru–”

“Gonna cum- gonna cum f’me.” He’s muttering underneath his breath, and through the teary cracks in your lids you can make out the way that Gojo was snarling. Eyes wide, dimples cratered, a sheer raw intensity to him that you’d only seen in battle before.

One of his knobbly-tipped indexes draws an invisible line halfway across your stomach, skin tingling wherever he caresses. “There.” Gulping, mouth dry, he’s battering your sloppy cunt with one-two-three more resounding hammers. “There.”

The euphoria that crashes into you is so strong that he’s displaying you with his big, beefy forearm to sink your teeth into and bite - hard enough that you’re tasting metal.

He’s shoveling quick, exact pounds that hit you right when your highs peak, multiple.

And it wasn’t just you cumming - it was your beloved Gojo, too.

Skin electric, eyes scrunched, the romantic lighting in your bedroom shattering and shooting out pieces of glass that bounce off of the limitless he’d cast over the two of you.

Hours and hours later you’ll be wondering why the entirety of Tokyo doesn’t have power, but for now you’re too amazed by the fact that Gojo didn’t even seem to realize he was cumming, almost like he couldn’t even stop now that he’d started.

Raw, he was finally filling you up just the way he’d been dreaming of for so long.

He’s only cooing at your marking gnaw as if it was a cute nibble, “Yeah- yeah take it.” Husking voice cracks bleeding out of him with every streaming spurt of seed that floods out like a waterfall inside of you. “Take it take it take it–”

So much that it splashes out of you and formulates a syrupy puddle that Gojo dips a few fingertips into and sucks. So much that your numb legs are thrashing with the dilemma to either run away or milk him for more, more more–

“No running.”

Gojo’s voice has dipped back into a stern bass as he’s announcing, curling his left- no, right? - your mind was so sweet n’ cotton-filled that you could barely even think anymore - palm ‘round your throat and draaaagging you back to scratch the tufted white curls at his base with your sprinkling pussy.

He’s craning down enough that his spit-stained lips tickle the shell of your right ear, “My S-Six Eyes says it didn’t take…” Another probin’ thrust, this time pumping his sickly honeyed web of cum right against the door to your womb, “-yet.”

A/N. Quick question- was my Gojo favoritism showing this time-

Plagiarism not authorized.

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catenary-chad · 7 months ago

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welp on a positive note someone local to me seems interested in cosplaying OLC Electra (they’d be Koffi Missah-toer short too since they’re 5’3 and that’ll be fun) which has me a lot more motivated to do Krupp since I’d also go the earlier London route with him. Might throw in some influence from the Wizard of Oz Winkie Guards since they’re a really cool design with similar vibes that sidestep any unintentional fascist parallels

#robot face paint would make him read more star wars but rip grey coat with puffy pants and uniform cap does not read chauffeur in the us #which has been my one qualm about cosplaying him lol

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kitten4sannie · 4 months ago

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ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜ

ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ ➠ ꜱᴀɴ

pairing: frat boy! san x fem! reader feat. yungi

genre: frat au, smut

summary: san and his boys are more than grateful when you help them with their newest ‘feature film.’

w.c: 3k

warnings: they’re making porn okay, nasty mean dom! san, subby aloof! reader, san knowingly takes advantage of reader’s romantic feelings for him…. (bro’s the king of douchebags), manipulation/corruption, reader is treated like a fuck doll <3, brief implied mxm bc i love fruity frat boys uwu, praise/false praise, name calling/degradation, major voyeurism/exhibitionism kink, mind break ig?, dp in one hole, oral (giving), brief hair pulling, throat-fucking, tit fucking, facial, rough sex, bulge kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia, gang bang !!, it’s all unprotected btw, multiple orgasms, creampies <33

a/n: this is so fucking insane you guys….like idk why frat aus have me in such a chokehold but here we are🧍🏻‍♀️also this is totally random (and essential) info but san’s signature frat party look would be a ‘don’t hate me it turns me on’ shirt and a backwards red cap hwjhw anyways happy reading~ and please lemme know if you liked it uwu

p.s: we’re at 6.5k followers HELLO???? that’s insane 🫣 thank you so very much!!!

song rec: i like the way you kiss me - artemas (✨ male manipulation: the song ✨)

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Smile for the camera, pretty girl,” San, the frat boy you’ve been in love with for ages, encouraged you from behind the lens of the camcorder he was holding, his smooth baritone voice like saccharine, artificial, yet sweet enough to keep you coming back for another taste. It was when you offered him a small, shy smile through the camera lense, despite the shamelessness of your current position, that he knew he had struck gold.

San was filming one of the first of many future encounters you would be having on the expansive black leather couch inside their crowded frat den. You were stuffed to the absolute brim by two of his closest colleagues, Yunho and Mingi, who always refused to participate unless they were working together as a duo.

“Stop looking at me like that, dude,” Mingi huffed up at Yunho from below the both of you, his shoulders and back routinely getting stuck to the couch with sweat.

“Like what?” Yunho scoffed back, leaning further down onto your body to get closer to Mingi, essentially folding you in half, his hands closing around your ankles.

“Like you wanna kiss me. You’re gonna make me soft.” Mingi grimaced, pushing Yunho’s hands out of the way to hold onto your ankles instead, driving himself into you like a well oiled machine. He was throbbing nonstop, but there was absolutely no proof that it was because of his friend’s heavy cock rubbing along his inside the cunt they were sharing.

Yunho’s breath hit your shoulder when he laughed. “Skill issue,” Yunho simply replied, delighted that Mingi bucked up into you even harder, encouraging him to do the same.

Clearly, there was something vaguely homoerotic going on there, but it wasn’t San’s business, and he definitely had better things to focus on — you, his newest pupil. He watched you with dollar signs in his bright brown eyes and the taste of cheap vodka on his tongue, unable to keep himself from licking repeatedly at his chapped lips, especially now that the innocent classmate he had recently taken a liking to had no problem taking two cocks at once inside her puffy, used cunt, while he, his bros, and his trusty camcorder had a front row seat to her mutually beneficial destruction.

“Look at you, so flexible…Are you sure you haven’t done this before, Y/N?” San teased, lowering the camera down until his sharp feline eyes were visible.

“N-no, I swear!” you squeaked out, the growing embarrassment you felt only spurring all of this newfound pleasure you were drunk on. “Just wanna, nnngh–be good for you…”

“Oh, that’s right. Silly me. You’re being a very good girl right now, baby, Don’t worry.” San couldn’t help but smile at the way you seemed to melt in front of him. It was just too easy. He glanced down at the camera, zooming in and capturing the moment his friends filled you up with their hot loads, the bliss evident on your fucked-out face. “That’s it, baby. Are you happy you stuck around here with us instead of going back to your dorm to do homework? Taking cock is much more fun, isn’t it, beautiful?”

“So much more fun,” you sighed out, your pupils blown out just from looking at his devastatingly handsome face. It was then that you pouted. You were only here because you were in love with San, and yet, it wasn’t even his dick inside you. It wasn’t fair. “But, I’d have even more fun with you, Sannie~”

“Is that so…?” San offered a brief shit-eating smirk to one of his boys nearby, reaching down to grab at himself through his sweatpants like he was weighing it. “It’s right here, baby. Why don’t you show us what that pretty mouth can do?”

Both Mingi and Yunho slowed down their thrusts, but didn’t completely pull out, choosing to leisurely fuck their cum back into you, as they fought to catch their breath.

“What a loser, cumming first like that,” Mingi insulted Yunho, licking at the saliva left on his lips.

“Your mom doesn’t have a problem with it,” Yunho chided back, reaching down past your body to smack his hand into the side of Mingi’s ass.

“Goddamn it, you guys, I’m gonna have to edit that gay shit out.” San brought a hand up to scratch at his head in frustration. “You know what, both of you, get out of my shot and sword fight somewhere else. I’m not doing this right now,” San grumbled, shooing the two panting men away from the couch they had just made a mess on.

“Bro acts like we don’t know about his late night tutoring sessions with Wooyoung,” Yunho whispered to Mingi, trying to stifle his laughter.

Mingi almost choked on his breath. “Don’t forget Yeosang. San doesn’t even take physics anymore, either. Yet, he still visits that nerd every Friday like clockwork.”

“Dude, aren’t they roommates?” Yunho cupped his hand around the side of his mouth, still using a hushed tone, “Do you think they run a train on–”

“Hey! Don’t make me haze the two of you again just for fun…” San warned from the center of the room, glaring daggers at the two men who went quiet almost immediately. His annoyance abruptly melted away once you gingerly reached up to pull his sweatpants down until the frat emblem that was stitched into the thigh pocket was no longer visible. It was when San smacked his heavy length down onto your face, that you let out a pornstar worthy moan. Cha-ching. “Oh, you like that? Hm? Want my cock?”

“Mm-hmm…” San’s cock slapped down onto your face a second time. You quickly squeezed your thighs together to keep yourself from cumming right then and there, biting back a moan all the while. You wondered if it was obvious how truly desperate you were for the man standing above. Fuck it. You were already here, so you might as well get what you came for. “Please, give it to me, Sannie, f-fuck my mouth.”

San could not believe his luck. His loyal fanbase would absolutely have a field day with this as soon as he uploaded it. He could already see the cash flowing in, and it made him rock hard. He sighed happily to himself, running his fingers through your hair, carefully tucking a few strands behind your ear. “It’s really true what they say…the shy ones are always the most slutty.”

*“I’m not a slut, I just–” you cut yourself off, not wanting to confess to San right before you were about to suck him off in front of his fraternity and whichever degenerate that would be watching it back later on. You pouted again, looking up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “I want to be useful to you, like a doll~”

“Did you hear that, everyone? Y/N here is a real life fuck doll. Let’s treat her as such,” San reminded his friends and housemates who couldn’t help but hover around the couch, a few of them sharing knowing smiles with one another.

Your heart began to thump away inside your chest, unable to believe that your long-time crush was giving you so much of his attention and affection. It was like a dream come true. As soon as your lips parted to take in a shaky breath, San tightened his grip around your hair, yanking you forward and stuffing your mouth full of cock. “Mmnnf…!”

Clutching the camera with one hand and the makeshift ponytail he created near the back of your head, San began thrusting sloppily into your open mouth, groaning at the slick sensation of your throat routinely closing around his moving cockhead. “Come on, doll, let me in, yeah? So Sannie can fuck your throat raw.”

San wasn’t lying. With each wet, rough thrust, he got closer and closer to doing what he promised you. “Mmmn…nnn…” You couldn’t tell if the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes were the result of San’s dizzying performance or the burning arousal you felt stirring inside your core simply from being watched by a room full of men you didn’t know.

“Aww, crying already, princess? I’ll give you something to really cry about when I’m breeding that slutty cunt of yours,” San chuckled darkly, his strong hips snapping relentlessly, his pace only beginning to falter once he saw your drool mixed with his pre-cum escaping past your chin and dripping down in between your tits, leaving your soiled skin with a shiny complexion. You looked like a true whore. It was going to make the frat leader bust any second. The borderline obsessive look you had inside your teary eyes didn’t help either. “Fuck, oh my god– Somebody take the goddamn camera!”

The youngest of the group fumbled to grab the camera, using his jacket sleeve to rub off the fingerprints he left behind on the lens, before lifting it up, capturing the exact moment San pulled out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and slid his cock along in between your glistening tits.

San turned to face the camera for a second, dimples flashing, squishing your tits in between his thick fingers as he fucked them. “See, you guys? This is how you use a doll to her maximum potential,” he explained as though he were a professor on their campus. “Just look at her face. She fuckin’ loves it.”

Instead of trying to focus on the camera, you gazed directly up at him, your cheeks warm to the touch, still love-struck, even when San’s load landed all over your face. You simply licked away what had landed on your lips, sucking the rest off the frat leader’s fingers once he so lovingly fed it to you.

San nodded his head in approval, patting yours in an effort to reward you for your hard work. “That’s a good girl…” He tilted his head to the side. “I wanna see what else our pretty doll can do. Sound good?”

“Really good,” you chimed, licking at your swollen lips, savoring San’s salty essence.

Wedding bells were ringing in the distance. You would do anything for San, and if that meant letting him treat you like an onahole and fuck you in any position he saw fit for the next hour, then you would happily oblige. By the time your knees gave out from cumming for the nth time, San had you in a full nelson in the middle of the couch, positioned behind you with his arms locked around your upper half, making sure your used body was on complete display.

“Sannie…gonna…cum…again,” you breathed out in between a few airy moans, your head feeling so heavy that you just let it hang for a second.

San repositioned himself so that he could clutch your chin, tilting it upwards. His free hand snaked around your waist, laying his palm flat on your tummy, suddenly driving his cock up into you so hard, you couldn’t even speak if you wanted to. “Hey, be a good slut and let them see what you look like when you’re cumming your brains out.”

You obediently gazed up at the blurry camera past your wet lashes, that is, until your eyes rolled back into your skull, only able to let out a choked gasp as you barreled over the edge of ecstasy. You didn’t have a chance to recover from the overwhelming pleasure, especially not when San pressed his hand down firmly onto the bulge his cock was routinely making inside your stomach. “P-please..! Sannie..!”

You want another load? Fuck, baby.” Groaning, San took a second to lick one of the tears that was rolling along your cheek before it dropped, his hips slamming against yours so quick, you were already developing bruises, ones that would accompany the bright red love bites scattered across your slick skin. He pressed his lips directly to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “You know, seeing you in class and on campus, putting on that innocent virgin act, I never would’ve pegged you for a cock hungry little slut, but everyone enjoys a good surprise every now and then…don’t they?”

“Yes–yes, yes, yes,” you chanted back, too cockdrunk to even fully process what San was saying, just focused on how full you felt, and how you needed more.

“Good, because I got a surprise for you too.” Grunting loudly, San lowered his hips and slammed them up into you one last time, holding your trembling body still, painting your pulsing walls white. “Now, say ‘thank you, Sannie.’”

“Thank you, Sannie.” You leaned your head back to nuzzle the side of his cheek, placing your hands over his, feeling him rubbing your lower stomach in small circles, his cock still fully sheathed inside you.

“Anytime, sugar.” San gave your hair a few strokes as a reward, before pulling out and climbing off of the couch. He took the camera back from the new guy and snapped his fingers at a few of the bricked up housemates standing nearby, pointing in your direction. “Now, show me what you’re really made of.” San gave you a charming, dimpled smile. “Make me proud, okay?”

As an eager group of half-naked strangers surrounded you on all sides of the couch, some of them reaching out to grope your warm body, you returned San’s smile, your heart skipping a beat or two. “I’ll give it my best just for you~”

Throughout the night, San, alongside his fraternity, conditioned you with care, meticulously molding you into their prime playtoy, one they enthusiastically passed around, easily making your tape one of the longest in their exclusive film collection. It wasn’t difficult, by any means. You were, of course, the perfect specimen: passive, pliant, and poisoned by the oxytocin that turned your brain into mush. You were a star.

Even when you were being used by more men than you could count, you couldn’t keep your attention off of Sannie, his handsome face only growing blurry when someone would make you gag on their cock, as you didn’t have the most experience with men of their size. You wanted San to yourself again, desperately wishing you could reach out for him instead of another stranger’s twitching erection — but you endured it all, falling further into the rabbit hole of pleasure for the sake of your whirlwind infatuation.

Everyone in the frat house deeply appreciated your dedication to their amateur film, especially San, who, by the end of it, secured the perfect spot to capture the finality of your desecration. Two of his older friends had just finished inside you, their spent cocks slipping out of your gaping hole and revealing the sticky mess they left behind.

Crouched down in front of the couch, San reached out past the camcorder to spread your puffy lips apart, each and every load you took over the past few hours now slowly spilling out onto his veined hand. “Look at this pretty cunt, you guys…so full of cum, it won’t stop coming out…” He panned up to your face with the camera, giving you a wicked smile from behind it. “You’ll be pregnant in no time, won’t you, doll? With whose baby, I wonder…”

After all that, you somehow managed to act shy, covering your flushed face, giving San heart eyes past your cum-stained, trembling fingers. “Hopefully yours…”

“Oh, princess.” San gently rubbed his fingers over your sore cunt and clit, his friends’ loads still dribbling out of you all the while. “I don’t think you realize how cute you’re being right now~ Almost like you didn’t just slut yourself out for everyone to see, huh? Mm, do you feel cute, Y/N?” San asked in a babying tone, as he slowly stood up and towered over you.

“You make me feel cute…” You nuzzled your cheek into the palm of San’s warm hand once he offered it to you, hoping you secured a spot inside his heart after all the hard work you put in. “I would keep going for you if I could still feel my legs.”

“Aww, there’s always next time, isn’t there?” he suggested slyly, rubbing away some leftover cum from your cheek before caressing the side of your face. “Do you have anything to say to our loyal fanbase, baby?”

“I love cock, especially yours, Sannie,” you slurred lovingly up at San, through the camera lens, licking your lips, mouth watering at the thought of being invited again to film another movie. “So give me a call, okay?”

“Oh, I will, believe me.” A smug laugh erupted from San’s puffed-out chest, as he aimed the camera at his pretty boy face for a second to announce, “Gentlemen, we’ve officially turned another good girl into a filthy fuckhole. If you’d like to watch the transformation happen in real time, feel free to stop by our frat. For a good price, we’ll even let some of you bastards have a go.” And with that, he shut the camcorder off and pushed it into the youngest member’s chest, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Fuck it, we might even give you a turn.”

The freshman choked on his spit. “R-really?”

“I’m feeling nice today.” San sighed, running his fingers through his sweaty bangs to fix them. When the young man just stood there drooling, the frat leader grimaced. “Upload this to all our sites ASAP, and don’t forget about our twitter page this time,” he demanded, rolling his eyes when he saw the cum stains the embarrassed student left behind on his pants. “And, for fuck’s sake, will you take care of that?”

As another member brought a can of beer over to San, the frat leader took it and cracked it open. “Can you believe that guy? He’s been here for, what, a month now? And he’s still creaming his pants like a virgin? Unbelievable.”

As you gingerly put your clothes back on, you watched San move around the frat to dab up his friends and clink their beer cans together in celebration of another successful shoot. You couldn’t help but let out a long, lovesick sigh. He would be yours one day. Until then, you would take what you could get, and of course, become a star.

fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @crazyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity

#ateez #ateez smut #choi san #san smut #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #kpop smut

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cuntphoric · 1 month ago

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a/n; this came to me in a nap

you and your husband are both half asleep, that much is clear, bleary eyed and puffy faced, stumbling over each other in the cramped bathroom as if it was a battlefield. the floor is cold under your feet - lucky him, wearing socks. the overhead light is way too bright, and he already has a smudge of toothpaste on his cheek like war paint. you’re squinting at your toothbrush, unscrewing the cap with one hand while holding it like a weapon with the other.

“no, i get the sink first” “you always get the sink first” “fastest wins”

and then it’s on. your hips knock into his as you fight for the faucet, giggling and elbowing him. the mirror fogs up from your breath. your arms are tangled, shoulders bumping as you both try to spit directly into the sink. toothpaste lands somewhere it shouldn’t. your knee hits the cabinet. it's nothing new.

“we’re gonna be so late” you manage between bursts of giggles, dragging your wrist across your chin.

he’s still brushing, foam stuck to his lip which looked like a small, terrible mustache, and he’s grinning like the little shit he is.

“worth it,” he sputtered out around his toothbrush.

he's worth more than anything.

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unhonest-iago · 2 years ago

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~Act VIII~

Techno found Fundy in an alley back to his old way of stealing. Hearing the new lead from the weasel, Fundy agreed to finish the job. Running down a set of stairs leading to the subway, running across the tracks to a lone cart. Opening the cart's door after seeing a sheep, horns appearing out of her hair. The duo observed an array of night howlers in separate rows of planters. 'So Tommy wasn't lying' Techno started.

'Looks like ol' Puffy's corner of the night howler market' Running to crouch under one of the planters when Puffy walked back in, placing a protective mask back on. The sheep hybrid picking up a container holding neon blue liquid proceeding to pour it into a contraption of plastic tubes overhead. Being pushed into a solid paintball. Techno & Fundy moved closer, now behind Puffy as it viewed a cork board showcasing all the afflicted animals overlaying a map of Zootopia. A phone rings in the distance.

'Cara here, what's the mark?'

'Cheetah, in savannah square, where? got it.' Neither Techno or Fundy were able to hear the other side of the conversation. Puffy loaded a paintball gun while speaking to the recipient. Taking apart the gun to fit into a briefcase, 'seriously? yea i can get over there fast, i can get 'em. Listen, i hit a tiny little otter from the window of a moving car.'

'i'll buzz you when it's done. or you'll see it on the news. y'know, whichever one comes first.' A knock on the door, 'hey Cara, open up!' Walking towards the door, ''alright Walter and Jessie are back so i'm leaving now' Puffy told the person on the other side before hanging up and placing the phone back into her pocket. Techno taking this as the perfect time to sneak out, going to grab the briefcase holding the gun. Fundy loosely trying to grasp him, 'hey, where are you going? get back here.'

'what are you doing? he'll see you. what are you looking at? whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it Carrot. Carrots,' the fox continuing to scream at a whisper, as to gain Techno's attention but not Puffy's. Puffy opened the door, remarking how her coffee should have extra foam before being locked out by Techno. 'OPEN UP'

Fundy taking this time to be the vocal minority, 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU JUST TRAPPED US IN HERE'

In a deadpan, 'we need to get this evidence to the ZPD,' quickly bringing him up to speed the impromptu plan. 'okay,' grabbing the briefcase, 'here it is, got it.' Running to the drivers area, Fundy warns Techno of a train barreling towards them while having to fight off a rhino. Techno spotting a lever to switch tracks, kicks the rhino to where they'd fall off, head flicking the switch. That and giving them a concussion at the same time. Fundy taking the turn too fast, grabs both himself and Techno out of the train before it blew up.

'maybe some of the evidence survived'

'we lost it all'

'yea, all except for this' Fundy holding up a silver briefcase.

'ooh Fundy, yes!' punching his shoulder. 'ow.'

#iago writes #not x reader #origins smp #osmp #osmpblr #fundy #technoblade #captain puffy #origins fundy #origins technoblade #zootopia au #pt. 8/9 #pt. 8 #cw caps #tw caps #it’s called a hustle sweetheart series

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fox-guardian · 3 months ago

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[ID: Drawings featuring a very sick Curly from Mouthwashing and also Jimmy. The first drawing shows him wrapped in a blanket, sweating and holding a steaming mug with a red and puffy face and teary eyes. He is unshaven and his hair is a mess. He is labelled "ill".

The second image is a comic showing Curly on a couch under a blanket with Jimmy in a nearby chair reading a newspaper.

Curly: uuuu.... my head huuuurts.... mmmmhuuuu.... Jimmy, lowering the paper: (all caps) Oh my god what the fuck do you want. Curly: no no it's fine I'm jus' complaining, I can take care of myse- Jimmy, standing up and leaning over to him, properly yelling: (all caps) I said what do you want, I'll get it for you. Curly, ducking and holding his head: oooowwww

The third image shows Curly on the couch again with his arm hanging off the edge, face still puffy and teary, with Jimmy on the floor next to him, leaning against the couch and looking at a thermometer.

Jimmy: You're lucky to have me here, you know. Curly: thangs jibby.... Jimmy: Yeah, yeah.

end ID]

~~~~

i'm sick so i'm making it curly's problem. feat jimmy.

#fg's art #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #comic #cursing #jimmy's the one that got him sick #giving these two my Ailments for fun teehee #also i don't have a headache but i do hate them generally so. making curly suffer with that as well #also drawing curly's face Like That is so fun lmao #sad beefcake with his puffy eyes and pouty mouth

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likesomeoneinlovee · 4 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐣𝐚𝐰

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: A frustration fueled Joel comes back from scouting with a very prominent issue.

Warnings: PORN NO PLOT. Teasing, thigh riding, throat-fucking, oral m!receiving, Joel calls himself daddy (my bad 😵‍💫), pussy & dick pronouns my absolute love.

A/N: this was all written within the span of an hour so my bad, this is what ovulation does to a bitch.

Home alone. For three whole hours.

Joel went out scouting.

Your eyes that whole time had been staring holes into the floral wallpaper of the flat, without much to do -or, more realistically without the man you’ve been thinking about doing all fuckin’ day. It was a draining experience. Your fingernails peeling up the flesh of your thighs as you sunk further, deeper into his living room couch. It smelled like him. The musky scent he wore all seeped into the upholster.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking once he had inserted the key made your ears perk, hours of listening to your own heartbeat the time you weren’t desperately trying to stimulate your accumulating thoughts about him. The touch, the feeling of his body that you’ve only felt one whole time in which you had never gotten it off your brain. Thick fingers running along the puffy, sopped folds of your pussy, stretching you. Running his free, spit slicked palm over and all the way down his cock to get himself ready. The feeling of his girth forcing into your hole.

You’d never forget.

The door would creak open before you locked onto him. A thick hand wrapped around one of the straps of his supply bag before he dropped it onto the ground next to the door, a long exasperated sigh escaping past his parted lips. Running thick fingers through the greying curls on his head.

“Fuck.”

Cursing, Joel would walk past you and to the kitchen, opening the first cupboard which to his luck had some booze in it. A stale, half empty bottle of said booze. Popping the cap off, taking a swig.

Finding it difficult to look away while the man did something as simple as drink, the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as the bready liquid moved down the pharynx.

Satisfied from the liquid quenching his thirst he walked back over to the couch, sitting down directly next to you, his thigh touching yours. Hadn’t been able to notice earlier whether it was the angle or how fast he walked through the house, his cock was writhing tightly against his jeans. Sunrays shone through the windows, curtains open. Yellow hued light outlining the bulge. Clearly he had been like this for a while. His worn palms running down his face.

Your lips parted, tongue tied by the sight. It was a test, surely.

With little-to-none resistance your hand reached out to place on his thigh, one of your fingers would stretch to touch the curve sticking out in his jeans, the pad of your index hardly applying any pressure before tracing his dick, watching it jump before you felt Joel’s hand grab your wrist.

“All day- All fuckin’ mornin’, baby.”

Fingers twisting over the skin on your arm, another twitch from his cock would draw in your attention. He’s been waiting.

“You didn’t have to come all the way back here. You have a hand.”

Stating as if there wasn’t a pool of your own slick in the middle of the lace underwear you had only dug through your drawer to find earlier in the day. On your mind all day was this very moment, you had been counting every tick from the clock as you waited for him to walk into the room and fuck your face.

“I swear to fuckin’—“

His legs spread open over the cushion, tapping his boot against the hardwood. Impatient.

To reiterate again, waiting all fucking day. Now with you here the thought of waiting another second had him struggling. Wearing loose boyshorts around your hips as you sat there he’d lean over you, hooking his finger to the hem before yanking them off those pretty legs. A palm he had placed on your low stomach now sliding til his hand was underneath the white, lace panties he oh-so-loved. His tall finger slipped past your clit, into your swollen slit. You’d mewl.

Soaked.

“Knew it.”

He yanked you onto his thigh, moving his hand down to your ass, squeezing, fat spilling between his fingers. Luckily his second hand had been lazily resting at his side now had a purpose, up your back and to the back of your head to hold onto your hair. His lips slamming into yours. No mercy behind the kiss.

Your hips began rolling at a quick pace, your cunt slowly coming un-covered with every thrust down into his jean clad thigh. His tall finger finding his way back to your hole beneath your underwear, tracing it with his thick digit. Pulling his lips back from yours with a wet smack.

“She’s fuckin’ droolin’.”

He’d drawl, to no avail you’d try to force that finger into you by a buck of your hips downward. Thus, he’d withdraw. A reward game, you’ll earn his fingers later.

One more long grind down into his thigh that’d surely serve you a friction burn later and you were off his leg. Dropping onto your knees in front of his lap. You’d swear you’ve only dreamt of being in a position like this. Your smaller hands started at his calves before resting on his thighs. His coffee eyes staring into yours.

He wouldn’t waste precious time now, unbuckling his belt to toss it away. Unzipping his jeans to shove them to his upper thighs, the last article of suffrage being his boxers, a dark wet spot painfully obvious on the grey cotton. He’d tug on the elastic that rimmed the top before tugging his briefs to his upper thighs, with the quick pull his cock sprung up slapping against his tummy.

His shaft was turning red. Tip pulsating. His thumb ran down to spread the bead of precum over him, laminating the dark pink bulb til’ it looked like glass. A flutter in your stomach at the sight.

“Stick your tongue out.” He’d just barely manage to groan.

Control now gained with his fingers wrapped around his base. Your knees now hitting the base of the couch, it was as close as you could get. Obeying the commands you opened your mouth, your pink, saliva slicken tongue sticking out.

His cock slapped against your tongue, driving it into your wet hole with his free hand as his other worked into your hair, his fingers forming an O around your thick locks as a makeshift hair tie. Though, you’d find this was better.

He was fuckin’ big. Even taking him into your pussy didn’t do him justice, only truly able to fit him halfway into your small mouth.

It wouldn’t be enough for him.

His hips would buck forward, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat. Involuntarily your throat would clench - teetering the lines of a gag and a spasm of your muscles. Though, your eyes began to gloss over.

The knot in your pelvis tightened while Joel craned his neck back against the back of the couch letting out a long, rough groan. Such a tough girl, he’d figure a few good thrusts wouldn’t be the thing that’d ruin you.

Another buck of his hips sent a wrack through his body, fucking his thick cock into your throat. Your drool dribbling down his shaft. Your eyes hadn’t unlocked with his own ‘less they were going to roll back into your skull with every hit to the very back of your tongue. A moan bubbled up from your tightened throat, vibrating up the thick length of his dick. You could taste how his vein would throb and pulsate against your cheek. No doubt he was close.

With your mouth managing to take every. Last. Inch. Of him so deeply. There was no way he could last.

Your own thighs would clench together as your eyes finally took a break from straining upwards to now clenching shut. Your juices collecting all in the middle of your panties. Your clit throbbing excruciatingly hard. You knew better than to touch yourself. Focusing and giving your body up to the task at hand.

Joel’s breaths turning into deep pants. His balls tightening, drawing up. Though he had a better idea than just cumming straight on the spot despite that just being the thing he’s been pining for all fucking day. Tugging on the hair falling between his fist he pulled your head back, his cock extruding from your mouth with an audible, wet ‘pop!’ sound. Glossy eyes gazed into his as his flickered down to his cock, jumping straight up once released from your mouth one big mess of his precum mixing with your salivation.

“Makin’ such a mess of him, huh?” He’d grunt. Completely gawked by the sight. “Such a fuckin’ mess of daddy’s cock.”

You could’ve sworn this man was giving your pussy a heartbeat.

Before you could give any sort of catty response his cock was shoved back into your mouth, giving you no time to readjust, to get used to the feeling of his burning tip knocking at the back of your throat. Managing by the grace of God to stowaway your gag reflex seemingly just for the evening. His pace slowing, beginning to get sloppy quicker. You’d have a lot to say if you didn’t have a mouthful. Though, deep down you knew that your unhealthily cock-drunk brain would be unable to formulate a coherent sentence. One with both sense and grace.

“Just. Like. That.” He punctuated.

Thrusting deeper til your nose was bobbing up and down against his pelvis. Nuzzling into the scent that came within the dense thicket of greying, wiry hairs. All curled around and crowing his base. You felt the thick vein that traveled all the way down the girth of his dick pulsate against your overstuffed cheek. A whine from you would only shake up his shaft. His tummy tightening up, hips spasming. Another violent thrust to the back of your tongue those built up tears to freely fall down your cheeks.

Again.

Sliding his cock from your lips to shove it back in again. Every time taking the split second to admire all that drool dripping down the line of his strained cock.

“Fuck! Baby—“ Absolutely strained.

He’d throw his head back, bumping it against the back of the couch as he let out a long, throaty moan. He pulled out of your mouth, the overused motion you’ve grown so very accustomed to, though this time your tongue stayed out, perfectly so as he was able to paint the pink muscle with hot, thick ropes of cum. Pumping his fist over his cock as ropes of semem shoot down your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. Painting his own perfect masterpiece on the fleshy canvas of your mouth.

Swallowing every last droplet as if it were liquid gold.

His stomach rose and fell heavily with each breath, his hand reached out to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your glossy bottom lip. Every. Last. Drop. Though, he just had to make sure.

“That’s what I like to see, babygirl.” He’d praise. Lazily tugging up his boxers so he could conceal his freshly mouth-fucked cock, concealing with another layer courtesy of his unzipped jeans. Sure, you finished him the fuck off but that didn’t mean he was gonna soften up anytime soon.

You’d just hardly make it back onto your trembling legs as you looked at him, panties slid to the side from unconsciously grinding against the cold, wooden floors. A droplet of that warm, glue-like slick trickling down your inner thigh once you stood up. Joel’s eyes followed the stray tear.

“Goddamn, baby. Lemme take care of that for you.”

That’s what you like to hear.

Standing up from the couch with a long grunt he’d lift you off of your feet, carrying you straight to his bed. Soon enough he’d be two knuckles deep into your aching pussy, giving you all that sweet pleasure you so deserved after earning it so fuckin’ well.

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ozarkthedog · 10 months ago

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𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠

summary: Logan fucks you with one of his cigars.

pairing: Logan Howlett x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. smut. object insertion -> unlit cigar. don't try this at home. wc: 509

an: welp, here i am, writing about object insertion once again. first time writing Logan despite pining for him since 2000. thanks to @missredherring for having no qualms about being fucked with a cigar. you're a real one.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬

Logan lands a heavy thumb on your clit and swirls the tiny button producing an excess of slick from your glistening sex. "Want 'er nice n' wet." He brazenly informs while puffing on a lit cigar nestled between his lips.

Earlier, he tempted you into his bedroom with a grin; you didn't notice the new box of cigars tucked under his arm. He softly commanded you to lie on his bed and to hold your legs apart.

"I wanna try somethin'."

You should've known how this would turn out when he stood between your thighs and brought one of the fresh cigars to his nose, smelling it like a predator catching whiff of wounded prey.

He teases the head of an uncapped cigar along your puffy, slick opening and slowly drags the blunt end up and down, making sure to gather as much sticky arousal as he can before pushing into your warmth. "There ya go, you can take it."

The pressure is noticeable as it glides across your velvet walls. The cigar is as thick as one of Logan's fingers and grazes all the right spots as he languidly fucks you with it. "Wanna taste ya all day long."

Your stomach cramps at the thought of how inappropriate it was to be fucked with such an object, not to mention the fact that Logan would be puffing away on your pussy soaked cigar in front of people.

"Come on, kid. Drench it." Logan commands, making your cunt clench hard as he rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and forces you to come with no chance of denial.

He husks immoral praise while he continues to thrust the cigar deeper, staining it with your arousal until you try to clamp your thighs together and push at his forearms, overwrought with mind-numbing bliss. "Logan, please," you whimper pitifully as your cunt beats in time with your heart.

He smirks before sliding the cigar from your heat, eliciting a soft, relieved groan from your chest. You watch in awe as he raises and inspects the cigar. It's effectively soaked, dripping with your creamy arousal, and the thought makes you lightheaded.

Logan plucks the old cigar he was puffing on from his mouth and eagerly replaces it with the one just inside you. He cuts the cigar cap with a butterfly blade he keeps stowed in his pocket before flicking his lighter; the foot sizzles, burning like the sun before he takes a few cautious drags and tongues the freshly sodded head. Earthy smoke swirls from his mouth as he leers down at you like a dragon fresh after a kill.

"Fuckin' delicious," he mutters. The words are garbled, barely coherent, over the cigar before he rolls it to the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

A weak laugh breezes out of your throat, and you shake your head with bewilderment before two brute hands catch you by surprise and wedge your knees apart. Logan splays your thighs wide open with a wicked smile.

"Got 9 more to go, bub."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #hugh jackman

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ijustwannabecool · 1 month ago

Text

Moments You Wish You Caught on Camera

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary... Six strangers. Six ordinary places. One unforgettable couple. This is a collection of short, cinematic glimpses into Max Verstappen’s life with the woman he’s loved since high school. Seen through the eyes of strangers who just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

A/N: Happy reading. I loved writing this piece and I hope to write more pieces like this, with Max and other drivers. You guys let me know who you wanna see next. As always enjoy it and have a beautiful day!!!

If you enjoy this story don't forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts and feedback.

---

The Pediatric Waiting Room

— Sofia, a tired new mom running on a lukewarm oat milk latte, not expecting to witness a world champion be a world-class dad.

It was 8:07 a.m., and Sofia was already regretting not canceling the appointment.

Her youngest had just started cutting teeth and had been up at 3:15, 4:52, and again at 6:01—each time with a cry like she was personally offended by the universe. Her toddler was whining for screen time, the diaper bag was short one essential wipe packet, and her phone had just died after playing Cocomelon on repeat.

The waiting room was mercifully empty. Cold, quiet, sterile. Just her, a too-small chair, and a little boy whose nose was running like a faucet.

Then the door creaked open, and in stepped someone she almost didn’t believe was real.

First, the man. Tall. Athletic. Messy hair tucked under a cap. Hoodie. Sweat shorts. That kind of effortless “I’ve got my shit together even though I definitely haven’t slept” vibe.

Then the baby carrier.

A tiny girl inside, swaddled in a soft floral blanket, a yellow pacifier in her rosebud mouth. Peaceful.

Then the toddler on his hip—grinning around a banana biscuit, curly hair tousled like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a Gap ad.

And then her.

The woman.

Clearly postpartum. Puffy eyes, leggings, nursing tank, hospital socks still peeking from her sneakers. Yet… radiant. And holding herself like she was used to being loved out loud.

Sofia couldn’t look away.

They settled into the opposite corner. The man gently set the baby carrier down first, then lowered the toddler into a seat with a whispered, “Remember our agreement? Sit quietly until snacks, yeah?”

The toddler gave a dramatic thumbs-up.

Y/N approached the check-in desk, voice low and melodic as she confirmed their appointment for baby girl’s six-week weight check.

Max—because now Sofia realized that’s who he was, Max Verstappen—leaned over the carrier, adjusting the pacifier and brushing a finger over the baby’s cheek. His hoodie bunched at the elbows, revealing the black-and-gray ink on his forearm.

“She’s still got those hiccups, huh?” he murmured to her, voice so soft that Sofia almost didn’t hear it.

“She’s just dramatic like you,” Y/N teased, returning to sit beside him.

“You say dramatic, I say expressive.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately, curling into his side.

Sofia turned her gaze back to her own child, who was gnawing on a toy giraffe like it owed him money, but she couldn’t help but steal glances at them.

There was a rhythm to them. An unspoken choreography. Max peeled open a pouch of applesauce, offered it to the toddler with practiced hands, and even remembered to wipe the crumbs off his chin without missing a beat.

Y/N shifted the baby, cooing when she stirred. “She’s getting fussy.”

Max was already unzipping the diaper bag. “Bottle?”

Y/N frowned. “Shit. I think I forgot it. I—” Her voice cracked with guilt. “I thought it was in the side pocket. I triple-checked. God, I’m so tired, Max.”

“Hey,” he cut in immediately, warm and gentle. “She’s fine. We’ve got options. We always do.”

“I didn’t bring a cover either,” she added quietly. “I’ll go feed her in the car.”

“No,” he said firmly, already pulling his hoodie over his head and handing it to her. “You stay here. We’re good right here.”

He used the hoodie to drape over her shoulder while she adjusted her top and helped the baby latch on.

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into her back. “You’re doing great.”

The room was still, silent, except for the suckling sounds and the cartoon jingle still stuck in Sofia’s head.

After a few minutes, Y/N whispered, “I just… I don’t know if she’s getting enough milk. She pulls off a lot. I think I messed up something with my supply.”

Max shook his head. “Babe. She’s got cheeks like brioche buns and arms like croissants. She’s fine.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, resting her head against his. “Croissants?”

“You heard me. That’s pure Dutch baby chub. I know quality carbs when I see them.”

When the nurse finally called them back, Max scooped up the toddler, hoisted the carrier with his free arm, and glanced at Y/N.

“You okay, mama?”

She nodded. “As long as you’re right here.”

He grinned. “Always.”

Sofia watched them go, still stunned by what she’d witnessed: a world champion who didn’t care about being recognized, a mom who looked like a goddess in leggings, and a love that looked like it was built on inside jokes, sleepless nights, and endless grace.

She pulled out her phone to text her husband:

"We’re trying skin-to-skin tonight. And also, maybe don’t complain when I forget wipes. Just tell me I’m doing great like Max Verstappen did.”

---

The Tiny Café in Tuscany

— Luca, travel writer, espresso enthusiast, and recently dumped romantic.

It was a sleepy café tucked on the corner of a side street in San Gimignano—one of those blink-and-you-miss-it places where the tiles were chipped, the espresso machine screamed like an old woman in a mood, and the overhead fan wobbled dangerously every time someone opened the door.

Luca had been coming here every morning for a week, hunched over his laptop, pretending to update his travel blog while actually stewing over a messy breakup with a man who said things like, “I need freedom” and “You’re too intense.”

It was on day five, as he swirled the last bitter sip of his third espresso and stared blankly at the same paragraph for the sixth time, that the door jingled behind him—and he looked up.

The couple didn’t match the usual tourist aesthetic. No clunky cameras, no loud American voices. Just a man in a navy hoodie and black shorts—tall, relaxed, with sun-kissed skin and a quiet sort of confidence. His hand rested lightly on the lower back of the woman beside him, who was wearing loose linen pants and a tank top tucked in with no effort but all the grace in the world.

They were talking softly in a strange blend of Dutch and English—Luca caught pieces of both as they approached the counter.

“No, Max,” she laughed, gently elbowing him. “You had two yesterday.”

He mock-pouted, a hint of an accent curling around his words. “That’s called balance. Two yesterday, one today. I’m growing.”

The barista, clearly familiar with them, didn’t even ask for names. Just smiled and went to work preparing their usual: two cappuccinos, one extra hot, and a slice of fig-and-honey tart.

They slid into the table directly in front of Luca—angled just enough that he could pretend to be focused on his screen while secretly watching them over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I had a dream last night you forgot our anniversary,” Y/N said as she took the first sip of her coffee. “You gave me socks.”

“Were they at least good socks?” Max asked, pretending to be offended.

“They had race cars on them.”

He grinned. “So… on brand. What’s the problem?”

“You told me they were on sale.”

Max placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Discounted love. Brutal.”

She leaned in, nudging her shoulder into his. “You know what’s worse? I still said thank you in the dream. Like a chump.”

“You’re a very polite chump.”

They laughed—quiet, unassuming, private laughter that made Luca feel like he was seeing something he wasn’t meant to.

He watched Max tear off a piece of tart and offer it to her on his fork. She opened her mouth with the same ease someone might accept a kiss.

The domesticity of it all—the comfort, the familiarity, the rightness—ached in Luca’s chest.

They weren’t checking their phones. They weren’t documenting the moment. They were just… being.

Max leaned his elbow on the table, fingers threading lazily through the ends of her hair as he spoke. “Do you remember that café in Bruges? The one with the green door?”

“The one where the waiter spilled a whole espresso in your lap?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, eyes soft. “I think that was the first time I realized I wanted this with you. All of it.”

She blinked, caught off-guard. “Because I laughed at you?”

“Because you didn’t care about the stain. You just said, ‘Well, now you match the chair.’ And I remember thinking… fuck, this is the person I want next to me when things go wrong.”

Y/N’s expression crumpled slightly with affection, her hand reaching to curl around his wrist. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t have the words then.”

Luca was still staring when Max glanced up, eyes locking with his for a brief second.

Not in a confrontational way. Just a knowing look. Like he knew Luca had heard everything. Like he didn’t mind, as long as it made someone believe in something again.

He turned back to Y/N, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You still get this little line here,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the corner of her eye. “Right before you cry. You’ve had it since we were seventeen.”

She swatted at him. “Stop making me sentimental, Verstappen.”

“I’m serious. It’s my favorite wrinkle.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wrinkle?”

“Expression line,” he corrected immediately, grinning like he was proud of himself.

They finished their cappuccinos slowly, not rushing, like they had all the time in the world.

And when they stood to leave, Max held the door for her—let her step out first like it was second nature—and tucked his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose without releasing her hand.

They disappeared around the corner.

Luca stared down at his blank document for a moment longer before finally typing:

“Sometimes love doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. Sometimes it just needs a morning, a fig tart, and someone who remembers your first wrinkle.”

And for the first time in days, he meant every word.

----

The School Fundraiser

— Camille, 27, first-year teacher, very overwhelmed, very underpaid, and absolutely not ready to witness Max Verstappen handing out juice boxes like a literal dad dream.

Camille had been teaching first grade for exactly four weeks and seventeen hours.

And she already knew that if one more parent tried to explain why their child didn’t need to follow “standardized discipline guidelines,” she would fake her own death and move to Spain.

The school fundraiser was supposed to be a “light lift,” according to her ever-optimistic vice principal.

Which was, apparently, a lie.

Because nothing about organizing a bake sale, a bouncy house, three food trucks, a dunk tank, a raffle, and a very temperamental face-painting volunteer felt light. Her hair was frizzing. Her shirt was stuck to her back. A juice box had exploded in her tote bag.

She was stress-sorting Capri Suns when she heard the murmurs.

“Is that…?”

“No way.”

“Wait, that is Max Verstappen.”

Camille looked up—half expecting it to be a false alarm or some dad who just looked like him. But no. It was him.

Walking across the school field in a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, sunglasses pushed back into his hair, a backpack slung over one shoulder… holding hands with his toddler.

Behind them was a woman holding a baby strapped to her chest in a linen wrap, her other hand gripping the shoulder of a little boy in a Lightning McQueen hat who was dancing along the pavement like the ground was lava.

They looked so normal. And yet, not.

Max squatted down to fix the toddler’s shoe, glancing up at his wife. “Did we bring sunscreen?”

Y/N patted her tote. “Already did them before we left.”

He nodded. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

The baby squirmed in the wrap, and Y/N bounced instinctively, her voice light. “You’d think we’d remember to bring the pacifier.”

Max reached into his pocket and pulled one out. “Already ahead of you.”

“God, marry me.”

He glanced up, deadpan. “We are married.”

She smiled. “Marry me again.”

They made their way to the games area, Max lifting the toddler up so he could see better. “Where to, kleine muis?”

The little boy pointed at the duck pond game with such confidence that Max saluted. “Duck game it is.”

Camille tried to focus on organizing the juice cooler, but her eyes kept trailing back to them—especially when they came to her table.

“Hi!” Y/N greeted. “Can we grab some waters?”

“Of course,” Camille replied, fumbling a little. “They’re… they’re cold-ish.”

“Honestly, cold-ish is perfect,” Y/N said with a warm smile. “We’ll take four.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think the kids will go straight for the soda?”

“They can try,” she said, already tucking the bottles into her tote.

Max turned to Camille with a grin. “Let me guess. First year?”

Camille blinked. “How did you…?”

“The look of despair. I had the same one during my first press conference.” He said.

She laughed despite herself. “I wasn’t aware that despair was that universal.”

“It is. But you’re doing great,” he added sincerely. “This all looks amazing.”

Y/N nodded, reaching into her wallet. “Can we donate directly to your class?”

Camille’s heart skipped. “Oh—you don’t have to—”

“We want to,” Y/N insisted gently, tucking a folded bill into the donation jar.

Camille glanced down after they walked away and nearly choked.

A hundred euros.

Who just casually dropped that into a fundraiser jar?

The answer: apparently Max Verstappen’s wife.

—

An hour later, Camille was managing the chaos near the dunk tank when she saw them again—this time sitting on a picnic blanket beneath the shade of a tree. The toddler was in Max’s lap, licking an orange popsicle with sticky fingers. Y/N was lying on her side, her baby curled up against her chest as she wiped her son's mouth with a napkin.

“Easy, liefje,” she murmured when he got too excited and nearly dropped it.

“He’s trying to break his own record,” Max said, biting into his own popsicle and wincing. “Brain freeze. Why do I do this to myself?”

Y/N chuckled, tucking her bare feet under his thigh. “Because you never learn.”

He looked at her for a second too long.

Then, with all the gentle devotion in the world, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I’m glad we came.”

She closed her eyes for a second, as if just letting herself feel the moment. “Me too.”

Camille tried not to stare. But it was like watching a scene from a movie that somehow escaped into the real world.

No drama. No noise. Just… partnership. Parenting. Love.

When the toddler reached up and touched Max’s cheek with a melting hand, Max just kissed his palm and said, “Sticky boy. My sticky boy.”

Camille went home that night and told her roommate, “Max Verstappen came to our fundraiser and made me believe in love again.”

And she wasn’t even exaggerating.

---

The Supermarket

— Zoë, 35, single, newly heartbroken, and very much just trying to buy oat milk and not cry in the produce section.

Zoë wasn’t in the mood to see anyone that day.

She’d cried in her car for twenty minutes in the parking lot, then sat scrolling through TikTok about “healing energy” while pretending she hadn’t just been ghosted by a man who once wrote her a poem about her freckles.

All she wanted was to get through her grocery list and be home before the sobbing resumed. The universe, however, had other plans.

Because as she turned into the snack aisle—debating between regular sea salt chips and the fancy truffle ones that cost way too much—she saw them.

Not in a tabloid. Not on TikTok.

In real life.

It was Max Verstappen.

Pushing a slightly scuffed shopping cart, baseball cap backwards, hoodie on, brows furrowed like he was solving a math equation instead of comparing two different brands of oat milk.

Next to him was a woman who could only be described as… anchored.

She didn’t look like a celebrity’s wife. She looked like someone who smelled like vanilla and fresh laundry. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. Her leggings had a juice stain near the knee. A toddler sat in the cart seat, happily munching on crackers.

And trailing behind them—barefoot inside Spider-Man crocs—was a little boy in a Red Bull jacket, holding a box of waffles like it was treasure.

“Did you write down whether it was the almond milk or oat milk that made her stomach weird?” Max asked, waving the carton slightly.

Y/N squinted at her notes app. “It just says ‘milk (weird tummy?)’ — which is completely useless. This is past-me setting us up for failure.”

Max sighed dramatically. “She’s going to be gassy for three days and we’ll never sleep again.”

“We never sleep anyway.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Zoë tried to duck behind a display of pretzels but ended up knocking a bag off the stack. It crinkled loudly. Mortifying.

Max glanced up — not with irritation, but mild curiosity — and when their eyes met, he gave her a small, polite smile. Then turned back to his wife like the world had narrowed back to just them.

“Do we have enough diapers?” Y/N asked.

“Define enough.”

“For two nights away and three ‘blowout emergencies.’”

Max tilted his head. “So… a hundred?”

“Give or take.”

He smirked and offered her the oat milk carton. “We’ll gamble. She’s had worse.”

Zoë followed them — not intentionally, just… coincidentally — into the produce section.

They were standing by the bananas when the toddler in the cart dropped her snack container and immediately began to whimper, tears bubbling up in her big blue eyes.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” Y/N cooed, reaching for it—but Max was faster.

He picked it up, brushed it off, and crouched so they were eye-level. “Hey, kleine prinses. Look—it’s back. Just a little floor spice. Builds immunity.”

The baby blinked at him, then gave a hiccupy giggle before popping a cracker into her mouth.

“You’re so weird,” Y/N said fondly, watching him rise.

“You married me,” he shot back, brushing his hands off on his sweats.

“And I’d do it again. But only if you promise to stop saying ‘floor spice’ in public.”

“I make no promises.”

The little boy—Ezra, they called him—was tugging at Y/N’s sleeve, holding out the waffle box.

“Can we get two? One for home and one for the car ride?”

Y/N crouched down, eyes level with his. “Do you promise not to eat them all before dinner again?”

“I pinky swear on Daddy’s racing helmet.”

Max gasped. “That’s legally binding. Now you have to behave.”

Ezra beamed as his mom kissed the top of his curls and stood back up.

They wandered past Zoë again near the bakery, Max now balancing a bouquet of tulips awkwardly in one hand.

“Who are those for?” Y/N asked, amused.

He shrugged, adjusting the flowers. “You. You’ve been in a mood lately and I like it when you smile.”

She blinked at him, stunned for a moment. “I’m not in a mood.”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m maybe…slightly overwhelmed.”

“You’re allowed. But flowers still help.”

They shared a look so full of unspoken history that Zoë had to look away.

Later, while unloading at self-checkout, Max gently peeled open the baby’s fruit pouch and helped Ezra scan his waffle box. Y/N was half-asleep on her feet, leaning against the cart as he gently nudged her shoulder.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll finish up and load it.”

“You sure?”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

She left with the kids, and Max packed the groceries methodically, organizing by category.

Zoë stood frozen in line behind him, cradling her oat milk and sadness like a broken promise.

And then Max turned, caught her staring again, and—once more—just smiled.

Not like a celebrity. Not like a man who thought he was better.

Just a tired dad, happy husband, and guy who clearly lived for the people who called him home.

As he walked out of the store with a bag in one hand and tulips in the other, Zoë opened her Notes app and typed something new.

“It’s not the big gestures. It’s someone remembering oat milk, wiping cracker crumbs off your mouth, and handing you tulips in aisle seven because they just want you to smile again.”

---

The Train Station

— Matteo, 19, pizza delivery guy, chain smoker, and hopeless romantic against his better judgment.

He didn’t mean to stare.

But the girl was crying, and the guy was arguing with a vending machine, and somehow both things were happening like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Matteo was sitting on a bench at the Eindhoven train station, waiting for the 3:15. He was sweaty, out of cigarettes, and coming off a breakup where his girlfriend said he was “emotionally dense” because he forgot their six-month anniversary.

Whatever.

He wasn’t eavesdropping. He just… noticed things.

Like how the girl in the jean jacket had smudged eyeliner and messy hair twisted into a bun with a pen. And how the guy in the Red Bull hoodie kept slapping the side of the vending machine like it had personally insulted him.

“You’re not eating M&Ms for lunch,” the girl said, sniffling.

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to eat them for comfort,” he muttered, still jabbing the buttons.

“You literally have a race tomorrow.”

Max turned, grinning. “And if I crash, I want to know I died with peanut chocolate in my bloodstream.”

“Max.”

He sighed like it physically pained him, turned, and held out his arms. “Okay, okay. Come here, crybaby.”

She glared at him but walked straight into his hug. He wrapped his arms around her like he’d done it a thousand times.

Matteo watched her melt instantly.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his chest.

“You’re allowed to be upset. Your parents were unfair.” He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “But I’m proud of you for coming anyway.”

She wiped her eyes. “I look disgusting.”

“You look like my future wife.”

Matteo blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

She shoved him lightly. “You’re such a liar.”

“Nope,” Max replied, tone light but his eyes serious. “I’ve known since the first time you wore that ugly jean jacket.”

“Hey!”

“You looked like someone who’d ruin my life.”

“And?”

“You did. And I love it.”

They were quiet for a minute, sitting on the bench beside Matteo. Close enough for him to smell her cherry chapstick and his cheap cologne.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a chocolate croissant wrapped in a napkin. “Didn’t get your M&Ms. Got you this instead.”

Her face lit up like a child on Christmas. “You remembered?”

“You always want croissants when you’re sad.”

“I do.”

Matteo saw it then—saw the whole damn thing. The beginnings of forever.

They were too young. Too reckless. A little dramatic. But there was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, like they were already writing the rest of their lives in real time.

As the train pulled in and they stood, Max laced their fingers together like it was automatic. She leaned her head on his shoulder, still holding the croissant.

They walked onto the train like two people who didn’t know how rare that kind of love was. Who didn’t need to.

Matteo pulled out his cracked phone and wrote a note he’d forget about until years later:

“Sometimes forever starts at a vending machine. And the person who buys you a croissant instead of saying the right thing is the one who actually gets it.”

---

The Airport Lounge

— Helena, 42, business consultant, solo traveler, professional people-watcher, and casual believer in fate.

The Zurich airport lounge was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon.

Helena had parked herself near the floor-to-ceiling windows with a glass of pinot and a half-read book she was pretending to finish. Her flight to Madrid had been delayed, and she was nursing the rare, delicious silence that came with noise-canceling headphones and no Slack notifications.

Until she noticed them.

They weren’t loud or dramatic. Just… still.

The woman sat curled up in the corner of a leather armchair, knees tucked beneath her, oversized hoodie swallowing her whole, damp curls loosely braided down her back. She had a book open on her lap but wasn’t reading it.

Instead, she was watching the man beside her — Max Verstappen, though it took Helena a moment to place him without the racing suit, the cameras, or the speed.

He looked softer like this.

He was seated slightly sideways in the chair, legs stretched out, thumb stroking lazy lines into her ankle where it rested against his thigh.

Her sock had a tiny embroidered mushroom on it. He was focused on it like it held secrets.

They weren’t speaking. Not really. Just occasionally exchanging glances, faint smiles, little movements that spoke volumes.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a tupperware container. “Eat,” he said simply, handing it to her.

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

“You always say that and then eat half of mine.”

She squinted at him. “Is it the good pasta?”

“The good one. From that place near the ferry.”

“…I hate you.”

He grinned. “You love me.”

“I do.”

Helena didn’t mean to watch. But it was hard to look away from something that looked so much like home.

After a few quiet bites, the woman reached over, tugging the hem of Max’s sleeve with childlike gentleness. “Do you have to go today?”

Max hesitated. “Yeah.”

He said it softly. Not coldly. Like he hated the truth of it just as much as she did.

She nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “It’s just a few days. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t try to talk her out of it. Instead, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Open it after I leave.”

“Is this a love letter?”

“It’s a maybe-you-won’t-murder-me-for-being-gone-so-long letter.”

She smiled, but Helena saw the way her fingers tightened around the paper.

“I left little notes in your bag,” Max added. “One in your book, one in the snack pocket, and one in your makeup bag.”

“That’s excessive.”

“That’s love,” he shrugged.

Helena found herself blinking rapidly.

She wasn’t used to seeing people who still made space for each other like that. Who weren’t rushing, glued to their phones, or distracted by other people.

Just present.

After a while, Max stood, stretching slightly. His flight had been called.

He reached for his carry-on, then paused and knelt in front of her.

“C’mere,” he said softly.

She leaned down, and he kissed her — not rushed, not showy, but full. Her hands slipped into his hoodie, his thumb brushed her cheekbone, and Helena knew she wasn’t the only one watching now.

But neither of them cared.

When they parted, Max rested his forehead against hers for a beat. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t cling. But as he walked away, she held that letter to her chest like it was armor.

Helena watched her breathe in slowly. Then she tucked the note into her book and picked up her phone—not to scroll, but to open the photos app.

She was scrolling through pictures.

Ones of Max. Their kids, probably. A dog, maybe.

Every one made her smile in that quiet, half-wistful way that meant: I’ll be okay, but I miss you already.

Helena turned back to her wine thinking about how beautiful of a relationship they had.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x max verstappen #f1 x max #max verstappen x reader #reader x max verstappen #max x wife!reader #husband!max verstappen #husband!max x wife!y.n #max verstappen x wife!reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen

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lmanburgseulogy · 1 year ago

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C!PUFFY’S SCREAM WATCHING HER SON ABOUT TO BE SLAUGHTERED AND SHE’S BEING BLAMED FOR IT WHAT IF I THREW UP

#cw caps #c!puffy #red banquet #eggpire #I’m not okay

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tonycries · 3 days ago

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FIT CHECK?!

Synopsis. Don’t think you can fit all of him? Funny.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, making him fit, size kínk, length + girth analysis, tummy buIges, marathons, unprotected, cúmplay, matíng presses, GOJO’S POWERS, true form Sukuna, dp, they’re BIG, first times (Choso, Ino), PÚSSYDRÚNK men, p talking, headIocks, creampíes, slight exhìbitionìsm (Nanami), pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Anatomy? Don’t know her…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8.96 inches x 5.40 inches

“T-Toji how many more mmm- inches left?”

“Two.”

“Oh-”

“Multiply that by three…h-heh.”

And the lips of your slit are all but bawling as Toji clings a palm onto your hips and tugs you down. No hesitation. No apology for the way he’s not even halfway stuffed, yet already stirring your poor insides completely.

“If ya can’t handle a big stretch then- hah- don’t talk outta her.” One of his roughened thumbs draws a horizontal line across your puffy core, stretchin’ your folds apart just enough to watch the way his wide, massive length was being devoured by you, sluggishly.

Half-rutting more n’ more while you shrilled out in needy whines, dazedly wondering whether he even can fit-

“Duh, silly girl.” Oh- did you just say that out loud? With a gruff pant, Toji’s slouching down enough that your hamstrings are screaming. Muttering hoarsely, “M’not Toji Fushiguro if I don’t make it fit, doll.”

He was serious.

Dead serious.

The only goal his overheated mind had been pondering repeatedly ever since you’d insisted that you could take all of his near-nine tonight.

Big. Staggering.

Nestled by breeder balls, his length curved deliciously right, covered in swollen veins and gifted with a plump mushroom tip so fat. Because Toji wasn’t just as red as a strawberry at his crown - he was just as swollen, too- turning into a pretty tannish gradient where his base was kissing your outer pussy.

And taking his five-inch width was already challenging, but now all he wanted to do was fold you with his beefy arms into the meanest mating press and bump his blushing cockhead against your entrance again and again and again until-

Fuck, it was such a tight fit.

A stiff set of fingers tilts your chin, snapping you out of your cockdrunk state. “C’mon, girl- no time to tap out. Spread those legs wiiide open n’ take it for me.”

“L-like this?” You’re whimpering, the sweat coating your fingerpads making them slip and slide underneath the flesh of your thighs. You could be holding yourself as far open as possible and it still wouldn’t be enough for Toji.

“Hmmm, almost.” He’s tittering, dark bangs tickling your forehead when your boyfriend leans dangerously in. He was so big - so muscular.

So strong that it only takes a single split-second for him to manhandle your trembly legs up n’ over his shoulder, interlocking your ankles behind his damp neck with a singular hand. At his mercy.

And then Toji’s pushing and pushing with his inhuman reflexes until your ass is damn near hovering off of the silky sheets, cock furiously hot and tugging on the softness of your hole with each pounding throb.

Hissing, “Aaaatta girl. Now, ya can fit it.”

Slipping one of his particularly proud veins past your inner ring of muscle and slithering it along your ridged sweet spots. “Now you can.” There’s an airy tone to Toji’s voice- almost…gone. Almost higher pitched and cracking as he starts up a vulgar tempo that makes your bedsprings ricket, “Now. Now.”

Toji’s just so damn lengthy that you swear you can almost feel him in your lungs. The globed curve of his tip swabbing past your pussylips and pressin’ deep into every nook and cranny-

“Oh p-please!” Your voice warbles, hips restlessly bucking off of the mattress. Grabbing onto the firm curves of his pecs, making you feel every rippling flex. “So big- so big so big s-so-”

And Toji tuts - tuts, half-lidded jade eyes rolling as he digs his capped knee into the side of your waist to hold you still. Leaning his weight down until you feel the bulge of his v-line scrape your pelvis, “S’all you hafta say?” He tilts his head, a slick line of drool beginning to trickle from the edge of his scarred lips, “M’only…”

Then he’s rovering his rude right hand - callused, somewhat trembling at the heat of your dripping pussy - over your tummy and pressing down, down, down.

Till the crowned edge of his thumb tap-tap-taps over where you could feel the outline of his spherical mushroom tip lining your walls, about halfway down your front. “-here.”

“S-still?” Breathless, the only thing your mind knows to do now is lurch off of your cushy pillows, slobbering down your chin in a thin glaze at how much he was giving another thrust and splitting you apart.

“Keh- whaddaya mean ‘still’?” With yet another roll of his eyes, Toji’s rudely slapping your teary cunt with the velvety underside of his shaft, rubbing his dark happy trail all raw on the top of your neglected clit just to hear you whine. “Open those haaaah- pretty fucking legs, lemme fit- just f-four more inches.”

And if you were in any better state of mind you’d be marvelling about the way simply squeezing your gooey wet walls made the infamous, big bad Toji Fushiguro crack. Stutter.

Gasping, “Take it- come back.” The vice-like hand still restraining your legs drags you down where the recoil of his hips was starting to push against you. Skin reddening near his tufts of unruly black, he titters. “Come back and take it- come back n’ lemme fill you all up- just a few more.”

“A few?” Mewling, his rugged palm racks up the pressure to feel him thick, pummeling cock sliiiide slimily all the way in. “Please-”

“Three- three inches more.” You shiver once the textured ends of his tongue flop outwards and lick up your salty tears, humming like they were the sweetest candy on his tastebuds. “Say it w’me now. Threeee more.”

“Th-three-” Sluuurp goes the way his fat fucking shaft nestles in, wide enough that it rubs against your tiniest fragile orifices.

“Louder.”

“Three.”

Grunting, Toji’s hiking up his own meaty thighs so that he can arch his sculptured spine further. “Two now.” Words slightly tinging on pussydrunken laughter like he was in disbelief. Sure, you’ve taken him before but never this deep. And the stretch made you so wet that your ass cheeks were sticking to the skin of his v-line like adhesive- “Two- two more n’ we already hafta fuuuuck- change the sheets.”

The knobbled thumb of his right hand reaches down until he’s pryin’ apart your swollen folds with a resounding squelch! Almost knuckle-deep- bucking- just to fit inside.

“Fuck- two- two!”

Toji blinks like his hazed brain cells had nearly forgotten your conversation just before, nearly as stupefied as you - your eyes whirling cartoonishly, mouth sticky with spit. You feel the friction of his coral pink divot just graze your cervix and it’s incredible.

“One.”

“One- o-one!”

Then there’s the loudest, rawest, most sinful plop! as Toji finally - finally - bottoms out. Stuffed snugly and sensually from the fringe of his pre-glazed tip to the circumference of his hilt.

You’re watching through partially-opened eyes in awe, wondering just how he managed to fit inside. Toji was just so damn big that every pulse of his winding veins was making your cunt quiver, girthy enough that your pussylips were stretched out until they were bulging.

“Heh- keep your eyes open, doll.” He’s gruffing out from above, finally catching his breath. Pushing down on that cute tummy bulge to remind you that he might’ve talked you through it - but this was still Toji. “The fun’s just getting started.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 10.45 inches x 4.82 inches

Nanami Kento wasn’t just big - he was big.

The tallest tan length patterned with slight veins, and a wide girth that made your eyes roll back stupidly. He was all topped with a neat mushroom tip that spanks down on your slivery slit and makes you drool.

Cocktip blushing a shy, pale pink as he streams out a helping of cute pre, grunting from the depths of his hoarse chest. “Shhh, my love. S’only the tip.”

“B-but you’re still so big, Kento.” You’re whining, fingers trembling where you were digging them helplessly onto the sides of his broad shoulders. And you couldn’t even make as much whiny noise as you wanted to because-

“Mr. Nanami, are the documents for the upcoming proposal okay? ”

Speaking into an ongoing early morning meeting on his phone, “I’ve approved them.” You can’t help the way the firm authority in Nanami’s deep bass makes your cunt grow wetter, biting back a moan as you straddle him in his home office chair. “Tell- hah! tell the team all’s well.”

“Thank you- and pardon me, but you sound a little…”

Instantly, Nanami latches a hand to grope your ass cheeks like he didn’t know whether he wants to pull you away or finally put himself out of this damn agony and bottom out.

Coughing softly, “I-I’m quite alright.”

He was anything but.

Your husband’s demeanor was caring - hastily muting himself on the call - but his cock was so mean. And that smug lil’ clench of your sopping walls gets you immediately punished with a rapid thrust.

“Fuh-fuuuuck! Ken—-”

“Talking so loud, darling.” Nanami purrs, forehead sticking to yours. And he runs his frigid wedding band across your clit to listen to the sweet way your pussy sings out a sluuuurp, “N’ so is she.”

Impatiently rutting your hips up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down until your pussy coats his shaft with goopy slick at the halfway mark. “Because I want…”

“Aww- feeling left out? D’you want me to finger you, hm?” Swirling his doughy fingerpad in circles that make your gummy cunt spark with white-hot bliss. Snagging just to the side of your softened walls so that he can try and make them bruise.

“J-just a bit- but-”

And he’s just so eager that you can feel his throbbing shaft pound against the roof of your heated core, four-inch girth so fat that gravity was making every bounce of yours lazily choke down his size. “Mhmm– anything- ngh. Anything for you, my wife.”

“I want more–” Your glossy lower lip juts out in a pout and you almost miss the way those very words make your gentle giant of a husband flinch. It makes him pant.

It makes him look up at you with eyes that are crazed- breathing out in such a strained way, “M-more.”

Nanami Kento’s voice cracks.

And you can only nod, “More. All of it.”

“All…” Maybe a minute passed, maybe an hour, maybe an eon- before Nanami tugs on the silky yellow of his tie and groans at the tightness. “Brace yourself, my love- this is gonna sting a little.”

Before you can even bat your teary lashes, Nanami has one arm tucked underneath your slick-sheened inner thigh, one more centimeter of his solid length shoveled deep. And one finger dancing over that ‘mute’ button on his phone, “So- what was that about meeting plans?”

“Kento, don’t you dare- oh!”

Only to shut you up with a sensual kiss of his weepy orifice down your pussy, he’s vulgarly stretching out your walls until your legs quake.

Sturdy office chair creaking at the force of his hips, his eyes are narrowed and predatory as he watches the way your tight hole expands all ‘round his glistening cock. Your elastic entrance bumpin’ into each one of his veiny inches.

Hypnotized. Sounding as dazed as ever as he speaks into the other end of the phone, “Huh? Oh, that- just my dear wife bringing me…” Nanami stares you dead into your adorable heart-eyes as he tucks his fat thumb past your pussylips and drenches himself. Just enough to pop! into his stern mouth- “-breakfast.”

“S-so mean.” You’ve never seen your husband talk like this, and you’ve never taken his long, ten-inch cock without hours n’ hours of preparation.

But right now, more than anything, you were…hungry.

And slobber drips down the edge of your chin when you throw your head back and impale yourself deeper on his cock. Shrilly whimpering, “Don’t know if I can-”

“Of course you can.” He interrupts in a booming voice, and for a second you don’t know whether he’s talking to you or his coworker on the phone. Only realizing once, with a hasty apology- “My wife needs ah- help with something.” Nanami’s tugging your bitten lips apart and poking his fingers inside.

Making you suck. Making you bite.

“A real gentleman- aren’t you, Mr. Nanami?”

“Mhm- gotta help out the hah- lady whenever I can.” He’s cooing at you. Phone now balanced comfily between his shoulder and his ear, Nanami’s tilting his head and boring down at you with such a sleazy, drunken grin. “Fuckin’ loooove helping my wife- oh, excuse my language.”

Oh god, he was getting so drunk. Tugging on your clit with one hand, and the other was holding you rigidly still so you can’t escape while he was sliiiiiding his cock inside with a sloppy drag.

Your teary eyes wandering to the back of your head, “W-will it-”

“It will.” Caressing the rovering ends of his two digits until you make the cutest gagging noises, he recites underneath his breath. “It has to.” Muted. Just for you to hear. “Inhale slowly- through your nose. Relax that pretty pussy f’me.”

“L-like this?”

“Slower.” Hiking a meaty thigh up once you sloppily follow along, “Keep your chest still- relax.” He hisses as the globes of your ass start to kiss his toned lap, damn near eleven plump inches being tunneled into you. “Exhale slowly. Again.” Head snapping between your half-lidded expression and below, “Again. Take it- fuck fuck fuck- take it.”

Curving the slightly left-leaning point of his tip to slither across your walls and skim your g-spot, and you can’t even move- you can’t even thrash around like you wanted to because Nanami’s pinning you down.

“Yeah- yeah m’here. I’m here and- and sooo fucking hard for you.” He’s swearing underneath his breath once he hits the back of your dewy pussy with a pap! of his large, swollen balls. “And so- fucking- big.”

When Nanami bottoms out it’s with a precise strike to your spongy cervix, so hard that your very bones seem to rattle upon impact.

And fuck- was it just as powerful for Nanami who holds his shaken breath and slouches till his glasses almost slide cleanly off, and stares at the bulging folds of your pussy all webbed with his pre, and doesn’t even realize that the phonecall had unmuted-

“Now now…�� Higuruma’s raspy voice sounds out on speaker phone. “How about you n’ your lovely wife get this meeting on video call, Nanami? Maybe I can ah- help, too.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 9.18 inches x 4.58 inches

Thwack! The glittery ends of Geto’s long, pale fingers are just drenched in all your sap and slick and he doesn’t think he’s ever smiled harder.

Tutting, with his head bent just low enough that his inky, curtaining locks trace your arched spine. “Yeahhh- she’s not fucking fittin’ me again- heh.” Snickering once just the slightest gyration of his bulging tip sends a torrent of cum from before dripping out of your pussy, “She agrees with me, too, gorgeous.”

“I feel so full.” You’re whining as your leader simply pulls you back and pliably rests a foot on your head. Geto Suguru already had you for hours, yet he wasn’t letting you go for a looong time.

And he wasn’t going anywhere without his reddened, gleaming tip emptying out yet another wave of milky precum inside of you. Watching as the sleek white coating glosses over your pussylips- his hazy gaze snaps from your cunt. To you. And back- “On second thought…”

“O-ohhh my god- ngh-”

“-why don’tcha take all of me again?”

You can’t help the way that your arms claw on the damp futon and try to drag your trembling body forwards - because Geto was just so big and trying to push himself deeper.

He was just as pretty as his long, flushed pink cock was. Balls delicate, shaft road and wide- with a singular strawberry pink vein that mazed along so sinfully.

You’re feeling the tender slit underneath his sparkly tip rub your insides raw. A few more solid inches of him throbbing behind, aching to just push you down and stuff you-

But he was feeling nice today.

“Ah ah- no running.” You damn near scream once he’s saddling the curves of his toned thighs behind your own, snug n’ warm. It’d almost be gentle if it wasn’t for the way that Geto was pinning you down to keep your restless hips in place, “Look at you drool. You’re already crying f’me from both ends?”

So cute- it was just too cute how you’re slurring from your hole just as much as your ajar maw.

And with another repeated swat to your teary slope, Geto tucks his bulbous head in place with your g-spot and watches you whine. Grunting, “Heh- wonder how much of a messy girl she’ll ngh- become when I put- my-” Vulgarly thrusting, so messy. “-entire cock in. Wouldn’t that be niiiice, gorgeous?”

He’s asking you questions that right now you were too fucked stupid to answer. Only able to nod and nod into the goopy puddle of spit you were leaking onto your pillow, “Yes- y-yeshh-”

“‘Yesh?’”

“I-I mean-”

Smoothly drifting a hand between your legs to squeeze your perky clit and make you let off a breathy cry. “Shhh- no need to waste your time hah- talking.” He’s immediately bringing up those very same cum-covered fingers to plop into your mouth, wetly, “Mmmm- tastes good, huh? Now you’re both stuffed.”

The flavor of salted caramel bursts onto your tastebuds and makes your folds quiver, stubbornly milking out even more of his creamy syrup. Clenching. Squeezing.

“Oh fuh-fuck.”

Your eyes snap open, words all groggy and muffled through his roaming fingerpads inside of your mouth. “Sugu, did you just-”

Pushing his foot deeper- “No- shut up.” Geto didn’t even know why his suave voice was shaking so much, he doesn’t even know why he underestimated just how needy his girl could get. Because when he wanted to fit his entire swollen, pumping cock in- it was a half-joke. Really. “M’okay- t-tooootally okay.”

He didn’t think your thoroughly filled, sploshing pussy would still be craving for his touch oh-so-deep inside. And he’s watching - spellbound, breathless - down at the way your pried-apart pussylips drool once you’re grinding down to devour his 4.5-inch width some more.

And Geto wasn’t a small guy - he was fucking big. Well over nine inches and pulsing from the sides with his prominent veins that scraped your slick insides just right, “Dity fuckin’ girl. If this tight hole hngh- wants it then just say it.”

“Wan’ it– please mmm m’so close.”

“Mhm- just like that.” Nodding along, and for a second Geto himself doesn’t know whether he’s talking to those pretty wailing whimpers of yours or of your pussy. Biting back wads of greedy saliva at the slurps sounding from below, “Tell me- tell me. S’not like th-this tight fucking cunt is affecting me like that. Not like I’m dying to…thrust.”

Mindless, half-measured bucks that wildly probe into your deepest, most tender spots. He’s even letting his free hand toy with the pearly droplets of syrup seeping out of you just to make space.

And Geto just keeps babbling on- “Not like I wanna always ngh- bend you over and ruin this pretty pussy.” He feels you getting wetter and in response pokes his muffling fingers into your hot mouth further- almost dragging you backwards after each recoil. “Not like I wanna fuck this hole until she’s all bruised f’me- fuck! She’s actually taking me.” Eyes wild, hips wilder. “She’s actually fitting me.”

“P-please! You’re in shoooo deep, Suguru- I’m gonna-” At this point you think you could feel him pushing his previous scorching, gluey webs of cum straight up to your throat.

And you could feel yourself cum.

White-hot, toes curling, eyes darting all the way to the back of your head until Geto could only hiss at the snug embrace of your pussy keeping him hostage. Fighting against the slight resistance-

“Not deep enough.”

Just in time, he snaps his feet off of your clammy scalp - for just a split-second, letting all the pounding blood rise to your head - before gathering you up in a raw, lecherous headlock. Tightening your throat with his beefy arm, you drool all over his forearm at the feeling of those natural muscles.

“Not like I always want you to fit- hah- aaall of it, gorgeous.” With a hot pant all feverish against your ear, and the sound of Geto’s baritone cracking, he’s snapping his hips so hard that he bottoms out.

You cry out at the tingles of your orgasm still coursing through your veins, completely at his mercy. “B-but you already ngh- did.”

“Oh…” Taking one look down at the way the globes of your ass were all nestled up to his raven happy trail, Geto gasps. Feverish. “Maybe I do.”

You were full.

So full that your soft, battered walls barely even had the space to clamp down once Geto swiftly turns the two of you over onto your backs in one, fluid motion. Easily dragging your boneless limbs into a full nelson-

“I-it’s actually in.” He stutters - stutters. Amethyst eyes widening, mouth sagging into a pretty oh! “All the way in- she actually fucking fit all of it, gorgeous.”

Thighs still twitching from your high, you slur, “N-ngh dunno if I’d be able to fit any more—”

“Awww.” Swiping away that bubble of spittle formulating at the edge of your lips, Geto thrusts his hips up so hard that your vision cracks with stars. Low, smooth in your ear- “But maybe you’ll fit my tentacle curse, gorgeous—”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 8.30 inches x 3.99 inches

“O-oh!” You’re squeaking out in a way you’d certainly be embarrassed about if it was any moment but now. Head snapping down to where you were straddling Choso’s slim hips, “You just got even bigger, Cho—”

Fuck- fuck, why did you have to say it like that?

Because of course, that was going to make Choso Kamo’s ancient cursed powers go out of control all over again. Of course, every ounce of blood in his body was going to rush to his long, blushing cock - now more than rock-hard.

And Choso was already massively big.

Well over eight inches and throbbing furiously, his mushroomy tip always blushed the prettiest cherry-red. A few aching curves of his veins pressing down your puffy outer pussy, and his width was just perfect - not too wide, not too thin. Slipping n’ sliding inside, letting the geysering hole on top of his shaft dollop your cunt with creamy pre.

But his first time with you raw? Actually feeling the gushing waves of your slick splashin’ down his veiny cock had him rabid. Gasping, “Am I really that…big, baby?”

“Hmm—” Quite frankly you weren’t sure, and you were too damn stupid on the stretch of his prolonged cock to even think. Leaning down teasingly, “It’s very big, Choso.”

“B-but not too big, right?”

Cute bubblegum lips wobbling, Choso wraps his toned arms around your hips and gets you to grind out a pummeling bounce. Letting the globular curve of it whack against your dewy wet walls and watching as you drool, “You can fit it, right? Right?”

Your cunt lets off a resounding squeeelch as you start giving in to his tempo and gyrating your own. And Choso’s staggering length meant that he was gluing his scorching hot crown to your deepest insides without even trying.

You’re pretending to think, “Hmmmm, I dunno—”

“N-no-” He’s hiccuping, chestnut lashes starting to gleam with tears. “Nononono- you don’t hafta do any of the ngh- work, baby— I’ll make it fit.”

So panicked. So sloppy that each one of his rugged trusts was hitting every nook and cranny of your dripping pussy, once near the splotchy area of your g-spot, another near the roof of your cunt. Mazing down the tip-top of his pink shaft like a spotlight.

“Will you–?” You purr, “Promise?”

“Promise- promise promise.” And his hands rest upon either side of your waist to keep pulling you up n’ down with his inhuman strength. Softly whining when that meant he didn’t have a hand left to pull your face into a kiss- you give him one anyway.

The plush, puckered contact of your lips was enough to make him jolt like he’d just been electrified. Choso groans into your mouth and furrows his brows in desperation, “I-is it fitting, baby?”

And one look- one look is enough for him to throw his head back into the silken pillowcase with his dark eyes whirling. Dizzy. Hypnotized. Just covered in cursed energy that makes him pulse bigger-

“It is-”

“Mhm– it is.”

“Look. She’s actually taking in all of me–!” All of him, Choso doesn’t think he’s ever let his fat cock roam this far into your innards before. Chin hitting his pecs in haste to take a further look, “She’s really sucking me up and ah- I’m not ngh- ungrateful, baby, but…I she neeeeed her to take it…all.”

He’s blushing and red-hot by the time he’s admitting this out loud.

By now there’s only a few more of his solid inches left, and you’re leaning behind you to grab a fistful of his tight balls- oh-so-sensitive. Rolling the mountains of his palm over where he was most delicate, “All, huh?”

Who knew that would only make your sweet, ruined boyfriend arch his toned hips and rut- “Yes-” The planes of his cheeks fluttering with beaded tears, “”Yes, please- don’t close out.”

And just having you clench around him was keeping him shackled to your pert, pretty pussy. Urgently slamming his toned v-line up into yours in an attempt to keep bullying himself inside, he’d never felt this before- having you squeeze him snugly like this. The moment you start pushing him with your velvety slick walls made him only hold you close and push and push and push–

“D-don’t close this pretty pussy-” His free hand tugs on the sappy ends of your outer pussy, tuggin’ just so that his veiny cock finds its way inside. Pouting, he lets his reverse cursed energy run wiiild- “Let me put…it in…”

With your fingers carnally itching the skin of his ball sack, you hum—“You are, baby—”

“Heh- y-you called me baby.” He’s giggling to himself, the apples of his cheekbones turning bright red. He’s mesmerized - he’s dazed at the slight figure-eights you’re drawing out with your hips to fit him inside. And the moment the fat of your ass cheeks hits his hip bones with a loud slap! oh- “You…inside.”

Inside.

And he’s cumming just as far deep, too.

The moment he’s all bottomed out, Choso’s voice hitches with a cracked whine once he’s spurting out a steady jetstream of syrupy white. Letting the honeyed droplets of it cling onto the sides of your goopy cunt- and he’s so embarrassed.

Fuck, he’s so embarrassed at the fact that he’s cumming so early.

But he can’t stop that primal urge within him that keeps bouncing his capped knees, sticking the globes of your ass against his meaty thighs with a layer of sheeny cum. You’d really, really managed to fit all of him - all his hot, ridged inches that tugged on the sides of your damp walls. Hitting your cervix dead-on.

“You took all of it-” He’s breathing out, raspy. Scalding hot seed dripping down your slit and rubbing all over your clit, “All- all. So this is what it feels like, I’m really inside, I’m really ngh- fucking you all the way.”

“Y-yes you are.” You have to fight to answer, the thrash of his split-ended shaft scouring across your walls until you were speechless. Mouth watering. Vision flashing. You brush your fingers through the strands of his bangs, “Happy, Cho?”

Purring up at you, “Of course, baby— B-but now that I’m inside can we try…” Half-lidded eyes almost trying to look away, almost shy. But the way he gives you a thrust to slosh around his stringy wads of cum says otherwise, “-a mating press?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 13.3 inches x 6.04 inches (each)

“K-Kuna—”

“B-b-brat.” It’s just so cute how that snarling grin he gives you is enough to make you bristle, as if you weren’t all sprawled out on the King’s lap and speared by one of his fat, thirteen-inch cocks. Both of his smug mouths snickering your way, “What? Whining n’ crying for two when ya can’t even take one. Humans always are so ambitious.”

And you? You were more than ambitious.

You’re just downright stuffed with the plump, honed crown of one of Sukuna’s lengths that it was stirring up whatever’s left of your brain cells. The weepy orifice of his tip swirlin’ a ribbon of milky pre as you squirm, and for the first time, you wanted more. “I wanna take both but I dunno if it’ll fit, Kuna.”

“Awww, my poor baby doesn’t know if it’ll heh- fit?” He’s cooing at you mockingly from above, one of Sukuna’s four hands nestling at your hips to give you a lil’ bounce. “Then I guess as king I hafta help with that, hm?”

“Yes- yes please-”

“Ah ah- but first…a kiss.”

Almost shocked at the plump pucker of his fanged lips, you slouch over where you were straddling his muscular waist. Him, all sprawled out on his gilded throne- and you, struggling to plant a kiss.

“There-” You murmur against his warm lips, a pout adjusting on your gaping maw as you wait expectantly.

But he only grins, knees hiking up to swat your ass with repeated grinds. “And here, too. Kiss me proper now.”

There.

He doesn’t even have to wait for the lecherous request to register inside your melty mind before his impatient, monstrous second mouth is unhinging ajar and saaaalivating all across your teary slit. The curled tendril of his pink tongue was just tickling where your hole was bulged, “Keh- humans are so easily embarrassed.” Two of his beefy arms glue to your sheeny inner thighs and streeetch you wide open, “Open up for ‘Kuna’, brat.”

Twisting your head down to watch- you don’t even know what your glassy eyes search for first.

The way that second, matching hard cock of his was bobbing with desperation or the way that his cursed mouth was greedy and salivating with every flick up the front of your hot core. Drooling, spitting, lapping up ounces of sap like it was sugar water-

“Ya can take that-” Another fat splosh of spittle, disappearing between your pussylips. “-ya can take me then.”

“Want it- want-” Huffing stubbornly, “Can handle both I ngh- promise.”

How cute…

Sukuna really can’t stop the way he departs a darkened bout of laughter, head tilted. “Why don’tcha suck this one up for me and ngh- prove it then.” And before you know it, he’s clawing his last hand down on your sweaty scalp and pushing down, down, down– “Bottoms up- or, more like bottom out.”

Fuck- you weren’t even given the split-second to snap at him for his silly lil’ joke at your expense, because the sheer stretch just had you so damn delirious.

And claiming that Sukuna was big was an understatement - well above thirteen inches, each. Both of his long, vertically-stacked cocks were so swollen and ready to be inside of you that they looked like they were about to explode.

Right from the slightly red edge of his bulging tips, to the circumference of his bases, all covered with a spattering of pink veins. Massive- and so was his pair of hard, tannish breeder balls, twitching with your every movement.

He was only about halfway in and the sleek ribbons of Sukuna’s precum were already hitting your thighs in splashes-

“Oi oi- don’t tell me yer too cockdrunk now.” His hips shift as he starts up a vulgar pace, hitting the back of your cervix with his pointed crownhead and he still wasn’t bottomed out. You wouldn’t be surprised if he would be hitting your damn throat soon. Grunting, “Take it. C’mon, little human.”

Sukuna was so wide that just a singular one of his girths had your mouth falling into the same ogling oh! “I-I am.”

“Heeeeh? How cute.” Darkish nails leave tiny bruises along your waist, lightly angling your tempo so that the zig-zagged line of one of his prominent veins hits your most favorite spots. “Faster now.”

Harder. Sloppier.

And you almost can’t, just so heady and stupid on the thump-thump-thump of his rounded globe squishing up your insides. So he can only lean backwards sexily and buck his waist further-

“Faster, brat, if you want mmm- both my cocks.”

Thighs trembling, lips wobbly, “B-but…”

“Aw, guess you forgot-” Mockingly, Sukuna’s stern lips fall into a tiny pout. And in the blink of an eye, where the edge of his tastebuds were slimily running down your folds, he’d suddenly replaced it with the smooth fringe of his second cock. “Seeee?” Rubbin’ it up n’ down in a way that was so sultry, “Wanna taste?”

Soon enough, you’re slobbering all down the cushions of his pecs. The utter raw stretch of it too much that his tensed front was covered in a shiny lacquer of your saliva, “I-I want…both.”

Ah, he’d never fucking admit it, but it was so endearing how hungry you were for his cocks. “Course ya do- you can take it.” The only thing driveling and greedier than you was that pretty pussy, “Faster.”

Just a few inches- just a few more inches more that Sukuna was helping you devour.

Well- teasing, “Harder, unless you don’t wan’ me ngh- hitting- here-” The sharp points of his fingernails tickle your tummy, right where the bumpy cylinder of his bulge was whacking. Right above your cervix. Your womb. “Twice.”

“Ohhh- mmm- ngh, there, Kuna.”

“God, she loves it like this, huh?” And it seems like both him and his other mouth cackle. Twin cock diamond-hard now, and just starting to snugly fit and inch in with a sluuuurp. “Can feel- hah- feel your womb, she’s begging for my seed, brat. Twice.”

You’re sobbing at this point, and his shiny tastebuds were lapping your tears up like candy. “Twice- p-please twice.”

Twice.

Twice twice twice- and it was driving Sukuna fucking wiiiild. The clench of your squirming thighs pushing his rummaging shafts together was insane, and that’s exactly what he blames for the way he grumbles out drunkenly- “Wanna give me an heir that badly- do you?”

“I-I do.”

Talking out of your cunt, for sure. Talking out of your oversatured mind, obviously.

But fuck- Ryomen Sukuna can’t stop himself from blurting out a low- “I love you.” And then a hissed pant of your name as he jumbles up your memory of that little confession with the entrance of his second cock, as well.

Dually splitting you open, you were so impaled on his throbbing girths that you almost miss the way he grins- “And now…” Slapping your slippery slit with the silken underside of his tongue, “S’my turn to have some fun.”

The way he whimpers.

♡ INO TAKUMA - 7.69 inches x 4.50 inches

“Big stretch- can you say that f’me, pretty? Biiig stretch?”

It was just so cute how your boyfriend’s cheeks were all innocent pink while he whispered the dirtiest questions in your ear. Rosy lips wobbling at just the sound of your pretty voice, “Mmm– it’s a very biiig stretch, Taku.”

“Well…n-not that big.” He can’t help but stutter out shyly, fighting the urge to dig his fingers into the strands of his chestnut bangs and pull down his ski mask still on. Hastily rutting, “You can still ngh- fit all of it, right, sweetness? Please?”

And shit- Ino might be the sweetest, but his cock was built so fucking mean.

He was a long seven inches and more, with two throbbing veins that ran down the side of his shaft and carved right along the tender spots of your walls. All flushed the same cherry-pink that his clammy, blushing cheeks were. And so fucking fat that your puffy core was having trouble keeping up with the rub-a-dub of his girth.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth while he’s planting half-ruts and grinds just to fit himself inside-

“Sweetness?”

“O-ohhh ngh-” You’re snapped back into your lewd reality the moment Ino’s impatiently dragging down your body with a hand at your throat. Dangerous. With the pierced edge of his mushroomy tip - that cold, sinful Prince Albert’s piercing - whacking your g-spot with a wet plop! “So good- so big, fuck!”

And maybe it was a blessing in disguise that the useless lil’ rubber of your condom had snagged the moment his pierced cockhead caught on it.

Because right now your gushing wet cunt was clenching around him to hold him hostage, and it was rendering Ino so damn pussydrunk that he was drooling. “M-maybe it’ll be easier in missionary, pretty-”

Times like this, you’re reminded just how much training your boyfriend has undergone. Because- before you know it- before you can even blink, Ino has his hands flying to bend your trembling thighs ‘round his slender waist.

Pliably pushed up until the caps of your knees hit your tits, until your scalp’s throwing back with a keen–“Mmm- feel so good- keep going, Taku–”

“Keep going.” He’s whispering to himself, eyes wide and barely blinking like he’s not even sure whether or not this was one of his wettest dreams. Here he had you all sprawled out and raw, letting off the cutest syrupy squelch! the moment he positions his bulging cockhead deeper and gives a little rut. “Keep- keep going.”

Whimpering, soon enough he can’t even handle the way that every driving force of his hips leaves your poor body recoiling.

Can’t handle the graze of your warm, wet walls making him feel like he was pulling out - the last thing he ever fucking wanted to do - and so he has to tighten his restraint on your neck and draaaag you back down after every jackammer just to keep himself sane.

“See? See?” His rugged whisper scorches your ear, Ino’s eyes half-lidded and wild. He squeezes your throat and snaps his hips down until the pale skin of his pelvis turns red, “S’not that big- nghhh, I can fit. C-can tooootally fit.”

Smugly batting your lashes- you were ruining him. “Yeah? Almost there?”

“Just like three or four more inches-” He groans, taking a sneaking glimpse at the rubbery resistance downwards. And his balls were delicate and flinching sensitively at every contact with your skin, “Just gotta get through this- ngh- tight fucking hole. That way I’ll fit.”

“And if you don-”

Cutting you off in panic, “Don’t even say s-such a haaah- thing.” He’s brushing his knobbly thumb along the base of your treacly pussy and watching in amazement as you open up even deeper for him with a sluuuurp. The excited throb of his shaft digging just against your most tender geysering orifices-

Ino’s making such a mess, such slippery wads of slick streaming between your folds and glistening in a ring across his base. He almost wants to pull down his dark black ski mask just so he won’t cum from the sight.

Harder, sloppier.

Not only was his cock pretty, it was so thick and probin’ along your every wet-sheened ridge and crevice. Making you scream just as much as your pussy was giving off slurping squelches!

You’re clawing down the veined expanse of his forearms, “S-so rough, Taku-”

“Oh- sorr-”

“I love it.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

That was more than enough for him, and before you know it - before even he knows it - he’s bucking with a mindless half-thrust that lets him bottom out. Rapid. Hard. Feral. That lets him cum.

Letting him crater the door to your womb with his orbed piercing, with a wide circular circumference that bruises you in while he stuffs you with white syrup.

The creamiest webs of seed overspill, and Ino can’t do anything but gape as his free hand moves before his mind to rover his fingers across your glossy entrance and push those hot springs in-

“Fuck- fuck. And I love you-” Setting your rapidly pulsing neck free to haul his eyesight partially closed by his mask. “This is what it feels like- this? H-how can it feel so…”

And you don’t even know how you manage to speak beyond the sparking fuzziness filling up your brain at the splosh of cum coating your innards like a glaze. Dripping just down the sides of your gluey-stuck thighs, “Awww- shy, Taku?”

He doesn’t answer- but his hips do all the talking.

Fucking the knots of cum in with rough, rugged drives that drench his tawny happy trial, Ino whimpers once you’re tugging his mask up and forcing him to look at you in all your fucked-out glory. Shit- so perfect n’ pretty that some primal part of him just has to mess it up by pulling out just the slightest few solid inches.

Creaming out opaque white layers upon layers of sap, Ino lets his pinkish shaft slap-slap-slap down on the puddle and hums. Eyes drunk, skin flushed, big fucking cock oh-so-painfully hard. And if he dares to let his plummy mushroom tip pull out and write out a cursive white T-A-K-U, well—“S-so…am I getting pregnant or are you, sweetness?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 11.02 inches x 4.28 inches

“You’ve got it, you’ve ngh- got it-”

“Fuh-fuuuck, Satoru. But it’s so big-”

“You’ve got it.”

It’s been the exact same thing being repeated in panting moans over and over into the side of your ear. And Gojo can’t fucking stop that strained, broken mantra from leaving his lips every time he’s pushing you deeper into this mating press, and his cock deeper into you.

Fuck- you should’ve expected that the strongest would have a fat fucking length to match.

The only thing ruder than the way he was constantly pounding you into the soft, silken sheets was his size. Over eleven inches, according to him, the edge of his rose-red cocktip brushes all the way near your spongy cervix without even trying.

And he was oh-so-pretty, like every delicate vein running down the middle of his pinkish shaft was hand-carved to hit your every sweet spot.

Ridged, lightning bolted texture of his shaft making you see stars- you’re feeling Gojo’s swollen breeder balls brush against your thigh every time he knocks his ringed slit at the gooey roof of your pussy and just simply rubs it there, sensually.

“Getting sooo fucking wet-” He’s hissing into your open mouth, the tips of his gleaming white canines snagging against your lower lip as he smiles. “H-heh- you got it. You got it. Aaaalmost there, almost-”

“But there’s so much more, ngh- why are you this big?” You’re whimpering, the flats of your feet pushing against Gojo’s shoulders. And fuuuck- does he love the chase. Does he love that feeling of watching your boneless limbs flail when he’s folding you back in half with almost inhuman strength.

The doughy edges of his fingers itching for his black blindfold beside your night stand- “Hey now, sweetheart.”

And it takes two of your heady breaths - less than two seconds - for Gojo to curl the silky fabric of his blindfold around your ankles. To tie them together and firmly set them on his muscular back, “You wanted to see how the strongest hah- fucks. You’re gonna get it. And…heh-” Your dear boyfriend has the audacity to giggle - giggle downwards at the way his reddened cock was being devoured by your puffy core. “-wouldn’t you wanna take allll of the strongest, sweetheart? Pretty girl? My wife?”

“I get it I- fuck!” Breath catching when he’s hiking his pale thigh up to shovel yet another solid inch inside, pryin’ your bubblegum walls to the side with his bulbous tip. “J-just shut up.”

Who knew that would make him give you the first shred of mercy he’s shown in what felt like hours now.

Making him falter for a split-second, making him gasp. Making him blush- whispering out something airy, “Th-that almost made me cum.”

And shit- Gojo Satoru could not let himself cum before you did, no matter how much it felt like heaven was between your legs n’ you were just melting all around his size. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s letting his gaze coat with a few flickers of cursed energy.

Six Eyes on full throttle once he splays his massive palm on top of your cute tummy, “I’m still riiiiight-” The edge of his finger sizzles with power as he draws an invisible line, precisely where his blushing red crown was cratering a massive bruise inside of your tight cunt. Grinning, he taps- “-here. Got my fat fuckin’ cock right here.”

Mewling, your knees weaken once he’s reeling his slender hips back just enough to whack three repeated hits on that impromptu target he’d made. Fully well knowing it was inches from your g-spot.

“Fuck- just a bit higher, Toru–”

“Oh, sweetheart—” His half-lidded irises are so dilated that they almost look like hearts, lips twitched into a wobbly smile while he fucks you like he’s furious. “You’ve got six more inches to go- ngh! five.”

And shit- you can’t help the way you overtly ogle the flex of his toned biceps as he sexily reaches behind him. One set of fingers clenching ‘round that vice-like blindfold at your ankles to pull-pull-puuuull you down, the other buzzing with jujutsu and creepin’ to your clit to pinch.

He wouldn’t fit otherwise, bullying his way inside.

“H-heh…four now.”

Manhandling you, he was so strong that he’s making you feel like some sort of doll. Sending your ass cheeks ricocheting with every sopping wet spank of his pelvis, “Shit- you’re going in so deep-”

“Mhm- right down to your cute ngh- womb.” He could follow every slimy, mazing trail of his bulging shaft with his very own eyes. Snickering as he makes sure to graze the curling tendril of his veins right along your g-spot, “You like that- huh? Feels good?”

“Yes- mmm feels so good.”

Smooth voice purring in your ear, just the sound of it makes your skin bubble with goosebumps. “Imagine how good it’ll feel when I’m all inside. Just threeee more inches to go- two.”

Close.

Eleven inches was a lot to handle, and your poor dripping cunt felt like you were being stretched out to the max. You didn’t know whether it was his out-of-control reverse cursed technique or pure carnal desire that made you have the strength to start rutting down for more more more-

“Ohhh— what’s this?” Gojo raises his snowy brows and matches your sloppy tempo, scratchin’ his fuzzy white hair near the top of your clit every time he flicks it. “My girl wants more? Wants all eleven inches- s’a thick fucking cock, sweetheart—”

That was an understatement.

With over four inches of meaty plumpness, he was so wiiide with his girth that you’re sure you’re molding to his exact size. The entrance to your pussy quivering after every thrust, fast. Rapid. Mindless thrusts.

You’re gurgling out your answers, unable to even speak at that point. “I know I know-” Mouth still falling into a spit-slicked smile as he shows no signs of slowing down. Blinking tearily, “Still wan’ it all.”

And then it happens - all at once.

The lights in your bedroom shatter- and then, so do you. Because with a longing, lingering glide of Gojo’s barreling length vertically across your g-spot and down to your cervix, you’re cumming.

Mouth ajar, eyes scrunched close. Your own wave of bliss catches you so off-guard that you can do nothing but hold onto his Adonis-like shoulders for dear life and shrill–“Cum—ing. Fuck fuck fuck- cumming, Satoru-”

“I know-” And he sounds just as gone as you at this moment. “I saw it.” With his Six Eyes, even before you reached your high.

Not even realizing that the electricity had been destroyed in your bedroom - in the entirety of Tokyo, actually - not even realizing you two were plunged into complete darkness except for the bolts of blue lightning skittering down his skin. Setting his eyes aglow, air tightened.

Gojo groans—“And you f-fit all of me-” It took even him a few sultry seconds to register that he’d finally bottomed out.

Slapping and slapping the tender skin of his v-line right into the drenched space of your open thighs until he’s rubbed raw. Gojo was all inside and yet still trying to push himself even deeper, chasing the warmth of your dewy cunt- he bites back a whimper. “All of me- and it feels so…oh, I could just- fuck!”

One teensy clench of your sweet, saccharine walls.

All it takes before the strongest throws his head back and cums- timing each swat! of his thwacking balls right on staccato with your own peaks. It made him tilt his head down and giggle at the way your mouth only sagged open wider once you felt the sheer volume he was emptying out.

“You’ve got it-” He gasps into your popped eardrums, touch electric. The soft thumb rolling over your clit swiftly decides to crawl down n’ start plugging your drooling orifice with his wads of white. “You’ve hah- got it. You’ve got it- you’ve got it. Isn’t this the ngh- biiiigest fucking cock you’ve ever seen–?”

“F-fuck, Toru- yes! But what are you…” Briefly, the hand looped around your ankles claws at your clammy crown and moves your head to stupidly nod.

All the while, Gojo’s simply stirrin’ his shaft in circular motions inside of your velvety walls to touch every nook and cranny with his creamy cum. Teasingly announcing, “Oh yes it is- yes it is–”

Looking almost satisfied with the way you’re all fucked out and still shaking prettily from the ordeal- that is, at least, before a sudden idea glints behind his half-lidded sapphire eyes.

“I wonder if it’ll be- heh- even bigger if I use limitless, sweetheart”

“…”

A/N. I thought I was soooo funny for that title.

Plagiarism not authorized.

7K notes · View notes

salem-s · 27 days ago

Text

09 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, annnnnnnnnnnnnngst (sorrrry), descriptions of smut, physical violence and mentions of blood (brief). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 12.7k. actually insane. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. apologies because this is very description heavy. ── SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER at your best by frank ocean (cover)

When you stir, you're met with Rafe’s broad chest.

His hands are splayed against your bare back, stuffed under your – his – sweater as if he sought out warmth in the middle of the night. Deep, steady breaths emulate from his chest, indicating he’s still fast asleep as your face is buried in the crook of his neck. You almost wish you could see his face, see if his hair is sticking out in all sorts of directions like it normally is, or if his puffy lips are parted or if he’s got that crease in his brow.

Something ugly stirs in your chest at how badly you want to look at him right now, how strong the urge is to trace your finger along his jawline, over the ridge of his nose, across his cheekbones as if to memorize the features. You want to be able to study his face, to really look at him without consequence and admire his beauty.

Because after today, your deal is up.

Rafe will have done his part of the bargain and you’ll have gotten what you wanted. You can go back to how it was before: teasing and bickering and borderline friends who sometimes sleep together when you both need temporary fun.

That’s the word you loathe. Temporary.

Because it indicates that there was something there to begin with.

You don't realize your nails lightly trace the hills and ridges of his chest until he’s stirring ever so slightly, sighing deeply through his nose that tickles the crown of your head.

You stop quickly, not wanting to get caught doing something disgustingly endearing so he has the opportunity to poke fun. That was something you learned the hard way, because one time at the library you just had to adjust the way his hair looked in a baseball cap, and he proceeded to tease you about it for a month straight.

At the time, you could handle the poking and prodding, but you aren't so sure you could now.

For a moment, you think he’s fallen back asleep, but seconds later his hands are slowly rubbing up and down your bare back and he’s stretching his long legs, almost impossibly pressing himself closer to you.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles above you, the deep grovel of his baritone voice sending a shiver down your spine. “How’d you sleep?”

God, the whole thing is so sickly sweet and casual that it makes your chest ache. “Good. You?”

Rafe only hums, taking another long, deep breath.

One of his hands leaves the warmth of your back and trails up your arm to cradle your jaw, running the pad of his thumb over your chin and brushing over your lip.

You stiffen, especially when he cranes his neck back so he can press his lips to your forehead, leaving gentle kisses against your hairline.

It’s too much.

You clear your throat, attempting to pull back to get ready for the day even though you have no obligations until the afternoon, but Rafe doesn’t let you, holding your body in place as his lips tickle your skin as he mumbles something incoherent, and you swear you're dreaming when it comes out like a whine, a protest.

“We…we shouldn’t,” you whisper pathetically, trying to convince yourself of it.

But Rafe shakes his head above you. “Five more minutes. Please.”

Every excuse in the book goes flying out the window at his words, you stilling at the thought of him begging to stay like this for a little while longer.

This is the shit that makes you spiral, how he’s so contradictory of himself.

One second he’s insinuating your emotional connection means nothing to him, and the next he’s gripping onto you as if you're a lifeline, as if you’ll drift away if he lessens his hold even a fraction. It’s supposed to be casual, fun, and fleeting. You aren’t supposed to be burdened with this dance of will you, won’t you bullshit.

Nevertheless, you find yourself agreeing, staying put in his arms and continuing your feather-light traces on his chest.

You definitely stay like that for longer than five minutes, simply laying and feeling the hills and ridges of each other’s bodies with low, syncopated breaths. No words are exchanged.

You're not sure if you're more content with or without the silence.

You spend so long looking at his neck that when Rafe inches back to bring his face centimeters from yours, it startles you.

Even in the dimly lit room with the sun poking through the thick curtains, you can still make out the blue of his eyes boring into yours, bearing a softness to them that has your heart melting. His hand still cradles your jaw, holding you there gently, eyes wandering all over your face from your own, your lips, your cheeks and jaw to where he has you, every inch not going unnoticed.

You aren't sure how long he holds your gaze like this. It could’ve been five minutes or five seconds. But eventually he’s leaning in and capturing you in a hushed kiss that takes your breath away, physically and mentally, because a daunting realization strikes your chest like lightning, something that you've been trying to push and shove down in the depths of your mind in the fear of getting hurt.

This feeling towards him isn’t going anywhere.

It’s growing uncontrollably fast, and there’s no point of return. Your liking towards Rafe is treading into uncharted territory, transforming into something that makes you sick to your stomach.

God, you want to pull away – no – you need to pull away.

You need to save yourself from falling into this again, from opening your heart up to someone who isn’t ready to accept it.

Truthfully, you can’t go through another rejection, another build up of believing someone cares about you all for it to be performative. It happened with your mother. It happened with Grant. And now it’s happening with Rafe.

You're a fool. You never learn this damn lesson. The desire to be loved is stronger than your inhibitions, it has you crawling back every single time because the desperation is unfathomable. Every time you believe it’ll be different, it’ll be real, you’ll finally get what you've been praying for. But it never is. And it won’t be with him. You need to know that.

It has to just be sex. It can’t be anything more than that.

So you initiate it.

You really try to ignore the shock on his face when your hands trail further down his chest, teasing the waistband of his boxers.

But Rafe’s surprise quickly morphs into desire, kissing you differently now, hungrily, as his hands stop touching you in the gentleness from before and instead grip, kneed, grope as he pushes you onto your back and hovers over your body. You immediately feel him harden against your touch, grabbing him to quickly speed things along and making him moan into your mouth.

Every time he ventures into the princess treatment territory, you brush it off and swallow the lump in your throat, kissing him harder or squeezing him as if to snap him out of it.

He tries to initiate that once, twice, but you don't let him, instead dragging the sex into a different direction, a detached direction.

You can tell he’s confused, but he doesn’t ask, doesn't pry, and instead goes along in the orchestration of your intentions. He fingers you through your first orgasm, then prepares to fuck you in missionary until you stop him.

When you whisper in his ear that you want it rough, he complies, hauling you up on your hands and knees and balancing himself with one foot propped up and the other knee bent so he can fuck you hard and deep against the mattress.

You try to ignore how the sheets smell like him, how his moans only spur you on further, how the vulgarities he spits at you teeter between filth and possessiveness to endearing. You try and ignore how nice he feels, how his rough fucking contradicts his saccharine words.

Rafe moans about how nice you feel, like you're made for him, how you're taking him so well. The second time you orgasm, he’s right there with you, spilling into the condom buried deep inside you, moaning your name over and over again with a whine so vulgar that it makes you shudder.

Eventually, your body limps against the mattress when he pulls out, leaving the room momentarily only to return with a damp warm towel, cleaning the undersides of your thighs and cooing in your ear how well you did for him.

You don't even remember if you respond, maybe with a low hum or noise of appreciation.

He brushes the hair out of your face, placing another kiss on your temple before pulling the covers over you again, settling in behind you and pulling you close to his chest again.

You let a tear slip out when you feel him fall asleep.

Maybe another hour goes by as you lie there in his arms, and it dawns on you that no matter how rough and deep he’ll fuck you, it won’t get rid of your problem and it’ll make it harder for you to detach from him, especially when he says stuff like that or treats you like you're made of porcelain afterwards.

You want him to treat you poorly, like you're just another fuck, because it’ll make it easier for you to pull away.

Eventually, you slip out of his arms and dress yourself in your bathing suit and cover up, quietly navigating through the room to gather your things. It’s surprisingly early, just barely nine, when you leave the room and take refuge on the beach. You're grateful that there aren’t a lot of people around you, seeming as if you have the entire shore to yourself with the exception of a few people.

Before you enter the water, you send a quick text to Rafe to let him know where you are so he doesn’t worry.

A part of you hopes he doesn’t wake up for another hour or so, because knowing him he’ll most likely come and find you immediately. You almost dread his upcoming interrogation about your sudden departure, because you really don't want him to notice. Or care. Or at least pretend to.

A little while later, you're coming out of the water when you notice him sitting on the chair with all of your stuff on it, clad in his bathing suit and a white t-shirt with sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looks ridiculously handsome, even wearing a slight frown, so you have to look away and grab your towel to refrain from brushing the hair out of his eyes.

You don't notice him relentlessly picking at his nail beds.

“Hey,” Rafe says cautiously, as if he’s testing the waters. “You good?”

You nod, putting on a soft smile that you hope looks genuine enough to get him to back off. “Yeah. I just wanted to take advantage of our last day in the sun.”

He narrows his gaze at you, wanting to press further. “Right.”

Then he scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick of his, and places a hand on your knee when you eventually lie down on the chair.

“It wasn’t…I didn’t go too hard, did I?”

The concern in his tone makes your jaw slack slightly, heart lurching at the pinch in his brows, frowning as if he’s in pain. Rafe’s blue eyes search yours for an ounce of confirmation, almost desperately, as if the thought of hurting you makes him sick.

It takes a moment for you to pull herself together, because that’s not at all what’s wrong, the reasoning being far, far worse than rough sex, being that you needed the rough sex to remind yourself that there’s nothing more than that between you two.

You place a hand over his. “No, not at all. I’m…that’s not…” you trail off, brushing it off with a gentle squeeze to confirm. “I liked it. I’m alright. Honestly.”

“You’d tell me?”

You want to scream. It’s not about the sex, it’s about everything else.

Of course, you can’t say that. “Yes. Promise.”

Rafe doesn’t look too sure, but backs off anyway.

He takes the vacant seat next to you as he lays in the sun with you.

Yet today’s quieter then usual, you two only talking about a few unimportant things or verbally observing the people around you. When you go in the water, he doesn’t follow, instead going in when you come out, claiming someone needs to watch your stuff, which truly has never been a problem before, but you can tell he's distancing himself.

You should feel relieved – he’s backing off, detaching himself like you want him too.

But you hate the way it makes your heart feel, as if this is the rejection itself.

God, you need to get your shit together.

God, he needs to get his shit together.

When he wakes up alone, it stings.

Of course, he figures you're in the bathroom or something, but the elongated silence in the room leads him to think otherwise. In the realization that he’s, in fact, by himself, Rafe sits up and checks his phone, seeing a text from you that you're down by the water.

Confusion bubbles in his chest at your sudden departure, wondering why you didn’t wake him up or at least tell him you were leaving the room, slightly irritated that he has to find out through a simple text.

Rafe throws his phone somewhere on the bed and sighs, looking down at the sheets as he smooths over where you once laid as if to mourn your absence. Eventually, his palm skims over your pillow and his irritation quickly morphs into panic when he feels damp droplets.

Retracting his hand as if the pillow’s on fire, the ugly realization settles in his chest that you were crying.

His mind reels. Why? Was he too rough?

Before he knows it, Rafe is changing into his bathing suit and throwing on a shirt, not even bothering to bring his phone as he barrels out of the room, desperate to make sure you're alright.

His chest blooms with guilt as he recounts the sex, trying to recall if he grabbed you too hard or what it was that warranted it to hurt. You didn’t say anything - god, why didn't you say anything? - or give any indication that you didn’t like it. He knows that because he was especially paying attention after you declined his soft touches, trying to initiate the more gentler sex that you admitted to liking.

So when you brush him off and flash a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, Rafe doesn’t even know what to think.

Guilt plagues him all morning. There are some points where you're talking to him and he can’t even bring himself to look at you, knowing he hurt you. And you're acting like everything is fine, prompting nonchalant conversation and completing dancing around the elephant in the room.

He doesn’t know how to act. He engages in the topics as much as his brain will allow him to, but his thoughts always return to the inevitable and how your teardrops felt on the pillow.

Of course, Rafe thinks bitterly. He has to go and fuck something good up in his life because that’s all he knows how to do. He’s a beacon of destruction, never being able to enjoy anything for longer periods at a time, because he knows, at some point, he’ll do or say something to jeopardize that.

His chest pulls when he realizes he’s probably lost you for good.

You won’t confide in him. You won’t tell him the truth. You won’t let him in.

Well, why would you? Especially when he hurt you.

Rafe flinches when you nudge him.

“What?” He doesn’t realize you ask him something.

You eye him with a cautious smile. “I asked if you were gonna stay, I have to start getting ready.”

He brings himself to look at you for a split second, but the pang of pain in his chest makes him look away abruptly. “Uh, yeah. I’ll stay for a little.”

You simply nod, gathering your things and flashing him a soft smile before leaving him again.

Irritation clouds his judgement, his mind shouting obscenities at himself.

How could he do that to you? After everything you've done for him, that’s how he repays you? He must be some sort of monster, or something, if this is how he treats the people he loves–

Wait, no.

Yes.

That realization hits Rafe like a ton of bricks.

No. No.

He can’t love you. He isn’t capable of that, of such fervor or intensity. Rafe doesn’t do love, he doesn’t do trust, he doesn’t do anything that would make him feel lesser then. Not only is he unable to do so, he won’t allow it.

Because what right does he have?

Rafe wouldn’t be able to treat you how you deserve to be treated, he would find some way to fuck it up – like he already has. He can’t give her what you need, what you want.

You've only been sleeping together for three months, and have known each other for less than a year. You couldn't possibly want him. You're repulsed by him. All he does is hurt you, with his words, with his hands, with everything he has no matter how hard he tries not to. He’s accident prone, subjected to fuck up every single thing that he touches. All you see him as is a partial friend, someone you can find temporary solace with.

This morning, Rafe thinks back to how you tried pulling away from his embrace, feeling humiliation rise in his throat when he didn’t let you, how he pathetically kept you closer.

God, how can he be so stupid?

His head hangs low when he heads back to the room, giving you more than enough time to get ready.

Rafe barely spares you a glance when he enters, immediately heading to the bathroom to take a quick shower to wash off all the guilt he’s endured today. He stands in there longer than he should, because no amount of water makes him feel clean no matter how hard he scrubs the soap against his body, no matter how red his skin gets, no matter how much it starts to irritate.

Of course, all Rafe wants to do is wallow in his own self pity, but he can’t, because he has a part to play.

He needs to be there for you tonight, despite how fearful he is of touching you again after this morning, knowing it was his hands that hurt you, his body. All he wants to do is detach himself, distance himself to prevent it from happening again, and hopefully the space will allow him to get over his feelings, to get over this love, because he knows it’s a shot in the dark. He knows nothing will come of it.

Rafe decides that tonight he’s going to try his best to be a gentle boyfriend, one that takes your hand only when you want him to, one that defends you from your brutal family, one that dances with you if you request a song with him.

As he’s slipping on his suit jacket, you emerge from the bathroom wearing the wine red gown he bought you, and it takes his breath away.

Thank god you don't notice him basically going into cardiac arrest at the sight of you, gulping the lump in his throat down and composing himself when you finally look at him.

Rafe’s chest swells with pride when he sees you're wearing the jewelry he gave you: a plethora of chunky metal rings, simple studs in your second hole and long dangly earrings in your first, and you're gently slipping on the heels he bought you.

You look absolutely beautiful. He wants to tell you.

“Ready?” You ask simply, fixing your tied up hair in the mirror.

Rafe can’t find the words. He nods instead.

The wedding ceremony is a short taxi ride away.

It’s down by a cove cliff that overlooks the water, a hundred or so chairs neatly stretched out on the field that look upon the ocean and the altar. The sun beats down in its setting haze, casting a warm hue that contrasts the cool breeze brought by the shore. The beautiful bouquet arch that the priest stands under is adorned with all sorts of flowers, blooming in full blossom intertwined with vine and leaves.

You and Rafe arrive with fifteen minutes to spare, and when you exit the cab onto the grassy field, you have to cling onto his arm so your heels don’t get stuck in the dirt.

The contact makes his head all fuzzy, but nonetheless takes pride in guiding you towards the seats, offering an elbow instead of throwing his arm around your waist as he would’ve preferred, or honestly carrying you. He figures it looks more gentleman-like, and you don't complain about it.

Making your way to the bride’s side, you nearly double over at the sight of Yara. Sure, she looks beautiful, especially while wearing the silky lilac dress that was originally meant for you.

Your mind lingers to last night, that numbing feeling rising like bile in your throat all over again.

She’ll give it to someone who deserves it, is what Paulette told you about the dress, making you travel two floors up to hand-deliver the silky gown at your mother’s room just the other day.

Well, it seems like she’s found someone who deserves it.

Rafe follows your gaze to the lilac dress and frowns. Gently, he guides you to turn away from the sight and focus on other people instead.

And it works, because you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding at the sight of Lorenza making small talk with your father. Though the elderly woman abandons her practical-son the moment she spots you, excusing herself and pulling you into a warm embrace.

Rafe doesn’t realize how much he missed her when she gives him a big hug as well, kissing his cheeks and gesturing to his body, most likely saying something about how skinny he still is despite her best efforts.

In the corner of his eye, he spots Paulette and Patrick speaking in hushed whispers, the two of them, of course, in the very front row. Then, he locks eyes with your mother, narrowing his gaze in the slightest and hoping his coldness comes across very clearly, and he simply can’t help it when his arm naturally drapes around your waist, a blatantly possessive act that he should feel embarrassed about, but doesn’t.

Patrick follows his mother’s gaze and his eyes widen a fraction when they settle on Rafe, sucking in a deep breath and tugging his mother’s dress skirt like a child. Satisfaction blooms in his chest when they avert their eyes away from him, standing down.

You talk to Lorenza, unbeknownst of his little act of dominance, and don't seem repulsed by his touch, so he doesn’t remove his arm.

The three of you sit together, you in the middle, when the ceremony starts with the groomsmen and bridesmaids one by one shuffling down the aisle, lining up accordingly by the altar.

In his peripheral, he sees Lorenza whisper something to you, subtly pointing at one of the groomsmen. Whatever she says makes you stifle a laugh, which grabs Rafe’s attention.

Part of him feels silly, wanting to lean down and ask what’s so funny, but then composes himself and looks forward.

But you loop him in involuntarily. You're so close that your lips ghost the shell of his ear, sending a chill down his spine.

“See the second groomsmen from the right?”

He finds the guy and nods.

“Nonna said his fiance caught him taking it up the ass from her brother the day before they were supposed to get married.”

Rafe cranes his neck to look down at you in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head at him, focusing your eyes back on the altar. “Isn’t that crazy?”

He simply hums, keeping his gaze on you for a moment longer before averting his attention forward.

Kevin walks down the aisle with his mother, soothing violins melodically playing off to the side. A particularly harsh breeze from the ocean wafts over the ceremony, causing women to duck their heads to avoid their hair getting messed up and some men to button their jackets.

You shrivel up slightly. Rafe frowns.

“Are you cold?” When you don't respond, maybe not hearing him, he says your name, getting you to look up with those pretty eyes.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you were cold.”

You shake your head. “It’s like sixty five degrees out. I’m fine.”

But he notices the subtle goosebumps adorning your arms as the wind keeps picking up, and shuffles in his seat and peels off his jacket in an instant.

“Rafe–”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he shoots you a glare, a warning, as he drapes the suit coat over your shoulders, making sure it’s snug and covering your arms. He pats it down once, twice, then retreats his hands, his fingers lingering ever so slightly along your shoulders before letting them fall into his lap.

You shrink into it, hating the way it smells like him. “Thanks.”

He can’t help but bite into the bit. “What? No bratty remark?”

“I’ve taken a temporary vow of kindness.”

“Careful, sweet girl. Don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft now.”

“Never,” you whisper playfully. “Just living up to my name, is all.”

Sweet fucking girl, Rafe thinks. He wants to continue playing, but the ever-so-familiar tune coming from the violins causes everyone to stand, interrupting his acute attempt to fall back into step with you.

Sure, Jessa seems to look great with the two second glance that Rafe spares, but his eyes fall back to you, watching your cousin with a bright smile, admiring her hair, her dress, her veil as she slowly walks down the aisle.

He can’t help the way his chest pulls as he shamelessly stares at you, studying the bridge of your nose, the slant of your jawline, the delicate pieces of hair that frame your face, the slightest dimple on your cheek, the way his suit jacket seems to swallow you whole. The sight of you in his clothes, whether it be a t-shirt or a jacket or boxers, makes him dizzy nonetheless.

In the midst of his gawking, he thanks every higher being that you're facing away from him so you won’t notice.

But someone does notice.

Lorenza.

The older woman all but raises a knowing brow at him, a teasing one, as she catches him. It takes a minute to notice he’s been caught, but his cheeks burn at the discovery and he instantly looks away towards the bride. Rafe notices her stare for a few seconds longer before turning back to the main event.

But the damage is done.

Everyone sits back down, and Rafe picks at his nails as the ceremony continues. He doesn’t really care for weddings, the last one he went to being his father’s to his stepmother, who he definitely can’t stand. All he remembers is drinking and drinking during the reception that he eventually just staggered upstairs to his room and passed out. He was fifteen.

A hand covers his own, stopping his bad habit.

Your fingers separate his hands, shooting him a pointed look as if to slap his wrist for the careless handling of his cuticles. He rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the jolt from the skin on skin contact, but can’t help but pinch his brows when you keep your hand there on his lap, fingers spread wide as if you're prompting him to do something.

When he does nothing, you wiggle your fingers and nods towards them, as if to say, here, fidget with these instead.

So Rafe does. He slowly encases his hand with yours, fidgeting and playing around with the plethora of rings on your fingers, giving his poor nail beds a break as the ceremony continues in front of you. But his focus isn’t really there, it’s here in his lap, and you don't seem to mind being poked and prodded the entire time.

Another thirty minutes go by and Rafe’s head snaps up when everyone starts cheering, seeing Jessa and Kevin locked in a passionate kiss at the altar. Your hand, unfortunately, leaves his to clap for the newlyweds, Rafe finding it in himself to do the same, primarily only finding joy from the giant smile on your face as you watch them.

“Where would you want your wedding to be?”

You and Rafe sit in the taxi ride back to the resort, the sun’s setting gaze filtering through the window to overcast the wisps in your hair, the windows cracked open to give them a steady breeze as you ride along the coast. Some old Italian song plays low on the antique stereo, filling the prolonged silence before you – that is – before you ask that question.

It startles him, pulling him from his shameless staring of your profile that once was fixated on the coast, your gaze now on him.

“Uhm,” Rafe scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“You haven’t thought about your own wedding?” You ask in disbelief.

Rafe only shrugs.

Weddings aren’t his thing. Birthday parties and other celebrations he can get behind a grand gesture for, but this type of event is different for him. His parents never ended up working out and he grew up hearing the tales of their wedding, how over the top and extravagant it was on the southern coast of France. But the money had been a waste, the exquisite food and dress and decorations didn’t matter in the end because she left.

Every grand wedding he’s ever been to or heard of never lasted long, the couple eventually getting sick of each other or some scandal runs rampant. Rafe always thought of it embarrassing, to drop so much dope on a celebration that doesn’t last. If the day ever comes, he supposes he’d appreciate a small gathering with people he actually cares about. It’s hard to make a long list of those people.

“I’d probably want a small one,” is what he settles on.

You ignore his dismissive tone, his suit jacket still draped over your shoulders. “Where?”

“Haven’t thought about it.”

“Seriously?”

Rafe cocks his head to the side, half in warning and half in curiosity. “Baby, are you asking me all this stuff so I’ll have to ask you?”

You scoff and cross your arms as if that’s the most offensive thing you've ever heard. “No.”

Turning away from him, you look back out onto the horizon with a quiet huff.

But he can’t stop the grin etching onto his lips. “Where’d you want yours?”

“Nope.”

Rafe laughs accusatorily. “Oh, c’mon.”

You don't budge, still faced away from him like a brat.

He takes another selfish moment to ogle at you, the orange hue of the sunset casting a shadow over your face, especially the adorable pout adorning your lips. You even lean your knees away from him, seemingly pressed against the car door to be as far away from him as possible.

The stubbornness would’ve been annoying two weeks ago, and he probably would’ve gotten irritated and found a way to storm off at getting blatantly brushed off, but now he finds it endearing, especially when he swears he can make out a faint smile on your face.

He says your name teasingly. You don't budge.

Shaking his head with a playful scoff, he backs off, mumbling something under his breath as he looks out the window on his side, admiring the way the sun’s glimmer shines on the mountains.

All he wants to do is pull you into his lap and figure out some overtly romantic way to tell you how beautiful you look, but knows all that lovey-dovey shit will sound disingenuous coming out of his mouth.

He’d probably stutter it, anyway, and that would actually kill him.

You ride in silence until you're pulling up to the resort at the same time as your extended family, so Rafe pulls out the oldest trick in the book and gets out first, offering his hand to you. Sure, it’s seen as a formality, especially to Lorenza who notices from a far, but Rafe just wants another excuse to touch you again without breathing down your neck, knowing this act won't hurt you.

You slip your hand into his. “Rafe Cameron boyfriend experience?”

The teasing tone makes him roll his eyes. “Get out of the car.”

You snort and link your arm with his, letting him essentially escort you into the resort. Following the crowd, everyone slowly gathers into the same ballroom as the rehearsal last night with the exception of about fifty more chairs and far more tables to accommodate all the guests. There’s plentiful buzz and excitement from the ceremony that translates, the wedding guests looking for their assigned table and heading over.

As you approach your assigned table, he feels you straighten your posture and take a long breath at the sight of your parents standing at their chairs, engaging in conversation with Yara and Grant.

As if Paulette senses them, she turns to greet you in her normal cordial manner, but Yara interrupts her with a gasp.

“Ohemgee!” she toddler grabs at your gown. “That dress is so beautiful! The stitching is so clean, and the color is so elegant. Oh, don’t you agree, Paulette?”

Darting her gaze from your face to the gown and back up to Paulette's face, your mother manages to put on a tight smile that could pass for agreement.

You suck in a breath in anticipation. “It’s nice,” is all your mother offers.

But it's enough, because that’s probably one of the nicest things she's has ever said about you. Well, not about you but about something related to you.

And even though it’s said out of pressure, you can’t help but relax a little bit in response. As much as you want to throttle Yara more than half of the time, you're thankful that she albeit forced your mother to say something positive.

Yara’s eyes dance over the gown in awe. “I have to have one. Did they have other colors?” You don't get the chance to respond before she’s asking more questions. “Oh, no, I actually quite like this color. Where did you get this?”

You rub your thumb along Rafe’s forearm where you still clutch to him. “A small shop by my nonna’s cottage. Rafe bought it for me a few days ago.”

Oh, he hates how his chest immediately swells with pride.

Especially when Yara sighs dreamily, then snapping out of it to backhand slap Grant’s chest, who stands innocently behind her simply watching the whole interaction.

“Why don’t you buy me anything like that, babe?”

It’s not like I made it easy, you think sarcastically.

Grant surrenders within a second with a dejected sigh, looking tired of it all. He spares one glance at you before he shifts uncomfortably, noticing he’s under Rafe’s narrowed gaze, as if even looking at his ex-girlfriend is unacceptable. All he does is swallow the lump in his throat and shrugs, dismissing the conversation.

Classic Grant, you snort internally. Offering absolutely nothing.

Yara doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, used to his quieter behavior, simply drooling over the gown for a few seconds longer before Paulette is stealing her attention away, showing her something on the phone that serves as the end of the conversation.

With a long breath, you go to sit down in the same seat as you did last night, but Rafe stops you, motioning you wordlessly to switch with him with a simple nod towards his chair.

You frown at him. “But that means you’d–”

“Sit.”

“But–”

“Sweet girl,” he warns, not willing to hear another word.

Biting your lip, you reel back in his serious expression, squeezing his hand as a wordless thank you before going to take his seat.

You figure that sitting next to him and Yara is infinitely better than sitting next to your mother. On any occasion, you'd rather sit next to anyone else on planet earth if it meant not sitting next to Paulette.

And – boy – even though the added space is one person away, it makes a huge difference.

Jessa and Kevin have their first dance to a beautiful violin quartet piece, and it looks straight out of a movie: the details of her dress as she glides across the ballroom, his buff figure guiding her around as if she weighs nothing, the dimmed lights on the overhanging chandelier. The whole moment is so moving, so captivating, that you don't realize you hold Rafe’s hand the entire time.

When the applause waves at the end, you pull your hand away with a sheepish smile, clapping along with everyone and avoiding his gaze. You figure he’s staring at you with that stupid knowing smirk, the teasing kind that he likes to throw at you when he catches you doing something disgustingly endearing, but when you meet his eye, his eyes soften and instead wears an indifferent expression. Adoration?

Whatever it is, it makes you feel uneasy so you find yourself directing your attention to the maid of honor’s speech.

The formalities pass with laughter and awws and applause, and soon enough dinner is rolling around in flair fashion. The meal is extraordinary – no doubt overpriced – but nonetheless your plates are scraped clean.

It’s also lovely that Rafe informally places his elbow on the table and leans forward, further shielding you from Paulette’s stare for the entire time you eat. You're grateful for the wall, and feels like you can actually breathe.

Soon enough, people are flocking to the dance floor with their drinks and drunken splendor, and even your parents leave the table to go mingle with extended family. It leaves you and Rafe alone at the table, laughing over something stupid and sipping from your wine. The few songs you find yourselves alone for are comforting, not having any of your family around or breathing down your neck, just simply sitting here with him is nice.

You swirl the wine in your glass, murmuring something playful to him that he doesn’t even hear, because his palms are getting sweaty and he’s just gathering up the courage to ask you to dance when Lorenza approaches you.

“Andiamo,” she says to Rafe. “Vieni con me.”

Rafe looks startled, confusion and nerves prickling his chest as he darts his gaze between the two of you. “Uh–”

You save him, stifling a laugh. “She wants you to dance with her.”

He’s relieved it’s nothing bad, and lets out a breath. A protest rises in his throat, wanting to ask you instead, but he swallows it when he sees the gleeful smile on Lorenza’s face, anticipating him to get up and escort her with everyone else.

So, with a polite smile, Rafe stands and leads Lorenza to the dance floor, not before throwing a glance over his shoulder to see you unmoved from your spot, watching them with a soft smile.

You belly laugh at the sight of Rafe, because he definitely looks out of place – and is nearly a head taller than most of the people here – as he spins Lorenza around to the up beat song. Despite his reluctance at first, you can tell he’s enjoying it by the big, stupid grin on his face and how Lorenza shrieks in laughter every time he spins her around. They bump into neighboring dancers but don’t even flinch.

God, the sight is sickeningly delightful. You know you're down bad when you rest your chin on your knuckles, watching them with a proud smile.

The moment is so captivating that you don't notice Yara sitting down next to you.

When she nudges you, you're reluctantly pulled out of the trance and frowning at the intrusion. But when Yara looks at you as if she’s anticipating a response, you simply hum in confusion.

It doesn’t faze Yara, instead she chuckles. “I said you two seem nice together.”

You dart your gaze between the girl next to you and the boy on the ballroom floor, and an objection rises but dies in your throat. For once, you swallow and take the compliment, offering Yara a kind smile in return for the nice observation.

“I mean it,” Yara continues, softer, more teasing. “It, uh, seems like you have a lot of fun together.”

The tone makes you furrow your eyebrows.

The confusion makes Yara continue. “Our room is right next to yours. We kind of…heard you this morning.”

It takes you a second to process what she’s saying, heart dropping at the insinuation.

You widen your eyes, horrified at the thought of Yara and Grant of all people hearing you have some of the roughest sex you’ve yet to have together.

“Fuck,” you curse, slapping a hand over your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

But Yara doesn’t seem fazed, instead laughing at your embarrassment and cheers-ing your glass in a way that makes it seem like you're relating to each other. “Don’t be. He actually seems obsessed with you. And I also think it’s kind of sweet how protective he is over you.”

That word grabs your attention. “Protective?”

“Oh my god, yeah!” Yara gasps in disbelief. “Girl, the look on whenever Grant is nearby is literally, like, so funny. If looks could kill…” she trails off, giggling like a schoolgirl.

But your cheeks burn at the thought of it, and you damn near giggle too on how serious he’s taking this whole boyfriend versus ex-boyfriend stand off.

Part of that puts you at ease, because you've been wondering the whole time why Grant hasn’t even tried to talk to you or make conversation, and little do you know the reasoning this whole time was because of a certain blue eyed man shooting daggers at him.

Another part of you stills at the possessiveness, arguing that there’s a piece of him that feels compelled to do so, obligated.

“Yeah, I guess he can be a bit…” You try to find the right word. “...cautious.”

The blonde hums in agreement, then flickers her gaze between you and Rafe. “He stares at you, like, all the time.”

The confession makes you still again. Does he really?

No, he couldn’t have been. Yara’s making that up.

But then you frown. How would Yara know that? Is she staring at him?

“Probably had something in my teeth,” you attempt to joke, swirling around the wine in your glass and wanting to drop the topic.

Suddenly, the blonde is sitting too close and smiling a little too sweet to be considered genuine.

No, you think.

Despite how annoying she is, Yara has actually been relatively decent to her on this trip. She could’ve made your life a living hell, and part of her has in a way she can’t really control, but she’s been warm and cordial enough not to raise any red flags.

You need to grow up and put the petty high school drama behind you, because at the end of the day she’s given you no reason to shove her off.

“How long have you been together?” Yara asks quizzically.

The question is so simple but you freeze. You decide to go with when you started fucking. “About three months ago. Beginning of the semester.”

By the way she opens and closes her mouth, it seems like Yara wants to ask something else but decides against it, instead shooting you a soft smile and placing her hand on your forearm.

“You guys are adorable. Seriously. Hold onto that one.”

Then she shoots you a wink, rising from her seat and disappearing into the sea of people mingling.

You don't even have time to process the entire confrontation when Rafe is suddenly plopping down beside you, causing you to nearly jolt out of your seat.

“Jesus!”

“I should be saying that,” Rafe pants, taking a long sip of his wine and downing it. “I think your nonna is in better shape than me. I couldn’t keep up.”

The chuckle escapes your mouth before you can stop it, taking a moment to study him. He leans back in the seat, slumped, chest rising and falling rapidly but slowly coming down. The red tint on his cheeks really makes you think that he was putting in the work, because you know your nonna, that woman has the stamina of a stallion despite her age.

You pick up a napkin and mockingly press it to his forehead, cooing softly. “Aw, did my seventy-three year old nonna run circles around you, baby?”

“She did. It’s no joking matter.”

Rafe basically yanks the napkin out of your hands and hazardously throwing it on the table, replacing it with his hands instead and the softness of his fingers make your breath hitch.

He gingerly plays with your rings, smoothing the lines over your palms and knuckles, boring his eyes so deeply into yours that suddenly it feels like you’re the only two people in the room, especially when the pop-upbeat song slowly fades into something calmer, slower, more romantic that it makes your heart lurch into your throat.

Rafe’s blue eyes flicker with uncertainty. “Wanna dance?”

The intimacy throws you off, offering a quip. “You sure you’ll be able to keep up?” But your voice wavers, your faces being closer together than you thought.

He doesn’t lean into the bit, instead nodding slowly, sincerely, as his lips press into a straight line.

The intensity of his gaze, of his question, burns your skin. Nonetheless, you match his nod, not trusting your words, and soon enough he’s guiding you to stand by your elbow and escorting your to the dance floor.

You wedge into the sea of people, all slow dancing to a melodic tune that’s so fucking romantic that your heart races.

Wordlessly, you reach up and interlock your fingers behind his neck, not before neatly fixing the collar of his dress shirt while his hands settling modestly on your waist. You nearly jump when the tips of his fingers meet your bare back, almost cursing at the vulnerability of the dress.

The violin and piano concerto echoes throughout the ballroom, and despite being surrounded by so many people, it feels as though you are alone, swaying with each other to the tune.

Sure, you've danced with boys before at prom and homecoming, but this is entirely different.

It’s breathtaking and anxiety inducing – holding each other so tenderly without the implications of sex coming right after. It’s intimate, far too romantic, especially with the way he’s looking at you, as if you've hung the sun and stars yourself.

He’s saying something to you, you realize.

“What?” You ask, breathless.

Rafe takes a deep breath. “I said you look beautiful.”

You still.

Beautiful?

“I mean,” he adds, almost nervously. “You always do. Look beautiful. It’s just that tonight, you…” Rafe trails off, unable to wind the words.

But you understand.

And – god – your heart is pounding so loud he must hear it, or feel it given how close together you’re standing.

“Thank you,” you say so quietly you aren't sure it reaches his ears.

But it does.

You can’t remember the last time someone ever called you that. Or if anyone’s ever called you that.

“It’s true,” he whispers back.

The words spill out before you can stop them. “You look very handsome tonight.”

A small smile rises on his lips and Rafe looks away for a split second, almost shyly, before returning his focus back down to you. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

You hum at the pet name, biting your lip to refrain from saying anything more embarrassing and pulls him a fraction closer.

Your eyes search the features of his face, the edge of his jaw to the hair that falls onto his forehead, the dimples on the side of his mouth to the crease between his brows. It’s not fair. Every inch of him is pretty, blessed by the kiss of a greater being.

The moment is perfect, you realize, being here with him in his arms, slow-dancing to an amorous classical piece, looking at him and only him as if nothing else around you matters.

For now, you forget you're not really his, nor is he yours.

It’s a problem for later, a problem that you're going to kick yourself for tomorrow, but right now it doesn’t matter. Nothing is of importance.

The light feeling in your chest makes you feel good, and perhaps it’s the wine you've been drinking all night, but you have to admit that some part of it is emitted from him. He’s intoxicating, yet you can’t seem to come to your senses and pull away.

One thing does cross your mind, and it’s that Rafe Cameron should come with a warning.

He’s saying your name.

You hum in response.

Rafe looks both certain and uncertain at the same time, teetering between the two emulations that he wants to come across with, but eventually something fixed settles in his gaze: determination. The expression makes your heart skip.

Why is he looking at you like that?

“I don’t think I can go back to the way things were before.”

The confession hits you like a ton of bricks.

“What?”

You hope your fearful tone deters him, but it only spurs him on further.

“When we were…” Rafe searches for the right words, “...only sleeping together.”

You connect the dots. “You want…more?”

Panic arises in your throat at your biggest fear is coming true when Rafe slowly nods, a sliver of desperation hidden in his eyes that has you sucking in a breath.

No. No. No.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He isn’t supposed to actually want you.

There must be some confusion, or he’s been taking shots behind your back. The forced proximity is getting to his head, is all, and making him think he wants you solely for the fact you’ve only been graced with each others’ presence. You’re going to get back to school and you’re gonna fall into the same routine as normal, where you still see other people and sleep together when you’re feeling lazy and horny and don’t feel like going through the motions with someone else, and he’s going to realize how incorrigible the idea was and laugh at the implication.

Because you can’t offer more.

The concept in itself is foreign to you. You only know how to be casual, how to be intimate from an arm’s length away, because anything closer than that becomes uncharted territory.

The idea of being wanted by someone feels wrong, disingenuous. You're used to waiting for the big gotcha! that always happens with things like this, as you're constantly used to getting reeled in, toyed with, then released back without so much as a spare glance or a string of pity.

How are you supposed to believe that he wants you?

Rafe Cameron doesn’t know you.

You don't know him.

You don’t know each other in the way that matters when it comes to being more.

Sure, he can tell when you're close to finishing and you understand how to get him riled up, but what else? You can’t name his favorite color or his birthday or his biggest fear or even begin to understand his family dynamics. He doesn’t know your secrets or your favorite animal or your middle name. You can recall the freckles on his back and map them from memory like constellations but don't know his sisters’ names.

God, he’s saying your name again and you hate when he uses it. It makes this feel more real, as if it’s actually happening.

The nausea mixed with panic makes your knees wobble.

“You’re just drunk,” you meekly respond, no longer able to look him in the eye but instead settling on his tie. You hate the way your voice is so small, wavering, timid.

But Rafe hears you, and he says your name again. “I’m not. I’m serious.”

Fuck.

He can’t be serious. There’s no way you can believe that he’s not setting you up for humiliation like everyone else. He’s just pussy whipped, it’s the only explanation.

You swallow thickly. “You don’t…That’s not what you want.”

Suddenly Rafe’s hand is leaving your waist to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze to your utter dismay.

His brows are pinched in irritation, in offense, but his eyes gloss with worry. “I’m telling you what I want.”

You shake your head. “No–”

“I want you,” he says firmly. “Only you.”

The stake in the claim makes your knees nearly buckle. No. No. No.

This can’t be happening. He’s delusional, simply used to your company. The remedy is finding someone else to remind him that you're not what he needs, you're not what he wants, you're simply the closest person to him at the moment which makes it easier, more convenient, to get his dick wet.

That’s all. That has to be all.

The concept of him only wanting you – wanting only one person after countless lewd comments on how he could never, ever, find the gall to settle down – makes your blood boil.

This is mean.

“No, Rafe–”

You pull away from him, taking an uncoordinated step back and thankfully the song has transitioned into something more upbeat and no one around you has noticed your lack of enthusiasm.

You look up at him, bewildered and offended, anger bubbling in your chest, heart rising to your throat.

This is some sick fucking joke.

“I think you’re confused.”

He scoffs, matching your anger. There’s no doubt he’s embarrassed about getting rejected, getting left in the dust surrounded by strangers.

You don’t even know what you want, you want to scream at him.

“Tell me, then. Since you’re so sure.” Rafe takes another step forward to account for your step back and the invasion is daunting. “Why would I be confused?”

You aren't sure which way is up right now. People bump into you without consequence. Rafe stares at you so intensely that it burns into your skin.

This is suffocating.

“We’re playing a part…it isn’t right.”

“We’re playing a part,” he deadpans mockingly, unconvinced. “That’s your excuse?”

Someone dancing nearly knocks you over, and you stumble to regain your balance (and you ignore how he reaches out to steady you, despite his furrowed brows and up-curled lip). There are a hundred million reasons under the sun why you wouldn’t work, starting with the most obvious one.

You push his hands away that reach out to attempt to steady you, pathetically fumbling with your words. “It’s not an excuse. After tonight, it’s done, there’s no obligation to continue acting like this.”

“Obligation?” he spats incrediously.

Eyeing his clenched fists, you feel your irritation skyrocket. “Yes, Rafe. You do know what that means, right?”

Rafe’s face contorts in confusion, and you hate the way he looks hurt.

You swallow that thought harshly. “This isn’t…”

The steel expression on his face is making you nauseous.

You force yourself to take a breath. “Look, we’re gonna get back to campus, fall back into our routines and we’re gonna laugh about how stupid it would be if we…” You can’t even say the words, instead opting for a shaky exhale. “Everything will go back to normal.”

“You’re deflecting,” Rafe deadpans. Then, softer, “Just talk to me.”

You want to scream.

You cross your arms, creating one last ditch effort to barricade yourself. “I’m not deflecting. In fact, I’m doing you a favor.”

The humorless laugh that comes from him is nothing nice and it slices your heart harshly.

“A favor?” Another scoff escapes his lips as he runs a hand through his tousled hair. “What part of this feels like a favor? I’m telling you that I want you.”

A cold shiver runs down your spine at his words, the certainty behind them, the bright blue eyes that stare at you almost desperately.

No. You need to stand your ground.

You know the outcome of this, and it isn’t pretty in your favor.

It’ll end with you grasping for straws, breaching the water for air, navigating through an unfamiliar room in the dark. You're not ready to go through that again, not ready to open up, not ready to trust. Not with him. Not with someone who has repeatedly said he doesn’t want this.

“This is fake, Rafe.”

Rafe immediately shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” Then, he takes another step closer until he’s right in front of you, invading your personal space. “Not to me. And I know you feel it too.”

God, is it that obvious? Your longing, yearning, need to be around him? How fucking scared you are at how badly you crave him, body and soul despite every fiber in your body ringing the alarm? Can he hear your heartbeat? Can he feel the electricity coursing through your veins, the currents defibrillating your entire being every time you touch him?

It’s all you can feel. All the time. It’s exhilarating.

It’s frightening.

And the fear outweighs the excitement.

You take a step back, creating more distance. "I don't."

Rafe’s hair falls in front of his eyes as he shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought you did.”

You do your best to ignore the heartbreaking expression on his face, how his lips part to say something else but no words come out, how his blue eyes glass over and widen in surprise, how his chest heaves at the emotional intensity between you. His loss of words, his silence, his hurt are the knives that leave jagged wounds in your heart, and, god, you can’t look at him anymore.

There’s a voice in the back of your head that is telling you to take it back. And you wish you could rewind the last minute so you’ll never have to see this expression ever again. But no, he’s probably just upset that you saw right through him.

Life suddenly resumes around you. People dance, laugh, drink. Shoulders bump shoulders and drunken friends lock arms and sway to the beat of the song.

It’s all too much, too overwhelming, too loud. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and it feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat.

“I’m…I need air,” is all you can say before turning your heel and bolting.

You must be in the bathroom for ten minutes, solely gripping the sink so hard the counter may snap off.

I want you.

Rafe’s words replay in your head, and the intensity behind them makes you nauseous.

You have to give him credit, he looked serious. But you know him on the surface level, or knows of his tendencies. He means that now while he’s trapped in a foreign country with you, but once you make it back to the States, he’s going to fall in step with how things used to be.

He’s going to come home from bars and parties with a new girl under his wing, and on the nights he doesn’t, he’s gonna shoot you a phone call or knock on your dorm door if he sees that the lights are still on.

Only you.

You want to laugh.

Since when has he ever only had one girl in his life? And why does he think that should be you? What can you provide for him besides good sex? A couple of cheap jokes? You can’t even come up with a reasonable list of bullet points, and it only makes you angry, on the verge of humiliation.

Why did he have to say that?

He’s getting your hopes up, you realize. He’s reeling you in just to cast you aside later on when you get too boring or familiar to him.

You'll run through each sex position until the time comes where it no longer brings any excitement, he’s going to pull away and leave you high and dry. The motions are all the same, but this time you know better than to wrap yourself up in a fantasy, then to feed into your delusions and pretend like this time is going to be different.

How could he even fathom liking you?

You're defensive to him almost all the time and push him away for most of it. Rafe drives you up the wall every opportunity he gets, relishing in your embarrassment, teasing you about every little thing that you do as if he was put on this earth for that sole purpose.

But despite it all, you can’t get the look on his face out of your head.

It’s as if the wind had been knocked out of him, bewildered and breathless as he stared at you with wide blue eyes glossed with hurt. The expression felt like a punch to the gut, making you double over every time you replay the moment in your mind, as if your pulling away physically pained him.

No, he’s just not used to not getting what he wants.

I want you.

You groan, pressing the heels of your palms over your eyes, trying to regulate your breathing as best as you can. Thank god you're alone, otherwise the concept of panicking over your fake boyfriend actually wanting you would be hard to explain.

You just need to talk to him, that’s all, and explain to him that he’s not thinking straight.

You may have to put duct tape over his mouth to do so, but it could work, to get him to see the truth. You can use your words, you can worm your way out of this situation and persuade him to think differently, more clearly. It’s better to think of it as helping a friend, extending a hand to guide him in the right direction.

Okay. You can do this. You can face him.

It’s Rafe Cameron, for fuck’s sake.

And – of course – when you gather the courage to leave the bathroom, you wish you hadn’t even moved.

Because off to the side, behind glass doors down the hallway shielded away from everyone else, stands Rafe with a familiar looking blonde in a lilac dress.

Standing too close to one another.

Rafe looks down at Yara as they’re huddled together in a clear door storage closet, and all of your insecurities, doubts, suspicions come into fruition with this very image.

You can’t see his face from your vantage point, and something really, really ugly rises in your chest.

He’s probably charming his million dollar smirk, spewing out his lewd obscenities disguised as compliments to worm his way under her dress. But you can see Yara’s big, lovey-dovey smile grinning up at him, talking to him, peering up with hooded eyes.

When she places a manicured hand on Rafe’s chest and steps closer, you stagger.

Unbeknownst to you, a busser wheels a bar cart behind you, which you end up knocking into. A few bottles clink and clank together, but nothing spills or shatters, causing a few curious heads to turn at the noise.

You don't take the time to assess the damage, or even respond to the “are you alright?” from spectators, instead stumbling back into the bathroom.

Thankfully, it doesn’t grab Rafe or Yara’s attention.

And now you're back, staring into the mirror in shock, anger, disbelief.

Of course. This is what you get for trying to resolve things, for trying to make things relatively right.

All of your suspicions came true: Rafe doesn’t actually want you.

It took him – what? – all of fifteen minutes to find someone new? Yara, for that matter? As if that doesn’t feel like a million stab wounds in your chest, going after the one person you constantly can’t compare to, the one person who gets everything without having to lift a finger, the one person who you've tried to rationalize is different but instead is everything you expected. The one person who shouldn’t have this much hold over you, but somehow prevails in every single category.

You scoff bitterly.

You should’ve known.

No, you recoil. You did know, and still wanted to go and make things right.

God, you're such a fucking idiot to even consider believing his word, believing his plea that he wants you in a way that other people don’t. It’s no surprise he jumped ship so soon, scouting out his next opportunity to get his dick wet.

When the bathroom door opens and closes behind you, you clear your throat and turn away, wiping a stray tear that managed to fall in hopes that the lady simply goes into one of the stalls and ignores your heaving figure.

“Are you drunk?”

God. This night couldn’t get worse.

Your shoulders slump at the sound of your mother’s voice, laced with venom that it stings deep and leaves traces of poison through your veins.

Paulette hisses your name. "Cut the shit. Answer me.”

You find the strength to face your mother, who’s glaring at you with such intensity that it almost makes you cower in your spot. There might as well be smoke coming out of Paulette’s ears.

But the energy to run through this bickering cycle has run thin, feeling utterly depleted and emotionally unavailable to give you mother the fight that she wants to have here in this bathroom.

The sight of Yara’s hand on Rafe’s chest makes you wince again, the hurt stabbing you once more, harder than the last. Then, the horrific thought races in your mind: did they kiss? Are they kissing right now? Is he holding Yara like he used to hold you? Is he calling her sweet girl? Murmuring baby? Has his hand ventured up her dress yet?

“Mom,” you plead, voice wavering with defeat, blinking the hypotheticals away. “Can you lay off me? Just this once?”

Paulette scoffs, as if the request is far too attainable to achieve. “Do you know how many people saw that? Tripping over yourself like an old drunk. I’ve already had to hear it about you stealing a wine bottle the other night, and now this? People are talking about you, don’t you care?” she seethes.

“No.” You respond immediately. “I don’t. At all.”

“Well, you should.” Paulette’s fuming. “These are the people who have influence, whose opinions matter. There are members of the PTO here, people from the city. Do you understand that your actions are a blatant reflection of me? Of my reputation?”

“Your reputation is fine.” You grab the counter to ground yourself, the porcelain surface contrasting against your ember hot skin. “No one cares.”

Your mother gasps with offense. “No one cares? No one–” she scoffs bitterly. “Everyone cares. Everyone is watching your every move. One night is all I ask of you, no, I beg of you, to be on your best behavior.”

You want to scream. You're not even drunk, barely even tipsy. Even if you were, no one cares, no one is watching you like a hawk. They’re simply not, and this attempt to mold you into a cookie cutter version of a daughter is getting abhorrently tiring.

There are so many other things that people pay attention to then you, so many other things going on in their lives that warrant a nice distraction from whatever Paulette thinks her daughter is doing so poorly.

“You’re such an embarrassment.”

It’s too much. Rafe’s confession. Yara’s hand. Paulette’s words. It all comes crashing down at once.

And you can’t help but laugh in your mother’s face.

It only augments her anger.

Here you are, doubled over howling at the kaleidoscope of misfortunes that have already happened this evening as one of the main culprits stands in front of you, manicured hands on her hips as a rain cloud storms above her head.

You can’t figure out which part of tonight hurts the most, each scenario taking turns in the spotlight and stabbing different parts of you: your mind, your heart, your gut.

Pushing down the nausea, you manage to come down from your laughter and throw your head back to stare at the ceiling in disbelief.

“I’ll never be good enough for you. Will I?”

Your mother is silent.

“Even if I ended top in the class,” you whisper pathetically, “or cured world hunger, or fit into the fucking lilac dress.”

Sometimes when you look at your mother, you see yourself. You have the same eyes. Same color. Same shape. And you always wondered if Paulette hated herself, because how could she say and do the things to you while practically looking in a mirror?

“That’s why you brought Yara along, right?”

Your mother’s posture straightens, expression hardening.

But you continue. “To parade her around and show everyone how great she is. One that kisses your ass and plays dress up with you. Is that it?”

Paulette’s next words are ice. “She’s more of a daughter to me than you’ll ever be.”

You have to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I know.”

And it’s true. You know, a part of you has always known ever since high school.

Deep, deep, down, that thought that bloomed in high school has resurfaced, lingering in the back of your mind ever since you saw the blonde, learned that she’s your mother’s assistant, saw the way she received the maternal care you've been searching for all your life. You didn’t want to accept it, pushing it further and further down.

But now it’s solidified.

Paulette straightens her posture, looking down at her daughter. “You could learn a thing or two from her.”

You nearly snort. What? How to be a homewrecker?

“Sure, I’ll ask her for a few tips on how to insert into another family,” you mutter quietly, but your mother hears it.

“You know what?” The tone is accusatory. “Your attitude won’t fix things. It won’t make people like you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, voice wavering.

The bitter scoff from your mother’s lips makes you flinch, curling her fist into a ball. “You should care. People don’t want to be friends with snarks. That boyfriend won’t stay if that’s how you speak to him.”

Boyfriend.

Oh, that word stings.

But for a whole different meaning. Because you remember his words, his proclamation of how he feels about you. You remember his face when you walked away from him on the ballroom floor. You remember how he stood inches apart from Yara, allowing her to touch him.

The word hurts, because you're not his, and he’s not yours. Rafe’s made that very clear.

“Wallow in self pity, for all I care,” Paulette continues, moving to leave the bathroom. “Touch up your makeup before–”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Your mother stops in her tracks.

“What did you say?”

The humorless laugh that escapes your lips feels foreign on your tongue, hating the way how defeated it sounds.

“Rafe isn’t my boyfriend. He never was.”

Paulette narrows her gaze.

If looks could kill.

“He’s barely even my friend.” You toothily smile, but it’s out of mockery, humiliation, spite. You just want to hurt your mother, and you know how to make it sting: threatening her image. “We’re just fucking.”

The vulgar word makes your mother gasp quietly, and she says your name so low, so stern, it sends a shiver down your spine.

But you're not stopping now. “We’ve been sleeping together for three months. And also sleeping with other people. You happened to catch him after he slept over.”

Your lips curl upwards.

“That’s dishonorable, don’t you think?”

“You tell no one,” Paulette hisses immediately, pointing a finger that might as well resemble the barrel of a gun. “This doesn’t leave this room.”

“I don’t know,” you ponder aloud, drawling it out and further pissing your mother off. “I think it could liven up the place, add a bit of drama."

"You wouldn't dare-"

"What would everyone think if I strolled around telling everyone Paulette’s daughter’s brought her fuck buddy across the Atlantic to taint the family reputation, or how Paulette’s daughter is such a whore that–”

The slap echoes off the marble walls.

And it stings more than usual.

You stagger, a hand immediately flying up to cradle the right side of your chin, as your bottom lip explodes in pain.

Wide eyes stare at your mother, who looks equally as shocked at the intrusive act as she cradles her left hand, the culprit.

For a moment, you two stand in complete silence, digesting what just occurred, what she just did, and how it carries more weight than it ever has before.

But Paulette’s expression quickly shifts into something stoic, detached, as if to compose herself from the momentary hysteria. Her eyes harden as she recovers, straightening and smoothing out the ridges in her dress and taking a long, deep breath.

“Keep it to yourself,” is all your mother says before abruptly leaving the bathroom.

You're left in silence.

Your lip stings. Your heart is racing. You're paralyzed in place, one hand clutching your face and the other gripping the counter, grounding yourself to refrain from falling onto the floor.

All you can hear is the thump thump thump of your heart up to your ears, pounding so intensely that they start to ring.

Tears immediately pool your waterline.

No. No.

You're not going to cry. Not right now. You'd rather die than give these people the satisfaction that they got to you, successfully sweeping the rug from out beneath you and sending you banana peel slipping into your own wallowing pit of self despair.

You pull your shaky fingers back, coated in blood.

Then you find the courage to inspect the damage in the mirror, frowning at the gashed split lip.

Paulette’s wedding ring must’ve nicked you.

Cursing, you grab a reusable hand towel, dabbing it in water under the sink before bringing it to cool your lip, wincing at the contact as you cover the wound.

All you want to do is curl up into a ball and wash this night away, wash away the grubbiness of the entire trip and let your unbridled sentiments drain into the ocean.

God, you wish your nonna was here right now.

Lorenza always says the right thing, regardless if it’s what you need to hear in that given moment or not. But you know your nonna would tear this place apart brick by brick if she knew what just happened, as it feels like she’s the only person you have left who genuinely has love for you.

Just that. Simply one person. And there’s no way to get to her, not right now, not while she’s surrounded by hundreds of people.

A ragged sob escapes your mouth and you quickly cover your mouth with the back of your other hand, knuckles shaking against your swollen lip.

There’s no way you can go out in that crowd and try to find your nonna, not without turning heads at your disheveled appearance. The thought of people staring at you right now, the thought of hundreds of eyes drinking you in at such a low point sets a pit in your stomach, panic rising as you realize you're stuck in this bathroom. It’s either wallowing here in a stall or leaving the ballroom altogether, the exit being just around the corner.

Which is what you do.

Because if you don't get out of here right now, you're going to scream.

With your head hung low, you slip out of the bathroom and beelines for the exit.

You hold your breath, slipping through the doors and drawing no attention. Panic arises in your throat as you stand still in the lobby, frozen, with tears pooling in your eyes.

The room isn’t an option. Your phone, wallet, and keycard are all still at the table. You can’t go anywhere.

Anywhere except the beach.

Your feet are moving before you can register it, pressing the cloth so firmly against your lip that it throbs achingly as your legs take you outdoors out of the lobby.

The cool air hits you immediately, but already feeling a sense of clarity that starkly contrasts the stuffiness of the ballroom. Your heels click against the cobblestone until you get to the edge of the walkway, wobbling in the sand. The narrow walkway to the beach is dim and sandy, and thankfully there’s no one around besides you.

Without a second thought, you kick off your heels, the heels he bought for you, leaving them to collect dust as you slip into the darkness and hoping the sand swallows them whole, and disappear into the inky night still cradling your jaw.

notes poor reader sorry????

702 notes · View notes

verstappenverse · 3 months ago

Text

Lost in the Spin - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max refuses to let rumors rewrite your love story.

3.1k words / Part 1 / Masterlist

Max was on his jet within the hour. He hadn’t even hesitated, instructing his pilot to prepare for takeoff while he threw whatever he needed into his bag and put on the first hoodie he could find. The flight felt endless, his knee bouncing the entire time, fingers tapping against his leg as he tried not to let the worst thoughts consume him. Every second was another second you could change your mind, another moment for doubt to creep in, another moment he might be losing you, another chance slipping away to make things right.

Would you actually believe him? Would this be enough?

He didn’t know, but he had to try.

He barely touched his phone, fearing he’d see more headlines, more assumptions, more comments dissecting your relationship as if it was entertainment for the world to judge. He couldn’t let this be the end. Not over something that wasn’t real. His fingers tapped anxiously against his thigh, finally he unlocked his phone just to see your last message again.

Okay.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t reassurance. But it was something.

As soon as the plane landed he was moving, his cap pulled low, hood up to avoid attention. The car ride to your apartment was silent save for the sound of his heart pounding in his chest. As he climbed the stairs to your floor, the reality of the situation hit him all over again. He had almost lost you. He still might.

Max hated not knowing. He hated not having control over this.

But most of all, he hated that he had hurt you.

Standing outside your door, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before knocking. His pulse thrummed in his ears as he waited, shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot. A long pause. Then footsteps.

Then you.

There you were, standing in front of him, you looked tired, eyes slightly puffy like you’d spent hours crying, arms wrapped around yourself as though you were holding yourself together. Seeing you like this, seeing the hurt he had caused felt like a punch to the gut. It twisted something deep inside of him. He had never wanted to be the reason for your tears.

You heard the knock, your heart jumping into your throat. You had been staring at your phone for hours rereading Max’s messages, scrolling through the photos again and again, trying to find some kind of clarity. But now he was here.

You swallowed, wiping your damp cheeks before slowly making your way to the door. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked it and pulled it open.

Max stood there looking exhausted and disheveled. He was in a hoodie and sweatpants, dark circles under his eyes. The moment his gaze met yours, the raw emotion in them almost made your knees buckle.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice hoarse, eyes searching yours for any sign of hope.

You hesitated before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Max walked inside, the space feeling different than usual. Colder. Like a part of it had already started to pull away from him. The door clicked shut behind you, the silence stretching heavy between you both. He turned to face you, his hands flexing at his sides like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out to you.

You sat down on the couch and he followed, careful not to sit too close. He knew you needed space, but all he wanted to do was reach for you, hold you.

You were the first to break the silence. "Max…I…I don’t even know where to start.”

“Baby…” His voice cracked, and that was all it took for your resolve to splinter. He turned to you, his face filled with quiet desperation. “I know I already said it a million times, but I swear nothing happened. I wouldn’t do that to you. Not ever.”

“I need you to tell me the truth Max,” you said. “No sugarcoating. Just… the truth.”

His throat tightened. "I swear to you, I didn’t cheat. I didn’t even know that girl. I was drinking, celebrating with the team and people were taking photos everywhere. I swear I wasn’t thinking about anything except how much I missed you. And then suddenly everyone was pulling me into pictures, and she—whoever she was I didn’t realise how close she was. I don’t even remember half of the night, but I know I would never do something like that to you. You have to believe me."

Your fingers twisted in your lap. “But… how can you be so sure?” you asked, voice small. “If you don’t even remember half the night, how do you know you didn’t do something?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because I know myself,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Because even drunk out of my mind, there’s no part of me that would ever want anyone else. Because you are the first and only thing on my mind always.” He swallowed hard. “Being drunk doesn’t erase that. It doesn’t change who I am. And who I am is a man who loves you too much to ever risk losing you.”

Your fingers twisted in your lap. "Max it wasn’t just one picture. It was several."

"I know." His voice cracked slightly. "And I hate that it looks so bad, that it hurt you. It was just strangers at a bar, a bunch of misleading angles. If I could go back I’d do it all differently, I’d go straight to my room I’d facetime you instead of letting myself get caught up in the night." He exhaled shakily. "But I can’t change that. All I can do is promise you that nothing happened and that I love you more than anything."

Your throat tightened. He looked so raw, so heartbroken, and it made your chest ache. “Max…”

He inhaled sharply and then he pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it without hesitation and handing it to you.

“This is everything from that night,” he said, voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes. “My texts, my photos, everything. I want you to see it all. I have nothing to hide.”

You stared at the device in your hands, your chest tightening. The openness, the willingness to be completely vulnerable, to let you see it all, this wasn’t the move of a man with something to cover up.

Slowly you scrolled. The messages were nothing but casual conversations with his team and a few with you. The photos he had taken himself were just of the guys, drinks, blurry selfies. And then there were the images online, the ones that had torn a hole in your chest, the original ones that had been sent to him not cropped and edited but the full group shots.

Your hands shook as you looked at them again, this time in the context of what you knew now. The girl was just there, a fan, maybe an acquaintance. The angles, the closeness, it all looked damning. But there was no direct proof of anything intimate.

He moved closer tentatively reaching for your hands. His touch was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to, but when you didn’t pull away he held them tightly in his own. “I love you. More than anything. Please don’t let this be what breaks us.” His thumbs brushed over the back of your hands.

You let out a shaky breath. “I just…Max, I was so scared.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it, hated how exposed you felt, but you couldn’t stop now. “I saw those pictures, and all I could think was, what if I was wrong about you? What if I was just another idiot who trusted someone too much…again?” You let out a broken laugh, shaking your head. “I swore I’d never let myself go through that again. I swore I’d never be that girl who ignored the warning signs.”

Max's hands tightened around yours, his touch warm and certain. His eyes were shining, his expression open, desperate for you to believe him. “You were never wrong about me,” he said, his voice fierce, unwavering. “Never.”

He leaned in, his grip firm as if he could hold you together by touch alone. “I love you,” he said, the words so sure, so steady, it made your heart ache. “I love you more than I can even explain. You’re it for me.”

“I just… I don’t know how to stop thinking about it,” you admitted.

Max exhaled slowly, his thumbs tracing soft, reassuring circles against your skin. “Then don’t,” he said. “Don’t force yourself to push it away. Talk to me. Ask me anything, yell at me if you have to. Just don’t pull away from me, please.” His voice broke slightly. “I will never hurt you like that. I swear to you.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling slightly around his. “I don’t want us to be one of those couples Max. The ones who have to go through each other’s phones or can’t go on a night out without the other. I just want to trust you, to know that we’re solid without needing proof all the time.”

Max nodded. “And you can. I don’t want that kind of relationship either. I want us to be secure, to trust each other without second-guessing. If you ever need reassurance I’ll give it to you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to doubt me.” He lifted your hands, pressing them against his chest, right over his heart. “You have me. Always.”

You searched his face looking for any sign of dishonesty, any flicker of guilt or hesitation that would suggest he wasn’t telling the full truth. But there was nothing. Just Max. The man who had always been yours, who had never given you a reason to doubt him before this.

"I don’t care what they say. I only care about what you believe. Do you really think I would do that to you?" He asked quietly.

You hesitated. And in that hesitation, Max felt like he might break.

Then, softly, you whispered, "No."

His breath left him in a rush.

"I don’t think you cheated," you admitted, looking down at your joined hands. "I know you Max. I know your heart. And deep down I don’t believe you’d do something like that. But… I’m still hurt. Seeing those pictures, seeing the way people talked about us like they knew everything, like they knew you better than I do…it just made me feel so small. Like it didn’t matter how things would look, because it wouldn’t matter if I got hurt in the process."

Max shook his head immediately. "You are everything to me. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you. I didn’t think, it was so stupid and I should’ve been more aware. But I promise you, I would never risk what we have."

A deep, exhausted sigh left your lips. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Max’s face crumpled with relief, his arms wrapping around you before he could stop himself. “You won’t. Never.”

You looked up at him then, and for the first time in days, you really looked at him. He looked like he had been through hell, and you hated that it was because of this.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Max didn’t know if it was a good sign or a bad one, but this time they weren’t from pain they were from relief, from the deep, aching love you had for him that refused to be erased by a few blurry images and cruel words from strangers.

You let him pull you into his arms, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him. His embrace was warm, steady, everything you had missed these past few days. His lips pressed against the top of your head, lingering there as if he could physically will away any remaining pain.

Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt as a twinge of guilt twisted inside you. “I’m sorry too,” you mumbled against him, voice barely above a whisper. “For overreacting. For being dramatic. I just—I got so in my own head, and I let it spiral, and—”

“Hey.” Max cut you off gently, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, his touch steady. “You don’t have to apologise for feeling hurt. You’re allowed to be upset. I never want you to bottle things up just because you’re scared of how I’ll react.”

You nodded, the weight of his reassurance settling over you like a blanket. “I just don’t want to be that kind of person. I don’t want to jump to conclusions or let my insecurities ruin us.”

“You won’t,” he promised. “We talk. We work through it. That’s what matters.” His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I never want you to feel like you can’t come to me. No matter what, I’d rather you tell me everything you’re feeling even if it hurts than keep it to yourself.”

You let out a shaky breath, "Okay."

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, pressing your face deeper into the warmth of him.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in you, reminding himself of what mattered.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, because despite everything, Max was your home.

The paddock was buzzing the moment you and Max arrived. Cameras flashed, microphones were shoved forward, and the murmur of reporters and journalists grew into a full-blown storm as soon as they caught sight of the two of you walking in together. But you held your head high, your hand clasped tightly in Max’s, refusing to let the noise shake you.

You could feel their eyes on you, the weight of their assumptions, their speculations. Just days ago headlines had painted you as the betrayed girlfriend, the one left humiliated in the wake of scandal. But Max hadn’t let the narrative stay that way. He hadn’t let you drown in the noise.

He walked beside you now, strong and unwavering, his grip on your hand firm. He had promised you that he would handle this, that he wouldn’t let you fight alone. And Max Verstappen never broke a promise.

A swarm of reporters gathered the second you both reached the entrance.

“Max! What do you have to say about the scandal?”

“Do you have anything to say about the rumors?”

Instinctively you tightened your grip on Max’s hand. He didn’t hesitate to squeeze back, a silent reassurance as you both pushed forward.

“Keep walking,” he murmured, voice low but firm. “Don’t give them what they want.”

You nodded, ignoring the tightness in your throat. But the reporters weren’t giving up that easily.

“Is your relationship still intact after everything that’s come out?”

His jaw tightened, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he fixed his eyes on the reporter who had spoken first. The cold, unimpressed stare that had shaken rivals on the racetrack was now turned on the media.

“Max do you have any comments about the pictures that surfaced last week?”

“No,” he said bluntly, his voice carrying over the crowd with effortless authority. “Because there’s nothing to comment on.”

The air shifted. Some reporters hesitated, others pressed forward, but Max’s expression didn’t change. He wasn’t here to play into their games. He wasn’t here to give them the reaction they wanted.

Another journalist tried again. “But Max, surely you understand why people are talking. The pictures suggest—”

“Suggest what?” Max cut in sharply, his jaw tightening. “That I can’t even exist in the same space as another woman without ridiculous rumors starting? That a couple of out-of-context images are enough to turn my relationship into a circus? No, I don’t understand.” His voice was firm, authoritative, leaving no room for argument. “What I do understand is that I love my girlfriend and she doesn’t deserve to be dragged through this just because people are desperate for a scandal.”

You squeezed his hand, warmth flooding your chest at his unwavering defense. He wasn’t just standing up for you, he was shutting them down completely.

The reporters didn’t relent. “But the pictures Max—”

“I was out with my team, celebrating,” he said, voice steady but laced with irritation. “Nothing happened. And frankly, I’m done explaining myself to people who don’t even know me.”

The crowd went silent for a moment, stunned by his bluntness. But Max wasn’t done. He turned his gaze directly to the cameras.

“I love her,” he said simply, but with so much weight behind the words that it felt as though your heart had stopped. “And nothing is going to change that.”

The murmurs picked up again, but this time there was a shift in the air. Max had said what needed to be said. There was no room for further questioning.

In the chaos, notifications buzzed endlessly on people’s phones all over again, tweets flying out in real-time as the internet erupted over his words.

@F1Fanatic: Max Verstappen just SHUT DOWN the media with the most protective boyfriend energy I’ve ever seen. “I love her and nothing is going to change that”??? I AM UNWELL.

@RacingInsider: Max Verstappen publicly defending his girlfriend, refusing to play into the media’s nonsense, and making it clear where he stands? Respect.

@SportsBuzz: Verstappen to the press: “I love her and nothing is going to change that.” The man said what he said. Case closed.

@GossipGrid: Max Verstappen and his girlfriend arrived at the paddock hand-in-hand, completely unfazed by the drama. Looks like the couple is stronger than ever.

The headlines followed within minutes, flooding every sports and gossip site imaginable.

Max Verstappen Breaks Silence: “I Love Her and Nothing is Going to Change That”

Verstappen Defends Girlfriend Amidst Media Scrutiny “I’m Done Explaining Myself”

Stronger Than Ever? Verstappen and [Y/N] Arrive Together at the Paddock

Max Verstappen Crushes Cheating Rumours with Fiery Response to Reporters

But none of it mattered. Not the reporters still murmuring, not the cameras still flashing, not the internet analysing every second of the moment.

As you both moved past the crowd, the noise faded into the background. You glanced up at Max, his grip on your hand relaxing slightly as you walked further into the paddock.

“Thank you,” you whispered, just for him.

He looked down at you, eyes softening in contrast to the sharpness he had shown the media just moments ago. “I meant every word.”

And with that, you both moved forward together, leaving the noise behind.

746 notes · View notes

4linos · 2 months ago

Text

fractured silence pt. 3

yang jeongin x idol!reader

synopsis: when your pregnancy complicates your secret relationship, the emotional distance between you and your boyfriend grows, leaving you unsure of where you stand and what the future holds.

warnings: idol pregnancy, lots of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort.

wc: 17,645

[part 1, part 2]

It was a quiet, still morning, the kind you usually cherished. The sun had barely climbed high in the sky, its golden rays pouring gently through the curtains of your room, casting a soft glow over the space. You had just returned from your latest check-up, now officially eight and a half months along. The visit had gone smoothly, the doctor confirming what you already knew: you were almost there. So close to the moment your life would change forever.

You’d done everything you could to stay under the radar, hoodie on, mask tight, oversized clothes hiding your growing belly. You didn’t even tell the girls you were going out. You just wanted a moment of peace, to feel like a regular person doing a regular thing. And for a little while, it worked.

Now, back in your room, you were sprawled across the couch with your feet up, absently watching a show that didn’t have enough of a plot to hold your attention. Your hand rested instinctively over your bump as you scrolled through your phone, eyes half-focused until a headline jumped out at you, bold and brutal.

“Idol on Hiatus Due to Pregnancy? Rumors Swirl Around Stardust Member, Y/N.”

You froze. Your heart dropped so fast you felt sick. Your fingers trembled as you clicked on the article. It wasn’t long, and there were no photos, no names from company officials. But the damage was already done. It was out there.

Despite your efforts, the silence, the fake reason for the hiatus, the long hours spent hiding away, someone had leaked it. Someone had taken the choice from you.

Your eyes scrolled to the comments before you could stop yourself.

“No way. I don’t believe it.”

“Is she serious? Throwing her career away like this?”

“There’s no proof, this is fake news.”

“Honestly if it’s true… I’m disappointed.”

Each word hit like a brick to the chest. You’d been prepared for judgment, but seeing it in black and white? It was worse than you imagined. You wanted to disappear.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. Jeongin.

You answered without even thinking.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice urgent and full of worry.

You tried to answer, but the words didn’t come out right away. Your throat was tight, and your heart was racing. “No,” you finally whispered. “I’m not okay.”

“I saw it. I saw the article. I'm so sorry— I don't even know what to say.”

Before you could answer, another buzz lit up your screen, a message from Jinhee.

Jinhee: Emergency meeting. Company needs you in immediately. Please hide well when coming. No press can see you. I'm so sorry.

You stared at the text in disbelief, the room suddenly spinning just a little. Everything you’d feared for months, the exposure, the scrutiny, the fallout was unraveling before your eyes. The careful plan to take a quiet hiatus, to give birth privately and come back on your own terms, was gone.

Jeongin was still on the line, waiting. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked softly. “I’ll go. I’ll be there.”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him. “No. It’s better if you don’t. They’re already going to twist this. If we’re seen together right now... it’ll only make it worse.”

He hesitated. “I hate this. I hate that you have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not alone,” you said, even though the loneliness sat heavy in your chest. “But I have to do this. I have to face them.”

He exhaled shakily. “Okay. But please call me right after. I’ll be waiting.”

You ended the call slowly, reluctant to lose even that tiny bit of comfort. But there wasn’t time to cry or process, not now.

You grabbed your mask, oversized hoodie, pulled your hair into a loose cap, and stood in front of the mirror. Your eyes were puffy, your body tired, your belly unmistakable beneath the layers of fabric. But you squared your shoulders, steadied your breath, and reminded yourself of something you had to believe: You were still you, even if the world had decided to see you differently.

And now, it was time to fight for yourself.

The company building was quieter than usual or maybe it just felt that way. You were walking through the familiar halls, the sound of your shoes against the floor the only thing you could hear over the thunderous beating of your own heart. Every step felt heavier, like each one brought you closer to something you weren’t ready to face.

You reached the meeting room and paused at the door, taking one last deep breath before walking in. The girls were already there. Jinae was sitting upright, eyes glued to the table; Minsu was chewing on her bottom lip like she always did when she was nervous; and Chae, looked up the moment you stepped in, standing up to greet you with a gentle hand to your arm.

“Are you okay?” she asked, voice soft but urgent. The others turned to you, eyes full of concern.

You gave them a small nod and a rehearsed, too calm “I’m fine,” even though nothing about this felt fine. You could tell they didn’t believe you how could they, when your shoulders were so tense and your jaw so tight? But they didn’t press. They just made room for you to sit between them like they always did when they knew you needed them close.

Moments later, the door opened again. Jun entered first eyes tired, mouth set in a grim line. Behind him came Jinhee, who gave you a brief, apologetic look, followed by two more company reps you didn’t know well, faces serious and businesslike. Everyone took their places, the air thick with tension.

Jun cleared his throat and looked at all of you, but mostly at you.

“This isn’t ideal,” he began. “It’s not how we wanted this to happen. Someone seemed to have leaked information to the press. It’s already out there, and the article is spreading.”

You felt your stomach twist again. You’d already read the article, already seen the comments tearing you apart the denial, the judgment, the disappointment. You didn’t need to hear it again.

Jun sighed. “We have two options. We can deny the rumors, issue a statement that this is baseless, just speculation. But if anything comes out after that… if there's any confirmation down the line…”

“We’ll be liars,” you finished for him, your voice bitter.

He hesitated. “Yes. And that could be even more damaging. To you, to the group, to the company.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “With all due respect, this was your idea from the beginning. You told me to lie. You told me to disappear quietly and not say a word.”

The room was silent for a beat.

Then one of the company representatives, a man you didn’t even know by name spoke up from across the table.

“Why not just come clean?” he said casually, like he wasn’t suggesting the very thing that could destroy your entire career. “Tell the truth. People are going to find out eventually. Why not control the narrative now?”

Before you could even respond, Jinae turned her head so fast you thought she might’ve pulled something. Her glare was sharp and immediate.

“Do you understand what you’re asking her to do?” she asked, voice low and clipped.

Minsu nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You want her to put her life on fire so you can write a good press release?”

Chae added, “She’s not a headline. She’s a person. And she’s pregnant. Don’t forget that part.”

You swallowed hard, heart swelling at their defense even though your eyes burned with fresh tears.

The man held up his hands. “I’m just saying.. the longer we stay silent, the worse it could get. Controlling the truth is better than letting people twist it.”

Jun cut in again before things could spiral. “No one’s forcing her to do anything.” He looked at you again, more gently this time. “We just need to be realistic. The story is out there. There’s no guarantee it’ll go away.”

You looked around the room. Everyone was waiting on you. Like you were the only one who could make this call, but also the one who’d take the fall either way. Your lips trembled as you finally said, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

And that was the truth.

Because how do you tell the world something they never asked for, something you weren’t ready to give? How do you explain that you didn’t mean to hurt anyone that you were just trying to love someone, to live a little, and now everything might fall apart?

You looked down at your belly, your hand resting gently on the curve of it, the smallest kick tapping back against your palm.

You weren’t just deciding for yourself anymore.

And that made everything so much harder.

It had been hours since the emergency meeting, and though the company’s vague statement had finally gone public, nothing really felt resolved. If anything, the silence only made things worse, the uncertainty, the unspoken fear, the way people online began to fill in the blanks with their own narratives. You scrolled through social media in bed, jaw clenched, heart heavy. The statement was vague, sterile..

“We are currently looking into the situation. Please refrain from speculation until an official update is provided.”

It wasn’t exactly protective, but it was better than being thrown under the bus… for now.

Still, you couldn’t relax. The weight of everything the secrecy, the fear of what might come next, the guilt about Jeongin, the burden of protecting both your baby and your career was pressing in on you from all sides. You hadn’t been able to keep food down, and every time you tried to sleep, your mind spiraled through worst-case scenarios.

The dorm, usually lively and filled with chatter and music, had gone quiet over the past few days. Jinae, Chae, and Minsu were around for a short rest from their own schedules, and they made it a point to stay close to you. They tried their best to distract you, Jinae brought snacks and put on your favorite dramas, Minsu dragged her blanket into the living room and made a cozy space to lay down beside you, and Chae spent every free moment near you, humming gently, rubbing your back when she thought you needed it most.

But something was off today.

You’d been feeling light cramps since that morning, a low discomfort in your back that had started small, barely noticeable. At first you’d brushed it off, just another side effect of stress, right? Or maybe just normal end-of-pregnancy things. You didn’t want to scare the girls, didn’t want to worry them more than they already were, so you stayed quiet.

But by afternoon, the tightness in your stomach became more rhythmic, sharper, harder to ignore. You bit your tongue when a sharp pulse hit you suddenly, tears pricking at your eyes.

It was Chae who noticed first.

She turned from the TV to find you sitting frozen, your knuckles white from gripping the couch cushion. “Hey… are you okay?”

You shook your head quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine, just—just a cramp—”

But then your breath hitched. You let out a soft cry before you could stop yourself.

“Jinae?” Chae’s voice raised an octave, full of panic. She scooted toward you just as Jinae stood from the kitchen, her eyes narrowing.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s in pain,” Chae said quickly. “Like… real pain.”

Minsu rushed over from her room, phone already in her hand. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

You tried to wave them off, but another contraction rolled through your body and you bent forward, gripping your belly. “Something’s… wrong…”

“No,” Jinae said firmly, already helping you to your feet. “We’re not waiting”

They helped you into a coat and shoes, supporting your arms. The car ride was a blur. Your breathing came in sharp, shaky bursts, tears sliding silently down your cheeks. Chae sat beside you in the back seat, holding your hand the entire time. Minsu drove like her life depended on it.

By the time you reached the hospital, your world had narrowed to the pain and the overwhelming fear in your chest.

The nurse who greeted you was quick, a check-in, some quick vitals, then straight into an exam room. “You’re in labor,” she said calmly, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

“No, I’m not ready,” you whispered, the words falling from your lips as panic bloomed in your chest. “It’s early. It’s too early.”

“It’s a little early, yes, but you and your baby are both okay right now,” the nurse said gently, signaling for someone to prep a room. “We’re going to take care of you.”

The girls had fallen quiet. Jinae’s hand found yours again, firm and grounding. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We’re here, right? You’re not doing this alone.”

Minsu nodded, already halfway out the door. “I’ll call Jeongin.”

“I’ll get your hospital bag,” Chae said, disappearing down the hall toward the car without hesitation.

But you barely registered their voices.

You lay back on the hospital bed, a mess of fear and tears and pain. This wasn’t how you pictured it. This wasn’t the moment you’d imagined, no quiet nursery, no weeks of nesting, no last-minute baby prep. You still didn’t know what your future looked like, not with the company, not with the world. But the one thing you did know was this:

The baby was coming.

Ready or not.

The moment Jeongin burst into the delivery room, everything around you stilled for a second like time paused just so you could take in the look on his face. He was breathless, cheeks flushed from running, his mask barely clinging to one ear, and his hair was a complete mess under his hoodie, but none of that mattered. His eyes searched for you immediately. And when they found you exhausted, drenched in sweat, tears dried on your cheeks and hand clutched tightly in Jinae’s he rushed to your side without hesitation.

He didn’t even say anything at first. He just cupped your face, pressed a kiss to your damp forehead, and then another to your temple, before finally whispering, “I’m here. I’m here. Are you okay?”

You couldn’t speak. You were too overwhelmed with pain, fear, emotion, but your eyes watered as you managed the tiniest nod. Jinae, ever the anchor, spoke for you, her hand still resting lightly on your shoulder.

“apparently she’d been having cramps all day, but didn’t really tell us until Chae noticed she wasn’t doing okay.” she explained to Jeongin gently.

Jeongin’s jaw tensed as he turned back to you, eyes scanning every inch of your face, as if trying to read through your pain. “Why didn’t you call me earlier?” he asked, voice soft, concerned not angry, just deeply scared for you.

You gave him a tired, fragile smile, your grip on his hand tightening. “Didn’t think it was time,” you breathed, “I wasn’t ready.”

He leaned in again, brushing your hair off your forehead with a trembling hand. “You don’t have to be ready. I’ll be ready for both of us. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Jinae excused herself quietly, placing a hand on your shoulder in quiet support before stepping out. Jeongin looked up just long enough to mouth “thank you” to her, and the weight in his voice wasn’t lost on her.

What followed felt like the longest hours of your life.

The contractions were intense, coming faster now, every wave threatening to drown you. Jeongin didn’t leave your side, not for a second. He held your hand through every breath, whispered encouragements in your ear even when your body trembled too much to focus on his words. He wiped your tears, whispered “you’re doing so good,” over and over again, even when you felt like you weren’t.

And then it happened.

A final push, every muscle in your body straining with everything you had left and then…

A cry. Tiny, but powerful. The sound sliced through the room, filling every corner with something electric and raw and real. You collapsed back against the hospital bed, tears rushing down your face, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to process it.

Jeongin let out a laugh that was really more of a choked sob. His face crumpled the moment he heard your baby’s first cry. “That’s him,” he whispered, awe painting his voice with something reverent. “That’s our boy…”

You couldn’t even answer. You just nodded weakly, tears slipping down your cheeks again as you watched the nurses clean him, measure him, swaddle him.

“He’s perfect,” Jeongin breathed. “He’s so small. So perfect…”

You felt his hand slip into yours again as he turned back to you, kissing your knuckles. “You did that,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You did all of that. I’m so proud of you. So proud.”

The nurse finally brought him over, wrapped snugly in soft blue and white, and the moment she gently placed your baby into your arms, it hit you all over again.

This was real.

This tiny, warm, pink-faced little boy… was yours. Yours and Jeongin’s.

He blinked slowly, as if confused by the world he had just been brought into. His little fingers curled near his cheek, and his breathing was soft and even.

Jeongin sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, the other carefully resting over yours as you both looked down at him.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” he whispered.

And for the first time in what felt like months, you didn’t feel scared. Or tired. Or anxious.

You just felt full of love, of peace, of something you didn’t know you’d been missing until that moment.

And Jeongin, still looking down at his son, said it again, this time louder, steadier:

“I’m here. For both of you. Always.”

Jeongin sat there in the hospital chair, cradling little Yejun in his arms like he was the most fragile and precious thing in the world, and to him, he probably was. His hand supported the baby’s head with practiced gentleness, and his eyes never left his son’s face. It was quiet in the room, the soft hum of monitors fading into the background, the weight of everything that had happened resting somewhere far away from this moment.

Jeongin’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as he spoke to Yejun, his words soft and sweet like a secret only they shared.

“You’ve got your mama’s nose,” he murmured with a small smile. “That’s a good thing. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever met.”

He reached out to gently trace a tiny curve of the baby’s cheek with his finger, watching in fascination as Yejun shifted just a little in his arms, lips parting in sleep.

“You don’t even know how lucky you are yet,” he went on, glancing toward you for a second eyes warm, filled with so much love it made your chest ache. “You’ve got her. And you’ve got me. And I promise, I’ll protect you both with everything I’ve got.”

You lay in the hospital bed, head resting against the pillows, utterly exhausted but unable to look away from the sight of the two of them Jeongin, wide-eyed and reverent, and your newborn baby, bundled up and quiet in his arms. Your eyes burned as you watched them. It was surreal, after everything, this was your life now. This little boy was yours. And Jeongin... he was really here.

Jeongin finally stood up and came to your side, careful and slow with every movement as he handed Yejun over to you. You adjusted yourself slightly in the bed, cradling your baby to your chest, and you gave Jeongin a tired but utterly soft smile.

“Did the company say anything?” you asked after a moment, voice weak but steady. “About you being here?”

His smile faltered slightly, and that was answer enough. You watched the way he looked toward the floor before meeting your eyes again, hesitant.

“I... didn’t tell them,” he admitted quietly. “I kind of just left.”

Your brow furrowed. “Jeongin—”

“They’ve been calling nonstop,” he added quickly, “I know. I know. I’ll probably get chewed out later or worse, but... I just couldn’t stay away.”

You blinked at him, processing his words. “They’re going to be so angry. You know that.”

“I don’t care,” he said, firm now. His hand reached out, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “None of that matters right now. All that matters is you... and him.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way he said them. So sure. So sincere. As if nothing could ever pull him away from you again. And maybe, after everything, that was what you needed most to hear.

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you murmured again, not because you wanted to argue, but because you were scared for him, for the weight of what this moment meant in the world outside of these four walls.

“I know,” he said. “But he only comes into the world once. And I’m not going to miss that for anyone, not even the company.”

Your eyes welled up again. You looked down at Yejun, his tiny chest rising and falling against yours, his warmth settling over your skin like a blanket, and then back up at Jeongin, whose hand was now resting protectively over both of you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For being here.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead again, lingering for a moment before resting his own against yours.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The quiet calm of the hospital room didn’t last long, not that you minded. Within moments, the door swung open and the girls came rushing in like a whirlwind of excited energy and love. Jinae was first, holding a handful of light blue balloons with little white clouds and a big “Welcome Baby!” banner tangled around her wrist. Chae and Minsu followed behind, carrying a gift bag nearly half their size that was overflowing with tissue paper in pastel colors. Their faces lit up the moment they saw you sitting up in bed with your son in your arms, and the room filled instantly with warm laughter and squeals of excitement.

“There he is!” Chae beamed, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, look how tiny he is!”

Minsu didn’t even hesitate. “Can I hold him?” she asked, eyes wide, bouncing on her heels like a kid waiting for candy.

You smiled, glancing at Jeongin who was still standing by your side like a guard dog and a proud dad rolled into one. He looked at you, silently asking if it was okay, and when you nodded, he carefully leaned down and helped Minsu cradle baby Yejun in her arms.

“He’s perfect,” Minsu whispered immediately, her voice trembling slightly as she swayed side to side, instinctively rocking him. “He’s seriously perfect.”

Jeongin grinned, chest puffing up slightly. “I know, right? He’s got the tiniest fingers. Look at his ears. He yawned earlier and I nearly cried.”

Chae and Jinae gathered around Minsu, cooing at the baby and gently touching his little hands and feet. “He’s going to be spoiled,” Jinae said knowingly, eyes gleaming. “He has no idea how loved he is already.”

“He’s going to grow up with four moms,” Chae added with a laugh, nudging Jeongin. “Five, if you count you. You’ve barely blinked since he was born.”

“I’m just making sure he’s okay,” Jeongin defended with a sheepish grin. “And that she’s okay too,” he added, turning his attention back to you.

You could see it in his eyes, he hadn’t stopped worrying about you even for a second. While the girls bickered over who would hold Yejun next, Jeongin leaned in close, brushing your hair gently away from your face.

“Are you feeling alright? Do you need water? Food? I can run out and grab something if you’re hungry. Or I can ask the nurse—”

“Jeongin,” you interrupted softly, smiling up at him. “I’m okay. I promise.”

He gave you a look, not convinced, still on full alert, but he nodded anyway and reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “You scared me,” he murmured. “Going into labor so suddenly like that. I thought we had more time.”

You sighed, your body heavy with exhaustion, but your heart full. “Me too. But he had other plans.”

The girls had now passed Yejun into Chae’s arms, and she was whispering something about how she wanted to knit him a tiny beanie, while Jinae opened the massive gift bag to show you an entire set of newborn clothes, soft blankets, and a tiny framed card that said ‘Welcome to the world, Yejun.’

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their chaos, it was comforting, grounding. Even in a sterile hospital room with all the uncertainty still looming beyond those walls, this moment felt perfect.

You leaned your head against Jeongin’s shoulder, still watching your baby get passed from arm to arm, and whispered, “This… feels like a dream.”

Jeongin kissed the top of your head gently, his voice just as soft. “Then let’s never wake up.”

The hospital room felt quieter that morning, still warm and soft with the gentle scent of baby powder and fresh linens, but quieter in a way that tugged at your chest. You sat on the edge of the bed in your discharge clothes, Yejun bundled up in his tiny baby onesie, swaddled in a blue blanket with little stars on it, asleep in your arms. Jeongin had been fussing all morning, fixing the straps on the car seat, making sure your discharge bag had everything in it, adjusting Yejun’s tiny hat over and over again, even though it was perfectly snug.

He didn’t want to leave.

You could see it all over him. The way his shoulders stayed tight, how his eyes kept flickering between you and the baby, like he was trying to memorize every last detail before he had to walk out that door. He had schedules, ones he couldn’t get out of this time, even though he’d begged. His company had drawn the line. He was lucky to have gotten this much time off to be here for Yejun’s birth at all.

“I hate this,” he finally muttered under his breath, gently pressing a long, soft kiss against Yejun’s tiny cheek. “I should be the one taking you home.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm with a small, tired smile. “I’ll be okay. Jinae’s almost here. She said she’s five minutes away.”

Jeongin gave a reluctant sigh and leaned down to buckle Yejun into the baby seat that sat on a small rolling cart beside your bed. He was so gentle, adjusting the tiny straps over your son's chest, making sure they weren’t too tight. “You be good, little guy,” he whispered, watching as Yejun stirred slightly in his sleep. He reached out, and his tiny hand wrapped around Jeongin’s finger in a surprisingly firm grip.

Jeongin’s lips quirked into a smile, his eyes suddenly glassy. “He’s strong,” he said softly. “Just like you.”

He turned back to you then, his expression shifting, the proud father melting into the man who had stood beside you through every high and low, the man who loved you more than he could explain. He stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your hair. The warmth of his body was grounding, safe, and it made the ache in your chest spread wider.

“I’ll call you the second I get in the van,” he murmured. “And later tonight. And tomorrow morning. I’ll sneak out if I can. I swear. Just hang in there a little longer.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, your throat thick with emotion so you simply nodded, your arms winding around his middle just a little tighter. You didn't want him to see the tears welling in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry and make it harder for him to leave, even though every part of you wanted to ask him to stay.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much. And I love him more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

Another nod. Another squeeze. You were going to miss him the moment he walked out that door.

Right then, the door creaked open and Jinae peeked in, slightly out of breath and clutching her phone in one hand and a small bag in the other. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said gently, catching sight of the two of you tangled in each other.

Jeongin let out a quiet chuckle, not turning away just yet. “Perfect timing,” he said under his breath. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back. He turned to Jinae and offered a grateful nod. “Please take care of them. Both of them.”

Jinae gave him a soft, understanding look and nodded. “Of course. Always.”

With one last glance at you, eyes full of unspoken words Jeongin stepped close to Yejun and gave him one more kiss on his tiny forehead. “Appa loves you,” he whispered, voice thick. Then he leaned over and kissed you, slower this time. A kiss that said I’ll be back. I’m not going anywhere.

And just like that, he was gone.

The room felt quiet again, but this time in a different way. Not lonely, just… paused. Waiting for the next chapter to begin.

When Jinae helped you up the few stairs to your dorm door, your body still sore and heavy with exhaustion, the last thing you expected was what you saw the moment the door swung open.

“Welcome home, Yejun & Mommy!” a big banner read in bright, cheerful letters, strung across the entryway.

The entire dorm was filled with light laughter and soft squeals as you stepped inside, greeted by a sea of baby blue balloons scattered across the wooden floor like soft bubbles. Some had little stars drawn on them in silver marker, others had “Yejun” scribbled across in cute handwriting probably Minsu’s, based on the little hearts surrounding each letter. A faint sweet scent filled the air, vanilla and something a little floral. Your heart squeezed in your chest as you looked around.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, laughing softly as your hand came up to cover your mouth, the wave of emotion washing over you all at once.

The girls stood proudly around the entrance. Chae was the first to rush forward, arms out to greet you, her voice full of excitement. “Surprise!” she beamed. “Jinhee helped us decorate! She even dropped off food for you like, a lot of food, but she had to go before you got here.”

You nodded, overwhelmed and grateful. “You guys… seriously. This is too much.”

“It’s not even close to enough,” Minsu grinned, quickly hurrying over to you and Jinae, who had just finished settling Yejun’s baby seat down on the floor gently. “You deserve everything.”

Then she leaned in and mischievously looped her arm through yours, practically bouncing. “Okay, okay we have a huge surprise for you. But you have to close your eyes.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Another surprise? You guys already—”

“Nope!” Jinae cut in, smiling. “Eyes. Closed.”

You laughed softly, heart warm, and shut your eyes with a nod. “Alright, alright. But bring Yejun, okay?”

“Already on it!” Minsu called, and you could hear the girls giggling softly as they quietly tiptoed around, getting everything ready.

Carefully, they guided you down the hallway, past the familiar walls of your dorm, but when you stepped into your room, the air felt… different. New. You could hear a whisper-shouted “Surprise!” and opened your eyes, heart thumping.

You gasped.

The room, your room, which used to be modest and simple had been completely transformed. A brand new crib stood by the window, painted a soft gray with moon and star carvings along the sides. Next to it, a bassinet rested gently beside your bed, and an adorable white changing table stood stocked with baby wipes, diapers, tiny creams, and tiny socks rolled into bundles.

Soft blue and cream curtains now hung where your plain ones used to be, and a new fluffy rug had been laid down, plush under your tired feet. On one wall, a little wooden name sign spelled out “Yejun” in delicate cursive, and on another, picture frames had already been put up, some with little drawings, others waiting for your first family photos.

You felt your throat tighten as the tears welled up. “You guys…” you breathed, lips trembling into a smile.

“We wanted you to have a space for both of you,” Chae said gently, stepping beside you.

“If the crib breaks, Minsu built it,” she added with a laugh.

Minsu gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me! It is stable and perfect! I watched like three tutorials!”

You let out a soft, watery laugh, reaching over and gently taking sleeping Yejun into your arms from Jinae, who had been swaying slightly with him as he slept.

You brought him closer to the crib, holding him up just slightly as if showing him the room built for him with so much love. “Look, baby,” you whispered. “This is your new home.”

The girls watched quietly as you leaned down and gently placed Yejun in the crib for the first time. He stirred only slightly, his tiny hand twitching against his blanket as he snuggled deeper into sleep.

You turned back to your members, who were now leaning on the doorway and walls, beaming proudly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Really. I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Jinae stepped forward and hugged you, tight and warm. “You don’t have to do anything without us. We’re here. All the way.”

And in that small, glowing room with love pressed into every corner and a baby boy sleeping in a crib built by your family, you finally let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

You had barely had time to soak everything up when Yejun’s little face scrunched up, a tiny whimper escaping his lips. You sighed softly, instinctively reaching for him again, but Chae was already ahead of you.

“I got him,” she said with a gentle smile, lifting him from the crib and into her arms. “You go eat. Rest. I mean it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, eyes flicking between her and your son, who was beginning to fuss more intensely now.

She nodded confidently, brushing a thumb gently over Yejun’s cheek as she bounced him slightly. “I’m serious. If I can memorize a 5-minute dance in one practice, I can handle this tiny bean. Go eat.”

You chuckled quietly, heart warm, and muttered a soft “Thank you” as you turned toward the kitchen table where Jinae and Minsu were already seated, waiting with two warm trays of food, courtesy of Jinhee.

Jinae pushed one toward you. “Here. She brought you seaweed soup and grilled chicken with rice said it's good for recovery.”

“And there’s also some ginger tea in the thermos,” Minsu added. “Smells kinda weird, not gonna lie, but she said it helps with digestion and energy.”

You smiled gratefully, sitting down with a wince, still sore in places you hadn’t known could hurt and picked up your chopsticks. As you began to eat, the comforting warmth of the soup spreading through you, you watched Chae in the living room.

She had set Yejun down on the changing mat you kept in the corner and was expertly unsnapping his onesie. You paused mid-bite, eyebrows raised. “She’s really doing it,” you mumbled.

“Honestly?” Jinae said, leaning back in her chair. “She’s doing better than I did my first time changing my cousin.”

“She’s doing better than me and I gave birth to him,” you joked lightly, earning a laugh from Minsu.

“She’s a natural,” Minsu said with a smirk. “Already a pro.”

“I heard that!” Chae called from the living room without turning around. “Don’t jinx me!”

You were just about to respond when your phone, sitting beside your tray, buzzed sharply. You glanced down and saw the name instantly, Jeongin.

Minsu leaned over with a teasing grin. “Didn’t even give you a full two hours before checking in, huh?”

You rolled your eyes fondly, warmth blooming in your chest as you wiped your fingers on a napkin and picked up the phone. “It’s like he knew the second I set Yejun down,” you muttered before answering quickly.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

“Hey,” Jeongin replied almost instantly, his voice a little out of breath like he’d run to a corner of the building just to call. “How are you? Did you make it home okay? Did they decorate? Was it the surprise you wanted?”

You let out a small laugh, touched. “Yes. It was perfect. They really went all out.”

“I wish I could’ve stayed longer,” he mumbled. “I barely got to hold him…”

“You were with us every moment you could be. He knows,” you reassured, your voice lowering as you leaned slightly away from the girls for a little privacy.

“Is he okay?” he asked quickly, barely giving you time to breathe. “How’s he doing? He ate, right? He’s not too cold? Did you get to rest yet?”

You smiled despite yourself, eyes drifting to the living room where Chae was now gently lifting Yejun, talking softly to him while patting his back. “He’s okay. Chae’s got him right now. She changed him and everything.

“She did?” Jeongin laughed quietly, almost in disbelief. “She’s braver than me. He screamed bloody murder when I tried earlier.”

“He fussed a little,” you said softly, watching them, “but she’s doing amazing.”

“You both are,” he said, voice quieter now. “I know you’re tired… but thank you. For doing all of this. For him. For… us.”

Your heart softened at his words, the exhaustion clinging to your bones momentarily replaced by that strange warmth again, the one that always came when he reminded you how much he cared.

You didn’t say anything right away, but your silence spoke volumes, and Jeongin didn’t press.

“I’ll call again tonight, okay?” he finally whispered. “And tomorrow. And every day until I see you both again.”

“Okay,” you whispered back, the corners of your lips lifting.

Just before you hung up, you heard him chuckle again and say gently, “Tell Yejun I miss him already.”

You stared at the phone for a second after the call ended, heart a little fuller than before.

“Everything okay?” Jinae asked.

You looked up and nodded. “Yeah… he misses us.”

Minsu reached over and squeezed your shoulder with a knowing smile. “He’s not the only one.”

And in that tiny dorm filled with baby blue balloons and quiet warmth, you finally took another bite of your soup, a little more comforted than before.

You settled into your new rhythm at the dorm, a life so vastly different from the one you had just months ago, yet somehow fuller, softer, and warmer. The air always carried a gentle hum now not just from baby monitors or lullabies playing faintly in the background, but from the constant, quiet love that surrounded you. Your members, your sisters, wrapped themselves around you and Yejun like a warm blanket.

Each of them had settled into their own roles naturally, seamlessly. Jinae, ever the grounded and calm one, took on the “mom friend” energy with ease making lists, helping you manage baby supplies, and gently coaxing you to nap even if it was only for twenty minutes while she rocked Yejun in her arms. Chae was full of chaos and heart, always ready to make you laugh, even if it meant doing a ridiculous impression while trying to bottle-feed Yejun. She was loud and energetic, but with your son, she softened, something about the way she hummed lullabies when she thought no one was listening always made your chest ache in the best way.

Minsu was the most surprising, she had this quiet affection, often expressed through little things. You’d wake up from a nap to find your laundry folded, your favorite drink in the fridge, or a new onesie for Yejun she picked up “just because it was cute.” She didn’t hover or fuss, but you always knew she was watching, making sure everything you needed was in place, even if you never had to ask.

The days blurred together a little, bottles, diapers, cries in the middle of the night, and the smallest moments that made all the fatigue worth it. Yejun’s soft sighs when he fell asleep on your chest. The way his tiny hand instinctively curled around your finger. His little yawns, and the first time he almost smiled in his sleep, those moments carved themselves into your memory like stars dotting the sky of your new life.

And Jeongin, even with the distance, even with the world between your dorm and his schedules, he never let you feel forgotten. He called every day, sometimes multiple times. His texts were random, a “did Yejun burp okay?” at 3 a.m., or a “you doing alright today?” during lunch break, but they reminded you of something simple and solid: that he was trying.

You’d often pick up his calls with a sleeping Yejun against your shoulder. He’d greet you in that soft voice he reserved only for these moments, the one that was laced with exhaustion but also love.

“I miss you,” he’d whisper. “I wish I could be there. It doesn’t feel right being so far.”

Sometimes, his calls came between music show rehearsals or as he hid in a stairwell to avoid his manager. You could hear the strain in his voice, not just the tiredness from dancing and singing all day, but the emotional weight of missing his baby boy, of missing you.

“I watched the fancams today,” you’d tell him with a small smile, voice low as you rocked Yejun to sleep. “You looked good. The fans went crazy.”

“I didn’t feel good,” he’d admit, and you could hear the crack behind the joke in his tone. “My head was all over the place. I kept thinking about if Yejun cried today. If you got any rest. If I should’ve just snuck out again…”

“You’re doing your best,” you’d whisper. “He knows. I know.”

There was always a pause after that. A moment where silence didn’t feel heavy but full. Full of all the things neither of you could say aloud, not right now, not yet, but both understood deeply.

Some nights, he’d ask you to hold the phone near Yejun while he slept, just so he could listen. And he’d stay on the line long after your responses had faded, the soft breaths of his son a lullaby he’d memorized over time.

And though the days were long and the nights often longer, with the quiet ache of what-ifs and stolen time, there was something beautiful in how love stitched all the pieces together, messy and imperfect, but unwavering.

You were figuring it out, the sleepless nights, the healing body, the balancing act of who you were before and who you were becoming. But you weren’t doing it alone. And that, somehow, made all the difference.

You were bouncing Yejun gently in your arms, the dim light from the living room lamp casting a soft glow across the dorm’s cozy silence. It had been a long day, not exhausting in the way that tore you apart, but tiring in the slow, steady way new motherhood tended to be. The girls had left early that morning, their flight whisking them off for an overseas performance that would span the weekend. They'd helped pack up everything the night before, triple-checked your fridge for food, and reminded you to text them the moment you needed anything. You reassured them like always, you were fine, Yejun was fine. It was just another weekend.

You had just laid Yejun down for a nap when your phone buzzed softly. It was Jeongin.

Is anyone at the dorm with you?

You paused briefly, thumb hovering over the keyboard. You didn’t think much of it at first, maybe he was just wondering if you had help, maybe he was worried you were alone. You responded simply.

Nope, just me and Yejun.

Less than a minute passed.

I’ll be there soon.

Your eyes widened slightly. Here? Now?

Your heart gave a small flutter, one you didn’t bother trying to suppress. You knew he missed Yejun. He hadn't seen him in over a week. Between your hiatus and his relentless schedules, time moved fast, but moments like these, being with Yejun were things he never wanted to miss.

Just be careful, you typed quickly, thumbs moving faster than your thoughts. No one can see you.

I will, came his reply. Promise.

The next thirty minutes passed in a slow rush. You straightened up a bit, tucked away a few bottles, re-smoothed the baby blanket over Yejun. You weren't sure why you were suddenly nervous. Maybe because this visit felt different. It was the first time in a while that it would be just the three of you. No girls, no distractions, no rushed hellos in the middle of the night. Just Jeongin. You. And your son.

And then, a soft knock at the door.

You opened it quietly, and there he was. Black cap low over his brows, mask still clinging to his face, eyes wide and tired but full of something warmer. You didn’t say a word. Neither did he. Not at first.

He stepped in quickly, shut the door behind him, and before you could even catch your breath, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You let yourself melt into him, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne and the soft fabric of his hoodie. He pulled back slightly just to press a rushed, messy kiss to your lips, then another, then one to your cheek, your jaw, your forehead.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against your skin. “So much.”

Your arms tightened around his middle. “I missed you, too.”

But before you could say more, a soft sound came from the side of the room, a quiet whimper. The tiniest, familiar cry.

Jeongin froze, and then smiled.

“That’s my boy,” he whispered, already moving toward the bassinet.

You watched from behind as he crouched down and carefully reached in. Yejun blinked sleepily up at him, little fists waving in the air. The moment Jeongin’s arms wrapped around him, the baby stilled. A soft hum escaped Yejun’s lips, followed by a gentle sigh, almost like he knew like he remembered this presence, this scent, this voice.

Jeongin looked down at him like he was the most delicate, perfect thing in the world. “He’s bigger,” he whispered, eyes glassy. “His cheeks got chubbier. Look at you, buddy.”

Yejun blinked slowly, nestling into his father’s chest, tiny fingers curling around the drawstring of Jeongin’s hoodie. And Jeongin just stood there holding him, eyes never leaving the tiny face resting against him.

You stood beside them quietly, taking it all in, the soft way Jeongin swayed instinctively, the low hum he offered that lulled Yejun back to a sleepy state, the way Jeongin kissed the top of his head like he’d been waiting months just to do that again.

Then Jeongin looked over at you, his voice barely audible.

“I hate not being here.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I want more of this. I want…” he looked down at Yejun, eyes heavy with emotion. “I want to be there for everything.”

You stepped closer, resting your head against his arm.

“You are,” you told him softly. “You’re doing the best you can.”

But the guilt in his eyes didn’t waver. And still, there was so much love. So much longing.

That night, you stayed up later than you had in weeks. The three of you curled up together on the couch, Yejun tucked between you both, Jeongin’s hand on his son’s back and your hand in his. There were no cameras. No managers. No pressure.

Just your small, hidden family.

And for a little while, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

The soft hum of the night wrapped around the dorm, the only sounds coming from the subtle whirr of the heater and the gentle, even breaths of baby Yejun sleeping in his bassinet nearby. You and Jeongin sat side by side on the couch, the room dimly lit, with a warm blanket draped over both your legs. Yejun had long since drifted off, soothed by the rhythm of Jeongin’s heartbeat and your soft voice, and now rested peacefully just a few feet away. But Jeongin hadn’t said much since laying him down again, and you noticed it.

You turned toward him slightly, your eyes narrowing as you studied the side of his face. His smile was there, but it wasn’t the same. It was thin, tight. Tired.

“Hey,” you said softly, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He blinked out of his thoughts and glanced at you, the smile still there, but sad. It wavered a bit, like he didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“I just…” he started, his voice low and a little strained. “I just hate this. Not being with you two every day.”

Your chest ached at the vulnerability in his tone. You reached out instinctively, slipping your hand into his and squeezing it, nodding.

“I know.”

He exhaled, shaking his head like he was still working out the words before finally saying them. “What if… what if we lived together?”

You blinked.

“I mean it,” he added, more sure now, sitting up straighter. “I’ll get an apartment, something simple, private. Yejun would have his own room. You’d have your space. We’d finally be together. I could come home after a long day and see both of you there… I wouldn’t miss things anymore.”

You stared at him, heart pounding not because you didn’t want it, but because you did. So badly.

And that made it hurt more.

“Jeongin…”

“I know,” he said before you could respond fully, already sensing your hesitation. “I know it’s not that easy. But just think about it. You wouldn’t have to keep going through all this alone. We could figure it out, together.”

You looked at him, into the quiet hope in his eyes, and you wanted to give in. You wanted to say yes. That idea of waking up with him there, watching him carry Yejun around in pajamas, the three of you curled up in one space that was yours, it wasn’t just tempting. It felt like the dream. Something so close it felt real.

But it wasn’t.

Not yet.

“I want to,” you admitted softly. “Yes, I want to. But I can’t, not right now.”

His face fell. Not in frustration, but in that quiet, disappointed way you knew he was trying hard not to show too much emotion.

“I still have my idol responsibilities,” you continued gently. “This hiatus is temporary. When it ends… I’ll have long days. Just like you. Busy schedules. Long hours. Rehearsals. Interviews. Performances. Everything.”

He was quiet, nodding slightly, but his jaw tensed.

“I understand that,” he said after a moment, “but… who’s going to be there for Yejun when that happens?”

You opened your mouth but had no answer.

“If we lived together,” he continued, trying to reason with it all, “we could split it. I’ll stay with him when you’re busy. And when I’m busy, you’ll stay with him. We’ll make it work.”

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered. “What if we’re both gone? What if we both have back-to-back schedules? What if it overlaps and neither of us can be there?”

Jeongin looked down, his brows drawn together.

“I know,” he said after a long pause. “I know you’re right. I’m just scared.”

You softened, leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“So am I.”

He turned his head, kissing the top of yours.

“I just want to be a good dad,” he whispered. “And I want to be with you.”

“You are,” you murmured. “You’re already both.”

And though the moment lingered in a cloud of uncertainty, the warmth of his arm around you, and the quiet, sleeping sounds of your son just a few feet away, grounded you both in a truth stronger than any plan.

You didn’t know how you’d make it work. Not yet.

But you both wanted to.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

It was a quiet afternoon, the kind you’d grown to appreciate in the chaos of your new life. The dorm was filled with soft laughter and the gentle coos of Yejun. The girls had offered to look after him for a bit so you could have some rare time to yourself, and while it was hard to pull away, the momentary silence was a relief. You stretched out on your bed with a book that had been sitting on your shelf untouched since your pregnancy, finally able to breathe without keeping an ear out for baby cries.

Then your phone buzzed.

Jeongin.

Your brows furrowed. He never called around this time, especially knowing that you were usually resting or trying to get a small break. Your heart jumped with concern, was everything okay? Was something wrong with him? Was he hurt?

You slipped out of your room quickly, poking your head into the living room where the girls sat with Yejun, who was contently playing with a soft toy in Minsu’s lap. Jinae looked up with a small smile, instantly calming some of your worry.

“Everything’s okay,” she said, reading your face. “He’s being an angel.”

You nodded in thanks, quickly ducking back into your room and shutting the door softly behind you before answering Jeongin’s call.

“Jeongin?” you asked, your voice slightly breathless, “Is everything alright?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then another.

“…No,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual, almost hollow. “No, not really.”

Your stomach twisted. “What happened?”

“I… I just need you to know something before it comes out.” His tone was careful, heavy, and it made your chest tighten.

“What are you talking about?”

“No matter what happens, I hope you won’t be too upset with me,” he said. “I just… I had to do it. I needed to. For you and for Yejun. I want to be closer to you both.”

Now you were panicking.

“Jeongin, what did you do?”

“I have to go. I love you. I love Yejun so much. Please just… remember that, okay?”

And just like that, the line went dead.

You stared at your phone in complete confusion, your pulse rising like a storm starting inside your chest. What the hell did he mean by that?

Your fingers worked faster than your mind, already pulling open every app, scrolling for answers, updates, anything that could explain what he meant.

And there it was.

Your heart dropped as you saw it: the JYP Entertainment logo sitting bold and ominous at the top of a new post.

The words “official statement” made your blood run cold.

You clicked it.

And read it.

“Hello, This is JYP Entertainment.

We would like to share some personal news regarding Stray Kids’ I.N. Recently welcomed the birth of his child. While this news may come as a surprise, we ask for your understanding and support during this personal and important time in his life. To ensure that he can focus on the wellbeing of his family and spend time with his newborn son, I.N will be taking a temporary leave from his group schedules. We ask the public and media to respect the privacy of all involved.

Thank you.”

You stared at the words.

You read them again.

And again.

And with each pass, it felt like the air in your lungs grew thinner. The room felt smaller.

Your child. His family.

He announced it.

No names were used no photos, no details, but everyone would know. Everyone would connect the dots. This was huge. A JYP idol, openly admitting to becoming a parent and stepping back for it? It wasn’t just shocking, it was unprecedented.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t even warned you.

You felt the anger bloom beneath your skin, rising like boiling water. You understood why he did it.

You knew he meant well. But this? Making a public statement like that without talking to you not just as the mother of his child, but as someone whose own career, own future, was directly impacted by this? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t okay.

He had promised not to put you or your group in jeopardy. He had promised to be careful. And now, even without your name, your fans everyone would speculate. They’d start digging. It wouldn’t be long before someone made the connection.

And worst of all… he’d done it alone. Without you.

Your phone buzzed again. A message from him.

Jeongin: “Please don’t be too mad. I wanted to tell you earlier. I just didn’t know how. I did it because I want to be there. Really be there. Not just sneak around to see you and Yejun. I want to do this right.”

You stared at the message, heart hammering, frustration swirling deep in your chest. You believed him, that part was never in question. But trust wasn’t just about intention. It was about action. And he’d made this choice alone.

And now?

Now everything was going to change.

You sat on the edge of your bed, clutching your phone, not knowing whether you wanted to scream, cry, or call him back.

Maybe all three.

Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it. You needed a minute.

Because this time… he didn’t just step on a line, he crossed it.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow through the dormitory windows, you found yourself alone. The girls had left for practice, leaving the apartment unusually quiet. The stillness was soon interrupted by a gentle knock at the door. Your heart skipped a beat as you approached, peering through the peephole to see Jeongin standing there, his posture slightly hunched, hands tucked into his pockets.

Taking a deep breath to steady the whirlwind of emotions within you, you opened the door. Jeongin's face lit up with a hopeful smile as he stepped forward, arms outstretched to embrace you. But the memory of the day's events was still fresh, and your feelings were too raw. You instinctively took a step back, avoiding his touch.

He paused, his arms falling to his sides, a sigh escaping his lips. "I know you're upset," he began, his voice laced with regret. "I'm sorry for not discussing it with you first, but I felt I had to do this.”

A bitter chuckle escaped you as you crossed your arms over your chest. "Had to?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone. "Jeongin, making such a monumental decision without consulting me, is that truly the best way to handle our situation?"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "The statement didn't mention any names," he argued. "I thought it would keep things private."

Your eyes narrowed, anger bubbling to the surface. "Private? Are you serious? Do you remember the article that surfaced just before I gave birth, speculating about my pregnancy? This statement only fuels those rumors. And now, Yejun is dragged into this media frenzy.”

Jeongin's expression hardened. "Why are you making this such a big deal?" he questioned, his voice rising slightly.

That was the breaking point. "Because my career is on the line!" you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm sorry if I'm not jumping for joy over this."

A soft wail from Yejun's bassinet cut through the tension. Jeongin's demeanor shifted instantly. He brushed past you, his focus solely on his son. Lifting Yejun into his arms, he gently rocked him, whispering soothing words until the baby's cries subsided. Carefully, he placed Yejun back into the bassinet, ensuring he was comfortable.

Turning back to you, Jeongin reached into his pocket and produced a set of keys, holding them out toward you. "I thought you'd be happy," he said softly. "I wanted this to be a joyful moment. I've secured an apartment for us, a place where we can be a family. Yejun has his own nursery, fully furnished. I've moved in already. The only things missing are you and Yejun."

The weight of his words hung heavily between you. While his intentions were clear, the execution left much to be desired. The path to building a life together was proving to be more complex than either of you had anticipated.

The silence between you and Jeongin was heavy. Even after his heartfelt gesture, the storm of emotions in your chest hadn’t quite passed. You were still upset, still frustrated, but underneath it all, there was a deeper emotion simmering quietly: fear. Fear of what the future held for you, for Jeongin, for Yejun. Fear of how fragile your world felt now that everything was teetering on the edge of exposure.

You crossed your arms, your eyes avoiding his for a moment before you finally broke the silence. “I’m still really upset,” you admitted quietly. “But… I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.” Your voice wavered, soft with exhaustion. “I was just… scared, Jeongin. Everything’s been so overwhelming, and I wish you had talked to me before making such a huge decision. I hate feeling like I’m not part of things that affect all of us.”

Jeongin’s expression softened immediately. “You’re right,” he said, stepping closer again. “I was stupid—I didn’t think it through. I just… I saw you drowning in stress, and I felt helpless. I thought maybe I could fix something for once.”

You let out a breath, and when he opened his arms again, you let yourself fall into them this time. His embrace was tight, warm, the familiar way his hand curved around your back calming the restlessness in you just a little. He kissed the side of your head, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself be in that moment.

A tiny whimper from Yejun broke the quiet, and you both turned to see his small body wriggling in the bassinet. Jeongin’s eyes lit up with the kind of joy that never failed to make your heart ache, and he pulled away from you gently, walking over to scoop his son up into his arms.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered softly, kissing Yejun’s head. “You ready to see your new room?”

Yejun gurgled in response, his little hands reaching up toward his father’s face. You walked over slowly, watching them with a fondness that dulled some of the anxiety in your chest.

“Wait, so it’s real?” you asked softly. “The apartment? The nursery?”

Jeongin turned to you with a look of mock offense. “Why would I lie about that? Of course it’s real. I’ve been working on it for weeks.” He chuckled softly. “The members even helped. Chan-hyung built the crib, and Seungmin found the nightlight you said Yejun needed. It’s got everything, books, clothes, food, diapers… even a rocking chair.”

You sighed, half-exasperated, half-touched. Your eyes lingered on Yejun’s peaceful expression as you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “What do you think of your crazy dad?” you murmured to him. “He does all this without even asking…”

Jeongin laughed, rubbing small circles on Yejun’s back. Then his eyes met yours, this time more serious, more vulnerable. “I meant what I said,” he told you. “I really want you both there. I want to wake up and hear his little sounds in the morning. I want you to come home to a place that feels safe. It’s ready—it’s all ready. It’s just missing you and Yejun.”

You swallowed hard, that tight knot in your throat forming again. You wanted that too, you did. But your thoughts were still scattered, clouded by the weight of responsibility and fear of what might come next. The scandal, the fans, your career, your return, it all loomed over you like a fog you couldn’t quite see through.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, voice quiet. “I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no. I just… I need to clear my head. My mind’s everywhere right now.”

Jeongin nodded, not pushing you further. “That’s okay,” he said, stepping forward to brush your hair back gently. “Take your time. I’ll wait. I just want you to know the door’s always open.”

And as you stood there, the three of you wrapped in the stillness of the dorm, you wondered if maybe, just maybe the future you were so afraid of might not be as terrifying with him by your side.

When Jeongin finally left that evening, there was a quietness in the dorm that lingered like the aftertaste of an emotional whirlwind. You stood there for a moment, Yejun softly gurgling in the bassinet, your thoughts caught between the memory of Jeongin’s offer and the uncertainty still clouding your chest. You barely had time to sort through them before the front door opened again, the girls pouring in one after the other noisy, chaotic, warm, and familiar.

“Where’s my baby boy?” Minsu practically yelled, kicking off her shoes as she made a beeline toward Yejun without even glancing in your direction.

“I swear, none of you care about me anymore,” you called out sarcastically, though there was a smile tugging at your lips.

Chae laughed as she finally acknowledged you, her arms wrapping around you in a quick hug. “We missed you too, mom of the year,” she teased, then pulled back just enough to study your face. “You look... thoughtful. Everything okay?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t a question you could brush off, not this time. There was too much swirling in your chest to bottle it up anymore. You gave a small nod toward the couch, silently suggesting you all sit down. Something about the way your voice softened as you said, “I want to talk to you guys,” shifted the energy in the room instantly. The chatter died down. Minsu stopped tickling Yejun’s little feet and looked up. Jinae narrowed her eyes in suspicion as she took the seat across from you. Chae sat beside you, one hand on your arm.

“What’s going on?” Minsu asked, brows already furrowing.

You took a breath, trying to find the right way to say it. “Jeongin got a place,” you began slowly, your eyes flicking from face to face. “An apartment. It’s already furnished, has a nursery for Yejun… everything.”

Chae tilted her head, cautious. “Okay... and?”

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, voice quieter now. “He asked me and Yejun to move in with him.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

“I haven’t said yes,” you added quickly, before they could jump to conclusions. “I just… wanted to talk to you guys first. I needed to know how you’d feel if I moved out.”

Their reactions came gradually. Jinae blinked a few times, processing. Minsu leaned back with a soft ‘huh.’ Chae’s lips parted slightly, her eyes flicking toward the bassinet.

“You’re serious?” Jinae finally asked. “Like… fully move out?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. He says he wants to be around more for Yejun. And I get that. I want that too. I really do. But I also don’t know what this means for me, for the group, for all of us.”

Chae placed her hand over yours again, gentler this time. “Do you want to go?” she asked carefully.

You were silent for a second before answering. “Part of me does,” you admitted. “He’s Yejun’s dad, and… he’s trying so hard. He made this whole place just for us. But the other part of me is terrified. What if people find out? What if this all backfires? I love you guys, I love living here with you. But I don’t want to hold Yejun back from having both of his parents close.”

Minsu sat up straighter, her voice sincere. “Hey. First of all—no matter where you live, we’re always going to be your family. That doesn’t change. Second… it sounds like he really wants to step up. And maybe, maybe that’s not such a bad thing. You’ve been doing this on your own for a while, and you’ve done it so well. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Jinae gave you a small smile. “We’d miss you like crazy. But you wouldn’t be abandoning us. You’d be doing what’s best for you and your son.”

Chae leaned her head on your shoulder. “Just promise us that when you need us any hour, any day, you’ll still call. We’re not going anywhere, okay?”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you nodded slowly, overwhelmed by the love they still offered you so effortlessly. “Okay,” you whispered. “I promise.”

And just like that, the tension in your chest loosened a little. Maybe you weren’t ready to say yes yet. But at least now… it didn’t feel so impossible.

You spent the whole night thinking lying in bed, eyes on the ceiling while the soft hum of the dorm quieted around you. Yejun had finally drifted off after his last feeding, and the soft rise and fall of his little chest next to yours should’ve been enough to lull you into sleep too. But your mind wouldn’t stop racing.

The apartment. The nursery. The idea of waking up in the same space as Jeongin every day, raising Yejun together, making a life not just as co-parents, but something more, something real. It was terrifying. It was overwhelming. But maybe… it was also the right step forward.

By morning, the apartment was still tugging at the back of your mind. You stood at the threshold of the living room where the girls were already immersed in their morning rituals. Chae was stretched out on the floor, baby Yejun bundled up beside her as she took picture after picture of his squishy cheeks and sleepy yawns, giggling softly every time he blinked. Jinae and Minsu were curled up on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee, their quiet chatter mixing with the hum of the morning news on low volume.

You stood silently for a moment, letting the warmth of the scene fill you, savoring it because you knew what you were about to say might change things.

You cleared your throat. “Hey,” you said, a little too quietly at first. They barely heard you. “Guys?”

Chae glanced up first. “What’s up?”

You walked toward them, hands nervously brushing against your thighs. “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about yesterday.”

That made everyone go quiet.

You took a deep breath. “And I think… I think I’m going to do it. I’m going to move in with Jeongin.”

The silence stretched for a beat longer than expected.

You rushed to add, “Not just for me, or for him. But for Yejun. I think it’s what’s best for him to have both of us around. As much as I love it here, as much as I love you guys, I think it’s time.”

Minsu slowly set her mug down, a grin creeping onto her face. “Okay, now that was a plot twist.”

Jinae stood up, walked over to you, and pulled you into a warm hug. “We knew it was coming. We just wanted you to be sure.”

Chae gently scooped Yejun up from the blanket and waddled toward you dramatically, hugging both you and the baby at once. “We’re going to miss you so much, it’s ridiculous.”

Then the others joined, creating a tight, messy, emotional group hug, Yejun half-asleep in the middle, mumbling a soft noise of protest that made all of you laugh through the lump in your throat.

“You have to send updates,” Jinae sniffed.

“Daily updates,” Minsu said firmly.

“Hourly,” Chae corrected, making you laugh.

“I promise,” you said, your voice warm with gratitude. “You can visit any time. I’ll be back all the time too.”

You excused yourself shortly after, heart racing as you pulled out your phone and dialed Jeongin. The second he picked up, you could hear faint ambient sounds in the background, some muffled traffic, a dog barking in the distance, maybe even the quiet buzz of a fridge.

“Hello?” he said, voice low but hopeful.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Are you home?”

“Yeah… I’m at the apartment right now,” he replied, a nervous chuckle in his voice. “Just… soaking it in. Wondering if maybe today’s the day.”

You smiled to yourself, nerves settling with each word. “It is,” you said.

There was a beat of silence. “Wait—what?”

“I said yes,” you repeated, laughing a little. “We’ll move in with you. Me and Yejun.”

He was completely silent, then let out a loud breath of disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“I am.”

“Wait—are you messing with me?” he asked quickly. “Don’t play with me right now. I’m standing in the middle of the living room and I just looked at the rocking chair and almost cried.”

“I’m not messing with you,” you promised, smiling so hard your cheeks ached. “We’re really coming home.”

And on the other end of the line, Jeongin was quiet for a few seconds before you heard him whisper, “I can’t believe it.”

Then, louder, a grin in his voice: “I swear, this is the best day of my life.”

You chuckled through the warmth filling your chest. “Better than the day Yejun was born?”

“That’s top-tier, but this? This is real. This is our future.”

And you couldn’t help but believe him.

It had been nearly four months since you moved into the apartment with Jeongin and baby Yejun, and life had begun to take on a quiet kind of rhythm beautiful, messy, soft. The kind of rhythm that didn’t need music because Yejun’s baby giggles filled the air instead. Each morning started with Jeongin’s sleepy hair and your baby's bright smile, and the rest of the day unfolded like a delicate routine you had built together: diaper changes and coffee breaks, stolen kisses over the baby monitor, and late-night cuddles when Yejun couldn’t sleep unless he was nestled between you both.

Yejun had grown into a playful little bundle of energy, always giggling, always grabbing at anything near his chubby hands, always watching the two of you with wide, adoring eyes. He was curious about everything, especially Jeongin’s voice and your fingers. And every morning, without fail, he would reach for you the second you leaned close enough to kiss his forehead. Today was no different.

You had to head out for your first official company meeting in what felt like forever. Your nerves danced under your skin as you crouched in front of Yejun, kissing his cheeks over and over while he squirmed and laughed and grabbed at your hair, his soft little hands refusing to let go.

“I’ll be back soon, baby,” you whispered. “Be good for daddy, okay?”

He gurgled a response, and you smiled, even though your chest ached at the thought of leaving.

Jeongin, ever the calm in your storm, scooped Yejun up with a laugh and gave you a long, slow kiss. “We’ll be fine,” he promised as he pulled away, brushing a thumb against your cheek. “I’ll call if anything happens. But today? Today is daddy and Yejun bonding day.”

You smiled, nerves still lingering, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you both soon.”

The ride to the company building felt longer than usual, even though the streets were quiet. Your heart hadn’t raced this fast since you stood backstage at your last show, stomach fluttering with nerves, mic in hand, lights waiting to warm your face. You’d missed that feeling. You missed being on stage.

When you finally stepped into the meeting room, it was strangely calm. No cameras, no full room just a small group: Jun, Jinhee, and a few key company staff. They welcomed you warmly, genuine smiles on their faces, and a few even congratulated you on Yejun with soft, surprised laughter.

Jun gave you a firm nod. “You look good,” he said. “Well-rested.”

You laughed a little at that, maybe it was the makeup hiding the tiredness. “Yejun lets us sleep most nights. It’s a miracle.”

Jun smiled faintly before his tone shifted. “So, how are you feeling about everything? About returning?”

You inhaled slowly and said the truth. “I miss it. I miss performing. The fans, the stage… the energy of it all. I want to come back.”

Jinhee gave you a proud, but slightly sad smile like she already knew the weight of the words you’d just spoken.

Jun leaned forward. “That’s good to hear. Because… and I’ll be honest, if you had said otherwise, the company was already considering plans to remove you from the group.”

Your smile faltered.

The silence in the room thickened for a second before Jinhee, quickly sensing the shift in your mood, interjected gently, “But that’s not going to happen. You made your choice and you’re here. They just wanted to be sure your heart was in it. That you weren’t feeling forced.”

You nodded slowly, even though your hands felt cold. “I understand,” you said quietly. “I… I love being a mom. I love Yejun. But I’ve worked so hard for this career. I know it’s going to be hard, balancing everything, but I want to try.”

Jun stood then, gathering his things, his voice brisk but not unkind. “Then I’ll let them know. Thank you for coming today.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

As he and the other reps filed out, Jinhee moved closer, sliding a printed schedule in front of you.

“These are the upcoming commitments you’ll be reintegrating into,” she said. “It’s staggered, we’re easing you in for the next few weeks some rehearsals, choreography updates, variety prep, then eventually stage performances.”

You took the paper with a shaky breath. It was real now. Not just an idea. Not just a maybe.

“Do you want to tell the girls yourself?” Jinhee asked gently.

You looked up at her and nodded. “Yeah. I think I need to.”

She gave you a knowing smile. “They’re going to be so happy.”

You smiled, but this time it was laced with both excitement and fear. This new version of you, a mother, an idol, a woman in love was stepping into unfamiliar territory. But even with the fear, there was something else blooming in your chest.

Hope. For yourself. For your dreams. And for the family waiting at home.

Your fingers lingered on the printed schedule Jinhee had given you. It felt surreal to see your name on a line-up again real, tangible proof that your comeback was happening. It wasn’t just a daydream in your head anymore. You were returning not just as the same person, but as someone entirely new reshaped, stronger, a little softer, and full of purpose.

Jinhee smiled as she gathered her things, then paused at the door and turned back toward you. “The girls are in the practice studio right now. You should go surprise them.”

You blinked. “Right now?”

She nodded, a grin forming. “Yes! Go on—it’ll make their day. They’ve missed you more than they let on.”

You exhaled a nervous little laugh, heart thumping as she pointed toward the direction of the studio. “Okay… I guess it’s time.”

Your footsteps echoed quietly down the hallway, memories flooding back as you passed the familiar walls. The sound of music thumping behind the studio door brought a rush of nostalgia and nerves. You paused for a second to compose yourself, brushing your hands against your sides and letting out a steadying breath before slowly pushing open the door.

The moment the door creaked open, four heads snapped toward you and then, chaos.

Squeals erupted from every corner of the room as Minsu, Jinae, and Chae rushed toward you, shouting your name with uncontainable joy. You barely had time to laugh before their arms wrapped tightly around you, almost knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“Wait, wait—don’t crush me!” you giggled, your cheeks already aching from the smile you couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Yejun?!” Chae immediately demanded as she pulled back just enough to look at you.

You laughed, holding up your hands. “He’s okay! Still the same dramatic little baby you saw last week. I promise, he’s safe at home with Jeongin.”

They all let out a breath of mock disappointment and cooed anyway, clearly already missing their honorary baby group member.

Jinhee stepped into the room behind you with a wide grin, arms crossed proudly. “Well? Don’t you want to tell them something?”

You raised a brow, feigning a dramatic sigh as you stepped to the center of the room, the girls hanging on your every word.

“Okay,” you started solemnly, biting your bottom lip. “So… I actually came here to let you all know… I’m leaving the group.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Their faces dropped, joy flickering out like a candle snuffed too soon. Jinae’s eyes widened, and Minsu let out a tiny, heartbroken “what?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore you burst out laughing. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

“Hey!” Chae shouted, smacking your shoulder playfully as the rest of them groaned in relief. “Are you serious?!”

“You should’ve seen your faces!” you said between laughs, tears starting to pool at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming emotion.

“So what’s the real news?” Jinae asked, breath still catching.

You took a soft breath and met their eyes, heart thumping again, but this time from happiness. “I’m coming back. Officially. I’m joining you again.”

The room erupted again, this time with shouts of joy and relief and laughter as they rushed you a second time, pulling you into the tightest, warmest group hug imaginable.

“I knew it,” Minsu said through a sniffle. “I just knew you’d come back.”

“You belong with us,” Jinae whispered, resting her chin on your shoulder. “And we missed you so much.”

You held onto them tightly, overwhelmed by their love.

And though you had changed in many ways, one thing remained constant: this group was still your family too.

When you stepped through the front door of the apartment, it felt like the world slowed down for a moment. The scent of baby powder and Jeongin’s cologne greeted you first, familiar, comforting, like home had been waiting for you to walk in. The soft hum of the TV played in the background, but it was the sound of laughter that truly filled the space. Not just any laughter, Jeongin’s, light and playful, mixed with the sweetest baby giggles.

You walked into the living room to find them both on the couch, Jeongin sitting cross-legged, holding Yejun up in the air like he was the most precious thing in the world. Yejun’s little fists were curled, cheeks full, and there were smudges of yogurt around his mouth. He looked so proud, like he knew he had his dad wrapped around his tiny finger.

They were snacking on the small yogurt melts you kept in a container for Yejun, except Jeongin was clearly sneaking bites too.

You raised a brow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe with a teasing smirk. “Those treats are for Yejun, you know.”

Jeongin turned to look at you with that signature sheepish grin, shrugging as he popped another one into his mouth. “They’re good! You shouldn’t have left them in plain sight.”

Yejun caught sight of you and his entire face lit up, his little legs kicking in excitement as he stretched his arms toward you. You melted instantly, hurrying over to him with open arms.

“Hi, baby,” you cooed, lifting him into your arms and showering his chubby cheeks with kisses. He erupted into happy squeals, his tiny hands patting your face.

Jeongin scooted closer to you on the couch, his hand resting on your leg as he looked at you expectantly. “So… how did it go?”

You let out a soft sigh, glancing down at Yejun, who was now busy grabbing your necklace with intense concentration. “They’re ready for me to go back,” you said gently. “My first day back is next week.”

His expression faltered slightly, just for a second but you caught it. The subtle downward curve of his lips, the way his shoulders sank just a little. He gave you a small pout, shifting closer. “Four days,” he mumbled. “That’s all we have left with you home all day.”

You turned toward him, resting your cheek against Yejun’s head and reaching out to take Jeongin’s hand in yours. “I know,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers. “But I promise, I’ll spend every single minute I can with you two until then.”

Jeongin leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before brushing his lips against your temple. “I know. I’m proud of you, you know? You’re doing all of this, for yourself, for Yejun, for us. I just wish we had more time.”

You smiled through the soft ache in your chest, your fingers brushing over his knuckles. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

And in that quiet, warm little apartment, surrounded by half-eaten yogurt melts and the smell of baby wipes, you held onto each other. Because even if time was short, love wasn’t. And with every moment left, you planned to soak in every second, together.

The morning of your long-awaited comeback arrived sooner than you were emotionally ready for. It crept up through the quiet of dawn, with the soft light pouring in through the apartment windows and the buzz of the city waking up just beyond the glass. You stirred awake before your alarm even had the chance to go off, nerves already prickling beneath your skin. This was it, the day you’d return to the life you’d once lived so comfortably, before everything changed. Before Yejun.

You moved through your morning slowly, with care. There was something heavier about this day than any other. It wasn’t just your comeback, it was your first step back into the world as both an idol and a mother. That balance had seemed so distant and uncertain when you first held Yejun in your arms, but now here you were, standing at the edge of it.

Jeongin was already awake, moving around the apartment with practiced quiet, holding Yejun against his chest as he gently patted his back. You smiled softly at the sight, his sleepy face, his mussed hair, the way he looked down at Yejun like he was made of gold.

He turned toward you as you walked into the room, giving you a smile that was warm and proud and a little sad. “You look good,” he said, voice hushed as not to stir the still-drowsy baby in his arms.

You walked over to him, pressing a kiss to Yejun’s fuzzy head before leaning in to kiss Jeongin. It was soft and slow, full of unspoken words how proud you were of each other, how hard this was, how strong you’d both been.

Jeongin gently shifted Yejun’s hand, making him wave it toward you. “Say good luck, Mama,” he cooed, and your chest tightened.

You exhaled shakily, running a hand through your hair as you whispered, “I’ll be back before dinner.”

Jeongin nodded, even though his eyes said he didn’t want you to go. “We’ll be right here.”

With one last glance back at your boys, the ones who had become your entire world, you stepped out the door.

Back at the company, the moment you walked through those familiar halls, the atmosphere shifted. People turned to look, some surprised, others smiling, a few tearing up as they spotted you. It was like you’d never left, yet everything was different now. You were different. More grounded, more weathered, more… whole.

Jinhee was waiting for you near the main studio, her arms immediately wrapping around you in a tight hug. “You’re really here,” she whispered, her voice cracking just slightly.

“I’m here,” you said softly, holding her back. “For real this time.”

Jun and the rest of the staff were already gathered in the conference room, and when you stepped inside, they greeted you with genuine warmth. The energy was familiar, comfortable, but it didn’t erase the knot in your stomach.

Jun offered you a seat beside him and began going over the schedule, rehearsals, shoots, variety shows. It was a lot, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Not now. Not after everything you’d already been through.

“You sure you’re ready for this pace again?” one of the staff asked, concerned but not condescending.

You looked around the room at everyone who had supported you, some from a distance, others closely and you nodded. “I missed performing. I missed being with the girls. I think it’s time.”

Jun gave you a small nod of approval. “Then let’s make this comeback one to remember.”

And as you sat there, surrounded by the people who had once only seen you as a performer, now acknowledging all the different pieces of you the artist, the partner, the mother, you felt it. You were ready. Nervous, but ready. And in the back of your mind, you could already picture Yejun’s gummy smile waiting for you at the end of the day.

Your limbs ached, every muscle humming from exertion, but the familiar burn beneath your skin was something you hadn’t realized how much you missed. You were sprawled out on the cool floor of the practice room, cheeks flushed and breath still coming in soft pants. The other girls surrounded you in similar states, some laying down beside you, others sitting up, all of you basking in the rare moment of rest after your first full day back.

It had been long. A full day of rehearsals, catching up with the choreography, syncing with the others, adjusting to the pace that once had felt second nature to you. But now, it was different. And every beat, every turn, every breath reminded you of how much your body had changed and grown.

Still, through all the sweat and exhaustion, you felt proud.

Jinae nudged you with her foot from where she lay beside you, grinning. “You didn’t miss a beat.”

“Okay, well maybe one or two,” Minsu chimed in playfully, earning a soft laugh from everyone.

You smiled, heart warm. “It’s good to be back,” you said quietly, the truth of the words settling gently over your chest.

Just then, the door creaked open and in walked Jinhee, holding a bottle of water in each hand and wearing a proud smile. “Look at you all,” she said, handing one bottle to you and the other to Chae. “Like nothing’s changed.”

You sat up slowly, brushing some hair off your damp forehead. “Almost nothing,” you said with a small laugh.

Jinhee nodded. “It’s really good to see you here again,” she said sincerely. “I know it’s not easy coming back after everything… balancing everything.”

Before you could respond, Minsu beat you to it. “She fits right back in. Like she’s the missing piece to our puzzle.”

Your heart fluttered at that, and you offered Minsu a grateful look. “Thanks,” you said softly.

Jinhee let the moment settle before she cleared her throat lightly. “Actually… there’s something I wanted to ask.”

You turned to her with raised brows, the others sitting up more attentively too.

“The company’s planning something small, a little welcome back celebration,” she said. “Nothing big, no press, no cameras, just a private gathering. A way for the staff and everyone close to you to say congratulations, not just for returning, but for becoming a mom.”

Your lips parted in surprise, and Jinhee quickly added, “Totally your call, of course. But we thought maybe it’d be nice. If you’re okay with it… we’d love for you to bring Yejun. And Jeongin too.”

You blinked, the words settling into you slowly. A welcome back party. For you. For all of you.

The girls immediately lit up around you.

“Yejun at a party? Yes please,” Chae grinned.

“Finally, everyone gets to meet the little prince,” Jinae added, excitement twinkling in her eyes.

You felt yourself smile, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought. Yejun had been your quiet world for months, a secret you’d held close and dear. The thought of introducing him, really introducing him to the people who had become your second family felt… right. Special.

You looked at Jinhee, eyes soft. “Yeah,” you said after a pause. “I think… that would be really nice.”

She beamed, clearly relieved. “We’ll keep it intimate, promise. Just the people who matter.”

And suddenly, despite the exhaustion in your bones, despite the ache in your muscles and the overwhelmingness of this transition, you felt grounded.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a soft golden hue over the city as you made your way back home. The day had been long, your body aching from your first full schedule back with the group, but your heart raced with one singular thought: Yejun. All day long, his smile, his little giggles, the warmth of his tiny arms around your neck, those thoughts had kept you grounded through every choreography run, every vocal warm-up, every debriefing. And of course, there was Jeongin, too. But if you were being honest with yourself, your heart was set on one thing, finally holding your baby again.

As soon as you stepped through the front door, the familiar sound of little claps met your ears. You turned your head quickly to see Yejun in his playpen, his chubby hands slapping together in excitement the moment his eyes met yours. Your lips parted into the biggest smile as a soft laugh escaped your chest.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, emotion already swelling in your throat.

Jeongin appeared from the hallway just moments later, having heard the door open. He looked relieved, happy, and maybe a little tired too. Still, he reached you with a soft peck to your lips and effortlessly took the bag from your shoulder.

“Welcome home,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you said quickly before making a beeline toward the playpen, already crouching down to scoop Yejun into your arms.

“Oh my god, I missed you,” you whispered, holding him close as he wrapped his small arms around your neck, squealing in delight. His tiny fingers grabbed at your cheeks, and he smiled so widely it made your heart swell.

Jeongin leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and gaze fond. “He noticed the door before I did,” he said with a chuckle.

You looked up from Yejun and asked, “How was today?”

Jeongin walked closer, gently brushing some hair behind your ear. “Started off rough. He got pretty fussy after you left. Wouldn’t nap, wanted to be held constantly. I think he missed you,” he said softly.

You gave Yejun a small bounce, smiling. “Did you miss me?” you cooed. Yejun reached for your face again, giving a soft hum and another wide smile.

“But,” Jeongin added, “once he finally fell asleep, he woke up in a much better mood. We had a good day. Played a lot.”

You kissed your son’s cheek a few times, earning giggles that melted your tiredness like butter on a hot pan. Only then did your eyes drift toward the dining table and you blinked in surprise.

“You cooked?” you asked, your tone full of pleasant shock.

Jeongin nodded like it was no big deal. “Yep. Just waiting for you to get home so we could eat together.”

You walked over slowly, Yejun still in your arms, and took in the spread: a mix of all your favorite comfort foods. You turned toward him again, touched. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said simply.

He took Yejun from your arms and gently settled him into his high chair, buckling him in before sitting beside you. You both began eating, taking turns making sure Yejun was munching on his soft, steamed veggies and fruits. It was peaceful, domestic, normal. And in that moment, you felt whole.

Midway through your meal, you glanced up at Jeongin. “By the way… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He looked up, attentive. “Hmm?”

You poked at your rice. “The company’s throwing a little welcome-back thing for me. Nothing major, no press or cameras. Jinhee says it’s just close staff, team members… and they invited you and Yejun to come, too.”

Jeongin didn’t hesitate. “Of course we’ll go.”

You blinked, taken aback by how quickly he agreed. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted gently. “I would’ve gone even if there were cameras. I don’t want to hide anymore, not you, not Yejun. I know it’s complicated… but I’m proud of you. Of us. I want people to see that.”

His voice was steady, his eyes sure. There was no wavering in his conviction.

You lowered your gaze slightly, chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m just… not sure if I’m ready. Even if people are already speculating, it’s still different when it’s real, when it’s confirmed.”

He reached across the table and took your hand in his. “I get it. Really, I do. And I’ll never pressure you. But just know… whenever you are ready, I’ll be right there beside you.”

You looked up at him, heart full, and gave a small nod. “Okay,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

Yejun let out a soft squeal, smacking his little palms against his high chair tray, and both you and Jeongin turned to look at him, laughing. His cheeks were puffed with a piece of carrot he hadn’t swallowed yet, and his eyes darted between you both, so full of joy.

You leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. “What do you think, baby? Should we show you off a little?”

He giggled, and you took it as a sign.

Even if it wasn’t tomorrow, even if the world wasn’t ready to accept it yet, you were getting closer. And you’d be ready, in your own time.

The morning of the welcome-back party felt different. There wasn’t the usual rush of early schedules or the sleepy shuffle of new parents just trying to survive the day. No, this morning was special. It was quiet, warm, filled with excitement and nerves. You and Jeongin were finally attending something as a family.

You both had gotten up a bit earlier than usual, taking your time between breakfast and morning snuggles with Yejun, easing into the day with quiet conversations and soft kisses. But once the clock started ticking closer to the afternoon, the calm faded into chaos.

Specifically, chaos over outfits.

“No, this one’s cuter,” you insisted, holding up a soft beige romper with tiny bear ears on the hood, smiling at the cozy, cuddly look of it.

Jeongin wrinkled his nose playfully. “It’s adorable, but this one’s cooler,” he said, lifting up a tiny button-up shirt with suspenders and matching little pants. “He’s gonna look like a baby model.”

You crossed your arms. “He’s a baby, not going to a photoshoot.”

Jeongin smirked. “Says you. The world deserves to see his fashion era begin now.”

You both stood there for a moment in your shared bedroom, each of you holding up your candidate outfit like you were presenting evidence in a court case. Yejun, sitting in the middle of the bed with a soft bib around his neck, watched the scene unfold like a tiny judge, babbling and kicking his legs, occasionally squealing when either of you turned to him.

“Fine,” you finally said, lifting your eyebrows. “Let’s let him pick.”

Jeongin’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Democratic parenting.”

You laid both outfits down on the bed in front of Yejun, who immediately reached for Jeongin’s pick, the tiny suspenders and button-up shirt, though mostly because it crinkled the loudest.

“See!” Jeongin said, grinning triumphantly. “My son has taste.”

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Okay, okay. But now we have to match him, not the other way around.”

“Already ahead of you,” he said, moving over to the closet and pulling out his own cream shirt and tan slacks. “I thought we could all wear warm tones. Like… subtle, matching without being cheesy.”

You blinked at him, a little caught off guard. “You thought about this?”

He turned and gave you a small smile. “Of course I did. I want us to look like we belong together.”

Your heart fluttered just a little at that. You didn’t say anything, just nodded quietly and went to pick your own soft-toned outfit to complete the trio.

As you finished getting ready, you gently changed Yejun into his chosen outfit. He wiggled and squirmed on the bed, letting out a giggle when you blew raspberries on his belly, tiny fists waving in the air. Jeongin leaned over as you snapped up his buttons, reaching for Yejun’s feet and giving them a playful tickle.

Yejun burst into another round of giggles, kicking his legs and clenching his little fists, his round cheeks flushed with joy. You both laughed along with him, caught in that quiet, golden moment where time seemed to slow and nothing else mattered.

“Okay,” you said softly, scooping Yejun up and placing a kiss on his forehead. “I think we’re ready.”

Jeongin stood next to you, slipping one arm around your waist as you balanced Yejun on your hip. He looked between the two of you, your matching tones, your smiles, the way your bodies leaned into one another without even trying and gave a small, content sigh.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

You were on your way to something new scary, maybe, and uncertain, but you were doing it together.

You hadn’t been nervous, not really. Not during the car ride, not while getting dressed, not even as Jeongin adjusted Yejun’s little bowtie for the fifth time before you left the apartment. Everything had felt calm, like just another moment in your new normal. But as soon as you stepped into the company building and stood just outside the glass doors of the office, your stomach twisted.

This was the first time you were appearing as not just an idol, not just a group member, but as you. As a woman who had quietly taken on the biggest change of her life and was now walking through those doors with everything out in the open.

You paused just before reaching for the handle.

Jeongin, who had Yejun in his arms bouncing him lightly, murmuring soft nonsense into his ear to keep him calm, glanced at you. He immediately noticed your hesitation. Without a word, he reached out and rested his hand on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow, reassuring circles.

You looked over at him. His face was soft, his smile calm and certain. Like there wasn’t a doubt in his mind about being here with you. About walking in like this. Like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

He leaned in just a bit. “Hey,” he whispered. “You’re doing amazing. And we’re right here with you.”

You nodded, lips trembling a little, before leaning in to kiss his cheek. Yejun let out a little coo at the motion, his big eyes looking between the two of you as if sensing this was a moment of some kind. You reached up to gently stroke his back, and then with a slow breath, you turned back to the door and pushed it open.

The moment you stepped inside, it was like a wave of warmth rushed to meet you.

“Welcome back!”

“There’s the little guy!” another voice chimed in as heads turned and a few people rushed forward, all beaming.

The small office space floor had been rearranged a bit for the casual celebration. A table in the corner had some snacks and drinks. Soft decorations hung loosely from the ceiling, in warm neutral colors, not flashy, just cozy. One sign in particular stood out, handwritten but neatly framed: Welcome Back.

You were still processing when Jinhee appeared through the crowd, eyes shining as she reached out to give you a hug. “I was hoping you’d really come,” she said softly.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse from emotion. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

People were already cooing over Yejun, who blinked at the new faces with curious eyes, resting comfortably in Jeongin’s arms. He gave a small squeal when one of the stylists gently waved at him, his cheeks puffed out in a gummy smile. Jeongin laughed under his breath, bouncing him a little.

You glanced around at everyone, the familiar faces of your team, your managers, a few other idols who had slipped in, and your girls who were already waving you over from the corner with teasing grins. For a second, it didn’t feel like a company party. It felt like family.

Like maybe… everything was going to be okay.

masterlist.

❌proofread

(a/n: didn’t realize that y/n’s group didn’t have a name til i was writing this part lol. I hope everyone likes the group name stardust. i literally wrote the first thing that came to mind. they’d probably have the typical girl crush concept 🙉🙈)

[fs taglist: @laine2353 @emilyywhyy @d3kstar @lenfilms @st4rv3lly @mbioooo0000 @puppymsworld @vangoghsear0 @vixensss @artist2181 @jazzissilly @jessxxxfwd @anastasiiiiaaaaa @nchhuhi @jae-n0 @beomgyusluver @bearseuming @maxidential @cristy-101 @kochothehoe @iristrrsgn ..]

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